Jamuga was not the only one who wondered why Temujin was making this long journey to attend the marriage of Azara, daughter of Toghrul Khan, to the Caliph of Bokhara. Chepe Noyon speculated, cynically, Kasar, with simple bewilderment Chepe Noyon, finally, was no longer deceived. The fair Azara was the lodestar that drew the susceptible Temujin. After a while, Chepe Noyon was alarmed, but excited. What did Temujin wish to accomplish? What did he hope to accomplish?
Temujin was also wondering this. At times, he berated and ridiculed himself. But these were on the rare times when he momentarily forgot Azara’s charms. But he could not resist the impulse that drew him so inexorably to the girl. His passions were brief, wild and violent, and this passion was the wildest and the most violent he had ever experienced. The closer he came to the Karait towns, the madder he became, until finally all his thoughts, his desires, the beat of his heart, the pound of his pulses, his soul and his very breath, were entangled like helpless flies in the web of Azara’s pale bright hair. He was helpless, now, to summon his own will power, even had he desired to summon it. He could think of nothing. He was like a man dying of thirst, who sees no desert about him, no valleys, no hills, is conscious not even of his own being, but whose glaring vision is fixed only on a distant oasis. He saw Azara’s face everywhere. He heard her voice in every wind. When the sky turned pink at sunset, he saw her lips. Finally, his thirst for her became so consuming that he could barely speak, and sank into a deep moroseness and silence that no one could break.
He was not the slow-planning man who carefully lays his plots far in advance. The plots are there, shimmering but nebulous in the distance, and he was content to approach them hourly and steadily, trusting to circumstance and fate and luck to aid him, to guide him when the moment to seize has arrived. Details were not cautiously plotted for the future. The city stood before him on a hill, the thousands of cities of his life, shining and glorious but shadowy, and it was always enough for him, and would always be enough, to ride towards it inexorably, armored with luck and desire and relentlessness, and to wait until he was at the very gates before planning the last decisive campaign. Thus, he never spent himself in advance, and arrived at the last moment fresh and enthusiastic and irresistible. Neither was he hampered nor distracted with previously laid plans, and could proceed brilliantly, taking advantage of every new circumstance which presented itself, and which he could never have foreseen. Historians were later to say that every campaign he conducted was planned far into the future, to the last detail. But that was not true. Like every great man he vaguely saw the vast and glorious future, but was wise enough to conduct the immediate skirmish only, trusting to destiny to lead him on to the next, and then the next, closer at each hour to the ultimate goal. Thus he lived always in the element of surprise, both for himself and others. Not knowing exactly what he would do on the morrow, his enemies could never know, either.
Once Kurelen had told him: “He who plans for tomorrow completely is a fool. He hath failed to take into his calculations the human equation, which must always frustrate and baffle him. Too, Fate is a knave of many tricks, and delighteth in nothing more than in presenting to the plotter new labyrinths and new passes, which his plotting had not dreamed existed.”
He did not know what he would do when he arrived at the palace of Toghrul Khan. But he did know that he must see Azara, that he must hold her in his arms, that he must possess her. The ultimate stood before him in its veils. He had no doubt that he would be able to tear aside these veils, and conquer the ultimate to his own satisfaction. But just at this time he did not know how. Nor did this worry him overmuch. If Fate were a knave, it was also a capricious woman, who loved the reckless man.
Therefore, though he was reckless, he was also bold. Never did he doubt for an instant that he was irresistible.
He rode ahead of his companions and his warriors, his heavy brown coat fluttering in the cold gales, his fox-skin cap on his head, his lance in his hand, his green-blue eyes steadily but excitedly fixed forward. He did not notice the long and arduous journey. At night, he scarcely slept. He was like a man entranced, but with a deadly entrancement. His mood infected those with him. They became reckless and somber by turns, and quarrelsome.
They passed several caravans, and these Temujin encountered, egotistically satisfied when he discovered that these caravans were under his protection, and that they carried gifts for him. Those in charge, seeing the Mongols riding up to them, were at first alarmed, then deliriously happy upon learning their identity. On these occasions, the Mongols were received like princes, and dined and wined to stupefaction, the leaders slavishly doing them honor, and bending before them like serfs.
Among the gifts, which Temujin ordered to be delivered to his encamped people, was a necklace of glittering onyx disks set in a chain of bright pale gold and pearls, and also a bracelet. He no sooner saw them than they reminded him of Azara with her black eyes and golden hair and little white teeth. He would present them to her, himself! He took the golden casket, lined with white silk, which contained them, and carried it jealously with him. At night, he looked at them, letting them fall slowly through his fingers. They seemed warm and voluptuous to his touch. He would kiss them over and over, with mounting passion and aching desire, catching the dim lamplight on the glittering black disks, watching the reflections of the campfire on the round lustrousness of the pearls. They seemed living things to him, the holders of his love, the crystallizations of his adoration. Some alleviation of his burning torment would come to him, as he slept with them against his breast and his lips.
But when he arrived at the large Karait town, he was pale and grim with inexorable purpose. He felt that even death could not frustrate him. And he was completely certain that in some way Azara knew of the purpose of his coming, and that she awaited him, as aching and desirous and passionate as himself.
It was high noon when he and his warriors rode into the town. He had seen smaller villages, but no city like this. When he rode through the gates, he was amazed at what seemed to him countless multitudes, feverishly going about the inexplicable business of townsmen. He clattered through the narrow twisting streets, with their fetid gutters and low, flat-roofed white houses and gardens, and looked about him with the stern fierce glances of the steppe-dweller. The crowds drew back against walls to let him and his warriors pass, admiring their carriage, their horses, their rope-lariats and their sabers, but also amused at their wildness and their bronzed faces and their acrid smell. But they were more used to barbarians than the barbarians were accustomed to cities, and therefore were not unduly excited by their appearance. Hardly a week passed without some desert chieftain coming to pay his court and allegiance to the mighty Toghrul Khan. But they had never seen one with such a face and such eyes and hair as this Temujin, and he aroused comment as he passed.
Temujin, though he despised townsmen, and all the things of which the townsmen were the symbols, was nevertheless slightly embarrassed by the hugeness of the city and the elegant people he passed. All at once he realized what he must look like in their eyes, with his rough brown coat and fox-skin cap and naked saber. So he glared fiercely ahead, and affected to despise them, rearing his horse, and roaring angrily when some silk-curtained litter suddenly appeared from around some corner and confronted him. Once an especially large entourage encountered him, attended by vast eunuchs. The scarlet curtains, embroidered with golden crescents, were drawn about the litter. Before the litter, and ahead of the eunuchs were two slight youths in scarlet silk robes, carrying golden bells, which they rung imperiously. They advanced with arrogant insolence, and Temujin involuntarily drew aside, motioning to his followers to do likewise. When the litter was abreast of him, the curtains were discreetly parted, and the gay delicate face of a lady peered forth, all white skin and black eyes and black, elaborately dressed hair. The cloudy veil across her face did not conceal her features, nor the provocative smile and glance she directed upward at the young Mongol. He looked down at her, and could not help returning the smile, which was an ardent tribute to himself. He watched the litter out of sight, well pleased with himself, and idly speculating about the lady, whom he had readily seen would not be unapproachable.
He was in high good humor when he arrived at the palace gates. Some prescience had already assured him that he had not seen the last of the delicate lady. He had some idea that she would see to this, herself.
He and his companions were received with some astonishment by the attendants, who apparently had not been prepared for so large a company. He was informed, by a haughty and supercilious steward, that he, and possibly his noyon, Chepe Noyon and Kasar, would be housed in special apartments in the palace, already prepared for them. But the warriors would be quartered out in near-by dwellings, which were waiting to receive them. As he gave this information, in high languid accents, the steward kept wrinkling his exquisite nose and fingering the golden chain on his breast.
Temujin looked about him. He was standing in a large court paved with blocks of white polished stone, formally bordered with grass and flowers and palm trees, and sparkling with drops of water from numerous fountains. Here the air was balmier than the desert air, and scented with a thousand delicious odors. Beyond the court, in its luxurious gardens, was the palace itself, white and shining and splendid. Temujin was aghast at all this luxury and beauty, but also enormously excited. He swung down from his horse, and threw the reins in the steward’s face. A servant deftly caught them. The steward backed away, openly touching his nose with a white finger. Chepe Noyon smiled, but Kasar was enraged. When he got down from his horse, his hand was trembling on the hilt of his saber.
The steward, disdainfully walking ahead, led them through a white wall into the purlieus of the palace. They followed him through long white corridors, whose arched doorways were discreetly filled with blue or scarlet or yellow curtains, embroidered grotesquely with crosses and the Moslem crescent and stars. This intimacy, delightful and gay, of the symbols of two hating religions, was lost on Temujin. But it was not lost on the more sophisticated Chepe Noyon, who found it intriguing. Some archways were open, and revealed glimpses of brilliant green gardens and blazing blue pools of water, and hot noonday sky. From behind the curtained doorways came the soft laughter and voices of women, and snatches of light dancing music of flute and stringed instruments. Sometimes the raucous shrieking of parrots could be heard, as some girl teased them. Here the air was cool and dim and sparkling with reflections. The smooth white floor bore scattered crimson and flowered Persian and Turkish rugs upon it. Everywhere were the intoxicating fragrances of flowers and exotic scents, and the languorous warmness of spices, and everywhere, even through the noonday quiet, could be heard the murmur of the comfortable palace life, and the invisible coming and going of a multitude of servants. And at every few feet, enormous eunuchs, fat and naked to the waist, and turbaned, and holding bare blades in their hands, stood like colored statues, on guard. Each was smooth of cheek, wore golden rings in his ears, and broad golden bands on his upper arms, and jewelled sandals on his feet. The dim yet sparkling light flashed on wet belly and smooth hairless chest and gemmed belt, and lavishly embroidered silken trousers. Their eyes, fixed yet remote, did not seem to see Temujin and his companions, yet they had the impression of unclean and avaricious watchfulness.
Finally, the voices of the women were left behind. The steward paused disdainfully by a large archway, and held aside the thick silken curtains with gilt fringes. Temujin and his companions found themselves in a beautiful cool apartment, all white walls and white floor and silken couches and Chinese tables. Crimson panels of embroidered silk appeared at intervals on the walls, and the floor was covered with brilliantly colored little rugs. The far archways opened on the gardens, glittering and green in the sunlight. Motionless, with arms folded on their breasts, three servants, clad in blue and scarlet, waited to serve the guests.
With a shout of pleasure, Temujin pulled off his cap and tossed it onto a table. He loosened his belt, with a sigh of relief. He flung himself boisterously on a soft couch, and threw out his legs in their barbarous deerskin boots. Chepe Noyon sat down on another couch, and investigated the contents of a silver box of sweetmeats. Kasar gingerly seated himself on a pile of cushions. The servants began to bring in enamelled bowls of fruit, meat and delicate white bread, and basins of water, and fine white towels. In the water, subtly scented, floated rose petals. Crystal and silver decanters of wine were placed on the tables.
Temujin sat up and scratched his head. He laved his hands and wiped them on a towel. He pursed his lips disdainfully.
“What luxury!” he exclaimed, in a loud, hectoring voice. “No wonder these townsmen are soft!”
Chepe Noyon raised his eyebrows. He knew that Temujin was only seeking to impress the servants, with their downcast eyes and pale, inscrutable expressions. The servants did not show by any look or gesture that they were impressed. Only their nostrils quivered. As for Kasar, he was wretched. He scowled at a servant who offered him a bowl of water, and abruptly waved him away. But Chepe Noyon daintily washed his hands, and daintily drank wine. The dimples came and went in his gay face.
“I was born for this,” he remarked, holding a crystal goblet for a servant to fill. “I am hoping, most ardently, that thou wilt be able to secure such as this for all of us, lord.”
Temujin shouted contemptuously. “I have never cared for effete luxury,” he said. Chepe Noyon glanced at him quizzically. And then he knew that Temujin spoke the truth, however he was impressed by his surroundings.
Temujin went on: “Nay, I have never cared for it. Nor desired it. I prefer the wind and the desert. There, one is not a eunuch, either in body or spirit. But, I promise thee, I shall get all this for you, if it is desired.” He laughed. “But I cannot understand the desire.”
Chepe Noyon regarded him placidly. “I do desire it. I prefer a soft couch, to one of earth and horsehair. I prefer this good spiced wine, to kumiss. My stomach doth respond gratefully to this sweet white bread, instead of boiled millet and crusts. Moreover, my body yeameth for silk, instead of harsh wool. Too, I think I should prefer a scented and anointed woman to one of our rough-skinned desert wenches. Townswomen are less direct in love, it is said, but much more subtle.”
Temujin shrugged. “If I did not know thee so well, Chepe Noyon, I would say thou art no soldier.”
Chepe Noyon laughed. “I do not think a man is less a soldier if he doth prefer fragrances to stenches, lord. Nor is he less skilled in killing, if, after battle, he doth delight in sweet music and the soft hands of a dainty woman, and the sleek comfort of a silk couch.”
Kasar grunted angrily, out of his misery. “I prefer the open wind, and the desert moon, and the saddle, always.”
Temujin, who had begun to walk about like a lithe feline animal, stopped beside his brother, and clapped his hand roughly on his shoulder. “Spoken like a true soldier, Kasar, and not like a libertine, such as our Chepe Noyon!” And he laughed boisterously.
He lay down again on a couch, sprawling, and eating prodigiously. On the high white ceiling the trembling shadows of the trees outside were reflected. Music was borne on the soft wind, and the faint far laughter of women. The servants noiselessly ministered to the guests. The dim mutter of palace life was all about them, like the murmur of contented bees.
The curtains parted and a eunuch entered, salaaming. He addressed himself to Temujin, who was drinking noisily. “The lord Taliph, son of the khan, doth desire the presence of the noble lord, Temujin, whenever he hath sufficiently refreshed himself.”
Temujin sat up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and disdaining the towel distressedly offered him by one of the servants. “Hah!” he said. He stood up, shaking himself, fastening his loosened belt. He smoothed his fiery red hair with his palms. Then he looked at Chepe Noyon, luxuriously lounging on his couch, and laughed.
“Guzzle, Chepe Noyon, and sleep. And thou, too, Kasar. I go to pay my respects.”
Kasar eagerly scrambled to his feet, scowling. “I will go with thee, lord, to protect thee. One never knows about these townsmen.”
But Temujin shook his head. “Nay, stay thou with Chepe Noyon, and guard him, lest he go exploring among the women, and so violate the hospitality of the khan. Nay, Kasar, I do mean this. Protest not.”