with a flourish, giving and receiving honour in a grand gesture. Chagatai lacked the skill to turn the situation to his advantage. He stood before his unconscious brother, shaking with anger and humiliation.
In silence, Chagatai looked up once more at his father. There was no reprieve. He dropped quickly to one knee and the crowd roared and hooted. Chagatai rose more slowly, his face cold as he stalked to the wooden walls and accepted a hand to heave him back over.
Jelme nodded wearily to himself.
‘I think you had the better son to train, my friend,’ he murmured to Tsubodai.
‘I hope his father knows it,’ Tsubodai replied.
The two men shared a glance of understanding before they called warriors down to begin skinning the tiger. The meat would feed as many as possible, half-burned scraps forced into the mouths of warriors. There were many who desired the speed and ferocity of such an animal. Jelme wondered if Chagatai would taste the meat that night, or just his own rage.
CHAPTER SIX
It was another three days before Genghis came to see Jochi. After the riotous night that followed the fight with the tiger, almost all the camp had slept and Genghis himself had risen only to vomit for an entire day and night after three spent solidly drinking. Another day had been spent in moving the great host back to the banks of the river Orkhon. Jelme’s camp had been a fine place to feast Arslan’s life, but the herds and horses needed water and sweet grass. With his customary vitality, Genghis had recovered during the ride, though his bowels remained watery as he stood before the ger of the shaman, Kokchu. It depressed him to think he would once have thrown off the effects of so much drink in just a night’s sleep.
Genghis opened the small door onto a peaceful scene that reminded him of the death of his father. He swallowed acid and ducked inside, his gaze hard as he looked over the bandaged figure in the shadows. Kokchu was washing Jochi and he twisted round in irritation before he saw who it was. The shaman came to his feet and bowed low before the khan.
The shade was a relief after the hard sunlight and Genghis relaxed slightly, pleased to be away from the bustling camp.
‘Has he woken?’ he asked.
Kokchu shook his head solemnly.
‘Only for moments, lord. His wounds have let a fever into his body and he wakes and cries out before sleeping once more.’
Genghis came closer, drawn by memories. At Jochi’s side lay the sword he had won, a blade that Genghis himself had inherited. In its scabbard, it brought back many memories and he could not help but sniff the air for the scent of rot. It was painful to recall the time he had come to his father as he died, the wasted body racked with poison. Genghis breathed deeply over the supine form of his son. Kokchu watched him closely and Genghis returned the stare rather than let it rest on him unchallenged.
‘Will he live, shaman? I have lost count of the times I have been asked.’
Kokchu looked back at the young warrior lying so still. The chest barely rose and fell, and he could not say. He gestured at the bandages wrapping both legs and the splinted arm.
‘You see his wounds, lord. The beast broke two bones in his lower arm as well as three ribs. He has dislocated a finger on his right hand, though that is minor enough. The gashes have swollen and weep pus.’ He shook his head. ‘I have seen men recover from worse.’
‘Have you sealed the cuts?’ Genghis asked.
Kokchu hesitated, before speaking too quickly. In the fall of Yenking, he had taken books on medicine and magic that were worth more than all the gold and jade. He had not expected to have his treatment challenged and spoke without his usual confidence.
‘I have Chin texts that are astonishing, lord, for what they know of the body. Their practice is to pour boiling wine into a gash before stitching. I have done that, as well as poultices to bring out the fever.’
‘Then you have not sealed them in the manner of our people,’ Genghis replied, his eyes cold. ‘Have an iron brazier brought to the ger and burn the cuts properly. I have seen it work.’
Kokchu knew better than to argue further.
‘Your will, lord.’ For the father, he would press red iron against each wound, though he now considered it a crude practice, beneath a man of his learning. He hid his distaste and Genghis seemed satisfied. Kokchu saw that the khan intended to leave and spoke again, still trying to understand the man who led the tribes.
‘The pain will be intense, lord. If it wakes him, shall I give him a message from you?’
Genghis turned his pale eyes on the shaman. He left without another word.
The generals gathered in the khan’s ger, half as high again and twice as wide as any other in the camp. Khasar and Kachiun had come with Temuge, though he would only be responsible for the camp itself and would not ride with them. Tsubodai, Jelme and Chagatai had been summoned and took their places on the ring of low beds that served as couches for the khan’s council. The ger was as bare as that of the poorest herder and they were all reminded that Genghis cared nothing for wealth or its trappings.
The last pair to enter before Genghis was Arslan and the young man he had chosen as his successor. Jebe, the arrow, seemed unimpressed by the presence of so many leaders of his people in one place. As Arslan gestured for him to take a seat, he nodded to them as if he had every right to be there. The other men merely watched him, though they greeted Arslan openly, putting aside the cold face to show their appreciation of the old man. He also would not ride with them. All the men present knew that Arslan had tied packs to three mares and three stallions and that his wife and a small herd would travel into the wilderness.
Jelme’s eyes were bright with pride for his father and he made a point of vacating his seat for Arslan. The two men exchanged glances, and though they did not speak, Arslan too seemed moved that the moment was finally upon him.
When Genghis entered the ger, the men within sat subtly straighter. He took his place on a pile of saddles and blankets facing the door and gestured to a servant for a cup of goat’s milk to calm his stomach.
Arslan waited until the khan had finished the drink before speaking.
‘My lord, I commend this man to you, Jebe, whom you named.’
Genghis looked across the ger at the new face, taking in his breadth of shoulder. Jebe wore an open robe over a bare chest and his reddish skin shone with health and mutton fat. Even sitting, he seemed poised and alert, a warrior born. He made Genghis feel old.
‘You are welcome in my ger, Jebe. With Arslan to speak for you, you will always be welcome. In the days to come you will be tested. Be sure you honour his name in all that you do.’
‘I will, lord,’ Jebe replied. His confidence was obvious and Khasar grinned to himself as Genghis looked away.
Genghis took a deep breath and rested his hands on his knees. He knew as well as anyone that this meeting of generals would change the world, and he enjoyed the quiet moment while they waited for him to speak.
‘When
