Wolf of the Plains

Hoelun hissed like a pot on the stove. ‘He is a boy about to be betrothed. He is young and too proud, just as his stubborn father is. He is so much like you that you cannot even see it.’

Yesugei ignored this, and Temujin did not know what to say as his mother looked back at him.

‘He listens, though he pretends not to, Temujin,’ she murmured. ‘He is like you in that.’ She reached up to take his cheek in her strong fingers. ‘Do not be wary of the families of my people. They are good-hearted, though you must keep your eyes down around the young men. They will test you, but you must not be afraid.’

Temujin’s yellow eyes flashed.

‘I am not afraid,’ he said. She waited and his defiant expression altered subtly. ‘All right, I am listening as well,’ he said.

She nodded and from a pocket brought a bag of sweet milk curds, pressing it into his hand.

‘There is a bottle of black airag in the saddlebag against the cold. These are for the journey. Grow strong and be kind to whichever girl is chosen for you.’

‘Kind?’ Temujin replied. For the first time since his father had told him he was going, he felt a twinge of nervousness in his stomach. Somewhere there was a stranger who would be his wife and bear his children. He could not imagine what she might look like, or even what he wanted in such a woman.

‘I hope she is like you,’ he said thoughtfully.

Hoelun beamed and hugged him with a brief clasp that set his little sister crying indignantly. ‘You are a good boy, Temujin. You will make her a fine husband,’ she said.

To his astonishment, he saw tears gleaming in her eyes. She rubbed at them even as he felt an answering pang. His defences were crumbling and she saw his fear that he would be humiliated in front of Yesugei and Eeluk. Men on their way to be betrothed did not bawl with their mothers.

Hoelun gripped her son briefly around the neck, then turned away, exchanging a last few murmured words with her husband. The khan of the Wolves sighed visibly, nodding in reply as he mounted. Temujin leapt nimbly into his own saddle.

‘Temujin!’ he heard.

He smiled as he turned his white-footed pony with a gentle pressure on the reins. His sleepy brothers had roused themselves at last and come out to see him off. Temuge and Khasar clustered around his stirrups, adoration in their faces. Kachiun winced against the light as he took a moment to inspect a fraying front hoof. They were a noisy, lively group and Temujin felt the tightness in his chest begin to ease.

Bekter came out of the ger, his flat face impassive. Temujin regarded him, seeing a sparkle of triumph in the empty gaze. Bekter too had thought how much easier his life would be without Temujin there. It was hard not to worry for the younger ones, but Temujin would not shame them by voicing his concern. The bones had been thrown and the future laid out for all of them. A strong man could bend the sky to suit him, but only for himself, Temujin knew. They were on their own.

He raised a hand in final farewell to his mother and urged Whitefoot into a snorting trot at his father’s side. He did not think he could bear to look back, so he did not. The sounds of the waking tribe and the whinnying calls of horses faded quickly, and after a short time there was just the thud of hooves and jingling harness, and their people were left behind.

* * *

Yesugei rode in silence as the sun rose ahead of them. Hoelun’s people were closer than they had been in three years and it would be a journey of only a few days alone with his son. By the end of it, he would know whether the boy had it in him to rule the tribe. He had known with Bekter, after only the first day. His oldest boy was no wild flame, it was true, but the tribe needed a steady hand and Bekter was growing into a fine man.

Yesugei frowned to himself as he rode. Some part of his mind scanned the land around them for a sight of an enemy or an animal. He could never become lost while every hill was sharp in his mind, and every clipped goat ear showed him the local tribes, like a pattern stretching over the land.

He had enjoyed the ride with Bekter, though he had taken pains not to show it. It was hard to know how a boy became a leader of men, but Yesugei was certain it was not through being spoiled or kept soft. He raised his eyes to the sky father at the thought of fat Temuge back in the gers. If the little boy had not had so many strong brothers, Yesugei would have taken him away from his mother’s influence, perhaps to be fostered with another tribe. Perhaps he still would, on his return.

Yesugei shifted in the saddle, unable to maintain his usual drifting thoughts while Temujin rode at his side. The boy was too obviously aware of his surroundings, his head jerking at every new sight. Bekter had been a peaceful companion, but something about Temujin’s silence chafed on his father.

It did not help that the route to the Olkhun’ut took them near the red hill, so that Yesugei was forced to consider his son’s part in fetching the eagle chicks. He felt Temujin’s eyes on him as he looked at the sharp slopes, but the stubborn boy would not give him an opening.

Yesugei grunted in exasperation, unsure why his temper was growling on such a fine, blue day.

‘You were lucky to reach the nest at that height,’ he said.

‘It was not luck,’ Temujin replied.

Yesugei cursed inwardly. The boy was as prickly as a thorn bush.

‘You were lucky not to fall, boy, even with Kachiun helping you.’

Temujin narrowed his eyes. His father had seemed too drunk to be listening to Chagatai’s songs. Had he spoken to Kachiun? Temujin was not sure how to react, so he said nothing.

Yesugei watched him closely, and after a time, he shook his head and thought of Hoelun. He would try again, for her sake, or he might never hear the end of it.

‘It was a fine climb, I heard. Kachiun said you were nearly torn off the rock by the eagle coming back to the nest.’

Temujin softened slightly, shrugging. He was absurdly pleased that his father had shown an interest, though his cold face hid it all.

‘He forced it down with a stone,’ he replied, giving measured praise with care. Kachiun was his favourite brother by far, but he had learned the good sense of hiding likes and dislikes from others, almost an instinct by the end of his twelfth year.

Yesugei had fallen silent again, but Temujin searched his thoughts for something to break the silence before it could settle and grow firm.

‘Did your father take you to the Olkhun’ut?’ he said.

Yesugei snorted, eyeing his son.

‘I suppose you are old enough now to hear. No, I found your mother with two of her brothers when I was out riding. I saw that she was beautiful and strong.’ He sighed, and smacked his lips, his eyes gazing into the past.

‘She rode the sweetest little mare, the colour of storm water at dawn. Her legs were bare and very brown.’

Temujin had not heard the story before and rode a little closer.

‘You raided her from the Olkhun’ut?’ he said. It should not have surprised him, he knew. His father enjoyed hunting and raiding and his eyes shone when he recalled his battles. If the season was warm and food was plentiful, he sent defeated warriors back to their families on foot, with red welts on their skin from the flats of swords. In the winter, when food was scarce, it was death to be caught. Life was too hard for kindness in the dark months.

‘I chased her brothers away like a couple of young goats,’ Yesugei said. ‘I was hardly old enough to be out on my own, but I waved my sword above my head and I yelled at them.’

Caught up in the memory, he put his head back and gave out a ululating whoop, ending in laughter.

‘You should have seen their faces. One of them tried to attack me, but I was the son of a khan, Temujin, not some little dog to be cowed and sent running. I put an arrow through his hip and ran him off.’

He sighed to himself.

‘Those were very good days. I thought I would never feel the cold in my bones, back then. I had an idea that I would be given nothing in my life, that everything I had would be taken by my wits and my strength.’ He looked at his son, and his expression contained a regret Temujin could only guess at. ‘There was a time, boy, when I would have climbed for the red bird myself.’

‘If I had known, I would have come back and told you,’ Temujin began, trying to understand this great bear of a man.

Yesugei shook his head, chuckling. ‘Not now! I am too heavy to be dancing around on tiny ledges and cracks. If I tried it now I think I would crash to earth like a falling star. What is the point in having sons if they cannot grow strong and test their courage? That is one truth I remember from my father, when he was sober. Courage cannot be left like bones in a bag. It must be brought out and shown the light again and again, growing stronger each time. If you think it will keep for the times you need it, you are wrong. It is like any other part of your strength. If you ignore it, the bag will be empty when you need it most. No, you were right to climb for the nest and I was right to give the red bird to Eeluk.’

There was no hiding the sudden stiffness that came into Temujin’s bearing. Yesugei made a purring sound in frustration, deep in his throat like a growl.

‘He is my first warrior, and deadly, boy, you should believe it. I would rather have Eeluk at my side than any five of the tribe – any ten of the Olkhun’ut. His children will not rule the families. His sword will never be as good as mine, do you understand? No, you are only twelve. What can you understand of what I say to you?’

‘You had to give him something,’ Temujin snapped. ‘Is that what you mean?’

‘No. It was not a debt. I honoured him with the red bird because he is my first warrior. Because he has been my friend since we were boys together and he has never complained that his family were beneath mine amongst the Wolves.’