stores of weaponry before the army behind catches up, or the population turns out and finishes us.’ He laughed bitterly to himself.
Uriang-Khadai spoke as Kublai leaned back. ‘There is a chance the garrison is already out,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘For all we know, we may have already beaten them. Or they could be out looking for us, like every other Sung soldier in the region.’
Kublai sat up, struggling to think through his exhaustion.
‘If they’re in place, we could draw them away. If we sent a few men into the markets with information to sell, maybe. Rumours of a Mongol army fifty miles in the wrong direction would surely bring the garrison out. We know by now there are standing orders to attack us on sight. They could not remain in the city with the right bait.’
‘If they are there at all,’ Uriang-Khadai agreed.
‘If they ignore the news, we will be waiting to enter a hostile city, with another army coming up fast behind us,’ Bayar pointed out. He was surprised to be the one urging caution, but Uriang-Khadai seemed to be caught up in the idea.
Kublai stood up, stretching his aching legs and looking down the mountain to the Sung regiments plodding after them. The ground was so broken with its clumps and hillocks of grass that they could not move any faster than those they chased. He could be thankful for that at least. He felt his head clear with the movement and gave a low whistle to the closest minghaan officers, jerking his head in the direction of travel. It was time to move on again.
‘You know I’d love to get into their stores,’ he said, ‘but even if the garrison is already out, the prefect of the city won’t let us just walk in and take what we need.’
‘The citizens of Shaoyang won’t know how the war is going,’ Uriang-Khadai said. ‘If you gave them the chance, he might surrender to you.’
Kublai looked closely for some sign of mockery, but Uriang-Khadai’s face was like stone. Kublai grinned for a moment.
‘He might,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll think about it as we go. Come on, the ones following are getting too close. What do you say to a fast ten miles over the peak to put some distance between us?’
All those who heard made some groaning noise at the prospect, but they lurched to their feet. With the ground so broken, it was all they could do to stop the Sung regiments below snapping at their heels.
Mongke hated sieges, but without a massive force of catapults and cannon, he faced the same problems Genghis had once known. Cities were designed to keep out marauding armies such as his, though for once they were not his main objective. Somewhere to the south, Kublai was engaging the Sung armies. Mongke would have liked to smash down the walls of the cities he passed, but his primary aim was to reach Kublai. It suited his purposes well enough if every city barred its gates against him - and the garrisons stayed safely inside. His problem lay in the supply line, which grew more and more vulnerable with every mile he rode south. Cities who hid from a quarter of a million warriors would not mind sallying out against a long line of carts, guarded by just a few thousand. When the line broke somewhere behind him, he had been forced to reduce the rations. He had sent scouts out for well over a hundred miles to report any herds he might snap up. It was one resource the Sung cities could not protect behind their walls, and as he entered a region of rich grassland Mongke saw so many cattle that his supply lines became unnecessary. For a glorious few days, his men feasted on charred beef still dripping with blood, putting back some of the body fat they had lost in hard riding. In its way, the problems of a campaign were equal to anything Mongke had dealt with in Karakorum, but he took more satisfaction in simple obstacles he could face and overcome.
As he went on, Mongke noted the cities he would return to when he had finished sweeping through the south with Kublai. He looked forward to seeing his brother more and more, imagining Kublai’s face when he saw the host Mongke had brought to support him.
Towns were easy prey compared to the great cities. Mongke’s tumans could fell trees and leave stubs of branches in just a morning, using them as rough ladders to climb lesser walls. Yet even then, Mongke had let hundreds of towns survive intact while his tumans swept on. They would keep until his return.
A little more than a month had passed since entering Sung lands when his outlying scouts reported a huge Sung army marching south with banners flying. The news spread through the tumans as fast as Mongke heard it himself, so they were ready to move when he raced to his horse. No infantry alive could stay ahead of them for long and his tumans were eager to fight.
His twenty-eight tumans followed the scout’s directions at full speed, sighting the enemy at evening three days later. Mongke was pleased to see they were less than half the size of his force. For once his generals would not have to think their way around an army that outnumbered them. It had always been his plan to bring a bigger hammer to the Sung than anyone had managed before. The Sung emperors had survived Genghis, Ogedai and Guyuk. They would not survive his own khanate.
As night fell, the tumans herded their spare mounts behind them. If the enemy attacked in the dark, the animals were likely to panic and stampede, or at the least get in the way of a counter-charge. They chewed sticks of dried beef to a soft mush and washed it down with airag or water, whichever they had to hand. The warriors wrapped reins around their boots and lay down on the damp grass to sleep. Every man there knew they would be off before dawn and fighting at first light.
As the camp settled, Mongke’s servants created a ger for him, taking the felt and spars from half a dozen packs. While they worked in the moonlight, he lay out a thin blanket and knelt on it, pulling his deel robe closer over his armour to keep him warm. He could see his breath as mist and he slowed his heart, letting the cares of the day ease from him. With the stars achingly clear overhead, he spent a moment praying to the sky father for the battle to go well, for Kublai to be safe, for the nation to prosper. Even in his private prayers, he thought as a khan.
He did not want to enter the ger they had prepared for him. Sleep was very far away and he felt strong and at peace. The dew had frozen on the grass so that he could hear every whispering footstep from his guards as they walked their shift. Mongke was surrounded by his people. He could hear them snoring, calling out in their sleep and mumbling to themselves. He chuckled as he stretched out on the blanket, deciding to spend the night under the stars like the rest of the warriors.
He woke in silence, with his head hidden in the crook of his arm. The cold ground seemed to have reached into him so that he could hardly move for stiffness. He felt his neck crunch as he sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. A shadow moved nearby and Mongke’s right hand darted for his sword in the scabbard, half-drawing the blade before he realised whoever it was held out a bowl of tea to him.
He smiled ruefully at his own nerves. The camp was coming to life around him, though dawn was still some way off. Horses suckled waterskins held high for them, though they would have found moisture in the frozen dew. There was movement everywhere and Mongke sipped his tea, letting the anticipation grow within him. He could not leave anyone alive from the Sung force marching ahead of his tumans. As tempting as it was to spread terror with a few survivors, he needed to use the speed he could bring to the battlefield. His task was to push the men and animals to their limits, crushing a vast track south and running ahead of the news until he had Hangzhou in sight. The Sung would have no time to entrench and prepare for him. Kublai had cannon, two hundred good iron weapons. Mongke would use those to smash down the emperor’s city.
He rose to his feet and stretched, wondering at the strange mood that had led him to sleep on the frozen grass. There was still frost in his hair and he rubbed at the strands with one hand while he finished the tea. He could feel the salt and heat hit his empty stomach and he sighed at the thought of cold meat to break his fast.
His horse was made ready by servants, already fed and watered with its coat brushed to a gleam. Mongke walked over to inspect the animal’s hooves, though it was just old habit. Some of the men were already mounted and waiting, sitting idly in the saddle and talking to their friends around them. Mongke accepted a thick wedge of stale bread and cold lamb, with a skin of airag to wash it down his throat.
‘Do you want to discuss tactics, my lord khan, or shall we just ride right over them?’
His orlok, Seriankh, was smiling as he spoke. Mongke chuckled through a mouthful. He looked up at the brightening sky and breathed deeply.
‘It will be a fine morning, Seriankh. Tell me what you have in mind.’
As befitted a senior officer, Seriankh responded without hesitation, long used to making quick decisions.
‘We’ll ride their flanks at the limit of their arrow range. I don’t want to surround them and make them dig in. With your permission, I’ll make a three-sided box and match their pace. The Sung cavalry will try to break out and stay mobile, so we’ll take them first with lances. For the infantry, we can cut them from behind, working our way up
