Lords of the Bow (21 page)

The ger of the khan’s second wife was different from every other one in that immense camp. Chin silk lined the walls, and as Ho Sa entered, he was struck once again by the scent of jasmine. He had no idea how Chakahai had managed to secure a supply, but in the years away from their home, she had not been idle. He knew that other wives of the Xi Xia and the Chin met in her ger at regular intervals. When one of the husbands had forbidden it, Chakahai had dared to bring the problem to Genghis. The khan had done nothing, but the Chin wife had been free to visit the Xi Xia princess after that. It had taken only a word in the right place.

Ho Sa smiled as he bowed to her, accepting the hands of two young Chin girls on his shoulders as they removed his outer deel. Even in that was something new. The Mongols dressed only to keep out the cold and had no thought for correctness.

“You are welcome in my home, countryman,” Chakahai said, bowing in turn. “It is good of you to come.” She spoke in the Chin language, though the accent was that of his home. Ho Sa sighed as he heard the tones, knowing she did it to please him.

“You are the daughter of my king, the wife of my khan,” he replied. “I am your servant.”

“That is good, Ho Sa,” she said, “but we are friends as well, I hope?”

Ho Sa bowed again, deeper than before. As he straightened he accepted a bowl of dark green tea and inhaled with appreciation.

“We are, of course, but what is this? I have not smelled . . .” He took another deep breath, letting the warm scent into his lungs. He was homesick then and the force of it made him sway as he stood.

“My father sends a little in his tribute each year, Ho Sa. The tribes have let it grow stale, though this is the freshest batch.”

Ho Sa sat carefully, cradling the bowl as he sipped. “You are too kind to have thought of me.” He did not press her, but he did not know why she had summoned him on that day. He was aware that they could not spend too much time in each other’s company. As natural as it might have seemed for two of the Xi Xia to seek one another out, a man did not visit a khan’s wife without a reason. Over two years, they had met barely half a dozen times.

Before she could reply, another man entered. Yao Shu pressed his hands together to bow to the lady of the ger. Ho Sa watched in amusement as the monk too was handed a bowl of real tea and breathed a sigh of delight at the scent. It was only as Yao Shu finished his greeting that Ho Sa frowned. If there was danger in meeting the wife of a khan in private, there was more in being accused of conspiracy. His concern mounted as the two slave girls bowed and left the three of them alone. Ho Sa began to rise to his feet, the tea forgotten.

Chakahai pressed a hand on his arm and he could not move without throwing it off. He settled uncomfortably and she looked into his eyes. Her own were wide and dark against her pale skin. She was beautiful and no taint of rancid mutton fat lingered around her. He could not resist a delicate shiver running down his back at the touch of cool fingers on his skin.

“I have asked you here, Ho Sa. You are my guest. It would be an insult for you to leave now, would it not? Tell me, I do not yet understand the manners of the ger.” It was a rebuke as well as a lie. She understood the subtleties of Mongol status very well indeed. Ho Sa reminded himself that this woman had grown up as only one of many daughters to his king. Despite her beauty, she was not innocent in the affairs of the court. He sat back and forced himself to sip the tea.

“There is no one to hear us here,” she said lightly, worsening his agitation. “You fear conspiracy, Ho Sa, where there is none. I am second wife to the khan, mother to a son and his only daughter. You are a trusted officer and Yao Shu has tutored my husband’s other boys in language and martial skills. No one would dare to whisper about any one of us. If they did, I would have their tongues cut out.”

Ho Sa stared at the delicate girl who could make such a threat. He did not know if she had the power to match the words. How many friends had she cultivated in this camp with her status? How many of the Chin and Xi Xia slaves? It was possible. He forced himself to smile, though he was cold inside.

“Well then, here we are. Three friends, drinking good tea. I will finish my cup, Majesty, then I will leave.”

Chakahai sighed and her face softened. To the astonishment of both men, tears shone on the rims of her eyes.

“Must I be always alone? Must I be suspected even by you?” she whispered, clearly struggling with herself. Ho Sa would never reach out and touch a member of the Xi Xia court, but Yao Shu had no such inhibition. The monk put an arm around her shoulder and let her rest her head on his chest.

“You are not alone,” Ho Sa said softly. “You understand that your father has given my service to your husband. For a moment, I thought perhaps that you were conspiring against him. Why else bring us here and send your girls away?”

The princess of the Xi Xia sat up, pressing a strand of hair back into place. Ho Sa swallowed dryly at her beauty.

“You are the only man from my home in this camp,” she said. “Yao Shu is the only man of the Chin who is not a soldier.” Her tears seemed forgotten and her voice strengthened as she spoke. “I would not betray my husband, Ho Sa, not for you or a thousand like you. But I have children and it is the women who must look to the years ahead. Will we three sit and watch the Chin empire dragged down in flames? Will we see civilization torn apart and say
nothing?”
She turned to Yao Shu, who was listening intently. “Where will your Buddhism be then, my friend? Will you see it crushed under the hooves of these tribes?”

Yao Shu spoke for the first time at that, looking troubled. “If my beliefs could be burned, lady, I would not trust them, nor live by them. They will survive this war with the Chin, even if the Chin themselves do not. Men strive to be emperors and kings, but they are just names. It does not matter which man holds a name. The fields will still need to be worked. The towns will still be thick with vice and corruption.” He shrugged. “No man knows where the future will take us. Your husband has raised no objection to having his sons trained by my hand. Perhaps the words of the Buddha will take root in one of them, but it is foolish to look so far ahead.”

“He is right, Majesty,” Ho Sa said quietly. “You have spoken out of fear and loneliness, I see that now. I had not considered how hard this must have been for you.” He took a deep breath, knowing he played with fire, but intoxicated with her. “You have a friend in me, as you said.”

Chakahai smiled then, her eyes bright with fresh tears. She reached out her hands and they each took one, feeling the coolness of her fingers in theirs.

“Perhaps I have been afraid,” she said. “I have imagined my father’s city being overrun and my heart goes out to the Chin emperor and his family. Can they survive this, do you think?”

“All men die,” Yao Shu replied before Ho Sa could speak. “Our lives are no more than a bird flying through a lighted window, then out again into the darkness. What matters is that we do not cause pain. A good life will defend the weak and by so doing, set a lamp in the darkness that will last for many lives to come.”

Ho Sa glanced at the solemn monk, seeing how his shaven head gleamed. He did not agree with the words and could almost shudder at the thought of such an earnest and joyless life. He preferred Khasar’s simpler philosophy that the sky father would not have given him strength to waste. If a man could raise a sword, he should use it, and there were no better opponents than the weak. They were less likely to gut you when you weren’t looking. He said none of this aloud and was pleased to see Chakahai relax and nod to the monk.

“You are a good man, Yao Shu. I have sensed it. My husband’s sons will learn much from you, I am certain. Perhaps one day, they will have Buddhist hearts.”

She rose suddenly then, almost making Ho Sa spill the dregs of his cold tea. He placed the bowl to one side and bowed to her once more, thankful that the strange meeting was at an end.

“We are from an old culture,” Chakahai said softly. “I think we can influence a new one, as it grows. If we are careful, it will benefit us all.”

Ho Sa blinked at the princess of his people, before falling into the courteous routines that would take him back into the outside air, Yao Shu beside him. Both men stared at each other for a moment before taking separate paths into the camp.

CHAPTER 18

T
HE USUAL PEACE AND ORDER
of the Imperial barracks in Baotou was lost as the soldiers packed their equipment onto carts. The orders from Yenking had come in the night, and the commander, Lujan, had wasted no time. Nothing of value was to be left for the Mongols, and anything they could not take with them had to be destroyed. He had men already at work with hammers, breaking the surplus stores of arrows and spears with methodical efficiency.

Ordering the evacuation had been hard and he had not slept since receiving the command. The soldiers who guarded Baotou from bandits and criminal tongs had been in the city for almost four years. Many had families there and Lujan had looked in vain for permission to take them out with him.

The letter from General Zhi Zhong had come by Imperial messenger, the seals perfect. Lujan knew he risked demotion or worse by allowing men with wives and children to gather their families, but he could not leave them to the enemy. He saw another group of young boys take their seats on a cart and look around with frightened eyes. Baotou was all they had ever known, and in a single night, they had been told to leave everything and move quickly to the nearest barracks.

Lujan sighed to himself. With so many people involved, the secret had been impossible to keep. No doubt the wives had warned their friends and the news had spread in widening ripples through the night. Perhaps that was why the orders had not included the command to evacuate the families of his men.

Outside the barracks gates, he could hear the gathering crowd. He shook his head unconsciously. He could not save them all and he would not disobey his orders. He felt shame at his own relief not to have to stay in the path of the Mongol army and tried not to hear the voices calling in confusion and terror on the streets.

The sun had risen and already he feared he had delayed too long. If he had not sent for the army families, he would have been able to slip out in the night. As it was, they would pass through a hostile crowd in full daylight. He steeled himself to be ruthless now the decision had been made. There would be bloodshed if the citizens grew angry, perhaps a running fight to the river gate, four hundred paces from the barracks. It had not seemed so far the previous day. He wished another solution had presented itself, but his path was set and soon it would be time to leave.

Two of his men ran past on some final errand. Neither acknowledged their commander and Lujan sensed their anger. No doubt they were men who kept whores or had friends in the city. They all had. There would be riots when they left, with the tongs running wild in the streets. Some of the criminals were like savage dogs, barely held in check by the threat of force. With the soldiers gone, they would glut themselves until the enemy came to burn them out.

That thought gave Lujan some satisfaction, though he still felt ashamed. He tried to clear his mind, to concentrate on the problem of getting the column of soldiers and carts out of the city. He had placed crossbowmen along the line, with orders to shoot into the crowd if they were attacked. If that failed, pikes would hold the mob at bay long enough to leave Baotou, he was almost sure. Either way, it would be vicious and he could take no pride in the planning.

Another of his soldiers came running up and Lujan recognized him as one of those he had stationed at the barracks gate. Had the rioting started already?

“Sir, there is a man wishing to speak to you. I told him to go home, but he gave me this token and said you would see him.”

Lujan looked at the little piece of blue shell marked with Chen Yi’s personal chop. He winced. It was not a meeting he wanted to have, but the carts were almost ready and the men had formed ranks before the gate. Perhaps because of his guilt, he nodded.

“Have him enter through the small door and be certain not to let anyone force their way in with him.” The soldier rushed away and Lujan was left alone with his thoughts. Chen Yi would die with the rest of them and no one would ever learn of the arrangement they had formed over the years. It had profited them both, but Lujan would not regret being free of the little man’s influence. He struggled against weariness as the soldier returned with the leader of the Blue Tong.

“I can do nothing for you now, Chen Yi,” Lujan began as the soldier ran back to take his place in the column. “My orders are to withdraw from Baotou and join the army assembling before Yenking. I cannot help you.”

Chen Yi stared at him and Lujan saw he was armed with a sword on his hip. It should have been removed at the door set into the main gate, but none of the routines were in force today.

“I thought you would lie to me,” Chen Yi said, “telling me that you were out on maneuvers or training. I would not have believed you, of course.”

“You would have been among the first to hear last night,” Lujan said with a shrug. “I must follow my orders.”

“You will let Baotou burn?” Chen Yi said. “After so many years of telling us you are our protectors, you will run as soon as a real threat appears?”

Lujan felt himself flush. “I am a soldier, Chen Yi. When my general tells me to march, I march. I am sorry.”

Chen Yi was red-faced, though whether it was from anger or the exertion of running to the barracks, Lujan could not tell. He felt the force of the man’s gaze and could hardly meet it.

“I see you have allowed your men to take their wives and children to safety,” Chen Yi noted. “Your own wife and sons will not suffer when the Mongols come.”

Lujan looked away at the column. Already there were faces turned toward him, waiting for his word to march.

“I have exceeded my authority even in that, my friend.”

Chen Yi made a snarling sound in his throat. “Do not call a man ‘friend’ as you leave him to be killed.” His anger was clear now and Lujan could not meet his eyes as he went on.

“The wheel will turn, Lujan. Your masters will pay for their cruelty even as you pay for this shame.”

“I must leave now,” Lujan said, staring into the distance. “You could empty the city before the Mongols come. Many could be saved if you order it.”

“Perhaps I will, Lujan. After all, there will be no other authority in Baotou when you are gone.”

Both men knew it was impossible to evacuate the population of Baotou. The Mongol army was no more than two days away. Even if they filled every boat and used the river to escape, there would not be enough places for more than a few. The people of Baotou would be slaughtered as they ran. Picturing the rice fields running red with blood, Lujan let out a long breath. He had already delayed too long.

“Good luck,” he murmured, glancing at Chen Yi’s eyes. He could not understand the triumph he saw sparkling there, and he almost spoke again before he thought better of it. He strode to the front of the column, where his horse was held for him. As Chen Yi watched, the barracks gates opened and those in the front rank stiffened as the crowd fell silent.

The roads were lined with people staring in. They had left the way clear for the Imperial soldiers and their carts, but the faces were cold with hatred and Lujan snapped loud orders for his crossbowmen to be ready, letting the crowd hear as he trotted out. The silence was unnerving and he expected a barrage of abuse to start at any second. His men fingered their swords and pikes nervously, trying not to see the faces of people they knew as they left the barracks behind. The same scene would be happening at the other barracks, and they would meet the second and third column outside the city before moving east to Yenking and the Badger’s Mouth pass. Baotou would then be defenseless, for the first time in its history.

Chen Yi watched the column of guards leave, heading toward the river gate. Lujan could not know that many of the crowd were his own men, there to keep order and prevent the more reckless citizens from showing their disgust at the withdrawal. He did not want Lujan to delay his departure, but he had not been able to resist seeing his shame before he left. Lujan had been a sympathetic voice in the garrison for many years, though they had not been friends. Chen Yi knew the orders to leave would have been hard on the man, and he had enjoyed every moment of his humiliation. It had been a struggle not to show his inner satisfaction. There would be no dissenting voice when the Mongols came, no soldiers ordered to fight to the last. The emperor’s betrayal had given Baotou into Chen Yi’s hands in one morning.

He frowned to himself as the column of soldiers reached the river gate and Lujan passed under the shadow of the deserted archer platforms. Everything depended on the honor of the two Mongol brothers he had aided. He wished he could know for certain whether Khasar and Temuge could be trusted, or whether he would see his precious city torn apart. The crowd at the barracks watched the retreating soldiers in eerie silence, and Chen Yi offered up prayers to the spirits of his ancestors. Remembering his Mongol servant, Quishan, he mouthed a final prayer to the sky father of those strange people, asking for his help in the coming days.

Leaning on the wooden bar of a goat pen, Genghis smiled at the sight of his son Chagatai, hearing the boy’s whoops across the encampment. He had given the ten-year-old a set of armor that morning, specially made for his small frame. Chagatai was too young to join the warriors in battle, but he had been delighted with the armor, riding around and around the camp on a new pony to show the older men. There were many smiles as they saw him brandishing his bow and alternating between war cries and laughter.

Genghis stretched his back, running a hand along the thick cloth of the white tent he had raised before the walls of Baotou. It differed from the gers of his people, so that those in the cities would know it and beg their leaders to surrender. Twice as high as even his own great ger, it was not so solidly built and shivered in the wind, its sides snapping in and out like breath. White horse-tail standards stood on tall pikes on either side of it and whipped around as if alive.

Baotou stood closed to them and Genghis wondered if his brothers were correct in their judgment of this Chen Yi. The scouts had brought news of a column of soldiers marching from the city just the day before. Some of the young warriors had ridden close enough to score distant kills with their bows before being driven off. If they had estimated the numbers correctly, the city had no soldiers to defend it, and Genghis found himself in a mellow mood. One way or another, the city would fall like the others.

He had spoken to the Baotou mason and been reassured that Chen Yi would not have forgotten his agreement. Lian’s family remained inside the walls he had helped to build, and he had many reasons for wanting a peaceful submission. Genghis looked up at the white tent. They had until sunset to surrender, or they would see the red tent the following day. No agreement would save them then.

Genghis felt eyes on him and turned to see his oldest son, Jochi, on the opposite side of the milling goats. The boy was watching him in silence, and despite what he had promised to Borte, Genghis felt himself respond as if to a challenge. He held the boy’s eyes coldly until Jochi was forced to look away. Only then did Genghis speak to him.

“It is your birthday in a month. I will have another set of armor made for you then.”

Jochi wrinkled his lip into a sneer. “I will be twelve. It will not be long before I can ride with the warriors. There is no point in playing children’s games until then.”

Genghis’s temper prickled. The offer had been generous. He would have spoken again, but they were both distracted by Chagatai’s return. The boy thundered up on his pony and leaped to the ground, barely stumbling as he steadied himself on the wooden pen and whipped the reins around a post in a quick knot. The goats in the pen bleated in panic and pressed away from him to the other side. Genghis could not help but smile at Chagatai’s uncomplicated joy, though he felt Jochi’s gaze settle on him again, always watching.

Chagatai gestured toward the silent city of Baotou, less than a mile away. “Why are we not attacking that place, father?” he said, glancing toward Jochi.

“Because your uncles made a promise to a man inside it,” Genghis replied patiently. “In return for the mason who helped us win all the others, this one will be allowed to stand.” He paused for a moment. “If they surrender today.”

“And tomorrow?” Jochi said suddenly. “Another city, and another after that?” As Genghis turned to him, Jochi straightened. “Will we spend all our lives taking these places one by one?”

Genghis felt blood rush into his face at the boy’s tone, then he recalled his promise to Borte that he would treat Jochi the same as his brothers. She did not seem to understand the way he needled him at every opportunity, but Genghis needed peace in his own ger. He took a moment to master his temper.

“It is not a game we are playing here,” he said. “I do not choose to crush Chin cities because I enjoy the flies and the heat of this land. I am here,
you
are here, because they have tormented us for a thousand generations. Chin gold has had every tribe at the throat of all the others for longer than anyone can remember. When we have peace for a generation, they set the Tartars on us like wild dogs.”

“They cannot do that now,” Jochi replied. “The Tartars are broken and our people are one nation, as you say. We are too strong. Is it vengeance then that drives us?” The boy did not look directly at his father, only risking glances at him when Genghis turned away, yet there was genuine interest in his gaze.

His father snorted. “For you, the history is only stories. You were not even born when the tribes were scattered. You did not know that time and perhaps you cannot understand it. Yes, this is vengeance, in part. Our enemies must learn they cannot ride us down without a storm coming after.” He drew his father’s sword and turned it into the sun, so that the shining surface flashed a golden line onto Jochi’s face.

“This is a good blade, made by a master. But if I buried it in the ground, how long would it keep its edge?”

“You will say the tribes are like the sword,” Jochi said, surprising him.

“Perhaps,” Genghis replied, irritated to have had his lecture interrupted. The boy was too sharp for his own good. “Anything I have won can be lost, perhaps by a single foolish son who does not have the patience to listen to his father.” Jochi grinned at that and Genghis realized he had acknowledged him as a son even as he sought to wipe the arrogant expression off his face.