Toghrul Khan was the close friend of the general, who was of the formidable Chin Empire, which did not particularly like the Empire of the Sung, the Kingdom of Hia, and the Empire of Black Cathay. These various Chinese Empires were jealous of each other, though they maintained a more or less civilized tolerance and elegant exchange. They were all united in their love for their own civilization and contempt for what they called the nameless hordes beyond the Wall. But hatred was brooding in their garden, like a crimson flower, awaiting only the moment to burst into full and dreadful bloom out of the corruption and decadence of the thronged cities.
The general was languidly annoyed. “We have been negligent,” he said. “Now it is time to discipline the barbarians again. I call upon thee, Toghrul Khan, to summon the best among thy vassals and give us assistance against the Tatars.” He yawned. “It is very boring,” he added.
He privately thought Toghrul Khan himself a barbarian, only partly civilized, in spite of his Karait cities and his Persian palace. He had been a graduate of a military school, in which he had learned that civilized gentlemen use their barbarian allies to subdue other barbarians. It was much easier on the gentlemen, and when barbarians fought, gentlemen could return to their own pursuits, happy in the fact that the others were murdering each other, and thus rendering themselves mutually less a menace to their masters. It was all very neat, and every one was satisfied.
“What shall I get out of this?” asked Toghrul Khan.
The general stared, but was polite enough, after a moment, to stop staring. He was much younger than the Karait Khan, and he passingly wondered what more the old man wanted, for surely he was on the verge of the grave, with his death’s head and shaking hands.
He smiled gently. “We shall give thee the Chinese title of Wang, or prince, my good old friend,” he answered, “and the first share of any spoils thou dost seize. All of them, if thou canst so persuade thy vassals.”
“Not enough,” said Toghrul. Khan. “I want a palace and a permanent income within the Wall.”
The general raised his brows delicately. “But why, my friend?”
Toghrul Khan said stubbornly: “That is my desire.”
And then the general saw that deep within the sunken and crafty eyes there was the pale shadow of fear. But fear of what? Surely his own Karait cities were fortressed and guarded enough?
Toghrul Khan repeated in a dull but obstinate voice: “A house within the Wall.”
The general shrugged, and frowned a little to himself. He knew the emperor disliked any alien becoming entrenched within the empire. Aliens, he had said, bring other aliens, and aliens are always enemies. But, this time—It was better for the Karait barbarians to die rather than Chinese.
“Very well,” he said, cordially, “thou shalt have it. And let me extend to thee, at this time, my own personal welcome.”
At home, Toghrul Khan muttered to himself: “Wang. Wang Khan. A prince of Cathay! And a house behind the Wall. The beautiful Wall! The invincible Wall!”
For the first time in long and anguished months, he slept and did not dream.
On the day of the birth of his third son, Ogotai, Temujin received the summons from Toghrul Khan. He now had three sons, Juchi, the Shadowed, and Chutagi, and Ogotai. He made no distinction between Juchi and the two younger children; they were all children of the body of Bortei, whom he loved, and whom he understood. He delighted in the boys, all dark and sturdy and gray-eyed, like Bortei; he especially delighted in Ogotai, who had his red hair. Houlun, in her rare moments of affability, told her son that Ogotai might have been himself at his own birth.
But these affable moments became more infrequent. For Houlun could not speak to Temujin without irony, scorn, condemnation or anger. She and Kurelen were the only ones who did not appear to fear him. She openly disliked Bortei, and as she was still mistress of the yurts, she made Bortei’s life miserable on occasion, telling her that she knew as little as a mere virgin serving-girl of the care of children, that she was vain and silly and full of greed, and, in short, no fit wife for a Yakka Mongol khan. Between the two women the hatred had become malignant, and part of Houlun’s hatred was because of her lost influence with her son. She well knew that the woman who shared a man’s bed also had his ear, and she suspected, with truth, that Bortei spoke slightingly of her husband’s mother, and all in a voice of indulgent amusement. So wounded pride and loneliness sharpened the older woman’s tongue, and even when she spoke in rage there was a hurt sadness in her eyes.
She, herself, had no love for Jamuga Sechen, whom she vigorously and audibly considered a fool. But she did not subscribe to the malicious reports that he was disaffected, though she, herself, had occasionally declared he was. In her reason, which was vigorous and cool, she knew that Jamuga was no traitor, that he was merely cursed with a peculiar conscience, the like of which she had never known before. But being clever and subtle, herself, she understood his conscience, though she derided it. She knew, too, of Jamuga’s passionate love for Temujin, and knew that he suffered, as she did, because of it. Jamuga found himself with an unexpected ally in this lonely mother of his anda, and though by nature cold and suspicious of every one, he began to feel a shy gratitude. He knew that this alliance was rooted in her suspicion and hatred for Bortei, but he was also aware that it was genuine. They spoke to each other occasionally, in short guarded words, but what they said was heavy with meaning and anxiety.
“Jamuga Sechen,” she said one day, “be on thy guard. Thou hast a most vicious enemy, Bortei, wife of my son. She will not rest until she hath destroyed thee.”
“I know,” he said, in a low voice. But in his own mind he discounted the power of Bortei, for all her three sons.
“What I tell Temujin in the day is destroyed at night,” she observed.
“Temujin believeth nothing but what he desireth to believe,” said Jamuga, sadly. But in fact, he felt little disturbance with regard to his own relationship with Temujin, for the young khan showed him, these days, nothing but friendliness.
“I will give thee advice, Jamuga: hold thy tongue. Whatsoever Temujin doeth, do not cross him. Assent by silence, if thou canst not with words.”
But this Jamuga found it impossible to do. His inner tortured drive forced bitter words to his tongue; had he not spoken he would not have had even a small peace. He expelled protests as a volcano expels spent fire and steam, lest it explode all at once, and destroy itself. What Kurelen had given him to read a long time ago had stiffened the bewildered integrity in him, so that he knew that a man’s life was a small price to pay for his peace.
And now a fatherly and affectionate summons had come to Temujin from the old Karait, Toghrul Khan, saying that he needed his foster son in a war against the Tatars, who menaced the tranquillity of the Chin Empire. Temujin responded at once, with his usual vigor. He called all his priests to him, the red-and-yellow-clad lamas, the two Nestorian Christian pastors, the three Moslems, and his own Shaman. They must speak to their followers that night and tell them that the khan was leading them to war in a noble cause, and to prepare themselves for victory or death.
Temujin had great religious tolerance, and one of the major crimes he would not countenance was any strife among the religious groups that formed his people. Once a Moslem had taken violent issue with a Christian, and both had drawn sabers and were trying to kill each other with immense heartiness. He had taken up a club, stepped between them for all the flashing steel, and had beaten both into insensibility. In fact, the Moslem died the next day from his injuries.
“In the cause of unity, there must be peace between religions,” he said. “He who doth quarrel because of his gods shall go to them with dispatch and there settle the argument.” He added: “A leader who doth stir up religious strife among his people, or doth countenance it, is no true leader, but a quarrelsome and stupid woman doomed to death.”
Jamuga would have approved of this religious tolerance and equality, had he not known that in truth Temujin cared nothing for real tolerance, but only for unity among the many different peoples who now formed his tribe. When they quarrelled about their doctrines, they deprecated his supremity and their own loyalty to him. This he would not allow, and death or the next severest punishment was his law.
“Serve your gods in your souls, but serve me first in your arms,” he said. “He who sayeth his god is the only true god, and so sfirreth up dissension, hath done me an unforgivable injury.”
So when the Moslems knelt down to pray at sunset, he commanded that the Christians kneel also, and his own people, and the Taoists and Buddhists. “Prayers in unity do no harm,” he said, but he commanded that the Moslems whisper their invocation: “There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is His prophet,” so that the others would not overhear it. When the Christians began their celebrations of the Mass, he commanded the’ Moslems to stand near-by and observe it with reverence, saying: “There is but one God of all men, and answereth to all names, as a woman answereth to the many endearments of her husband, remaining always the same woman.”
When the Buddhist priests spun their prayer-wheels and chanted, he said to the others: “Observe how wonderful is God, that He understandeth the language of all men!”
But he was sternest with the priests, who he knew were the seeds of bitterness and dissension. “Teach your people that God is the father of all mankind,” he said, “and that he who sayeth God is only his father, and not the father of others, is a liar.”
He, himself, killed a priest who did not obey him.
“Keep your opinions to yourselves,” he said, “and speak aloud only one law: obedience to the khan, who is the audible voice of the gods.”
Being wise, he rewarded the priests richly, knowing that a fat priest is a good servant of masters. He treated all priests with absolute impartiality and friendliness, and settled all quarrels among them with fairness and good sense.
As a result, the priests obeyed him and loved him. The night before the warriors set forth to this supreme battle, the priests were very busy, invoking and praying and counselling their followers.
Jamuga, despite Houlun’s and Kurelen’s urgent advice, could not keep still. When he heard of the expedition, he went to Temujin, full of anger.
“This is a foreign and distant war, Temujin,” he cried, “and hath nothing to do with us, who live deep in the heart of the Gobi. What quarrel have we with the Tatars?”
“They killed my father,” said Temujin, with a faint sardonic smile.
Jamuga looked at him in scornful silence, and Temujin grinned.
“In wars, men grow strong. I need to strengthen my people,” he added.
“For what? Other wars?” asked Jamuga, angrily.
“Yes. Thou hast hit it. For other wars.”
Jamuga drew a deep breath. “I have no quarrel with wars of necessity, and survival. But neither necessity nor survival is threatened by the Tatars, whose near-by tribes live at peace with us. Thou hast two Tatar wives. Last week a Tatar khan was thy guest. Why send forth our people now to kill them, leagues away, at the desire of the Chinese and Toghrul Khan? Toghrul Khan will benefit. But what benefit wilt thou obtain? Are our people paid mercenaries?”
Temujin looked at him inscrutably.
“Every war is the story of one man’s revenge,” he said at last.
Jamuga was baffled. “But this revenge is not thine,” he stammered.
Temujin shrugged. His eyes glinted. “How dost thou know that?” he asked. “Go away, Jamuga, thou dost weary me. Thou dost look at today only. I look at tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!”,
“Dost thou think I plan only for today? I see the future. Every war leadeth me closer to it.”
But Jamuga was excited. This expedition seemed cruel and foolish to him, and shameful in that Temujin was to lead his people into a war for the profit of others. Again, he underestimated his anda, because he always saw things straightly and simply.
“He who selleth his birthright once hath sold it for all time,” he said.
“That is not bad, if the price be high enough,” replied Temujin, smiling. Then he smiled no longer. “I do not know why I endure thy reproaches and thy gabbling, Jamuga Sechen. None other would dare speak so to me. I have commanded thee: Go; thou dost weary me.”
But still, Jamuga would not be silent. With tortured bitterness he said:
“If thy people were still free, instead of the slaves thou hast made them, thou wouldst not dare do this thing. A free man fighteth noble wars, he having chosen to defend what is precious to him. But in this war we defend nothing but the profits of others.”
Temujin did not reply. But he looked at Jamuga in a thoughtful and peculiar way, and his smile was cruel and dark.
Jamuga’s quarrel with Temujin was soon open camp story. That night Bortei, while she lay in Temujin’s arms, said:
“I have told thee, my lord, that this is a traitor. He is going among the people, urging rebellion.”
But Temujin laughed. “I do not believe that, Bortei. The people are laughing at him. And he is incapable of treachery.”
But Bortei was not to be set aside. “A dissenting opinion is always dangerous,” she said. “The people know that thine anda hath quarrelled with thee, and so they wonder if the quarrel were not justified. So long as this man liveth, there will be discussion as to his opinion.” She began to weep. “Thy love for him blindeth thee, and doth endanger all of us. In such a vast number of people there must be many who disagree with thee, but in silence. But this man doth make their dissent articulate.”
Temujin agreed with her in his mind. But he told her curtly to hold her tongue. He had his own plans. And he could not forget that Jamuga had saved his life twice, and had for him a deep and passionate love, and a loyalty that sprang from the soul and was unafraid.
But Bortei had one more thing to say: “There are traitors in every people, and whatever Jamuga’s loyalty to thee, he is simple, and can become the tool of ambitious and unscrupulous men.”
And again Temujin agreed with her in his mind, but he struck her across the mouth and dismissed her from his bed.