Conqueror. Conn Iggulden

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ nodded slowly. Tsubodai grunted, barely able to see the movement.

      ‘Were you right to do it? To take all the years he would live?’

      ‘I thought so at the time,’ Batu replied uncomfortably.

      ‘You’re still too young. I thought once that I could make my mistake a good thing. That my guilt could be the force that made me better than other men. I thought in my strong years that I would learn from it, but no matter what I did, it was always there. I could not take it back, Batu. I could not undo my sin. Do you know that word? The Christians talk of a black stain on the soul. It is fitting.’

      ‘They also say you can remove it by confessing.’

      ‘No, that’s not true. What sort of a man would I be if I could just wipe out my errors with talking? A man has to live with his mistakes and go on. That is his punishment, perhaps.’ He chuckled then, recalling an old memory. ‘You know, your grandfather just forgot his bad days, as if they had never happened. I used to envy him for that. I still do, sometimes.’ He saw Batu looking at him and sighed. ‘Just keep your word, boy, that’s all I have for you.’

      Tsubodai shivered as a breeze rushed past them.

      ‘If that’s you, Genghis, I’m not interested,’ he muttered, so low that Batu could barely hear the words. ‘The boy can look after himself.’

      The old man pulled his old deel robe closer around him. ‘It’s too late now to ride back to your men,’ Tsubodai said a little louder. ‘You have guest rights here and I’ll send you on your way in the morning after breakfast. Coming?’

      He didn’t wait for Batu to answer. The moon was showing over the horizon and Batu watched the old man walk back to the ger. He was pleased he had come and he thought he knew what he had to do.

      The yam station was a surprising building to see in the middle of nowhere. Three hundred miles north of Karakorum, it had a single purpose: to work as a link in messenger chains that stretched as far as the lands of the Chin, west into Russia and as far south as Kabul. Supplies and equipment came along the same route, on slower carts, so that it could thrive. Where there was once a single ger with a few spare mounts, there was now a building of grey stone, roofed in red tile. Gers still surrounded it, presumably for the families of the riders and the few maimed soldiers who had retired there. Batu wondered idly if one day it would become a village in the wilderness. Yam riders could not move with the seasons as their ancestors had.

      He had avoided the way stations on his journey from his new lands. Just the sight of his tuman would have sent a rider galloping down the line. No one travelled faster than the yam riders over rough ground and news of his movements would have been in Karakorum days ahead of him. Even for this message, he had left his warriors in a forest of pine and birch, too far away to be discovered. He had ridden ahead with just two of his scouts until they came to a ridge where he could tether his horse and send them on without him.

      Batu lay on his stomach in the sunshine, watching their progress towards the yam station. There was smoke coming from its chimney and in the distance he could see the tiny figures of horses cropping at the grass. When he saw his scouts enter the building, he turned over on his back and stared up at the blue sky.

      There had been a time when he wanted to be khan. If he had been offered it in those days, he would have grasped the thorn without hesitating. Life had been simpler then, riding west with Tsubodai. The death of Ogedai had done more than halt the Great Trek into the western nations. The khan had gone out of his way to raise Batu from poverty, forcing him through promotions until he gave orders to ten thousand picked men. It should not have been a surprise that Ogedai had included him in his will, but it had been. Batu had not expected anything. When he had ridden to his new lands, he had found traces of a Mongol camp, with gers falling in on themselves and rough wooden buildings. He had searched them all, and in one he came across a rotting saddle stamped with the mark of his father’s tuman. Ogedai had given him the lands his father had chosen when he ran from Genghis. Batu had held the saddle then and wept for a man he had never known. He knew something had changed in him from that point. As he looked up into the perfect blue, he searched himself for the itch of desire, of ambition, but there was nothing. He would not be khan. His only purpose was to be sure the best of them took command of the nation. He worked his hand into the earth he lay on and tore out a handful of grass and dirt. In the peace of a warm day, he crumbled it into dust and let the breeze carry it away.

      Above him, a distant hawk wheeled and then hovered, perhaps interested in the man who lay supine on the grass of the plains. Batu raised a hand to it, knowing the bird could see every detail even from such a height.

      The sun had moved in the sky by the time his scouts returned. Well trained, they gave no sign that they saw him as they reached the ridge, not until they were out of sight of anyone watching from the yam station. They walked their ponies past him and Batu followed, checking behind occasionally. He did not need to ask them if the message had gone. The yam stations were famous for their efficiency. A rider would already be galloping towards the next one, some twenty-five miles towards Karakorum. Torogene would hold his sealed letter in her hands in just three days.

      Batu was thoughtful as he trotted across the rich green grass. He knew Guyuk would lose face when the gathering fell apart. Batu’s other message would reach Baidur around the same time and if he acted on the promise of support, many things would change. Baidur would be a better khan than Guyuk, Batu was certain. For an instant, Batu felt a whisper of the old voice, telling him that he would also be a good khan, the first-born of Genghis’ first-born. It would be fitting, as if the nation had been wrenched back on the right path after too long. He shook his head, crushing the voice in him. His father had wanted to find his own path, far from khans and herds. Speaking to Tsubodai had given Batu a sense of vast reaches of time, a glimpse of decades, even centuries, through the old man’s eyes. He struggled to hold on to it.

      Batu tried to think of all the possible futures, then gave it up. No man could plan for everything. He wondered if his pony rode over the bones of long-dead men and shivered slightly at the thought, despite the warmth of the sun.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Karakorum had not seen such a gathering for many years. As far as the eye could see, the land was covered in gers and horses, the families of the nation come to see the oath-taking for the new khan. Baidur had brought two tumans of warriors from the west, twenty thousand men who made a camp by the Orkhon river and kept their boundaries secure. The camp of Sorhatani’s four sons was close by, with another thirty thousand families. The green plains were hidden by them, and gers perched high into the hills as latecomers searched for good ground.

      There was no quiet to be had in such a host. Great herds of bleating sheep, goats, camels and yaks drifted around the city, moving out each morning to open land where they could graze and drink their fill. The river banks had been churned into brown mud over the previous weeks and the routines established. Already there had been fights and even murders. It was impossible to gather so many in one place and not have someone draw his sword. Still, the days passed in relative peace and they waited patiently, understanding that the world was large. Some of the nation’s senior men were coming home from as far as Koryo, east of the Chin territory. Others had ridden from new settlements in Persia, drawn by the summons from Karakorum. First to last, the quiriltai would take almost three months to form. Until the day of the oath-taking, the nation was content to live on the food that flowed out of the city to feed them.

      Torogene could hardly remember when she had last slept. She had stolen a few hours СКАЧАТЬ