Conn Iggulden - Conqueror

‘What is it?’ he asked, a trace of his irritation still showing.

‘My lord, I wondered if I could touch the sword you wear, just the hilt. It would be something to tell my children one day.’

Guyuk suddenly understood the fixed gaze of Baidur’s warriors and he smiled patronisingly. The wolf’s-head sword had been carried by his father Ogedai, and also by Genghis. He had seen other men gaze on it before with reverent awe. However, he did not want it to be pawed by common warriors. The very idea made him shudder.

‘I have much to discuss with your master …’ he began.

To his anger, the warrior reached out, gazing in a trance at the hilt as if it were one of the Christian relics. Guyuk took a step back. He imagined cutting the hand off to show the man his impertinence, but he was very aware of the staring faces around him, most of them loyal to Baidur rather than himself.

‘Another time,’ he snapped, ducking into Baidur’s ger before the warrior could press him further.

In the ger, Baidur and Torogene were seated close together. It had been some time since Guyuk had seen the inside of one of the felt and wicker homes. He felt cramped and saw with fresh senses how small it was, how it reeked of damp wool blankets and mutton. A battered old kettle hissed in the middle of the space, tended by a servant girl who fussed with cups and made them clink together in her nervousness. There was little space for the trappings of wealth and power in a ger. It was easier to live simply rather than be tripping over some expensive Chin pot at every turn. Guyuk struggled with himself for a moment. It felt like an intrusion to sit on Baidur’s other side, but if he took a place next to his mother, he would be forever subordinate in the conversation. With ill-will, he lowered himself onto the bed by her.

‘It changes nothing,’ Torogene was saying in a low voice. ‘The entire nation has come to Karakorum – every man and woman of power, except for one. We have enough for an oath-taking.’

‘If you go on, it is a risk,’ Baidur replied. ‘I know Batu well, Torogene. You dare not leave him outside the nation.’

His face was thoughtful, troubled. Guyuk watched the older man closely, but he saw no sign of delight or treachery.

They all heard the sound of approaching horses and Baidur stood. He glanced at the kettle coming to the boil.

‘Stay here. Serve them salt tea, Erden.’

Baidur left them alone, though Guyuk was not so naive as to believe they could not be overheard. He kept his silence, taking a bowl of tea from the girl. She presented it in the aspect of a slave, her head down between her outstretched arms. Guyuk almost reached for it before he realised it was held out for his mother. He clenched his jaw as he waited for his own. Status, once again. Well, that would all change soon enough. He would not let Batu ruin his chance to become khan, no matter what the rest of them planned.

Baidur entered with Mongke, and Guyuk rose to his feet to greet them. Torogene stayed where she was, sipping her tea. The ger was already crowded, but Mongke’s presence made it stifling. He had a huge breadth of shoulder and had somehow found the time to dress in his armour. Guyuk wondered if the man slept in it. Nothing would surprise him on such a night.

Mongke greeted Torogene first and then Guyuk, bowing deeply and properly, as an oath-sworn man to his master. The gesture would not be wasted on Baidur, and Guyuk felt his spirits lift in response. He opened his mouth to speak and to his irritation his mother began while he was still drawing breath.

‘Batu will not be coming to this gathering, Mongke,’ she said. ‘I have had word from him.’

‘What reason did he give?’ Baidur said across Mongke’s stunned silence.

‘Does it matter? He claims a hunting wound that means he cannot travel. It changes nothing.’

‘It changes everything,’ Mongke said. His voice was slow and deliberate. Guyuk found himself leaning forward to catch every word. ‘It means this gathering is at an end. What else can we do? Batu is not some minor family head. He is a powerful voice in the nation, though he does not use his influence. If Guyuk is made khan without him, it could lead to civil war in the future. None of us wants that. I will go back to my tumans, my families. I will tell them it will not be this year.’ Mongke turned to Guyuk. ‘My oath is yours, my lord, I have not forgotten. But you will need more time to bring Batu back to the fold before we go on.’

‘I do not need more time!’ Guyuk snapped. ‘You have all promised an oath to me. Well, I call it now. Honour your word and I will deal with Batu later. One man cannot be allowed to cause chaos in the nation, no matter his bloodline or his name.’

Seeing he was on the point of ordering them to obey him, Torogene spoke quickly before he could offend either of the powerful men in the ger.

‘We have all worked hard so that the oaths would be unchallenged, to make one man khan without dissent. That is no longer possible, but I have to agree with Guyuk. The nation is ready for a new khan. It has been almost five years since the death of my husband. How much new land has been taken in those years? None. The nation waits and all the time our enemies grow strong again. We have already lost too much, in influence and power. Let the oath-taking go ahead, with just one name missing from the roll. Once there is a khan, Batu can be summoned to give his oath alone, ordered by the one true authority of the nation.’

Mongke nodded slowly, but Baidur looked away, scratching a dark sweat stain at his armpit. No one else in the ger knew that he had received a private message on the yam. If he revealed that Batu had promised to support him as khan, it would mean a death sentence for his old friend, he was almost certain. Unless Baidur threw himself into the struggle. For just that night, Guyuk, Torogene and Mongke were all at his mercy, surrounded by his warriors. He could take it all, just as Batu clearly hoped he would.

Baidur clenched his fists for an instant, then let his hands fall loose. His father Chagatai would not have hesitated, he thought. The blood of Genghis ran in them all, but Baidur had seen too much of the pain and blood brought by ruthless ambition. He shook his head, coming to a decision.

‘Very well. Call the oath-taking at the new moon, four days from now. The nation must have a khan and I will honour my promises.’

The tension in the cramped ger was almost painful as Guyuk turned to Mongke. The big man nodded, bowing his head.

Guyuk could not resist smiling in relief. Apart from those in the ger and Batu himself, there was no one else who might challenge him. After so many years of waiting, he was in reach of his father’s titles at last. His mother’s voice barely registered with him, some weak promise that Batu could be brought to the city when the nation had spoken. He wondered if they truly believed he would welcome Batu as a friend after all this. Perhaps his mother expected him to act the great lord, to show mercy to those who had tried and failed to ruin him.

The tension vanished in laughter and Baidur brought out a skin of airag and a set of cups. Mongke clapped him on the back in congratulation and Guyuk chuckled, giddy at the sudden change in his fortunes. Batu had almost destroyed years of work, but whatever he had intended, it had failed. Guyuk raised a toast with the others, enjoying the bite of the cold spirit in his throat. There would be a reckoning with Batu. That was one oath he could swear with certainty in the silence of his thoughts.

By the first light of dawn, the nation was ready. They had spent many weeks preparing for the oath-taking, from gathering vast quantities of food and drink to mending, patching and polishing every item of clothing and armour they possessed. The warriors were arrayed in perfect squares, standing in silence as the gates of Karakorum opened. There was no sign of the rush and panic from four days before. Guyuk rode out at the head of a column, sitting his mount with dignity. He wore a deel robe of grey and dark blue, deliberately choosing simplicity over anything gaudy or foreign.