bushes, he could see a man pulling at the knot he had tied with the gelding’s reins. Yesugei grimaced in angry silence. He could not let them steal his horse and leave him there.
He took a deep breath, and rose to his full height, startling the stranger by the gelding. The man’s hand jumped for a knife, but then registered the drawn bow and froze.
‘We’re not looking for a fight, old man,’ the stranger said loudly.
Yesugei knew he was alerting his companions, and an answering rustle from his right sent his heart tripping at higher speed.
‘Step out where I can see you, then, and stop creeping around behind me,’ Yesugei said, his voice ringing across the clearing.
The rustling stopped and the young man who stood so coolly under his arrow nodded.
‘Do as he says. I don’t want to get stuck before I’ve had breakfast this morning.’
‘Call out before you move,’ Yesugei added, ‘or die, one or the other.’
There was a long silence and the young man sighed.
‘Step out here, all of you,’ he snapped, his coolness fraying visibly under the arrow point that never wavered from his heart.
Yesugei watched with narrowed eyes as the other four men came noisily through the brush. Two of them had bows with arrows notched and ready. They were all armed and wore thickly padded deels – the sort of garment designed to stop an arrow from penetrating too far. Yesugei recognised the stitching and wondered if they, in turn, would know him for who he was. For all the light manner of the one by the gelding, this was a Tartar raiding party and Yesugei knew hard men when he saw them, out to steal what they could.
When they were all in sight, the one who had spoken first nodded to Yesugei.
‘I did call the camp, old man. Will you grant us guest rights while we eat?’
Yesugei wondered whether the rules of courtesy would apply when they were not in danger from his bow, but with two of them bending bows of their own, he nodded and eased the tension on his string. The young men all relaxed visibly and their leader twitched his shoulders to relieve stiffness.
‘My name is Ulagan, of the Tartars,’ the young man said with a smile. ‘You are from the Wolves, unless you stole that deel and sword.’
‘I am,’ Yesugei replied, then added formally, ‘You are welcome to share food and milk in my camp.’
‘And your name?’ Ulagan said, raising his eyebrows.
‘Eeluk,’ Yesugei said, without hesitating. ‘If you make a fire, I can find a cup of black airag to warm your blood.’
All the men moved slowly as they set about preparing a meal, careful not to startle each other with a sudden movement. It took longer than usual for them all to gather rocks and nurse a flame with flint and steel, but as the sun rose, they ate well with the dried meat from Yesugei’s saddlebags and some rare honey that Ulagan brought from a pouch under his deel. The sweetness was wonderful to Yesugei, who had not tasted any since the time the tribe found a wild nest three years before. He licked his fingers to get every last drip of the golden fluid, rich with waxy fragments, yet his hands never strayed too far from his sword and the arrow remained ready on the ground in front of him. There was something uncomfortable in the gaze of Ulagan as he watched him eat, though he smiled whenever Yesugei met his eyes. None of the others spoke as they broke their fast, and the tension remained in every movement.
‘Are you finished?’ Ulagan asked after a time.
Yesugei sensed a subtle tautness in them as one of the men moved to one side and dropped his trousers to defecate on the ground. The man did not try to hide himself and Yesugei had a glimpse of his manhood swinging loose as he strained.
‘In the Wolves, we keep excrement away from the food,’ Yesugei murmured.
Ulagan shrugged. He stood and Yesugei rose with him rather than be at a disadvantage. He watched in astonishment as Ulagan crossed to the steaming pile and drew his sword.
Yesugei’s own blade was in his hand before he had made a conscious decision, but he was not attacked. Instead, he watched Ulagan pull his blade through the stinking mass until its metal was slick with it along the whole length.
Ulagan wrinkled his nose and raised his head to the man whose efforts had created the pile.
‘You have diseased bowels, Nasan, have I told you?’
‘You have,’ Nasan replied without humour, repeating the action with his own blade. It was then that Yesugei realised this was no chance meeting on the plains.
‘When did you know me?’ he asked softly.
Ulagan smiled, though his eyes were cold.
‘We knew when the Olkhun’ut told us you had come to them with a son. We paid their khan well to send a rider to our little camp, but he was not hard to persuade.’ Ulagan chuckled to himself. ‘You are not a popular man. There were times when I thought you would never come, but old Sansar was as good as his word.’
Yesugei’s heart sank with the news and he feared for Temujin. As he contemplated his chances, he tried to keep his enemy talking. He had already decided Ulagan was a fool. There was no point chatting to a man you were going to kill, but the young warrior seemed to be enjoying his power over him.
‘Why is my life worth sending you out?’ Yesugei asked.
Ulagan grinned. ‘You killed the wrong man, Wolf. You killed the son of a khan who was foolish enough to steal from your herds. His father is not one to forgive easily.’
Yesugei nodded, as if he was listening intently. He saw that the other three men intended to poison their blades in the same filth and, without warning, he leapt forward and struck, cutting deep into Nasan’s neck as he turned to watch them. The Tartar fell with a death cry and Ulagan roared in anger, lunging straight at Yesugei’s chest with his blade. The Tartar was fast, but the blade slid along the chain mail under the deel, cutting a flap from the cloth.
Yesugei attacked quickly, needing better odds. The blades rang twice as the three others fanned out around him and he felt the strength in his shoulders. He would show them what it meant to be a khan of the Wolves.
Yesugei feinted his own lunge, then stepped back as quickly as he could run forward, three sliding steps taking him outside the circle before it could form around him. One of the other men turned to bring a blade down in a great arc and Yesugei stabbed him under the shoulder into the chest, wrenching his father’s blade clear as he fell. He felt a sharp pain in his back then, but another step tore him clear and a quick slash felled another of the group with half his jaw cut away.
Ulagan pressed forward, his face grim at the death of three of his brothers in arms.
‘You should have brought more to bring down a khan,’ Yesugei taunted him. ‘Five is an insult to me.’ He dropped suddenly to one knee to avoid Ulagan’s cut. With a savage jerk, Yesugei managed to chop his blade into the younger man’s shin. It was not a mortal wound, but blood drenched Ulagan’s boot and the Tartar warrior was suddenly not so confident.
As Yesugei came to his feet, he stepped left and then right, keeping the pair off balance.
