I live?’ Ogedai said.
‘Where are your Guards now, Ogedai? You have called them back and no one feels their suspicious eyes riding through the camps. Did you think it would be easy? If you fell from a roof tonight and broke your head on all this stone, who would be khan at the new moon?’
‘My brother Chagatai has the best claim,’ Ogedai said lightly. ‘Unless my son Guyuk is allowed to live. Tolui too is in the line of my father. He has sons grown strong: Mongke and Kublai, Arik-Boke and Hulegu. In time, they could all be khans.’ He smiled, amused at something Temuge could not see. ‘The seed of Genghis is strong, it seems. We all have sons, but we still look to Tsubodai. Whoever has my father’s unbeatable general will carry the army, don’t you think? Without him, it would be civil war. Is that all those with power? I have not mentioned my grandmother. Her teeth and eyes are gone now, but she can still be fearsome when roused.’
Temuge stared at him.
‘I hope your actions are not as careless as your words. Double your personal guard at least, Ogedai.’
Ogedai nodded. He didn’t bother to mention that the ornate walls concealed watching men. Two different crossbows were centred on Temuge’s chest at that very moment. It would take only a particular gesture with Ogedai’s hand for his uncle to be ripped from life.
‘I have heard you. I will consider what you have said. Perhaps you should not take on the role in my library and university until the new moon has come and gone. If I do not survive it, my successor may not have such an interest in Karakorum.’ He saw the words sink in and knew that at least one of the men of power would be working to keep him alive. All men had a price, but it was almost never gold.
‘I must sleep now, uncle,’ Ogedai said. ‘Every day is full of plans and work.’ He paused in the moment of rising and went on. ‘I will tell you this much. I have not been deaf or blind these last years. My father’s nation has ceased to conquer for a time, but what of that? The nation has been fed on milk and blood, ready to be sent out into the world with fresh strength. And I have built my city. Do not fear for me, uncle. I know everything I need to know of the generals and their loyalties.’
He came to his feet with the suppleness of youth, while his uncle had to accept his outstretched hand and winced as his knees cracked aloud.
‘I think your father would be proud of you, Ogedai,’ Temuge said.
To his surprise, Ogedai chuckled.
‘I doubt it. I have taken Jochi’s bastard son and made him a prince and a minghaan officer. I will raise Batu further still, to honour my brother’s memory. Genghis would never forgive me for that.’ He smiled at the thought. ‘And he would not have loved my Karakorum, of that I am certain.’
He called for Baras’aghur to lead Temuge out of the dark city, back to the stifling air of treachery and suspicion that was so thick in the great camps.
Ogedai picked up his jug and cup, filling the goblet once again as he walked to a stone balcony and looked out at the moonlit streets. There was a breeze blowing, cooling his skin as he stood there with his eyes shut. His heart ached in his chest and he gripped his arm as the pain spread. He felt fresh sweat break out as his veins throbbed and pulsed at frightening speed, soaring for moments until he felt dizzy. He reached out blindly and held the stone sill, breathing slowly and deeply until the weakness left him and his heart beat slowly once again. A great pressure released in his head and the flashing lights dwindled to mere points, shadows that only he could see. He looked up at the cold stars, his expression bitter. Below his feet, another chamber had been cut from the stones. At times, when the pains came with a force that left him trembling and weak, he had not expected even to finish it. Yet he had. His tomb was ready and he still lived. Cup by cup he emptied the jug, until his senses swam.
‘How long do I have left?’ he whispered drunkenly to himself. ‘Is it days now, or years?’ He imagined he talked to the spirit of his father and waved the cup as he spoke, spilling some wine. ‘I was at peace, father. At peace, when I thought my time was at an end. What did I care for your generals and their…petty struggles? Yet my city has risen and the nation has come, and I am still here. What do I do now?’
He listened for an answer in the darkness, but there was nothing.
Tolui stroked his wife’s damp hair idly as he lay back and watched his four sons whoop and splash in the waters of the Orkhon. The sun was warm as they lay there and only the presence of his guards nearby prevented complete relaxation. Tolui grimaced at the thought. There was no peace to be had in the camp, with every man wondering whether he was a supporter of Chagatai or Ogedai or the generals – or perhaps one who would inform for any of them. At times, he wished his two older brothers would settle it somewhere quiet, so that he could enjoy being alive on such a day, with a beautiful woman in his arms and four healthy sons pleading to be allowed to swim over a waterfall. He had forbidden it once, but he saw that Kublai had dared Mongke once again and the two of them were creeping closer and closer to the bank, where a goat path led up to the source of the roaring river. Tolui watched from under half-closed lids as the two older boys glanced guiltily at their parents, hoping they were asleep in the warm sun. Arik-Boke and Hulegu were in on it, of course, their bony boy’s frames almost shaking with excitement.
‘Do you see them?’ Sorhatani murmured.
Tolui smiled. ‘I am half-tempted to let them try it. They swim like otters, both of them.’
It was still a new skill to tribes raised on grassy plains. For those who learned to ride before they could speak, the rivers were the source of life for the herds, or an obstacle when they were swollen in floods. Only recently had they become a source of pleasure to the children of the tribe.
‘You won’t be the one who has to soothe their wounds when they take the skin off their backs,’ Sorhatani said, relaxing into him, ‘or splint their bones.’
Yet she said nothing as Mongke suddenly darted for the track, his naked body gleaming. Kublai shot a last, sharp look at his parents, but neither moved, and in an instant, he was off as well.
Tolui and Sorhatani both sat up as soon as the boys were out of sight. They exchanged a private look of amusement as Arik-Boke and Hulegu craned to see the top of the plunging falls above.
‘I don’t know who is worse, Mongke or Kublai,’ Sorhatani said, pulling a grass stalk and chewing the end. He chuckled and they both said ‘Kublai’ together.
‘Mongke reminds me of my father,’ Tolui said a little wistfully. ‘He fears nothing.’
Sorhatani snorted softly. ‘Then you will remember what your father once said when he had to choose between two men to lead a thousand.’
‘I was there, woman,’ Tolui said, his mind leaping to her point. ‘He said Ussutai feared nothing and felt no hunger or thirst. That was why he was unfit to command.’
‘Your father was wise. A man needs to feel a little fear, Tolui, if only to have the pride of conquering it.’
A wild shout made them both look up as Mongke came over the falls, yelling in excitement as he managed a crude dive and plunged into the pool at its foot. The drop was little more than ten feet, but to a boy of eleven, it must have been terrifying. Tolui relaxed and chuckled as he
