Conqueror

PART THREE

AD 1260

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The imperial meeting chamber at the heart of Hangzhou was in uproar. Sung lords had gathered without being called, as the sense grew that they must not miss whatever was happening. As the morning wore on, runners and servants constantly reported to those in their city houses outside the grounds. More and more made the decision and summoned their bearers and palanquins. Younger lords came on horseback, wearing swords on their waists and surrounded by loyal guards. There was no sense of peace or security in the hall. The tension and noise rose by the hour.

They had travelled in from their estates to the old emperor’s funeral, but when it was over, they remained in their city houses, waiting to be summoned to council. The Mongol armies had come within striking distance of the capital city. There was fear in Hangzhou, a febrile tension in the air. Soldiers on the walls strained their eyes into the distance as if Mongol outriders could appear out of the morning mist with no warning at all. Information changed hands for strings of silver coins as the rumour-mongers parlayed small knowledge into the highest profits.

The conclave that day had begun from a rumour that the new emperor was ready to call them. No one knew who had begun it, but the news spread to every noble house before dawn. Daylight brought no formal summons and barely a dozen lords had come to the imperial precinct and taken places. Word went out that they were there and as the morning passed the number doubled and then doubled again, as senior lords worried they were being excluded from some important event. The tipping point came in the early afternoon. Independently, the last eight heads of Sung houses decided they could wait no longer for the new emperor to call them. They entered the meeting hall together with swordsmen and servants, so that every seat and balcony was packed as the sun began to ease towards the west.

Lord Sung Win was at the centre of it all, tall and thin in robes of mourning white. Many of the others wore less traditional dark blue to mark the passing of the emperor, but there was no sense of funereal calm. The gong that usually rang to announce the conclave was silent and many eyes glanced towards it, still expecting the booming note that would restore order. It could not be struck without the emperor’s command to gather, yet they were there, waiting for some act or voice. No one knew how to begin.

As the day waned, Lord Sung Win had taken a central position on the open floor, letting others come to him. Through his servants and vassal lords, he brokered information, observing the factions that gathered briefly and then drifted apart like silkworm husks in the wind. He showed no sign of weariness through the long hours and in fact seemed to grow in energy, his height and confidence commanding the room. The numbers swelled around him and the level of noise became almost painful to the ear. Food and drink were brought and consumed without anyone leaving their place.

There was tension and even fear in the faces of those who came. It was forbidden for them to assemble without the emperor’s order and for many the decision to do so risked their names and estates. They would not have dared to come if Emperor Lizong still lived. The heir to the dragon throne was unknown to them, a boy of only eleven years. It was that fact above all else that allowed them to join the throng in the hall. The light of heaven had been extinguished, the empire left suddenly adrift. In the face of such an omen, there was a fragile consensus. They could not ignore the enemy any longer.

Lord Sung Win felt the chaos like strong drink in his blood. Everyone who entered could see him there, representing one of the oldest houses in the empire. He spoke softly to his vassals, a centre of calm and tradition in a growing gale. The smell of opium was pungent and he watched in amusement as lords set out ornate trays, soothing their nerves with the ritual process that began with rolling soft pills on bronze vessels and ended with them sitting back, drawing deeply on the pipes and wreathing themselves in bitter smoke. His own fingers twitched with the urge, but he controlled it. The meeting was a new thing and he dared not lose even some part of his wits.

As the sun began to set, many of the lords present lowered themselves onto porcelain pots carried in by their servants. Their robes hid everything from view as they emptied long-held bladders and bowels, the steaming contents borne away quickly so that the lords could stay in place. Sung Win waited for the right moment. There were at least two other groups who might yet open the conclave. One could be dismissed as lacking support, but the young man at the centre of the other faction was flushed with his own sudden rise to power. Lord Jin Feng’s brother had been killed in the most recent attack on the Mongol forces. It should have left his house weak for a season, but the new lord had taken on the responsibilities with skill.

Sung Win frowned at the memory of a trade agreement he had tried to force through with the family. It had looked like the support of a friend, a financial gift with few conditions to tide them through difficult times until the house was stable. A single clause would have allowed him to annex part of their land if they had defaulted. It had been perfect, both subtle and powerful. They would have given him insult if they had refused and he had waited for the sealed document to be sent back to him. When it had arrived, he had been delighted to see the perfect lines of the house chop on the thick parchment. He had let his eyes drift down to the single line that made the agreement a weapon as sharp as any dagger. It had not been there.

Sung Win shook his head in irritated memory as Lord Jin Feng clapped some supporter on the shoulder. To copy a document and its seals so perfectly, even to the handwriting of Sung Win’s own scribe, was ingenious. He could hardly complain. The choice had been his to accept the altered agreement or let it accidentally be destroyed in a fire and send his regrets. He had accepted, acknowledging a fine stroke.

Sung Win watched his neighbour from under lowered lids, wondering if it would be best to let Jin Feng bear the brunt of imperial disapproval. The first to speak formally took the greatest risk, but it was not an advantage he felt he could give up. Sung Win smiled to himself, enjoying the tension across his shoulders and the way his pulse beat in his veins. All life involved risk.

He stood slowly in the tumult and his vassals fell silent, turning towards him. In such a tense crowd, that simple action was enough. The pool of stillness was noticed and spread quickly across the hall. Men broke off from whispers or open arguments, craning their necks without dignity to see who would dare to speak first without the emperor’s formal command.

Lord Sung Win glanced at the entrance arch for the last time that day, looking for the emperor’s herald, or his chancellor. He did not doubt the boy Huaizong had heard of the conclave by then. The old emperor’s spies would be in that room for their new master, ready to report every word and who had said them. Lord Sung Win took a deep breath. Nonetheless, the moment was upon him and silence had spread across the hall. More than a hundred lords watched him with eyes that gleamed in the light of the evening lamps. Most were too weak to affect the outcome of the day, but there were thirty-two others who held power in the nation, Lord Jin Feng among them. It may have been Sung Win’s imagination, but they seemed to stand out from the crowd. Though every man there wore white or dark blue, he could almost sense the points in the room where power lay.

‘My lords,’ he said. The silence was so profound he hardly needed to raise his voice at all. ‘Your presence reveals your understanding. Let us go forward in the knowledge that Emperor Lizong would not have wished us to sit idly while our lands are savaged and destroyed by an invader. We are in the crucible, my lords, knowing that we face a terrible enemy. Great and ancient houses have been lost to us. Others have passed to new heirs while the true bloodlines are broken.’

Whispers could be heard and he spoke louder, holding them. He had planned every word during the long hours of that day.

‘I accept my part of the guilt we share, that we have indulged ourselves in games of power while the empire suffered. I have watched lords leave this chamber and seen their names cut into the honour stone as men who have fallen to protect our freedoms.’

He looked to Lord Jin Feng and the young man nodded reluctantly to him.

‘Through our weakness, through our mistrust of one another, we have allowed an enemy to creep closer to the imperial capital than anyone has ever come. We have thrown mere straws into the wind to stop him and wasted our energies on politics and personal vengeance. The price has been high. My lords, the favour of heaven has been withdrawn from us. The emperor has gone from this world. At this moment of weakness, of chaos, the enemy comes, the wolf with bloody jaws. You know this.’

Once more he took a deep breath. Lord Jin Feng could have spoken then. There was no imperial chancellor to order the speakers or control the debate. The young man remained silent, waiting.

‘Without the emperor’s voice,’ Sung Win went on, ‘we do not have the power to put the empire under arms as one. I know this. I accept this. I have tried to reach Emperor Huaizong and heard nothing from the court. I know many of you have been rebuffed by ignorant courtiers. That is why we are here, my lords. We know the wolf is coming to Hangzhou and we know what must be done. He must be fought, or he must be paid tribute to leave our lands. There is no third choice. If we do nothing, we have failed in our duty and our honour is as dust. If we do nothing, we will deserve the destruction that will surely come.’

Lord Sung Win paused, knowing that his next words would take him into treason. His life, his house, his history would be forfeit if the boy emperor chose to make an example of him. Yet if he could break the Mongol armies, he would earn the gratitude of the imperial house. He would be beyond punishment, untouchable. Sung Win dared not dream of his sons rising to become emperor in turn, but his actions that day would put him closer to the dragon throne than any of his ancestors. Or they would get him killed.

‘I have come to see that we must act. Therefore I call the council. I call all Sung lords to defend the empire. Thirty-three noble houses are here today. Between us, and our vassals, we control more than a million soldiers. I call a vote in conclave.’

One of his servants went to the wooden case that stood against the far wall. Inlaid with ivory, it was an ancient and beautiful thing. The servant held an iron rod and at the last moment he looked back at Lord Sung Win, hesitating. Sung Win nodded and the servant inserted the rod and yanked back, breaking the lock.

There was a gasp across the chamber. Every lord stared in fascination and dread as Sung Win’s servant brought out a deep glass bowl, larger than his head. He held it up as he walked back to the centre. Other servants reached into the cabinet and withdrew marbles of black and clear glass from the shelves where they lay in neat rows. The men moved through the crowd, handing them in pairs to the most powerful houses of the empire. The crowd of lords began to speak in louder voices and Lord Sung Win strained his eyes and ears to gain a sense of the room. He could not judge the mood at that moment and it frustrated him. Some of them would be too terrified of the emperor’s disapproval to vote. They would abstain in their cowardice and weakness. He could not know how Jin Feng would act. His brother’s army had been torn apart by the Mongol invader, but the house was ancient and his decision would matter.

Lord Sung Win raised his hands to show them the two marbles he held, one black and one clear.

‘Let the neutral colour be for tribute,’ he said, raising the black ball. ‘Let clear water be for war.’ He dropped the clear ball into the glass sphere, so that it rang out a note across the hall, whirring around in slow circles before it rested. ‘That is my vote, with my vassal houses. That is my pledge of ninety-two thousand soldiers, horses, all the equipment and accoutrements of war at my command. Let us destroy the enemy before us, in the name of the Lord Perpetual Nation, the Son of Heaven. In the name of Emperor Huaizong and the dragon throne.’

Up to that point, Lord Sung Win had dominated the room. As the clear glass ball rattled to a stop, the realisation flashed round the hall that they were expected to respond. Sung Win felt a prickle of sweat begin at his brow and held himself very still so they would not see it run down his face and know the strain he felt.

The head of the most ancient house in the empire was seated in one of the first rows around the central space. Lord Hong was a large man, made wider by his formal robes. He sat with his legs braced before him and one hand resting on each knee. His right hand clicked in the silence as he rubbed two of the marbles together. Sung Win waited for him to move and so he was startled when Lord Jin Feng stood up at the edge of his vision and came forward to the servant with the glass bowl. Lord Hong watched warily, only his hand moving.

‘This is a day of new things,’ Jin Feng said. ‘My brother Lord Jin An gave his life to protect our lands and honour. Xuan, Son of Heaven, died with him, the end of a noble Chin line. In defence of the empire, can I offer less than my own life?’ He looked around at the gathered nobles and nodded as if he understood them. ‘We have a duty to burn thorns in our fields. My vassals and I vote for war.’

He dropped another clear ball into the bowl and it rattled around, holding the gaze of every man in the meeting place. Jin Feng bowed briefly to Sung Win. He neither liked nor trusted the older man and as their eyes met, Jin Feng could not help the suspicions that flared in him. Yet for once, Lord Sung Win was on the side of right. Jin Feng handed the black ball to a servant and returned to his place as two more lords stepped up. Both of them placed clear marbles in the bowl and passed back the others.

Sung Win began to relax as three more men came and added clear balls. He saw Lord Hong rise from his seat. The man moved easily, with grace and strength. Lord Hong was one of the few in the hall who did not neglect his training with sword and bow each day.

Lord Hong held both marbles above the bowl.

‘I see no emperor’s chancellor here,’ he said, his voice deep. ‘I have heard no gong summoning us to this council, this conclave.’

Lord Sung Win began to sweat again at the words. Though a distant cousin of the old emperor, Lord Hong was still a member of the imperial family. He could yet sway the gathering if he chose to exert his influence.

Lord Hong flashed a gaze around the chamber.

‘My heart rebels at the idea of paying tribute to this enemy, but it will buy us time for Emperor Huaizong to bring order. I would wish to lead an army if the vote goes for war, but without imperial approval, I cannot add the fate of my house to that decision. Therefore, I choose tribute.’

He dropped a black ball into the bowl and Sung Win struggled not to scowl at the man. Lord Hong had revealed only weakness with his speech, as if he could keep himself safe from imperial anger, yet still expect to lead if the vote went against him. It was infuriating, but typical of the politics in that chamber. Lord Hong had reminded them of the prospect of the emperor’s disapproval and the ripples had begun to spread. Sung Win showed no reaction as four more lords added black marbles to the bowl. Internally, he seethed.

The lamps burned down to dark yellow flickers with no imperial servants to replenish the oil. Lord Sung Win stood straight and tall as the lords of the Sung empire came up one by one. Few of them spoke, though the first to abstain explained his decision in words that demonstrated only cowardice in Sung Win’s assessment. Even so, seven others abstained from the vote, handing back both marbles to the servants.

The damage had been done by Lord Hong, just enough to frighten the weak men and make the strong cautious. Sung Win could feel the mood in the chamber shift as they chose the safer path of tribute over war. He clenched his jaw, feeling his teeth grate as the black balls were dropped in, one after the other. When the vote stood against him at eleven to seven, he thought of speaking again, but it would have meant another breach of tradition. His chance had come and gone. He allowed himself a glare at those who abstained, but kept his silence as the glass bowl filled. Two more black marbles went in and then two more clear ones. A distant hope formed in Lord Sung Win’s icy thoughts. Another vote for tribute and two abstentions followed, men who would not even meet his eyes as they shuffled back to their seats.

When the thirty-three great houses had all voted or abstained, the glass bowl was almost full. Sung Win had kept count in his mind, but he showed no emotion as the results were tallied, watched by all.

‘Ten have abstained. There are fourteen votes for tribute, nine for war,’ he announced in a voice as clear and loud as any imperial herald. He breathed in relief. ‘The vote is carried for war.’

Sung Win smiled, feeling dizzy from the strain. Fourteen was the unluckiest number possible, a number that sounded like the words ‘Want to die’ in both Cantonese and Mandarin. Nine was a number of strength, associated with the emperor himself. The result could not have been clearer and many of the men in the room relaxed visibly at the sign of heavenly favour. To go forward under nine was a blessing. No one would dare to move under fourteen, for fear of utter disaster.

A low note boomed across the room, interrupting the excited conversations that had sprung up over the meeting hall at the announcement. Lord Sung Win jerked his head around, his mouth dropping slightly open. The imperial chancellor stood by the gong, holding the rod he had used to strike. The man was red-faced, as if he had run a long way. He wore a tunic and trousers of white silk, and in his right hand he held his staff of office. A yellow-dyed yak tail spilled over his fist as he stood and glared in fury at the assembled lords.

‘Rise for Emperor Huaizong, Lord Perpetual Nation, ruler of the middle kingdom. Make obeisance for the Son of Heaven!’

A ripple of shock snapped across the hall. Every man there stumbled to his feet as if yanked up. The emperor did not attend the conclave of lords. Though they met at his order, the imperial will had always been carried out by his representatives in that chamber. Of the hundred lords present, barely three or four would have found themselves in the imperial presence before and a sense of awe overwhelmed them as the gong rang out again.

There was no order in the way they knelt. The lords’ delicate appreciation of status and hierarchy vanished as their faces and minds blanked in terror. Lord Sung Win knelt as if his legs had given way, his kneecaps striking sharply on the floor. Around the chamber, the other lords followed suit, some of them struggling to get down in the press of their servants. Sung Win had a glimpse of a boy in a white tunic decorated with gold dragons before he dropped his head and brought his damp brow down to the ancient wood three times. All his plans and stratagems tore to rags in his mind as he rose briefly and then dipped again, knocking his head on the floor three more times. Before he had completed the third kowtow of the ritual, Emperor Huaizong was among them with his guards, walking confidently towards the centre of the floor.

Lord Sung Win struggled to his feet, though he kept his head bowed with the rest. He struggled against confusion, trying to understand what it might mean to have the new emperor enter the chamber. Huaizong was a small figure, fragile against the hulking swordsmen who surrounded him. It was not necessary to clear the floor. The imperial presence had every lord pushing back to give him space, Sung Win among them.

Silence fell again and Sung Win had to repress the mad urge to smile. A memory came to him of his father’s anger when he had discovered a young Sung Win stealing dried apples. It was ridiculous to feel the same way in the presence of a young boy, but Sung Win could see many other faces flushed in hot embarrassment, their dignity forgotten.

Emperor Huaizong stood straight and unafraid before them all, perhaps aware that he could have ordered any of them killed with a single word. They would not resist the order. Obedience was too ingrained in them. Lord Sung Win thought furiously as he waited for the boy to speak. The emperor looked almost like an animated doll, his shaven head gleaming in the lamplight. Sung Win realised the imperial servants were replenishing the oil as the light grew around the hall, bathing them all in gold. He could see the nine yellow dragons that twined on Huaizong’s tunic, symbols of his authority and bloodline. He repressed a sigh. If Huaizong denied the vote they had taken, Sung Win knew his life was forfeit. He felt himself tremble to have his house waiting on the words of one he did not know.

When Huaizong spoke, his voice was high and clear, unbroken.

‘Who summoned this meeting?’

Sung Win’s stomach clenched as fear rose in him. He did not need to look to know every eye in the chamber had turned to him. With his head bowed, he felt his mouth twitch in spasm. The silence stretched and he nodded to himself, gathering his dignity. The boy had broken traditions by entering the chamber. It was the one act he could not have foreseen and Sung Win clenched his fists behind his back as he raised his head. He knew better than to look into the boy’s eyes and kept his own gaze on the floor.

‘Son of Heaven, we gathered to answer the enemies who threaten us.’

‘Who are you?’ the boy asked.

‘This humble servant is Sung Win, Son of Heaven, House of …’

‘You speak for these others, Sung Win? You take responsibility for them?’

Rather than condemn himself by answering, Sung Win dropped again to the kneeling position and tapped his head on the warm wood.

‘Get up, Sung Win. You were asked a question.’

Sung Win risked a glance around the chamber, certain he could feel the stares of the lords. Not a head was raised. To a man, they were standing in abject terror at the presence of the emperor. For all Huaizong was a young boy, he represented heaven itself, the divine in that room of mere men. Sung Win sighed softly. He had wanted to see the new foals born on his estate, the result of carefully chosen bloodlines. He had put as much time and effort into that as anything else in his life. He felt a pang at the thought of his wives and sons. If the emperor chose to make an example of his house, their deaths would come in orders tied with yellow silk ribbons. His daughters would be executed, his family estate burnt.

‘I speak for them, Son of Heaven. I called the vote today.’ He shut his mouth hard as his treacherous fear threatened to begin babbling excuses.

‘And so you did your duty, Lord Sung Win. Did my lords vote to raise the banners?’

Sung Win blinked and gulped visibly as he tried to understand.

‘Y-yes, Son of Heaven.’

‘Then feel pride, Lord Sung Win. You have acted with the emperor today.’

Sung Win stammered a response, overcome as the boy faced the assembled lords.

‘Before his death, my uncle told me that you were a nest of vipers,’ the boy said to them. ‘He told me that you would rather see Hangzhou in flames than risk your dignity and honour. I see that he was mistaken.’

Sung Win had the intense pleasure of watching those who had voted for tribute shift uncomfortably, Lord Hong among them. The emperor went on, his voice confident.

‘I will not begin my reign under threat, my lords. You will go from this place and summon your regiments. Your personal guards will march with them. I lay my peace on the houses, with the promise that they will not be left vulnerable in your absence. I will act to destroy the line of any noble house who seeks advantage.’

He turned to Sung Win once more.

‘You have done well, my lord. In peace, perhaps I would have found fault with your judgement. However, we are not at peace. I will make some appointment honouring your house when we return.’

‘When we return, Son of Heaven?’ Sung Win said, his eyes widening.

‘Of course. I am not an old man, Lord Sung Win. I wish to see war.’

For an instant, Sung Win saw a gleam in the boy’s eyes. He shuddered, hiding it with a deep bow.

‘Lord Hong, you will lead the host,’ Emperor Huaizong said. The big man knelt and touched his head to the floor. ‘How much time do you need before I may leave Hangzhou?’

Lord Hong sat back on his heels, his face a sickly colour. Sung Win smiled to see him so uncomfortable. Moving a million men needed supplies, arms, weapons, a city of equipment.

‘A month, Son of Heaven. If I have the authority, I can be ready by the new moon.’

‘You have whatever authority you need,’ Huaizong replied, his voice hardening. ‘Let those who can hear understand that he speaks with my voice in this. Move quickly, my lords.’

Turning on the spot, the boy strode out. As the others averted their gaze, perhaps only Sung Win saw how the slight figure trembled as he went.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Heavy rain hissed onto the roof of the house Kublai had borrowed. The man who owned it waited out in the fields with a crowd of villagers and his family. Kublai had passed them as he rode in. They had looked like half-drowned puppies as he trotted past. At least they would be left alive. Kublai only needed the stockade village for a night.

A huge fire crackled in the grate and he stood close to it, letting the heat dry his clothes so that steam came off him in wisps. At intervals, he would pace back and forth across the fireplace, talking and gesturing as he discussed the future.

‘How can I stop now?’ he demanded.

His wife Chabi stretched out on an ancient couch, much patched and restuffed. The baby girl was asleep in her arms, but still fussing and likely to wake at any moment. Chabi looked wearily at her husband, seeing how the years in Sung lands had worn him almost down to bone. He would not have recognised his old scholar self at that moment. It was more than a physical change, though he had earned the muscle and sinew that gave grace to his movements. The true change had come in the battles he had won as well as the tactics he had used to win them. Chabi loved him desperately, but she feared for him as well. Whatever had been his intention, Mongke had hardened her husband, changed him. Though the old khan was dead, she could still hate him for that, at least. She could not remember the last time Kublai had opened a book. His collection sat on carts under greased linen, too valuable to be abandoned, but growing green with mildew in the spring rains.

‘Is she asleep?’ Kublai said, his voice still rough with anger.

‘She is at last, but I am listening. You said you had made the decision. Why are you still struggling with this?’

‘Because I am so close, Chabi! I could reach Hangzhou, do you understand? Everything I have done for the last five years has brought me to this point and then my bastard brother declares himself khan! Am I supposed to leave everything we have accomplished and go home, crawling on my stomach like a dog? How can I leave now?’

‘How can you not? Please, keep your voice down, or you can settle her again,’ Chabi replied. She was exhausted from lack of sleep. Her nipples ached from feeding, but she could not leave Kublai to work himself into a panic or drink himself unconscious.

‘When Tsubodai was called home from the west, he never went back,’ Kublai said, beginning to pace again. ‘Do you understand? This is my chance, my time. If I vanish, the Sung will not fall so easily again, even if I do manage to return. They will learn from this and we will have to fight for every bloody step. If I come back at all. If I’m not killed on some distant battlefield fighting my own brother! How could he do this to me, Chabi? The useless, arrogant …’

‘Don’t curse in front of the child,’ Chabi said warningly. He frowned at her.

‘She can’t understand anything, woman.’

‘Don’t “woman” me, husband. You wanted me to listen, so I’m listening, but you said you had made the decision to go home. Why have we stopped here in this cold place? Why is nothing resolved?’

‘Because it’s not a simple question!’ he snapped. His wife began to rise. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To bed.’

His mood changed and he went to her, kneeling by the couch.

‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought I didn’t have to watch my back from my own brother. Not from him. I thought Arik-Boke would always support me.’

Chabi ran her hand along his jaw in a caress.

‘Do you know how you’ve changed since you left Karakorum? Perhaps he has as well. Five years is a long time, Kublai. He probably still thinks of you as his scholar brother, more in love with books and strange ideas than anyone else in your family. He does not know you now. And you don’t know him, not any more.’

‘I have a letter from him,’ he said, wearily. His wife sat up, looking deep into his eyes.

‘So that is why you are so angry. What did it say?’

Kublai sighed. ‘Some part of me hoped it was all a mistake. Arik-Boke declared himself khan at almost the same time I did. He had no idea what I was doing out here. I hoped he would understand I had the right over him, but instead he wrote to me as if what he did was already set in stone.’ His temper grew again as he recalled his brother’s words, written in the hand of some distant scribe. ‘He ordered me home, Chabi. My youngest fool of a brother, writing as if he were my equal.’

‘You are not boys any longer, Kublai,’ Chabi said softly. ‘It doesn’t matter now who was born first. He has grown to manhood and he has been a khan of the homeland, your own mother’s inheritance and Mongke’s gift. He is used to leading a nation. I don’t doubt he considered your reaction, but your experience has been in the field, against enemies.’

‘A trial he will come to understand, if I face him in battle,’ Kublai said, clenching his right hand into a fist. He took a deep breath, controlling the rage that flooded through him. ‘You’re not saying he’s right?’ he demanded.

She shook her head. ‘Of course not, husband. He should have put it before the princes and senior men. He should have considered you might challenge for the great khanate before he declared. But that is in the past. It is pointless to argue what he should have done. He declared himself khan. You have to see him as a man now, not the boy you once picked up when he fell, or you told stories to. He had the same mother in Sorhatani, who practically ruled the nation for years. He had the same father, who gave his life for a khan. You both had Genghis for a grandfather. If you keep thinking of Arik-Boke as a weakling or an idiot, he could destroy you.’

‘I’ll kill him first,’ Kublai said. ‘I did not expect to be khan, Chabi. Mongke had a dozen sons. If he’d lived just a few years longer, he would have named an heir and the line would have passed smoothly. But he did not and now he is gone and instead, instead…’ He could not express the fury that filled him and only clasped at the empty air.

‘You need to find calm,’ Chabi said. ‘You need to put aside your anger and betrayal and think as a khan.’ She shook her head. ‘And you need to make the decision. Either treat him as your enemy, or give up the khanate and swear an oath of loyalty to Arik-Boke. One or the other. There is no point driving yourself to madness with this. Either way, you cannot remain in Sung lands.’

In an instant, the anger went out of her husband and he slumped as he stood before her, his shoulders drooping.

‘It’s just such a waste,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve lost good men. We’ve all suffered to carry out the orders Mongke gave me. I don’t know if he expected me to succeed or not. Maybe it’s true that he thought I’d fail and he would have to ride in and rescue me. But I am here, still standing. I could take their capital, Chabi.’

‘And you would lose the world if you do,’ she murmured wearily. ‘You’ve said all this before. Even if you win against the Sung, even if you become emperor here, you will still have to face Arik-Boke. You will have taken a khanate for the greater nation, but you will be your brother’s vassal. You would still have to go to Karakorum and swear loyalty to him.’ She sighed as the baby started to squeak and wriggle, gently putting her little finger in its mouth. Still asleep, the baby sucked greedily on it.

‘I cannot do that,’ he said, staring into the distance as if he could see all the way to the homeland. ‘I am khan, Chabi. I have the right and I will not give it up. What was he thinking to call himself khan? Do you see what he’s done to me? He had no right, Chabi. No right at all.’ He shook his head, turning again to stare into the fire.

‘When I was young, I used to dream of following in the path Ogedai laid out, but it was just a fantasy. His son Guyuk would inherit. I knew that. I understood that. When Guyuk died, Mongke was the obvious choice. He was older, respected. He’d ridden with Tsubodai into the west - he was everything I was not, Chabi. I wasn’t ready then. He used to sneer at me for the way I dressed and spoke, the books I read.’

‘I remember,’ Chabi said softly.

‘But he was right, Chabi! The things I’ve seen … no, the things I’ve done.’ He shuddered slightly as memories flashed into his mind. ‘I was an innocent. I thought I understood the world, but I was little more than a child.’

Kublai took up an iron poker and began to thrust it at the burning logs, causing a stream of bright sparks to fly into the room. Chabi shielded the little girl from the heat with her hand.

‘But I am no longer a child,’ he said, his voice grown low and hoarse. He put the poker down and faced her.

‘We were so young then, but by the sky father, I am not that young man who had never seen the swollen dead. I am khan. It is done and I would not change it.’ He clenched his fist, taking pleasure in his own strength. ‘I will not let another stand in my place.’

Both of them turned their heads as a man cleared his throat at the outer door. One of Kublai’s guards stood there, rain streaming off his oiled cloak and puddling around his boots.

‘Orlok Uriang-Khadai is here to see you, my lord khan,’ he said bowing deeply.

No one reached Kublai without being checked for weapons and passing at least two guards. Even yam riders were forced to strip to bare skin before being allowed to dress and enter his presence. Those few who had reached him had been forced to remain with his tumans, rather than have them carry back the news of his declaration. The lessons of Mongke’s death were still rippling through the nation. It explained why Uriang-Khadai was flushed with indignation as he came in out of the rain.

‘You asked to see me, my lord khan,’ the orlok said, his mouth a thin, pale line. He spotted Chabi at that moment and bowed to her, unbending enough to smile at the child in her arms.

‘My lady, I did not see you there. Is your daughter well?’

‘She sleeps all day and keeps me awake all night, but yes, she is well. It’s time for me to wake and feed her.’

Uriang-Khadai nodded, almost amiable. Kublai watched him in surprise, seeing a side of the man he had not witnessed before. Uriang-Khadai had not brought his wives or children on the campaign and it had simply not occurred to Kublai that the stern officer might be a doting father as well.

Kublai cleared his throat and Uriang-Khadai bowed again to Chabi before approaching her husband at the great fire. Kublai gestured for him to warm himself and the orlok stood with his palms outstretched, gazing into the flames.

‘You were my brother Mongke’s man, Uriang-Khadai. I know it and it does not trouble me.’ He glanced at the orlok, but Uriang-Khadai said nothing.

‘You have proved yourself to me against the Sung …’ Kublai went on. ‘But that is past. It seems I must take my tumans home. If it comes to battle, we will face Mongol tumans on their own land. We will face our own people, men that perhaps you know and respect.’

Uriang-Khadai turned from the flames, his eyes and the planes of his face in shadow. He nodded briefly.

‘And you wish to know if I can be trusted, my lord. I understand.’ He thought for a time, wiping some of the droplets of rain from his face. ‘I do not see how I can make you certain, my lord. It is true that your brother Mongke chose me to lead your armies, but I have obeyed every order from you. I have been loyal and I gave my oath with the rest when you declared yourself khan. If that is not enough, I do not know what else I can offer you.’

‘Your family is in Karakorum,’ Kublai said softly.

Uriang-Khadai nodded, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

‘That is true. It is true for most of the men, the new tumans and the old. If your brother Arik-Boke uses my family as hostages, there is nothing I can do to save them. I will expect to avenge them.’

For an instant, his eyes revealed a flash of raw anger and Kublai had a sudden insight that brought something like shame. His family had manipulated this man for years. Kublai looked away first. He had sent the women and children of his tumans back to Karakorum and he would have given his right hand to undo that innocent decision. It gave Arik-Boke a piece to play that would cut to the heart of those who fought with Kublai. He did not know yet if Arik-Boke would use the threat, but as Chabi had said, he no longer knew his brother.

‘I must plan a campaign against the homeland,’ Kublai said, almost in wonder. ‘Will you help me in this?’

‘Of course, my lord. You are the khan. My loyalty is yours.’ Uriang-Khadai spoke each word with such quiet certainty that Kublai felt his doubts vanish.

‘How would you begin?’ he said.

Uriang-Khadai smiled, aware that the crisis had passed.

‘I would withdraw immediately from Sung lands, my lord. I would make my base in the Chin territory, around Xanadu. There is food enough there to keep us in the field. Your brother has to bring in grain and meat from the Chagatai khanate and Russian lands, so I would move to cut those lines. Supply will play a part in this war.’ The orlok began to pace in unconscious mimicry of Kublai’s movements before he had entered. ‘Your brother will have vassal princes, personally sworn to him. You must break the strongest of those quickly, to send a message to the rest. Take your brother’s power, his support, and when you face him in battle, he will collapse.’

‘You have thought about it,’ Kublai said with a smile.

‘Ever since the news came in, my lord. You must return home and if you have to, you must tear down Karakorum. You are the khan. You cannot allow another to claim the title.’

‘You are not troubled at the thought of facing our own people in war?’ Kublai asked.

Uriang-Khadai shrugged.

‘We have fought almost continuously for five years, my lord. The tumans under you were the best Mongke could give you, but they have become far stronger. I do not flatter them when I say that. No one your brother can field could stand against us. So no, I am not troubled. If they choose to draw a line in the ground, we will step right over it and gut them.’

Uriang-Khadai paused, weighing his next words.

‘I do not know what you intend for your brother. You should know that if Arik-Boke threatens the families of our tumans, you may not be able to spare his life at the end. I have seen you grant mercy to entire cities, but your warriors lost only silver and loot when you did. If your brother has blood on his hands when we meet him …’ He broke off as Kublai grimaced.

‘I understand,’ Kublai said. The older man was watching him closely. ‘If this begins, I will end it. I do not want to kill him, orlok, but as you say, there are some things I will not ignore.’

Uriang-Khadai nodded, satisfied at what he saw in Kublai’s face.

‘Good. It is important to understand the stakes. This is not a game, or a family feud that can be settled with a good argument and strong drink. This will get bloody, my lord. I take it you have not informed your brother of your intentions? I saw you were holding the yam riders prisoner.’

Kublai shook his head.

‘That is something, at least,’ Uriang-Khadai said. ‘We will be able to surprise him and that is worth half a dozen tumans. I suggest you make Xanadu your stronghold, my lord. It is within striking range of your brother and we can leave the remaining camp followers there. Moving fast, we can break his supply lines and take the lands of whichever princes support him. We need information on those men, but with a little luck, the war could be over before your brother realises what is happening.’

Kublai felt the older man’s confidence lift him. He thought of the letter from Arik-Boke once again. His brother had boasted of the princes who had given their oath to him.

‘I believe I may have a list, orlok. My brother was kind enough to give me the names of his most prominent supporters.’

Uriang-Khadai blinked and then smiled slowly.

‘There were no yam lines when you made yourself khan, my lord. He may not hear for months yet what you have done. We can stay ahead of the news and be welcomed by the princes before they have any idea of our intentions.’

Kublai’s mouth tightened at the thought. He did not enjoy the idea of approaching men who thought of him as an ally and then destroying them, but his brother had left him with few choices.

‘If that is how it must be,’ he said. ‘Mongke’s two oldest sons declared for my brother, Asutai and Urung Tash. Do you know them?’

‘No, my lord. They will have been given lands in exchange for their support. Who else?’

‘Chagatai’s grandson, Alghu; Jochi’s son, Batu. Those are the most powerful of his new allies.’

‘Then we will take them first. I am not worried about Mongke’s sons, my lord. They will be minor players and they have not yet made their names. Batu will control the supplies of food and equipment coming from the north. He is the one we must attack first, then Alghu.’

Kublai thought for a moment.

‘Batu … owes me a great deal. Perhaps we can bring him to our side.’ Uriang-Khadai looked at him questioningly but he shook his head, unwilling to discuss it. ‘Even so, it means going around the homeland. Thousands of miles.’

‘Tsubodai managed three times the distance, my lord. Send a small force, two or three tumans to make the raid. General Bayar would bite your hand off if you offered him the chance to act for you. You and I will assault the Chagatai territory to the west.’

‘My brother Hulegu has a new khanate around Damascus. I will send someone to him there. Then Karakorum,’ Kublai said softly. ‘Each one in a season, orlok. I will not spend years on this. I want this finished quickly, so that I may return to the Sung.’

‘As you will, my lord khan,’ Uriang-Khadai said, bowing.

Arik-Boke opened the door and leaned against the frame as he stared into the palace hall. The room was large enough to echo at the slightest noise, but the host of scribes seated at desks were almost silent. Only the scratch of quills and the gentle thump of ink-stamps could be heard. They sat with their heads bowed, writing and reading. Occasionally, one of them would rise from his seat with a scroll in hand and cross the room to check it in whispers with his superior.

Batu peered through the open doorway. He was much older than Arik-Boke, though he too was a grandson of Genghis, descended through the line of Jochi, the first-born son to the great khan. His black hair was shot through with grey and his face was as weathered as any herdsman who spent his days in wind and rain. Only his paler skin showed his lands lay in the Russian north. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of the scribes and Arik-Boke chuckled.

‘You wanted to see the beating heart of the empire, Batu. This is it. I admit, it is not what I imagined when I became khan.’

‘I think I would go mad if I had to work in such a room,’ Batu replied seriously. He shrugged. ‘But it is necessary. I can only imagine the weight of information that must pass through Karakorum.’

‘It is the new world,’ Arik-Boke replied, closing the door softly behind them. ‘I think Genghis would not have understood it.’

Batu grinned, looking suddenly boyish.

‘He would have hated it, I know that much.’

‘I am not one to dwell too long in the past, Batu. That is why I invited you to Karakorum. You are my cousin and men speak well of you. We should not be strangers.’

‘You honour me,’ Batu said lightly. ‘Though I am comfortable enough on my lands. My tribute is a burden, of course, but I have not failed to make the payments yet.’

The hint was obvious enough and Arik-Boke nodded. ‘I will send a scribe to you to review the amounts. Perhaps some new arrangement should be worked out, for my khanate. All things can be remade, Batu. I have spent months simply learning the extent of my influence and power, but it is not all work. I see no reason why I should not reward those loyal to me.’

‘It is better to lead than to follow,’ Batu said. ‘It’s more tiring, but the rewards …’

Arik-Boke smiled slyly. ‘Let me show you the rewards,’ he said, gesturing for Batu to follow. ‘My brother Hulegu described a seraglio in Baghdad. I have begun something similar here.’

‘A seraglio?’ Batu replied, pronouncing the strange word carefully.

‘A gathering of beautiful young women, dedicated to me. I have men in the slave markets with my funds, looking only for the youngest and best. Come, I will give you your choice, any of them that takes your eye. Or more than one, if you wish.’

He led Batu down a series of corridors, until they came to a door and two heavyset guards. Both men stood rigidly in the presence of the khan and Arik-Boke swept past them, opening the door onto sounds of laughter and running water. Batu followed him in, his interest growing.

A small courtyard was revealed beyond, set with lush plants and with a covered walkway running around it. Batu saw six or seven young women and he noted Arik-Boke’s wolfish smile broaden. Around the courtyard were simple chambers with beds and a few ornaments.

‘I keep them here until they are pregnant, then move them out to other rooms in the palace to have the children.’

‘They are … wives?’ Batu asked.

Already the women were scrambling up at the khan’s presence, some of them kneeling on the polished stones. Arik-Boke laughed.

‘I have four wives, cousin. I do not need more of those.’

He gestured to one young woman and she came forward with fear in her eyes. Arik-Boke raised her chin with his outstretched hand, turning her head to the right and left so that Batu could see her beauty. She stood very still as he dropped his hand past her neck and opened her robe, revealing her breasts. He lifted one with rough fingers and the girl tensed. When Arik-Boke spoke again, his voice had roughened.

‘What a delicious weight on my hand. No, Batu, these are for pleasure and children. I will have a thousand heirs. Why not? A khan should have a strong line. Choose any of them. They will give you a night to remember.’

Batu had seen the girl’s wide pupils and understood the sweetish smell in the air was from opium. He showed Arik-Boke nothing as he nodded pleasantly.

‘My own wives are not so forgiving as yours, my lord khan. I think they would take a knife to my manhood if I took up your offer.’

Arik-Boke snorted, waving the girl away.

‘What nonsense, cousin! Every man should be khan in his own home.’

Batu smiled ruefully, struggling to find a way through that would not give offence. He did not want Arik-Boke’s women.

‘Every man has to sleep, my lord. I prefer to wake up with everything still attached.’

He chuckled and Arik-Boke responded, some of the tension easing out of him. He continued to fondle the girl’s breasts, distracted.

‘My brother Hulegu described rooms dedicated to pleasures of the flesh,’ Arik-Boke said. ‘With costumes and strange chairs and tools; hundreds of beautiful women, all for the shah.’

Batu grimaced, unseen. The girl stared with dull eyes as Arik-Boke pawed her. Her lips looked bruised and swollen, and in truth Batu found her intensely attractive. Yet, as Ogedai Khan had once told him, everything was about power. Batu did not want to put himself in Arik-Boke’s debt. He could sense the small man’s arousal coming off him in waves, almost like heat. Arik-Boke snuffled as he breathed through his mouth, the scarred face ugly in lust. Batu struggled with nausea as he kept his smile in place.

‘And Kublai, lord? I have not seen him in years. Is he returning to Karakorum?’

Arik-Boke lost some of his flush at the mention of his brother. He shrugged deliberately.

‘At his best speed, cousin. I have ordered him home.’

‘I would like to see him again, my lord,’ Batu said innocently. ‘He and I were friends, once.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

‘Be silent for the Son of Heaven, Emperor of the Sung, Lord Perpetual Nation,’ announced the imperial chancellor. His master raised a hand in greeting to Lords Hong and Sung Win as he came to the front ranks. Huaizong’s young face was flushed with excitement to be riding with such a host. He rode an elderly gelding as wide as a table. The amiable mount had been considered suitable for an eleven-year-old who could not be thrown. It had to be flogged mercilessly to do anything but walk, but it didn’t dampen the young emperor’s enthusiasm.

‘See how they run before us!’ he called to his lords. Huaizong had come from the safety of the centre to the front lines to confirm the news his imperial messengers had brought. In the far distance, he could see the Mongol tumans riding north to the Chin border. The sight of it made him want to laugh in joy. His first act as emperor had been to drive them forth from his lands. Truly, heaven smiled on a reign that began in such a way.

It did not matter that his lords had been forced to push hard just to bring the enemy in sight. Emperor Huaizong was by then aware that the Mongols had begun to withdraw before his vast army was in range.

‘They are going home,’ he said. None of the closest lords chose to answer what was not a clear question.

Huaizong climbed up onto his saddle, so that he stood there with the careless balance of the very young. His horse ambled along beneath him, keeping pace with the multitude of soldiers and horsemen that stretched on either side and behind for as far as he could see. When he turned to look over his shoulder, Huaizong could only shake his head in wonder at the strength of the nation he had inherited. Soldiers marched in perfect lines, coloured banners fluttering. Those nearby averted their gaze from the emperor, while those further back marched stolidly, too far to see the small figure staring over their heads. Still further he looked, until the colours darkened and the marching lines resembled the distant waves of some dun sea, rippling across the land under the wide, blue sky. A host of peasants trudged behind on foot and in carts, carrying the food and equipment to support the soldiers. Huaizong did not heed those. His towns and cities teemed with them. When he noticed them at all, it was only as beasts of burden, to be used and discarded at will.

Huaizong turned back and dropped into his saddle with a pleased grunt as Lord Sung Win brought his horse alongside.

‘They will not stand to face us?’ Huaizong asked, craning to see the Mongol tumans over the land ahead. His voice was sour.

Lord Sung Win shook his head.

‘Perhaps they know the Son of Heaven rides with us today,’ he said, not above flattering the boy who held power over his house and line. ‘They have showed no sign of stopping for days now.’

‘I am only disappointed not to have seen a battle, Lord Sung Win,’ Huaizong said.

Sung Win glanced sharply at him, worrying that the boy would order them across the border into Chin lands just to slake his immature desire to see blood. The older man had a fair idea of the costs involved. As with most men who had known battle in their youth, he was quite happy to see an enemy retreat and to leave them to it. He spoke before the boy could throw away the lives of thousands.

‘The reign of Emperor Huaizong has begun well,’ he said. ‘You have driven out the enemy and you will have time now to secure your position and complete your training.’

It was perhaps the wrong thing to say to an eleven-year-old. Lord Sung Win frowned as the boy’s mouth turned into a sneer.

‘You think I should return to my dusty tutors? They are not here, Lord Sung Win. I am free of them! My army is marching. Shall I stop now? I could drive them from Chin lands. I could drive them right back to their home.’

‘The Son of Heaven knows our cities lie defenceless behind us,’ Lord Sung Win said, searching for the right words. ‘In normal times, we have strong garrisons, but they have either been lost to the enemy or they are here with us. I’m sure the Son of Heaven knows the tales of armies who drove too far into the lands of their enemies and were cut off from behind, then lost.’

Emperor Huaizong looked at him in irritation, but lapsed into silence, biting his lip as he thought. Lord Sung Win prayed silently that the boy would not begin his reign with an unplanned campaign. Warily, he chose to speak again.

‘The Son of Heaven knows they are well supplied on their own land, while we must bring in food and equipment for hundreds of miles. Such a campaign is worthy for the second or third years of a reign, but not in the first, not without planning. The Son of Heaven knows this much better than his humble servants.’

The boy made a sulky noise in his throat.

‘Very well, Lord Sung Win. Begin work on such a campaign. We will chase these men to the border, but you will lead the war next year. I am not a sick old man, Sung Win. I will take back the lands of my ancestors.’

Sung Win bowed deeply as best he could in the saddle.

‘The Son of Heaven honours me in sharing his great wisdom,’ he said. A bead of sweat ran down his nose and he rubbed it discreetly. It was like the village boys who played with snakes, laughing wildly at the danger as a cobra lunged for them. A single mistake would mean death, but they still did it, gathering around in a circle whenever they found one. Sung Win felt like one of those boys as he stared at the ground passing underneath him, not daring to raise his eyes.

Kublai’s neck hurt from staring over his shoulder as he rode, his frustration clear to see. He felt Uriang-Khadai’s gaze on him and his frown eased.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn the tumans around and charge them. I’ve never seen so many soldiers on the move. With Bayar gone ahead, we have what, a tenth of their numbers? A twentieth? I’ve learned enough to know when to attack and when to tuck in my tail and run.’

He spoke lightly, but Uriang-Khadai could see the glances back were calculating, watching for flaws in the Sung lines. They were too far off to read accurately, but Kublai had spent a long time facing those very soldiers. He knew their strengths and weaknesses as well as his own.

‘Do you see how the centre is protected?’ Kublai said. ‘That formation is new. So many, orlok! It has to be the emperor, or at the least one of his relatives. Yet I must leave them behind to fight my own brother.’ He leaned over in the saddle and spat as if he wanted to rid himself of the taste of the words.

‘Still, we go on,’ he said. ‘Do you think they will stop at the border?’ His question was almost hopeful, but Uriang-Khadai answered quickly.

‘Unless they are led by a man like your grandfather, almost certainly. They have put everything they had into a short campaign in their own lands. I doubt they have food enough to feed so many for more than a few weeks.’

‘If they cross the border, I will be forced to take them on,’ Kublai said, watching the older man closely. He laughed as Uriang-Khadai winced. ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I’ll fight a running battle back to Xanadu and wear them down in my lands. I’ll scour the ground before me and keep them hungry and on the move. We could do it, orlok. What are tenfold odds to us?’

‘Destruction, I suspect, my lord khan,’ Uriang-Khadai said. He thought Kublai was only teasing him, but there was an underlying hunger in the younger man. He had given much of his prime to the task of defeating the Sung. It had hurt Kublai deeply to break off, and for all his banter, the orlok thought he might welcome the chance to end it against the emperor himself.

As they crossed the border into Chin lands, marked by a series of small white temples, more and more of the men began looking back to see if the pursuing forces would follow. It was a bitter-sweet moment for Kublai when he saw the Sung vanguard halt. He had deliberately slowed his pace by then, so that they were barely a mile behind. He could see the front ranks standing in perfect stillness as they watched the Mongols depart and he imagined their jubilation. The border darkened with standing men and horses for miles to the east and west, a clear statement of strength and confidence. We are here, they were saying. We are not afraid to face you.

‘I will have to leave tumans here with such an army this close,’ Kublai said to Uriang-Khadai.

‘There is no point. No small part of our forces could resist such a host,’ Uriang-Khadai replied. ‘The Chin dominion has its own tumans. You are now their khan, my lord. They are yours to use. Yet if the Sung invade while we are riding against your brother, your cities could be sacked. You could lose Xanadu and Yenking.’

‘I am too old to do it all again! What do you suggest?’

‘Make Salsanan your orlok for Chin lands. Give him the task of defending the territory and your authority to raise and lead armies in your name. You have ten times the land of this Sung emperor. He will not find it easy, even if he is foolish enough to enter your domain.’

Kublai nodded, making a quick decision.

‘Very well. I will also leave one tuman here, to patrol the border and make it look as if we are ready for them.’

‘Or to carry the news if the attack begins,’ Uriang-Khadai said, refusing to give up his dour tone.

Kublai sighed as he rode further and further away from the border. It was the end of his campaign against the Sung. He prayed to the sky father that he would see the southlands again before he died.

By crossing, Kublai knew he had passed into territory that linked right back to Karakorum. He would not have been able to move his tumans without yam riders reporting it, galloping off on the first leg of a journey that would take them into Arik-Boke’s presence. There had been only one way around the problem and he had discussed it with General Bayar as well as Uriang-Khadai. Only Salsanan had spoken against the idea and Kublai had ignored him. Salsanan had not been there for the years of war among the Sung and he had not yet earned the respect of the others. Kublai was satisfied at the idea of giving the man orders to defend the Chin khanate.

They found the first yam station on a crossroads some ten miles in from the border. It had been looted, the riders taken as warriors for Bayar, the stables empty. Kublai rode past the way station with a sense of misgiving. It would be the first of many as his general broke yam lines right across Chin territory. In that single act, Kublai knew he had declared war on his brother. It could not be taken back. He had set a path that would end with his death or in Karakorum. He clenched his jaw as he rode on and a sense of relief swept over him. Xanadu lay north, where he would leave the rest of his camp followers, as well as Chabi and his baby daughter. His son Zhenjin would stay with him, strong enough at last to endure the distances. Kublai nodded to himself. From Xanadu, his warriors would ride with just spare horses and provisions, enough to last a month. They would go out almost as raiders, moving as fast as any force Genghis had commanded. It felt good to take his own fate in his hands. The choice was made; the doubts were past.

Arik-Boke drew his bow back to his lips, letting the feathers touch him before he loosed. The arrow soared where he had aimed, taking a fallow deer buck through the neck and sending it tumbling, its hooves kicking wildly. His bearers whooped at the shot, kicking their mounts forward and jumping down to cut the animal’s throat. One of them raised the buck by its horns, the long neck arching as he showed Arik-Boke the spread. It was a fine animal, but Arik-Boke was already moving on. The circle hunt arranged by Lord Alghu was at its zenith, with animals driven to the centre over dozens of miles. It had begun before dawn, as the heat of the region around Samarkand and Bukhara made the afternoon a time of quiet and rest. The sun was high overhead and Arik-Boke was sweating in streams. Everything from snorting hogs to a carpet of sprinting hares ran under the hooves of his mount, but the khan ignored them all when he heard the coughing roar of a leopard somewhere close. He spun in the saddle and cursed under his breath as he saw Alghu’s daughter already on the charge, her lance held low and loose in her hand. The girl Aigiarn had a name that meant beautiful moon, but in private, Arik-Boke thought of her as the hainag, a muscular yak with a short temper and thick, matted hair. She was a freak of a woman, so large and bulky across the shoulders that her breasts were mere flat sacks on muscles.

Arik-Boke shouted for her to ride clear as he saw a flash of dark yellow in the press of animals. Only a Persian leopard could move so swiftly and he felt his heart leap at the glimpse. He lunged forward and almost collided with Aigiarn as her mount danced in front of him, spoiling his shot. The noise of roaring men and screaming animals was all around them and she had not reacted to his shout. As he yelled again, she lowered her lance and leaned into a blow as a flash of gold and black tried to dart under the hooves of her horse. The leopard snarled and yowled, seeming to curl around the long birch spear as it punched into its chest. Algiarn cried out in triumph, her voice as ugly to Arik-Boke’s ear as the rest of her. While he swore, she leapt down, drawing a short sword that resembled a cleaver as much as anything. Even with the lance through its chest, the leopard was still dangerous and Arik-Boke shouted again for her to stand clear for his shot. She either ignored him or didn’t hear and he muttered in anger, easing the bow. He was tempted to send a shaft into the young yak herself for her impudence, but he had travelled a long way to flatter her father and he restrained himself. In disgust, he saw her cut the leopard’s throat as he turned his mount away.

With the burning sun so high, the circle hunt was almost at an end and there were no great prizes left in the swarming mass of fur and claw all round the riders. Arik-Boke dropped a warthog with a neatly aimed shaft behind its shoulder, cutting into its lungs so the animal sprayed red mist with every breath. Two more deer fell to him, though neither had the spread of horns he wanted. His mood was still sour as a shout went up and children ran in among the warriors, killing hares and finishing off the wounded beasts. Their laughter only served to irritate him further and he passed over his bow to his servants before dismounting and leading his horse out of the bloody ring.

Lord Alghu had known better than to take the best animals. His servants were already dressing the carcases of deer for the night’s feast, but none of them had a great spread of antlers. The only leopard had fallen to his daughter, Arik-Boke noted. She had waved away the servants and taken a seat on a pile of saddles to begin skinning the animal with her own knife. Arik-Boke paused as he walked past her.

‘I thought the shot was mine, for the leopard,’ he said. ‘I called it loud enough.’

‘My lord?’ she replied. She was already bloody to the elbows and once again Arik-Boke was struck by the sheer size of her. In build, she reminded him almost of his brother Mongke.

‘I didn’t hear you, my lord khan,’ she went on. ‘I haven’t taken a leopard pelt before.’

‘Yes, well …’ Arik-Boke broke off as her father strode across the bloody grass, looking worried.

‘Did you enjoy the hunt, my lord?’ Alghu asked. His eyes flickered to his daughter, clearly nervous that she had managed to offend his guest. Arik-Boke sniffed.

‘I did, Lord Alghu. I was just saying to your daughter that she came across my shot as I was lining up on the leopard.’

Lord Alghu paled slightly, though whether it was anger or fear, Arik-Boke could not tell.

‘You must take the pelt, my lord. My daughter can be blind and deaf in a hunt. I’m sure she meant no insult by it.’

Arik-Boke looked up, realising the man was genuinely afraid he would demand some punishment. Not for the first time, he felt the thrill of his new power. He saw Aigiarn look up in dismay, her mouth opening to reply before her father’s glare made her drop her head.

‘That is generous of you, Lord Alghu. It is a particularly fine pelt. Perhaps when your daughter has finished skinning the animal, it could be brought to my quarters.’

‘Of course, my lord khan. I will see to it myself.’

Arik-Boke walked on, satisfied. He too had been one of many princes in the nation, each with their own small khanates. Perhaps he’d had a greater status than most as the brother of the khan, but he had not enjoyed instant obedience then. It was intoxicating. He glanced back to find the daughter glaring at him, then quickly looking away as she realised she had been seen. Arik-Boke smiled to himself. He would have the skin tanned into softness, then make a gift of it to her as he left. He needed her father and the small gift would reap much greater rewards. The man obviously doted on his yak of a daughter and Arik-Boke needed the food his khanate produced.

He rubbed his hands together, ridding himself of flakes of dried blood. It had been a good day, the end of months touring the small principalities that made up the greater khanate. He had been feted wherever he went and his baggage train groaned under the weight of gifts in gold and silver. Even his brother Hulegu had put aside the strife of his new lands, though General Kitbuqa had been slaughtered there by Islamic soldiers when Hulegu came back to Karakorum for the funeral of Mongke. His brother had carved a difficult khanate for himself, but he had paraded his men for Arik-Boke and given him a suit of armour shaped from precious jade as a gift and token of affection.

In the company of Lord Alghu’s court, Arik-Boke entered the palace grounds in Samarkand, walking under the shadow of a wide gate. On all sides were carts covered in the heaped carcases of animals they had taken that day. Women came out to greet them from the palace kitchens, laughing and joking as they stropped their knives.

Arik-Boke nodded and smiled to them, but his thoughts were far away. Kublai had not yet replied to him. His older brother’s absence was like a thorn in his tunic, pricking him with every movement. It was not enough to have men like Alghu bowing to him. Arik-Boke knew the continuing absence of Kublai was being discussed all over the small khanates. He had an army with him that had not sworn allegiance to the new khan. Until they did, Arik-Boke’s position remained uncertain. The yam lines were silent. He considered sending another set of orders to his brother, but then shook his head, dismissing the idea as weakness. He would not plead with Kublai to come home. A khan did not ask. He demanded - and it was done. He wondered if his brother had lost himself in some Chin ruins, oblivious to the concerns of the khanate. It would not have surprised Arik-Boke.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Kublai rode in pouring rain, his horse labouring and snorting as it plunged through thick mud. Whenever they stopped, he would change to a spare horse. The sturdy animals were the secret of his army’s power and he never envied the much larger Arab stallions, or the Russian plough horses with shoulders higher than his head. The Mongol ponies could ride to the horizon, then do it again the next day. He was not so sure about himself. His numb hands shook in the cold and he coughed constantly, sipping airag from a skin to ease his throat and let a trickle of warmth spread down his chest. He did not need to be sober to ride and it was a small comfort.

Twelve tumans rode with him, including the eight who had fought their way to within reach of Hangzhou. There was no road wide enough for such a horde and they left a trail of churned fields half a mile wide. Far ahead, his scouts rode without armour or equipment, taking over the yam stations and holding the riders there long enough for the tumans to arrive and swallow them up. He was able to judge the distance they travelled each day by the number of them he passed - the regular spacing set by the laws of Genghis himself. Passing two meant he had ridden fifty miles, but on a good day, when the ground was firm and the sun shone, they could pass three.

This was not that day. The front ranks did better, but by the time the second or third tuman rode over the same ground, it had become deep, churned clods that wearied the mounts and cut the distance they could travel.

Kublai raised his hand to signal one of his personal bondsmen. The drummer boys on camels could not have kept up the pace of the previous fifteen days of hard riding. No camel alive could run fifty or seventy miles a day over rough terrain. Kublai grinned at the sight of the man. His bondsman was so spattered with mud that his face, legs and chest were almost completely black, his eyes showing as red-rimmed holes. The bondsman saw the gesture and raised a horn to his lips, sounding a low note that was immediately echoed by others down the lines.

It took time to stop so many, or even for them to hear the order. Kublai waited patiently as the lines ahead and behind began to slow to a walk, and finally he was able to dismount, grunting in discomfort as tired muscles creaked. He had been riding at speed for a morning and if his men felt half as tired as he did, it was time to rest and eat.

Three hundred thousand horses needed to graze for hours each day to keep up the pace. Kublai always chose stopping points by rivers and good grass, but they had been hard to find as they pushed into the west. Xanadu was over a thousand miles behind him, his half-built city showing clearly what it would become in a few more years. The wide streets had been laid in fine, smooth stone, perfect and ready to be worn down by his people. Great sections were finished and he had brought life to silent streets with his people. The excitement on their faces had pleased him as they claimed empty houses and moved in together, chattering at every new wonder. He smiled as his mind embellished the memories, making parks and avenues where there were still pegs and saplings. Yet it was real and it would grow. If he left nothing else behind, he would have made a city from nothing.

Since then, the terrain had changed many times, from wet river plains to rough hills with nothing but scrub thorn bushes. They had passed a hundred small towns, with the inhabitants hiding themselves away. That was one thing about riding with twelve tumans - Kublai had nothing to fear from bandits or scavengers. They rode through an empty landscape as every potential enemy vanished at the sight of them.

Each group of ten warriors had two or three whose job it was to lead thirty horses to water and grass. They carried grain, but problems of weight meant they could take only enough for an emergency supply. Kublai handed over his reins to another and stretched his back with a groan. In the downpour, he hadn’t bothered looking for woodland to provide fuel. It would be a cold meal of stale bread and meat scraps for most of the men. Xanadu had provided enough salted lamb and goat to last a month, an amount that had left the entire population on half-rations behind them until the herds replenished themselves. They were not yet at the point of drinking mare’s blood from the living animals, but it was not far away.

Kublai sighed, taking pleasure in watching the routines around him, enjoying the lessening of eye strain as he focused on something close instead of miles ahead. He missed his wife, though he had learned not to grow too attached to a baby until he was sure it would survive. His son Zhenjin rode with the bondsmen, white with fatigue by the end of a day, but doggedly determined not to let his father down. He was on the edge of true manhood, but thin and wiry like his father. There were worse ways to grow into a man - and worse companions than the tumans around him.

As Kublai stretched, Uriang-Khadai walked over to him, shaking clods of mud from his feet as he went. They were all covered in the muck that spattered up from hooves and Kublai had to grin at the sight of the dignified orlok made to look as if he’d rolled down a wet hill. The force of the rain increased suddenly, washing away the worst of it as they stood and stared at each other. It made a dull thunder as it hammered down and somewhere close lightning cracked across the sky, a dim flash behind the heavy clouds. Kublai began to laugh.

‘I thought we were going to cross deserts, orlok. A man could drown standing up here.’

‘I prefer it to heat, my lord, but I can’t get the maps out in this. We’ve taken two yam stations today. I suggest we let the horses and men rest until tomorrow. I doubt it will last much longer.’

‘How far to Samarkand now?’ Kublai asked. He saw the older man raise his eyes to heaven and recalled he’d asked the same question many times.

‘Some seven hundred miles, my lord. About fifty less than this morning.’

Kublai ignored the orlok’s sour tone and worked it out. Twelve more days, maybe ten if he forced the men to the edge of ragged exhaustion and changed mounts more often. He had been careful with his resources to that point, but perhaps it was time to push for their highest possible speed.

The Chagatai khanate was well established and there would be yam lines running right through it in all directions. Though he took the riders from each one, he still worried that someone would get ahead of him. It would take a superb rider to stay in front of his tumans, but a man without armour on a fresh horse only had to reach one station ahead and then change horses at every point. It could be done and he dreaded the news that someone had already gone racing through.

Uriang-Khadai had waited patiently while the khan thought, knowing Kublai well.

‘What can you tell me about the land to come?’ Kublai asked.

The orlok shrugged, glancing south. If it had not been for the rain, he would have seen the white-capped mountain peaks that led down into India. They were skirting the edges of the range, taking a path almost straight south-west that would lead them into the heart of the Chagatai khanate and its most prosperous cities.

‘The maps show a pass through the final range of mountains. I do not know how high we must go to get over it. Beyond the peaks, the land is flat enough to make up whatever time we lose there.’

Kublai closed his eyes for a moment. His men could endure the cold far better than heat and he had spare deel robes on the packhorses. The problem was always food, for so many men and animals. They were already on short rations and he did not want to arrive in the Chagatai khanate like refugees from some disaster. They had to come fresh enough to fight and win quickly.

‘Fifteen days then. In fifteen, I want to see Samarkand’s walls before me. We’ll stop for the night here, where the grass is good, to let the horses fill their bellies. Tell the men to go out and seek firewood; we have almost nothing left.’

It had become his practice to carry enough old wood for a fire each night, if he could. Even that was in short supply. Kublai wondered if Tsubodai had faced the same problems as he drove north and west beyond the boundaries of the nation of Genghis.

He stretched again as his men erected a basic awning held with poles. It would keep the rain off long enough to make a fire from the dry wood they unwrapped. Who would have known what a precious resource a few sticks and logs would become? Kublai’s mouth filled with saliva at the thought of hot food. Most of the men would eat the cheese slop they made by mixing the iron-hard blocks with water. A few dried sticks of meat would give them strength, though it was never enough. They would go on. They would endure anything while they rode with their khan.

General Bayar loved the cold north. From his youth, he had dreamed of what it must have been like to ride with Tsubodai into the white vastness, the land without end. In fact, he had been surprised how green the Russian steppes were in spring, at least the lowlands. His mother had brought him up with stories of Tsubodai’s victories, how he took Moscow and Kiev, how he broke the knights of Christ in their shining armour. To ride in those footsteps was a joy. Bayar knew Christians and Moslems visited holy places as part of their faith. It amused Bayar to think of his journey into Batu’s lands as his own pilgrimage. The rashes and infections that had plagued his men in the humid south slowly vanished, finally able to scar once the pus dried. Even lice and fleas were less active in the cold and many of the men smoked their clothes over open fires to give them relief while they could find it.

Bayar understood he had to be a stern leader for his men. He knew he faced battle ahead and the warriors of three tumans looked to him for leadership. Yet he wanted to whoop like a little boy as his horse plunged through snow, with white hills all around him.

At that height, it was always winter, though the steppes stretched into a green and dun horizon far below. It was open land, without the trappings of civilisation he had come to loathe among the Sung. There were no roads to follow there and his tumans cut their own path. The cold made his bones ache and each breath bit into him, but he felt alive, as if the years in Sung lands had been under a blanket of warm moistness that he was only then clearing from his lungs. He had never been fitter and he rose each day with fresh energy, leaping into his saddle and shouting to his officers. Kublai depended on him and Bayar would not let him down while he lived.

His tumans had not been with Kublai in the south. All of them were warriors Mongke had been bringing against the Sung. They did not have the lean look of those who had been at war for years, but Bayar was satisfied. They had given their oath to the khan and he did not worry about their loyalty beyond that. Part of him exulted at being in sole command of so many, a force to strike terror into Kublai’s enemies. This was the nation: the raiding force of ruthless warriors, armed with sword, lance and bow.

Batu’s khanate was part of the history, its story told around fires a thousand times since. His father Jochi had rebelled against Genghis, the only man ever to do so. It had cost him his life, but the man’s khanate remained, given to Batu by the hand of Ogedai Khan. Bayar had to struggle not to grin at the thought of meeting a grandson of Genghis, first-born to first-born. Batu was one among many who could have been khan, with more right than most. Instead, the line had passed to Ogedai, Guyuk and then Mongke, descendants of different sons. Bayar hoped to see some trace of the Genghis bloodline in the man he would meet. He hoped he would not have to destroy him. He had come to declare Kublai’s khanate and demand obedience. If Batu refused, Bayar knew what he would have to do. He would make his own mark in the history of the nation, as a man who ended a noble line from the great khan himself. It was a bitter thought and he did not dwell on it. Kublai was khan, his brother a weak pretender. There was no other way to see it.

In the cold months, Batu could not have had scouts out for weeks at a time without them losing fingers and toes to the frost. Bayar was not surprised to see isolated stone houses as he led his men down from the high hills. From a great distance, he could see smoke drifting up from dwellings with thick walls and sharply angled roofs, designed to let the snow fall rather than build up a crushing weight. He could also see riders galloping away from them as they caught sight of the tumans, no doubt to inform Batu of the threat. Bayar had broken his last yam station some miles before, taking the furious riders with him. Kublai’s orders no longer applied, now that he had made contact. Arik-Boke would soon hear, as they wanted him to hear, and he would know his northern lands were cut off. Bayar hoped Kublai and Uriang-Khadai had reached Samarkand. Between them, they would isolate Karakorum, snatching away the two great suppliers of grain and herds to the capital.

With battle horns droning, Bayar picked up the pace, his thirty thousand men moving well as they dragged the tail of spare horses behind them. At the far rear, he had men with long sticks to force the herds on when they wanted to stop and graze. They would get a chance to rest and eat when he was done with Lord Batu.

Bayar was able to judge the man he would face by the speed of his response to the incursion. He had to admit it was impressive how fast Batu’s tumans appeared. Even without the warning from yam lines, in a long-settled land with no close enemies, Bayar made barely ten miles across a valley of ice-rimed grass before he heard distant horns and saw black lines of galloping horses coming in fast. Kublai’s general watched in fascination as the numbers visible kept growing, pouring into the valley from two or three different directions. The Batu khanate was barely a generation old and he had no idea how many men could take the field against his incursion. He had planned for a single tuman of warriors, possibly two. By the time they had formed up in sold ranks, blocking his path, he suspected they almost equalled his force - some thirty thousand men ready to defend their master’s lands and people.

Kublai had been away from home too long, Bayar realised. When he had left for Sung lands, Batu’s khanate had barely registered in the politics of Karakorum. Yet Batu’s people had bred and taken in many more over the years. For the first time, Bayar considered that he might not be able to bring crushing force against the man. He had seen the way the tumans moved, recognising the shifting patterns of smaller jaguns and minghaans in the host. It was no wild horde he faced, but trained men, with bows and swords just like his own.

Bayar halted his tumans with a raised fist. He had been given a free hand by Kublai, but for the first time in years he felt his inexperience. These were his own people and he did not know instantly how to approach them as a hostile commander. He waited for a time in the front rank, then breathed in relief as a group detached on the other side and rode into a middle ground. They bore the red flags of the Golden Horde khanate, but also pure white banners. There was no one symbol for truce among the khanates, but white was gaining ascendancy and he could only hope they thought it meant the same as he did. Bayar gestured to his bondsmen.

‘Raise white banners. Two jaguns forward with me,’ he said, digging in his heels before they could move. He focused on the others as he rode forward - wondering if he could think of them yet as the enemy. There was an older man at their centre, surrounded by warriors in full armour with bows in their hands. Bayar headed for him, knowing his men would be forming behind him without further orders.

The tension seemed to swell in the air as his two hundred closed on the detachment. Bayar felt himself shudder slightly as he passed the point where he knew he was in arrow range. He wore layered scale armour in the Chin style, but he knew as well as any man alive that the long Mongol arrows could pierce it. He felt sweat trickle from his armpits and showed them only the cold face. Kublai depended on him.

At a hundred yards, Bayar wanted to call a halt, but it was too far to speak with whoever led them and he forced himself to ride on as if he didn’t face armed men able to send shafts down his throat at that distance. Batu’s detachment watched him come with no expression, though they shifted their bows in growing tension as he came to barely twenty paces. In the sudden silence, he could hear the banners in the wind, furling and snapping. He took a deep breath, controlling his nerves so his voice would be strong and steady.

‘Under flags of truce, I seek Lord Batu Borjigin,’ he shouted.

‘You have found him,’ the man at the centre responded. ‘Now why have you come onto my lands with tumans? Has the great khan declared war on my people?’

For an instant, Bayar fought not to smile. He faced death in a heartbeat and his physical reaction was to grin.

‘I do not know what the pretender is doing, my lord. I know Kublai Khan offers you peace in exchange for loyalty.’

Batu’s mouth fell slightly open. He spluttered as he spoke, his dignity forgotten.

‘What? Kublai Khan? Who are you to come here and talk of Kublai?’

Bayar laughed at the man’s confusion, finally letting out some of the tension in him.

‘Offer me guest rights in your camp, my lord. I have ridden a long way and my throat is dry.’

Batu stared at him for a moment that seemed endless, until Bayar’s threatening laughter grew still in him. The man was around fifty, Bayar judged, with hair that had gone dark grey and heavy lines around his mouth and eyes. He wondered if he resembled Genghis as he waited, memorising the face.

‘Very well, I grant you guest rights for this evening and no longer. Until I have heard what you have to say to me.’

Bayar relaxed slightly. He would never be completely safe, even after such an offer, but it was never given lightly. Until the following morning, Batu would be his host, even to the point of defending him if he were attacked. He dismounted and nodded to his men to do the same. Batu followed the action and came stalking over the frozen grass, his face full of curiosity.

‘Who are you?’ Batu demanded.

‘General Bayar, my lord. Officer to Kublai Khan.’

Batu shook his head in confusion.

‘Send your men away and have them camp in the valley two miles to the east. I won’t have them frightening my villages. There will be no looting, or contact with my people, general. Is that clear?’

‘I will give the orders, my lord,’ Bayar replied.

The older man seemed to be studying him, his expression still astonished. Bayar watched as felt rugs were laid out on the grass and tea put on to boil. He sent word back to his tumans and then settled himself. He only hoped he could find the right words to impress the man who sat across from him.

Batu waited until Bayar had taken a bowl of tea in his right hand and sipped it, tasting the salt.

‘Now explain, general. You know, I almost hope you are a madman. That would be a better thing than the news I think you have brought.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Samarkand was a beautiful city, with white mountains in the distance and walls so thick that three horsemen could ride abreast on the crown. Blue towers showed over the sand-coloured walls, but the great gates were closed. Kublai’s tumans had driven farmers and villagers ahead of them like geese, the crowd growing as they rode the last few miles. Unable to enter the city, they sat and wailed in front of it, raising their hands to those within. Kublai’s warriors ignored them.

All along the walls, armoured Mongols and Persians looked down in stupefaction. No army had besieged Samarkand since Genghis. Yet there were many still alive who remembered the horrors of that time. Hundreds, then thousands of the inhabitants climbed steps on the inside to stare at the tumans.

Kublai looked up at them, sitting comfortably on a thin horse as it nuzzled the ground for anything worth eating. His face and fingers still ached from the cold he had endured in the mountain passes. Though the sun was strong, he knew he would lose skin on his cheeks, already darker than the rest of his face as it began to peel and crack.

Zhenjin trotted his mount over to his father, though he did not speak as he too looked up at the great walls. Kublai smiled to see his son’s expression.

‘My grandfather took this city once, Zhenjin,’ he said.

‘How?‘ the boy replied, in awe. He barely remembered Karakorum, and Samarkand was designed to impress exactly the sort of force Kublai commanded.

‘Catapults and siege,’ Kublai replied. ‘He did not have cannon then.’

‘We have no cannon, father,’ Zhenjin replied.

‘No, but if I must, I will have the men build heavy machines to break the walls. It will not be quick, but the city will fall. That is not why I came here though, Zhenjin. I have no interest in killing my own people, unless they force my hand. There are faster ways, if they know their history.’

He signalled to Uriang-Khadai and in turn the man snapped an order to two of the warriors. They leapt from their saddles and began to unpack equipment from spare horses. Zhenjin watched as they took rolls of material and spars onto their shoulders, grunting at the weight.

‘What do they have there?’ he asked.

‘You will see,’ Kublai replied, smiling strangely to himself. The scholar he had been was very far away at that moment, though he took joy in the story of his family and the history of the city. History was more than just stories, he reminded himself as the men walked forward with their burdens. It taught lessons as well.

Under the eye of their khan, the men worked quickly, heaving layers of cloth onto a wooden frame and hammering pegs and ropes into the stony ground. They had walked into arrow range and their stiff backs showed how they tried to resist the fear that someone would put a shaft into them as they worked.

When they stood back, the tumans broke into a roar of challenge, unplanned, a crash of sound that echoed back to them from the walls. A white tent stood before Samarkand.

‘I do not understand,’ Zhenjin said, shouting to be heard over the noise.

‘The senior men in the city will,’ Kublai replied. ‘The white tent is a demand for surrender, a sign to them that the khan’s tumans have declared war. As the sun sets, if their gates remain closed to me, a red tent will follow. It will stand for a day before their walls. If they ignore that, I will raise a black tent before them.’

‘What do the red and black tents mean?’ Zhenjin asked.

‘They mean death, my son, though it will not come to that.’

Even as he spoke, the huge gates began to swing open. A cry of hope went up from the crowd of terrified refugees around the walls. They streamed to that one point as if a dam had burst, pushing each other in desperation and getting in the way of riders trying to leave the city. Kublai grinned at his son.

‘They remember Genghis still, at least in Samarkand. See there, my son. They come.’

Lord Alghu was sweating heavily, though he had bathed in cool waters as the sun rose. He had been called from his palace rooms by senior men, their faces white with fear. He could still hardly believe the sheer size of the army that had gathered before Samarkand. For the first time in his life, he understood how it must have been for the enemies of the nation to wake and see tumans waiting for them. He wished his father Baidur still lived. He would have known what to do in the face of such a threat.

Alghu had rushed up to the crest of the wall, sagging against a stone pillar as he stared out into the distance. Had he offended Arik-Boke in some way? Lord Alghu swallowed painfully, his throat dry in the breeze. If the khan chose to make an example of him, his beloved cities would be burnt, his people slaughtered. Alghu had no illusions about the destructive strength of a Mongol army in the field. The tumans before Samarkand would tear through the Chagatai khanate like an unstoppable plague. He saw his own death in the fluttering banners.

His senior men had climbed the sandstone steps to see and they looked to him to give orders. Lord Alghu summoned his will, forcing himself to think. He led them all and their lives were in his hands. He did not blame his daughter. Aigiarn was young and headstrong, but whatever insult Arik-Boke believed he had been given did not warrant sending an army. He would send her away from the city so that Arik-Boke’s malice would not fall on her. Lord Alghu shuddered at the thought.

‘My lord, I cannot see the khan’s banners out there,’ one of his men said suddenly.

Lord Alghu had been turning to the steps to go down. He stopped.

‘What do you mean?’ he said, coming back and peering out again. The day was clear and he could see a long way from the height of the walls.

‘I don’t understand,’ Alghu muttered as he confirmed it with his own eyes. Arik-Boke’s banners were missing, but he did not recognise the others flying there. They seemed to have some animal embroidered on yellow silk. It was too far to be certain, but Lord Alghu knew he had never seen those flags before.

‘Perhaps I should go out and ask them what they want,’ he said to his men, smiling tightly.

Their expressions didn’t ease in reply. All of them had family in Samarkand or the cities around it. The Chagatai khanate had not been attacked for decades and yet they all knew the stories of slaughter and destruction that had come with Genghis. It was impossible to live in the khanate and not hear them.

A small group of warriors walked forward from the tumans in front of his city, each man bearing rolls of cloth. Alghu stared down in confusion as they approached the walls. One of his soldiers began to bend a bow nearby, but he snapped an order to be still.

Thousands watched curiously as the white tent began to take shape, the men below hammering pegs and stretching ropes to hold it. It was not as solid as a ger and its sides fluttered in the breeze. When Lord Alghu recognised it, he fell back a step, shaking his head.

‘It can’t be,’ he whispered. Those who remembered stood in shock, while their friends demanded to know what it meant.

‘Ready the gates!’ Lord Alghu shouted suddenly. ‘I will go out to them.’ He turned to his men, his expression sick with worry.

‘This has to be a mistake. I do not understand it, but the khan would not destroy Samarkand.’

He almost fell as he ran down the steps, his legs weak under him. His horse was on the main street into the city, waiting with his personal guards. They knew nothing of what he had seen and he did not enlighten them. The white tent was a demand for total surrender and it had to be answered before the red tent rose. As he mounted, Alghu told himself he had a day, but he could hardly think for fear. The red tent would mean the death of every male of fighting age in the city. The black tent was a promise to slaughter every living thing, including women and children. The city of Herat had ignored Genghis when he threatened them in such a way. Only lizards and scorpions lived in that place when he had finished.

‘Open the gates!’ Lord Alghu roared. He had to answer the demand immediately. His soldiers removed the great bar of oak and iron and began to heave them apart. As a line of light showed, their lord turned to one of his most trusted men.

‘Go to my sons, my daughter. Take them safely to …’ He hesitated. If the khan had decided to destroy his line, there was no safe place in the world. Arik-Boke would hunt them down and no one would dare give them shelter for fear of the khan’s vengeance.

‘My lord, the village of Harethm is a hundred miles to the north and west,’ the bondsman said. ‘I lived there once and it lies within the borders of the Hulegu khanate. No one will know they are there but you. I will protect them with my life.’

‘Very well,’ Alghu replied, breathing in relief. ‘Go now, from another gate. I will send for them if I can.’

As the gates opened further, Lord Alghu saw a crowd of men and women pressing in, their hands outstretched in panic. His soldiers began to shove them back to let their master pass. Lord Alghu had no eyes for them as they streamed around his men. The city was no safer than their place outside it.

He stared out at the dark lines of the tumans waiting for him. Fear was a knot in his stomach as he dug in his heels and began to trot forward. As he passed under the shadow of the arch, he saw his bannermen begin to unfurl his personal flags.

‘White banners,’ he snapped, close to panic. ‘We go out under truce.’

His men stared at him, seeing his fear. They had no white flags, but one of the refugees wore a white robe. In an instant, the unfortunate man had been clubbed to the ground and stripped, his garment raised to flutter on a spear as Lord Alghu rode out.

‘Would you like to come with me?’ Kublai asked his son. Zhenjin grinned, showing white teeth. In answer, he dug in his heels and his horse lunged forward. Kublai nodded to Uriang-Khadai and the orlok whistled to the closest jagun of a hundred warriors. They detached from the ranks, forming up on both sides of the two senior men. Kublai’s bannermen came with them, carrying yellow flags with Chinese dragons on them that caught the sun and glittered.

‘Be silent and listen,’ Kublai murmured to Zhenjin at his side as they closed on the force from the city.

‘Are we going to kill them?’ Zhenjin asked. The idea did not seem to trouble him particularly and Kublai smiled. He had seen the white flag flapping above them.

‘Not unless I have to. I need this khanate on my side.’

They halted together, demonstrating their discipline to those who watched from the walls. Lord Alghu’s men pulled up with less precision, the sort of sloppy display Kublai’s tumans expected from city soldiers.

Lord Alghu came out with his most senior man and Kublai matched him with Uriang-Khadai. The two smaller groups faced each other in the bright sunlight, casting long shadows on the sandy ground. Kublai waited, standing on his dignity for once and forcing them to speak first.

The silence lasted only moments before Lord Alghu cleared his throat.

‘Who are you to raise a white tent before my city?’ he demanded.

‘I am Kublai Borjigin, grandson of Genghis, great khan of the risen nation. Give me your name and acknowledge me as your lord and we have no quarrel.’

Lord Alghu gaped, slumping in the saddle. He had met Kublai as a boy, but the years had changed him beyond all recognition. The man he faced wore a Chin silk robe over a tunic, with dragons embroidered on the material. Yet there was a sword at his hip and he looked strong and dangerous. Lord Alghu peered into the sunlight and saw the light gold eyes that so often marked the line of Genghis. He swallowed.

‘I am Alghu Borjigin,’ he stammered, ‘khan of the Chagatai territory. If you are …’ He hesitated, having been about to say words that suggested he doubted Kublai’s claim. He could not afford to insult a man with twelve tumans. ‘I am your cousin, son to Baidur, son to Chagatai, son to Genghis.’

‘I met you when I was young, did I not? Before Guyuk was made khan in Karakorum?’

Lord Alghu nodded, trying to reconcile the memory of the thin boy with the man he faced.

‘I remember you. You have returned from the Sung lands, then?’

Kublai chuckled. ‘You are a man of rare insight, with me standing before you. Now surrender your city, Lord Alghu. I will not ask again.’

The older man’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He shook his head, simply unable to take in what he had been told.

‘Arik-Boke is khan,’ he stammered at last. To his horror, Kublai’s expression turned cold and the yellow eyes seemed to gleam with anger.

‘No, Lord Alghu. No, he is not. I claim the khanate and all the nations within it. My brother will bow the knee to me or fall. But that is for another day. Give me your answer or I will take this city and put another in your place.’ Kublai turned to Uriang-Khadai, his voice light. ‘Would you be interested in ruling Samarkand, orlok?’

‘If it is your will, my lord khan,’ Uriang-Khadai replied. ‘But I would rather ride with you against the usurper.’

‘Very well. I will find another.’ He turned back to Lord Alghu, still watching with a slightly open mouth. ‘Your answer, Lord Alghu?’

‘I … I gave my oath to Arik-Boke. To your brother, my lord. I cannot take the words back.’

‘I release you from your oath,’ Kublai replied immediately. ‘Now …’

‘It is not as simple as that!’ Alghu snapped, anger finally breaking through his shock.

‘No? Who else has the authority to release your oath, if not your khan?’

‘My lord, this is … I need time to think. Will you enter the city in peace for a night? I grant guest rights to you and your men.’

For an instant, Kublai felt for the man he had put in an impossible position. Twelve tumans faced his city, promising certain destruction. He could not break his oath to Arik-Boke, but Kublai was giving him no choice. His will hardened.

‘No, Lord Alghu. You will make a decision here and now. You have chosen to give oath to the usurper, but I do not hold you responsible for his crimes. I am the rightful khan of the nation. I am the gur-khan. My word is iron and my word is law. I tell you again that you are released from your oath, your vow. It is done. At this moment, you call no man lord. Do you understand what I have said to you?’

Lord Alghu had grown pale. He nodded.

‘Then, as a free man, you must make your decision. My place is not here. I have other concerns than this khanate, but I cannot leave an enemy behind me while I seek out my foolish brother. I cannot leave a supply line into Karakorum, when I will bring that city under siege. Do you understand that?’

Lord Alghu nodded again, unable to reply. Kublai’s voice softened, almost to friendliness.

‘Then choose, Lord Alghu. We have so few real choices in our lives. I will have no choice but to destroy Samarkand if you make the wrong decision here, this morning, but I do not wish to threaten you. The nation is in error, Lord Alghu. I have merely to put right what has gone wrong.’

Alghu thought of his children, already on their way to a safe village. He had no illusions about what Kublai was describing. Arik-Boke had a vast army and he would never surrender to his brother, not now he was khan. No Mongol force had ever fought against their own people in battle, but it would come, and it would bring destruction on a scale he could hardly imagine.

Slowly, carefully, under the watchful eye of Kublai’s orlok, Lord Alghu dismounted and stood by his horse, looking up at the man who claimed to rule the world. The Chagatai khanate was just a small part of that, he told himself. Yet if he gave a new oath, Arik-Boke would send his own tumans in reprisal. There would be no mercy, no quarter for an oath-breaker lord. Lord Alghu closed his eyes for an instant, caught between impossible forces.

At last, he spoke.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘if I give you my oath, my cities lie within reach of Karakorum. It will be an act of war with the great khanate.’ He blinked as he realised the words he had used, but Kublai only laughed.

‘I cannot promise you safety, Lord Alghu. There is no safety in this world. I can say that I will keep my brother’s attention on me for this summer. After that, the khanate will be restored and I will look kindly on your cities.’

‘If you lose, my lord …’

‘If I lose? I do not fear some weakling brother who thinks he can stand in my place. The sun is hot, Lord Alghu, and I have been patient with you. I understand your fears, but if I stood in your place, I would know what to do.’

Lord Alghu stepped clear of his horse. On the dusty ground, he lowered himself to both knees.

‘I offer you gers, horses, salt and blood, my lord khan,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper. ‘You have my oath.’

The tension went out of Kublai’s frame as he spoke.

‘The right decision, Lord Alghu. Now welcome my men into your city, that we may rest and drink the dust from our throats.’

‘Very well, my lord khan,’ Lord Alghu said, wondering if he had just thrown away his honour, as well as his life. He had been considering bringing his children back to the city, but it would do them no harm to spend a season with the villagers, as safe from harm as anyone could be with the khanates about to erupt into civil war.

General Bayar watched sourly as Batu paced up and down in the wooden house. The man had not taken the news well and Bayar was still searching for the right words to convince him. He knew most of Kublai’s plan and part of it was making certain the princes of the nation stayed out of the struggle between brothers. It was a difficult request that struck at the root of their honour and their oaths, but Kublai had been clear in his instructions.

‘There has never been civil war in the nation,’ Kublai had told him. ‘Make sure Batu understands the normal rules are suspended until my family have made an ending. His oath is to the office of the great khan. Until this is settled, until only one man is khan, he cannot honour his oath. Tell him to stay in his lands and we will have no quarrel.’

Bayar thought back over the words for the hundredth time as Batu sat down at his great oak table and nodded to the servants bringing steaming platters of meat and potatoes in butter.

‘Join me, general,’ Batu said as he pulled out a bench. ‘This is beef from my own herd.’

Bayar looked at the bloody slices and his mouth watered. He shrugged, then sat down, pulling pieces towards him with his fingers and chewing so that the juices ran down his chin.

‘It’s good,’ Bayar said, suppressing a groan of satisfaction. The meat came apart in his mouth almost without chewing and he pulled more into reach, leaving a pink trail on the old wood.

‘You’ll never taste anything better,’ Batu replied. ‘I am hoping to sell the meat to the khan’s cities in a few years, when I’ve built the herd up.’

‘You’ll make a fortune,’ Bayar said, ‘but not while the fighting goes on. I still need an answer from you, my lord.’

Batu chewed slowly, savouring each mouthful, but always watching the man who sat across from him. At length, he cleared his throat with a long draught of pale wine, then sat back.

‘Very well. I have three choices, general, as I see it. I can let you go, do as Kublai wants and stay out of the fighting, tending to my own lands and my own people until it is done. If he loses, I will have the khan …’ He raised a hand as Bayar opened his mouth. ‘I will have Arik-Boke riding here in a fury, asking why I kept my head down while my rightful lord was under attack. If that is the result, I could lose everything.’

Bayar didn’t reply. Neither he nor Batu knew for certain what would happen if Kublai lost. Arik-Boke might well exact some kind of vengeance. A sensible man might declare an amnesty for the small khanates, but nothing in the bloodline suggested Arik-Boke would be sensible.

‘My second choice is to mount up with my tumans and ride in support of my lawful khan. I suspect you would oppose me in that, so the first thing would be to slaughter your men.’

‘If you think …’ Bayar began.

Once again, Batu stopped him with a raised palm.

‘You are in my land, general. My people are serving yours with fine meat and drink every day. I could give a single order and see an end to it before sundown. That is my second choice.’

‘Just tell me what you have decided,’ Bayar said irritably.

Batu grinned at him.

‘You are not a patient man, general. My third choice is to do nothing and keep you here with me. If Kublai wins, I have done nothing to injure him. If Arik-Boke triumphs, I have held three tumans from joining the fight. It would allow me to keep my life and lands, at least.’

Bayar paled slightly as the other man spoke. He had already wasted too much time in Batu’s khanate. Kublai had made him repeat his orders to ride for Karakorum and Bayar had some idea of his place in the khan’s plans. If he was held prisoner for months, it would mean the difference between success and disaster.

Batu had been watching his reactions closely.

‘I see that does not find favour with you, general. The best choice for my people is perhaps your worst.’

Bayar stared at him in sullen anger. Everything Kublai planned would come down to a battle before Karakorum. Bayar’s tumans were the final bone to throw, the reserve that would hit the enemy rear at exactly the right moment. He swallowed painfully, the rich meat feeling like a stone in his stomach. Kublai would look for him when the time came. If he was not there, his friend would be cut down.

Slowly, Bayar stood up.

‘I will leave now,’ he said. ‘You will make whatever choice you think is best, but you will not hold me here.’

He turned sharply at the sound of swords being drawn behind him. Two of Batu’s bondsmen were watching him with grim expressions, blocking the door to the sunlight and open air.

‘Sit down, general. I have not finished with you yet,’ Batu said, leaning back from the table. He saw the general’s eye drop to the heavy knife that had been used to cut the meat. Batu chuckled as he picked it up and used it to spear another thick slice.

‘I told you to sit down,’ he said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Arik-Boke drew back his bow and tried again to bring his heartbeat and breathing under control. He couldn’t do it. Whenever he felt the beginning of calm, spiking fury would make his pulse race and his hands tremble.

He loosed with a shout of frustration and saw the shaft strike high on the straw target. In disgust, he threw the bow down, ignoring the wince of his arms master at the treatment of such a valuable weapon. Tellan was in his sixties and had served three khans before Arik-Boke, one of them in the field. There were three boys working brooms around the perimeter of the training square and they all froze in shock to see an act that would have earned any one of them a whipping.

Tellan showed no expression as he gathered up the precious bow and stood patiently, though his hands ran down the length without conscious thought, searching for cracks or damage. When he was satisfied, he held it out again. Arik-Boke waved it away.

‘No more now. I can’t keep my mind clear,’ he said.

At his side, the orlok of his armies had been in the process of drawing his own bow. Alandar was faced with a delicate choice. His own heart thumped slowly and his hands and arms were like hardwood. He could have placed the shaft anywhere he chose, but under the khan’s glare, Alandar decided not to take the shot. He released the tension slowly, feeling muscles twitch uncomfortably across his chest.

Alandar untied the quiver from his shoulder and handed the equipment to the arms master of Karakorum’s training ground. He had thought Arik-Boke might benefit from a morning of sweat and practice, but the khan only seemed to grow in anger with every poor shot.

‘Would you prefer to work with swords, my lord khan?’ he asked.

Arik-Boke snorted. He wanted to hack someone to death, not go through routines and stances until his muscles ached. He nodded with bad grace.

‘Very well,’ he said.

‘Fetch the khan’s training swords, Tellan.’

As the arms master turned, Arik-Boke raised his head in inspiration.

‘Bring the wolf’s-head blade as well,’ he muttered. ‘And fetch the training suit.’

Tellan trotted off with the bows into the buildings around the training square. He returned with two swords in scabbards and an armful of stiff leather. Arik-Boke took the swords and felt the heft of each one.

‘Put the suit on, Tellan. I’m in the mood to cut something.’

The arms master was a veteran warrior. He had fought alongside Tsubodai and earned his position at the khan’s court. His brows lowered slightly and his expression grew stern. For one of his trainees, it would have been a sign of gathering storm clouds, but Arik-Boke was oblivious.

‘Shall I have one of the boys put it on, my lord khan?’ Tellan said.

Arik-Boke barely glanced at him.

‘Did I ask you to fetch one of the boys?’ he snapped.

‘No, my lord.’

‘Then do as you are told.’

Tellan began to buckle the leather straps around himself. The practice suit had begun life as a blacksmith’s apron with long sleeves, the layers of sewn leather so stiff that it would hardly bend at the waist. To that had been added a padded helmet with neck-pieces and heavy guards that buckled under the sleeves and onto the shins. Tellan heaved the main part over his head and stood still as Alandar began to fasten the buckles.

Arik-Boke drew a practice sword and swung it through the air. It was heavier than a normal blade, weighted with lead so that a warrior’s wrist and forearms could develop strength. It lacked much of an edge and the point was rounded. He frowned at it and drew his personal blade, recovered from Mongke’s body.

The eyes of both Alandar and Tellan slid over to him as they heard the sound of shining steel being drawn. It was not just that both men were veterans. The sword had been in the khan’s family for generations. The hilt had been cast in the shape of a stylised wolf’s head and, in its own way, it was one of the most potent symbols of the risen nation. Genghis had carried it, as had his father before him. The sword was polished and viciously sharp, with every chip or dent smoothed out of it. It looked exactly what it was, a length of sharp metal designed to cut flesh. Arik-Boke swished it through the air with a grunt.

Alandar met Tellan’s eyes and smiled wryly at the man’s expression. He liked Tellan and had spent a few evenings drinking with him. The arms master was not one to faint at a little blood or the prospect of a battering, but he did not look happy. Alandar finished the buckles and stepped away.

‘Shall I give him a sword?’ he asked.

Arik-Boke nodded. ‘Give him yours.’

All three of them knew it would make little difference. The suit had been designed for multiple attacks, to let a young warrior try to remain calm and focused as half a dozen of his friends worked him over. It would not let Tellan move quickly enough to defend himself.

Alandar handed his blade to the arms master and grinned as he stood for an instant with his back to the khan. Tellan rolled his eyes in answer, but he took the weapon.

As Alandar stepped clear, Arik-Boke stepped in and swung at Tellan’s neck with everything he had. Alandar’s smile vanished as Tellan staggered backwards. The headgear for the suit had heavy pieces overlapping the neck area, but the wolf’s-head sword had almost cut through and one of them hung by a few threads.

The arms master blocked the next strike with a huge effort, using all his strength to make the leather arms bend fast enough. Arik-Boke grunted as sweat appeared on his face, but he moved forward, hitting high and low, groin and neck. His sword left bright slashes in the suit and mouths opened in it so that Alandar could see Tellan’s clothing beneath. The orlok considered making a comment, but chose to remain silent. Arik-Boke was khan.

Tellan seemed to realise he was in a fight and when Arik-Boke stepped too close he reversed his backwards motion, using the bulk of the suit to throw his hip into the khan and make him stagger. The reply was another flat blow to the neck, tearing the leather free so that it fell. Tellan’s veined throat was exposed and he knew it, feeling the air on his flesh as soon as it happened. He tried to step aside and back, but Arik-Boke pressed him at every step, swinging the sword as if it were a club rather than a blade. More than one of his wild strikes were turned aside on the leather, wrenching his fingers and making him hiss in pain.

It seemed an age before Arik-Boke paused. The leather suit was in tatters, half of it hanging loose and the rest on the ground at Tellan’s feet. Blood dripped down the man’s legs and slowly pooled as Arik-Boke panted, watching him for a sudden move. To the equal horror of the arms master and Alandar, Arik-Boke rested the point of his sword on the ground, putting his weight on it as if it were a simple stick and not the most famous blade in the history of the nation. Sweat poured from the khan and he breathed in great, rasping breaths.

‘That will do,’ he said, straightening with an effort and tossing the blade to Alandar, who caught it easily. ‘Have my shaman look at your cuts, Tellan. Alandar, with me.’

Without another word, he strode off the training square. Alandar collected the scabbard and barely had time to dart a quick look of apology to Tellan before he went after him.

The arms master stood alone and panting in the centre of the square. He had not moved for some time when one of the sweeping boys dared to approach him.

‘Are you all right, master?’ the boy said, peering round the torn remnants of the headgear.

Tellan’s lips were bloody and he showed his teeth to the boy as he tried to take a step.

‘Take my arm and help me, boy. I can’t walk back on my own.’

The admission hurt him as much as the wounds he had taken, but his pride wouldn’t let him fall. The boy called a friend and between them they helped Tellan stagger out of the sun.

Arik-Boke strode quickly down the corridors of the palace. The tightness of his rage felt as if it had eased slightly and he rolled his shoulders as he walked. He had been imagining Kublai before him as he had battered the arms master and for a time it had taken the edge off his anger. As he walked, it swelled again within him, a red coil that made him want to strike out.

He came to polished copper doors and shoved them open without acknowledging the guards who stood there. Alandar followed him into the meeting room, seeing his most senior men rise to their feet as if jerked up by strings. Since the khan had stormed out hours earlier, they had been waiting for him to return, unable to leave without his permission. They showed no sign of impatience as they bowed. Alandar noticed the single jug of wine had been drunk dry, but there was nothing else to indicate Arik-Boke had kept a dozen men waiting for the best part of a morning.

Arik-Boke walked through them to the table and cursed when he saw the jug was empty. He grabbed it and took it to the copper doors, shoving it into the hands of one of his Day Guards.

‘Bring more wine,’ he said, ignoring the man as he tried to bow and keep hold of the jug at the same time. When he turned to his officers once more, his eyes glittered with simmering fury and no one would meet his gaze.

‘Now, gentlemen,’ he grated. ‘You have had time to think. You know the stakes involved.’ He waited for barely a beat before going on. ‘My scouts find broken yam stations. My orders go unanswered. Supplies have stopped from the north and if my spies have not been turned against me, my brother Kublai has made war on a khanate. My own blood has turned his tumans against his lawful ruler.’ He paused, his eyes raking them.

‘The world has gone quiet as rabbits with a snake in their hole and you have nothing to offer your khan? Nothing?‘ He roared the last word, spraying spit. The men in the room were seasoned warriors, but they pulled back from him. His snuffling breath was loud in the room and the scar that ran across the ruined bridge of his nose had grown red.

‘Tell me how it is possible for an army to ride into my khanates without us becoming aware of it before this. Did my grandfather set up the yam lines for nothing? For months, I have been asking my advisers why the letters have stopped coming, why the reports are late. I asked my senior officers what fault there could be that might result in Karakorum being cut off from the rest of the world in such a way. Now you tell me how such a thing could happen within a thousand miles of this city and have us know nothing about it.’

His guard returned with two brimming jugs of wine, erring on the side of caution. Arik-Boke waited while a cup was poured for him and drained it in quick gulps. When he had finished a second, he seemed calmer, though a heavy flush was stealing up his neck, where the veins were clearly visible.

‘That is past. When this is over, I will have the heads of those men who told me that the yam lines could never be broken, that they gave me a security and an early warning that no other khan had ever known. I will have the head of Lord Alghu and give his daughter to my bondsmen for their sport.’ He took a deep breath, aware that simply ranting at his men would produce no good result.

‘I want them rebuilt. Orlok Alandar will come to you for your best scouts and have them man the lines. I need to know where my brother’s tumans are, so that I can answer their betrayal with the greatest possible force.’

He faced the men in the room, making sure they saw his contempt.

‘Alandar, give me a tally of our strength,’ he said at last.

‘Without the tumans of the Russian khanate, or the Chagatai …’ he began.

‘Tell me what I have, orlok, not what I don’t have.’

‘Twenty tumans, my lord khan. Leaving only the Guards to keep peace in the city.’

‘And my brother?’

Alandar hesitated, knowing it would be at best a guess.

‘He may have as many as eighteen tumans, my lord, though he has been at war with the Sung for years and he will have lost many, perhaps six or seven of them.’

‘Or more, orlok. My scholar brother could easily have lost half his force while he was reading his Chin books, while he was learning to dress like a Chin whore.’

‘As you say, my lord. We cannot know for certain until the yam lines are re-established.’

‘He did not beat the Sung, Orlok Alandar. He merely held his place for five years, waiting for Mongke Khan to ride to his aid. That is the sort of man we face. That is the false khan, my brother, who has broken our supply lines and rides the world in careless confidence, while the khan of the nation of Genghis can only react. No more, Alandar! I have had enough of these ragged riders terrified to tell me the khanates are falling apart. We will go out and meet this scholar brother. And I will have him crawling at my feet before we are done.’

‘Your will, my lord,’ Alandar said, bowing his head.

‘We can place the traitor at Samarkand two months ago.’ Arik-Boke gestured to one of the twenty generals who waited in nervous tension for their orders. ‘Bring me my maps, gentlemen. We will see how far he could have run in the time.’

Some of the men exchanged glances, knowing from experience that a fresh Mongol tuman could have covered a thousand miles or more since then. Alandar chose to speak, knowing that of all of them, he was most immune to Arik-Boke’s anger.

‘My lord, he could be almost anywhere. We suspect he sent tumans against Batu in the north, so it is likely he has already split his forces. But we know he will come to Karakorum.’

‘This is just a city,’ Arik-Boke said.

‘It is a city with the women and children of his tumans, my lord. Kublai will come for them. What choice does he have?’

Arik-Boke grew still, thinking. At last, he nodded.

‘Yes, we have that at least. We know where he will come and we have something precious to him. That will do as a starting place, orlok. But I do not want to fight a defensive battle. Our strength is in movement, in speed. He will not pin me down. Do you understand? That is the thinking of our enemies. I want to get out of Karakorum and find him while he moves. I want to run him down like a circle hunt, closing slowly on his men until there is nowhere left to run.’

‘The closest yam stations are already working, my lord,’ Alandar replied. ‘We are restocking a dozen each day, now that we know what happened to them. We will have warning as soon as they sight his tumans.’

‘I was told that before, Alandar. I will not rely on them again.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Send the tumans towards the Chagatai khanate, with scouts running between them. Five battle groups of forty thousand to cover the ground. Keep the scouts out, ready for the first touch. When they sight the enemy …’ He paused, savouring the word in relation to his foolish brother. ‘When they see him, they will not engage until the full force has gathered. We will strike him down, this false khan. And I will be there to see it.’

‘Your will, my lord. I will leave a thousand men to patrol the camps and Karakorum and establish the yam stations first between the city and the Chagatai lines.’ It was an interpretation of the orders he had been given and Arik-Boke bristled immediately.

‘This is just a city, orlok. I have said it. I am khan of the nation. One city means nothing to me.’

Alandar hesitated. The khan was in no mood to hear an argument, but he had to speak. His position demanded it, to temper the khan’s righteous anger with tactical sense.

‘My lord, if your brother sent tumans into the north, they would be behind us as we move against his main force. Karakorum could be destroyed …’

‘I have hostages to keep them peaceful, Alandar. I will have knives at the throats of their women and children if they touch the first stone of Karakorum. Does that satisfy you? What general of my brother’s would give that order? They will not move against the city for fear of the slaughter that will follow.’

Alandar swallowed uncomfortably. He was not certain that Arik-Boke would go through with the threat and he knew better than to press him on it. No khan had ever considered butchering his own people, but then there had never been a war amongst their own, not since Jochi had betrayed Genghis. That was nothing compared to what Arik-Boke faced and the orlok voiced none of his misgivings, choosing to remain silent.

Arik-Boke nodded as if he had received assent.

‘I will leave enough men to carry out my orders, orlok, sworn men who understand the meaning of their oath. That is enough now. My blood cries out to answer these insults. Send messengers to Hulegu. Tell him I call his oath. And gather my tumans on the plain. I will ride to find my brother Kublai and I will choose the manner of his death when we have him.’

Alandar bowed his head. He could not shake the sense that the khan was underestimating the enemy tumans. They were as fast as his own men and, for all Arik-Boke’s bluster, he could not make himself believe they were led by a fool, a scholar. A fool would not have cut the supplies into Karakorum before the attack. A scholar would not have removed the most powerful lords from Arik-Boke’s side before the true fighting even began. Even so, he had learned obedience from a young age.

‘Your will, my lord khan,’ he said.