Karakorum.’
Kublai turned away, taking a moment to wrap his reins around his hand. He could see Salsanan’s tumans in silent ranks stretching into the distance. He hungered to have them with him, doubling his forces at a stroke. At his back, his veterans were waiting in good spirits, certain that this new army had come to bolster their strength. To see them march away would be a small death, abandoned at the moment of triumph. Kublai shook his head. He could not allow it. Every mile to the east had brought a greater density of towns, better roads and teeming people. Hangzhou was barely five hundred miles on, but already he could see the wealth and strength of the outlying cities. He
‘You leave me no choice, general,’ Kublai said, his eyes glinting with anger. He mounted his horse easily, leaping into the saddle. ‘General Bayar, Orlok Uriang-Khadai, bear witness.’ Kublai raised his voice, making it carry to both sides of waiting warriors.
‘I am Kublai of the Borjigin. I am grandson to Genghis Khan. I am eldest brother to Mongke Khan.’
‘My lord!’ Salsanan said in shock, as he realised what was happening. ‘You can’t do this!’
Kublai went on as if he had not spoken.
‘Before you all, in the lands of my enemies, I declare myself great khan of the nation, of the khanates under my brothers Hulegu and Arik-Boke, of the Chagatai khanate and all others. I declare myself great khan of the Chin lands and the Sung. I have spoken and my word is iron!’
Deep silence followed his words for a beat, then his tumans bellowed in joy, raising their weapons. On the other side, Salsanan’s men responded in a great roar of acclamation.
Salsanan tried to speak again, but his voice was lost in the tumult. Kublai drew his sword and held it high. The noise seemed to double in volume, crashing against them.
Kublai looked down at Salsanan as he sheathed his sword.
‘Tell me
Salsanan stared, slack-jawed at what he had witnessed. He looked around at his cheering men and the last of his resistance faded. Slowly, he knelt on the grass, looking up at the khan of the nation.
‘I offer you gers, horses, salt and blood, my lord khan,’ he said, glassy-eyed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
At dawn, Arik-Boke stood on the plains before Karakorum. Mongke’s two oldest sons had been granted a place close by their uncle. Asutai was sixteen and Urung Tash fourteen, but in their wide shoulders they showed signs of what would become their father’s massive strength. They were still red-eyed from grief. Arik-Boke had been kind to them in the days after the terrible news had come home and both young men looked up to him in simple hero worship.
Hulegu stood at his brother’s right hand, still darkly tanned from his time in Persia and Syria. He had left only a small force behind with General Kitbuqa to guard the new cities, the new khanate he had won there. Arik-Boke could practically feel his brother’s pride. Hulegu had done well with Baghdad, but the region was far from pacified. He could not stay long in Karakorum.
Arik-Boke rubbed the scar across his ruined nose. He caught himself in the habit and took his hand away, determined to be dignified on this of all days. He looked out at the massed tumans of the nation, the princes who had crossed half the world to be there when they heard of the khan’s death. They had come a long, long way from the fledgling nation Genghis had created from far-flung tribes. It showed in their numbers and in their obvious wealth.
The body of Mongke Khan lay hidden in a huge covered cart, specially built for that task, for that day. It was to be drawn by forty white horses and followed on foot by thousands of men and women. Their tears would salt the ground as they returned to the last resting place of Mongke’s grandfather. Proud princes would walk in its wake, putting aside the signs of their rank as they mourned the father of the nation.
Arik-Boke watched as the sun began to set. In the dark, torches would be lit along a path that stretched away from the city and they would begin. Before that, they waited for him. He turned to Hulegu and his brother nodded to him. Arik-Boke smiled, recalling the first tense meeting after Hulegu’s return. For the first time in years, they had walked out of the city like a pair of poor herdsmen, bearing skins of airag on their shoulders. There were many fires around the city, many men and women huddling around them against the cold. Hulegu and Arik-Boke had sat down to join the vigil, talking all the while of the khan and brother they had lost. They had honoured Mongke with mouthfuls of airag spat into the air and both of them had drunk themselves into a bleary stupor.
Hulegu had been burnt dark under a harsh sun. He even smelled different, an odour of cloves and strange spices coming off his skin. As that first night had gone on, his eyes were bright as he described the lands he had seen, with sunlit mountains and ancient secrets. He told Arik-Boke of kohl-eyed Persian women he had seen dance to exhaustion, flinging sweat like bright jewels in the light of feast fires. He spoke of the great markets; of snakes and magicians, of brass and of gold. His voice had grown hoarse with recollection and awe.
Before the sun had risen, Arik-Boke had understood that Hulegu did not want the empire of the great khan. His brother had fallen in love with the desert lands and itched even then to return to them, begrudging every day spent on the cold plains of home. In the morning, they had risen to their feet with groans and creaking joints, but they were at peace with each other.
Arik-Boke breathed slowly, forcing himself to relax. It was time: the nation waited for him to speak. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the incense that lay strongly on the air.
‘My brother Mongke entrusted the homeland to me, the plains where Genghis himself was born. In his absence, he entrusted Karakorum to my hands. I will continue his work, his ambitions, his vision for the small khanates. The nations cannot be left unattended, this we have agreed.’ His heart pounded and he took another breath.
‘I will be great khan, in the line of Genghis, in the line of Ogedai, Guyuk and my brother Mongke. Speak your oaths to me and honour my brother’s wishes.’
Hulegu knelt first at his side and Arik-Boke rested a hand on his shoulder. Mongke’s sons followed, for all to witness. Arik-Boke had offered them lands and wealth and had hardly needed to explain the alternative. After such a public display, there would be no one whispering to them that they could have taken the khanate.
As far as the eye could see, the tumans followed suit. In a ripple like a rock dropping into a still pond, the assembled princes knelt and offered gers, horses, salt and blood. Arik-Boke shuddered slightly, closing his eyes. Only Kublai was missing from the great host before Karakorum. His brother would hear the news from the yam riders waiting to gallop away, but by then the whole world would know there was a new khan. At least Kublai was not a man of great ambition, or he would surely have challenged Mongke when they were all still young. Arik-Boke tried to ignore the itch of his doubts. Kublai should have come home when he heard Mongke had died, but he had not. He was a dreamer, more suited to libraries and scrolls than leadership of the nation. If his older brother chose to challenge him, Arik-Boke would answer with all the force of the risen nation.
Arik-Boke smiled at the thought of the scholar riding to war. Kublai had sent home the women and children of his tumans. They too had given their oaths to him, kneeling in the dust before Karakorum. As Mongke’s sons had chosen their path, Kublai would be forced to accept the new order. He sighed with pleasure at the sight of so many tens of thousands on their knees before him. The youngest son of Tolui and Sorhatani had dared to stretch out his hand when the people needed a khan. It was Arik-Boke’s day and the sun was still rising.
PART THREE
AD 1260
