Kurelen, Chepe Noyon and Subodai were the tutors of Temujin’s sons. The children must learn all the lore which these three men had gathered. They must learn to draw the strange characters of the Cathayans, and must read much of the Golden Emperors of Cathay, the sons of heaven.
Juchi was Kurelen’s pupil, a moody and rebellious child, with surly eyes and a low guttural voice, which he used rarely. Kurelen was not overly fond of the boy, but he taught him as well as he could, and had occasion to be proud of him. For Juchi learned easily, and had hard logic. From childhood, he hated his father, Temujin, and was bitterly envious of any slight privilege of his brothers. He was Bortei’s favorite, as he was Kasar’s.
Temujin was absent from his ordu very often. The king on horseback rode through his vast new domains, stopping briefly to converse with his tarkhans, and give commands. Everywhere his fierce eye darted, and everywhere, to his satisfaction, he saw order. There was personal liberty no longer for any man. There was only obedience, swift, slavish and unquestioning. But there were discipline and loyalty, and these were the things he desired. Ferocious, exigent, inexorable and turbulent of nature, he was regarded with superstitious terror and awe by his clans, the new confederacy of the Gobi.
Over the barrens he cast his mighty figure, and to the very feet of Toghrul Khan’s people, the Karait Turks, he flung his shadow. Between him and Toghrul Khan there was voluble peace, and the frequent exchange of affectionate letters and gifts. But Toghrul Khan looked over the steppes and the desert and barrens, and he knew his enemy. The two peoples were facing each other across the tremendous spaces, like two armies ready for combat.
Toghrul Khan called all his sons to him, and also his favorite, Taliph. He looked at them closely for a long time, pursing up his shrivelled old lips and wrinkling his sunken ancient eyes.
“What shall we do about Temujin, that green-eyed dog of a Mongol?” he asked.
“Declare war on him, and destroy him at once!” exclaimed one of his sons.
“Demand his immediate obedience and subordination,” said another.
The others cried out, vehemently and contemptuously. Who was this illiterate cur who had suddenly become a menace?
But Taliph grimaced. He said: “We have let him become too strong. Because the merchants and the traders loved their profits, we have encouraged him, loudly admired him, made him rich, let him go his way. Now the dog which served us and which we condescendingly admired and petted, hath become a wolf, and he is showing his teeth. It is our own fault.”
Toghrul Khan turned to him. He took no one’s advice but Taliph’s.
“What shall we do?” he asked.
Taliph considered. “To declare open war on him would be very bad. We must undermine him. destroy his influence. Or at least, limit it. He must be shown, immediately, that he hath gone far enough. A gentle threat, perhaps.”
Toghrul Khan sniffled. “Threats! Hast thou forgotten him, Taliph? Threats are spurs to such animals.”
Taliph spread out his hands elegantly. “Then undermine him. Send secret emissaries to his clans. Seek the co-operation of his tarkhans and noyon. This will take a long time. But treachery is much better than open warfare, which may—” and he paused significantly, “profit us nothing.
“The Merkit hate him, though he hath absorbed many of their people. The Naiman hate him also, though he hath also absorbed much of them. The Taijiut would rejoice in a chance to betray him. The Tatars have no love for him. Send emissaries to them.
“I, myself, offer my services. I shall go to the more intelligent tarkhans. Send my brothers to the lesser. This will all take a long time, and a difficult one. But it is the best way.”
He added: “Sow discontent, dislike and suspicion among the clans. Thus will we disintegrate them, destroy the unity he hath built up. And when that is destroyed, he will be a fugitive, and helpless.”
Toghrul Khan’s face became a mask of ancient evil. “How I should rejoice in having him, brought before me, in chains!” He pondered. “This is a dangerous and difficult business, and will require all our cleverness and subtlety. What fools we were! We hired him to protect us, and now we must protect ourselves against his growing menace. Thou art right, Taliph. I shall take thine advice.”
Another thought made him uneasy. “Among our own people there are those who admire and love him. Upon my death; the heritage of my sons will be scattered, unless he is overcome. We must act! The dog must die.”
Taliph had another hopeful thought to combat this. “East of Lake Baikul, the people are already arming against his western confederacy. Send messengers to them at once! They will join us against him. They have always been our enemy, and now they can be induced to become our ally. Hah! The more I think of it, the easier it doth seem! I am afraid we have conferred too much importance on our Mongol brother.”
So, Toghrul Khan took his clever son’s advice. The emissaries rode forth, secretly, to those unconquered among the Merkit, the Tatars and the Naiman and Taijiut, and others. They found these very easy to convince. But the task was not so easy among the clans of the confederacy, who were passionately loyal to Temujin. In fact, the emissaries had to be exceedingly careful, loudly admiring the loyalty and devotion to Temujin, and declaring they came only as visitors, to see what had been done.
Nevertheless, among many of the clans they were able to sow distrust and doubt and uneasiness.
The people east of Lake Baikul were only too eager. It took but a short time to secure them as allies.
To Taliph, Toghrul Khan left the Naiman, the more civilized of the peoples of the Gobi.
Taliph was well informed about Jamuga Sechen, through spies. And Jamuga was one of the first tarkhans he visited.