The Khan Series 5-Book Bundle: Genghis: Birth of an Empire, Genghis: Bones of the Hills, Genghis: Lords of the Bow, Khan: Empire of Silver, Conqueror (137 page)

ALL THINGS WERE NEW
. The brothers and sons of Genghis did not take the khan to the hills of a foreign land to be torn by crows and eagles. They wrapped his body in sheets of bleached linen and sealed it under oil while they reduced the region of Xi Xia to a smoking, desolate ruin. It was his last order and they did not rush the work. A full year passed while every town, every village, every living thing was hunted down and left to rot.

Only then did the nation move north to the frozen plains, taking the first khan to the Khenti mountains where he had come into the world. The tale of his life was sung and chanted a thousand times and once read, when Temuge told the full tale from his history. He had trapped the words on calfskin sheets and they were the same no matter how many times he said them.

Ogedai was khan. He did not gather the tribes and take their oaths while his father lay in oil and cloth. Yet it was his voice that ruled the rest, and if his brother Chagatai was sullen at Ogedai’s rise to power, he did not dare let it show. The nation mourned and there was not a living soul who would have challenged Genghis’s right to choose his heir after he had gone from them. With his life complete, they knew again what he had done and meant. His people had risen and his enemies were dust. Nothing else mattered at the last accounting of a life.

On a bitter dawn, with a chill wind blowing in from the east, the sons and brothers of Genghis rode to the head of his funeral column, leaving the nation behind. Temuge had planned every detail, borrowing from the death rites of more than one people. He rode with Khasar and Kachiun behind a cart drawn by fine horses. A minghaan officer sat high over the animals, urging them on with a long stick. Behind him on the cart lay a simple box of elm and iron, at times seeming too small to contain the man within. In the days before, every man, woman, and child of the nation had come to lay a hand on the warm wood.

The honor guard was just a hundred men, well formed and young. Forty young women rode with them and they cried out and wailed to the sky father with every pace, marking the passing of a great man and forcing the spirits to attend and listen. The Great Khan would not go alone into the hills.

They reached the place Temuge had prepared and the brothers and sons of the khan gathered in grim silence as the box was lifted inside a great chamber cut from the rock. They did not speak as the women gashed their throats and lay down, ready to serve the khan in the next world. Only the warriors who oversaw the ritual came out, and many of them were red-eyed with grief.

Temuge nodded to Ogedai and the heir raised his hand gently, standing for a long time as he gazed into the last resting place of his father. He swayed slightly as he stood, his eyes glassy from drink that did nothing to dull his grief. The son of Genghis spoke slurred words in a whisper, but no one heard them as he let his arm fall.

The warriors heaved on ropes that arced up into the hills. Their muscles grew taut and they strained together until they heard thunder above. Wooden barriers gave way and for a moment it seemed as if half the mountain fell to block the chamber, raising a cloud of dust so thick that they could not breathe or see.

When it cleared, Genghis had gone from them and his brothers were satisfied. He had been born in the shadow of the mountain known as Deli’un-Boldakh, and they had buried him in that place. His spirit would watch over his people from those green slopes.

Kachiun nodded to himself, breathing out a great release of tension that he had not realized he felt. He turned his pony with his brothers and looked back only once as they wound their way through the thick trees that covered the slopes. The forest would grow over the scars they had made. In time, Genghis would be part of the hills themselves.
Kachiun was grim as he looked over the heads of the young warriors riding with him. The khan would not be disturbed in his rest.

Just a few miles from the nation’s camp, Khasar rode to the senior officer, telling him to halt his men. All those who had met in the khan’s ger the night before rode forward in a single group: Temuge, Khasar, Tsubodai, Jebe, Kachiun, Jelme, Ogedai, Tolui, and Chagatai. They were the seeds of a new nation and they rode well.

From the camp came Ogedai’s tuman to meet them. The heir reined in as his officers bowed, then sent them past him to kill the honor guard. Genghis would need good men on his path. The generals did not look back as the arrows sang again. The honor guard died in silence.

On the edge of the encampment, Ogedai turned to those he would lead in the years to come. They had been hardened in war and suffering and they returned his yellow gaze with simple confidence, knowing their worth. He wore the wolf’s-head sword that his father and grandfather had carried. His gaze lingered longest on Tsubodai. He needed the general, but Jochi had died at his hand and Ogedai promised himself there would be a reckoning one day, a price for what he had done. He hid his thoughts, adopting the cold face Genghis had taught him.

“It is done,” Ogedai said. “My father has gone and I will accept the oaths of my people.”

Describing lands as “conquered” by Genghis Khan always requires some qualification of the word. When the Romans conquered Spain and Gaul, they brought roads, trade, cities, bridges, aquaducts—all the trappings of civilization as they knew it. Genghis was never a builder. To be conquered by the Mongol army meant losing your kings, their armies, and most precious cities, but the Mongols never had the numbers to leave a large force behind when they moved on. Mongol warriors would have appeared in markets of Chinese cities, or retired in places as far apart as Korea and Afghanistan, but in general, once the fighting had stopped, there was little active government. In essence, being conquered by the Mongols meant that all local armed forces had to stand down. If word got out that
anyone
was moving soldiers, they could expect a tuman to turn up on the horizon. The Mongols accepted tribute and controlled the land, but never gave up their nomadic lifestyle while Genghis lived.

It is a difficult concept to understand eight hundred years later, but the fear induced by Genghis’s mobile forces was perhaps as effective in controlling a beaten province as the stolid presence of Romans. In the seventeenth century, the Muslim chronicler Abu’l Ghazi wrote:
“Under the reign of Genghis Khan, all the country between Iran and the land of the Turks enjoyed such a peace that a man might have journeyed from sunrise to sunset with a golden platter on his head without suffering the least violence from anyone.”

Sheer speed and destruction were crucial to the Mongol success. After all, in the campaign against the Chin emperor, the armies of Genghis Khan attacked more than
ninety
cities in a single year. Genghis himself was involved in storming twenty-eight, while being repulsed from only four. Historically, he benefited from the fact that China had not yet begun to use gunpowder efficiently in war. Only six years after the fall of Yenking, in 1221, a Chin army used exploding iron pots against the southern Sung city of Qizhou, with a shrapnel effect very like modern grenades. Those who came after him would have to face the weapons of a new era.

The scene against Russian knights in the first chapter takes place around the same time as the fifth crusade to the Holy Land. To put Russia in historical perspective, the huge cathedral to Saint Sophia in Novgorod was built as early as 1045 and replaced a wooden church with thirteen domes that was built a century before that. Medieval Russia and indeed Europe were on the brink of the great period of cathedral building and Christian expansion that would clash with Islam for the next four centuries. I have described the period armor and weapons of the knights as accurately as possible.

The Mongols did reach Korea—though I used an older pronunciation of “Koryo” throughout. The name means the “high and beautiful land.” Mongol forces destroyed the Khara-Kitai, a branch of the Chin who had left their homeland and dug themselves into the mountains of Korea beyond the ability of that dynasty to root them out.

In men like his brother Khasar, Jebe, and Tsubodai, the khan had found a band of generals who justified the name of “the hunting dogs of Genghis.” They were practically unstoppable—and yet Genghis turned toward Islamic central Asia before the conquest of China, even
northern China, was complete. In the history, Jebe, the Arrow, was established in his role earlier than I have it, but the pressures of plotting make changes sometimes inevitable. Tsubodai and Jebe became the two most famous generals of their day—twins in ability, ruthlessness, and absolute loyalty to the khan.

Genghis did not fight to rule cities, for which he had no use whatsoever. His purpose was almost always personal, to break or kill individual enemies, no matter how many armies and cities stood in the way. He was prepared to treat once with the Chin emperor over Yenking, but when the emperor ran for Kaifeng, Genghis burned the city and sent an army after him. As wide-ranging as the destruction was, it was still a battle between Genghis and one family.

Other events made Genghis look away from his single-minded and personal approach to warfare. It is true that one of the Mongol diplomatic—read spy—caravans was slaughtered by the Shah of Khwarezm. Genghis sent between 100 and 450 men (depending on the source), only to see them held by the governor of Otrar, a relative of the Shah. Even then, Genghis assumed the man was a rogue and sent three more men to accept the governor as prisoner and negotiate for the release of the first group. They too were killed and it was that act that brought Genghis into the Islamic nations. At that point in time, he almost certainly intended to complete the conquest of China. He had no desire to open up an entire new front against a teeming enemy. Yet he was not a man to ignore a naked challenge to his authority. The Mongol army moved and
millions
would die. Genghis went alone to the top of a mountain and prayed to the sky father, saying, “I am not the author of this trouble, but grant me the strength to exact vengeance.”

In infuriating Genghis, the governor of Otrar made what is perhaps one of the worst military decisions in history. Perhaps he thought he could scorn the khan of the Mongols with impunity. As a cousin to the Shah and with vast armies available, he may have thought little of the Mongol threat.

The original city of Otrar remains rubble today and has never been rebuilt. Inalchuk was executed by having molten silver poured into his eyes and ears. Though I have altered the order of falling cities, the Shah was routed and sent running with Tsubodai and Jebe on his trail, as I
have described it. He stayed ahead of them for a thousand miles, crossing modern-day Uzbekistan and Iran to the shores of the Caspian Sea, where he took a boat with his sons to a small island. Exhausted, he died of pneumonia there and his son Jelaudin (or Jalal Ud Din) was left to take his father’s place at the head of the Arab armies. He faced Genghis at last against the Indus River and escaped almost alone, while his army was crushed. The boy who would become Kublai Khan was indeed there, and Genghis is said to have made a point of noting Jelaudin’s bravery to him, as an example of how a man should live and die.

The Arab assassins are perhaps most famous for giving us the word in English, from
hashishin,
by way of Marco Polo’s
ashishin,
following their practice of creating a mad frenzy with the drug. However, it may have the simpler route of coming from
assasseen,
Arabic for “guardian.” As Shia Moslems, they differed from the main Sunni branch of Islam. The practice of showing drug-dazed recruits a version of heaven and hell is true. One can only imagine the result of such experiences on impressionable young minds. Certainly their reputation was for ferocious loyalty to the “Old Man of the Mountains.” At their height, their influence was vast and the story is true about leaving a poisoned cake on Saladin’s chest as he slept, a clear message to leave them alone in his conquests. Though their strongholds were destroyed by Genghis and the khans after him, the sect remained active for many years.

Elephants were used against Mongols at Otrar, Samarkand, and other battles—a hopeless tactic against warriors whose first weapon was the bow. The Mongols were not at all intimidated by the enormous assault animals and hammered them with arrows. Each time, the elephants stampeded and crushed their own ranks. At one point, Genghis found himself in control of captured elephants, but turned them loose rather than use such unreliable creatures.

For reasons of plot, I moved the minaret to which Genghis “bowed” to Samarkand. It is in fact in Bukhara and stands to this day at around one hundred and fifty feet tall. Genghis is said to have addressed the wealthy merchants of that city, telling them through translators that they had clearly committed great sins and if they needed proof, they
should look no further than his presence among them. Whether he actually saw himself as the punishment of God or was simply being whimsical can never now be known.

Note: In the Islamic faith, Abraham is considered the first Muslim, who submitted to one god. As with Moses and Jesus, the description of his life in the Koran differs at significant points from that of the Bible.

Genghis’s eldest son Jochi was the only general ever to turn against him. He took his men and refused to return home. Though it is well recorded, a writer of historical fiction sometimes has to explain how something like that could happen. His men would have left wives and children behind, and that seems extraordinary to modern sensibilities. Could he have truly been so charismatic? It may seem like an odd example, but I recalled the cult leader David Koresh, whose followers were killed in a siege in Waco, Texas, in 1993. Before the end, he had taken the wives of married followers to his own bed. Not only did the husbands not object, they even accepted his ruling that they would no longer lie with their wives themselves. That is the power of a charismatic leader. For those of us who do not command that sort of loyalty, men like Nelson, Caesar, and Genghis must always be something of a mystery. The exact manner of Jochi’s death remains unknown, though if it was at the order of his father, it would not have been recorded. The timing is, however, suspiciously convenient. It suited Genghis very well that the only man to betray him died shortly after taking his men north. We can be certain Genghis would not have employed assassins, but that is all.

The name of Tolui’s wife, Sorhatani, is one of those with many spelling variations. The most accurate is probably “Sorkhakhtani,” but I rejected that as too hard on the eye—and the “k” sounds would have been pronounced as “h” anyway. In a similar spirit, I have used the old-fashioned spelling of “Moslem” throughout, though “Muslim” is now the accepted form. Sorhatani plays only a small part in this book, but as mother to Mongke and Kublai, she had a huge influence over the future of the Mongol nation. As a Christian, she was one of those to influence Genghis’s grandsons, and yet she allowed Yao Shu, a Buddhist, to become
Kublai’s mentor. Between them, they would create a man who embraced Chinese culture as Genghis never could.

Jelaudin gathered approximately sixty thousand men to his banners after his father’s death. Cut off from his own lands, he must also have been an extraordinary leader. At the valley of Panjshir in Afghanistan, he forced a Mongol army into retreat across a river. Underestimating him, Genghis sent only three tumans to crush the rebellion. For the only time in Genghis’s life, his army was routed by them. In just one year, the aura of invincibility he had worked so hard to create had been shattered. Genghis himself took the field with everything he had. He moved his men so quickly that they could not cook food, catching up with Jelaudin at last on the banks of the river Indus in what is now Pakistan. Genghis trapped the prince’s army against the banks. I have not continued Jelaudin’s story here, but after surviving the battle on the Indus, he made his way across Iran to Georgia, Armenia, and Kurdistan, gathering followers until he was murdered in 1231. It was his army that overran Jerusalem without him, so that it remained under Muslim control until
1917.

The man who fell from the walls at Herat is a peculiar part of the histories. The abandoned fortress city still stands today, much as I have described it. Genghis did indeed spare the man, astonished that he could have survived such a fall. As with so many other times, Genghis the man was quite different from Genghis the ruthless khan. As a man, he enjoyed displays of courage, as when Jelaudin took his horse over a sheer drop. As khan, Genghis ordered the slaughter of every living thing in Herat, knowing that it would send a message to all those who thought his control had been shaken by Jelaudin’s rebellion. The killing at Herat was his last major action in Afghanistan. Like that city, the Chinese region of Xi Xia thought the Mongols were too stretched to defend distant outposts, so stopped sending tribute. Their refusal would bring the khan out of Arab lands at last, intent on resuming the utter subjugation of the Chin empire, begun more than a decade before.

In 1227, only twelve years after taking Yenking in 1215, Genghis Khan was dead. He spent about eight of those twelve years at war. Even
when there was no obvious enemy, his generals were always on the move, reaching as far as Kiev in Russia, where Tsubodai made the only successful winter attack in history. Of all Genghis’s generals, Tsubodai is rightly known as the most gifted. I have barely done him justice here.

Genghis died after falling from his horse in the process of attacking the Xi Xia for a second time. His last command was to wipe out Xi Xia. There is a persistent legend that the Great Khan was stabbed by a woman before that last ride. As he was on his way to destroy Xi Xia, it made sense to give that role to the princess he had taken as his wife. Given that his birthdate can only be estimated, he was between fifty and sixty years old. For such a short life, and from such humble beginnings, he left an incredible mark on the world. His immediate legacy was that his sons did not tear the nation to pieces in deciding who should lead. They accepted Ogedai as khan. Perhaps there would have been civil war if Jochi had still been alive, but he was gone.

The army of Genghis Khan was organized in tens upwards, with a rigid chain of command.

Commanders of one thousand and ten thousand were given the rank of
noyan,
though I used “minghaan” and “general” for simplicity. Above those, men like Jebe and Tsubodai were
orloks,
or eagles, the equivalent of field marshals.

It is interesting to note that although Genghis had little use for gold, plaques of the substance known as paitze became the symbol of rank for his armies and administration. Jagun officers carried one of silver, but noyans carried one weighing approximately twenty ounces of gold. An orlok would have carried one weighing fifty ounces.