Bones Of the Hills

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Before dawn lit the plain, the remains of ten tumans left the ashes of their fires and assembled. Not one was intact and the worst were reduced to just a few thousand men. Those warriors too injured to fight remained at the makeshift camp, bloodied and bandaged, or simply left to die with their companions. The shamans who might stitch and heal them were all far away. Many of them asked for a clean death and were given it with a single blow from a sword, in all honour.

In the gloom, Genghis listened to a tally of the dead as a fresh breeze across the plain made him shiver. He bowed his head at the names of senior men like Samuka and Ho Sa.

There were too many to recite them all. Twenty-three thousand had been killed, maimed or lost in the battles against the shah. It was the worst tally he had ever known and a terrible blow for the nation. Genghis felt a slow rage building whenever he looked for faces and found them missing in the ranks. His sister’s husband, Palchuk, was among the dead and he knew there would be rivers of grief when he returned at last to the camp.

Genghis looked up and down the lines as they formed. As well as his own tuman of ten thousand, he noted the banners of Khasar and Kachiun, Jebe and Tsubodai, Chagatai, Jelme and Jochi. He had given orders for broken tumans to fill the places of the dead and eight tumans had formed out of the ashes. From the youngest boys of fourteen, they were veterans. He knew they would not fail him.

Genghis reached down to touch his lower leg and grimaced at the sick feeling and wetness he found. He had taken the wound the day before, but he could not remember how it had happened. He could not stand on it, but he had tied the foot into the stirrup so that he could still ride. Some of his warriors had lost part of their armour to arrows or sword blows, suffering gashes that they bound with strips of dirty cloth. Others had taken a fever through the wounds and poured with sweat in a dawn breeze that could not cool them. They sat their horses in grim anger, waiting for dawn and first sight of the enemy. No one had slept the night before and they were all bone-tired, but there was no give in them, no weakness. They had all lost friends or relatives. The days of battle had burned away everything but a cold desire to avenge the fallen dead.

When there was enough light to see, Genghis stared out at the shah’s army. He heard distant horns blow an alarm as the shah’s scouts caught sight of the host waiting for them, but the Arabs were sluggish in their movements. The sight of the Mongol army unnerved them and Genghis could see them mill aimlessly, all order gone.

He gave the command to trot and his tumans moved with him. His entire front rank of two thousand men weighed lances in their hands, feeling the strain on tired, torn muscles. The rest readied swords and the distance closed.

Genghis saw two men running out ahead of the forming lines, holding banners of white cloth. He wondered if they meant to surrender, but it did not matter. The time for mercy was long gone. Many of those who had died had been known to him and he had only one answer to give, only one they would approve of if their spirits still saw the world below. The men with white banners were killed as the Mongol line swept past them and a low moan came from the rest as they saw and tried to brace for the charge.

Forty elephants were brought to the front, but Tsubodai ordered his archers to shoot for the legs and sent them rampaging back into the Arab army, causing more destruction than they ever could have against mounted men.

The great line of lances hit almost as one and Genghis shouted the order for horns. His son Chagatai swept forward on the right, while Jochi matched him on the left. The Mongol warriors began the slaughter as the sun rose over the east. They could not be held. They could not be thrown back.

Chagatai’s tuman pinched in against the right flank, their speed and ferocity carrying them to the very centre of the Arabs. In the chaos and noise, there was no calling him back. Jochi’s wing spilled along the left flank, carving dead men out of living lines. Across the battlefield, he saw Chagatai had plunged too far into the mass of terrified men. He could see him only a few hundred paces away before the Arab ranks seemed to swallow him. Jochi cried out. He dug in his heels and led his men like a spear thrust into the jerking body of the Arab army.

The front ranks were hit so hard by Jebe and Tsubodai that they bowed right back in a bloody cup. No one had taken command and in the chaos, the tumans of Chagatai and Jochi sliced through them until the brothers were separated by just a few struggling, panting men.

The Arabs broke, terrified by the khan’s warriors. Thousands threw down their weapons and tried to run, but none of the generals hesitated. Those who turned their backs were cut down without mercy and by noon the army of the shah was a morass of desperate, flailing groups. The slaughter continued without pause. Some of the shah’s men knelt and prayed aloud in shrieking voices until their heads were taken by galloping men. It was butcher’s work, but the Mongols were willing. Many of them broke their swords in huge swings and had to pick up one of the curved sabres that littered the ground. Lances were snapped in Arabs too dazed to step out of the way.

In the end, just a few hundred remained. They had no weapons and held their arms high to show empty palms. Genghis grunted a final order and a line of lancers accelerated. The Arabs cried out in terror, then were silent as the riders rolled over them and returned, dismounting to hack the dead men into small pieces, until their fury and spite were spent.

The Mongol tumans did not cheer the victory. From the first light, there had been no fight in the Arab army, and though they had taken a savage pleasure in the killing, there was no more glory in it than a circle hunt.

The ground was soft with blood as individual warriors looted the dead, cutting fingers for rings and stripping the bodies of good boots and warm clothing. Flies gathered in great swarms, so that the Mongols had to bat them away from where they landed on lips and eyes. The buzzing insects crawled intimately over the dead, already beginning to corrupt in the heat.

Genghis summoned his generals and they came to him, bruised and battered, but with satisfaction in their eyes.

‘Where is the shah?’ he demanded of each one. They had found camels laden with tents of silk and Jebe’s men had discovered a cache of jewels and already gambled or exchanged half of them.

When Genghis asked Tsubodai, the general shook his head thoughtfully.

‘His horsemen are gone, lord khan,’ he replied. ‘I did not see even one.’

Genghis swore, his weariness vanishing.

‘Get the scouts out looking for tracks. I want him hunted down.’

Those scouts who heard jumped back into their saddles and raced away, while Genghis simmered.

‘If he left last night, he has had almost a day to get away. He must not escape! The Arab merchants talk of armies five times the size of this one, more. Have your men join the scouts. Nothing is more important than this, nothing'

Riders went in all directions and it was not long before two men of Jochi’s tuman came racing back. Genghis listened to the report and paled.

‘Tsubodai! Horses travelling east,’ he said.

Tsubodai stiffened.

‘His cities are in the south,’ he said. ‘He is taking a path around us. May I ride to protect the camp, lord?’

Genghis swore under his breath.

‘No. Take your tuman and get after the shah. If he reaches a city and finds fresh reinforcements, we are all dead.’

Jebe was at the khan’s side when he gave the order. He had seen the shah’s army when it was bright and strong. The thought of facing as many again was sickening. He turned to Tsubodai and raised his head.

‘With my lord khan’s permission, I will come with you,’ he said.

Genghis waved a hand and Tsubodai nodded as he dug in his heels. Tsubodai shouted an order to the closest officer, but did not pause as the man raced to gather Tsubodai’s Young Wolves.

As the news spread, Jochi came riding up to his father. He bowed low in the saddle as he reined in.

‘Is the camp in danger?’ he asked.

Genghis turned his pale gaze on the young general, noting the tiger skin draped across his pony. All of them had family there, but he bristled anyway. It had been his order to leave the camp undefended. There had been no other choice.

‘I have sent Jebe and Tsubodai to hunt the shah,’ Genghis replied at last.

‘They are good men, the best you have,’ Jochi replied. His father’s face was cold, but he went on carelessly, thinking of his mother. ‘May I take my tuman and bring the families back here?’

Genghis considered, grudgingly. The camp was less than a day’s ride east of Otrar. He did not like the thought of Jochi announcing the victory to the women and children. No doubt the young man was already thinking of a hero’s welcome. Genghis felt his stomach twist at the thought.

‘I need you at Otrar,’ he said. ‘Give Chagatai the order.’

For an instant, Genghis saw anger flash in Jochi’s eyes. The khan leaned forward in his saddle, his hand dropping to his sword hilt. Even in that, he felt swelling bitterness, as Jochi carried the wolf’s-head sword on his hip. The lapse was quickly masked and Jochi bowed his head and trotted away to speak to his younger brother.

Chagatai was at the centre of a riotous group of young warriors. He did not see Jochi approach at first and was in the middle of laughing at some comment when he stiffened. The men with Chagatai took their lead from him and Jochi walked his pony through their hostile stares.

Neither brother spoke a greeting. Jochi let his hand drop to the tiger skin at his pommel, his fingers toying with the stiff fur. Chagatai waited for him to speak, raising one eyebrow, so that his companions chuckled.

‘You are to take your tuman back to the camp and bring them to the land around Otrar,’ Jochi said, when he tired of the game. Chagatai frowned. He did not want to nursemaid women and children while Otrar trembled for the first sight of them.

‘Whose order is this?’ he replied. ‘Whose authority?’

Jochi controlled his temper at the insolent tone.

‘Genghis bids you go,’ he said, turning his mount to ride away.

‘So you say, but who listens when a rape-born bastard speaks?’

Chagatai spoke knowing he was surrounded by his own men, all waiting for such a barb that they could repeat with relish at the campfires. Jochi stiffened in the saddle. He should have left the grinning fools, but nothing in the world brought him to anger as easily as his younger brother’s blustering arrogance.

‘Perhaps he feels you are a fitting companion for the women after the way you knelt to me, brother,’ he replied. ‘I cannot know his mind.’

With a tight smile, Jochi held his mount to a walk. Even with armed men at his back, he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him urge his pony to a trot.

He heard the sudden rush of hooves and his hand fell automatically to the wolf’s-head hilt before he snatched it away. He could not draw a blade on Chagatai in front of so many witnesses. It would be the end of him.

Jochi glanced back as unconcernedly as he could. Chagatai was closing the gap between them, with his tail of followers trotting behind. His brother was red-faced with rage and Jochi had barely opened his mouth to speak again when the young man launched himself from the saddle, taking Jochi down hard.

As they hit and rolled, Jochi lost his temper and struck out, his blows thumping uselessly. They came apart and both of them leapt up with murder in their eyes. Even then, old habits were strong and they did not reach for their swords. Chagatai came at Jochi with his fists high and Jochi kicked him as hard as he could between the legs.

Chagatai collapsed in agony, but his fury was so all-consuming that, to Jochi’s amazement, he struggled to rise and staggered into him again. By then, his companions had dismounted and they pulled the two generals apart. Jochi wiped a smear of blood from his nose and spat contemptuously on the ground at Chagatai’s feet. He watched as his brother recovered some semblance of calm and only then did he glance over to Genghis.

The khan was pale with rage and, as his eyes met Jochi’s, he dug in his heels and trotted closer. Not one of the warriors dared look up as they froze in his presence. His temper was legendary in the families and the youngest men were suddenly aware that their own lives might hang on a word or a gesture.

Only Chagatai seemed unaffected. As his father approached, he stepped forward and tried to backhand his brother across the face. Jochi ducked instinctively and was off balance when Genghis kicked him hard between the shoulder blades, sending him sprawling.

Even Chagatai became still at seeing that, though his sneer remained. Genghis dismounted slowly, his fists tight on the reins until he forced them open.

When he turned to his sons, his anger was clear enough to make Chagatai step back. It was not enough. Genghis placed his hand on Chagatai’s chest and pushed him flat to join Jochi on the ground.

‘Are you children still?’ Genghis said. He shook visibly at the young fools who dared to brawl while their men looked on. He wanted to take a stick and beat sense into them, but the last thread of his control held him back. If he thrashed them, they would never again command the respect of his warriors. Sly whispers would follow them the rest of their lives.

Neither Jochi nor Chagatai responded. Finally aware of the danger they were in, they chose to say nothing.

‘How can you command…?’ Genghis stopped before he destroyed them both, his mouth working soundlessly. Kachiun had galloped across the makeshift camp as soon as he heard and his approach allowed the khan to break off his glare.

‘What would you do with young fools like these?’ Genghis demanded of Kachiun. ‘With all the enemies we still face, with our own camp in peril, they fight like boys.’

His eyes pleaded silently with Kachiun to find a punishment that would not be the end for them both. If it had been Jochi alone, he would have ordered his death, but it had been Chagatai he had seen leaping off his horse to roll his brother in the dust.

Kachiun’s face was stern, but he understood the khan’s dilemma.

‘It is almost twenty miles to Otrar, lord khan. I would have them make the journey on foot, before dark.’ He looked at the sun, judging the time. ‘If they cannot, perhaps they are not fit to lead their men.’

Genghis breathed out slowly in relief he could not show. It would do. The sun was merciless and such a run could kill a man, but they were young and strong and it would serve as a punishment.

‘I will be there to watch you come in,’ he said to the dumbfounded pair. Chagatai glared at Kachiun for the suggestion, but as he opened his mouth to object, Genghis reached down and picked him up in one smooth motion. His father’s fist rested just under his chin as he spoke again.

‘Remove your armour and go,’ he said. ‘If I see you fighting again, I will make Ogedai my heir. Do you understand?’

Both brothers nodded and Genghis stared at Jochi, incensed that he had thought the words were also for him. His temper flared again, but Kachiun deliberately chose that moment to call the men into ranks for the ride to Otrar and Genghis let Chagatai go.

For the benefit of all those who could hear and repeat the words a thousand times, Kachiun forced a smile as Jochi and Chagatai began to run in the vicious heat.

‘You won such a race when we were boys, I remember.’

Genghis shook his head irritably.

‘What does that matter? It was long ago. Have Khasar bring the families back to Otrar. I have debts to settle there.’

Shah Ala-ud-Din Mohammed reined in as he saw the thin trails of cooking smoke rising from the Mongol camp. He had ridden slowly east, covering many miles since the first grey light of predawn. As the sun rose to burn off the morning mist, he stared at the filthy gers of the Mongol families. For an instant, the urge to ride among the women and children with his sword was overwhelming. If he had known the khan had left them so vulnerable, he would have sent twenty thousand to kill them all. The shah clenched his fists in frustration as the light grew. Warriors clustered on the edges, the heads of their ponies peacefully snuffling the dusty ground for grass. For once, there were no warning horns blown from the cursed Mongol scouts.

With a snarl, the shah began to turn his mount away from the camp. They bred like lice, these Mongols, and he had only his precious four hundred to see him safe. The sun was rising and his guards would soon be seen.

One of his men shouted something and Ala-ud-Din turned his head. The sun’s light revealed what the shadows had hidden and he grinned suddenly, his mood lifting. The warriors were no more than straw dummies tied to the horses. The shah strained his eyes as the light grew, but he could not see a single armed man. Around him, the news spread and the noble sons laughed and pointed, already loosening their swords in the scabbards. They had all taken part in punishment raids on villages, when the taxes had been late. The sport was good in such places and the desire for revenge was strong.

Jelaudin did not share the men’s laughter as he rode to his father.

‘Would you have the men waste half a day here with our enemies so close?’

In response, his father drew a curved sword. The shah glanced at the sun.

‘This khan must be taught the price of his arrogance, Jelaudin. Kill the children and burn what you can.’