Jamuga lay on his couch, but could not sleep. The whole city seemed sunken into sleep. But this was an illusion. Never had a night found it so awake. It blew with rumors. Temujin had been killed; Jamuga had been appointed khan in his place. Temujin was alive, and returning immediately; upon his return, he would personally dispatch his anda. Tomorrow Jamuga would give the order to leave for the winter pastures; tomorrow he would do nothing. Perhaps he might commit suicide, when he finally reached sanity. But every one knew that something terrible and momentous had happened. And never had the city been so restless, so frightened, so rebellious.
Jamuga, sensitive and subtle, felt these winds of rumor and terror. But he was horribly bewildered and disgusted. The more he tried to understand, the more nebulous did things become. What had he done? Merely freed a man unjustly and absurdly sentenced to death for no valid reason! He had defied a barbaric law laid down by Temujin. At times a knife-blade of exultation made him smile in the darkness; he had successfully defied that law. He had employed reason instead of imbecility. Surely Temujin would acknowledge that.
At the thought of Temujin, Jamuga felt a contraction of his heart. But the contraction was not fear. Rather, it was compounded of uneasiness, anger, scorn, and sadness, and something else which he refused to examine.
He saw the faint bright shadow of a torch. Some one was plucking at the flap of his yurt. He got up and opened it. Kurelen stood there, wrapped in his black cloak. The old cripple smiled at him reassuringly, handed the torch to a warrior who guarded the yurt outside, and entered.
“I thought mayhap thou wert sleeping. Forgive me, if this is so,” said Kurelen. His words were gentle, and his smile paternal. But his sharp eyes studied Jamuga’s colorless narrow face with close attention.
“I was not asleep,” replied Jamuga, bitterly. He was resentful. He had some idea why Kurelen had come. The old man sat down on Jamuga’s tumbled couch. He fitted his fingers together, and again smiled at Jamuga. “Ah,” he said, thoughtfully. Apparently, he was in no hurry to begin. And Jamuga, obstinately refusing to go on the defensive, waited in embittered silence.
Kurelen continued to scrutinize the young man. He kept smiling to himself; once he curved his twisted dark hand over his mouth to hide his smiles. At last he said:
“I commend thy compassion and thy sentiments. But not thy discretion, Jamuga.”
Jamuga regarded him with proud offense and weary disdain.
“My discretion! Are men logs of wood, or lumps of dried dung, to be thrown into a fire at the capricious will of a stupid petty lord?”
Kurelen shrugged. “I am not prepared to argue about the intrinsic value of any human being. I do not know whether any of us have any value. Certainly not, in the light of eternity.” He lifted his hand. “Please, Jamuga, let me speak.
“I do not know this Chutagi, nor do I care to know. I have heard he spoke foolishly. But not more foolishly than thou didst act. However, it seemeth we have laws against this kind of foolishness of his. Now, I am not prepared to argue about the validity of these laws. The fact is, there are such laws. By abrogating them, thou didst commit a grave folly. The people know this. Thou hast sinned against them. They know not where they can turn. Thou hast terrified them—”
“But why?” Jamuga’s voice rose hotly. He stood up, as though burned. He began to pace up and down with disordered steps; a flush rose over his face. “Why should they be terrified? Because I was merciful, and just, and reasonable?”
Kurelen shrugged again, spread out his hands.
“Because thou hast violated a law, and when a khan doth violate a law he soweth confusion among his people. He hath taken security from them, and given them anarchy.” And then he knew it was useless, that Jamuga could not understand, would never understand.
Jamuga was regarding him with venomous scorn. “And I thought thou wast a just and reasonable man, sometimes compassionate!” he exclaimed.
“Nevertheless,” said Kurelen, mildly, “I do not advocate the sudden and violent abrogation of law, without preliminary preparation and education of the people. They are children. They must be taught slowly. They are incapable of long reasoning, but simple facts, constantly reiterated, can sometimes penetrate to their primitive minds and be received with security and satisfaction.”
“I do not understand!” cried Jamuga, violently.
“I see thou dost not. And, Jamuga, I fear thou wilt never understand. Thou wilt never understand other men. Thou dost judge them by thyself. That is fatal.”
Jamuga was silent. Tears of impotence and despair rose to his eyes.
Kurelen leaned towards him and put his hand on his arm.
“Thou hast courage, but thou art a dreamer, Jamuga Sechen. This is no world for dreams. We must accept facts.”
“What shall I do?” asked Jamuga, despairingly.
“Tomorrow, direct Agoti to take Chutagi into custody again. Tell the people that thou hast finally decided to wait the return of Temujin for decision, saying the matter is too grave for thy responsibility. Jamuga,” he urged, “thou hast no right to do this to our people. thou must restore their security immediately. Otherwise, dire things will come about.”
Jamuga flung off his hand hotly. “Thou talkest like a fool, Kurelen! I shall not do this thing! I shall not debase myself so, before—”
“Before Temujin?” asked Kurelen, slyly.
Jamuga’s face turned crimson with mortification and fury.
“Before the people! I shall not retract. I offer no apology. I have done what I considered right.” He glared at Kurelen wildly. “Dost thou not understand? This Chutagi is a man, not a beast! He cannot be disposed of like an animal awaiting slaughter.”
Kurelen raised his brows. “I say again, that I am not prepared to discuss the value of human beings. I know that something portentous will result from this. I know that I am giving you sound advice.”
“Thou art advising me to crawl back on my footsteps, and destroy a fellow human being!”
Kurelen stood up. “It is hopeless, then. Thou wilt never understand.” He paused. He gazed at Jamuga for a long moment. A curious change came over his sunken and withered features. A flicker as of regret and sadness touched his eyes. He put his hand for a moment on Jamuga’s shoulder.
“Jamuga, the first thing a wise king must learn is never to destroy authority, never to cast doubt in the minds of a people about the sacrosanct quality of law. If he doeth these things, he, himself, will be destroyed by the destruction he hath created. Authority and law maketh a world of men; their abolition doth return the world to darkness.”
Jamuga made a gesture of wounded contempt.
“Must laws be immutable? Must an heir to a throne retain the laws of those who hath died? May not he make others, more suited to present circumstances? We cannot live under the shadow of the hand of the dead, always!”
Kurelen smiled inscrutably.
“But Temujin is not yet dead, Jamuga.”
He put on his cloak.
“Nevertheless, Jamuga, I again commend thy compassion, though I do not agree with thee.” He added: “I am an old man, now.”
He went out, leaving Jamuga alone with his angry misery.
But he was not alone very long. Again, some one moved aside the flap of his yurt, and this time Subodai, grave and beautiful, and gently smiling, begged permission to enter. His manner soothed Jamuga, though he suspected why Subodai had come, for it was respectful and calm.
“Permit me to speak, lord,” he said.
Jamuga nodded curtly, bracing himself. He was jealous of Subodai, but no one could really hate this handsome and gentle youth with the shining and straightforward eyes.
Subodai hesitated for only an instant. All his nature was full of clarity; there was no deviousness, no servility nor fear in him.
“Forgive me, lord, if I speak straightly, out of my apprehension. If thou dost desire to punish me for my candor, I still cannot refrain from speaking. This is a sad thing thou hast done.”
Now he showed his anxiety fully. Jamuga waited, biting his lip, and frowning.
“Thou hast taught the people to despise obedience, Jamuga Sechen.”
Jamuga groaned in exasperation. “Obedience! Obedience to savage laws! Are the people not capable of recognizing an evil law?”
Subodai compressed his lips for a moment. “I cannot argue with thee about this, my lord. I only know that obedience must be enforced. I ask no questions; the people must realize they must ask no questions. Discipline and obedience and loyalty are the foundations of any tribe, of any nation. That is all my concern.”
Feeling exhausted, Jamuga sat down. He fixed his tired eyes on Subodai’s intelligent face. But all at once he knew that that very intelligence was his enemy. He saw that an intelligent man could deliberately will himself to disregard reason, and that this disregarding was exceedingly dangerous, more so than in a stupid man. Impotence rolled over him like dark waves.
“Thou hast taught the people to despise obedience,” repeated Subodai. “Unless thou dost retract, I cannot promise to hold them together until the return of the lord, Temujin.”
Jamuga bent his head. He sank into profound thought. Subodai waited. Then Jamuga spoke slowly and heavily, as though thinking aloud:
“Let us suppose that Temujin doth not return. In that event, I shall be khan until another is elected. I shall then abrogate many of Temujin’s laws, which I believe are cruel and stupid. Will this cause the disintegration of our people?”
Subodai said softly: “But our lord is still alive, and the people know it. Thou hast flouted his laws of obedience and authority. But I cannot argue with thee. I know only obedience.”
Jamuga cried out: “Canst thou not reason, Subodai?”
“I know only obedience,” repeated Subodai gravely. “Only by obedience can a people survive.”
“If Temujin commanded thee to commit a folly, to destroy wantonly, to kill thyself, to lead our people to death, wouldst thou obey?”
“I would,” replied Subodai, simply.
“O God!” groaned Jamuga. He rubbed his forehead distractedly. “We are a generation of fools!”
Subodai said nothing.
Jamuga stood up and paced the floor. His face grew more pinched and haggard. Finally he stopped before Subodai, and spoke in a fainting voice:
“I cannot retract. That is my final word.”
Subodai saluted. “So be it, lord,” he said quietly.
Alone, Jamuga said aloud: “I have done what is right! I am certain of this.”
He lay down and tried to sleep, but it was no use. Temujin entered his thoughts. What would he do? What would he say?
He was so accustomed to visitors now that it did not surprise him when another entered. This time it was Houlun, accompanied by several grave-faced nokud. The old woman stood before him, gaunt, gray-haired, but magnificent, a matriarch of power and dignity. She spoke without preamble: “Jamuga Sechen, thou hast committed a terrible folly. I have come to ask thee to retract immediately.”
As she spoke, she looked at him with her fierce gray eyes, and they were full of angry scorn.
For some reason the sight of her infuriated Jamuga. His nostrils flared out in his pale drawn face. He looked her fully in the eye.
“I shall not retract,” he said.
She smiled darkly. “Dost thou realize thou hast abetted treason against my son?”
Jamuga’s heart turned cold. He looked into her eyes, and tried to keep his flesh from trembling.
“I have committed no treason, and thou dost know it, Houlun. I have merely used my best judgment. If I have been wrong, let Temujin decide that for himself. But I do believe I have done no wrong.”
She studied him in silence, then she spoke curiously:
“If thou couldst retract without making a fool of thyself, thou wouldst do so. But thy vanity is greater than thy discretion and thy sense, and thine envy of my son is even greater than thy vanity. In breaking one of his laws thou dost feel thou hast triumphed over him. In destroying his discipline and abetting treachery against him, thou dost have the silly joy of feeling momentarily stronger than he. But surely even thou dost realize that the personal gratification of one man is nothing compared with the unity and integrity of a whole people!”
Jamuga listened to her, and it seemed to him that his heart burst into devouring flames. He turned scarlet; his lips shook. His voice died in his throat. His struggles were visible, and Houlun observed them with dour satisfaction.
Finally he could speak: “I am khan until Temujin doth return. Go thou to thy yurt, Houlun, and do not leave it until I give thee permission.”
She smiled with dark amusement. “Thou dost imprison the mother of Temujin? O Jamuga, thou art a greater fool than even I suspected!”
She inclined her head towards the nokud, who followed her from the yurt. She left him with pride and dignity. Then, from a little distance, he heard her laugh, loudly, again and again.
Jamuga’s fury filled him like a poison. He walked up and down, distraught. He muttered to himself; sometimes he exclaimed aloud, flung himself on his bed and clutched his head in his hands. But the steel core of his obstinacy and belief in himself could not yield. Towards dawn he fell into an uneasy and nightmare-ridden dream.
He dreamed that he saw Temujin advancing towards him, smiling, his hand extended in friendship. He heard Temujin say: “This is mine anda. He hath done what I would have commanded to be done.”
Jamuga felt an almost intolerable relief. He took Temujin’s hand. He felt something hard in it. He recoiled, and saw that the hand held a dagger directed at his own heart. Temujin still smiled, but he held out the dagger inexorably, and now the smile was terrible.
Jamuga awoke with a cry. The dawnlight was pale and gray outside. Some one was fumbling again at the flap. Utterly distraught now, and nerveless, Jamuga gave vent to an involuntary shriek.
Subodai was entering, and with him was Agoti. Both men were very white, and breathing audibly. Jamuga saw that something awful had happened. He sat up in his bed, supported by a trembling arm. He glared at them from the extremity of his terror and exhaustion.
Subodai saluted. “Lord,” he said gravely, “Agoti hath just told me Chutagi hath strangled himself with the girdle, of his first wife, in his own yurt.”
Jamuga was speechless. He could not remove his distended eyes from Subodai’s pale calm face.
Agoti spoke respectfully, but with an undertone of small triumph:
“He told the woman that he must die for his treason against our lord.”
Subodai, seeing Jamuga’s sinking distraction, felt a qualm of pity.
“It is better so, Jamuga Sechen,” he said gently. “We shall give it out to the people that he died by thy will.”
“No!” screamed Jamuga. “I shall not have it so!”
The two men saluted in silence, and left him.
Jamuga flung himself face down on his bed. He groaned. He rolled from side to side. He was the prey of the most dreadful thoughts and suffering. He vomited. Pain ran through his body, and he thought: I am dying. He lusted after death with a piteous lust.
But after a while, he lay motionless, his eyes closed.
He thought: I have done the right thing. I did the only thing I could do.