course, needing little excuse as they held a vigil to see the khan’s spirit into the next world. In their thousands they came drunkenly to the great fire, spattering drops of airag from their fingers or blowing them from their mouths. More than one ventured too close and fell back with shrieks as their clothing caught and had to be thumped out. In the darkness, moths and biting insects crackled in the flames, drawn from the city and the gers by the light. They died in their millions, black specks that wove trails over the pyre and fell into the flames. Mongke thought of the young women, servants and warriors who had been buried with Genghis. He smiled at the thought that Guyuk had only flies to attend him in death.
When the great pyre was reduced to a glowing heap, still higher than a man, Mongke sent for his brothers. Kublai, Hulegu and Arik-Boke fell into step beside him at his order and the small group walked back through the quiet city, leaving the nation to continue their revels. Children would be born as a result of the night. Men and women would be killed in drunken brawls, but that was the way of things: life and death intertwined for ever. It was fitting.
The city seemed empty as they walked together. Almost unconsciously, Mongke and Kublai led the group, opposites in physique and outlook. At their backs, Hulegu had the same broad forehead and heavy frame as Mongke, while Arik-Boke was the shortest, with eyes that flickered from man to man as he walked. An old scar disfigured the youngest brother, a thick line across Arik-Boke’s face that varied in colour from dark pink to the yellow of callus. An accident years before had left him with no bridge to his nose, so he could be heard breathing through his mouth as they walked. Any stranger would have known they were brothers, but there was more tension than friendship in that small group. They kept their silence, waiting to see what Mongke planned for them.
Kublai felt the strain more than the others. Only he had refused to give up his Chin style, from the cut of his hair to the fine silk weave of his robes. It was a small rebellion, but as yet, Mongke had chosen not to force the issue.
There were Night Guards at the palace, holding their own silent vigil as they stood to attention under the light of lamps. At Mongke’s approach, they held themselves like statues. Mongke did not seem to notice, so deep was he in thought. He swept across the outer yard and Arik-Boke had to trot to keep up with the others as they passed through the cloisters and on to the main audience room.
More of the khan’s Guards waited there, by doors of polished copper. No sign of green appeared on the shining sheets and there was a smell of floor wax and polish strong in the air. Mongke may not yet have been khan, but his orders were law in the city and he worked them all hard.
Kublai watched in hidden irritation as Mongke entered and crossed the chamber, pulling off the cloth from a jug of wine and pouring himself a cup that he knocked back in quick swallows. There was nowhere to sit. The room was almost bare, except for a long table covered with carelessly strewn scrolls and maps, some of them bound in bright-coloured thread. The glittering throne of Guyuk and Ogedai had disappeared, no doubt to languish in some storeroom for the next century.
‘Drink if you wish,’ Mongke said.
Hulegu and Arik-Boke moved to the table with him, leaving only Kublai standing alone and waiting to be told why they were there.
The answer was not long in coming.
‘I will be khan in the spring,’ Mongke said. He spoke without triumph, stating it as a simple fact. ‘I am orlok of the army and a grandson of Genghis. Baidur won’t challenge me and Batu has written to say I have his support.’
He paused as Kublai shifted slightly on his feet. The two most senior princes of the nation had been given vast lands in Ogedai’s will. They would not challenge his brother. For all Mongke’s plodding reasoning, he had risen above them all. He took his position for granted, but in truth he was the only man the tumans would accept.
‘So you will be khan, brother,’ Kublai said, accepting Mongke’s assessment. ‘Our father would be proud to see one of his sons rise so far.’
Mongke stared at him, searching for mockery. He found none and grunted, satisfied at his own dominance.
‘Even so, I will not leave you behind,’ Mongke told his brothers. Kublai noted how he addressed himself to Hulegu and Arik-Boke, but he nodded anyway as Mongke went on. ‘You will rise with me, as our father would have wanted. Tonight we will discuss the future of our family.’
Kublai doubted there would be much discussion. Mongke was confident in his new authority, dispensing wisdom as a father to his children, rather than as a brother. He clapped Hulegu on the shoulder and Kublai thought how alike they were. Though Mongke was slightly wider in the shoulder, Hulegu had the same cold eyes.
‘I will not wait for spring to begin the campaigns,’ Mongke said. ‘The world has waited too long for a weak khan to perish. Our enemies have grown strong without a hand on their throats, a knife at the neck of those they love. It is time to remind them who their masters are.’
Hulegu made some noise of appreciation as he drained another cup of the red wine and smacked his lips. Mongke looked on him with satisfaction, seeing the same qualities that Kublai did.
‘Hulegu, I have written orders for you to take command of Baidur’s army of the west, with three more tumans from Karakorum. I have made you orlok of a hundred thousand and given you three of my best men, Baiju, Ilugei and Kitbuqa.’
To Kublai’s embarrassment, Hulegu actually knelt and bowed his head.
‘Thank you, brother,’ he said, rising again. ‘It is a great honour.’
‘You will raze the ground south and west, using Samarkand as your base city. Baidur will not oppose my orders. Complete the work our grandfather began, Hulegu. Go further than he ever did. It is my aim that you will carve a new khanate for yourself, filled with riches.’
Mongke handed Hulegu a scroll and watched as his brother unrolled a map of the region, copied with great care and marked with the curved lines and dots of some long-dead Persian hand. Kublai stared at it in fascination, drawing closer despite himself. The library in Karakorum had many wonders he had not yet seen.
Hulegu spread the map on the table, holding it with wine cups at the edges. His eyes gleamed as he stared across the lands represented there. Mongke patted him on the back as he leaned in, pointing with his free hand.
‘The greatest city is there, brother, on the banks of the Tigris river. Genghis himself never reached so far. It is the centre of the faith they call Islam. You speak enough of the tongue, Hulegu. If you succeed, it will be the heart of your new khanate.’
‘It will be done, brother,’ Hulegu said, overwhelmed.
Mongke saw his pleasure and smiled, refilling a cup to hand to him.
‘The line of Tolui has come to rule,’ he said, glancing at Kublai. ‘We will not let it pass from us, not now. The path begun by Genghis will be cut further by our family. It must be fate, brothers. Our father gave his life for a khan, our mother held the city and the homeland together when it could all have been destroyed.’ His eyes shone with a vision of the future. ‘
Kublai watched silently as Hulegu and Arik-Boke grinned, swept up in Mongke’s grand words. He could not be comfortable standing apart from them, and on impulse he filled the spare cup with wine and drank it. His younger brothers moved aside for him to reach the jug, though Mongke frowned slightly. As Kublai sipped, he saw with a sinking feeling how Arik-Boke was practically quivering to be told his destiny, his scar a dark pink, almost red.
Mongke chose that moment to grip the arm of their youngest brother.
‘Arik, I have spoken to our mother and she has agreed this with me.’
Kublai looked up sharply at that. He did not think Sorhatani had been well enough to discuss anything.
Mongke went on, oblivious to Kublai’s suspicions.
‘She and I have agreed that you will inherit the homeland khanate, all but Karakorum itself, which will remain the khan’s property. I don’t want this pestilent place, but I’m told it has become a symbol for the people. The rest is yours, to rule in my name.’
Arik-Boke almost spilled his wine as he too knelt and dipped his head in fealty. As he came to his feet, Mongke gripped him round the back of the head and shook him affectionately.
‘Those lands were our father’s, Arik, and belonged to Genghis before that. Look after them. Make them green and thick with herds.’
‘I will, brother, I swear it,’ Arik-Boke replied. In just a few words, he had been granted unimaginable wealth.
