Читать книгу Bones of the Hills - Conn Iggulden - Страница 15

It was snowing in the high passes. The Altai mountains were further west than most of the families had ever travelled. Only the Turkic tribes, the Uighurs and the Uriankhai, knew them well and then as a place to avoid, a place of poor hunting and death in the winter.

Though the mounted warriors could have crossed the range in a single day, the heavily laden carts were ponderous, built for grassy plains and ill-suited to deep snow drifts and goat paths. Tsubodai’s new spoked wheels did better than the solid discs that broke too easily, but only a few carts had been converted and progress was slow. Every day there seemed to be some new obstacle and there were times when the slopes were so steep that the carts had to be lowered on ropes, held by teams of straining warriors. When the air was at its thinnest and men and animals grew exhausted, they were lucky to make five miles in a day. Every peak was followed by a twisting valley and another dogged climb to the best way through. The range seemed to go on endlessly and the families huddled miserably in their furs, exposed to the wind. When they halted, the rush to raise gers before sunset was hampered by frozen fingers. Almost all the people slept under the carts each night, covered in blankets and surrounded by the warm bodies of goats and sheep tethered to the wheels. Goats had to be killed to feed them and the vast herds dwindled as they travelled.

Thirty days out from the river Orkhon, Genghis called a halt early in the day. The clouds had come down so low that they touched the peaks around them. Snow had begun to fall as the tribes made a temporary camp in the lee of a vast cliff, soaring into whiteness above their heads. There was at least some protection from the biting wind in that place and Genghis gave the order rather than take them over an exposed ridge that would see them still travelling as the light faded. He had riders out for a hundred miles and more ahead of them, a stream of young warriors who scouted the best path through and reported on anything they found. The mountains marked the end of the world Genghis knew, and as he watched his servants kill a young goat, he wondered how Arab cities would look. Would they resemble Chin fortresses of stone? Ahead of the scouts, he had sent spies to learn what they could of the markets and defences. Anything could be useful in the campaign to come. The first ones out were beginning to return to him, exhausted and hungry. He had the beginnings of a picture in his head, but it was still in fragments.

His brothers sat with him in the khan’s ger on its cart, above the heads of all the others. Looking out into the whiteness, Genghis could see gers like a host of pale shells, thin trails of smoke rising from them to the skies. It was a cold and hostile place, but he was not discouraged. His nation had no use for cities, and the life of the tribes went on all around him, from feuds and friendship to family celebrations and weddings. They did not have to stop to live: life went on regardless.

Genghis rubbed his hands together, blowing into them as he watched his Chin servants make a cut in the kid goat’s chest before reaching in and squeezing the main vein around the heart. The goat stopped kicking and they began to skin it expertly. Every piece would be used and the skin would wrap one of his young children against the winter cold. Genghis watched as the servants emptied the stomach onto the ground, shoving out a mulch of half-digested grass. Roasting the flesh inside the flaccid white bag was faster than the slow boil the tribes preferred. The meat would be tough and hard on the teeth, but in such cold it was important to eat quickly and take strength. At the thought, Genghis tested the stump he had broken in his drunken ride to Jelme and winced. It hurt constantly and he thought he might have to get Kokchu to pull the root out. His mood grew sour at the prospect.

‘They’ll have it on the fire in a little while,’ Genghis said to his brothers.

‘Not soon enough for me,’ Khasar replied. ‘I haven’t eaten since dawn.’ Around them in the pass, thousands of hot meals were being prepared. The animals themselves would get barely a handful of dry grass, but there was no help for it. Over the constant bleating, they could all hear the sounds and chatter of their people and, despite the cold, there was contentment in it. They rode to war and the mood was light in the camp.

In the distance, the generals heard a thin cheering and they looked at Kachiun, who usually knew everything that went on in the gers. Under the stares of his brothers, he shrugged.

‘Yao Shu is training the young warriors,’ he said.

Temuge tutted under his breath, but Kachiun ignored him. It was no secret that Temuge disliked the Buddhist monk he and Khasar had brought back from Chin lands. Though Yao Shu was ever courteous, he had fallen out with the shaman, Kokchu, when Temuge had been his most willing disciple. Perhaps because of those memories, Temuge regarded him with irritation, especially when he preached his weak Buddhist faith to fighting men. Genghis had ignored Temuge’s protests, seeing only jealousy for a holy man who could fight better with his hands and feet than most men with swords.

They listened as another cheer went up, louder this time, as if more men had gathered to watch. The women would be preparing food in the camp, but it was common enough for the men to wrestle or train when the gers were up. In the high passes, it was often the only way to stay warm.

Khasar stood and dipped his head to Genghis.

‘If that goat won’t be ready for a while, I’ll go and watch, brother. Yao Shu makes our wrestlers look slow and clumsy.’

Genghis nodded, seeing how Temuge grimaced. He looked outside at the bloated goat stomach and sniffed the air, hungrily.

Kachiun saw that Genghis wanted an excuse to watch the training and smiled to himself.

‘It could be Chagatai, brother. He and Ogedai spend a great deal of time with Yao Shu.’

It was enough.

‘We’ll all go,’ Genghis said, his face lighting up. Before Temuge could protest, the khan stepped out into the cold wind. The rest followed, though Temuge looked back at the roasting goat, his mouth watering.

Yao Shu was bare-chested, despite the altitude. He seemed not to feel the cold, and as Chagatai walked in a circle, making him turn, the falling snowflakes rested as they touched the monk’s shoulders. Yao Shu was breathing lightly, though Chagatai was already flushed and bruised from the bout. He eyed the monk’s stick, wary of a sudden strike. Though the little Buddhist disdained swords, he used the stick as if he had been born to it. Chagatai felt stabbing aches in his ribs and left leg where he had been struck. He had not yet landed a blow of his own and his temper simmered close to the surface.

The crowd had grown, swelling with idle warriors. There was little else to do and they were always curious. The pass was too narrow for more than a few hundred of them to watch the practice and they pushed and squabbled amongst themselves as they tried to give the fighters room. Chagatai sensed the movement in the crowd before he saw his father and uncles walking through, the ranks pressing back rather than jostle their generals. He clenched his jaw, resolving to get in at least one good blow while Genghis watched.

To think was to act and Chagatai darted in, bringing his stick around in a short, chopping blow. If Yao Shu had remained still, it would have cracked him on the head, but he ducked and tapped Chagatai sharply in the lower ribs before stepping away.

It was not a hard strike, but Chagatai coloured with anger. Yao Shu shook his head.

‘Remain calm,’ the monk murmured. It was the boy’s chief failing in the practice bouts. There was nothing wrong with his balance or reflexes, but his temper undid him every time. Yao Shu had worked for weeks to get Chagatai to stay cold in battle, to put aside rage as much as fear. The two emotions seemed permanently linked in the young warrior and Yao Shu was resigned to slow progress.

Chagatai circled, reversing his gait just as it looked as if he might attack. Yao Shu swayed back to meet the stick as it came in low. He blocked it with ease, snapping out his left fist against Chagatai’s cheek. He saw the boy’s eyes flare and rage took over, as it had done many times before. Chagatai came in fast, his stick blurring. The crowd whooped at the cracking sounds as he was blocked again and again. Chagatai’s arms were burning when he tried to step away and at that moment the monk trapped his foot under his own, sending Chagatai sprawling.

Their movements had taken them away from the open ground between two gers. Yao Shu would have spoken to Chagatai, but he sensed someone close behind him and turned, always alert.

It was Kachiun who stood there, his face showing nothing. Yao Shu bowed briefly to the general, still listening for the sound of Chagatai coming at him again.

Kachiun bent his head close, though the noisy crowd could hardly have overheard.

‘Will you give him nothing, monk?’ Kachiun murmured. ‘With his father watching and men the boy will command?’

Yao Shu looked up at the Mongol general blankly. He had trained from a little boy to master his body. The thought of letting a blustering child like Chagatai strike him was a strange concept. If it had been a more modest warrior, one who would not crow about it for months, Yao Shu might have agreed. For the khan’s spoiled second son, he only shook his head.

Kachiun would have spoken again, but both of them jerked as Chagatai attacked from behind, desperate for any advantage. Kachiun firmed his mouth in annoyance as he watched Yao Shu step clear with smooth strides, almost sliding across the ground. The monk was always in balance and Kachiun knew Chagatai would not touch him that day. He watched coldly as Yao Shu blocked two more blows, then attacked harder and faster than before, giving Kachiun his answer.

All the warriors heard Chagatai’s ‘oof as the stick thumped air from his lungs. Before he could recover, Yao Shu struck him on the right hand so that it sprang open and the stick fell. Without pausing, the monk passed his weapon through Chagatai’s legs, so that the boy went tumbling on the frozen ground. The crowd did not cheer as Yao Shu bowed to the prostrate son of a khan. They expected Chagatai to return the gesture, but instead he rose with his cheeks flaming and stalked from the open space without looking back.

Yao Shu held the pose longer than necessary, showing his own anger at having been ignored. It was his habit to discuss the bouts with the young warriors, explaining where they had failed and done well. In five years with the tribes, he had trained many of the men Genghis commanded and kept a school of twenty of the most promising. Chagatai was not one of those, but Yao Shu had learned enough of the world to understand his permission to remain came at a price. Today, it had been too high for him. He passed Kachiun without even glancing at the general.

Though many in the crowd looked at Genghis to see how he reacted to his son’s rudeness, the khan showed them the cold face. He turned to Temuge and Khasar after watching the monk pass Kachiun.

‘That goat will be ready by now,’ he said.

Temuge smiled for an instant, though it was not at news of hot food. In his innocence, the monk had made enemies of violent men. Perhaps they would teach him humility. The day had turned out rather better than Temuge could have hoped.

Yao Shu was a small man, but he still had to duck low to pass into the ger of the khan’s second wife. As he entered, he bowed to Chakahai, as befitted a princess of the Xi Xia. In truth, he cared nothing for the titles of men, but he admired the way the woman had made her place in Mongol society. It could not have been more alien to the court she had once known, but she had survived and Yao Shu liked her.

Ho Sa was already there, sipping the black tea her father sent to the camp. Yao Shu nodded to him, accepting a tiny, steaming cup from Chakahai’s own hands before settling himself. The camp was a small place in some ways, despite the vast, sprawling size of it. Yao Shu suspected Kachiun would know exactly how many times the three of them met and perhaps even had listeners outside. The thought made the tea seem sour in his mouth and Yao Shu grimaced lightly. This was not his world. He had come to the camps to spread the gentle teachings of the Buddha. He did not know yet if that had been the right choice. The Mongols were a strange people. They seemed to accept whatever he told them, especially if he phrased the lessons in stories. Yao Shu had passed on much of the wisdom he had learned as a boy, but when the war horns sounded, the Mongols shrugged off his teachings and rushed to kill. There was no understanding them, but he had accepted it as his path. As he sipped, he wondered if Chakahai was so accepting of her role.

Yao Shu hardly spoke for a long time, as Ho Sa and Chakahai discussed the welfare of Chin soldiers in the khan’s tumans. Perhaps eight thousand men in the camp had once lived in Chin cities, or been soldiers for the emperor himself. Yet as many had come from the Turkic tribes in the north. The Chin recruits should have had little influence, but Chakahai had seen to it that all senior men were served by her people. Through them, she knew as well as Kachiun himself what went on in the camps.

Yao Shu watched the delicate woman as she assured Ho Sa she would speak to her husband about the death rites for Chin soldiers. Yao Shu emptied his tea, taking pleasure in the bitter taste and the sound of his own language in his ears. That was something he missed, without a doubt. His drifting thoughts were dragged sharply back at his own name.

‘… perhaps Yao Shu can tell us,’ Chakahai said. ‘He has been with my husband’s sons as much as any other.’

Yao Shu realised he had not heard the question and covered his embarrassment by holding out his bowl to be refilled.

‘What do you want to know?’ he asked.

Chakahai sighed.

‘You have not been listening, my friend. I asked when Jochi would be fit enough to take his place with his men.’

‘In another turn of the moon, perhaps,’ Yao Shu replied immediately. ‘His wounds have remained clear, though his legs and arm will always be scarred from the hot irons. He has to rebuild the muscles there. I can work with him. At least he listens, unlike his foolish brother.’

Both Chakahai and Ho Sa stiffened slightly as he spoke. The servants had been sent away on an errand, but there were always ears to hear.

‘I watched the practice, earlier,’ Ho Sa said. He hesitated, aware of delicate ground. ‘What did General Kachiun say to you?’

Yao Shu looked up, irritated at the way Ho Sa’s voice had dropped to barely above a whisper.

‘It is not important, Ho Sa, any more than it is important to guard my words in this ger. I speak truth as I find it.’ He sighed. ‘And yet, I was once fifteen years old and stupid. Perhaps Chagatai could still grow into a strong man, I do not know. As it stands, he is too much of an angry boy.’

For the monk, it was an astonishing outburst and Ho Sa blinked in surprise.

‘That “angry boy” may lead the tribes one day,’ Chakahai said softly.

Yao Shu snorted into his tea.

‘I think sometimes that I have been among the tribes for too long. I should care nothing for which man inherits the horsetail standard of his father, or even if these new enemies see it trampled into the dirt.’

‘You have friends here, Yao Shu,’ Ho Sa said. ‘Why should you not care what happens to us?’

The monk frowned to himself.

‘I thought once that I could be a voice for reason in this camp, that I might have an influence on the khan and his brothers.’ He made a dismissive sound in his throat. ‘Such is the arrogance of young men. I thought then that I might bring peace to the fierce hearts of the sons.’ Yao Shu’s cheeks flushed slightly under his skin. ‘Instead, perhaps I will watch as Chagatai comes to lead his father’s people and takes them on to more destruction than any of us could imagine.’

‘As you said, he is yet a boy,’ Chakahai murmured, moved to see Yao Shu so distressed. ‘He will learn, or Jochi will lead the tribes.’

The monk’s face softened at her tone and he reached out to pat her on her shoulder.

‘It has been a difficult day, princess. Ignore what I have said. Tomorrow, I will be a different man, with the past gone and the future unknown, as always. I am sorry to have brought my anger here.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘At times, I think I am a bad Buddhist, but I would not be anywhere else.’

Chakahai smiled at him, nodding. Ho Sa refilled his own cup with the precious tea, deep in thought. When he spoke, his voice was very low and hard to hear.

‘If Genghis falls in battle, it will be Kachiun who is khan. He has sons of his own and all of this would be like leaves in the wind.’

Chakahai tilted her head to listen. She was beautiful in the lamplight, making Ho Sa think again that the khan was a lucky man to have such a woman waiting in his gers.

‘If my husband named an heir from among his sons, I think Kachiun would honour it.’

‘If you push him to it, he will name Chagatai,’ Ho Sa said. ‘The whole camp knows he does not favour Jochi, while Ogedai and Tolui are still too young.’ He paused, suspecting that Genghis would not be pleased to have other men talking to his wife on such a subject. Still, he was curious. ‘Have you spoken to the khan about it?’

‘Not yet,’ Chakahai replied. ‘But you are right. I do not want Kachiun’s sons to inherit. Where would I be then? It is not so long since the tribes abandoned the families of dead khans.’

‘Genghis knows that better than anyone,’ Ho Sa said. ‘He would not want you to suffer as his mother suffered.’

Chakahai nodded. It was such a pleasure to be able to speak openly in her own language, so far from the guttural breathiness of Mongol speech. She realised she would rather go back to her father than see Chagatai become khan as things stood, yet Ho Sa spoke the truth. Kachiun had his own wives and children. Would any of them treat her with kindness if her husband fell? Kachiun would give her honour, perhaps even send her back to the Xi Xia king. Yet there would always be some who looked to the old khan’s wives and sons for a figurehead. Kachiun would be safest in having them all killed on the same day his brother fell in battle. She bit her lip as she thought it through, disturbed to have such dark thoughts come to her ger. Genghis would not accept Jochi, she was almost certain. He had been laid up to heal for more than a month and a leader needed to be seen by his men if he were not to be forgotten. Even then, she did not know him, only that Chagatai would be a poor choice. Her children would not long survive his rise, she was certain. She wondered if she had the skill to bring Chagatai to her side.

‘I will think about it,’ she told the two men. ‘We will find the right path through.’

Outside the ger, they could hear the wind moaning through the carts and homes of the Mongol nation. Both men heard the sadness in Chakahai’s voice as she dismissed them back to their posts to sleep.

As Yao Shu stepped out into the wind and snow, he shivered, pulling his deel close around his shoulders. It was not just the cold, which he hardly noticed after so many years wearing just a thin robe. At times, he felt he had taken a wrong turn in coming among the people of the horse. He liked them, for all their childlike arrogance and belief that they could order the world to suit them. The khan was a man to follow and Yao Shu had been impressed by him. Yet he had failed to find the right ears for the words of the Buddha. Only little Tolui seemed open to them and then only because he was so young. Chagatai laughed coarsely at any philosophy that did not involve grinding enemies under his heels and Jochi seemed to listen with detached interest, letting the words and ideas flow over him without sinking in.

Yao Shu was lost in thought as he walked the snowy paths through the camp. Even then, he remained aware of his surroundings and he knew the men were there as soon as they began to surround him. He sighed to himself. There was only one foolish boy who would have sent warriors to attack him that night. Yao Shu had not even brought his practice stick to the ger of Chakahai, believing himself safe.

Still, he was not a child to be ambushed by fools. He wondered if Chagatai had told them to kill him, or just break a few bones. It did not matter: his response would be the same. As the snow swirled, Yao Shu darted between two gers and attacked the first dark shape to loom up before him. The man was too slow and Yao Shu dropped him neatly with a strike to the chin while he blocked the back foot with his own. He did not intend to kill in that mountain pass, but he heard other voices answer the sound and knew there were many of them. Footsteps pattered lightly from all directions and Yao Shu controlled the growing anger in his chest. It was unlikely that he knew the men, or they him. There would be no malice in the assault, unless he killed one of them. He shrugged to himself, thinking again that time amongst the tribes had changed him subtly. The Buddha would have let them come in without raising a hand in anger. Yao Shu shrugged as he padded towards another shadow. At least he was no longer cold.

‘Where is he?’ a man hissed, only a pace away.

Yao Shu stepped in behind him, pushing the man down before he could resist and slipping past. The warrior’s surprised yell echoed back from the high hills and Yao Shu heard other men closing fast.

The first to reach him was met with an explosive punch into the lower ribs. Yao Shu felt them break under his hand and drew back before he jammed the shards into vital organs. He ducked on instinct as something else moved, but in the whiteness he had not seen two warriors and one of them tackled him around the waist, throwing him to the hard ground.

Yao Shu kicked out and his foot jarred against something solid, hurting him. He came to his feet as a ring of men closed and looked around at the unsmiling faces. It distressed him to see three of them were from his own training group. They at least would not meet his eyes. The others were strangers carrying heavy sticks.

‘We have you now, monk,’ one of them growled.

Yao Shu readied himself, dropping slightly on bent legs so that he was in perfect balance. He could not defeat so many, but he was once again ready to teach.

Eight men fell into the centre of the circle and Yao Shu almost slipped between two and was away. By chance, one of them snagged his robe. Yao Shu felt fingers slip over the skin of his skull and he brought his head back sharply. The hard fingers vanished and the monk struck out with his right foot. Another man fell back with a cry, his knee shattered, but by then they had struck him many times and Yao Shu was dazed. He still hammered blows with hands, knees and head wherever he could, but they knocked him down. The heavy sticks rose and fell with mindless anger. He did not cry out, even when one of them stamped on his right foot and broke the small bones.

Before he lost consciousness, Yao Shu thought he heard Kachiun’s voice shouting and felt the hands on him falling away. The words of his own teachers spiralled in his mind then as he collapsed in the snow. They had told him that holding on to anger was like grasping a hot coal. Only he would be burned by it. Yet as the men scattered and he felt strong arms lift him up, Yao Shu held the hot coal closely and felt only warmth.