Conn Iggulden - Conqueror (2011)

As one, they looked up, but there were few clouds and those were high above, white wisps in a spring sky.

Mongke threw a sheaf of reports onto a pile almost as large as his chair and rubbed his eyes wearily. He had put on weight since becoming khan and he knew he was no longer as fit as he had once been. For years he had taken his body’s massive strength for granted, but time stole away all things, changing men in such small ways that they hardly noticed until it was too late. He pulled in his stomach as he sat there, telling himself for the hundredth time that he would have to practise more with the sword and bow if he were not to lose all traces of his strength and vitality.

The problems of a vast khanate were nothing like those he had known as an officer. The Great Trek west with Tsubodai had been a simpler life, with more basic obstacles to overcome. He could not have dreamed back then that he would be trying to settle a complicated dispute between the Taoists and Buddhists, or that silver coins would become such an important part of his life. The yam lines kept him informed in a flood of information that almost overwhelmed him, despite the cadre of Mongol scribes who worked in the city. Mongke would deal with a hundred small problems each morning and read as many reports, making decisions that would affect the lives of men he would never see or know. In the sheaf he had thrown down was a request from Arik-Boke for funds, a few million silver coins that had to be dug out and smelted from the mines. Mongke might envy his youngest brother the simple life in the homeland, but the truth he had discovered about himself was that he loved the work. It was satisfying to solve problems for other men, to be the one they came to with their questions and catastrophes. As far away as Syria and Korea, they looked to Karakorum, as Ogedai Khan had once hoped they would. Bankers could cash drafts for silver in different countries because of the peace Mongke had fostered. If there were bandits or thieves, he had a wide net to catch them, thousands of families devoted to running the khan’s lands, in his name, with his authority backing them. He patted his stomach ruefully. As with all things, peace had its price.

His knees cracked as he stood up. He groaned softly as his chief adviser, Urigh, came trotting in with more papers.

‘It is almost noon. I will see those when I have eaten,’ Mongke said. He would enjoy an hour with his children when they had run home from their school in the city. They would speak Mandarin and Persian as well as their own language. He would see his sons as khans when they were grown, just as his mother had worked to raise her eldest over the rest.

Urigh put down most of the papers he carried, a bundle of scrolls bound in twine. He held just one and Mongke sighed, knowing the man too well.

‘All right, tell me, but be quick.’

‘It is a report from your brother Kublai’s domain in Chin lands,’ Urigh said. ‘The costs of his new city have become immense. I have the figures here.’ He handed over the scroll and Mongke sat down again to read it, frowning to himself.

‘When he runs out of money, he will have to stop,’ he said with a shrug.

Urigh looked uncomfortable discussing the brother of the khan. Mongke’s feelings for Hulegu, Arik-Boke and Kublai were complex and no man wanted to come between them, no matter how Mongke complained.

‘You can see he has spent almost all you gave him for the campaign, my lord. I have reports that he has been seeking out silver mines on Sung land. Could he have found one and not declared it to you?’

‘I would know,’ Mongke said. ‘I have men close to him who report every movement. The last message was a week ago on the yam lines and he had not found a mine yet. It cannot be that. What about these new farms of his? He leased thousands of plots two years ago. They will have been ploughed and planted twice by now, more if they are growing rice in the flood plains. In Chin markets, that will have brought in enough silver to keep building his palaces.’ Mongke frowned as he considered his own words, checking through the details of the accounting in Xanadu. Huge stocks of marble had been ordered, enough to build a palace to equal his own in Karakorum. He felt a seed of distrust grow in him.

‘I have not interfered with his campaign, or Hulegu’s.’

‘Hulegu has sent back vast revenues, my lord. Baghdad alone has brought in gold and silver to keep Karakorum for a century.’

‘And how much have we had from Kublai?’ Mongke asked.

Urigh bit his lip. ‘Nothing so far, my lord. I assumed it was with your permission that he put the funds into his new city.’

‘I did not forbid it,’ Mongke conceded. ‘But the Sung lands are wealthy. Perhaps he has forgotten he acts for the khan.’

‘I am sure that is not true, my lord,’ Urigh said, trying to walk a careful line. He could not criticise the khan’s brother, but the lack of proper accounting from Sung lands had troubled him for months.

‘Perhaps I should see this Xanadu myself, Urigh. I have grown fat in peace and it may be my brothers have grown too sure of themselves without feeling my eye on them. Kublai has done enough, I think.’ He fell silent and thought for a time. ‘No, that is unfair. He has done well with what I gave him, better than I dared to hope. By now, he will have discovered he needs me to finish the Sung. He may even have learned a little humility, a little of what it takes to lead tumans into battle. I have been patient, Urigh, but perhaps it is time for the khan to take the field.’ He patted his belly with a rueful smile. ‘Send your men to me when they come back with their report. It will do me good to ride again.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Kublai watched as the Chin regiments ran from their tents, forming up into well-disciplined lines. He could still hardly believe how close his tumans had got to the mine before the alarm horns sounded. At less than two miles, a distant blare of brass had begun to wail, muffled by the fall of the land. The Sung officer should have had more scouts further out, regularly relieved by men from the main camp. Kublai prayed silently for it to be the first of many mistakes they would make.

Kublai took strength from the long line of horsemen on either side of him as they trotted forward. Bayar’s minghaan had cut the Sung supply lines four days before, then waited to ambush whoever they sent. Not a single man of a hundred had made it back to the Sung camp. Kublai hoped they were getting hungry. He needed every edge he could find.

The bowl of land that led down to the mine ended on a flat field some miles across. Kublai tried to put himself in the place of the Sung general. The site was not a good one for a defensive battle. No leader would choose a spot where he could not command the closest heights. Yet it was exactly the sort of battle that came when an emperor thousands of miles away ordered one of his senior men to hold a position, no matter who came against it or how strong they were. There would be no retreat, Kublai was certain. He raised his fist and the Mongol ranks halted, curving slightly as they met the line of the valley ridge. The sun was high above them and the day was warm. He could see a long way, beyond the mine itself to the shantytown that fed it with workers each morning. The air itself shimmered over part of the sprawling site, revealing the location of the smelting furnaces. Kublai took heart from the fact that they were still working. Perhaps there would be silver in the warehouses after all. He could see a stream of workers leaving the site and as he waited for his cannons to come up, the distant shimmering ceased. The mine shut down and the air was very still.