He signalled to Uriang-Khadai and in turn the man snapped an order to two of the warriors. They leapt from their saddles and began to unpack equipment from spare horses. Zhenjin watched as they took rolls of material and spars onto their shoulders, grunting at the weight.
‘What do they have there?’ he asked.
‘You will see,’ Kublai replied, smiling strangely to himself. The scholar he had been was very far away at that moment, though he took joy in the story of his family and the history of the city. History was more than just stories, he reminded himself as the men walked forward with their burdens. It taught lessons as well.
Under the eye of their khan, the men worked quickly, heaving layers of cloth onto a wooden frame and hammering pegs and ropes into the stony ground. They had walked into arrow range and their stiff backs showed how they tried to resist the fear that someone would put a shaft into them as they worked.
When they stood back, the tumans broke into a roar of challenge, unplanned, a crash of sound that echoed back to them from the walls. A white tent stood before Samarkand.
‘I do not understand,’ Zhenjin said, shouting to be heard over the noise.
‘The senior men in the city will,’ Kublai replied. ‘The white tent is a demand for surrender, a sign to them that the khan’s tumans have declared war. As the sun sets, if their gates remain closed to me, a red tent will follow. It will stand for a day before their walls. If they ignore that, I will raise a black tent before them.’
‘What do the red and black tents mean?’ Zhenjin asked.
‘They mean death, my son, though it will not come to that.’
Even as he spoke, the huge gates began to swing open. A cry of hope went up from the crowd of terrified refugees around the walls. They streamed to that one point as if a dam had burst, pushing each other in desperation and getting in the way of riders trying to leave the city. Kublai grinned at his son.
‘They remember Genghis still, at least in Samarkand. See there, my son. They come.’
Lord Alghu was sweating heavily, though he had bathed in cool waters as the sun rose. He had been called from his palace rooms by senior men, their faces white with fear. He could still hardly believe the sheer size of the army that had gathered before Samarkand. For the first time in his life, he understood how it must have been for the enemies of the nation to wake and see tumans waiting for them. He wished his father Baidur still lived. He would have known what to do in the face of such a threat.
Alghu had rushed up to the crest of the wall, sagging against a stone pillar as he stared out into the distance. Had he offended Arik-Boke in some way? Lord Alghu swallowed painfully, his throat dry in the breeze. If the khan chose to make an example of him, his beloved cities would be burnt, his people slaughtered. Alghu had no illusions about the destructive strength of a Mongol army in the field. The tumans before Samarkand would tear through the Chagatai khanate like an unstoppable plague. He saw his own death in the fluttering banners.
His senior men had climbed the sandstone steps to see and they looked to him to give orders. Lord Alghu summoned his will, forcing himself to think. He led them all and their lives were in his hands. He did not blame his daughter. Aigiarn was young and headstrong, but whatever insult Arik-Boke believed he had been given did not warrant sending an army. He would send her away from the city so that Arik-Boke’s malice would not fall on her. Lord Alghu shuddered at the thought.
‘My lord, I cannot see the khan’s banners out there,’ one of his men said suddenly.
Lord Alghu had been turning to the steps to go down. He stopped.
‘What do you mean?’ he said, coming back and peering out again. The day was clear and he could see a long way from the height of the walls.
‘I don’t understand,’ Alghu muttered as he confirmed it with his own eyes. Arik-Boke’s banners were missing, but he did not recognise the others flying there. They seemed to have some animal embroidered on yellow silk. It was too far to be certain, but Lord Alghu knew he had never seen those flags before.
‘Perhaps I should go out and ask them what they want,’ he said to his men, smiling tightly.
Their expressions didn’t ease in reply. All of them had family in Samarkand or the cities around it. The Chagatai khanate had not been attacked for decades and yet they all knew the stories of slaughter and destruction that had come with Genghis. It was impossible to live in the khanate and not hear them.
A small group of warriors walked forward from the tumans in front of his city, each man bearing rolls of cloth. Alghu stared down in confusion as they approached the walls. One of his soldiers began to bend a bow nearby, but he snapped an order to be still.
Thousands watched curiously as the white tent began to take shape, the men below hammering pegs and stretching ropes to hold it. It was not as solid as a ger and its sides fluttered in the breeze. When Lord Alghu recognised it, he fell back a step, shaking his head.
‘It can’t be,’ he whispered. Those who remembered stood in shock, while their friends demanded to know what it meant.
‘Ready the gates!’ Lord Alghu shouted suddenly. ‘I will go out to them.’ He turned to his men, his expression sick with worry.
‘This has to be a mistake. I do not understand it, but the khan would not destroy Samarkand.’
He almost fell as he ran down the steps, his legs weak under him. His horse was on the main street into the city, waiting with his personal guards. They knew nothing of what he had seen and he did not enlighten them. The white tent was a demand for total surrender and it had to be answered before the red tent rose. As he mounted, Alghu told himself he had a day, but he could hardly think for fear. The red tent would mean the death of every male of fighting age in the city. The black tent was a promise to slaughter every living thing, including women and children. The city of Herat had ignored Genghis when he threatened them in such a way. Only lizards and scorpions lived in that place when he had finished.
‘Open the gates!’ Lord Alghu roared. He had to answer the demand immediately. His soldiers removed the great bar of oak and iron and began to heave them apart. As a line of light showed, their lord turned to one of his most trusted men.
‘Go to my sons, my daughter. Take them safely to …’ He hesitated. If the khan had decided to destroy his line, there
‘My lord, the village of Harethm is a hundred miles to the north and west,’ the bondsman said. ‘I lived there once and it lies within the borders of the Hulegu khanate. No one will know they are there but you. I will protect them with my life.’
‘Very well,’ Alghu replied, breathing in relief. ‘Go now, from another gate. I will send for them if I can.’
As the gates opened further, Lord Alghu saw a crowd of men and women pressing in, their hands outstretched in panic. His soldiers began to shove them back to let their master pass. Lord Alghu had no eyes for them as they streamed around his men. The city was no safer than their place outside it.
He stared out at the dark lines of the tumans waiting for him. Fear was a knot in his stomach as he dug in his heels and began to trot forward. As he passed under the shadow of the arch, he saw his bannermen begin to unfurl his personal flags.
‘White banners,’ he snapped, close to panic. ‘We go out under truce.’
His men stared at him, seeing his fear. They had no white flags, but one of the refugees wore a white robe. In an instant, the unfortunate man had been clubbed to the ground and stripped, his garment raised to flutter on a spear as Lord Alghu rode out.
‘Would you like to come with me?’ Kublai asked his son. Zhenjin grinned, showing white teeth. In answer, he dug in his heels and his horse lunged forward. Kublai nodded to Uriang-Khadai and the orlok whistled to the closest jagun of a hundred warriors. They detached from the ranks, forming up on both sides of the two senior men. Kublai’s bannermen came with them, carrying yellow flags with Chinese dragons on them that caught the sun and glittered.
‘Be silent and listen,’ Kublai murmured to Zhenjin at his side as they closed on the force from the city.
‘Are we going to kill them?’ Zhenjin asked. The idea did not seem to trouble him particularly and Kublai smiled. He had seen the white flag flapping above them.
‘Not unless I have to. I need this khanate on my side.’
They halted together, demonstrating their discipline to those who watched from the walls. Lord Alghu’s men pulled up with less precision, the sort of sloppy display Kublai’s tumans expected from city soldiers.
Lord Alghu came out with his most senior man and Kublai matched him with Uriang-Khadai. The two smaller groups faced each other in the bright sunlight, casting long shadows on the sandy ground. Kublai waited, standing
