did not ask me, Kublai. You are the first person from Karakorum I have seen since Guyuk was made khan. For a time, I even thought you had come to call me to oath. I was ready for that.’ He waved an arm to encompass the whole camp around them, as well as the dogs and children, the families. ‘This is all I want. The old khan chose well when he granted me these lands. Did you know that?’
Kublai shook his head silently.
‘When I came here,’ Batu continued, ‘I found a few rotting gers and homes of wood, deep in the forest. I was amazed. What were those things of the nation doing so far from home? Then I found a broken saddle, still marked with my father’s symbol. These are the lands Jochi settled when he ran from Genghis, Kublai. The lands chosen by the first-born of the great khan. My father’s spirit is here, and though Guyuk may never understand it, this is my home. If he just stayed away, I would never be a threat to him.’
‘But he comes. He will burn this camp to the ground,’ Kublai said softly.
‘That is why I must face him.’ Batu nodded to himself. ‘Perhaps he will accept a personal challenge, between two grandsons of Genghis. I think he might enjoy the drama of such a thing.’
‘He would have you cut down with arrows before you could speak,’ Kublai said. ‘I do not enjoy saying these things, Batu. But you have to know the man would never risk his own life. Put aside these mad plans. You speak in desperation, I understand! But you have no choices …’
Kublai broke off, a thought occurring to him as he spoke. Batu saw his attention fix on some inner place and reached out suddenly to take him by the arm.
‘What is it? What came into your mind just then?’
‘No, it is nothing,’ Kublai said, shaking off the grip.
‘Let me judge,’ Batu said.
Kublai rose suddenly, making one of the dogs growl at him.
‘No. I will not be rushed into it. Give me time to think it through.’
He began to pace the room. The idea that had come to him was monstrous. He knew he was too used to solving problems in the safe confines of the city, without having to consider the consequences. If he spoke it aloud, the world would change. He guarded his mouth, refusing to say another word until he was ready.
Batu watched him pace, hardly daring to hope. As a young boy, Kublai had been the favourite student of the khan’s chancellor. When he spoke, even great men paused and listened. Batu waited in silence, only frowning at one of his sons when the boy crept under the table and curled himself around his leg. The little boy looked up with trusting eyes, convinced his father was the strongest and bravest man in the world. Batu could only wish it were true.
Finding it hard to think with Batu’s hopes and needs pressing on him, Kublai walked outside without a word. The warrior with the white eye came out after him and stood close by, watching. Kublai ignored the stare and went into the road, standing in the centre and letting the people bustle around him. The camp was laid out like a town, with winding roads running through it in all directions. He smiled to himself as he realised none of them ran straight, where an enemy could use them to charge. As with a camp of gers, the tracks twisted and doubled back on themselves to confuse an attacker. There was an energy about the place, from raised voices calling their wares to sounds of construction. As Kublai stood there, he saw two men carrying a log of wood to some unknown destination, shuffling along with a weight almost too much for them. Young children ran around him, grubby urchins still blissfully unaware of the adult world.
If he did nothing, Batu would either attack and be destroyed, or run and be hunted down. Had he truly come so many hundreds of miles only to watch the annihilation of Batu’s families? Yet Kublai had given his oath to the khan. He had sworn to serve him with gers, horses, salt and blood. His word was iron and he was caught between his oath and his need.
Suddenly furious, he kicked a stone in the road and sent it skipping. One of the children yelped in surprise, glaring at him as he rubbed a spot on his leg. Kublai didn’t even see the boy. He had already skirted his oath in warning Batu, but he could live with that. What he contemplated was far worse.
When he turned back at last, he saw Batu standing with the white-eyed warrior in the doorway, the dogs lying at their feet. Kublai nodded.
‘Very well, Batu. I have something more to say.’
CHAPTER NINE
Guyuk loved the long summer evenings, where the world hung for an age, suspended in grey light. The air was clear and warm and he felt at peace as he watched the sun begin to ease towards the west, turning the sky a thousand shades of red, orange and purple. He stood at the small door of a ger, looking out at the encampment of his tumans. It was always the same, as they made a town, a city rise in the wilderness. Everything they needed was carried on the backs of the spare horses. He could smell meat and spices on the air and he breathed deeply, feeling strong. The light would last a long time yet and the hunger was strong in him. He tried to sneer at his own caution. He was khan; the laws of Genghis would not bind him.
Guyuk jumped onto the pony’s back, enjoying his own energy and youth. His face was flushed. Two of his minghaan officers were nearby, doing their best to look in any direction but his. He gestured to his waiting servant and Anar came forward with his hunting eagle, the bird and the man quiet with tension. Guyuk raised his right forearm, where he wore a long leather sheath from his fingers to above his elbow. He accepted the weight of the bird and tied the jesses. Unlike his falcons, the eagle had always fought the hood. She was bare-headed, her eyes sharp with excitement. For a moment, the bird flapped furiously, revealing the white under-feathers of her wings as they spread and beat. Guyuk looked away from the furious wind until she began to settle, trembling. He stroked her head, wary of the great curved beak that could rip the throat out of a wolf.
When the bird was calm, Guyuk gave a low whistle and one of the minghaan officers approached with his head down. It was as if the man wished to see nothing, to know nothing of what went on. Guyuk smiled at his caution, understanding it. The man’s life was in his hands at a single glance or poorly chosen word.
‘I will hunt to the east this evening,’ Guyuk said. ‘You have brought the scouts in?’ His heart was hammering and his voice sounded choked to him, but the minghaan merely nodded in response, saying nothing. Seven times in a month of riding, Guyuk had done the same thing, swept up in passions he never felt with his young wife in Karakorum.
‘If I am needed, send men directly east.’
The minghaan bowed without raising his eyes. Guyuk approved of his discretion. Without another word, the khan nodded to Anar and the two men began trotting their mounts out of the camp. Guyuk held the eagle lightly, the bird looking forward.
Whenever they passed warriors, he saw bowed heads. Guyuk rode with his head high, passing out into the long grasslands. Spare mounts grazed there by the tens of thousands, a herd so vast it covered the land like a shadow and grazed the long plains grass down to nothing each night. There were warriors there too, spending the night on watch with the animals. One or two of them saw him from a distance and trotted closer until they saw it was the khan. At that point they became blind and deaf, turning away as if they had seen nothing.
The evening light was beginning to fade in soft shades by the time Guyuk passed the herds. With every mile, he
