CHAPTER TWO

      Tolui stroked his wife’s damp hair idly as he lay back and watched his four sons whoop and splash in the waters of the Orkhon. The sun was warm as they lay there and only the presence of his guards nearby prevented complete relaxation. Tolui grimaced at the thought. There was no peace to be had in the camp, with every man wondering whether he was a supporter of Chagatai or Ogedai or the generals – or perhaps one who would inform for any of them. At times, he wished his two older brothers would settle it somewhere quiet, so that he could enjoy being alive on such a day, with a beautiful woman in his arms and four healthy sons pleading to be allowed to swim over a waterfall. He had forbidden it once, but he saw that Kublai had dared Mongke once again and the two of them were creeping closer and closer to the bank, where a goat path led up to the source of the roaring river. Tolui watched from under half-closed lids as the two older boys glanced guiltily at their parents, hoping they were asleep in the warm sun. Arik-Boke and Hulegu were in on it, of course, their bony boy’s frames almost shaking with excitement.

      ‘Do you see them?’ Sorhatani murmured.

      Tolui smiled. ‘I am half-tempted to let them try it. They swim like otters, both of them.’

      It was still a new skill to tribes raised on grassy plains. For those who learned to ride before they could speak, the rivers were the source of life for the herds, or an obstacle when they were swollen in floods. Only recently had they become a source of pleasure to the children of the tribe.

      ‘You won’t be the one who has to soothe their wounds when they take the skin off their backs,’ Sorhatani said, relaxing into him, ‘or splint their bones.’

      Yet she said nothing as Mongke suddenly darted for the track, his naked body gleaming. Kublai shot a last, sharp look at his parents, but neither moved, and in an instant, he was off as well.

      Tolui and Sorhatani both sat up as soon as the boys were out of sight. They exchanged a private look of amusement as Arik-Boke and Hulegu craned to see the top of the plunging falls above.

      ‘I don’t know who is worse, Mongke or Kublai,’ Sorhatani said, pulling a grass stalk and chewing the end. He chuckled and they both said ‘Kublai’ together.

      ‘Mongke reminds me of my father,’ Tolui said a little wistfully. ‘He fears nothing.’

      Sorhatani snorted softly. ‘Then you will remember what your father once said when he had to choose between two men to lead a thousand.’

      ‘I was there, woman,’ Tolui said, his mind leaping to her point. ‘He said Ussutai feared nothing and felt no hunger or thirst. That was why he was unfit to command.’

      ‘Your father was wise. A man needs to feel a little fear, Tolui, if only to have the pride of conquering it.’

      A wild shout made them both look up as Mongke came over the falls, yelling in excitement as he managed a crude dive and plunged into the pool at its foot. The drop was little more than ten feet, but to a boy of eleven, it must have been terrifying. Tolui relaxed and chuckled as he saw his oldest son surface, blowing and gasping, his teeth very white against his sun-browned skin. Arik-Boke and Hulegu cheered, their voices high as they looked up again for Kublai.

      He came over backwards in a tumble of limbs, moving so fast that he left the torrent of water and fell through empty air. Tolui winced at the flat smack that carried clearly across the water. He watched as the other three looked for him, calling and pointing to each other. Sorhatani felt her husband’s arms tense as he prepared to leap up, but then Kublai surfaced, roaring. His entire body was flushed red on one side and he limped as he climbed out, but they could see he was panting with exhilaration.

      ‘I’ll have to beat some sense into them,’ Tolui said.

      His wife shrugged. ‘I’ll get them dressed and send them to you.’

      He nodded, only half-aware that he had waited for her approval to punish the boys. Sorhatani smiled at him as he walked away. He was a good man, she thought. Not perhaps the strongest of his brothers, nor the most ruthless, but in all other ways, the best of the sons of Genghis.

      As she stood and gathered the clothes her sons had left on every bush around them, she recalled the one man who had made her afraid in her life. She cherished the memory of the time when Genghis had looked on her as a woman, rather than just the wife of one of his sons. It had been on the shore of a lake, thousands of miles away in a different land. She had seen the khan’s eyes brighten at her youth and beauty, just for an instant. She had smiled at him then, terrified and awed.

      ‘Now, there was a man,’ she murmured to herself, shaking her head with a smile.

      Khasar stood on the wooden base of the cart, leaning back against the white felt of the khan’s ger. It was twice as wide and half as high again as the homes of their people, and Genghis had used it for meeting his generals. Ogedai had never claimed the enormous construction, so heavy that the cart had to be pulled by six oxen. After the death of the great khan, it had sat empty for months before Khasar made it his own. As yet, no one had dared to dispute his right to it.

      Khasar smelled the fried marmot meat Kachiun had brought for the midday meal.

      ‘Lets eat outside. It’s too fine a day to sit in the gloom,’ he said.

      As well as the steaming platter, Kachiun carried a fat skin of airag which he tossed to his brother.

      ‘Where are the others?’ he said, placing the platter on the edge of the boards and sitting with his legs swinging.

      Khasar shrugged. ‘Jebe said he would be here. I sent a messenger to Jelme and Tsubodai. They’ll come or they won’t; it’s up to them.’

      Kachiun blew air from his lips in irritation. He should have passed on the messages himself, to be sure his brother didn’t forget or use the wrong words. There was no point in berating the man who was digging his fingers into the pile of steaming scraps. Khasar didn’t change and it was both infuriating and comforting at times.

      ‘He’s nearly finished that city of his,’ Khasar said, chewing. ‘Strange-looking place, with those low walls. I could ride right over them.’

      ‘I think that is his point,’ Kachiun replied. He took a pouch of unleavened bread from another pot, waving his hand to clear the steam as he filled it with meat. Khasar looked baffled and Kachiun sighed.

      ‘We are the walls, brother. He wants people to see that he does not have to hide behind stones like the Chin. Do you understand? The tumans of our army are the walls.’

      ‘Clever,’ Khasar said, munching. ‘But he’ll build walls eventually, you watch. Give him a year or two and he’ll be adding stones. Cities make you afraid.’

      Kachiun stared at his brother, wondering if he had managed a bit of real wisdom. Khasar noticed his sudden interest and grinned.

      ‘You’ve seen it. If a man has gold, he lives with the terror that someone