TO’ORIL KHAN AND JAMUGHA kept their troops stationed at their campsites for about one month longer, with no apparent desire to withdraw. Although they had divided up all the women and possessions equally and nothing of pressing urgency remained to be accomplished, there were reasons for avoiding an earlier pullout. Temüjin was from the start suspicious of the attitudes of these two armed forces, but on reflection felt the situation was only natural for people engaged in battle. Had one side departed earlier and borne malicious feelings toward those who remained, there was the strong possibility that they would be attacked from the rear. Thus, both sides wished to avoid taking a dangerous position.
Temüjin learned many an important lesson from these two leaders. To’oril Khan and Jamugha had sworn a blood-brother (anda) allegiance in both life and death, but their actions revealed that neither trusted the other in the least. One further thing that caught Temüjin’s attention was the fact that To’oril Khan’s decision to dispatch troops was in no way motivated by his concern to come to the aid of Yisügei’s eldest son and help him succeed. When Temüjin requested arms to be able to launch an attack on the Merkids, To’oril Khan’s decision to send his own forces provided a perfect excuse for him to dispatch troops against the Merkids. He had undoubtedly been looking for an opportunity to wipe them out, but just had not yet found a pretext that conformed to the appropriate principles of duty. The wrongful act committed by the Merkids in raiding the tent of the weak Temüjin and seizing Börte could not go unpunished, and returning his wife to the son of Yisügei would certainly not be criticized by anyone. When To’oril Khan sent his troops off, it also had the effect of inciting Jamugha to increase the troops’ strength, but even more important was the fact that by adding Jamugha, who belonged to the same Borjigin lineage as Temüjin, he was further legitimizing his own actions. The way To’oril Khan proposed the plan was by no means disadvantageous to Jamugha, and the latter was sufficiently attracted to readily accept. Temüjin only got his wife, Börte, back, but To’oril Khan and Jamugha split the enormous wealth of an entire lineage, each carrying off half.
In this instance, Temüjin thought it advisable to subordinate his own camp to either To’oril Khan’s or Jamugha’s. There was, indeed, no better way to make his own small settlement rapidly grow larger. Temüjin chose Jamugha. They were both of Borjigin stock, and he reasoned that to stave off further Tayichi’ud depredations, it would be better to rely on Jamugha’s protection. In addition, many of those from his father Yisügei’s day had fallen under Tayichi’ud control and later thrown in their lot with Jamugha’s settlement; in this they shared a certain disposition as well.
Standing between To’oril Khan and Jamugha, Temüjin casually proposed that on the same day both withdraw and move off in opposite directions. Together with Jamugha, Temüjin retreated toward the Qorqonaq Valley of the Onon River, while To’oril Khan headed toward his own encampment in the Black Forest by the shores of the Tula River with Mount Burqan behind him. To’oril Khan mobilized his troops in a rather leisurely manner, while continuing to hunt.
Temüjin and Börte returned to their own settlement halfway up Mount Burqan near the source of the Onon and Kherlen rivers. However, their own numbers had increased by two small people. One was Jochi, and the other was an adorable five-year-old child they had found in the Merkid village wearing a sable hat and footwear made of the skin of doe’s feet. His name was Kuchu. Temüjin brought him to his mother, Ö’elün’s, tent as a present. Ö’elün’s five children were now grown, her youngest, Temülün, having already reached age seventeen, and she was thus exceedingly pleased with this gift of a youngster. All the men of Kuchu’s people had now been put to death, making this child alone the sole repository of pure Merkid blood, a small treasure of sorts.
Temüjin soon moved his encampment from the Mount Burqan area to a site in the Qorqonaq Valley neighboring Jamugha’s camp. The following day Temüjin swore an anda oath of brotherhood with Jamugha. The ceremony was carried out in an open area above the Qorqonaq Escarpment, with trees on one side. Temüjin placed on Jamugha a golden belt he had seized from an enemy commander in the fighting with the Merkids, and he similarly placed Jamugha on a black-maned horse he had taken in plunder. For his part Jamugha presented Temüjin with a golden belt looted from a Merkid officer and placed him on a white horse that looked like a horned lamb. They both then called out to each other loudly: “Anda!” The banquet that brought the villagers together was begun at the sound of the two men’s voices, and it lasted throughout the night. Instruments were played, people sang, and young Merkid girls whose husbands, fathers, and brothers had all been executed danced before the conquerors.
Temüjin took a seat next to Jamugha at the banquet, although he didn’t believe that the oath sworn between the two men was of any value whatsoever. Jamugha would use it as long as it could be used, and when circumstances took a turn for the worse, he would discard it like an old hat. Although he had seen Jamugha’s kindly face with its unflappable smile during the daytime, it struck Temüjin as altogether different when half of it was bathed in the light of the moon. Something cruelly bitter was beginning to dawn on Temüjin, making even him shudder.
There were many benefits, though, for Temüjin in having forged this anda bond with Jamugha and living in such close proximity. Wool was more easily sold off, and he could increase his stock of horses and sheep as he wished, should he desire to do so. One other advantage that he had not foreseen was the fact that his group of men and women of Borjigin ancestry lived far from the Tayichi’uds, so gradually many more came to join them. The number of yurts seemed to grow daily, with sometimes as many as ten tents joining the settlement at once. Such a phenomenon, needless to say, incurred the enmity of the Tayichi’uds, but Jamugha’s presence as Temüjin’s anda kept them at bay. Jamugha effectively restrained the Tayichi’ud leader Targhutai from being able to intervene behind the scenes.
Even within Jamugha’s camp, there were many who were by inclination more sympathetic to Temüjin. The means by which Jamugha and Temüjin managed their neighboring settlements were altogether different. While Jamugha divided all profit fairly, Temüjin divided his people into various rankings for allocating goods. Each received advantages in proportion to the labor they exerted, and accordingly those who worked hard received a larger quota. While lazy elements in Jamugha’s settlement benefited, exceptional young men lost out. For this reason, the numbers of those who pondered moving over to Temüjin’s settlement grew steadily.
This was certainly known to Jamugha. When a year and a half had passed since the two men had sworn their anda oath, Temüjin unexpectedly received an invitation from Jamugha to join a hunt. Had he known that this was not hunting season, he might have been concerned, and Temüjin had sensed several days earlier that something unusual was going on in Jamugha’s camp.
Temüjin immediately consulted with Qasar, Belgütei, Bo’orchu, and Jelme. All four of them had the same thought, that it would be unwise to accept this invitation, but their views on what had been happening earlier differed widely: “Let’s wait for Jamugha to make a move.” “If he’s misunderstood something, let’s dispel it.” These and other views were all voiced.
Temüjin invited Ö’elün and Börte in and asked their opinions as well. When they had heard his entire explanation, before Ö’elün so much as opened her mouth, Börte abruptly spoke out, and her tone was sharp:
“We need to move the whole settlement tonight. It may be too late tomorrow morning.”
Temüjin remained silent, as did the others. It was not going to be easy to speedily dismantle the settlement in an orderly fashion and abandon the expansive pasturelands that they had gone to such pains to manage. Then Börte looked Temüjin squarely in the face and said:
“I am pregnant.”
This was the first Temüjin knew of it.
“I am pregnant,” she repeated. “Would you like to name our second child Jochi too?” With Börte’s words, Temüjin made up his mind.
Qasar, Belgütei, Bo’orchu, and Jelme all rushed out of Temüjin’s tent. In short order the nearly one hundred yurts comprising their settlement were in a state of utter confusion. One by one they finished folding up all the tents, and small groups left one after the next from the Qorqonaq Valley, traveling parallel to the river and headed north. There were flocks of sheep and horses between the tents and the procession was in considerable disarray, but the whole party nonetheless extended in a long, thin line like a string of thread pulled away from the site of the settlement. When the thread from the spool completely ran out, a hundred or more men forming an armed guard mounted their horses and brought up the rear.
The movement continued without stop. When they came upon a settlement en route, the brothers Chimbai and Chila’un rode their horses into the settlement and announced in a loud voice that Temüjin’s camp was moving. Their intent was to invite anyone who wished to do so to join them.
When they passed a camp of the Besüd people of the Tayichi’uds, Temüjin finally allowed his men and women a short rest. They entered the Besüd settlement, and all the Taiyichi’uds scattered, leaving every tent vacant. Temüjin saw one young child sitting on the ground in front of a tent.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Kököchü,” the child replied. Although he asked again several times, the word that came back each time was “Kököchü.”
“Are you all alone?”
“I’m in charge while everyone’s away,” he answered.
Temüjin lifted the child who had assumed such a task for several dozen tents in his arms and passed him to Qasar. He was to be given to Ö’elün.
Just as they were leaving this settlement, the light of dawn began to fill the air. With night about to come to an end, three young brothers of the Jalayir lineage joined the tail end of their procession. They took their first respite on the incline of the plateau. Momentarily thereafter, groups of people from small settlements scattered about the area came one after the next to join Temüjin’s camp. Some led their horses while others rode in on horseback in small groups. There were parties of women and of the old as well. The great majority of them were distant relations of Yisügei, men and women who had been subordinated to the Tayichi’uds.
The company moved on and pitched camp that evening by the shore of a small lake. Roughly three hundred new people had now joined them. Upon Bo’orchu’s investigation, this included people from all manner of different family lines in the region. We have already noted the Jalayirs, but in addition to Mönggedü Kiyan, there were as well men and women from the Targhud, the Barulas, the Mangghud, the Arulad, the Besüd, the Suldus, the Qongqotan, the Negüdei, the Olqunu’ud, the Ikires, the Noyakin, the Oronar, and the Ba’arin lineages.
Leading his suddenly swelling number of followers, Temüjin proceeded the next day toward the Kimurgha Stream. And that day too his party grew in size as they remained on the move. Ögelen Cherbi, the younger brother of Bo’orchu, left the Arulads to join them, and Jelme’s two younger brothers, Cha’urqan and Sübe’etei, both left the Uriangqans to link up with Temüjin.
They reached the banks of the Kimurgha Stream that afternoon, and there settled down for a time by making camp at a divide in the terrain where small hills undulated like waves. It was additionally a well-placed site to defend against attack from pursuing troops sent by Jamugha, and it was not at all bad land for pasturage.
From the time they stopped moving until evening, people who had separated from Jamugha and come toward them could be spotted here and there on the hilltops, disappeared in the valleys between hills, and gradually became visible again as they approached camp. One of those who had abandoned Jamugha was a man about sixty years of age by the name of Qorchi of the Ba’arins. He was a miserable-looking old man and was accompanied by people comprising some twenty tents in all.
When Qorchi arrived at Temüjin’s camp, he said:
“I’ve never been apart from Jamugha, and I had no particular reason for it now. Jamugha’s always been very good to me. But a divine oracle said Temüjin was going to become king of the entire Mongolian plateau and that I should go to his base. That’s why I’ve come here.” This was his way of announcing his arrival. Although he did not appear to be the sort of good-for-nothing person one would want to go out of one’s way to welcome, Temüjin nonetheless listened to Qorchi’s words with a sense of the man’s deep feeling. Only one man had come in the belief that he, Temüjin, was to become sovereign of the Mongolian plateau. The other newcomers to Temüjin’s camp had all assembled there so as to make their lives better, to bring some small happiness to their families. Qorchi was different, for he had come in response to a heavenly oracle.
Temüjin stared fixedly at the plentiful wrinkles on Qorchi’s face, lit up by the light of the setting sun, as he stood before him. After a while, he responded:
“If such a day does come when I do, in fact, become king of the Mongolian plateau, at that time I shall make you chief of 10,000 households.”
Temüjin realized then that he must never forget the crimson redness of that day’s setting sun, when he had escaped from the jaws of death at the hands of Jamugha and sought to restore order at his new encampment with its abruptly swollen numbers. And he must never forget as well the face of Qorchi, bathed in the evening’s red glow, who had told of the oracle.
Then Qorchi said with apparent disapproval:
“What joy would I get out of becoming chief of 10,000 households? What I’d like, once I’ve become a chief of 10,000 households, is to be able to freely choose women to my taste from among the beautiful women and girls of the state. Thirty of them would do fine. I’d like to have 30 beautiful women of my own.”
“It shall be so,” replied Temüjin to this rather lecherous oracle.
Temüjin was very busy for the next few days. The number of people in the settlement had now climbed to over 3,000, and ordinary affairs could no longer be handled in the simple manner that they had been heretofore. Temüjin made Bo’orchu and Jelme leaders of the settlement, and gave them the authority to control and issue orders in all matters. Bo’orchu and Jelme acquitted themselves well in everything. While Bo’orchu skillfully disposed of all matters on the surface, Jelme followed up, straightened things out, and shored up whatever was lacking.
They made camp at this site for roughly one month, and during that time Temüjin brought a number of settlements under his umbrella. A camp of the Keniges lineage came to join them, as did camps of Jadarans, Saqayids, and Yürkins. Temüjin was now able to assemble the more important figures among his close relatives together with their camps. This included: Temüjin’s uncle Daritai Odchigin, his cousin Qochar, his elder cousins Seche Beki and Taichu who were brothers, Altan (son of Qutula Khan), and Altan’s younger cousin Yeke Cheren.
When he learned that Jamugha had sent no troops after him in pursuit, Temüjin moved his encampment from the banks of the Kimurgha Stream to the northern shore of a starfish-shaped lake by the Sengkür Stream that ran through Mount Gürelgü. The land here was sufficiently spacious for such a large settlement to pitch camp, and the pastureland, which had thus far remained untouched by flocks of sheep, spread out as far as the eye could see.
Upon the pitching of this new encampment, Temüjin was encouraged by his family members to proclaim himself khan of the Mongolian people. The year was 1189 according to the Western calendar, and he was twenty-seven years of age. Until then the Mongolian khan had been a Tayichi’ud by the name of Targhutai, but he had lost most of his former followers and had perforce naturally relinquished the position. The Tayichi’uds, the Jadarans of Jamugha who was now an enemy, and a few other lineages would not recognize Temüjin as khan, but that was no different from any other time in the past.
In the era of the first khan, Qabul, as well as in the eras of Hambaghai Khan and Qutula Khan, even when Temüjin’s father Yisügei was alive, the Mongols were never a single, unified group. Thus, even if Temüjin were to take the position of khan, a number of camps within the larger Mongolian grouping would certainly fight against this. As far as Temüjin was concerned, though, it was an enormous leap to accede to this station. At the same time, it promised days of fierce struggle with Targhutai of the Tayichi’uds and Jamugha of the Jadarans.
On the day Temüjin became khan, Qorchi came to him and said:
“That divine oracle I told you of may actually come to pass. Now you’ve become the Mongol khan. The day will certainly come when you’ll unify the Mongol peoples, subdue the many other peoples on the Mongolian plateau, and rule as king. And when that day comes, don’t renege on your promise to me.”
In the spirit of a kind of advance payment of a certain percentage of the reward he would earn on that day, Temüjin said:
“Heavenly oracle! You are henceforth to be separated from military, pasturing, and battle affairs. You are to help Ö’elün and advise her in the rearing and education of her young sons, Küchü and Kököchü.”
Temüjin thus gave Qorchi the nominal title of being in charge of the education of these two adopted boys and released the old diviner from all other matters. It was the first official proclamation by which Temüjin exercised his authority as khan.
Temüjin had to put together a control structure completely different from that which earlier generations of khans had built in their settlements. In normal times, the nomadic people grazed and cared for their herds, but in times of emergency they had to be able to quickly transform themselves into a small number of powerful bands.
Temüjin proceeded to organize units of archers and swordsmen, to prepare official messages, and to appoint the appropriate men to such bureaucratic posts as those in charge of military horses, those in charge of vehicles, those charged with provisioning, those who were to rear the horses, and those who tended the sheep. To the two highest positions directly beneath himself in the camp, he named his first vassals Bo’orchu and Jelme, and each of their younger brothers was named to an important post as well.
Temüjin’s encampment was now much larger than it had been in the days of his father, Yisügei. He was gradually acquiring strength needed to defeat the Tayichi’uds and the Tatars. His younger brothers—Qasar, Belgütei, Qachi’un, and Temüge—each had their own wives and their own independent yurts. His younger sister Temülün had also married a young man, and they had built a yurt of their own. Being the siblings of Temüjin, they all enjoyed special privileges. Ö’elün, a women now nearing fifty years of age, put her heart and soul into raising the foundlings Küchü and Kököchü. Although he was assigned to an advisory post by her side, Qorchi’s duties were slightly altered by Ö’elün.
“I want to have children hereafter with far different blood,” she told Qorchi. “No matter how long it takes, make an effort to find clever abandoned children from other lineages.”
Although unhappy that his own ideas were not being implemented in the rearing of Küchü and Kököchü, Qorchi became deeply involved in the strange task given him by Ö’elün. Virtually every day, Qorchi remained alone in an empty tent, and while watching the clouds flow by, he kept an eye out for battles fought with other lineages providing an opportunity to gather up some new orphans.
Temüjin was now living with his wife, Börte, his eldest son, Jochi, and his second son born after his having become khan, Cha’adai—a family of four—in addition to several servants. He treated his sons, Jochi and Cha’adai, exactly the same. Just as his own father, Yisügei, had never discriminated for or against him in any way, so he too strictly admonished himself to do so, though he did on occasion find himself staring coldly at Jochi. Even he recognized that the glint in his eye when looking at Jochi was somewhat different from when he looked at Cha’adai.
Börte was aware of these instances as well. On such an occasion, she would turn to Jochi and then, speaking in such a way that Temüjin would be sure to hear, would say:
“Jochi, when you grow up, you’ll have to take charge of the fiercest post in battle. You’ll have to do what everyone else isn’t able to. You’ll have to accomplish what even your grandfather, Yisügei, and father, Temüjin, could not. You were born for that purpose. The divine heaven of Mongolia has bestowed you upon the Mongol people.”
The blood drained from Börte’s face when she said these words, and only the large eyes that constituted her distinctive beauty sparkled brilliantly. What she had said bore precisely the same meaning as those first words spoken by Temüjin to Jochi back in the Merkid settlement: “You are to become a wolf! I too shall become a wolf.”
As always, Temüjin took this silent criticism from Börte’s eyes and left the scene. “You are to become a wolf! I too shall become a wolf.” Temüjin had repeated these words any number of times to himself. Leaving aside the issue of Jochi, Temüjin was still fully aware that his own issue remained unresolved. Most important of all, though, he had to become a wolf first. A wolf had limitless ambitions. If everything were to settle down once they attacked the Tayichi’uds, then a number of things would have to be done first.
Until Cha’adai was born, Temüjin slept in the same bed with Börte and Jochi, but after Cha’adai came into the world, Börte slept on a separate bedstead with him, while Temüjin slept with Jochi. Temüjin and Jochi slept facing each other as father and son with exchanging a word, like a father wolf and his cub. Jochi grew to be as intensely taciturn as his father had been as a youngster.
When Temüjin became khan, he sent Belgütei to To’oril Khan of the Kereyids to announce his accession to the position of khan of the Mongols. To’oril Khan then had Belgütei convey his response to Temüjin:
“My anda, my bold son, your becoming khan is an event to be warmly welcomed for the Mongolian people. The Mongols must have a great khan. Furthermore, you must not break your bond with my Kereyid people. Throughout our lives our pact must never come undone. Were this to come to pass, it would be comparable to the death of either a father or a son.”
Temüjin similarly sent a messenger to Jamugha. This task fell to Qasar. For his part, Jamugha mentioned the names of Altan and Qochar, who had left his camp:
“Altan and Qochar! You two have estranged me from my anda Temüjin with whom I had gotten along as well as the light of spring. Why did you divide us? You stabbed Temüjin in the waist and me in the ribs. You two are traitors with the hearts of wild beasts! But I shall now cease listing your crimes. It is my fervent prayer that you two have a good heart for and be a friend to anda Temüjin.”
These words, pregnant with all manner of intrigue, bore the distinct mark of Jamugha.
In less than no time, four years had passed since Temüjin’s accession to khan of the Mongolian people. During those four years, he fully fortified his position as the autocrat of his settlement. In the leisure time from work in the pasturelands, Temüjin saw to it that every man in the settlement had training for battle. There had been a few changes on the Mongolian plateau over these years. All of the lineages and settlements had been assimilated into one of four camps: To’oril Khan, Jamugha, Temüjin, or the Tatars.
Out of the blue, Jamugha led a force of 13 lineages comprising 30,000 troops over Mount Ala’u’ud and Mount Turgha’ud to attack the camp of Temüjin. News of the approaching army reached Temüjin one morning in early autumn, brought by two young messengers, Mölge Tatagh and Boroldai of the Ikires.
Temüjin immediately issued marching orders to everyone in his encampment, and that night he left camp in command of over 10,000 troops heading for the open country at Dalan Baljud. The company continued to increase in number, and when they arrived in the evening of the second day at the open field that he expected to be the site of battle, a force of 30,000 deployed there. Thirty thousand faced 30,000 in battle.
The fighting began early the following morning. Temüjin initially thought that the struggle was lost. The enemy started the fighting, and as expected, each company took up defensive positions. Temüjin found it the same in numerous subsequent battles: his men were strong in counterattacking, weak in assuming the defensive. Bo’orchu, Jelme, Qasar, and Belgütei, all generals under Temüjin’s command, displayed strength so fierce on the battlefield that it was scarcely believable, but when it came to waiting for the opportune moment and ambushing the enemy forces, their capacities dropped off precipitously.
At first observation, then, the great battle scene before Temüjin seemed calamitous. Just before it began, he sensed a certain lack of energy in his own camp as a whole. If an army of 30,000 wolves attacked, it could scale any mountain and descend through any valley, but their look as they awaited and deployed for the start of the fighting had a far from superb expression, as if every single wolf in the pack was chained up in some way. Temüjin himself was no different.
The fighting began lethargically, and in short order the hoofs of Jamugha’s cavalry came trampling down on all positions. A moment later, Temüjin issued an order to his entire army for a general retreat, and messengers rode rapidly in all directions over the open fields conveying this order.
Temüjin led the 10,000 men directly under his command along the Onon River to a ravine where the topography was extremely difficult to maneuver. Being routed, the entire company now moved with a certain astuteness, as if having recovered its energy. The defeat oddly registered no actual sensation in Temüjin. The same appeared to be the case for Bo’orchu, Jelme, Qasar, and Belgütei.
After returning to his own yurt, Temüjin learned that at the Chinos settlement Jamugha had boiled their kinsmen in seventy kettles, cut off the head of their chief, attached it to a horse’s tail, and dragged it away with him.
Although Temüjin had lost several hundred men in the fighting, this was relatively minor for a battle of such magnitude. Several days after the defeat, Temüjin welcomed to his camp a number of people from Jamugha’s settlement who had abandoned Jamugha’s base for his own. Several of them moved with their entire camps, and they all berated Jamugha’s savagery.
Münglig along with seven children was among those who had left Jamugha’s camp and joined them. At the time of Yisügei’s death, Münglig had ridden out to fetch Temüjin at the Unggirad village. He then turned him over to Ö’elün’s care and rode off to the Tayichi’uds. All those who returned to their former service were without exception traitors who had once forsaken Temüjin and his family, but the case of Münglig was slightly different for Temüjin. Insofar as he had trusted him and taken him to be an ally, the blow at the time of his betrayal was enormous.
When he stood facing Münglig, Temüjin compelled himself to stifle all emotion. Looking into Temüjin’s face, Münglig anticipated that words berating him would emerge from Temüjin’s mouth, but the latter said not a grumbling word to this “traitor.” On the contrary, Temüjin offered words of happiness at Münglig’s health and compassionately received his seven children whom he brought with him. It was not that Temüjin had warm feelings for Münglig, but Münglig’s father, old man Charaqa, had once, when their settlement had withdrawn and left only Ö’elün’s yurt, tried to protect the poor mother and her children until the very end, when he died at the hand of the Tayichi’uds.
Entirely out of gratitude to Charaqa, Temüjin pledged to cherish Münglig and his seven children. Calling on Qasar and Belgütei, he ordered them: “Treat the son and grandchildren of Charaqa warmly.”
Just as Temüjin had no genuine sense of defeat in battle, Jamugha bore no feeling of victory. Jamugha had routed Temüjin’s armies, but he hadn’t marched his men any farther thereafter. As before, the Mongolian plateau remained divided among four powers: To’oril Khan, Jamugha, Temüjin, and the Tatars. On the surface nothing had changed, and it seemed as though nothing had been ruptured in the balance among them.
In the three years following his confrontation with Jamugha on the battlefield, Temüjin devoted himself largely to the unification of his camp. All the various Mongol lineages had gathered there, and there was no end to the confusing problems that ensued. What Temüjin worried most about was the fact that his cousins Seche Beki and Taichu opposed him on every issue that came up. They had pitched their own independent tent for the Yürkins and had not accepted Temüjin as their chief, and on occasion they had entertained the ambitious notion of actually replacing Temüjin. Seche Beki and Taichu were not the only defiant elements. His cousin Qochar, his uncle Daritai Odchigin, and Altan (son of Qutula Khan), among others, maintained private agendas, using every opportunity to extend their respective influences.
In his own camp, Temüjin never trusted this group of his “relatives.” It was at their prodding that he had been able to assume the position of khan, and in that connection he continued to countenance them, but he knew full well that a time was coming when he would perforce have to expel them. That event, though, was still off in the distant future. For now he had to plan for peace and harmony in his camp and avoid any discord as best he could. They all constituted significant fighting forces that would need to be invested in combat against other lineages. They might have to fight Jamugha at some point, and they might have to fight To’oril Khan.
Four years having passed since the battle against Jamugha, Temüjin was now in the first month of the year in which he turned thirty-five. The young men who had long shared hardships with him had all entered adulthood. His younger brothers Qasar and Belgütei were thirty-three, while his other brothers Qachi’un and Temüge were each about thirty—all in the prime of manhood. Bo’orchu, to whom Temüjin had entrusted so much as his right-hand man, was the same age as he, thirty-five, while his other “lieutenant,” Jelme, was thirty-eight.
At the new year’s celebration, Temüjin looked around at his trusted retainers arrayed before his tent, and for the first time in his life he sensed that there was something truly substantial in his camp. They were brimming with strength. No matter whose eyes he looked into, he found a courageous Mongol whom he had been picturing in his mind since youth. It was less that they shared the blood of the blue wolf than that each of them was a blue wolf. Bo’orchu, Jelme, Qasar, Belgütei, Qachi’un, and Temüge, as well as the short brothers, big-headed Chimbai and squinting Chila’un, everyone there was a blue wolf. It struck Temüjin that they were now wolves who had set up camp and were about to take the field. Their eyes reflected a light that bespoke a piercing ability to penetrate a thousand miles away and a ferocity that revealed a mighty will to make anything at all their own. Bodies built for attack had been stunningly perfected: lustrous torsos magnificent and rigid, limbs with just enough flesh to ride through snow fields and fierce winds, and full fleecy tails like a blade cutting through the air.
Temüjin looked over at a group of the women. Fifty-five-year-old Ö’elün had fifteen-year-old Küchü, the last remaining child of the Merkids, and fifteen-year-old Kököchü, who had the strange destiny to be born in the Tayichi’ud village and raised in Temüjin’s camp, waiting upon her. Temüjin had never seen his mother’s face so beaming with pride as it was at this moment. As was always her way of expressing it, Ö’elün said:
“Other than me, who can be the eyes to see in the daytime and ears to hear in the nighttime for the children who have no relatives?” She was raising these children who carried the blood of other races with kindness and courage.
To Ö’elün’s side was Temüjin’s wife, Börte. Börte was attended by Jochi, who was now ten years of age. Actually, in everyone’s estimation, it was more the other way around: she seemed to wait upon him. In her own distinct fashion, Börte had for the past ten years raised the people living in her tent strictly and with an extraordinary ardor which, at times, Temüjin found almost eerie. After Jochi, she had given birth in succession to three children: Cha’adai, Ögedei, and Tolui. In such a formal setting, the other three sons were entrusted to female attendants, while she always took the seat next to Jochi. Both Temüjin and Börte were anxious that Jochi become a wolf; they didn’t know if it would in fact come to pass, but this was the main trait that was to distinguish him from ordinary children. He was taciturn to the point that people might think him mute—and he never laughed. He had a keen sense of the sounds of the wind outside their tent and of people and animals passing by and was astoundingly able to recognize them.
Just as the boys seated in a row appeared to Temüjin as wolves, so too did Ö’elün and Börte appear to him at the time as pale does. Not only Ö’elün and Börte, but also the girls seated between them and waiting behind them seemed like a group of pale does looking on as the wolves marched off to battle.
“There’ll probably be a battle fought this year,” said old Qorchi.
“I think so too,” replied Münglig, who was accompanied by his seven intrepid children. Qorchi was past sixty years of age, and Münglig was over fifty. Their seniority always entitled them to seats of honor at such gatherings. If a battle did erupt, the opposition would be Jamugha or To’oril Khan. There was no need for a reason to be concocted for hostilities to commence. When someone had the will to fight, his opponent immediately became the enemy. As a group, most were of the view that Jamugha was more likely to be the opponent should fighting break out.
As these two old-timers would say, it seemed to Temüjin that the group of wolves here assembled should take to the field this year to topple the enemy. Such was his premonition, but he was uncertain who the enemy would be. Jamugha did not seem as though he would launch an assault, nor did To’oril Khan appear to be vigorously moving in his direction. Should it come to pass, it would be a problem for his own mind to fathom, and he had no idea at all where his own mind was moving for even the following day.
Temüjin’s premonition became a reality half a year later, at the end of the sixth month of the year. News that an army from the state of Jin had crossed the Great Wall and attacked the Tatars reached him via a merchant from the Unggirads, Börte’s people, and Temüjin immediately made the decision himself to attack the Tatars. Although Jin was also an enemy, the Tatars were a foe against whom the Mongols had long borne a grudge. Temüjin had never forgotten his father, Yisügei, saying, “Attack the Tayichi’uds, attack the Tatars!” Although he would follow this command in reverse order, he had to attack when the time for each was ripe. Were he to let this opportunity pass, he might not be able to conquer the Tatars and establish his predominance in the northeastern sector of the plateau for a long time to come. It was the chance of a lifetime.
Temüjin did precisely the same thing he had done ten years earlier when To’oril Khan hastily massacred the Merkids and departed. Although previously, To’oril Khan played the main role, that part now fell to Temüjin. Just as To’oril Khan had called on Jamugha at that time, now Temüjin had no choice but to invite To’oril Khan to join the fray. This would both double the size of the attacking army and surely provoke criticism by other peoples.
Belgütei and his subordinates went on the mission into the Black Forest by the banks of the Tula River. By the time Belgütei was to return, Temüjin had his entire armed force prepared to move. When Belgütei did return, he reported that To’oril Khan had already left the Black Forest at the head of the entire Kereyid army. Temüjin sensed that such a vulturelike, quick-witted movement to launch an attack and acquire spoils was just to the liking of To’oril Khan.
Temüjin’s army of 30,000 marched day and night to the northeast to reach the wilderness of the Mongolian plateau. On the tenth day, they met up with the army of To’oril Khan near the confluence of the Kherlen and Ulja rivers.
There, after the passage of ten years, Temüjin saw To’oril Khan, who was now over sixty years of age.
“My son,” said the aged commander, facing Temüjin with the same frigid eyes and brow changed not a whit from before, “if we massacre the Tatars, we will have to kill every single male. We must split the women, possessions, and sheep in half. Any objections? The Tatars are an enemy you Mongols cannot detest enough.”
“Agreed,” replied Temüjin. Revenge had to be taken on the Tatars. The blood of Mongol ancestors had been spilled by them any number of times. Qutula Khan and his six brothers had lost their lives fighting the Tatars. Hambaghai Khan had been captured by the Tatars and delivered into the hands of the Jin. The latter nailed him to a wooden donkey, flayed him alive, and cut up his flesh into tiny pieces. “You must take revenge for me on this enemy, even if you wear down all ten of your fingernails and then lose all ten fingers.” Even now Temüjin remembered this story and could hear the voice of old Bültechü who recounted it to him.
“My anda!” said To’oril Khan. “At sunrise on the third day following the division of the plunder, I shall return home with my army from the occupied area. And you do the same.”
“Agreed.” When Temüjin replied this time, To’oril Khan for the first time smiled at his sworn friend, who did not know if the other man might be his enemy.
Once they had agreed on the allocation of spoils and when mutually to withdraw, the attack would begin. From the northwest To’oril Khan and from the southwest Temüjin would launch the assault on the Tatars, who were engaged in battle with the Jin army and its superior equipment.
Facing enemies on three fronts, the Tatars were thoroughly annihilated at the end of seven days of mortal combat. Temüjin took a policy of not allowing a single enemy troop to live in battle. The Tatar chief, Me’üjin Se’ültü, was taken prisoner and brought before Temüjin, where they cut the crown of his head in half and he breathed his last. All the men taken captive were executed. The women were bound and assembled at one site, divided into two groups, and marched off respectively by To’oril Khan or Temüjin. When all of the valuable possessions had been stripped from the Tatar settlement nearby, it was burned to the ground.
To’oril Khan and Temüjin received thanks for their cooperation from the commander of the Jin forces, with To’oril Khan being given the title of “prince” and Temüjin the official post of “head of one hundred households.” Quietly, Temüjin also accepted the strange and, as far as he was now concerned, substantively valueless title of “pacification commissioner.” Although this did not appear entirely the attitude of To’oril Khan, Temüjin’s feelings were more complex. From his perspective, the mighty state of Jin on the other side of the Great Wall was also an implacable enemy. Someday, he thought, he would like to return his “pacification commissioner” title to the ruler of the Jin. But at this point, Temüjin kept such thoughts to himself and could not give form to them in any decisive way. He still lacked the luxury of being able to think about what transpired on the other side of the Great Wall.
The withdrawal of troops was carried out as agreed with To’oril Khan. While both Temüjin’s forces and those of To’oril Khan had several hundred vehicles loaded with mountains of plunder, there was a certain difference in their respective booty. Among Temüjin’s, as among To’oril Khan’s, were such items as silver baby carriages, large precious stones, and bedsteads with inlaid shells, but the majority of what they took was war chariots, weapons, and armor. Assembled here were all manner of things, some of course used by the Tatars and some formerly owned by the Jin army. Some things they took from the battlefield, and some they specifically purchased from the Jin.
There was one other odd item of booty. Qorchi, who joined the troops out of a sense of fulfilling a personal mission, got his hands on one infant orphan left in the Tatar encampment. He was wearing a waistcoat made of three-color damask lined with sable and with a gold ring attached as adornment. Although the baby eventually babbled a few words, his face bore signs of refinement revealing what appeared to be high birth. Having been so ordered, Qorchi had been able now for many years to fulfill Ö’elün’s desire. This child was presented to Ö’elün, and she gave him the name Shigi Qutuqu. He was to be raised in Ö’elün’s tent, so that this orphan of a Tatar black kite would become a Mongol falcon.
Upon his triumphal return to camp, Temüjin learned that a settlement under his control had been attacked in his absence by Seche Beki and Taichu of the Yürkins, several dozen people were stripped of their clothing, and a dozen or more were murdered. Temüjin had issued a mobilization order for the Yürkins in the now-completed battle against the Tatars. The Yürkins had not only failed to respond to it but also had the audacity to perpetrate this outrage while he was away at the front.
Temüjin quickly assembled an army to subjugate the Yürkins. This was a prime opportunity to wipe out Seche Beki, Taichu, and others like them. Their crimes were unmistakable. Without giving his relatives a moment to speak, Temüjin launched a surprise attack on the Yürkins along the Kherlen River, captured the brothers Seche Beki and Taichu, and decapitated them. He then had all the tents of their lineage moved to his own camp.
In the fighting, Qorchi found another orphaned youngster by the name of Boroghul, brought him back to camp, and presented him to Ö’elün.
“The Yürkins are the boldest among Mongols,” said Qorchi. “Boroghul is destined to be such a one. By the time Temüjin becomes king of the Mongolian plateau, there will be numerous foundlings thronging this tent.”
Qorchi had now begun to throw himself into the job of assembling orphans of conquered peoples. Ö’elün did not so much as wince at Qorchi’s words. She remained steadfastly dedicated to raising these youngsters as Mongols. Küchü, Kököchü, Shigi Qutuqu, and Boroghul were all being reared as brothers in the same yurt.
With the Tatars now having disappeared from the Mongolian plateau, the three separate powers of Temüjin the Mongol, To’oril Khan the Kereyid, and Jamugha the Jadaran divided the 200,000 nomads of the plateau into three groups. In the thirty-ninth year of Temüjin’s life, the allied armies of Temüjin and To’oril Khan would face Jamugha in battle, four years after the subjugation of the Tatars.
The decisive battle with Jamugha was to be a do-or-die, all-out confrontation for both Temüjin and To’oril Khan. Jamugha had gathered under his wings the Qatagin, Salji’ud, Ikires, Gorulas, Naiman, Tayichi’ud, and Oirat peoples, and he had completely absorbed settlements descended from the annihilated Tatars and Merkids. Even Börte’s natal people, the Unggirads, were geographically connected with Jamugha’s holdings.
Jamugha’s forces began the battle. When news of Jamugha’s march reached him, before he had even sorted out whether the report was true, To’oril Khan personally led his entire army to Temüjin’s camp. Temüjin welcomed the old commander into his tent, and they elaborated a plan of operations to repulse the attack of Jamugha’s huge army.
“Anda, before troubles erupt,” proposed To’oril Khan, “we must each send out our best units in equal troop strength to the front.”
“Agreed,” replied Temüjin, and he then sent as advance forces the three units under Altan, Quchar, and Daritai Odchigin. For his part, To’oril Khan selected the units under commanders Senggüm, Jaqa Gambu, and Bilge Beki.
Although it was initially a fairly well-planned strategy, once the fighting commenced, both To’oril Khan and Temüjin continued sending powerful fighting units to the front as needed, irrespective of the personal sacrifices incurred. Temüjin was ultimately left at his base camp with only Jelme’s forces, having already ordered those of Bo’orchu, Qasar, and Belgütei into battle. And To’oril Khan had done the same, ordering all but one unit to the front.
The battle lines spread across a frighteningly broad expanse of terrain. There was fighting along the upper and lower reaches of the Selengge, the Orkhon, the Onon, and the Kherlen rivers. From morning till nightfall, scouts conveyed news from the various zones incessantly. There were reports of victory and of defeat. On the fifth day after the fighting started, both sides saw a decisive battle forming. At the head of a large force, Jamugha began to move along the lower reaches of the Kherlen River.
When he learned this news, Temüjin turned to To’oril Khan and said:
“You stay here, old ‘father.’ I’ll march ahead.”
It was not in Temüjin’s temperament to trust To’oril Khan. Despite his long past as hegemon of the north, To’oril Khan was well into his sixties. Although he might not be able to trust him, Temüjin would probably not have had any chance of success fighting Jamugha alone. Without an all-out battle, victory or defeat could not be determined. Win or lose, both sides had to be prepared, or so it seemed, to incur serious casualties. Yet Temüjin felt he personally would have to go into battle to gain peace of mind.
Responding to Temüjin’s statement, To’oril Khan said:
“Little chicken, why do you take to the field by choice knowing that you may be wiped out? Jamugha is not your principal enemy. I’ll go.”
Temüjin tried to push his own plans further, but To’oril Khan, his slender, pallid face turning deep red, yelled:
“This is a decisive battle—we cannot lose it. Should I entrust it to you? You circle around to the left, and from there attack the Tayichi’uds on the left flank.”
Temüjin had no choice but to yield to To’oril Khan the most difficult war front holding the key to victory. Leading a main force of 10,000 men, To’oril Khan headed toward the lower reaches of the Kherlen River. Temüjin was to command 10,000 troops in an attack on the Tayichi’uds who were trying to protect Jamugha and march toward the middle reaches of the Onon River where he was based.
For the first time, Temüjin was to join battle on an immense scale with his perennial enemies, the Tayichi’uds. Dividing his forces into several groups, he surrounded the Tayichi’uds’ strongholds and then gradually tightened the noose around them. The fighting continued day and night.
During the battle, Temüjin was hit by an enemy arrow at sunset and suffered injury to a vein on his neck. Blood gushed out of the wound, but the fighting continued and with nightfall they were enveloped in darkness, so first aid could not reach him. The fighting ceased in the middle of the night, and Jelme sucked the blood from Temüjin’s wound with his lips. Each time he sucked some blood, he spit it out, and with all his strength he sucked so that not a droplet of poison would remain in Temüjin’s body. By morning, the surface of the earth around them was soaked in dark red blood.
The following morning two men from the surrounded Tayichi’ud settlement moved over to Temüjin’s camp. They were Sorqan Shira, father of Chimbai and Chila’un, and a ruddy-complexioned young man of twenty-five or twenty-six. Temüjin owed Sorqan Shira a favor for having helped him once, and he thus protected the older man. As for the younger man, he launched an interrogation.
“What kind of fighter are you?”
“I’m an archer.”
“Why have you surrendered to us?”
“I’ve run out of arrows.”
“Do you know who the mighty archer was who broke the jawbone of my yellow steed and inflicted this wound on my neck?”
The young man seemed to be thinking for a moment and then replied:
“It was probably me. That was my arrow shot from the top of a hill.”
“Knowing that, I can’t let you live.”
“Fine, kill me then!” he said.
Temüjin, though, was not interested in executing the young man. The radiance in the eyes of this ordinary soldier who, with no consideration for his own safety, responded truthfully reflected beautifully in Temüjin’s own eyes. Parrying Temüjin’s gaze, he refused to avert his eyes and yelled out:
“Cut off my head quickly then and be done with it!”
“Don’t be in such a hurry to die,” said Temüjin. “You can serve at my side. If I issue an order, you are to do whatever I say.”
The young man remained silent, staring intently at Temüjin, who went on: “I shall give you the name Jebe,” meaning weapon.
Now the expression on the young man’s face changed, though he was still quiet. The name Jebe seemed appropriate to everyone assembled there. Not only was he an extremely capable archer, but also his mind was as sharp as an arrowhead. News arrived that evening from To’oril Khan’s camp that Jamugha’s main force had been destroyed and that they were pursuing Jamugha, who was now in flight.
Temüjin thoroughly mopped up the Tayichi’uds. His only regret was that they had been unable to capture their chief, Targhutai, but virtually every member of the lineage had been annihilated, so that the name Tayichi’ud would never again be mentioned by anyone on the Mongolian plateau. From Temüjin’s perspective, the Tayichi’uds were relations of a sort, a people with the same ancestors, but he showed no mercy. Among the prisoners were many from the Borjigin line whose faces he had known from the camp they shared in his youth, and there were even a fair number of close relatives among them, but Temüjin regarded them all as mortal enemies. He accepted none of their appeals or defenses.
“For Tayichi’ud males,” ordered Temüjin, “kill them as far as their descendants’ descendants. Turn them into ashes to be blown away!”
And all men from the Tayichi’ud settlement were beheaded. The women and girls were assembled at a specific site and forced to clean up the execution grounds day in and day out. The only ones in the Tayichi’ud camp who were spared and allowed to join Temüjin’s camp were Sorqan Shira, father of Chimbai and Chila’un, and the young man whom Temüjin had named Jebe.
From the time when the mopping-up operation was nearly complete, the troops began retreating from the battlefield. Bo’orchu, Belgütei, and Qasar returned from the front. Then a number of units under To’oril Khan’s command returned. All of them had distinguished themselves magnificently on the battlefield. The last to return to camp was To’oril Khan’s own unit that had forced Jamugha’s main army into full retreat.
The section of the new battlefield still reeking from the stench of spilled blood was eventually turned over by Temüjin’s and To’oril Khan’s troops. The scene of innumerable warriors digging up the plains as far as the eye could see under a vast blue sky, as they climbed up a hillside, seemed to continually unfold like a luxuriously thick carpet.
On the third day following To’oril Khan’s triumphal return, he and Temüjin went to the edge of a hill that had been prepared for their meeting. They both marched there with an ostentatious guard, but only the two men entered the tent provided for the meeting.
“It’s all very cumbersome,” said To’oril Khan with a forced smile. “Two men cooperate, bring down Jamugha, and notify each other of victories; why do they have to meet in this way?”
Temüjin also had a bitter smile on his face. It was precisely as To’oril Khan had put it. Yet both sides felt the need to do things in this manner.
For now Temüjin and To’oril Khan were the two rulers dividing the Mongolian plateau. What had once been divided in three with Jamugha was now simply divided in two. Although Jamugha was on the run, a large number of the troops formerly under his command had been disarmed by To’oril Khan and awaited judgment in their home settlements.
According to the pact agreed upon by the two men before the battle that had just transpired, everything belonging to peoples under Jamugha—men, women, sheep, horses, valuables, and weapons—was to be equally divided. Unlike after the destruction of the Merkids and Tatars, though, there was not much in the way of booty. The principal lineages were the Salji’ud, Ikires, Gorulas, Tayichi’ud, Oirat, Unggirad, and Naiman—small groups and settlements spread across the expansive Mongolian plateau. Dividing them up fairly was, as a practical matter, impossible.
“My son,” said To’oril Khan, “I shall give you whichever lineage you wish. You choose first.”
“But the defeat of Jamugha’s main army was Father’s accomplishment. I offer you to select first the lineage you wish,” said Temüjin, conceding the privilege to To’oril Khan.
“The Unggirads,” said To’oril Khan abruptly.
The Unggirads were the wealthiest people on the plateau. Of all the peoples, they were the one Temüjin wanted most, as his wife, Börte, was born among them, but there was nothing he could do now. Börte’s father, Dei Sechen, had already passed away.
“Tayichi’uds,” said Temüjin.
“Oirats,” replied To’oril Khan.
“Salji’uds,” continued Temüjin.
In this extremely rough method of division, the two conquerors one by one clearly took possession of the war booty spread over the plateau. In the end only the Naimans were left. The reason was that the only thing they had was their name, nothing substantive to take. They were of Turkic stock and the strangest people on the Mongolian plateau; there was no reason they should have been subordinate to Jamugha, To’oril Khan, or Temüjin in the first place. Although they lived on the same plateau, they were geographically isolated on a side facing the Altai mountain range. They were also economically self-sufficient. For some reason, then, they had responded to Jamugha’s invitation, sending one small unit of troops to aid Jamugha in battle.
“We’ll have to send a joint force of troops the long distance to the Naimans,” said To’oril Khan.
“When?” asked Temüjin.
“Within the year probably. Until then we each have much that needs to be done.”
As To’oril Khan indicated, much remained for them to attend to. It was certainly not going to be an easy matter to pacify the peoples now destined to fall under their control.
Once they had divided up the plunder, just between the two of them Temüjin and To’oril Khan exchanged toasts of congratulations on their victory. Under normal circumstances, they would have held a large banquet together with their many commanders, but they decided not to do so. The feeling in both of their minds was, for lack of a better way of putting it, that it was safer to avoid this line of action.
Temüjin understood full well that, while a joint operation with To’oril Khan against the Naimans within the year was fine, after the attack there would be a struggle between the two conquerors, whether or not they wished it. There had to be a single ruler over the Mongolian plateau. To’oril Khan and Temüjin could not rule jointly.
Promising each other that the next morning at sunrise they would return with their armies to their respective base camps, the two commanders rose from their seats. Then, just as they had arrived, they each withdrew to their bases with an ostentatious, armed military escort.
The following dawn the two military companies departed from the battlefield in opposite directions. After marching for a short while, Temüjin was suddenly overcome with a burning desire to launch a surprise attack on To’oril Khan’s forces. His thinking ran as follows: To’oril Khan’s army of 100,000 men, divided in thirds, had just then begun to move, marching like a linked chain; if he were to thrust a three-pronged attack in from the flank, bringing To’oril Khan down would not be that difficult. At the same time that Temüjin was pushing this ambitious desire aside, though, he sensed that To’oril Khan probably had the very same wish, and he issued an order to his entire army to lose no time in taking up battle formations. He wanted to be prepared on the off chance that To’oril Khan might launch an attack.
With his troops battle ready, they kept up a forced march. When they finally pitched camp, Temüjin was able to relax his vigilance.
After a march of several days, his forces returned triumphantly to base camp, but after only one night there, a unit of troops decamped again. They were taking appropriate measures toward the peoples who now came under Temüjin’s control.
Temüjin entrusted the operation to two young officers. One was Jelme’s younger brother Sübe’etei, and the other was Muqali. Both were young men who had joined Temüjin’s camp with large numbers of others after he had withdrawn from Jamugha’s camp. Sübe’etei was now twenty-eight, and Muqali was thirty-one.
These two men had fought with great distinction and on a number of occasions been the cause of victory. As a reward, Temüjin accorded them this important task, which came with a great deal of authority. After a night in camp with no time to rest, they set off with 2,000 men to occupy settlements of a number of conquered lineages.
After about two weeks’ time, a group of Tayichi’ud women and an inordinately large number of sheep and horses were transported to them. Temüjin put the women to work as servants for his own people, sent the horses to be used for fighting, and released the sheep into joint pasturage.
From other conquered peoples, only young men to be incorporated into the military were sent in. No older folks, women, flocks of sheep, or valuable items arrived. Temüjin was pleased with all the arrangements made by his two young officers. Tasks that he had in the past given to Bo’orchu and Jelme, he now gave Sübe’etei and Muqali.
And not only these two men; Temüjin appointed numerous other young men to take up a string of posts. As a result, Bo’orchu, Jelme, Qasar, and Belgütei, who held important positions in Temüjin’s camp, were able to absorb themselves in a variety of even more important and complex duties on various fronts. Temüjin and his key vassals were now extremely busy supervising the activities of nearly 200,000 people.
The following year, 1202, Temüjin turned forty. Word reached him at a new year’s banquet that remnants of the Tatars, who had earlier allegedly been annihilated, had attacked a lineage under Temüjin’s banner. He immediately brought the festivities to a close and decided to mobilize his forces for an assault on the Tatars.
Many reports claiming that the Tatars had begun maneuvering had arrived since the previous autumn, but out of regard for To’oril Khan, Temüjin hesitated to muster his army. Whenever a large army was assembled on the Mongolian plateau, it was necessary for Temüjin and To’oril Khan to have a mutual understanding. This was not because of a clearly delineated pact between them; rather, something on the order of a tacit understanding had emerged that necessitated this course of action. This was still more necessary in the case of the Tatars, over whom jurisdiction was still undecided.
In this instance, however, Temüjin developed a strategy without warning To’oril Khan. The time available to report to To’oril Khan was extremely limited, and he considered crushing the Tatars by sending troops with lightning speed. Not giving his rival time to so much as say a word, he could make the Tatar terrain his own.
Before departing for battle, Temüjin issued two orders. One prohibited all acts of looting in the occupied areas, and the other stated that, in the event of their forces being repulsed, they were to return to the initial site of attack to ambush the enemy there, and under no circumstances were they to flee of their own accord.
At the head of a force of 10,000 men, Temüjin traversed the wintry plateau. They were all cavalry, and both horses and soldiers marched through ferocious winds, making sounds like the incessant cracking of whips. Although the battle unfolded from Dalan Nemürges to the Ulqui River, it was over in only three days. Jebe performed brilliantly on the battlefield. The young man who had once broken the jawbone of Temüjin’s mount and injured a vein in Temüjin’s own neck was a stunning archer, but in hand-to-hand fighting he was even more powerful. Controlling his horse’s torso with his legs and sitting up high on horseback, he was able to move his hands freely and manipulate his spear. In so doing, he attacked like a torrential storm, like something beyond human powers. Any opening of a line of assault was due to Jebe’s abilities. He was an invulnerable steel arrow.
All of the men among the Tatar captives were assembled in one place and put to death. Temüjin had shown not the least compassion for either the Tatars or the Tayichi’uds. His younger half-brother, Belgütei, made a small blunder at this time. He informed one of the prisoners of the council’s judgment that no men would be allowed to live. The Tatar captives thus rose in rebellion again, seized weapons, and put up a fortress. Another, smaller battle ensued in which several dozen of Temüjin’s men died. Temüjin then for the first time fiercely reprimanded his younger brother and longtime right-hand man, and thereafter Belgütei was forbidden from participating in all council deliberations.
There was one further important incident that took place during this fighting. Temüjin’s close kinsmen and military officers Altan, Quchar, and Daritai had violated military discipline and plundered precious goods for themselves. When he learned of this, Temüjin immediately sent Jebe and Qubilai Noyan [a “commander” not to be confused with the famous Mongol khan several generations later] and had them confiscate everything plundered—horses and valuables—from the three men.
While he was in the now emptied Tatar village, Temüjin divided up all the spoils among his entire armed forces, and he had his soldiers freely take one woman each. Temüjin selected for his own share two daughters of the Tatar chief: Yisügen and Yisüi. Temüjin’s idea was that he would have every single Tatar woman, enemies of his ancestors for generations, give birth to illegitimate Mongol children. Temüjin himself pondered having his two new women from the purest of Tatar stock bear children who shared his own blood. In his field bed one night, he violated the two young sisters. This was the first time that Temüjin had personally made the women of a conquered people his own. He was fascinated by them—so that we can’t say this was merely an act of revenge—for the bodies of these nubile young women of this alien people were so different from that of his wife, Börte.
Eventually Temüjin set out on the return trip. Groups of women, sheep, and horses were placed at the tail end of the long procession. This time the troops were not making fierce sounds in the wind, as when they set off for the front. Though there was no howling in the wind, the continuous wailing of the women at the end of the procession could be heard day and night. They were unwilling to be resigned to the sad fortunes visited upon them.
Shortly after Temüjin’s celebratory return home, he learned that, just as he had attacked the Tatars and completely pacified them, so too had To’oril Khan dispatched troops to a Merkid area where their remnant elements were slowly becoming active and crushed them. Temüjin surmised that To’oril Khan’s actions were a direct response to Temüjin’s own—if Temüjin can do this, then I can as well!
The two men took no offense at each other’s actions. When the light of spring began to shine, the Mongolian plateau once again returned to its early state of quiet. To’oril Khan and Temüjin were both busy building up their forces for the day, which everyone knew was coming, when they would be fighting each other.
Temüjin remained vigilant about training all of his men as soldiers. All of the lineages and peoples now under Mongol control worked in the pasturelands by turns, and when they were not with the flocks they received intense battlefield instruction. Maneuvers were consumed with group cavalry training. From high-ranking leaders Qasar, Belgütei, Bo’orchu, and Jelme to such first-rate fighters as Qachi’un, Temüge, Sübe’etei, Muqali, Qubilai Noyan, and Jebe all the way to Temüjin’s son Jochi, they all dashed about the grasslands, bathed in dust and perspiration. They were all wolves now espying the mighty enemy To’oril Khan. At one point, Qasar addressed the assembled troops as their commander:
“March and spread out like the plains themselves. Take up your positions flowing out like the sea. And fight like chisels thrust into the enemy!”
Mongol soldiers were trained in the manner indicated by Qasar’s words.
That fall Temüjin received a completely unexpected piece of news, that Jamugha had affixed himself to To’oril Khan’s camp. After his defeat by the joint armies of To’oril Khan and Temüjin, Jamugha had escape far to the north, but he had now reappeared with a sizable body of men in To’oril Khan’s camp. Instead of executing him on the spot, To’oril Khan welcomed Jamugha and his followers as a fighting force under his wing.
Soon after hearing this report about Jamugha, Altan and Quchar conspired to leave the Mongol encampment with the men under them and take refuge with To’oril Khan. They were still angry at the severe reprimand Temüjin had delivered for their violation of military discipline. The defections of Altan and Quchar, though, were not a matter of great importance for Temüjin now. Even had they not rebelled, they were the germ of a disease that eventually would have to have been extirpated. And thus, Temüjin sensed that his conflict with To’oril Khan was slowly but surely emerging to the surface.
In the spring of the following year, 1203, a messenger from To’oril Khan’s base arrived.
“My anda, my beloved son,” he reported in To’oril Khan’s name. “The time has come to send an army against the Naimans. At present, my army is making all preparations to cross the Altai Mountains.”
Temüjin soon sent his own messenger in response to To’oril Khan’s:
“My anda, my father. Mongol troops are prepared for an assault on the Naimans and are standing by. We await father anda’s order. Anda, roar like a great tiger enraged! Cross the Altai Mountains!”
Temüjin knew that the attack on the Naimans would move to a battle between the Kereyids and Mongols that would decide overlordship on the plateau. From the moment that the Naimans were defeated, Kereyids and Mongols would see one another as the enemy. Not only Temüjin foresaw this; To’oril Khan was at least as aware of it as he. In this sense the declaration of attack on the Naiman people that To’oril Khan and Temüjin exchanged was itself a declaration of war against each other.
Less than one month later, the two armies acting in concert moved soldiers to the base area of this Turkic people holding sway over the western section of the plateau. Temüjin selected 30,000 crack troops and marched off himself at their head.
Temüjin had thought that To’oril Khan’s troops would not be able to cross the Altai Mountains easily because of the deep, lingering snow there. And for his part, To’oril Khan had not thought that either his own or Temüjin’s troops would be able to cross them. Nonetheless, both armies crossed the Altai chain at about the same time and surged into the camp of the Küchü’üds, who were the strongest soldiers among the Naimans. Wholesale carnage and plunder ensued.
Once they had attacked the Küchü’üd people, neither army remained long, but at about the same time regrouped. Although it was not apparent on the surface, both sides used the attack on the Naimans as a pretext to observe if the time was right to attack the other.
Soon after returning from the assault on the Naimans, Temüjin learned that the Naimans had retreated into the Black Forest by the Tula River and that To’oril Khan’s forces had accordingly fought hard against them. Not one to miss an opportunity, Qasar argued that they should attack To’oril Khan now. Jelme and Bo’orchu both agreed, but Temüjin was hesitant. While this was clearly a prime opportunity to defeat To’oril Khan, such a victory seemed as though it would leave a very unpleasant aftertaste.
“Sixteen years ago,” said Temüjin, “when we were extremely weak and about to engage in a battle without chance of success to retrieve Börte from the Merkids, didn’t To’oril Khan come to our aid? We are what we have become today because of him. We shall save To’oril Khan one time and then have repaid the debt incurred. If we should save him right now, then I would surely have no regrets later. In the present battle against the Naimans, I sensed nothing in particular to fear from To’oril Khan’s troops.”
This was indeed an accurate reflection of what Temüjin was thinking. While he never would have said that To’oril Khan’s troops were inferior to the Mongols in their fighting capacity, there was nothing extraordinary about them either. Their commanders were skilled on the battlefield and they always attained victory with minimal sacrifice, but in hand-to-hand combat in which a single soldier felled another, they seemed to reveal an unexpected weakness. By comparison, no matter how small the scale of combat, Mongol soldiers won by defeating their counterparts on an individual level. The Kereyid troops struck Temüjin as simply courageous soldiers, but the Mongol troops were wolves on the prowl for blood, with their long tongues hanging out, drooling saliva, panting.
When he had prevailed upon his commanders, Temüjin hurried to Baidaraq (Baidrag) River to assist To’oril Khan. There they came to the aid of To’oril Khan’s son, Senggüm, who was in the midst of a difficult fight, and extricated his wife and sons who had been taken captive.
Soon after Temüjin returned to camp, To’oril Khan arrived there with a small detail of troops. It was an extremely bold move on his part. He had come to thank Temüjin for his assistance and to seek the establishment of a mutual pact. While the two men until this point in time had always spoken to each other as “my anda, father” and “my anda, son,” they had not formally sworn an oath.
Despite this, the level of drive on To’oril Khan’s part to seek such a pact was unfathomable to Temüjin. There was nothing that seemed meaningless or comical about the vow of friendship between the two men now. Temüjin responded to To’oril Khan’s offer. He set up seats in the area before his tent, assembled several thousand of his followers there, and carried out the ceremony of exchanging vows of friendship with To’oril Khan.
Temüjin faced the old commander and raised a wine cup to him, but To’oril Khan retained the cold visage and frigid eye of his youth, and there was no indication whatsoever in him of a decline into old age. Although he had not a single strand of hair tied up on his head, there was a certain beauty and an eeriness shining in its silvery hue.
“I would like to give my daughter Cha’ur Beki to your son Jochi in marriage,” said To’oril Khan. “This will strengthen the bonds between our two families. For if there is a serpent with fangs separating our families, there will be dissension between us.”
Temüjin agreed. Although he had no inclination to take To’oril Khan at his word, he saw no need to brush off the older man’s extended hand.
Soon after he returned to the Black Forest, To’oril Khan came back to invite Temüjin to a banquet celebrating the wedding of Cha’ur Beki and Jochi. While he continued to look upon To’oril Khan as his enemy, Temüjin thought at the time that this news was wonderful. To lure Temüjin into his camp, To’oril Khan first made the trip to the Mongol camp himself, without any guards. In so doing, To’oril Khan demonstrated his outstanding capacity to deal with a rival.
Temüjin had no desire at all to set off for the Black Forest of the Kereyids. To do so meant certain death. So he consulted with Qasar and Belgütei as to how to respond to To’oril Khan. He had to turn down the invitation, offering something that more or less resembled a valid reason.
As he reached this judgment, two servants from To’oril Khan’s settlement by the names of Badai and Kishiliq arrived and announced that the Black Forest by the Tula River was teeming with armed soldiers. When he heard this, Temüjin’s eyes suddenly became animated. So this will be the final battle with To’oril Khan, he thought. Temüjin immediately informed To’oril Khan’s messenger that he would be overjoyed to accept the invitation to this congratulatory feast.
Once he had sent the messengers off, Temüjin issued an order for his entire army to mobilize. He had them take their best weapons and dress in their best armor. On the evening following their arrival at the Black Forest for the banquet, several tens of thousands of cavalry troops pitched camp. Then several dozen groups of soldiers and horses left camp and fanned out across the grasslands.
At dawn on the day of the celebration, To’oril Khan and Temüjin, each leading several tens of thousands of troops, spread across the plains known as the Black Desert. Both armies took up commanding positions.
After conferring with Bo’orchu, Jelme, and Qasar, among others, Temüjin arrayed members of the Uru’ud and Mangghud peoples, who were renowned among the Mongols for their great bravery, into the first battle formation. From his earliest years, Temüjin had heard how extraordinary these two peoples were on the battlefield. To this day, he remembered mention of these two ethnic groups by Börtechü, that old man with the phenomenal memory, when he recounted the Mongolian ancestors from the blue wolf and pale doe down through more than twenty generations.
—Among the sons of Qabichi Ba’atur was Tudun. Tudun had seven sons. The eldest was Qachi Külüg, who could ride a horse as fast as the wind. His wife was Nomolun, and they gave birth to your famed ancestor Qaidu. Qachi Külüg’s six younger brothers bore the following names in order: Qachin, Qachi’u, Qachula, Qachi’un, Qaraldai, and Nachin Ba’atur, the youngest. Nachin Ba’atur had two sons who in the give and take of life loved the deity of battle more than even food, and they were the ancestors of the Uru’ud and Mangghud peoples, whom they did not know in their own lives—
It seemed that the blood of the god of war whom they loved more than food had been passed down unchanged to the Uru’ud and Mangghud peoples. In the battles thus far fought, their movements on the field were without peer. From an early age, they were trained in the use of the cutting ring and the spear. Their courage and gallantry were such that, when they switched battle arrays or when they adopted a circling-back strategy to attack the enemy in the rear, the black banners of the Uru’uds and the scarlet banners of the Mangghuds made their skill at advance and retreat seem perfectly exacting.
Temüjin summoned Jürchedei, a leader of the Uru’uds, a short, ruddy-faced, unprepossessing old man. Just as he accepted the order to serve in the advance troops, his eyes shone and he said in a low, hoarse voice:
“We accept your command whatever it may be. So, then, may I and my people devour the Kereyids.”
Temüjin then summoned Quyildar, a leader of the Mangghuds, and conveyed to him the same order. Shy and stammering, Quyildar replied with embarrassment:
“We shall do as the Uru’uds, grab every single K-K-Kereyid, and d-d-devour them.”
At the moment hostilities commenced, countless scarlet and black banners unfurled widely across the front. They had both cavalry and foot soldiers. Against them, To’oril Khan sent his crack cavalry of the Jirgins. The black and scarlet banners advanced, troops shouting out fiercely, though calmly. They pressed the assault, splitting the enemy cavalry into small clusters, and as the Jirgins looked on in blank amazement, knocked them off. They effectively did, just as their words indicated, gobble up the enemy one by one.
In the wake of the Jirgins, Tümen Tübe’en troops of whom To’oril Khan was extremely proud surged in like a tidal wave. The Uru’uds tried to tie them up and were put to rout, but the Mangghuds circled around from the flank and cut them off. The Tümen Tübe’en banner was “consumed” after ferocious fighting.
Then, a company with the banner of the Olan Dongqayid came out of the enemy camp in a quick attack. The Mangghuds were shattered and lost about half of their men, but the Uru’uds circled around the enemy’s rear and dispersed them. Next, To’oril Khan’s captain of 1,000 guard troops rushed in with clouds of dust to come to the aid of Olan Dongqayid. The Mangghuds defeated them, but Quyildar was stabbed by an enemy soldier and, pierced by a spear, he fell from his horse to the ground.
With an earth-shattering noise, 10,000 troops from To’oril Khan’s main encampment now advanced. Temüjin’s main force moved to the front to meet them. The scarlet and black banners of the Uru’uds and Mangghuds seemed to disappear in massive swarms of the enemy’s immense army.
From then until evening, shouts, screams, and the neighing of military horses incessantly arose from the clouds of sand that covered the plains. When the crimson sunset, even more inflamed than usual, filled half the sky, the deadly fighting that had escalated all day long came to an end.
Protected by 1,000 bodyguards, Temüjin stood on a low-lying hillock. The battlefield was covered with corpses from both sides, and the banners of exhausted and wounded soldiers were planted at the top of small hills here and there, spread out in waves.
There was Bo’orchu’s banner and Jelme’s, and far to the north were those of Qasar and Belgütei next to each other. He also saw the banners of Qachi’un, Temüge, Jochi, and Jebe. Each of these had been planted on hills, but the number of troops around them had been sharply reduced, and a silence pervaded their facial expressions.
Although Temüjin had defeated To’oril Khan and forced him to flee, he did not issue an order to pursue. He had 1,000 bodyguards, but many of them had been seriously injured. Münglig, his face reddened with blood, had put together information based on reports sent in from troops here and there on the plain. The whereabouts of Bo’orchu, Temüjin’s third son, Ögedei, and Boroghul, whom Ö’elün had raised as a foundling, remained unknown.
Each time he heard such a report from Münglig, Temüjin, his erect posture completely unaffected, ever so slightly moved the muscles of his cheeks. In fact, he moved them continually, as news of the deaths of so many Mongol warriors was being conveyed to him one after the next by Münglig.
Temüjin then issued an order to muster the entire army. Perhaps half, maybe a third of his forces were present. In the end, not a single man from the Uru’ud or Mangghud peoples appeared. It seemed as though they had been annihilated, gobbled up by the enemy.
Temüjin ordered his men to make camp there. When light began to shine on the battlefield the following morning, only Bo’orchu returned on foot, having suffered numerous wounds to his body. When he gazed directly at Bo’orchu’s face, Temüjin’s own face was wet with tears.
“Let it be known in heaven,” he said, “that the Mongol warrior Bo’orchu has returned.” Temüjin then beat his chest. Bo’orchu explained that, while pursuing an escaping enemy soldier, he fell from his horse. After waking from a long blackout, he walked straight through the night to reach camp.
Around midday Boroghul returned to camp, leading the seriously wounded Ögedei on horseback. When he took Ögedei down from the horse and handed him over to others, Boroghul said:
“The enemy took flight to the foothills of the Ma’u Heights in the direction of Hula’an Burughad, and there disappeared.” The fearless young man had on him the blood of the Jirgins.
Temüjin did a roll call of his men. Aside from the wounded, 2,600 men remained with battlefield readiness. Leaving half of them at the field, he led the other half to take control of the settlements formerly under the now routed To’oril Khan. He linked up en route with 1,300 Uru’ud and Mangghud survivors who had earlier vanished from the fighting. The heroic Quyildar of the Mangghuds had sustained a serious wound, and soon after he met up with Temüjin, he died. Temüjin had his remains buried near the top of Mount Or Nu’u of the Qalqa River. This was a site at which, day and night, the wind howled as it slammed into the face of the rocky crags, a most appropriate spot for Quyildar’s grave.
When he learned that there were Unggirads nearby, Temüjin sent the brothers Chimbai and Chila’un to encourage and receive their surrender. Temüjin marched farther and camped east of Tüngge Stream. From there it was but a half-day’s journey to To’oril Khan’s Black Forest.
Temüjin sent a messenger to To’oril Khan:
“My father, anda, I have not forgotten my debt to you. I therefore came to the assistance of your son Senggüm when he was in the midst of a bitter fight. Despite this, you have prevaricated and plotted to kill me. My father, anda, I shall before long attack you in the Black Forest. There we shall fight the last fight.”
Temüjin did not spare much time before attacking the Black Forest of To’oril Khan. That night he ordered his entire army to charge into the forest. Although the wolves were injured, their striking power had not lost its force.
For three days and three nights, the decisive battle raged on. The deadly fight unfolded around every tree and stone. The scarlet and black banners ran day and night throughout the woods.
Late in the night of the third day, the final resistance of the Kereyids was smashed. Several hundred settlements now became prey to the Mongol wolves. The men were killed and the women were tied up. To’oril Khan’s corpse was discovered four days later far to the north of the Black Forest. He had sustained an attack by another lineage and died. The corpse of his son Senggüm also turned up, and only the whereabouts of Jamugha remained unknown.
As was appropriate upon the death of such an extraordinary commander as To’oril Khan, Temüjin ordered all Kereyid males to follow their leader. One by one the Kereyid men were executed.
Temüjin then had one company of troops pitch camp in the Black Forest, where no men were left alive, and he himself took women and valuables as he joined the triumphal return home. There was now not a single force opposed to Temüjin on the Mongolian plateau. He had disposed of the Tatars, dispatched the Tayichi’uds, destroyed Jamugha’s army, and annihilated the Kereyids, who had long taken pride in their preeminence on the plateau. Temüjin, though, was not seething with the feeling of a victor. He was rather overcome with the sensation that a long and painful internal discord had finally settled down.
On the second night of their march, Temüjin walked up the incline of the plain where the sick and wounded soldiers had camped late in the night. Several hundred tents were quietly lined up like so many graves. In every tent he looked into, his commanders and soldiers slept like the dead. Bo’orchu slept, as did Jelme and Muqali. All of them—officers and men alike—had the appearance of beggars.
When Temüjin returned to his own tent, Qasar woke and rose from his bed. Qasar, too, was wearing tattered armor and clothing.
“The army will rest this entire year,” said Temüjin. “Next year we shall cross the Altai Mountains.”
“And attack the Naimans?” asked Qasar.
“Yes, attack the Naimans,” said Temüjin. “The Mongols’ best fighters should be wearing fine attire, should live in stunning dwellings, and should have large water jugs and elegant beds. Our exceptional Mongol soldiers should have the best weaponry and should ride in the best war chariots.”
Temüjin and To’oril Khan had crossed the Altai Mountains and attacked the Naimans, but it was only a brief invasion, hardly an attack at all. During that invasion, however, Temüjin had come to see the lifestyle of a people completely different from the impoverished Mongols. They had musical instruments, elegant altars, stylish and sensible kitchens, writing that enabled them to record any and every event, temples where many people would gather, and homes that were fixed to the ground and did not move.
“With the new year we shall cross the Altai Mountains,” said Temüjin. “We shall pacify the Naimans and make use of the new weaponry they possess as our own.”
Not until this time did it first occur to Temüjin that he would have to fight against the Jin state of the Jurchen people. Since he had destroyed both the Tatars and the Tayichi’uds, the only enemy of his ancestors that remained was the Jin state, which would have to be attacked and defeated last. Temüjin revealed none of this to Qasar. Invading the Jin was still on the order of a fantasy in the minds of all Mongolian wolves, except Temüjin. And for the third time, he opened his mouth and spoke:
“We shall have to cross the Altai Mountains.”
From that year into the next, Temüjin devoted himself to pacification of the conquered peoples on the Mongolian plateau and to rebuilding. He strictly forbade the wounding or killing of others under any and all circumstances. Anyone who injured another was to be executed. Theft was similarly dealt with severely. Anyone who stole a sheep or horse was put to the sword.
At the same time, all able-bodied men living in settlements on the Mongolian plateau received military training. The army was arranged with 1,000 men to a company, with a captain in charge, and beneath each of these were the heads of groups of 100 men and groups of 10 men. Temüjin stationed troops at sites all across the Mongolian plateau, enabling him to move warriors to any desired location.
He freely moved settlements of peoples and their flocks of sheep, and to open new grazing land, he gave them great leeway in their lives. He also gradually completed the placement of necessary settlements for his militarized state.
In the early summer of 1204, the year following his defeat of To’oril Khan, Temüjin raised an army of conquest against the Naimans and, after sacrificing before the flag, set off. Earlier, the Küchü’üds of the Naimans had collaborated with To’oril Khan in their attack, but this time their adversary was the ruler of the entire Naiman people, Tayang Khan. Temüjin hoped to bring all the Naimans under his control. His troops followed the Kherlen River upstream, and when they crossed a branch of the Altai Mountains, they raided farther and farther into enemy terrain. Tayang Khan concentrated and deployed his troops along the lower reaches of the Tamir River, where he expected to meet the Naimans in battle. For Temüjin this was a battle unlike any he had fought to date. The enemy had several hundred war chariots, and archers clad in dignified uniforms and armor were placed in the area between the chariots as if embedded there.
Until the fighting actually began, the Mongol officers could not surmise how the battle would unfold. There were among the Naiman troops soldiers of different ethnicities, and they held their own new weapons, different from those of the Naimans.
There then rang out from the Naiman position the loud and magnificent sounds of drums and gongs. They reverberated across the plains all the way to Temüjin’s camp, but hostilities did not begin so simply. That night numerous bonfires at random sites were lit up in the enemy camp.
The next day, the two armies faced each other, waiting for the time to strike, and on the morning of the third day Temüjin summoned his commanders and ordered them to start the attack at noon. Qasar, in charge of the front-line troops, asked:
“How shall we fight them?”
“Qasar,” replied Temüjin with a smile, “shouldn’t it be just as you put it: spread out like the plains themselves, take up positions like the sea, and fight ferociously like chisels thrust into the enemy! Is there a better way to proceed? Do you know any other way?”
And that was what Qasar proceeded to do. With shouts and calls, Mongol companies spread out dexterously like the plains and took up countless positions like the sea. A moment later, fierce fighting ensued like chisels thrust into the enemy. The battle, now advancing and now retreating, continued into the evening.
“Aha, four Mongol wolves have set off,” said Temüjin, looking down from above onto the battlefield, the words slipping from his mouth unawares. Until just then, Jebe, Jelme, Qubilai Noyan, and Sübe’etei had been waiting for the right opportunity to advance to the front lines, possibly in compliance with Qasar’s order; each led their company and rode at the head diagonally over the open field, which described a gentle slope. To be sure, these were the four wolves who had been let loose. In body and mind, they were made of iron. As necessity demanded, their mouths could become chisels and their tongues awls. In place of whips, they held cutting rings. They raced on, brushing off dewdrops, mowing down the grass, and riding on the wind.
Just as the four wolves rushed into the front lines, the enemy troops, as if this was some sort of signal, began all together to retreat.
“They’re circling around,” said Temüjin in distress. “The wolf cubs loosed early this morning seem to be circling around to suckle their mother’s milk.”
Then, out of nowhere, daredevil Uru’ud and Mangghud troops appeared at the front with complete surprise in pursuit of the retreating enemy, and they circled the chariots, cut off the cavalry troops, and began to surround the foot soldiers. The Uru’ud and Mangghud troops had been sharply reduced in manpower by the earlier fighting, but they had incorporated even more dauntless soldiers into their companies.
With their appearance, the enemy army began to retreat farther.
“Ah,” called out Temüjin, “the giant python is moving. Shake your head, go forward!”
Qasar, commanding the front-line forces, appeared on the plains at the head of the entire army now under him. His small frame seemed to Temüjin like a large python three fathoms in length. The python opened its immense mouth to consume a three-year-old horse or ox, and now to devour the entire Naiman army, he began to dash around the great plain. The Naimans were forced to retreat yet farther, taking one battle position, then a second and a third, all in retreat.
Temüjin issued an attack order to the rear guard under his command. Riding down the hill slowly and waiting for his company to arrive, he stood in the front. Bending forward low on horseback, together with several dozen brigades to either side, he advanced as if he were going to outflank the entire plain. The Naiman troops crumbled and sought refuge on Mount Naqu behind them. The Mongol wolves pressed the attack and climbed to every spot near the foot of the mountain.
Temüjin surrounded Mount Naqu that night and pitched camp there. The attack could not be relaxed even at nightfall. Reinforcements were then sent into the mountains from the foothills. At dawn, the Naimans were cornered at the peak of the mountain and repeated a frantic counterattack. Only about one third of their troops escaped to the peak, about one third fell down into the valley, and the remaining third were captured by the Mongols.
On the day after the defeat of the Naimans’ main force at the pinnacle of Mount Naqu, Temüjin’s army captured Tayang Khan, ruler of the Naimans, and took control of the Naiman settlements scattered over the southern slopes of the Altai mountain range.
From the prisoners, Temüjin learned that Jamugha had come and joined the Naiman encampment. When he heard the name Jamugha, Temüjin was taken with a profoundly nostalgic sensation. This heroic figure who was once known as master of the northern wastelands had fled to To’oril Khan’s camp after his own camp had been lost. Now that To’oril Khan had been defeated, he had cast his lot with the Naimans. The past three years had not been easy for him.
The image of Jamugha’s face, always smiling, came into Temüjin’s mind. He had completely devoted his life to fighting Temüjin and now, Temüjin thought, he might still be alive. Men of the Jadaran, Qatagin, Salji’ud, Dörben, Tayichi’ud, and Unggirad peoples commanded by Jamugha all came until the evening of that day to surrender at Temüjin’s base. No one brought news of Jamugha himself.
Temüjin took Tayang Khan’s mother prisoner, and when he noted that she still had a youthful appearance, he made her one of his concubines. Temüjin was gradually beginning to acquire an unusual interest in making women of conquered peoples his own. Beginning two years earlier, after pacifying remnants of the Tatars and making the enemy ruler’s two daughters, Yisügen and Yisüi, his concubines, he had taken any number of young women in this manner. To be sure, he never laid hands on women of his own lineage, but when he discovered women of other, defeated lineages who struck him as even the least bit interesting, he peremptorily brought them into his personal service.
After a battle, when Temüjin saw numerous women tied up in a row being marched off as prisoners, he was always stirred by an indescribable, savage inclination. He remembered that both his mother, Ö’elün, and his wife, Börte, had been hauled off in this way. Although Temüjin would always select women who interested him from groups of captives and invite them into his tent, not one of them ever attempted to resist his advances and protect their bodies. Whether it was due to something he said or of their own free will, they never made a pained or saddened face.
Temüjin understood women not at all. While men were prepared even to die for a battle, women without exception were submissive to enemy men when their side lost. Temüjin could never trust women, and that included Ö’elün and Börte. The perception he had held on to since his youth had not changed in the least.
At one point in time, his younger brother Qasar had argued that the dividing up of captive women to the troops after each battle violated military discipline. Laughing, Temüjin had said loudly to him:
“When you win a battle, it’s perfectly fine to spread enemy women over your bed and sleep with them as cushions. Impregnate them and make them give birth to Mongol children. Do women have any other purpose?”
Temüjin spoke in a rather disdainful manner, and Qasar was taken aback by the dark look on his face. More than twenty years had passed since Temüjin first entertained doubts about whether he himself bore Mongol blood, and he still had not been able to fully resolve the question. As in his own case, so too no definitive judgment had been reached on the blood of his eldest son Jochi. Some things about Jochi resembled his father and others did not.
Temüjin was now the sole power controlling the Mongolian plateau, and whether the blood coursing through his veins was Mongol or Merkid was not of major import, but he knew then, as he had hoped in his heart as a youngster, that he wanted to be a descendant of the Mongolian blue wolf.
Upon returning home from the Naiman conquest, Temüjin heard of a turbulent atmosphere prevailing among the remaining Merkids, and he decided to go and attack soon. When he had defeated the Merkids earlier, he and his forces had carried out a mass execution leaving no men alive, but with roots as strong as weeds, the Merkid remnants had somehow gathered together and were forming themselves into a lineage anew.
Temüjin took a merciless attitude toward the Merkids, as he had toward the Tayichi’uds and the Tatars in the past. He could not tolerate, from men who might have the same blood as his, that which he might have allowed from other lineages.
In the early autumn, Temüjin went to war against the Merkid chief Toghto’a and quickly defeated him. His forces then proceeded to despoil then entire region. At this time, a man by the name of Dayir Usun came forward with the following proposal: “I have the most beautiful woman, my daughter, of our people, and if you wish to have her, I would like to present her to you.” Temüjin ordered that she be brought forward. When she learned what was about to take place, however, she ran away and hid from her father’s view. Temüjin immediately ordered that troops be sent to search for her and bring her in.
She was discovered by the soldiers about ten days later. Her clothes were covered in mud, and her face and hair were filthy. Temüjin had her brought before him.
“What’s your name?”
“Qulan.” She spoke in a clear tone of voice, responding with eyebrows raised in a somewhat resistant manner.
“Where were you hiding for those ten days?” She replied by offering the names of a number of ethnic groups among whom she had been hiding.
“Why didn’t you just stay in one place?” asked Temüjin.
“Wherever I went,” said Qulan with an expression of anger on her face, “the young men of that lineage attacked me. Men are all barbarian beasts.”
What Qulan said seemed to ring true. With the fighting having only just stopped, massacres ensued everywhere, and order had not been fully restored. Women who had no special protectors, when put in such a situation, knew without having to articulate it what fate awaited them.
Temüjin was overcome by profound antipathy for this young woman who was rejecting presentation of her body to him and had become a plaything for insurgents of other lineages. Rejection by a woman of an ethnic group he had himself conquered was a new experience for Temüjin. That by itself would have been more than enough to earn his wrath, but in addition, the fact that she had been raped by several other lineages seemed to him to be an act of spite directed solely at himself.
“You and the men who violated you,” said Temüjin, as if issuing a manifesto, “will all be apprehended and executed.” Qulan looked at him severely.
“I will not be raped. I have always defended against this with my life as my sword. If I am fated for such an experience, I shall choose death.”
“What are you babbling about, Merkid female!”
Temüjin put no confidence in Qulan’s words. He did not believe her capable of such things. But with a composure that only someone who has accepted death as inevitable could muster, she said:
“I am speaking to the deities. Only they believe me.” Then she smiled, with her eyes glittering frigidly at Temüjin and her face covered with dirt. Temüjin had never seen a smile such as that adorning Qulan’s face. Her face was filled with pride, and her voice reverberated with it.
“Tie up the woman!” Temüjin ordered a man at his side to escort Qulan to a room in a private home.
Two days later, he visited this room where she was confined. Qulan was sitting on a bed, but when she recognized the figure of Temüjin standing in the doorway, she got off the bed and braced herself:
“Don’t you come in! You take one step in this room, and I shall end my life,” she said sternly.
“By what means have you chosen to die?” asked Temüjin.
“If I bite through my tongue,” she said, “death will come easily to me.”
A sensibility was detectable here that only someone who had settled upon a matter in his mind would possess. Temüjin, who had made every race of people on the entire Mongolian plateau tremble, lacked such power as he stood before Qulan. And he hesitated before approaching her any further.
It seemed to him that Qulan was now different from the way she had been when they first met. The dirt had been cleaned from her face, revealing what could justly be called the finest beauty among the Merkids. She was not only, as far as Temüjin was concerned, a great beauty for a Merkid, but also arguably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He had once been enchanted by the glistening beauty of his wife, Börte, but the woman standing before his eyes now was much lovelier than she and, it seemed, much more intelligent. There was a darkness tinged with sorrow to her deeply notched face, like a work of sculpture, that Börte had no trace of. Her hair was half golden and her eyes had a slight touch of blue.
Temüjin left that day as he had come, but the next day and the one following he visited the home where Qulan was being held. The words she spoke remained unchanged, and Temüjin had to leave with the satisfaction only of having seen her face.
To pacify the Merkids, Temüjin remained in the Merkid settlement for two months, and during that time he called on Qulan any number of times. It was strange, to say the least, that Temüjin would be treated in this manner by a woman who was an enemy prisoner. Had she not been Qulan, she would have been executed on the spot, but Temüjin could not bring himself to do this.
The night before his company was to depart for their triumphal return, Temüjin visited her again one last time and said: “I thought you were someone else.”
He didn’t believe such words could come from his own mouth and thus startled himself. Once the words were out, though, there was no way to retrieve them.
“I’d like you to serve in my tent,” he said. Qulan then looked directly at Temüjin with her dark face and said:
“How can you say such a thing in all seriousness?”
“My words come from my heart,” he replied. “Can you understand that?”
“What you say is probably true,” she said with something of an intimate tone, altogether different from her usual manner. “Were it not so, death would already have paid me a call. Is what you feel for me now love?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“You say it’s love now, but is this love greater, deeper than you feel for all other women?”
“Much more so.”
“Even more than for your wife?” asked Qulan. Temüjin was astonished and could not quickly respond. “If indeed your love for me is stronger and greater than for your wife, then you may take my body. If your love is not so strong, then no matter what means you may use, I shall not be yours. I am prepared for death at any time.”
Rather than say something in reply, Temüjin took a step and then another into the room. He approached Qulan. She shrank back, but did not utter anything rejecting him. When he embraced her, Temüjin honestly believed that his love for her was stronger than he had ever felt for anyone.
Unexpected for Temüjin was the fact that Qulan had a body of perfect purity. When she had first been brought before him, she had proudly claimed that she had risked her life to protect her virginity, but Temüjin hadn’t believed it. It hardly seemed likely for a young woman to have been able to do so, during ten days in the prevailing chaos. True to her word, though, she was still a virgin. As if some sort of evidence of how difficult this had been, a number of contusions had left black-and-blue marks on her white body: on her fleshy shoulder, between her well-formed, protuberant breasts, and at her neat and trim waist.
When he left Qulan’s room the following morning, Temüjin thought that he loved this woman more than any other and that he would continue to love her his entire life. The vow he made to Qulan was surely not the sort of thing he was going to break.
Having pacified the Merkid remnants, Temüjin set off on his return home. In the evening he pitched camp at a site about one day’s travel from his own settlement in the foothills of Mount Burqan, and before Temüjin entered his tent, he thought about informing his wife, Börte, of Qulan in advance. With his other women, Temüjin had not made a special point of notifying Börte. If he did not inform her, she would of course learn of Qulan; they would each ignore it, and somehow things would settle down. Börte surely did not believe that, over the course of such a long military expedition, Temüjin in the peak of his years would spend his time without female companionship.
The case of Qulan, however, was different, and Temüjin wanted Börte to somehow recognize her existence. It might be that Börte would require special treatment in future vis-à-vis his other concubines, and as best he could, he wanted to avoid the eruption of any troublesome quarrels with her.
Temüjin sent Muqali to Börte as a messenger. A commander eight years Temüjin’s junior, he was known for his faithfulness on any matter whatsoever. He returned the following day and conveyed a message from Börte to Temüjin:
“Temüjin, ruler of our beloved Mongolian plateau. Should you return home triumphantly to the settlement, you will find a new tent decorated with new furniture next to the tent of your wife, Börte. I pray that the young Qulan who will live there will compensate for the areas in which I am insufficient and will be a wellspring for your extraordinary strength.”
Börte’s language struck Temüjin as altogether satisfactory. Whatever he might have anticipated, he really couldn’t expect anything more agreeable. Börte would lose nothing of her dignity as the legal wife, and she had demonstrated magnanimity for the respect her husband was paying her.
Soon after his return from the Merkid expedition, a group of Merkids based at Mount Tayighar rose in revolt, and Temüjin immediately dispatched a punitive force. As commander, Temüjin appointed the son of Sorqan Shira, the short and big-headed Chimbai. Chimbai was a bold commander, perturbed by nothing at all, but this was the first time that he was assuming a post of such considerable responsibility. With a physique so small that, it was said, he could not ride a horse without someone offering a hand, Chimbai had suffered losses on the battlefield. In this expedition, though, he acquitted himself splendidly, compelling the enemy commander Toghto’a and his son Qudu to flee far away to the south.
Temüjin would not remain long in his own camp, though, for that year he was to lead his entire army across the Altai Mountains again to attack the Naimans. That winter the snows were heavy, and he could not hope to cross the mountains. He therefore had no choice but to pass the time with all of his forces stationed in the northern foothills of the Altai Mountains. He was accompanied on this expedition by Qulan alone.
Following the new year came spring, and Temüjin led his entire armed forces over the Altai Mountains for a third time to invade the Naimans once again. They battled a joint army composed of Merkid and Naiman remnants at the basin of the Buqdurma River and defeated them. The leaders of the remnant forces split into small groups and scattered in all directions.
Temüjin appointed Jelme’s younger brother Sübe’etei, who had posted stunning achievements the previous year during the attack on the Naimans, to lead a combat chariot made of iron in pursuit of enemy remnant fighters. Having just turned thirty, Sübe’etei was a young commander, and Temüjin counseled him when he was setting off on his mission:
“Should the enemy escapees acquire wings and fly off at great speed into the sky, Sübe’etei, you shall become a great falcon and seize them. Should they dig deep into the earth to hide themselves, you shall become an iron hoe and bore into the soil after them. Should they become fish in the lakes and the sea, you shall become a net to catch them. You have already traversed high peaks and crossed great rivers. This expedition will last incomparably longer than before. Remember the great distances to be covered, and be compassionate to the war horses that they not grow too gaunt. Replenish your provisions before they are depleted. No matter how many wild beasts you encounter on your way, do not hunt them down to the point of emaciating the horses. Go, and may divine protection come to the brave Mongol warriors who carry out this mission to allow not a single enemy soldier to escape.”
Sübe’etei then set off, and he acted as he was instructed. Defeated remnant troops hiding in the southern foothills of the Altai Mountains were attacked one by one, taken prisoner, and beheaded.
As Sübe’etei’s thorough mopping-up war was continuing, Jamugha was brought into Temüjin’s base camp, shackled to five of his subordinates.
It was a day when the sun was obscured by clouds and everything in nature was turning ashen in color. Temüjin stood face to face with Jamugha in front of his tent. Twelve years had passed since his bitter defeat in battle against Jamugha when each of them commanded some 30,000 men. And it had been four years since he had gone on to ally with the late To’oril Khan and defeat Jamugha. Many years had passed since Temüjin had seen this man in the flesh.
He stared fixedly at Jamugha’s face. His mien had changed so much he resembled another person altogether. He had had a round face in the past, but now it had become sallow with prominent cheekbones. One thing remained exactly as it had been—he was smiling.
Before speaking to Jamugha, Temüjin grilled the five underlings who came fettered to him to ascertain facts. Jamugha had fought against Sübe’etei’s forces and repeatedly been defeated until only these five subordinates remained. In the end, these men had the misfortune to be tied up to him. Asking why he should let men who had laid hands upon their master live, Temüjin had the five men fettered to Jamugha beheaded on the spot, right before Jamugha’s eyes.
Temüjin lifted Jamugha from the ground where he was sitting and put him in a chair. He then said:
“My anda, Jamugha, we are friends. We once lived in the same settlement. Despite that, you separated yourself from me, and you were for a long time my enemy. But we are again together today. I clearly recall the day on which we swore our blood-brother anda pact by the Qorqonaq Valley. The commotion of the banquet still rings in my ears, and the color of the fire that night is reflected in my eyes even today. We swore our pact that day. We are still friends.”
Temüjin did not have the heart to execute Jamugha. He thought of moral obligations from years past and wondered if he might spare the life of this now powerless man.
Jamugha then replied:
“Anda, Temüjin. I am your friend now, but what value do I have for you? I am not thinking that I lost to you. My defeat at your hands was heaven’s will. To the extent that I am living, I wished and believed that the day would come when you fell. You should quickly put an end to me. If you have some feeling for me as your anda, then kill me without shedding my blood and bury my corpse on a hilltop.”
“So be it, anda Jamugha,” replied Temüjin with a minimum of words. “I would forgive you, but because of the embarrassment to you, you shall be put to death just as you have requested it.” Then he turned to his aide and said:
“Execute him without shedding blood. Do not dispose of the corpse in front of me. And bury him with full honors.” Temüjin then stood up from his seat. He remained shut up in his tent all day long.
Sübe’etei accomplished his mission fully in half a year and appeared before Temüjin with a sunburned face. He had captured all the sons of the enemy leaders and executed all of them, right down to the infants. The items taken from the Naimans were all rare and extraordinary for the Mongols. Precious stones, carpets, clothing, weaponry, and the like formed several immense piles at Temüjin’s base.
Amid the stack of precious jewels, Temüjin tried to take one he wanted for Qulan, but she stared into his face and said:
“These beautiful things, rare objects, and valuable items you should send to Börte, who is taking care of things in your absence on the other side of the Altai Mountains. I don’t need a single stone or a single piece of cloth. All I wish for is one thing. Henceforth, whenever you go out to take the field, please keep me by your side.”
Temüjin agreed. The embroidery, carpets, precious stones, and furniture from foreign lands were all tied to the backs of horses, and under special guard went back over the Altai Mountains to be delivered to the yurts in the foothills of Mount Burqan.