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 (220 page)

Kublai sighed at the thought. He could hardly remember the last time he had slept through the night. He dreamed and woke in fits and starts, his mind whirring away as if it had an independent existence. Chabi would soothe him with a cool hand on his brow, but she fell asleep again quickly, leaving him still awake and thinking. He had been forced to keep a leather book of blank pages close to him, so he could write down the ideas that presented themselves just at the moment he was finally drifting off. In time, he would copy his journal onto better paper, a record of his time among the Sung. It would be worthy of the shelves in Karakorum if it continued as it had begun.

After the city of Ta-li had fallen to him, three others had followed within the month. He had sent scouts far ahead of him, carrying news of his mercy. He made a point of choosing men from the Chin who had joined his tumans over the years. They understood what he
wanted and of course they approved, so he did not doubt they spoke well of the Mongol leader who was as much a Chin lord as anyone could be.

There had been a moment in those first months when he was able to dream of sweeping right across the Sung lands, of armies and cities surrendering without a blow being struck, until he stood before the emperor himself. That had lasted just long enough for Uriang-Khadai to approach. Kublai frowned at the memory, certain the older general had enjoyed being the bearer of bad news.

“The men are not paid,” Uriang-Khadai had lectured him. “You have said they are not allowed to loot and they are becoming angry. I have not seen this level of unrest before, lord. Perhaps you did not realize they would resent the mercy and kindness you have shown to our enemies.” Kublai remembered how the orlok’s eyes glittered with suppressed anger as he went on. “I believe they will become difficult to manage if you continue this policy. They do not understand it. All the men know is that you have taken away their baubles and rewards.”

As he guided his horse down through thick brush, Kublai blew air out slowly. Good decisions were never made in anger. Yao Shu had taught him the truth of that years before. Uriang-Khadai might have enjoyed telling him something so obvious, but the problem was a real one. The tumans gave their lives and strength without question for the khan, or whoever commanded them in his name. In return, they were allowed to take wealth and slaves wherever they found them. Kublai could imagine their greed at the thought of all the fat Sung towns, untouched by war and rich on centuries of trade. Yet he had refused to burn them and barely a dozen city officials had died, just those who refused to surrender. In the last city, the people had brought their prefect out and thrown him down in the dust before Kublai’s men. They had understood the choice he offered—to live and prosper rather than resist and be destroyed.

Kublai dismounted stiffly, nodding to Bayar as the general took the horses away. The night was peaceful, with an owl hooting in warning somewhere nearby, no doubt disturbed by the passage of so many men through its hunting ground. He reached down and scooped up a handful of cold water, rubbing it over his face and neck with a groan
of appreciation. He had a solution to the problem. He paid many of the men who accompanied the tumans and he had silver and gold coins by the hundred thousand. He could pay the warriors as well, at least for a time. Kublai grimaced, taking more of the water to slick back his hair. It would empty the shrinking war chest Mongke had given him in just a few months. He would then have no money for bribes and no source of new income. Yao Shu had assured him the farmers on his northern lands would have a crop in the ground, but he could not decide the future on unknown quantities. Armies had to be fed and supplied. Adding silver to that was logical enough, if he could only find enough silver.

Standing there, staring across the water, Kublai grew still, then raised his eyes to heaven and laughed aloud. He was in a land where the soldiers were paid like any other tradesman. He had to find the mines where the ore was dug out. He was tired and hungry, but for the first time that day, he didn’t feel it. A year before, he might have seen it as an impossible task, but since then he had seen Sung cities open their gates and surrender to a Chin lord. By the time Mongke’s silver ran out, he would have taxes coming in from his new lands, even if he failed to find the emperor’s supplies. He could make the cities finance their own conquest!

He didn’t hear Yao Shu come up behind him. Despite his age, the old man could still move silently. Kublai gave a start when he spoke, then smiled.

“I am glad to see you cheerful,” Yao Shu said. “I would be happier if Bayar had not picked a spot to camp with so many mosquitoes.”

Still caught up in the idea, Kublai explained his thoughts. He spoke at high speed in Mandarin, unaware that his perfect fluency made the old man proud. Yao Shu nodded as he finished.

“It is a good plan, I think. A silver mine takes many workers. It should not be too hard to find someone who has heard of one, or even worked in one. Better still if we can interrupt the pay for Sung soldiers. As well as finding the coins already made, they would suffer as we benefited and perhaps lose a little faith in the men who pay them.”

“I will set scouts to the task tomorrow,” Kublai promised, yawning.
“Until then, I have enough to pay our men in good Chin coin. Will you work out the amounts for me?”

“Of course. I will have to find the price of a cheap whore in a small town as my base. I think a man should have to save for a day or two to afford such a luxury. At the very least it will teach them discipline.” Yao Shu smiled. “It is a good plan, Kublai.”

They smiled at each other, aware that Yao Shu only used his personal name when there was no one else to overhear.

“Go to your wife now,” Yao Shu said. “Eat, make babies, or rest. You must stay healthy.” His stern tone brought back Kublai’s memories of old schoolrooms. “Somewhere far from here, the emperor of the Sung is raging as the reports come in. He has lost an army and four cities. He will not wait for you to come to him. Perhaps he hoped your men would exhaust themselves in the trek across his lands, but instead he will hear that you thrive and grow strong, that you eat well and yet are still hungry.”

Kublai grinned at the image.

“I am too tired to worry about him tonight,” he said, yawning hugely, so that he could feel his jaw crack. “I think for once I might sleep.”

Yao Shu looked skeptical. He rarely slept for more than four hours at a time and regarded any more as appalling slothfulness.

“Keep your book close by. I enjoy reading the things you write.”

Kublai’s mouth opened in protest. “It is a private journal, old man. Did Chabi let you look at it? Is there no respect?”

“I serve you better when I know your mind, my lord. And I find your observations on Orlok Uriang-Khadai most interesting.”

Kublai snorted at the old monk’s placid expression.

“You see too much, old friend. Get some rest yourself. Have you considered the Mandarin word for ‘bank’? It means ‘silver movement.’ We will find where they get it from.”

HULEGU ENJOYED THE SENSE OF POWER OVER THE CALIPH
of Baghdad. The older man’s pretensions were torn away during the hours of the morning. Hulegu watched patiently as al-Mustasim
spoke to advisers and checked endless tally sheets of fine vellum, making offers and counteroffers, most of which Hulegu simply ignored until the man understood the reality. As the morning wore on, Hulegu had his cannon and catapult teams run through their drills nearby, making the scribes nervous. The caliph stared in distaste at the moving ranks of warriors, at the gers that clustered for miles in all directions. The vast army held his city in a tight grip and he had no force to break the siege, no hope to give him peace. No one was coming to relieve Baghdad. The knowledge showed in his face and the way he sat, his shoulders slumped into the rolls of flesh.

It was intoxicating for Hulegu to have a proud leader reduced to hopelessness, to watch as the caliph slowly realized that everything he valued was in the hands of men who cared nothing for his people or his culture. Hulegu waved away the latest offer. He knew the people of the region loved to bargain, but it was no more than the twitching of a corpse. Everything they could possibly offer was in Baghdad and the city would open its gates to the Mongols. The treasure rooms and temples would be his to plunder. Still he waited for al-Mustasim to give up all hope.

They paused at noon for the caliph’s party to roll out prayer mats and bow their heads, chanting together. Hulegu used the time to stroll across to his senior generals, making sure they were still alert. There could be no surprises, he was certain. If another army moved closer than sixty miles, he would know far faster than hope could rise in the caliph. The man who ruled Baghdad would be killed if such news came, Hulegu had decided. Al-Mustasim was more than a lord to his people, with his spiritual status. He could be a symbol, or even a martyr. Hulegu smiled at the thought. The Moslems and Christians put great stock in their martyrs.

Hearing their droning chant, Hulegu shook his head in amusement. For him the sky father was always above his head, the earth mother at his feet. If they watched at all, they did not interfere with a man’s life. It was true the spirits of the land could be malevolent. Hulegu could not forget his own father’s fate, chosen to replace the life demanded from Ogedai Khan. In the sunshine, he shuddered at the thought of millions of spirits watching him in this place.

He raised his head, refusing to be afraid. They had not troubled Genghis and he had done more than his share of destruction, torn more than most from the sunlit world. If the angry spirits had not dared to touch Genghis, they could have no terrors for his grandson.

The moment he had been waiting for came deep into the afternoon, when even Hulegu had allowed his servants to drape his sunburned neck in a damp cloth. The caliph’s fine robes were stained in great dark patches and he looked exhausted, though he had only sat and sweated through the long day.

“I have offered you the riches of Croesus,” Caliph al-Mustasim said. “More than any one man has ever seen. You asked me to value my people, my city, and I have done so. Yet you refuse again? What more would you have from me? Why am I even here, if you will take nothing in exchange?”

His eyes were weak and Hulegu took his seat once more, laying his sword across his thighs and settling himself.

“I will not be made to look a fool, Caliph. I will not take a few cartloads of pretty things and have men say I never knew what else lay within the ancient city. No, you will not laugh when we are gone.”

The caliph looked at him in sheer confusion.

“You have seen the lists, the official records of the treasury!”

“Lists your scribes could well have written in the weeks before you came out armed with them. I will choose the tribute from Baghdad. You will not grant it to me.”

“What …” The caliph paused and shook his head. Once more he looked at the army around him, stretching into the distance so that they became a shimmering blur. He did not doubt they could destroy the city if he gave them the opportunity. His heart beat painfully in his chest and he could smell his own sweat strongly.

“I am trying to negotiate a peaceful end to the siege. Tell me what you want and I will begin again.”

Hulegu nodded as if the man had made a good point. He scratched his chin, feeling the bristles growing there.

“Have your people disarm. Have them throw every sword, every knife, every axe out of the city, so that my men can collect them. You
and I will walk together into Baghdad then, with just an honor guard to keep the mob at bay. When that is done, we will talk again.”

Wearily, the caliph heaved himself to his feet. His legs had gone numb and he staggered a step before catching himself.

“You ask me to leave my people defenseless.”

“They are
already
defenseless,” Hulegu said, with a wave of his hand. He put his boots up on the table and sat back in his chair. “Look around you once more, Caliph, and tell me it is not so. I am trying to find a way to a peaceful solution. When my men have searched your palaces, I will know there is no trickery. Don’t worry, I will leave you a little gold, enough to buy some new robes at least.”

The men around him chuckled and the caliph stared in impotent fury.

“I have your word there will be no violence?”

Hulegu shrugged.

“Unless you force my hand. I have told you the terms, Caliph.”

“Then I will return to the city,” al-Mustasim said.

Hulegu thought for a moment.

“You are my guest. Send a man back with the order. You will stay in a ger tonight, to learn our ways. We have Moslems in the camp. Perhaps they will appreciate your guidance.”

They locked gazes and the caliph looked away first. He felt completely without choices, a fish on a line that Hulegu was happy to pull in at his own pace. He could only grasp at the slightest chance to turn the Mongol from Baghdad without blood in the streets. He nodded.

“I would be honored,” he said softly.