The exhausted young man looked as if his bread and meat had lodged in his throat.
‘He … dressed as a yam rider. He was let through. He was searched, but I heard he kept a razor hidden.’
‘Jesus
Bayar looked at him in surprise, though the Christian curses were spreading even to those who had no knowledge of the faith itself.
Kublai stood inside the ger without moving for a long time. He wanted Chabi to come to him, but he could not summon the energy to send for her. He could hear the noises of his people around him, but at least the small space kept out their stares. It was a relief to be apart from them, though he did not weep. His thoughts moved sluggishly. As a boy, he had once swum in a frozen river and felt his arms and legs become numb, helpless, so that he thought he might drown. It had been Mongke who pulled him out, the older brother who laughed as he shivered and curled up on the bank.
He had a hundred memories, a thousand conversations vying for space in his mind. He remembered Mongke sending him out to hammer the Sung, but he also remembered the old ger they had found in a valley when they were fifteen or so. While the rest of their family slept, Kublai and Mongke had taken iron bars and destroyed it. The rotting wood and felt had collapsed on itself as they flailed and swung, lucky not to hit each other in their enthusiasm.
It was not a grand tale of the sort to tell at a khan’s funeral, just two boys doing something stupid one night, for fun. They had discovered later that the ger had not been abandoned at all. When its owner had returned, he had been incandescent with rage and vowed to find the ones who had done it. He never had. Despite all the adult years that had passed since that day, Kublai smiled at the memory. He had lost friends before, but he had thought his brothers would always be there, in good times and bad. To lose Mongke was to take an axe to the foundations of everything he was.
Kublai was barely aware of falling as his legs gave way. He found himself sprawled on thick rolls of carpet, dust rising into the air around him. He felt choked and his hands moved unconsciously to the leather ties of his armour, tugging them loose until the lacquered chest-plate of scales yawned open. He snapped the last tie in a spasm of anger, throwing it down. The motion spurred him on and he pulled off his helmet and thigh-plates in rough movements, tossing them aside to clang against the other pieces on the canvas floor. It was not long before the last of the armour was on the pile and he sat in simple leggings and a stiff silk tunic with long sleeves that reached past his hands and had been folded into cuffs. He felt better without the armour and sat with his arms around his knees, thinking through what he must do.
Bayar saw the galloping scout before Uriang-Khadai. He tapped the older man on the shoulder and they both turned to watch as the scout angled his mount towards the only ger he could see in the assembly of grazing horses and resting men.
The scout dismounted at the ger, but Bayar intercepted him, taking him by the arm and walking him away until he could be sure Kublai would not hear the interruption.
‘Report,’ Bayar said.
The scout was flushed and his face gleamed with sweat. He had ridden far and fast. With only a glance at the ger, he bowed to both men.
‘Orlok, general. There is a Sung army in range. Ten foot regiments or more. Five of horse and many cannon. They have their own riders out and I only had time to make a rough estimate before I came back.’
‘How far?’ Uriang-Khadai said. His gaze fell on the ger that sat alone.
‘Thirty miles east, about.’ The scout made a gesture showing a movement of the sun in the sky.
‘With cannon, they won’t be here until tomorrow,’ Bayar said in relief.
‘Unless they react to contact and push on without the guns,’ Uriang-Khadai replied sourly. ‘Either way, it does not matter. We must withdraw.’
The scout looked from man to man in surprise. He had been riding out far ahead of the tumans and had no idea of the news that had come in his absence. Neither of them chose to inform him.
‘Change mounts and get back out as soon as you can,’ Uriang-Khadai said to the scout. ‘I need eyes close to them. Better still, take three others and place them at the quarter points so they can relay whatever you see to me quickly.’
The scout bowed and jogged away.
Whatever Bayar might have said next was lost when Kublai walked out of the ger. He had left his armour inside and both men gaped at the change in him. He wore a robe of gold silk with a wide belt of dark red. The chest was embroidered with a dark green dragon, the highest symbol of Chin nobility. He held a long sword, his knuckles white on the scabbard as he looked over and approached his two most senior men.
Bayar and Uriang-Khadai went down on one knee, bowing their heads.
‘My lord, I am sorry to hear such news,’ Uriang-Khadai said. He saw Kublai look up as four scouts mounted nearby and began to gallop away to the east. Uriang-Khadai chose to explain before he could be asked.
‘There is a Sung army coming west, my lord. They will not be here in time to prevent our withdrawal.’
‘Our withdrawal,’ Kublai echoed, sounding as if he did not understand. Uriang-Khadai faltered under the yellow gaze.
‘My lord, we can stay ahead of them. We can be back in Chin lands by spring. The yam rider said your brothers will have received the news already. They will be making their way home.’
‘Orlok, you do not understand me at all,’ Kublai said softly. ‘I
Uriang-Khadai’s eyes widened as he understood the significance of Kublai’s Chin robes.
‘My lord, there will be a quiriltai, a gathering of princes. Your brothers …’
‘My brothers have no say in what happens here,’ Kublai interrupted. His voice grew hard. ‘I will
‘No, this is my
Xuan paced in the darkness. His mind buzzed too loudly to rest, stinging him with questions and memories. Armies were strange things, sometimes far greater than the individual strengths of the soldiers in them. Men who might have run on their own would stand with their friends and their leaders. Yet they all had to sleep and they all had to eat. Xuan had camped near to an enemy before and it remained one of the oddest experiences of his life. The armies were so close that he could see the Mongol campfires as points of light on the darkling plain. The two Sung lords had guards and scouts at all points around the camp, but no one expected the Mongols to attempt a night attack. Their strength was in speed and manoeuvres, strengths which would vanish in the blind dark. Xuan smiled at the thought of men sleeping peacefully next to those they would try to kill in daylight. Only humanity could have conceived such a strange and artificial way to die. Wolves might tear the flesh of deer, but they never slept and dreamed near their quarry.
Somewhere close, Xuan could hear the deep snoring of some soldier lying flat on his back. It made him chuckle, though he wished he too could find the balm of sleep. He was no longer young and he knew he would feel it tomorrow, when the horns sounded. He could only hope the battle would not last long enough for his weariness to get him killed. It was one of the great truths of battle, that
Shadows moved in the darkness and Xuan raised his head, suddenly panicky. He heard his son’s voice and relaxed.
‘I am here, Liao-Jin,’ he whispered.
The small group came to him and though it was dark he knew each one of them. His four children were all the mark he had made on the world. Lord Jin An had understood that. Xuan thought with affection of the young Sung noble. He might have spirited his children away without speaking to Jin An, but it was just as likely they would have been discovered. Xuan had taken a risk in speaking honestly to him, but he had not misjudged his man. Lord Jin An had understood immediately.
Xuan pressed a bag of coins into his son’s hand. Liao-Jin looked at him in surprise, straining to see his father’s features in the starlight.
