Shike - Robert J. Shea (best finance books of all time .TXT) 📗

and you will be keeping faith with the Ancestor.”

One of Kublai’s generals shouted, “The voice is yours, Torluk, but the words are those of the khan’s enemies.”

“Peace,” said Kublai. “Many will attack what we do here for the reasons Torluk gives. It is good that we have this chance to answer.”

Kublai stood up. Most of the Mongols were big men, but he was one of the biggest among them. Taniko had heard that his grandfather, Genghis Khan, was also very tall.

“As to the place of the kuriltai. We are north of the Great Wall here. This country has always been part of the homeland. We were fighting in the south when the news of my brother’s death came. Erom here we can return to that fighting more quickly than if we go all the way to Karakorum. Let any who would have a voice in ruling the empire come here, where we are building the empire.”

His deep voice, calm at first, grew fiercer as he spoke. When he paused, the assembled leaders cheered until he raised his hand for silence.

“As for those who are not here. The khans of Russia have not attended a kuriltai since my grandfather’s day. They will have to support whomever we choose. My brother Hulagu is just as far away, fighting in the lands of the Arabs. The Mameluks of Egypt press upon him, and he cannot disengage without the loss of everything we have gained in thirty years of fighting there. Hulagu has sent me permission to cast his vote as I see fit. As for Kaidu, Arghun and my brother Arik Buka, perhaps you can tell me where they are, Torluk. Why have the elderly dung eaters who advise my young brother persuaded him to remain in his yurt by the Gobi when he could be my guest, enjoying the delights of Shangtu?”

There was laughter, which died away when Torluk replied, “Let me remind the khan that those who dwell in yurts have always triumphed over those who live in palaces. And this is no true kuriltai while your brother remains in Karakorum.”

A young tarkhan beside Kublai, whom Taniko recognized as Bayan, stepped forward and drew his sabre. Taniko held her breath. In the Sacred Islands when a warrior bared his sword he could not honourably sheathe it again until he had drawn blood. But Kublai rumbled softly to Bayan, who put his sword away and sat down.

“I am at home in both yurts and palaces, Torluk,” said Kublai with a smile. “But I advise you now to have a care.” The smile fell away and the broad, dark face was as stern as the visage of a carved god. “You come close to saying that you will not accept the judgment of this kuriltai. That would be treason.”

Torluk remained on his feet but stood silent, while Kublai stared him down. At last he turned away from the khan and pushed his way through the crowd. Kublai began speaking quietly to the councillors around him. Gradually the huge room filled with the roar of many different conversations.

What a strange way to conduct the business of an empire, Taniko thought. She had never been to a public gathering in which men talked all at once to one another and ignored their leaders, while their leaders ignored them and also talked among themselves. She tried to imagine what it would be like if the Son of Heaven were elected at a meeting conducted by the great men of the realm. It was unthinkable, sacrilegious. But the Emperor of the Sacred Islands, of course, was a god.

Now the tarkhan Bayan was calling for silence. He made a long speech in Mongolian. Taniko had lived with Mongols long enough to understand the drift of it. He called upon the kuriltai to choose Kublai as Great Khan. He gave many reasons. The reasons were all obvious. They added up to one reason: that there was no one else in the world who could govern, maintain and expand the huge Mongol empire. She wondered why Arik Buka and those around him couldn’t see that.

The chieftains responded to Bayan’s speech with a roar of assent. Now Kublai was protesting that he was not worthy. He held out his hands in a gesture rejecting the honour offered him. Bourkina had told Taniko exactly how this part would go, so that even though she understood little Mongolian, she could follow what was happening. Shouts went up from the crowd. They were demanding that he accept the Great Khanate. How rude and strange, subjects shouting orders at the man they had chosen to be their ruler. No more rude and strange, though, than the very idea that people could choose their ruler.

The roar became insistent, even frightening in’its intensity. Some of them were chanting his name, “Kublai, Kublai,” over and over. Still he shook his head and tried to make his refusal heard above their clamour, ludicrous behaviour for a man wearing crown jewels and sitting on an Emperor’s chair of state. But it was expected of him, as Bourkina had explained.

At last Kublai stood up. He held out his hands again, but this time the gesture was one of yielding. He bows to accept the supreme power, Taniko thought, still bemused by it all.

The shout of the leaders of the Mongol empire was deafening.

Bayan and an older general-she supposed it was Uriangkatai-held up a long strip of dark grey felt. This, Bourkina had told her, had been traditional for Mongol khans from the days when their tribe was created by the spirits of snow and ice. The two generals draped the felt over the seat and arms of the throne. Slowly Kublai Khan sat down.

So simple, thought Taniko. A man plants his buttocks on a piece of felt and becomes lord of the world.

The cheering redoubled in volume, then died away. One by one the men removed whatever head covering they wore-fur hats, steel helmets, Chinese-style caps of office, turbans, burnouses. As a silence fell over the room they unbuckled their belts. Swords and daggers thudded to the carpeting. The standing men draped their belts over their shoulders. Thus they made the traditional submission to the new Great Khan.

One by one the chieftains moved forward to greet Kublai and to make individual pledges of loyalty to him. Servants bearing large por celain wine jars and silver platters laden with smoking roasts of beef and mutton began to move through the crowd. Taniko saw the tumanbashi Torluk pushing his way out of the hall. His felt hat was on his head and his sword buckled at his side, but nobody seemed to notice him.

In the gallery Bourkina called out, “Ladies, it’s time we were leaving. It won’t be long before the level of feasting and rejoicing here passes what is safe. Each of us will surely have her opportunity to congratulate the Great Khan in her way and in her own time.” There were cries of protest.

Hotai said, “That may be well enough for foreign women, but I’ve grown up attending Mongol feasts. I will be quite safe and comfortable, and I will stay.”

“Indeed, she’s safe enough,” Seremeter said quietly to Taniko. “What man would look twice at that cow?”

One of Kublai’s Chinese consorts smirked. “Cows are what the Mongols like best.”

Taniko stared at the Chinese woman. “You could lose your head if any Mongol heard that.”

The woman laughed. “Not at all. To call a woman a great cow is regarded a high compliment among the Mongols. Didn’t you know that?”

Except for Hotai and several of the older and more prestigious Mongol wives, such as the principal wife, the lady Jamui, Kublai’s women permitted themselves to be shepherded by Bourkina down the gallery stairs and out of the place. Across a wide courtyard with a fountain in its centre was the women’s palace. Though it was the Eifth Month, the beginning of summer, the wind was from the steppes of the north, and it was cold. Taniko could see why Kublai had chosen Shantu for his summer residence.

The women crossed the courtyard in a group. Like a flock of geese, Taniko thought. A monk approached them, one of the many who had come from the furthest corners of the world to observe the kuriltai and see what these new world conquerors portended for the various religions. This one was only slightly taller than Taniko, with white hair and a white beard. He wore a grey robe.

“Stand aside,” Bourkina called loudly. “No man is permitted to approach the Great Khan’s wives.”

The elderly monk chuckled and stood his ground. “Surely, my lady, one my age and wearing the robe of a monk is harmless enough.”

“Many a monk’s robe has concealed a pestiferous weapon,” said Bourkina in a slightly more pleasant tone.

“The range of my weapon is not so great these days, lady,” said the monk with a smile. “I assure you, you’re well beyond it.” Taniko wondered about him. Erom his size and general appearance he looked neither Chinese nor Mongol, but as if he might come from her own country. Immediately after that thought came the shocking recognition that on his robe was the same Willow Tree symbol she had seen on Jebu’s. The old man was a Zinja from the Sacred Islands. She was sure of it.

She had no idea until that moment how much she had been missing her country and her people. She wanted to cry.

“What do you want, old monk?” Bourkina snapped. “If it weren’t for your white hair, I’d have had the guards take your head by now.”

The old man bowed as only the men of the Sacred Islands knew how to bow, with respect and yet dignity.

“I realize that I may not speak directly to one of the Great Khan’s consorts,” said the monk. “But I see among you a lady whom I recognize as a countrywoman of mine.” He looked directly at Taniko and his eyes twinkled. “I have news for her.”

“Indeed,” said Bourkina. “I should have recognized from your imposing stature that you are from the Land of the Dwarfs.” Several women snickered, and Taniko glared at them. She wanted to rush across the courtyard to the old monk and throw herself at his feet, but she dared not even speak to him directly.

The monk said, “Last year a small band of our dwarfish warriors succeeded in holding off a huge army under Arghun Baghadur equipped with siege engines, elephants and all, at the city of Kweilin. When the Great Khan Mangu died, the siege was lifted, as you know. Since Arghun is no friend to your newly elected Great Khan, I’m sure Arghun’s lack of success will please all the ladies. But what may especially please the lady from my land in this. Were she to read a list of the dead, she would recognize none of the names.”

Bourkina eyed Taniko narrowly. “Once one has become a subject of the Great Khan, she leaves old attachments behind. Is it not so, Lady Taniko?”

“Oh, certainly,” said Taniko, her heart beating furiously. “But I would like to know the name of this monk who has been kind enough to pass on this interesting news.”

“I am Taitaro of the Order of Zinja,” the old monk replied. “I was once abbot of the Waterfowl Temple.”

The Waterfowl Temple. Jebu’s temple. He had said once that the abbot was his stepfather. This was the man who had raised Jebu. Dangerous or not, she had to talk more with him. But the old monk was gone.

Her head reeled. She thought she was going to faint and put her hand on Seremeter’s arm to steady herself. Jebu was alive. He was alive, and she had just talked to his father.