Imaginary Kings

Imaginary Kings

Amgalant Two

Bryn Hammond

Black Milk Publishing

Copyright © 2012, 2018 Bryn Hammond

First published as Tribal Brawls by Bryn Hammond 2012

This edition published 2018

ISBN-13: 9781476192963

My sister Julie Bozza has been godmother to the book.

Amgalant, what’s written and what isn’t written yet, I dedicate to her, with waves from Tem and Jam, and no sight or scent of a goat.

In steppe epic, a steed and a sister are your trustiest, most intelligent and indefatigable aid: the hero doesn’t have to be heroic, but these do.

Contents

1. The Jajirat do Battle

2. Our Fathers’ Foe and Cousins

3. Jamuqa Back from the Dead

4. A Great Man Damaged

5. Jargalant in Tartary

6. Steppe Politics

7. The Three of Us

8. Toghrul’s Old Age

9. For the Victory in the Defeat

10. What is our Toro?

11. The Dogs Bark

12. In Spirit Always

13. Hur Altai

A few acknowledgements

The plot and the Secret History

Name list

Glossary

Me and Atrocity

1. The Jajirat do Battle

My tching-heart stewards who watched over me in troubles, the angels of my fortune, my cherbin.

Tchingis, The Secret History of the Mongols, passage 230

The first thing Temujin did when he came out of his clan meet was send an explanation to Jamuqa. His message was very circumstantial and told almost the whole of what people had said: Sacha’s emergency measure to declare him khan; his own entreaty to Galut Queen; Galut’s verdict, which confounded Sacha and himself alike. The widow queen had instructed him to take up government, for fear of anarchy and abuses such as they saw from Sacha, for fear of worse.

She said she trusts me to save our traditions, however rudely we thrust them aside today. Jamuqa, I haven’t had an election. But until a hur altai the queen alone has a right to govern, and I did throw myself at her feet. I obey her. Sacha and my clan have sworn the oath to me, with a bad grace, since Galut told them what she thought of them and they began this, of course, to have me putty in their hands.

This message, with much of disgrace to most of those involved, for Jamuqa’s ears only, he entrusted to Wild Arkai, who as a Jalaya was sworn by ghastly strictures against violation of his faith, and to Uriangqot Jak for his discretion.

Jamuqa sent back not hugger-mugger to Temujin but to Sacha and Taichu, Altan, Cuchar, Buri Wrestler and Big Jeren: the members of his clan who had been in the plot. He was altogether blunt. He didn’t mind to embarrass them. Know I was aware of Jorkimes’ agitation in Qorqonag Meadows; you whittled at our ribs and stung our loins; always you aimed to come between my anda and me. At last you have him away from me and at once you set him up as khan. Why have you done this behind the backs of the chiefs and captains? Why didn’t you propose him in the Qorqonag, where most of the tribes were together, where I might have given my voice to my anda? Since you have what you wished for, keep your oath; cause my anda no disquiet; obey your khan.

He said nothing to Temujin himself, although, of course, the entirety was a caution to him about his cousins in a criticism of them to their faces. The frequency of anda in Jamuqa’s message – the oath of brotherhood they had come near to undo – consoled Temujin for the want of a word addressed to him. Co-operation at a distance: that was fine, if that was what Jamuqa felt easy with, and scotch Sacha’s scare-talk of factions.

Without the vulgar particulars he sent to Toghrul, and just said that the last khan’s queen had directed him to form a government. Lefthand Sukegei, son of Yesugei’s old door guard Qongdaqor, and Taki, a runaway from Tayichiut, were innocently excited to have an errand to the court of the Hirai khan. Toghrul’s answer was public, a benignant nod of the head from the Mongols’ big neighbour, an exhortation in homely metaphor. To set Temujin, son of Yesugei my brother-by-oath, at the head of a government is most right. The Mongols have been twenty years without a khan. Now is he your warm coat against the winter; unwrap him not. Now is he your neck-scarf of fur; discard him not.

To Blue Jos, Gunan and Usun Shaman, the Hodoe Aral chiefs to whom he owed so much, he told what had happened on the inside of the closed tent, and said they need not swear the oath to him if they blamed him. For he meant to take volunteer oaths, if Mongols go along with the act of Galut Queen.

They swore. Gunan of Geniges sought to ascertain, You won’t, ah, ask about for oaths, then, Temujin?

Does that become me?

Never hurt to ask.

He hesitated. But he rejected his first piece of opinion from Gunan, after he had enlisted Gunan for opinion, where his strength lay. No. In the circumstances, I won’t go to them. I hope they come to me.

Blue Jos noted, Jamuqa doesn’t give his voice, but only regrets he didn’t have the chance to in the Qorqonag.

He is very right to fault us, said the new khan.

He pitched at Blue Lake by Black Heart Hill: the nearest thing he had to family grounds, where he had spent his fifteenth to eighteenth years, just north of the triangle of streams that outlined Hodoe Aral, Meadow Island, grounds of Free Baharin and Geniges.

An ordo, a court camp that has to host whoever came from the hundred tribes or further afield in royal style, needs staff. Temujin’s knights, with his sworn Jalaya and the slaves who had escaped to him from Tayichiut, became his staff under a general designation of cherbin, or stewards. They chose their jobs. There were guards: qorchin, Archers, an outer defence, were his felt sheets against the wind, the skirts of his tent that sheltered him; ulduchin, Swords, were the guardians of order inside camp, licensed to cut through the proud neck of the noyon, cut out the haughty heart of the great. His brother Khazar he made Captain of Sword. Of equal honours, but less belligerence, he made Belgutei his aqtachi, in charge of his mounts and equipage, flags and standards. There were morichin to milk the milch mares. Degei, ex-slave of Tayichiut, undertook to tend the speckled sheep, the swarthy wethers and the brown ewes, with attached rights to off-cuts of the organs and the guts, his sad fault being gluttony. None of this was other than traditional. Degei’s brother Guchugur, alongside Badugun from the chiefly family of Dorben, as wagoneers, spoke a poetry of axle-trees, lynch-pins and suspension struts, and gave warranty against accidents due to faulty upkeep. Three cooks promised to be diligent to give him drink and not neglect his hunger. Several of his early knights who had taught him when he knew next to nothing about the world, such as Jirqoan of Oronar and Jungso of Noyojin, he kept free of specific function to have on hand. His elchis, agents and messengers, he had already employed: Wild Arkai, Jakurqan (always Jak), Taki and Lefthand Sukegei – his arrows to fly near and far. Jak’s brother Zabadai (always Zab) whose skills didn’t fit any old service description in verse, made up his own: I am your rat, I am your black crow. I go about and gather, I pick up scraps, I glean from here and there, I come back to my hoard. No-one glances twice at rats and crows. They ought, for rats and crows are both sharp knives, but he didn’t put that in his verses.

At the end of this dibs for offices, with the stewards drawn up in a half-moon, he said he must have chiefs of staff. Bo’orchu and Jelme, when I had no followers but my shadow, you were my shadows; you eased my mind, and in my mind you stay. When I had no store outside of my fat, you sustained me on your fat; you eased my heart, and in my heart you stay. Bo’orchu and Jelme, be my chiefs of staff. These two stood to the front, side by side. Then Temujin said to the cherbin as a whole, You are the ones who had faith in me. Heaven and Earth have moved to meet your faith. You are forever the ones: my nokors and my friends, my happy spirits, the angels who watch over me. You are my inner circle. Approach me at any time – walk in to me day or night without introduction, without interception. Because you were here first, before I was khan, from now on, no-one else who enters my service can be so close to me.

When people titled him Temujin Khan he told them, Call me either Temujin, my name, or else Tchingis Khan, the title Tangr gave me.

This was a step he had thought through. Since he must found a government on omens – on dreams and omens, as Gunan of Geniges once catcalled – for his conscience’s sake he embraced the child’s mistaken Turkic, if the word were that, or God’s name for him, that might have a significance to God. Galut had said obey God and your queen, and he liked to feel them both at his back, when he dwelt on the fact there had been no hur altai for him. He meant to have one in future – he meant to bargain with Jamuqa to have one, at the cost of an encounter between them, and step down if Mongols voted for a different man. That was the other way he quieted his conscience. In the meantime, the chiefs and captains in Qorqonag Meadows, whether they thought the shaman-child mad, misled or genuine, were witnesses. Hear the voice of Heaven. Government on earth I give to Temujin, and I name him Tchingis Khan. If he was in, he figured, he was in. He had no other excuse to be here.

There did exist an arguable derivation of the word that he liked, though ungrammatical, because the is made a plural of an adjective. Tching meant straight and true, after the way of an arrow’s flight: you said, his heart is tching. You can’t be true-hearted in plural, but at least, he liked the resonance.

And Borte – Borte was Borte Queen.

After Sacha’s meet Borte and he had quite an honest interchange on the distance that had inserted itself between them. They were in their little Uriangqot tent, where they had been happy, and Temujin began to her, There, Borte, we are now the luminaries that your father dreamt. Though what the saintly noyon, as my father described yours, might have to say of Sacha if he knew the means, spare us from discovery. Still, I can be glad I have lived up to his forecast, and that while he’s alive.

Borte had divulged to him more about her time as a captive than he had heard up to that point. When I was stolen, Temujin, I believed I had failed my fate – failed to grasp the great fate that God held out to me – if I were single-hearted in commitment. I know how you felt, Temujin, when you were afraid you’d disappoint.

It’s very true. I was afraid of being a fraud – to you, Borte, and to my knights.

I have thought that you ought to take another... queen.

His hair went stiff, he felt, where he grew his tails at the rear of his head. Another... queen? You mean another wife. And why? And what does another wife avoid for you, when you are my first, and others have to sit in the back row, like Buri Wrestler’s? Why do you say so, Borte, now – now when I need you most?

She didn’t pursue the thought.

Oh, Borte, I have never had courage to ask: did he hurt you?

In a mechanical way she gave out much information. He was not harsh towards me, no. Rather he cast himself in the part of my friend. I admit, he tried to keep me from Toqtoa, from Toqtoa and his spirits, when they took me for interrogation.

His hair remained stiff and stuck out. Interrogation, about me. About the prophecy?

Yes. I’d have been stronger against them, Temujin, if not... if not... But this proved too much for her.

Borte, I can never forgive myself for that day, that day when I didn’t know who those riders were, but thought them Tayichiut, and you not endangered. I wish to ask whether you forgive me, Borte, or whether you don’t.

Did you not come with four tumens to my rescue?

Then, Borte, the harm done may be healed, by our loving-kindness to each other?

She gave him her hand.

With which, he judged no better than to say, Ah, but it is a shame you cannot love the child.

I know you think me unmotherly, Temujin. I promise you, I won’t be a cruel mother to your children. But that one – no – I cannot.

Although the father was not harsh towards you, that you hate the father in the child?

I hate – and she stared at the child averse, where he lay alongside her red-haired baby Jagatai. I hate that he spent nine months with me when I was another’s wife, and was witness to my shame. Souls are wise, Temujin, when they are in womb and not yet of the world, wise and aware. No-one saw my shame but Tchilger, who I hear is dead, and God, and Tchilger’s child.

Unhappily he threw out, To no purpose, then, have I claimed him mine, since I meant to be kind to you. We might have found another home for him.

Very low she asked him, Can we not?

No, Borte. I have said he is my first son. If he does not have ears to hear, he’ll hear when he grows up, that I took him to my heart and hearth at first, and afterwards, when he was an infant without offence, cast him off. Borte, you ought to know of me that there are things I have to expiate. The first son who isn’t a first son – why, my fate might have set me a test. My fate might have sent me a punishment. Or God has given me a chance to mend.

She said nothing, although his last ideas were hard to understand.

Temujin sighed, and eyed the dark child with ambivalence. Must I be his mother too – oh, his mother only, if I am no father to him? No-one answered. Unless his mind’s eye answered him, that saw Olir Ulqu, the scrubby sour-pear and two arrows crossed inside a heart. A punishment, or a chance to mend: which, was very possibly up to him. Temujin shook himself, and picked up Jochi, who wasn’t often in people’s arms, and cradled him.

For the first year Temujin ran a much-frequented ordo, and listened to his guests’ suggestions on Mongol affairs, and judged a few cases bumped up to him by chiefs: cases very grave, or inter-jurisdictional, or cases tedious and knotty and defiant of satisfaction. But he did nothing radical and caused no great disturbance. He was determined on a modest start, that people did not say he forgot his age and ignorance. Though keen to widen what he had begun with his liberation of the Jugeled, he only introduced the bee in his hat as a thesis for discussion when his stewards and his guests sat to solve Mongol ills: that inside slavery, Mongol ownership of Mongol slaves, was an abuse of no antiquity, a result of tribal wars in modern times, and only hobbled the Mongols, whose population had been on the wane since Bor Nor, in any big-scale attempt to throw soldiers up on horses. The second argument was Jamuqa’s, and earnt more committal noises than the first. Slavery was an unfortunate circumstance of life, like bad luck at knucklebones – nobody maintained the desirability of Mongol slaves against him. Not, he thought, because he was the khan.

In this first year Khazar drilled his Ulduchin and cut a figure but cut no necks through. Borte spent her third year in a row pregnant – another boy, by the name of Ogodoi. Most women kept their children at the teat until three or four and avoided overload. Not that to nurse securely closed the door: Hoelun found herself with Khazar while she nursed Temujin, and fed them both, on the right and on the left for physical strengths and mental, until she had to let Temujin fend for himself because Khazar suckled for two. It hadn’t done him much harm to lose the teat, although they say of the self-confident, he’s four years on mother’s milk. With Jochi he hoped that camel’s milk from father’s hands sufficed. And Borte had left off with Jagatai and come to him, and Ogodoi had happened. Bo’orchu wed Aya daughter of Arichi of the Free Baharin, after four years’ fascination with her in spite of impossibility to start on. When they met the girl had an engagement, but he had not come home from the Merqot campaign.

One day, a year into his government, a Jalaya – identified by his kingfisher-blue silk coat and his extravagance of arms – came to court with a suit. Tchingis Khan, on his double-seat couch with Borte Queen, greeted the stranger as royalty ought and with the right old-fashioned turn of speech... and felt a fish to water, after a lifetime’s fears. Ask of me, my brother, and Tangr grant I have the thing you need.

I sue for protection: protection from the tribe of Jajirat. Jamuqa’s twenty-nine want me dead.

The man had slain a Jajirat. He said his name was Jochi Darmala and he was at feud with Taichar of Jajirat – a feud that went back a way, to his great-uncle and Taichar’s grandfather. In his heart Jochi Darmala had set aside the enmity since the misfortunes of Jajirat. He had come from Jalaya into Hirai to trade Dalai Lake pearls for Turk horses, and was still in Hirai territory, near Galutai Nor and Gun Nor, when Taichar, as rude as an eagle with your dinner, swooped in his face and seized his two Turk chargers. It had never been a bloody feud, just this daylight robbery, turn by turn. But Jochi was tired of the game, and in no mind to sacrifice his purchases. He meant to take them back – not retort with a couple of Taichar’s, perhaps even to suggest to him they give over. Jochi thought they both had bigger fish to fry. With his six journey-comrades he went in pursuit. By the time they got to Olegei Spring his travel-withs had told a lot of fairy tales about the Jajirat. Every one of the six uninvolved himself. As he had no back-up, Jochi took to nighttime robbery, if robbery were the word, walked in and untied his Turk chargers from Taichar’s door. When his enemy awoke untimely, shots were exchanged. They both shot, neither in jest; Taichar had the worse. Jochi came straight to Tchingis Khan, because a few of those fairy tales about Jajirat were perfectly true.

A king is at the mercy of his suitors, for he never does refuse; but that is the way things ought to be. Jochi Darmala’s feud was of the most conventional – silly as most are – the death a deplorable result, that might have been expected. Temujin gave him safeguard and urged him to stay inside the circle of his Archers. He too knew the Jajirat.

This act of protection earnt him a message from Jamuqa, after twelve months of no contact. The message went, I hear you give refuge to the slayer of Taichar. That is a pity, because we Jajirat have a pact: to any of them I stand in for next-of-kin, since we are the only kin each other has. As Taichar’s next-of-kin, I ask you to withdraw your protection from Jochi Darmala.

There were facts he hadn’t known about Jajirat. However, Temujin had to send back, Taichar was slain in course of feud, and Jochi Darmala is not at fault. I had no grounds to refuse him. Forgive the feud you have on Taichar’s behalf, Jamuqa, if you can.

To which Jamuqa sent, Jochi Darmala boasts, from the safety of your court, that the famous thirty Jajirat are now twenty-nine. Those twenty-nine are the only human beings in the world who care a goat’s toenail about me. They demand your Jalaya. Endure the slight tarnish to your kingly airs, Temujin, and eject him from your court. If you don’t, we come into your court and get him.

Jamuqa, I have guaranteed this man, who goes in fear for his life. Even if he murdered Taichar, which he didn’t, I can’t retract my protection. Your Jajirat must endure the death of their comrade. – I add that there are still thirty in the world.

Jamuqa’s next message was short and off the point. Is Unicorn alive?

Yes, Unicorn is alive. He lives a life of luxury for the sake of him who gave him.

In the name of andaship I enjoin you: ride no other horse on the third, the fourth or the fifth of the month ahead. No need to send again; we know where we stand.

At this juncture Temujin consulted his nokor Mulqalqu, who had joined him from Jajirat, who was one of the twenty-nine – the odd one out. He told over their messages, to the last from Jamuqa, and asked, Does he mean what I think he means?

Mulqalqu glanced up to God and answered, Yes.

He’s going to fight his way into my court for Jochi Darmala?

Yes. Of course he is. Temujin, have you thought about the fact that not one of the Jajirat survivors, the Jajirat thirty, has died? We came unscathed through the forest, and since, none has had a fatal wound, accident or disease, for seven years after Toqtoa’s slaughter. It’s uncanny, and they half-believe this tale: that Jamuqa went down to Irle Khan and made a wager with him for a duel of wits, the stakes Jamuqa’s soul, if he lost, or if he won, whatever he asked. Jamuqa outwitted Irle Khan. He asked for us. The king of the dead, in his greed, had most of Jajirat; these thirty are exempt.

Taichar’s death, then, strips them of invincibility. A great blow to Jajirat, but I begin to think, not before time.

There is more, Temujin. Three of them have messaged me and incited me to make a ghost of Jochi Darmala where I pass him by in your ordo.

Have they so? They haven’t reckoned on my Captain of Sword. I’d permit him to cut necks in such a case. – I do not mean you, Mulqalqu, who are honour from head to foot.

His knight persisted. The pact Jamuqa talks of, that we sealed up in the forest, to join us beyond any doubt. We didn’t hack in twain an oath-horse and send him heavenwards to Tangr and partake of the sacraments his vitals. For more fear of punishment we went to the dread arrest-sergeant of oaths, and dispatched to Irle Khan one of our human enemies.

With this impious tale, at last, he got through to his listener. The young khan stared at him aghast. The Jajirat nodded solemnly.

They were in the court tent, quite alone – even Bo’orchu and the queen shut out while he made inquiry of Mulqalqu. Now Temujin got up from his couch and continued discussions on his feet. There are twenty-eight of them, since you are with me. They may be in league with Irle Khan – which is a story, Mulqalqu, you won’t tell again – but I answer for my stewards. We are sufficient to fend them off, if they are intent on a fight.

It isn’t a fight that we face, my king, but a battle.

What do you mean?

Are Jajirat going to arrive as less than thirty, when they know you are warned? Obviously, they won’t get near Jochi Darmala that way, but lose a few more of their magic number, and lose their legend. Is Jamuqa likely to lead them here for that?

But Jamuqa warned me.

He did, and I think he must be mad. He does right to declare war, note you: a state of hostility has to be announced. But not the damned date of the attack. He condemns us to a major battle with his dates. Either he’s in the mood for a slap-up battle, or Temujin, he thought more important to send you a hint about your horse. You have from nine to eleven days for preparation. I suggest you use the time wisely, and call in whoever you have.

I don’t understand you. Jamuqa only wants me to be recognised.

And after he’s seen to your chances, he’ll see to the chances of his Jajirat. To his utmost, for he is a dedicated captain. Uru’ud and Mangqot have fought for him before and revere him. Tayichiut I needn’t mention – they’ll be here entire.

The young khan wagged his head from side to side. This isn’t going to happen. This is absurd.

Agreed. But believe me, or your ordo’s defenders are dead.

Down his tent he stalked, and up. Maybe he trusts me. He threw a stern glance at his Jajirat knight. Have you thought of that, Mulqalqu? Trusts me to await him as I am. His Jajirat, against my stewards – that is an equal contest. Bloody, but equal and between we two. What if he comes with just his Jajirat, and finds an army at my ordo, and sees that I have thought worse of him than he has of me?

It’s possible, returned Mulqalqu equably. But you are Tchingis Khan, and I do not think you’ll risk your stewards’ lives on a sentimental possibility.

The green eyes blazed at him, before he turned his back and stalked down his tent. At the south end he stopped and said quietly, No. I only tell you I’ll be ashamed if he is just the Jajirat.

He came out from his talks with Mulqalqu and gathered the cherbin about the porch of his tent. He told them, We anticipate trouble from Jajirat over my protection of Jochi Darmala. We don’t know what size this trouble is to be, but we shouldn’t underestimate. The date, by fortune, we do know, because Mulqalqu has had approaches: between nine and eleven days’ time. We must use that time to call in who we can.

Instinctively, to shield Jamuqa from too much question, he smudged the truth. He had left Jamuqa alone with his demons so as not to lie to his friends. But how were his friends to understand that Jamuqa was on both sides?

Most punctual upon his need was Caliudar. My sword against a straw we get a sight of our old masters Tayichiut. They never thought much of you, Temujin. Wait until the Jugeled hear this – eh, Dodai? We’ll round them up this afternoon.

On his heels Onggor said, I’ll fetch in the Jangsiut.

Hachiun, Harqai and Haraldi found each other and came forward. In nine days we can’t, but in eleven days we can. Ten days is a maybe. Indigo Tuq is at your service, life and death. They are on Dalai Lake.

Temujin laid a hand on their right shoulders, one by one. Go by the stores and start out right away.

Bo’orchu walked up with Jirqoan of Oronar after a brief heads-together. How about we alert Blue Jos, Temujin? Hodoe Aral can ride here in a day and a half, if they’re at the ready.

Free Baharin is brother-tribe to Jajirat.

Nevertheless, Jirqoan proposes he goes and tells them the news.

Yes, Temujin decided. Do that.

Zab drifted over and said in his ear, Your big question is whether he’ll have Uru’ud and Mangqot with him.

Truly, Zab, on that question hangs a great deal, or in short, our lives. You are my rat and my black crow. Can you rustle me up that information?

With only a wink for an answer Zab slipped out of sight. Zab is how the Uriangqot say sub, which is an eye-hole about your gear or in military terms, a strategic point.

On the sixth day Zab returned from Qorqonag Meadows, where nobody had noticed him. The answer is yes. The main of Uru’ud and Mangqot, and the whole of Tayichiut. I don’t have figures, but I have his order of battle, because Uru’ud and Mangqot talk in envy about the Tayichiut Wolves who have the honours of first charge. Uru’ud wait for second and Mangqot for third, and grumble that the battle might be past. When archery charges have us in confusion Tayichiut come in with blades.

Tchingis Khan sent again to Blue Jos of Free Baharin and Gunan of Geniges, and said he must engage Hodoe Aral in this sad conflict, for he was threatened with numbers beyond him.

That day, too, his head shepherd Degei tackled him, almost as roughly as he tackled sheep, on the Jorkimes. Call in Jorkimes, Temujin. They are as nasty as any Uru’ud.

No, not Jorkimes.

Why not them?

If I call they have to come, for their oath in Blackbramble Ring. But Degei, I have grasped that Jamuqa tries to humble me. He isn’t wrong to do so, as he has his facts right. The plain fact is – the fact we are up against – he has more people on his side.

And this is a reason not to call Jorkimes?

I won’t coerce people. I won’t coerce them into an intertribal battle, for an unelected khan. Should this battle be the end of my khanship, I acquiesce.

His head shepherd nodded. You are too proud to call Jorkimes. Pride is a heady and a hearty liquor, but by kings in particular, ought to be drunk in moderation. This liquor won’t keep you and your staff alive.

Yes, I wish to be proud. I wish to be proud, since we are to fight our own. There are... Temujin paused, and was seen by onlookers to swallow. There are people I love on the other side. At least, I’ll fight with those I love, and those who feel a loyalty to me. No-one else belongs by me, when we slay and are slain against Jamuqa and the Tayichiut Wolves. You ask me to set Jorkimes onto those? Just say Sacha Chief stretches his bow at Jaqan Ghoa – what do you ask me to do? Because I know what I’d do. If you want your captain to remember which side he’s on, Degei, send him out with friends.

A few friends, rather than an imperfect mixture. We might find the point dainty on the day.

Several voices told him to be quiet. His brother Guchugur, who was there, stepped in. Degei, you never know when to leave off. Forgive him, Tchingis Khan. I am very sure you are right, and I’ll beat him about the head until he is. Kiss his hand, Degei, and ask him to forget your rudeness.

Degei was contrite. I don’t mean to be rude. Guchugur can vouch I never do. If I am slain, I am slain as a free Mongol –

Too free, inserted his brother.

– and that I owe to you, my honoured king. I’ll have no complaints.

Temujin said, When I promulgated your right of free speech, I’m glad I inserted the clause that no-one else can stand to me where my stewards stand. You are enough for me. He kissed Degei’s cheeks.

But on the day, he was bitterly to rue he had not called Jorkimes.

On the eighth day Temujin asked Belgutei, his keeper of mounts, to have Unicorn for him tomorrow. Bo’orchu was by and criticised his choice. He isn’t a battle mount, Temujin – he’s vicious. Lucky, maybe, but I’d trust to a horse who does what I tell him, if I were you.

Temujin mentioned whose the choice of horse had been.

His piece of information staggered Bo’orchu. Jamuqa told you to ride Unicorn? Jamuqa wants you to be recognised? I’ll bet he does. Temujin... your naivety...

By the outer signs, there was a violent commotion in Temujin. He said, Bo’orchu. Though you are my first nokor, God help me, if you again insult my anda’s honour to my face. He wheeled away.

In his rear Bo’orchu and Borte edged together. Borte murmured, I have tried to insult Jamuqa to him too.

His life is in danger, Borte. Grave danger. He’s a target for Jajirat.

This time, dear friend, I am almost sure you are mistaken. Jamuqa means to humiliate my husband as he has been humiliated. If he crushes Temujin in battle, perhaps he can have his pride back. But he won’t hurt him. – I am almost sure, Bo’orchu, but encircle him, won’t you?

Don’t you worry there. They won’t get a glimpse of his horse.

Seche Domoc, the Jalaya champion in his winter with ruined finger-joints and a hunched back, father of Wild Arkai and Bala, paid a visit to Jorkimes and came back with Jorkimes’ Jalaya. If Temujin fought to defend one of their own, they were in. They hadn’t told Jorkimes there was a battle on, nor said they mightn’t be back. Jalaya took their liberties, and one couldn’t quibble, since they enslaved themselves out of ancient honour.

Also on the eighth day, two Iqira, unknown to Temujin, came to warn him that Jamuqa marched upon him. These Iqira nobles, Mulke and Nogodar, had been in Qorqonag Meadows and knew what was afoot; they condemned the march of Mongol upon Mongol, for whatever cause, and thought to help the chances of the side assaulted. They reported that Jamuqa’s army had taken the pass between the Mottled Sentinels and was due to arrive in Dalan Baljut at noon the day after tomorrow. Along with this intelligence they told the number of them.

Noon on the tenth day. Jungso of Noyojin blew a whistle through his reduced ranks of teeth, smashed in another quarrel. Temujin, you’ll have to keep this anda of yours talking into the eleventh day. We can’t do without Indigo Tuq. With Indigo Tuq, we come to two-thirds his size and can give account of ourselves – more account than these hardbitten tribes of Jajirat and Uru’ud and Mangqot think to hear of us.

Aye, they’ll hear a loud account of me, growled Qadan Daldurqan, in days of peace his cook. Similar sentiments echoed around.

You are brave, Tchingis Khan said to his court, which sat now on a bivouac of felts. They are hardbitten and hardboiled tribes and they do mean to trample us. This is not a brothers’ mock-fight. I’ll try to keep my anda talking. We haven’t seen each other in a while and we have a lot to talk about. Then he turned his attention to the brothers from Mangqot who had joined his nokod in the Qorqonag, and who had been quiet these past eight days. Jetei and Doqolqu, I excuse you from service in this battle, which, hard for us, is an impossible battle to you. I’m going to send you into Hodoe Aral, where yesterday our wives removed with the wagons. I do not foresee that this enemy has business with the camp behind us. Nevertheless, in case I have misjudged, I’m glad to send to Borte Queen you two.

Jetei answered for them. Are these your orders, captain? If they aren’t orders, Doqolqu and I have thought up the solution to fight Tayichiut and Jajirat. Since you mention the matter, Temujin, we ask your permission to stay neutral where Mangqot and Uru’ud fight. But throw us at Tayichiut.

Thank you, companions. I won’t order away fit fighters. Where Mangqot and Uru’ud fight you are to lift no hand for either side. Next he turned to Jochi Darmala, where he sat with Seche Domoc and the Jorkimes Jalaya – the majestic figure of Gu’un Ghoa and fifteen others, armed to the teeth. You, Jochi, are the bone we fight over like dogs. He stopped there.

Tchingis Khan and knights, I sought to avoid a lynch mob of Jajirat, but I have caused a battle. At noon the day after tomorrow, I intend to go forward to Jamuqa Chief of Jajirat and demand of him that he duel me. The death of one of us ends our war.

This was straight out of the epics. To duel the renowned Jamuqa, in front of rival armies of barrackers, meant glory for Jochi Darmala, either way. Temujin saw he was keen... and that he liked his chances. He was hefty, and Jamuqa very slight-framed, not built for whacks with sword or axe on foot; like a woman, horses and archery were what made him equal. Jamuqa might be hacked off his feet, but that wasn’t the point. The point was Unicorn. Go into battle they did, he and his anda. But by God, under each other’s safeguard.

Temujin told Jochi Darmala, For that you do not have my permission. Fight alongside us like any other.

Nobody signified disappointment. With the exception of his knight Badugun, a chief of Dorben, accustomed to be chiefly. He should duel, said Badugun.

Tchingis Khan observed him. I have spoken.

Dalan Baljut meant the Unnumbered Swamps and was the bog-end of the streams that enclosed Hodoe Aral. Most of the year the swamps were frozen, as they were when the armies met: great flats of dead brown reeds and grey frosty soil and pools that held suspended the corpses of otters, caught at the instant of the ice in swimming postures, or red and yellow remains of the autumn.

Jamuqa rode Toqtoa’s trophy mare, off-white, black-pointed, on a Tartar seat, high arches of ornamental silver fore and aft. He wore a winterfur of snow leopard, near white with black whorls, hood thrown behind his dark head from a white scarf underneath, embroidered about his brows with a band of silver thread. The effect was kingly and fantastic: he might be Irle Khan himself, the king of ghosts, in his eery splendour. He shouted out, not in a belligerent tone, but as if in joke. Where is this khan with the nonsense name? The khan nobody behind me voted for.

Temujin walked Unicorn out towards him. His only feature of note was his horse with a horn on the forehead; Tchingis wore boiled leather, like his troops. But he hadn’t been told there was a competition on. They came face to face in the space between the armies.

With an offhand humour, nearly a grin, Jamuqa told him, I have to talk like that, Temujin, you understand. If I didn’t pluck that string, I’d have nobody left in the Qorqonag to fight you with.

I thought our fight was about Jochi Darmala.

Do you want to hand him over now, Temujin? There’ll be derision, of course. You’ll never hear the end of how I cowed you. But there’ll be no bloodshed – aside from Jochi’s. I won’t have to set the Wolves on you. Believe me, you’d have pity on Jaqan Ghoa, if you’d seen his angel’s face when I honoured him with the first charge.

You test me sternly, Jamuqa. I wonder what you want me to do? You’d hate me to hand him over and go back on a promise.

I wonder what I want you to do, too. Ruin your integrity? Or try to fight me? I thought you might hand him over, as a matter of fact, for the lives of those people behind you. For their sake, you’ve been a flagrant coward before.

Temujin made the elementary mistake of temper. You are unnokorly and unnoyonly, Jamuqa. You accuse me of cowardice when we are poised for battle. I know how to answer.

Jamuqa laughed in a strange exhilaration. I swear to God you’re a hard man to anger, Temujin. But it’s worth the effort – I feel quite inebriated by your eyes. I’d rather demonstrate our love in front of both our armies right here and now. I’ll tell you what: I’ll forget my feud with Jochi Darmala for a decent kiss.

Now, he had no idea how to answer.

Not on? Shall we fight it out, then?

Temujin touched his whip to Unicorn’s flank and they walked back to his stewards. He told them, I have been unable to negotiate. He was over his temper. He knew he had negotiated the way a squirrel does with a lynx. Perhaps Jamuqa calculated that he had Indigo Tuq to wait for – he was shockingly intelligent, even when he was insane. Temujin felt outdone on every front, and acknowledged that Jamuqa meant to give him his comeuppance, and possibly usurp him just to spite him.

Without doubt his stewards gave vent to internal expletives, but faces were phlegmatic. Except for Badugun, who swore aloud. Crack of thunder but that was a short attempt to keep him talking.

He was hauled into order. For this there was Jelme, formerly Temujin’s door guard, who knew how to treat an intruder. We’re at war, soldier. At war you don’t question your captain. A third breach earns you strokes. Like any Uriangqot Jelme was five foot high, but he had stature.

Temujin tried to ignore the distraction and keep his mind clear. Battle order, he said to Bo’orchu, and Bo’orchu transmitted to the staff and chiefs, Into your battle order and stand. Beside him Belgutei held his tuq and his spare mount, although Temujin – unless Jamuqa forsook Toqtoa’s mare, exchanged for Unicorn in token of their oath – meant to stick to one horse or fight on foot. His tuq, of course, he had never taken into battle: furnished by Galut Queen, an iron ring with nine luxuriant white yaks’ tails, washed and brushed by Belgutei until they blew and glittered like the Milky Way, and above a symbol that went back through Turks to Huns, of heaven’s grace on kings, in iron, the horns of the moon. Jamuqa’s black tassels stood in the enemy centre; on his left hand the black-and-white stripe of Uru’ud and Mangqot, on his right hand Tarqutai’s scarlet standards and silk flags. Temujin heard a horn blast and there detached from the right the wolf’s head and tail of Jaqan Ghoa.

In disbelief he saw that Jamuqa had done nothing to change the Wolves’ usual equipment.

They were Tayichiut’s crack troops for close engagement and fought with axe and spear. They weren’t to initiate a battle, they were for later, for if the archery left the question in the air. They had no bows. Before they got near enough to hurl their spears Temujin’s archers might have shot the pack of them from their horses.

Did Jamuqa think to make impossible for him to fight? Or else, to make him fight, on ugly terms, against his friends? I wonder what I want you to do, too.

And what of Tarqutai their chief? He distrusted his Wolves for their old friendship with Yesugei; and he had more cause to distrust them than he was aware. In the Qorqonag, Jaqan Ghoa had vowed to come at Temujin’s call, through his chieftain if he had to. Because to rebel against a chieftain meant to break your tribal bones and be cursed by your ancestors, Temujin had not called him, in the past ten days. Three people had been privy to that vow: himself, Jaqan Ghoa and Jamuqa.

Were the Wolves in disgrace, was this a punishment, and God save a few if he saw fit? Temujin had heard of such things, in lieu of a capital sentence: sent to fight on a hazardous front, pardoned if you come home. What had happened in Qorqonag Meadows, over twelve months?

Unlike their custom, the Wolves came on silently. They loped their horses but they did not howl. In a tight fist they aimed at Temujin’s centre, where he stood with his ranks of stewards – to punch him out and end the battle at a blow. Bo’orchu asked him, Do we shoot?

No. I won’t be Tarqutai’s executioner. We’ll engage them only with close quarters weaponry, as they fight. These are my strict instructions.

Bo’orchu said, Yes, sir, and went about his task, to tell the others.

He never did see Jaqan Ghoa’s face, even when he was within distance. The whole unit had on shaggy masks with holes for the eyes, which was new. Temujin understood they were ashamed and hid their faces. He felt no temptation to change his mind and shoot. Nobody lost discipline under the charge. Khazar began to limber up his sword-arm with artistic slashes in the air. Jungso of Noyojin took a hatchet from his belt, his old trusty with the blade thinned from forty years’ service in his hands.

They were about at a spear’s throw, when Jaqan Ghoa howled. He howled like a triumphant wolf chief and swung around his horse. His troops exploded into hideous rounds of wolf music, and wheeled, and flung themselves, on a wide front, very fast, at Uru’ud.

Temujin paused only to shout, After, and shoot over them at Uru’ud. They need our fire. He set off, and his stewards with him.

Uru’ud thought they had seen the gamut of behaviour in war. Tartar, for instance, switched sides against Tartar a dozen times and back again. But they had not seen a Mongol tribal unit turn traitor to its tribe, and they were shocked. They hesitated. Fire from the stewards drove them onto the back foot, and then the Wolves were on them.

The battle was nasty from the start.

In a total rage, Tayichiut forgot about archery altogether and plunged to the attack with iron. From where he was Temujin heard Tarqutai rave about mutiny and turncoats; he bawled across the battle to Uru’ud not to give them a death in action; take them prisoner for his punishment; he’d cut the heads off the whole unit. Hodoe Aral drew hand-weapons to block them on the right. They made a sturdy line, but outnumbered by betrayed Tayichiut, they had about as much as can be coped with.

To the outer left, Jangsiut and Jugeled encountered Mangqot, and these too did not remain at distance. There is an elegance to archery; along with battle order it was lost. Jangsiut and Jugeled were two ex-slave tribes, tough as the downtrodden tend to be and dirty fighters. They were only slowly whittled away.

Centre-left, the Wolves together with the stewards met the irate Uru’ud and the Jajirat. This was vicious. The Wolves never left off howling. When they were out of horses they rushed in on foot and axed Uru’ud horses like a big, messily conducted pledge to heaven. Temujin knew Jaqan Ghoa by his badges and tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t answer. None of the Wolves used their human voices after they had drawn on their masks. He saw they did not mean to leave alive. They had come at the higher call, but the cost was too high to live with. Besides, they listened to Tarqutai, who told them they were dead men if they lost.

Temujin fought Uru’ud. Jajirat he backed from, and he went nowhere near Jamuqa, who stood out and did as he liked in his Irle Khan costume. But he killed Uru’ud in close work, until he noticed that they didn’t know what to do about him and were afraid to strike him back. Then he killed no more of them. He might have got off Unicorn and tried to die like the Wolves, but instead he took the opportunity of his invisible armour to tour the battle. Its disorder, perhaps, didn’t greatly worry the one whose win had never been threatened. When he had seen Jamuqa’s right hand and his left hand Temujin came to his conclusions, and found Bo’orchu, who was always thereabouts.

We disengage. He stared into Bo’orchu’s face to catch his thoughts.

You’re right to do so, sir. We’ve lost this fight.

Disengagement wasn’t easy. Jamuqa had him in his hands and he didn’t want to stop squeezing quite yet. So far Tarqutai hadn’t got his hands on any Wolf and he had no notion of a cease to hostilities. To turn their backs was just as fatal as to stay. Temujin thought they must be slaughtered.

When he was in that position, a gorgeously clad brigade under their violet-blue flags galloped from the east. Since they came late, Indigo Tuq threw down their flags and their lives to be a barricade between his back and Jamuqa’s cruelty.

They split up in their escape, afraid of a pursuit, that can finish off an army, that isn’t a thing to be dispensed with, that is thought the hind end of battle. Indigo Tuq spared them, and their speed. Hodoe Aral went to lick their wounds at home, to both defend and be defended by the home wagons, the women and their flocks and herds. The rest went north to the Woundabout Mountains, an old geographical castle, Jerene Narrows.

At one point Bo’orchu and Jelme steered Temujin away to fix the tear streaks in the dirt on his face. Jelme, with his fawnskin shirt and a chunk of ice in his armpit, scrubbed him clean; Bo’orchu sat with his arms around him. That stayed with Temujin.

He had people to weep for. Jirqoan of Oronar, the first of Bultachu Ba’atur’s knights to track him to his door, in the belief that God had spoken and promised Mongols great days under him. Seche Domoc, that meant Big-Talk, in his age, who went the way a champion wants to go. Dodai the Jugeled under-chief who had come with him in defiance of his masters Tayichiut; Tchilgutei the Suldu who had fled to him, likewise, for freedom. Half of Indigo Tuq, whom he had never met, and two out of three of their clan heads.

A week after the battle the Iqira couple sought him out, the gentlemanly Mulke and Nogodar who had thought fair warfare to help the side assaulted. For thanks Temujin owed them a kingly gift – if he had kingly airs, but he was inadequately situated, beaten and chased into the gorges. He cast his mind about for tangible gratitude, but that wasn’t why they had come. They had lately been to Dalan Baljut and they had an atrocious tale, which must be recounted to the khan. They said they were sorry they hadn’t acknowledged him khan when they met before; now they wished to swear to him the oath of loyal service. First they had to tell their tale, although abominable to the worms in the ground and the flies in the air that might overhear. With this introduction they told Tchingis Khan and his companions the fate of the Wolves.

Jamuqa had hacked the head off Jaqan Ghoa’s corpse. He tied his hair tails to his horse’s tail and dragged him through the frozen swamps, until his wolf mask tore off and his features tore, and his ancestors wouldn’t know his spirit.

Uru’ud took a few of them alive. Alas, not few enough. First Tarqutai cursed them on behalf of Tayichiut from their founder down. They never spoke. Tarqutai didn’t remove their masks: he said he’d have to walk the tribe past and spit in their faces and frankly they weren’t worth Tayichiut spit. Jamuqa had giant cauldrons fiercely boiled on sheep’s dung, which burns white-hot. Jajirat tied their hands behind their backs, thrust them head down in the cauldrons and held their feet.

Jajirat cut out their hearts and sliced them, and went about and cast the slices into the army’s mutton stew. Jamuqa told his army, This is how they treat a traitor in the forest. Eat, for these were your comrades who came against you.

Tayichiut and Uru’ud and Mangqot ate, with trepidation. Jajirat set the example and didn’t turn a hair, as if they had eaten human flesh before.

Temujin had a fit of violence and nothing in front of him to hurt. He prowled about, frantic but pent-up, and his friends told each other to stay out of his way. Belgutei shouldered through his friends and cuffed Temujin. Temujin attacked him. The wrestler knew how to deal with that. Both came away with a bit of damage, but Temujin exhausted his frenzy.

Bo’orchu said I told you so. To be exact he said, You have to execute him.

Execute him? Not the most practical idea in the circumstances. He has just clobbered the khan in battle.

You can sentence him.

Yes, I can say a sentence. But he has had his amusements out of me and I must try to disappoint him of any more.

Bo’orchu was a hound on the scent. You admit he’s a criminal and not fit to live?

I admit – I admit he’s several things. I don’t know whether he’s fit to live, but whether he is or not, I have an oath to him.

You have to abjure that oath. You have to divorce him.

You’ve given me a lot of have-tos. I’m not certain I wouldn’t swipe his head off if he were here before me. But have mercy on me, Bo’orchu. Because I’d be his anda while I did, and afterwards. You don’t know what you ask.

These were two or three days that, remembered, were too bad to be true. He blotted them: he knew of them, but as if he hadn’t been there, as if he went through them with his soul extinguished – snuffed out by Jamuqa, dragged at his horse’s tail, sliced up into the stew. What had been described to him he imagined from a strange perspective, as he were the head, as he were the slices, and spent these days as mad as Jamuqa.

How do you gauge the crime? It was only a century since there had been human sacrifices, say a prisoner of war ahead of a campaign. The odd one still happened. He didn’t know. Horrific effect wasn’t lessened for that; very neighbourhood, perhaps, rattled people, like Mulke and Nogodar. Or did you always hear of such things, a century ago, the folk next door? And then there is when the fairy tales are true: Jamuqa had witnessed, aged fifteen, his tribe strung up on trees. Perhaps you have to go one further.

The tatters of his court sat on a rocky shelf in the fir trees. They’d left behind their felts; they slept in their coats with their horse-seats for cushions, even those with wounds. A watch was kept at the neck of Jerene Narrows, just in case Jamuqa wasn’t satisfied.

There was desultory talk, half-hearted attempts to come to grips with the how and why of what had been done to the Wolves. Temujin spoke up. I know why he did it. I know why he did it from start to finish. To destroy me. To destroy me slowly, for a weapon was too quick, and thoroughly, to the soul. Had I understood how much he hates me, I’d have gone to him in the Qorqonag and challenged him in a way nobody can decline, and one of us would be dead, and the Wolves alive, and Indigo Tuq, and Jirqoan of Oronar and a battalion of Uru’ud. I am sorry.

The fir trees were very quiet.

Next they listened to Mulqalqu the Jajirat. He is my chieftain and I have the right to talk about him. He has lost his soul to Irle Khan, that much is plain. Maybe he bargained his soul to keep the Jajirat alive – I do not disbelieve any of our tales now. I am sorry for him, and I very much suspect he doesn’t hate you, Temujin – I witnessed how he loved you, but that he’d plunge you into evils, the evils he has known, to have your soul where he is, for companionship.

This was heavy material too.

Borte slipped to Temujin, where he sat with his hands on an upright knee, and laid hers over his. The wagons in Hodoe Aral she had left in Hoelun’s charge, and come. But you aren’t destroyed. You are our Tchingis, straight and true. She turned her head to those around. I said he is Tchingis Khan. What have his nokors to say?

Jungso of Noyojin answered to the queen’s demand. Lady, he is our God-given khan, as Bultachu Ba’atur told me.

The last of the three heads of Indigo Tuq, Harqai, vowed quickly. My tuq have laid down their lives for him. I’ll end my life in his service.

Wait, Borte, Temujin interrupted this. I made a series of mistakes. You should ask them about my mistakes.

Onggor shrugged. What mistakes, then? You were right not to shoot at the Wolves. And, ah, own up, people. I’d have said sorry and evened the numbers somewhat.

Next to him Khazar grunted. I’d have shot the lot in their tracks and said thank you. I thought my brother’s nobility had done for us. That’s why I’m his muscle. He grinned, sloppily, much the way the dog he was named for grins.

There is the possibility Jaqan Ghoa hoped for me to shoot.

Ridiculous. Zab spoke like an Uriangqot, who always speaks to an equal. Uriangqot never had a king. Didn’t you hear his howl? That was a wolf chief vindicated before his wolves. He promised them you wouldn’t. For those that had a traitor’s death, and by Jaqan Ghoa’s mutilated head, we owe them not to desert you now. What would their ghosts say of us? I’ll serve you in their memory.

Kharachar had a contribution. You were right not to buckle on Jochi Darmala. A khan’s protection has to be watertight. Has to be gospel. We’d have lost faith if you’d thrown him to the Jajirat. Even to save us. Even if at one stage or another we might have asked you to. I don’t like defeat, I never did, but in defeat I’ve learnt I have the right captain. That’s rare.

That’s a contradiction, you mean, Jetei the Mangqot told him. But Doqolqu and I have had a lucky escape. We were on the side of the angels when we might have damned ourselves with Jamuqa.

Soigetu struck a tentative note. The duel was a hurdle for me, I have to say. I went over blind, and we understood once Belgutei told us about your horse. From the Iqira we learn he threatened to tear the guts out of any who harmed his anda, and his troops obviously believed him, as they should. Shabby return to send him a duellist. Pity though, since Jochi Darmala was twice his size.

Ogele nodded. Yes, a shame the duel didn’t go ahead, but at least I know he doesn’t have the worst sin in a king, which is ingratitude.

Temujin prompted them. I should have called Jorkimes.

There was a general noise in throats. With hindsight, Jorkimes might have come in handy.

Mind you, Jorkimes aren’t the Jorkimes your great-grandfather and your grandfather knew. It’s the bully tribes – like Tayichiut – that kept their heads above water, kept their clout. I didn’t blame you not to want to fight beside them.

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