The tension grew as the small group closed on the line of Mongol warriors. One of the Sung men sought out Kublai in the ranks, assuming his identity from the bannermen on both sides of him. As if he had heard Kublai’s voice, he raised his arms very slowly and twisted in the saddle, first one way and then the next so they could see there was nothing on his back.
‘Ease off,’ Kublai said to the warriors.
Arms grew tired holding drawn bows; fingers could slip. He did not want the man killed when he had gone to so much trouble to speak to him. Around Kublai, bows and swords lowered reluctantly and the Sung men began to breathe again.
‘That’s near enough,’ Kublai said when they were just a dozen paces away.
The Sung group looked to the one who had ridden closest. His bare arms were heavy with muscle though his cropped hair was white and his face was deeply seamed.
‘My name is Liu Yin-San,’ the man said. ‘I am prefect of Shaoyang. I am the one who met your scouts.’
‘Then you are the one who will surrender Shaoyang to me,’ Kublai replied.
To his surprise, Liu Yin-San shook his head, as if he were not facing thousands of armed men stretching from that point to the outer towns of the city. Kublai had a sudden vision of a knife plunged into Shaoyang, with himself at the head. No, three knives, with Bayar and Uriang-Khadai. At the edges behind him, there would be warriors who had yet to enter, waiting impatiently for news from the front.
‘I have come unarmed to say I cannot,’ Liu Yin-San said. ‘The emperor has given orders to all his cities. If I surrender to you, Shaoyang will be burnt as a lesson to the others.’
‘You have met this emperor?’ Kublai asked.
‘He has not visited Shaoyang,’ Liu Yin-San replied.
‘Then how does he command your loyalty?’
The man frowned, wondering if he could explain the concept of fealty to men he had been told were little better than wild animals. He took hope from the fact that Kublai spoke in perfect Mandarin to him, the language and dialect of the Chin noble classes.
‘I took an oath when I was made prefect of the city,’ he said. ‘My orders are clear. I cannot give you what you want.’
The man was sweating and Kublai saw his dilemma clearly. If he surrendered, the city would be destroyed by a furious master. If he resisted, he expected Shaoyang to suffer the same fate from the tumans. Kublai wondered if Liu Yin-San had a solution, or whether he had ridden towards them expecting to be cut down.
‘If I became the emperor, would your oath of loyalty extend to me?’ he asked.
Liu Yin-San sat very still as he considered it.
‘It is possible. But, my lord … you are
He tensed as he spoke, aware that his life hung in the balance. Kublai fought not to smile at his reaction. The prefect would have made different decisions if he’d known a Sung army was marching towards the city as they spoke. Kublai would not allow himself to be trapped in Shaoyang. He glanced up at the sun and thought he would have to ride clear soon.
‘You leave me with few choices, Liu Yin-San,’ he said. The man paled slightly, understanding his own death in the words. Kublai went on before he could reply. ‘I did not intend to stop in Shaoyang. I have other battles. From you, I merely needed supplies for my men, but if you will not surrender the city, you force me to give this order.’
Kublai turned in the saddle and raised his hand. Once more his men drew swords and raised their bows.
‘Wait!’ Liu Yin-San called, his voice strained. ‘I can …’ He hesitated, making some inner decision. ‘I can
Kublai turned slowly back to him, raising an eyebrow in silent question.
‘I will not surrender Shaoyang,’ Liu Yin-San said. Sweat was pouring from him, Kublai noticed. ‘I will order my people to barricade themselves in their homes. I will pray that the storm passes the city without bloodshed, that you take whatever you need and leave.’
Kublai smiled. ‘That would be a wise decision, prefect. Ride home past the barracks and be sure to fight if you are attacked. I do not think you will be, not today.’
Liu Yin-San’s hands were trembling as he turned his horse and began to walk it away. His men were driven before the Mongol army so that they rode awkwardly, expecting arrows in their backs at any moment. Kublai grinned, but he followed closely, taking his column in further until they reached the barracks of the city garrison. An open square eased some of the tension in the Mongol warriors. At the edges, double-storey buildings stretched, enough to house thousands of men.
Liu Yin-San halted then and Kublai could see the prefect was still expecting to be cut down.
‘There will come a time,’ Kublai said, ‘when I stand again before you and ask you to surrender Shaoyang. You will not refuse me then. Now go home. No one will die today.’
Liu Yin-San left with his small group, many of them looking back over and over as they dwindled into the distance, finally vanishing into the streets of the city. No one else was in sight, Kublai realised. The people of Shaoyang had indeed hidden themselves behind locked doors rather than face the invader.
His men began throwing open the buildings of the Shaoyang garrison, revealing vast stables, armouries, dormitories and kitchens. One of them put his fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply, drawing Kublai’s attention. He walked his horse over the training ground and saw Uriang-Khadai’s column enter the other side as he went. Kublai turned to the scouts that were always at his side.
‘One of you run to the orlok and tell him to report to me. Another to general Bayar, wherever he has gone to.’
They galloped away over the stones, a pleasant clattering that echoed back from the buildings around the open space. Kublai dismounted and walked into a long hall that had him grinning in the first few steps. He could see pikes by the thousand in racks, then as he walked further, he found shields stacked against each other in wooden frames. He walked past bows that could not match the range of his own. Rooms opened onto rooms and by the time Uriang-Khadai had reached the outer ones, Kublai was standing in a fletchers’ hall, with the smell of glue and wood and feather strong in the air. Dozens of benches showed where men worked each day and the results could be seen in the stacks of perfect quivers on every side. He pulled out a shaft and inspected it, rubbing the flights with his thumb. The Sung regiments were served by master craftsmen.
Kublai removed his bow from its loop over his back and strung it with quick movements. He heard someone enter behind him and he turned to see Uriang-Khadai standing with a rare expression of satisfaction on his face. Kublai nodded to him and drew the bow, sending an arrow at the far wall. It punched through the wood and vanished beyond it, leaving a visible spot of light as the flights fell to the wooden floor. For the first time in days, Kublai felt his weariness lift.
‘Have your men gather them up quickly, Uriang-Khadai. Get the scouts out looking for a place where we can sleep and eat, somewhere clear of the city. Tomorrow is soon enough to begin fighting our way clear.’
Kublai smiled as he looked around the hall. Someone would have to work it out, but there had to be a million shafts in new quivers, perhaps even more.
‘We have teeth again, orlok. Let’s use them.’
Xuan, Son of Heaven, had never seen the Sung at war. The sheer scale of it was impressive, but he thought the pace was dangerously slow. It had taken them a month to escort him to a meeting of Sung lords in the city. More than a hundred had been in attendance, placed according to their ranks in tiered seating, so that the most powerful had positions on the actual debating floor and the least were leaning over the upper balconies to listen. They had fallen silent as he’d walked in, flanked by Sung officials.
His initial impression had been of a mass of colour, staring eyes and stiff robes of green and red and orange. There were as many different styles as men in the room. Some wore simple tunics beaded in pearls, while others sweltered in high collars and headgear decorated with anything from peacock feathers to enormous jewels. A few of the younger ones looked like warriors, but many more resembled ornate birds, hardly able to move for the layers of silk and finery.
Xuan’s presence had flustered servants with no clear instructions. In terms of his nobility, he outranked all the men in the room, but he was the nominal ruler of a foreign nation and commanded a tiny force of ageing soldiers. The servants had found him a place on the lower floor, but towards the back, a typical compromise.
At first, Xuan was content merely to watch and listen, learning the personalities and politics as he suffered
