Conn Iggulden - Conqueror (2011)

‘Son of Heaven, we gathered to answer the enemies who threaten us.’

‘Who are you?’ the boy asked.

‘This humble servant is Sung Win, Son of Heaven, House of …’

‘You speak for these others, Sung Win? You take responsibility for them?’

Rather than condemn himself by answering, Sung Win dropped again to the kneeling position and tapped his head on the warm wood.

‘Get up, Sung Win. You were asked a question.’

Sung Win risked a glance around the chamber, certain he could feel the stares of the lords. Not a head was raised. To a man, they were standing in abject terror at the presence of the emperor. For all Huaizong was a young boy, he represented heaven itself, the divine in that room of mere men. Sung Win sighed softly. He had wanted to see the new foals born on his estate, the result of carefully chosen bloodlines. He had put as much time and effort into that as anything else in his life. He felt a pang at the thought of his wives and sons. If the emperor chose to make an example of his house, their deaths would come in orders tied with yellow silk ribbons. His daughters would be executed, his family estate burnt.

‘I speak for them, Son of Heaven. I called the vote today.’ He shut his mouth hard as his treacherous fear threatened to begin babbling excuses.

‘And so you did your duty, Lord Sung Win. Did my lords vote to raise the banners?’

Sung Win blinked and gulped visibly as he tried to understand.

‘Y-yes, Son of Heaven.’

‘Then feel pride, Lord Sung Win. You have acted with the emperor today.’

Sung Win stammered a response, overcome as the boy faced the assembled lords.

‘Before his death, my uncle told me that you were a nest of vipers,’ the boy said to them. ‘He told me that you would rather see Hangzhou in flames than risk your dignity and honour. I see that he was mistaken.’

Sung Win had the intense pleasure of watching those who had voted for tribute shift uncomfortably, Lord Hong among them. The emperor went on, his voice confident.

‘I will not begin my reign under threat, my lords. You will go from this place and summon your regiments. Your personal guards will march with them. I lay my peace on the houses, with the promise that they will not be left vulnerable in your absence. I will act to destroy the line of any noble house who seeks advantage.’

He turned to Sung Win once more.

‘You have done well, my lord. In peace, perhaps I would have found fault with your judgement. However, we are not at peace. I will make some appointment honouring your house when we return.’

‘When we return, Son of Heaven?’ Sung Win said, his eyes widening.

‘Of course. I am not an old man, Lord Sung Win. I wish to see war.’

For an instant, Sung Win saw a gleam in the boy’s eyes. He shuddered, hiding it with a deep bow.

‘Lord Hong, you will lead the host,’ Emperor Huaizong said. The big man knelt and touched his head to the floor. ‘How much time do you need before I may leave Hangzhou?’

Lord Hong sat back on his heels, his face a sickly colour. Sung Win smiled to see him so uncomfortable. Moving a million men needed supplies, arms, weapons, a city of equipment.

‘A month, Son of Heaven. If I have the authority, I can be ready by the new moon.’

‘You have whatever authority you need,’ Huaizong replied, his voice hardening. ‘Let those who can hear understand that he speaks with my voice in this. Move quickly, my lords.’

Turning on the spot, the boy strode out. As the others averted their gaze, perhaps only Sung Win saw how the slight figure trembled as he went.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Heavy rain hissed onto the roof of the house Kublai had borrowed. The man who owned it waited out in the fields with a crowd of villagers and his family. Kublai had passed them as he rode in. They had looked like half-drowned puppies as he trotted past. At least they would be left alive. Kublai only needed the stockade village for a night.

A huge fire crackled in the grate and he stood close to it, letting the heat dry his clothes so that steam came off him in wisps. At intervals, he would pace back and forth across the fireplace, talking and gesturing as he discussed the future.

‘How can I stop now?’ he demanded.

His wife Chabi stretched out on an ancient couch, much patched and restuffed. The baby girl was asleep in her arms, but still fussing and likely to wake at any moment. Chabi looked wearily at her husband, seeing how the years in Sung lands had worn him almost down to bone. He would not have recognised his old scholar self at that moment. It was more than a physical change, though he had earned the muscle and sinew that gave grace to his movements. The true change had come in the battles he had won as well as the tactics he had used to win them. Chabi loved him desperately, but she feared for him as well. Whatever had been his intention, Mongke had hardened her husband, changed him. Though the old khan was dead, she could still hate him for that, at least. She could not remember the last time Kublai had opened a book. His collection sat on carts under greased linen, too valuable to be abandoned, but growing green with mildew in the spring rains.

‘Is she asleep?’ Kublai said, his voice still rough with anger.

‘She is at last, but I am listening. You said you had made the decision. Why are you still struggling with this?’

‘Because I am so close , Chabi! I could reach Hangzhou, do you understand? Everything I have done for the last five years has brought me to this point and then my bastard brother declares himself khan! Am I supposed to leave everything we have accomplished and go home, crawling on my stomach like a dog? How can I leave now?’

‘How can you not ? Please, keep your voice down, or you can settle her again,’ Chabi replied. She was exhausted from lack of sleep. Her nipples ached from feeding, but she could not leave Kublai to work himself into a panic or drink himself unconscious.

‘When Tsubodai was called home from the west, he never went back,’ Kublai said, beginning to pace again. ‘Do you understand? This is my chance, my time. If I vanish, the Sung will not fall so easily again, even if I do manage to return. They will learn from this and we will have to fight for every bloody step. If I come back at all. If I’m not killed on some distant battlefield fighting my own brother! How could he do this to me, Chabi? The useless, arrogant …’

‘Don’t curse in front of the child,’ Chabi said warningly. He frowned at her.

‘She can’t understand anything, woman.’

‘Don’t “woman” me, husband. You wanted me to listen, so I’m listening, but you said you had made the decision to go home. Why have we stopped here in this cold place? Why is nothing resolved?’

‘Because it’s not a simple question!’ he snapped. His wife began to rise. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To bed.’

His mood changed and he went to her, kneeling by the couch.

‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought I didn’t have to watch my back from my own brother. Not from him. I thought Arik-Boke would always support me.’

Chabi ran her hand along his jaw in a caress.

‘Do you know how you’ve changed since you left Karakorum? Perhaps he has as well. Five years is a long time, Kublai. He probably still thinks of you as his scholar brother, more in love with books and strange ideas than anyone else in your family. He does not know you now. And you don’t know him, not any more.’

‘I have a letter from him,’ he said, wearily. His wife sat up, looking deep into his eyes.