LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

breathed out slowly. There had been times when he thought he would not live to stand in his city on this day. His hair was oiled and tied into a club on his neck. His deel was simple and dark blue, without ornament or pretension. He wore it belted, over leggings and herders’ soft boots of sheepskin, tied with thongs. He touched his father’s sword at his waist, taking comfort from it.

      At the same time, he felt a spasm of irritation at the choices his father had left him. If Jochi had become khan, it would have established a line of the first born. Instead, the great khan had made Ogedai his heir, the third of four sons. In the shadow of that man, Ogedai’s own line might wither. He could not expect the nation simply to accept his eldest son Guyuk as khan after him. More than twenty others had a blood claim from Genghis, and Chagatai was just one of the more dangerous. Ogedai feared for his son in such a tangle of thorns and teeth. Yet Guyuk had survived so far and perhaps that showed the sky father’s approval of him. Ogedai took a slow breath.

      ‘I am ready, Baras’aghur,’ he told his servant. ‘Stand back now.’

      He strode forward into a swelling sea of noise, onto a balcony of polished oak. His drummers thundered his arrival and the warriors of his Guard tuman roared and beat their armour, making a clash of sound that could be heard across the city. Ogedai smiled, acknowledging the crowd as he took his seat overlooking the vast amphitheatre. His wife Torogene sat down beside him, with Baras’aghur fussing over the folds of her Chin dress. Unseen by the watching masses, Ogedai reached out. She took his hand and squeezed it. They had survived two years of intrigue, poison, attempts on their lives and, finally, open insurrection. Ogedai’s face and body were stiff and battered from his exertions, but he was in one piece.

      As the crowd waited patiently, the wrestlers who had survived the first two bouts came to take their places in the centre ground below Ogedai. Two hundred and fifty-six men formed up in pairs ready for their last struggle that day. Bets flashed around the rows of seats, from shouted instructions to wooden tokens or even Chin printed money and coins. It was possible to bet on any aspect of the competition and the entire nation followed the sport. The weak and injured, the ageing and unlucky, had already been weeded out. Those who remained were the strongest and fastest in a nation which revered martial skill above all else. It was his father’s nation and creation, his father’s vision of a people: horse and warrior, sword and bow together.

      Ogedai turned in his seat as Guyuk stepped onto the balcony. He felt his heart contract in the pride and sadness he always felt on seeing the young man. Guyuk was tall and handsome, fit to command a thousand, perhaps even a tuman, in peacetime. Beyond that, he had no spark of tactical awareness, or the subtle touch with his men that would have had them following him into flames. He was in all ways an unremarkable officer and he had not yet taken a single wife, as if continuing the khan’s own line meant nothing to him. The fact that he resembled Genghis in face and eyes only made his weaknesses harder to bear for his father. There were times when Ogedai could not understand his son at all.

      Guyuk bowed elegantly to his parents and took his seat, staring out in wonder at the massed crowd. He had known little of the struggle in the palace. He had barricaded himself into a room with two friends and some servants, but no one had come to that part of the palace. Apparently, they had drunk themselves into a stupor. Despite Ogedai’s relief at seeing him alive, it summed his son up, that no one had considered him worth killing.

      Temuge rushed by the rear of the balcony, almost hidden from view by a swarm of his runners and scribes. Ogedai heard him snapping out orders in his waspish voice and allowed himself a grin as he remembered the conversation with his uncle weeks before. Despite the old fool’s fears, Ogedai had won through. He reminded himself to offer the libraries of Karakorum to Temuge once again, as soon as the festival was over.

      In the great oval, the twilight began the slow summer drift to grey. Because of the low city walls, the huge structure could be seen from the sea of grass outside. It would not be long before a thousand torches were lit, making a shape of light that all the nation could witness from the plains. Ogedai looked forward to the moment, the visible signal that he was khan. It also meant Karakorum was finished at last, barring the bloodstains that waited for rain. Perhaps that too was fitting.

      Far below, Temuge signalled the wrestling judges. After a short song to the earth mother, the judges blew horns and the men crashed together, their hands and legs moving swiftly to take and break grips. For some, it was over in an instant, as with Baabgai’s opponent. For others, the match became a test of stamina as they heaved and sweated, long red marks appearing on their skin.

      Ogedai looked down on the field of athletes. He knew Temuge had planned the events to the last detail. He wondered idly if his uncle would manage the whole festival without flaws. His people were warriors and shepherds to the last man and woman – not sheep, never sheep. Still, it was interesting to see.

      The final pair collapsed with legs kicking to a roar and a howl from the crowd. A hundred and twenty-eight men were victors and they stood, flushed and pleased, before the nation. They bowed to Ogedai on the balcony and he got to his feet and raised his sword hand to them, showing his pleasure.

      More horns sounded, great Chin tubes of brass and bronze that droned notes across the field. The wrestlers retired at a jog and the heavy gate swung open, revealing the main street of the city beyond. Ogedai squinted to see, just as thirty thousand others did their best to catch a glimpse.

      In the distance came a group of runners, bare-chested in the summer heat. They had run three laps of the city, some twenty-four miles, before entering the western gate and heading for the centre ground. Ogedai leaned out as far as he could to see them, and for once Guyuk took an interest, craning forward with him, his face alight with excitement. Ogedai glanced at him and wondered if he had wagered some huge sum.

      The Mongol people were not long-distance runners as a rule. They had the stamina but not the build, as Temuge had explained it. Some of them limped visibly as they came closer, before trying to hide their weakness as the noise surged around them.

      Ogedai nodded to himself when he saw that Chagatai led them. His brother ran smoothly, a head taller than most of the other men. It was true Ogedai feared him, even hated his arrogance, yet he could not disguise his pride at seeing his own brother leading the way into the amphitheatre, pounding up the dusty track to the centre. Chagatai even began to pull away from the rest, but then a small, wiry warrior moved up to challenge him, forcing a sprint when they had nothing left.

      As they drew level, Ogedai felt his own heart tremble, his breath coming faster.

      ‘Come on, brother,’ he whispered.

      At his side Torogene frowned, her hands on the oak bar, gripping it. She had no interest in the man who had nearly killed her husband. She could happily have seen Chagatai burst his heart in front of the crowd. Yet she felt her husband’s excitement and she loved Ogedai more than anything in the world.

      Chagatai threw himself forward at the last, crossing the line no more than a head’s length before the challenger. Both men were close to collapse and Chagatai struggled visibly for breath, his chest heaving. He did not rest his hands on his knees. Ogedai felt a twinge of nostalgia as he remembered his father’s words on the subject. If an opponent sees you clinging to your knees, he will think you are beaten. It was a hard voice to escape as they moved on with the years, leaving Genghis behind.

      Out of a sense of decency, Guyuk could not cheer his uncle, but his skin glowed with a light perspiration. Ogedai grinned at him, pleased to see his son enthralled for once. He hoped he had won his bet, at least.

      Ogedai remained on his feet as the horns sounded once more, spilling a note across tens of thousands. He closed his eyes for an instant, breathing long and slow.

      The crowd fell silent.

      Ogedai raised his head as his brass-lunged herald bellowed out the words at last.

      ‘You are here to confirm Ogedai, son of Temujin who was Genghis, as khan of the nation. He stands before you as the heir chosen by the great khan. Is there any other who will challenge for the right to lead?’

      If there had been silence before,

Скачать книгу