Shike, p.42
Shike, page 42
A younger man said, "Genghis Khan subjugated the Chinese with a far smaller army than we have now."
"The Mongols of Genghis Khan's day were worth ten of today's breed." The old Mongol sniffed contemptuously.
When Taitaro finally went to work on Jebu he asked, "What happened to the man who gave you this?"
"I got him in the throat with a poisoned dart." Jebu looked around the tent. There were Tibetan and Arab doctors helping Taitaro and watching him work. The old Zinja commanded Jebu to cut off his wounded arm mentally from his body, a technique for controlling pain. Then he poured hot water from an iron kettle into the hole the lance point had driven into Jebu's bicep. He sprinkled a mixture of finely ground herbs into the wound, then bound it tightly with a linen bandage.
"Are you going out to fight again? You shouldn't. One wound like this is enough in a day."
"Excuse me, sensei, but it's insignificant. I have heard the battle is going badly."
Taitaro shrugged. "If you live, I must change the bandage tomorrow."
It was mid-afternoon by the time Jebu found the samurai position at the end of Uriangkatai's left wing. Jebu took a horse from his string of remounts and rode out to find Yukio. His left arm throbbed and dangled uselessly at his side, though the medications Taitaro had put into the wound eased the pain.
The samurai were formed in squares, the men standing or sitting by their horses. Yukio and his officers were gathered in a circle in front of the formation, in the shade of a cart. The dust floating in the air made Jebu's throat dry and his teeth gritty.
"I thought we'd seen the last of you," said Yukio sourly. "Why don't you stay back with your father and treat the wounded? You're no good to us if you can't pull a bow."
"After I got this wound I killed the man who gave it to me, without bow and arrow," said Jebu. "I may yet be of some use to you."
"The way this battle is going, we'll need every man we can get," said Yukio in a lower voice.
A messenger rode up. "Uriangkatai wants the samurai tuman ready for an immediate attack."
Another message came from Uriangkatai a moment later. "You are to move forward now towards the enemy's right wing. The direction of the battle has shifted. Arghun Baghadur is directly west of here, and the enemy centre is to the north-west. Advance regardless of what happens and make no feigned retreats."
"Arghun was north of us," said Yukio. "Now he's west of us. They're trying to circle around us and sweep down on us. It's his turn to try a tulughma."
The samurai surged forward in a tight line, horses shoulder-toshoulder, at Yukio's command. Looking back and gauging the distance from one end of the line to the other, Jebu could see that the line was not as long as it would have been this morning. They must have lost at least a third of their men.
The grassland over which they rode was littered with the bodies of men and horses, motionless and dust covered, as if they had been dead a long time. As they lay, dark lumps in the tall grass, it was impossible to tell whose side they had fought on.
They saw the enemy ahead, a black mass on the horizon, lances waving in the air like blades of grass. Jebu squinted. It hurt his eyes to look at the opposing line. They were riding into the sun now. That gave them an advantage. He readied himself for the killing rain of arrows that would come from the long-range, heavy bows of Arghun's cavalry. Yukio called an order to his own men to load and prepare to fire. The order was transmitted by horn signal down the samurai line.
How different is the way we fight now, Jebu thought. No more individual samurai riding out to find somebody of good family on the other side to challenge to single combat. We manoeuvre in masses with all the precision of the Mongols themselves. We've learned from them-those of us who are still alive.
He kicked his horse into a fast trot. The distance between Arghun's line and their own had halved since they first saw the enemy. The arrows would start flying at any moment now. They were almost within bow shot.
The enemy horsemen wheeled and began riding away. Now would come the deadly flight of arrows fired while retreating. How many battles had these mounted archers won while seeming to run away? Unable to use a bow, Jebu drew his Zinja sword and waved it in the air above his head, yelling wordlessly, just to do something. The dust was so thick, his shout ended in a cough.
Still no arrows, except a few random, accidental ones that hit no one. The dark body of Arghun's riders had turned and were leading the samurai and the rest of the left wing-Jebu could see Uriangkatai's Banners stretched out over the plain to his left-to the north. Supposedly Arik Buka's centre lay that way.
The grass thinned out and the dust grew thicker. The rolling plains turned into waves of dunes stretching towards the northern horizon. The horses' hooves slid in the sand. They were in the Gobi itself now.
There were more bodies than ever on the ground. This must have been where the fighting was heaviest this morning. Jebu had to whip his pony to keep it trotting straight ahead. It kept trying to change direction to avoid stepping on bodies. Step on them, Jebu thought. They won't feel it.
"This must be an ambush," he called, forcing his mount into a neckand-neck gallop with Yukio's.
"Look at that," said Yukio. Jebu saw it a moment later, gleaming white and gold in the afternoon sun, looming above the undulating horizon. Kublai's elephant-borne tower. Before the tower came line after line of horsemen, sweeping over the desert, their ranks slightly curved like the sabre blades.
"It's Arghun who's in a trap," Yukio cried. "Kublai's centre is going to fall upon him."
But Kublai's horsemen did not attack Arghun's cavalry. Both groups formed into two wings and thundered together over the horizon.
Uriangkatai galloped up, followed by a wedge of guards. "I'm delivering this order personally to make sure you understand," the heavyset orkhon said. His face was flushed with excitement. "You are not to attack any of Arghun's units. Do you understand? No fighting with Arghun."
"What's happening?" asked Yukio.
"The Great Khan has won Arghun over to our side. They're attacking Arik Buka right now. We've won. Arik Buka is finished." He jerked his reins and started to ride off in the direction he had come from.
"What are we to do?" Yukio called after him. But Uriangkatai was too far away to hear or reply.
Jebu said, "We should join the rest of the Great Khan's forces and attack Arik Buka."
"But that means joining Arghun and his men," said Yukio. "We can't go near them."
Jebu shrugged. "It would be a shame if Arghun were in at the kill, and we, who have followed Kublai since he proclaimed himself Great Khan, were not."
Yukio nodded and gave the order to follow Arghun's Banners over the sand dunes. The standard-bearer drew abreast of Yukio and Jebu, and the samurai followed the White Dragon banner. Yukio summoned his hundred-commanders, and as they rode together he explained Arghun's defection from Arik Buka's army. He gave orders that none of Arghun's men, where they could be recognized, were to be attacked.
They crested a dune and Jebu was surprised at the sight spread below. He had expected to find butchery in progress in the valley beyond. Arghun's heavy cavalry and Kublai's centre troops engaged with Arik Buka's centre and left. Instead, there were only heaps of dead and wounded men and horses, with bands of foot soldiers going among them and sending some into the next world while aiding others. The battle had passed this way and moved on. Mongol warfare never stayed long in one place. Kublai's elephants and tower were already on the next hill, and as Jebu watched they sank below the horizon. The sun, too, was sinking.
A troop of riders came over the north side of the valley, their horses at a walk, returning from the direction of the battle. The riders were silent. More and more of them topped the ridge. It was at least a whole tuman. Erom the look of the steel armour of men and horses, it was one of Arghun's Banners.
"Why aren't they going after Arik Buka?" said Yukio.
A leader rode out before the heavy tuman flanked by a small group of officers. A standard-bearer held up a pole adorned with yak horns and horsetails. The leader came on at a trot, as if to parley. Yukio held up his hand to halt his own men.
The leader opposite them leaned forward in his saddle. The men behind them had their bows out. A chill spread across Jebu's back. He recognized the broad face with the long grey moustache.
"It's Torluk," Jebu said to Yukio in a low voice. Even as he spoke, Torluk raised his arm and brought it down in a chopping motion. The archers behind him raised their bows and fired.
Chapter Twenty-Two
There was no time to see how many samurai, all unprepared, fell under that volley. Torluk drew his sabre from behind his back and with a wild bellow kicked his grey horse into a gallop straight at Jebu. Jebu lowered his lance, bracing it against his right side, steadying it with his nearly useless left arm.
Torluk shifted in the saddle to avoid a straight-on impact with the lance. The point slid off the curve of his steel breastplate. Roaring, the Mongol tuman-bashi swung his sabre at Jebu's head. Jebu caught the blade on his lance pole. The sabre cut the lance in two but stopped short of hitting Jebu.
Jebu gripped the front half of the lance with his right hand. Like all Mongol lances, it had a hook just behind the point. He swung the hook and caught the armhole of Torluk's breastplate. Detached, Jebu's mind observed with wonder how well the Self defended him. Torluk went one way as his horse went the other. The Mongol crashed to the ground on his stomach. Jebu let go of the broken lance and let it fall with Torluk. He drew his sword.
Momentarily unthreatened, Jebu felt one with the pattern of battle that cast a network over the valley. Everywhere he looked, horsemen were locked in single combat. The Mongols had abandoned their usual style of fighting in masses with bow and arrow from a distance, and had closed with the samurai. They're trying to wipe us out, he thought. Arghun had sent a whole tuman, ten thousand men, not just to kill Jebu, but to destroy all the samurai.
Still, he felt light, free from fear. He felt marvellous. He would act, he would fight. He didn't care whether he won or lost, lived or died. Even the pain in his arm did not bother him.
A huge warrior thundered down on him, swinging the iron ball of a mace at his head. Jebu had just time to bring up his sword. The handle of the mace cut itself in two against the edge of the Zinja sword. The heavy ball, undeflected, crashed against Jebu's helmet. He felt no pain.
Jebu felt much pain when he came to. His face was pressed into the sand, covered with dust, and more dust clogged his nostrils. Shafts of agony shot through his back and chest with every breath. He must have been trampled by horses. His Zinja training kept him motionless, barely breathing.
No light penetrated his closed eyelids. It must be night, he thought. He heard the clip-clop of hooves walking slowly, the crunching steps and low voices of men. He heard the sounds he always heard after a battle, mostly the cries and groans of the wounded. Bodies that had been young, strong and healthy a few hours ago, now ruined. The battle was either over or had moved to another part of the field.
He moved his consciousness slowly from one part of his body to another, starting with his toes and working upwards over his legs, his torso, his arms and his head. An ability to diagnose one's own wounds was a basic Zinja skill. He let himself breathe a little more deeply. He could detect no bubbling sound in his chest. He was fairly certain there were ribs broken, but they had not pierced his lungs, the most dangerous possibility.
Nearby there were screams, shouts of rage, the thunk of a sword chopping through flesh and bone. The killer squads were going through the field executing wounded enemies. A voice crazed with pain babbled in the language of the Sunrise Land. Again the chopping sound and the voice was still.
They must be Torluk's men, doing the killing. They were coming closer. His hands were empty. He had to find a weapon. Every muscle in his body ached to move. Stop this, he told himself. Stop thinking, stop wanting. Rely on the Self. With armed enemies walking towards him it was difficult, but he made his mind a blank and kept still.
Then they were standing over him. "Recognize that grey robe over the armour? It's the monk, all right. The one the tuman-bashi wants."
"He looks dead," said another voice.
Eingertips felt Jebu's neck for a pulse. Instantly, still without thinking, he grabbed the hand touching him, heaved up with his back, and threw the man forward over his head. Only then did he realize he had used his wounded left arm. He grabbed for the sword arm, sprang to his feet, and stamped on the man's arm, breaking it and freeing the sabre.
As he seized the sabre and raised it to protect himself, he let out a cry somewhere between a scream and a groan. His sudden, enormous effort unleashed hideous agony throughout his body. It was as if a dozen red-hot lance points had been driven into him from every direction. He staggered a step, and then a veil of blackness fell over his eyes. He had barely time to see three of Torluk's men facing him, sabres poised, when he pitched forward into the desert sand.
A Zinja does not faint, he told himself. I'm a dead man now, for certain.
He woke to more pain. He was lying on his back, and a flexing of his tortured muscles told him his arms and legs were bound with ropes. He had been awakened by someone splashing water on his face. He opened his eyes, blinked them against torchlight, and saw Torluk and Arghun looking down at him.
"Is this the one?" Torluk said in Mongolian. His chest was bare except for a thick swathing of cloth strips around his middle. Perhaps he, too, had broken a few ribs when he fell from his horse.
"It is," Arghun whispered. It was almost five years since Jebu last saw Arghun Baghadur. The red of his moustache was streaked with grey. The lines in his face and especially around his slitted blue eyes were deeper. The eyes were as empty of feeling as ever.
"Did you betray Arik Buka just to get at me?" Jebu asked him.
Arghun shook his head. "I left Arik Buka's service for the same reason I am going to kill you. Because I serve the spirit of Genghis Khan. Roll him over."
Two men grasped Jebu's right side and lifted him. He groaned in spite of himself.
"Don't cause him unnecessary pain," Arghun said. "He is a brave man." They pushed him over and let him fall on his stomach. "That's why I had you awakened, Jebu," Arghun continued. "It is a bad death, to die unconscious and not know the manner or reason of your dying. I want you to know that it is I who am killing you, in obedience to the will of Genghis Khan. I told you once before that I would avoid shedding your blood." He turned to one of his men. "Give me your bow."
"Let me get up to fight you, if you want me to die well," Jebu said. Arghun laughed as he crouched over Jebu. "I'm many years older than you are."
"I'm wounded. My left arm is useless. My ribs are broken. It would be a fair fight." Why am I talking to him like this? Why don't I just let him kill me and have done with it? Something, the Self perhaps, wanted him to prolong his life as much as possible. But a Zinja does not care whether he lives or dies.
Arghun pressed one knee into Jebu's back and slipped the double-curved, compound bow over his head. He pulled the rawhide cord against Jebu's throat and turned the bow. The string cut into Jebu's neck like the edge of a sword. The tension of the bow pulled the string tight around his neck with a strength equal to that of two men pulling on each end of it. His lungs screamed for air. His windpipe was closed. Arghun gave the bow another turn. Jebu's head felt as if it were going to burst.
Through the dizziness and the ringing in his ears he heard voices. The bowstring tightened again, viciously. Consciousness faded-and returned in moments. The merciless rawhide cord was gone from his neck. Arghun's weight was off his back. Breath, never so sweet, whistled through his tortured throat.
Someone was kneeling beside him, cutting the ropes that held him. Yukio.
"We got to you. By the favour of Hachiman, we got to you in time."
A shout made Jebu turn his head. He gasped at the sudden pain in his throat and neck. The shout was Arghun's. He was standing face-to-face with Uriangkatai. Both big men had their fists clenched and their shoulders hunched.
"You will die, I swear by Eternal Heaven, you will die for striking me," Arghun roared.
"You are twice a traitor, Arghun," Uriangkatai replied in an even tone. "Once to your lord Arik Buka, and now to your lord Kublai Khan. You ordered a tuman of your division to attack our men from Ge-pen. By Eternal Heaven, it is you who will pay for the needless deaths of hundreds of my warriors."
"They were foreigners," said Arghun contemptuously.
"They were soldiers of the Great Khan. They were under my command. You will answer to him and to me for the loss of their lives."
"Then I will answer for one more life as well," said Arghun, drawing his sabre and turning towards Jebu. Yukio leaped to his feet and stood before Jebu's body, his samurai sword gripped in both hands, poised to strike.
Uriangkatai raised his hand. "Stop, Arghun. If I let my hand fall, the men with me will fill you with arrows." The desert ridge was lined with crossbowmen, their weapons pointed at Arghun.
The turkhan exhaled slowly, relaxed, and put away his sword. It must be enough to drive him mad, Jebu thought, to come so close to killing me after all these years, and then to be stopped short.
Arghun turned back to Uriangkatai. Pointing to Jebu he said, "Understand, Uriangkatai, it is the will of Genghis Khan that this monk die. He is the son of Jamuga, the worst enemy of the Conqueror's youth. Do you think your father Subotai would have interfered with one carrying out the yarligh of Genghis Khan?"
"It is the will of Genghis Khan that fighting among the men of the ordu be punished by death. How much more are we obligated to kill a commander who starts a war among men on his own side. That is written in the Yassa of Genghis Khan."
"Uriangkatai, tens of thousands of men have fallen today. It is foolish for an orkhon and a tarkhan to quarrel over this one."
