Shike, p.41
Shike, page 41
For those who wished, Taitaro held the Zinja equivalent of a service. It was more a philosophical discourse than a religious ritual. Taitaro repeated the sayings that had given the Zinja courage since the founding of the Order. "Your armour is your mind . . . Act, and do not concern yourself with results . . . Death is neither good nor evil."
Yukio and Jebu went to confer with the general, Uriangkatai. The orkhon was a big man, as tall as Jebu and broader. He had gathered his tuman-bashis under his standard, an iron spear with a collar made of long white horsehairs.
"Our wing will attack first," said Uriangkatai. "We face their right wing, commanded by Arghun Baghadur."
Jebu and Yukio looked at each other.
"What is it?"
"We fought Arghun at Kweilin four years ago," Jebu answered, "when we were serving the Sung Emperor."
Uriangkatai grunted. "Now you fight for a better master and he for a worse. The Great Khan has chosen to try the tulughma, the standard sweep. It's a tactic Arik Buka knows as well as we do, but he may be drawn to attack us anyway, because he has the desert behind him and nowhere to go but forward. Also, we've taken him by surprise, and he may not be aware of how strong we are. Our right wing under Bayan will lie back while the centre under the Great Khan will strike at Arik Buka's centre. The Great Khan will retreat, seemingly driven back by Arik Buka's resistance." Suddenly Jebu was reminded that Uriangkatai, ten years older than he, was the son of Subotai Baghadur, a companion of Genghis Khan's youth who became his greatest general, a master of strategy second only to the Conqueror himself.
A tuman-bashi asked, "What if Arik Buka's right attacks the Great Khan?"
"It's our job to keep their right wing occupied. When we attack Arghun, we can expect him to retreat. Remember, they're heavy cavalry. Their bows will have much longer range than ours. We'll take a lot of punishment before we can give any back. Get them moving away from us, then turn and run yourselves. Get them to chase us. That's all we have to do. Meanwhile, if Arik Buka's centre and left wing advance against the Great Khan, Bayan with all the heavy tumans will sweep around Arik Buka's flank, envelop it and crush it. Then Kublai Khan will hit them with all the strength of his centre, war elephants and all."
Jebu remembered a battle long ago at the Imperial Palace in Heian Kyo when Kiyosi's Red Dragon helmet led the feigned retreat.
"The Great Khan has promised that all the treasures piled up in Karakorum will be divided among his horde," Uriangkatai said. "That's more than fifty years' accumulated loot. If we win this, each man will be a khan in his own right."
"Generals always make everything sound easy," Yukio said as they rode back to their own ranks on their Mongol ponies. Most of the big Chinese horses on which they had left Kweilin had long since been lost, but Kublai Khan had issued them new horses from a seemingly endless supply. The steppe ponies could cover more ground, faster, than any horses in the world.
The sun was well above the horizon now. The samurai were in the vanguard of the left wing. Uriangkatai always put them in the vanguard. It was where they wanted to be. Yukio had tuman-bashi status even though he commanded far fewer than ten thousand men.
Of the original thousand samurai who had come with Yukio to China only about half were left. But there were over two thousand men fighting under Yukio, the balance made up of Chinese as well as Turks, Tartars, Tibetans, Koreans and Arabs who had joined them in the last four years.
Jebu felt the hollow sensation in his stomach that always preceded a battle. He took his position out in front of the first rank of riders. Yukio rode up and down the line, saying cheerful things, making everything sound easy. To Jebu's right rode a standard-bearer holding up a square of gold silk on which was painted a White Dragon.
The horns brayed, the saddle drums rumbled, and the samurai began to move forward. Jebu tested his mount's responsiveness to knee pressure as they trotted over the tall grass, letting the reins dangle and making the pony veer to the right, then the left as he drew his bow from his saddle case and checked its tension, pulling lightly on the string.
He mounted a rise and drew in his breath sharply. A vast carpet of white flowers with red centres filled the shallow valley before him. In the morning sun the flowers were dazzling. He had often wondered why a day of battle would sometimes be so beautiful that it was hard to think of killing or of facing your own death. Why was the world of men not more often reflected in the world around them? Today would then be a gloomy, foreboding day. Or contrariwise, why were men rarely as beautiful as the world of sun and flowers?
His horse glided through the white field and up the other side of the valley. There was the enemy. At first they were only a dust cloud on the horizon, then a long black line of horsemen brandishing lances. Rank after rank of mounted men poured towards them over the rolling meadow. Jebu felt his body bracing itself for the shock. These were heavy cavalry, and they were not retreating.
The arrows began to fly. Jebu heard screams from behind him. Some arrows whistled overhead from his side, but they fell far short of the oncoming riders.
Somewhere in those mounted ranks coming towards him was Arghun. Maybe they would meet today and settle what was between them.
"Forward at the gallop," called Yukio, riding on Jebu's right. The horns transmitted the order, and Jebu's pony and all the others along the line picked up the pace. It was the only way to get within range quickly.
But, inevitably, the attackers wheeled and began riding off in the opposite direction. In his frustration, Jebu wanted to try a shot, but he remembered the Zinja maxim, make every arrow count.
Now Arik Buka's heavy cavalrymen turned to their saddles and shot at the samurai over the rears of their horses. Men and ponies fell, screaming, all over the rolling grasslands. The devastating volley tore huge gaps in the samurai ranks.
An arrow thudded into his horse's chest. The animal fell to its knees, and Jebu flew over its head. He pulled himself into a ball in mid air. He hit the ground on his shoulders, his armour rattling, and lay on his back for a moment, stunned. Then he rolled over on his stomach and raised his head cautiously, peering through the grass.
The enemy had turned again and were coming back. Six horsemen were coming directly at him. He could feel the beat of their hooves through the soft earth under him. There was no place to hide. He decided to play dead, rolling on his side so he would be able to see.
He was surrounded by a rampart of tall grey-green grass. One of the white flowers hung directly over his head. It had no smell. They were upon him. Through half-closed eyes he saw one rider coming at him, lance lowered. To make sure he was dead.
Jebu grabbed the lance and jammed its point into the earth, hard and fast. The rider, still holding tight to the lance, was vaulted out of his saddle. He hit the ground with a crash of his steel breastplate, while his riderless horse ran on, following the others.
The man was lying on the ground, groaning. Jebu crawled over to him and smashed his windpipe with the edge of his hand. He muttered the Prayer to a Eallen Enemy while looking around wildly to see where the other horsemen were. They were wheeling around now to see what had happened. Crouching, Jebu ran to his dead horse and pulled his bow out of his saddle case. He fired an armour-piercing arrow at one rider, who took it through the breastplate and pitched out of the saddle. Another arrow caught a man in the right shoulder, making him drop his lance and ride off. Now the three remaining warriors had their heavy crossbows out and were shooting at him. He lay behind the body of his horse, using it as a shield.
A pair of riders galloped to either side of Jebu's dead horse. Mongols never jumped their horses. Two lance points stabbed at him. He rolled away from one, but the other caught him on the unprotected inner side of his arm and tore through his left bicep. Jebu grabbed the lance as he had before, but this rider brought his horse to an instant stop. He pushed the lance point deeper into Jebu's arm, tearing through muscle, trying to pin him to the dirt.
Jebu reached into his armour-robe. Luckily the blow gun was on the left side. One dart was already in place. Jebu flicked the plugs at either end away with his right thumb, put the tube to his lips, and sent a poisoned dart into his enemy's throat. The man clawed at the dart, letting go of his lance. He had barely pulled the dart out and thrown it to the ground when the poison began to take effect. He toppled out of his saddle and went into convulsions.
The dying man's pony danced nervously but did not run away. Jebu was in the saddle in two jumps and had the Mongol's bow out of its case, while his eyes searched the field for the two other cavalrymen. They came at him together, charging him with wild, warbling cries, sabres waving. His left arm was too badly hurt for him to draw the bow. He decided to try to outrun them.
He had no choice but to head in the least promising direction, north, towards the Gobi. A cold wind bit into his face, a strangely cold wind for midsummer. Round yellow and purple clouds towered above the horizon. Dust stung his eyes. He pulled his headcloth around to cover most of his face. The two horsemen pursuing him were gaining on him. The dust blowing in the air got thicker as he galloped northwards. Soon it was all around him in a seething yellow cloud. He could no longer see. But his pursuers couldn't see him, either.
He turned his horse to the right, heading for where he thought the centre of Kublai's army should be. He didn't want to come out of the storm in the middle of Arghun's wing. Riding with the wind blowing on his left side, he gritted his teeth against the searing pain in his arm. It hurt all the way from his fingertips to his shoulder. Blood was dripping from his hand. He slowed the pony down to a walk, ignoring the dust, and used his short sword to cut a strip from his grey cloak. He bound his arm with the strip of cloth. There would be a lot of sand in the wound, but he could wash it out later.
He turned to the right again, so that his back was to the wind. He wondered if the dust storm had brought the battle to an end. His eyes were sore, his teeth full of grit, his throat so dry it ached.
At last the wind died down, and he found himself on a stretch of steppe that looked just like the place he had been when the dust storm arose. A Mongol would know the difference, no doubt. Riderless horses grazed over the plain or ran about in frightened confusion. Half-hidden in the tall grass, bodies lay everywhere.
A flourish of trumpets, drums and gongs reached him. A tower, gold and white, was moving northwards over the grassland. A dark host of mounted men topped a row of hills near Jebu. Mongol cavalry were advancing at a walk. He spotted Chinese war chariots, each drawn by four horses and carrying three men, and Arabs with scimitars on nervous, prancing stallions.
The moving tower came up over a ridge, revealing that it rested on a wooden platform which, in turn, was carried on the broad backs of four elephants. Jebu had seen the structure before, so it was no surprise to him. War elephants usually carried towers from which soldiers fought or commanders observed the course of battle. This one, like many things the Mongols did, was not really different, only bigger.
Erom a gilded chamber at the top of the tower Kublai Khan watched the progress of the battle. Jebu wondered how a man could stand atop a thing like that and not imagine he was a god. Perhaps Kublai did think he was a god. He seemed larger than human in his glittering helmet and armour, standing in the midst of his officers and a guard of archers.
Kublai passed on to the north. Jebu stopped an officer and asked the whereabouts of the left wing. The officer waved to the west. It was still on the left, where it would never be by this stage in most Mongol battles.
Jebu's arm no longer pained him. He had sent his mind to the wound and quenched the fire that burned there. But he needed treatment at once. He rode to find the samurai.
Chapter Twenty-One
Most Mongol campaigns ended in a season, but this was a war between two veteran Mongol armies. It was now in its fourth year.
After proclaiming himself Great Khan in the Year of the Ape, Kublai had moved westwards from Shangtu, taking his army through the rich, pleasant countryside south of the Great Wall. Yukio and his samurai were waiting for the Mongols at Lanchow, and Yukio presented himself to the orkhon Uriangkatai as Taitaro had suggested. Kublai Khan made it a policy to have contingents from many different nations in his army, and the samurai were welcomed and attached to the left wing.
Kublai and his brother circled each other around the edge of the Gobi Desert, like samurai duelling with swords, patiently, silently moving, poised to strike instantly at the right moment. Neither of these sons of the brilliant Tuli, grandsons of the immortal Genghis Khan, could outmanoeuvre the other. At last, with winter coming on, Arik Buka withdrew to a camp far to the north of Karakorum.
Kublai left a garrison to occupy Karakorum and moved the bulk of his army south into China for the winter. With the spring floods in the Year of the Rooster, Arik Buka fell upon Karakorum and took it back.
Kublai charged north to drive his brother out of the capital. The two armies clashed on the northern edge of the Gobi and Arik Buka fled. They met again ten days later and parted after a ferocious battle in which each side suffered heavy losses. They went back to their war of patience and manoeuvre.
In the Year of the Dog, Kublai returned to China. Arik Buka turned west, invading Central Asia, where he tried to overthrow the local khans appointed by Kublai and replace them with his own men. During that year and the Year of the Pig, Kublai let his brother deplete his strength against the many enemies he made in Turkestan, Transoxiana and Kashgaria. When Arik Buka and his army returned to Mongolia in the Year of the Rat, Kublai began to move north again.
All through the battles around the Gobi, Jebu had thought of Taniko. He would find some way to spirit her out of China. They would be together at last. But during the years of the Mongol civil war there had been no way for Jebu to get near Taniko. "Kublai Khan does not take most of his women to war with him," he had told Taitaro sadly.
Taitaro had pieced together the story of how Taniko had fallen into Kublai Khan's hands, and he had told Jebu what had happened.
Jebu sat with his fists clenched, staring at the carpet of his yurt. "Horigawa and Sogamori," he said. "One killed my child and tried to destroy Taniko. The other killed my mother. I vow that when I return to the Sacred Islands both shall die by my hand."
"That is not the attitude of a Zinja," said Taitaro. "Spend more time with the Jewel. Have you noticed how much the designs in these Persian carpets resemble the Tree of Life?"
Even when there was no fighting, Jebu was nowhere near Taniko. Eor a time Kublai Khan stationed the samurai in Suchow, south of the Gobi. During the two years that followed, Jebu and Yukio and their men, along with various Mongol tumans and other auxiliary units, were shifted from city to city in the north-west marches of Kublai's territory, wherever Kublai thought his younger brother might strike next.
Taitaro travelled with the samurai, counselling them as individuals and in groups and helping them with their training. He took to meeting with teachers of other religions and engaging in long discussions with them. The Mongols had opened up vast territories to missionaries of all sects. No longer could a local ruler forbid preachers of a disapproved cult to enter his lands. The Mongols tolerated all religions and required their subjects to do the same. Taitaro enjoyed discussions with Moslems, Buddhists, Taoists, rabbis of the ancient Jewish community of Kaifeng, Nestorians and Roman Christians, as well as holy men of many other sects. Sometimes, as word of the religious arguments spread, they would attract large audiences.
Staging such debates was one of Kublai Khan's favourite amusements, and on one occasion the old Zinja was invited to Shangtu. The discussion held before Kublai and his entourage lasted several days, and representatives of various sects put forth their claims to possessing the only true religion. Taitaro took a position of absolute scepticism, rejecting the existence of all beings, dogmas and rules asserted by the other teachers, disproving the proofs his colleagues offered and pointing out the contradictions and absurdities in their mutually exclusive claims. His exasperated opponents frequently resorted to threatening him with a horrifying variety of painful fates in this life and the next.
One day an angry Nestorian challenged him. "You're not a priest, you're not a prophet, you're not a theologian. What the devil-and I use that word deliberately-are you?"
Taitaro spread his hands and said blandly, "I am a religious jester." Kublai Khan, present in the audience, laughed uproariously.
On occasion Taitaro met with other figures more mysterious and, to Jebu, more interesting than religious missionaries. But the old man had nothing to say about his meetings with Christian knights in black cloaks adorned with white crosses, Moslem sages who spoke in whispers and did no preaching, and red-robed Tibetan lamas.
"It is the business of the Order," he said.
"Who are they?"
"Knights Templar, Ismaelites, Tantric lamas. And others." "Those names don't mean anything to me."
Taitaro laughed. "There is no reason why they should, Jebu-san."
When Jebu arrived at Taitaro's cart-mounted yurt at noon on the day of battle, there were wounded men crowded around it. The fame of the Zinja medicine and treatments, which Taitaro would dispense to any wounded man who came to him, had spread. Even Mongols, who would normally go to their own shamans with serious injuries, were among those clamouring for attention whenever Taitaro showed his face in the doorway. Jebu moved into the back of the crowd and waited his turn.
The men around him were talking about the battle. It was going badly. Arik Buka's left had attacked Kublai's centre and scattered it. Thousands of men and six war elephants had been killed. The Great Khan himself had nearly been captured. Arik Buka's right wing, under Arghun Baghadur, had done even more damage to Kublai's left.
"It's foolishness to attack an enemy who's as strong and cunning as we are," an old Mongol said. "At best we'll come out of this with a third of our men gone, as we did three years ago. And how many men can we afford to lose before the Chinese revolt against us?"
