An officer ran to Temujin’s huge yurt, in the dawn.
“Subodai is approaching!”
Temujin, who had been sleeping, was instantly awake. He buckled on his coat and pulled on his boots. He went out into the lucent morning light, his head uncovered, and his red hair was like a fire, a lion’s mane on his shoulders. The caravan could be plainly seen on the flank of a scarlet hill. Temujin, shading his eyes, watched it for a long time. Then he returned to his yurt and sat down on his couch.
He did not stir, staring unseeingly before him. But a hard purple vein pulsed violently in his forehead, like a thin writhing snake.
After a long time, the flap of his yurt opened, and Subodai entered, pale and calm. He saluted, stood stiffly before his khan.
“I have returned,” he said quietly. “I have conquered the Naiman, and obeyed thine orders. I have brought Jamuga Sechen as prisoner.”
“Thou hast done well,” replied Temujin mechanically, after a pause. Then he was silent again, staring at Subodai.
Subodai spoke: “Jamuga Sechen is a dying man. I have had him carried to my yurt, for a rest he doth sorely need. But he will not sleep.”
Temujin rose, and turned his back upon Subodai.
“Let him rest,” he muttered. “But at noon, bring him to me.”
Subodai saluted again, and went towards the flap. He had reached the flap when he heard Temujin call him. He turned slowly. Temujin fixed his gaze upon him without speaking, and his look was strange.
“My lord?” said Subodai, composedly.
But Temujin merely stared at him, and his strange look became more intense. Then he made an abrupt gesture.
“Nothing. It is evident thou art weary, Subodai. Seek rest, thyself, until thou dost bring Jamuga to me.”
Subodai departed. There was a cold fine sweat upon his forehead. And once more he resumed his litany: “I must obey!”
He went to his yurt. The camp was in the wildest excitement, and full of jubilation. Many warriors of distant clans had arrived in Subodai’s absence. The camp was thronged with strangers. But he passed among them, not looking at them. When he entered his yurt, Jamuga was lying prostrate on his couch, and one of Subodai’s women was washing his hands and face. Jamuga submitted; he seemed not to be conscious of his surroundings or of the woman. But when Subodai stood beside him, life came back to his dying eyes, and he smiled faintly, his hand moving towards his friend. Subodai took that fumbling hand and held it strongly in his.
“The end of the journey is in sight,” he said, trying to smile. “Be of courage. Thou wast ever a valiant man.”
Jamuga tried to speak, but his last strength was gone. A sudden hope rose in Subodai that he might expire before the ordeal.
“It is not thee I pity,” he said.
Jamuga closed his eyes; he either fainted or slept. Subodai did not know. After a long time, he gently released Jamuga’s hand, and laid it down. It lay there, relaxed and open, as if dead. Subodai continued to stand by the couch, and he sighed deeply, at intervals.
Some one was entering the yurt. It was Chepe Noyon, alert and eager. But when he saw Jamuga, he was silent, and a curious gleam passed over his eyes.
At last he whispered to Subodai: “I am sorry. Thou shouldst have slain him mercifully.”
Subodai turned his heroic head, and answered: “I could only obey.”
Despite his compassion, Chepe Noyon smiled involuntarily at Subodai, with a kind of mockery and wonder. “Art thou a fool?” he asked. “Ofttimes, I have asked myself this, but still, I do not know the answer.”
Subodai was silent. He stood, gazing down at Jamuga.
Some one else was entering. It was Kasar, avid and uncouth. “Ha!” he snorted, seeing Jamuga. “So thou hast brought the traitor safely to his judgment, Subodai! I hope only that his punishment is in proportion to his crime.” He looked at Jamuga venomously, all his old hatred and jealousy black on his simple broad face. He was filled with exultant satisfaction.
Chepe Noyon was about to reply with his customary jocular contempt, when he was compelled to pause, in amazement, his mouth dropping open. For an astounding transformation had taken place in Subodai. All his calm was gone, all his statuelike composure. He was a man aflame. His blue eyes blazed like lightning, and his teeth flashed between his lips. He seemed to bound towards Kasar. He seized the heavy shortish man by the throat, and shook him violently. His thumbs pressed into his neck, and he uttered savage and guttural sounds. Kasar struggled to free himself; his eyes opened and glared in his terror. His lips swelled. His hands tore at the choking fingers on his throat. He staggered. Subodai forced him to his knees, and increased the pressure on the other’s throat. Kasar turned his head from side to side. His face became purple, and his black tongue appeared between his lips, and he uttered strangled brutish whimpers. His eyes rolled up; his chest arched out in his desperate attempts to gain a single life-saving breath.
Chepe Noyon watched. He smiled with bright viciousness, his nostrils widening. He peered forward, in order to see the better in the half-gloom of the yurt. Then he spoke, conversationally:
“I would not kill him, Subodai, though I regret to give thee this advice. Temujin would not like it at all.”
But Subodai seemed oblivious to this advice. His handsome face was black with an awful rage. He seemed absorbed in some ghastly and terrible enchantment. The animal-like sounds continued to bubble from his throat. He bent over Kasar. His thumbs were sunken deep in the other’s flesh. He swung Kasar from side to side, bending him backwards. A thin line of bloody foam appeared on Kasar’s blackening lips. Now the pupils of his eyes could not be seen, and only the whites showed, glaucous and threaded with scarlet.
Chepe Noyon seized his arms. “I love thee too well to see thee murdered,” he said calmly. Then he took Subodai by his own throat, and tightened a steely grip upon it. But he might have held a man under a spell. Subodai was not even aware of him. He was laughing deeply, with a mad sound. Then, quite casually, Chepe Noyon bent down and fastened his teeth in Subodai’s hands. His teeth sank into the other’s tendons, deeper and deeper. He did not relax his grip until he felt Subodai’s hands release Kasar. Something heavy rolled against him, and he knew it was the body of Temujin’s brother. Then, smiling, he looked up, and wiped Subodai’s blood from his lips. Kasar lay writhing on the floor, tearing at his tortured throat. He sobbed and gasped, drawing in deep and tormented breaths, with a whistling groan.
But Subodai had collapsed on the couch at the unconscious Jamuga’s feet. He had covered his face with his bleeding hands. But he made no sound.
Chepe Noyon deftly seized Kasar by his arms, and dragged the half-dead man to his feet. “Thou art a dog,” he said amiably. “But thou wert fortunate in not sharing a dog’s fate.”
He observed Kasar’s purple face with pleasure. Then he dragged him to the flap of the yurt and calmly threw him out.
“I never liked him,” he remarked. He began to chuckle.
But Subodai seemed as unconscious as Jamuga.