He had lost track of time when he heard voices approaching. Tsubodai watched closely as Ogedai’s Guards entered and took positions. He felt their gaze pass over him and then settle, as the only possible threat in the room. Ogedai came last, his face puffier and far paler than Tsubodai remembered. It was hard not to remember Genghis in those yellow eyes, and Tsubodai bowed deeply.
Ogedai returned the bow, before taking a seat on a wooden bench under the window. The wood was polished and golden and he let his hands enjoy the feel of it as he glanced out at Karakorum. He closed his eyes for a moment as the setting sun cast a last glimpse of gold into the high room.
He had no love for Tsubodai, for all he needed him. If the general had refused Genghis’ most brutal order, Ogedai’s older brother Jochi would have been khan long since. If Tsubodai had stayed his hand, disobeyed just once, there would be no crisis of leadership heading towards them, threatening to destroy them all.
‘Thank you for waiting. I hope my servants have made you comfortable?’ he asked at last.
Tsubodai frowned at the question. He had expected the rituals of ger courtesy, but Ogedai’s face was open and visibly weary.
‘Of course, lord. I need very little.’
He paused as footsteps sounded outside the doors and Ogedai rose as new Guards entered, followed by Tolui and his wife Sorhatani.
‘You are welcome in my home, brother,’ Ogedai said, ‘but I did not expect your beautiful wife to attend me.’ He turned to Sorhatani smoothly. ‘Your children are well?’
‘They are, my lord. I brought only Mongke and Kublai. I do not doubt they are causing trouble for your men at this very moment.’
Ogedai frowned delicately. He had asked for Tolui to come to the palace for his own safety. He knew of at least two plots that sought to dispose of the younger brother, but he had expected to explain in private. He glanced at Tolui and saw his brother’s gaze rise and drop for a moment. Sorhatani was hard to refuse in anything.
‘Your other sons? They are not with you?’ Ogedai said to his brother.
‘I have sent them to a cousin. He is taking a fishing trip out west for a few months. They will miss the oath-taking, but I will have them make it good when they return.’
‘Ah,’ Ogedai said, understanding. One pair of sons would survive, no matter what happened. He wondered if it had been Sorhatani who had changed his order for the whole family to appear at the palace. Perhaps she was right to be less than trusting in such bleak times.
‘I have no doubt General Tsubodai is bursting with news and dire warnings, brother,’ Ogedai said. ‘You may return to your rooms, Sorhatani. Thank you for taking a moment to visit me.’
The dismissal could not be refused and she bowed stiffly. Ogedai noticed the furious glance she shot at Tolui as she turned. The gates swung open again and the three men were left alone, with eight Guards along the walls.
Ogedai gestured to a table and they sat, all warier than he could once have believed possible. Losing patience with it all, Ogedai clinked cups together and filled each one, pushing them towards his guests. They reached for them at the same time, knowing that to hesitate would show they feared poison. Ogedai did not give them long, emptying his own in three quick gulps.
‘You two I trust,’ he said bluntly, licking his lips. ‘Tolui, I have stopped one attempt to kill you, or your sons.’ Tolui narrowed his eyes a fraction, growing tense. ‘My spies have heard of one other, but I do not know who it is and I am out of time. I can deal with those who seek my death, but I must ask that you stay in the palace. I cannot protect you otherwise, until I am khan.’
‘Is it so bad then?’ Tolui asked, astonished. He had known the camp was in turmoil, but to hear of open attacks had shaken him. He wished that Sorhatani were there to hear it. He would only have to repeat it all later.
Ogedai turned to Tsubodai. The general sat in simple clothes, but he radiated authority. Ogedai wondered for a moment if it was simply reputation. It was difficult not to look on Tsubodai with awe if you knew what he had achieved in his life. The army owed their success to him as much as to Genghis. Yet for Ogedai it was harder not to look on him with hatred. He locked it away, as he had for more than two years. He still needed this man.
‘You are loyal, Tsubodai,’ he said softly, ‘to my father’s will, at least. From your hand, I have word of this “Broken Lance” each day.’ He hesitated, struggling for calm. Part of him wanted to leave Tsubodai outside Karakorum on the plains, to ignore the strategist his father had valued over all others. Yet only a fool would waste such a talent. Even then, challenged openly, Tsubodai had not confirmed he was the source of the messengers who appeared at the palace, though Ogedai was almost certain.
‘I serve, lord,’ Tsubodai said. ‘You had my oath, as heir. I have not wavered in that.’
For an instant, Ogedai’s anger rose in him like a white spike in his head. This was the man who had cut Jochi’s throat in the snow, sitting there and talking of his oath. Ogedai took a deep breath. Tsubodai was too valuable to waste. He had to be managed, thrown off balance.
‘My brother Jochi heard your promises, did he not?’ he said softly. To his pleasure, the colour fled from the general’s face.
Tsubodai remembered every detail of the meeting with Jochi in the northern snows. The son of Genghis had exchanged his life for his men and their families. Jochi had known he was going to die, but he had expected a chance to speak again to his father. Tsubodai was too much of a man to quibble over the rights and wrongs of it. It felt like a betrayal then and it still did. He nodded, jerkily.
‘I killed him, lord. It was wrong and I live with it.’
‘You broke your word, Tsubodai?’ Ogedai pressed, leaning across the table.
His cup fell with a metallic clang and Tsubodai reached out and set it upright. He would not take less than his full share of blame; he could not.
‘I did,’ Tsubodai replied, his eyes blazing with anger or shame.
‘Then redeem your honour!’ Ogedai roared, slamming his fists into the table.
All three cups crashed over, spilling wine in a red flood. The Guards drew swords and Tsubodai came to his feet in a jerk, half expecting to be attacked. He found himself staring down at Ogedai, still seated. The general knelt as suddenly as he had risen.
Ogedai had not known how the death of his brother had troubled Tsubodai. The general and his father had kept all that between them. It was a revelation and he needed time to think about what it meant. He spoke instinctively, using the man’s own chains to bind him.
‘Redeem your word, general, by keeping another son of Genghis alive long enough to be khan. My brother’s spirit would not want to see his family torn and abandoned. My father’s spirit would not. Make it so, Tsubodai, and find peace. After that, I do not care what happens, but you will be among the first to take the oath. That would be fitting.’
Ogedai’s chest hurt and he could feel sour sweat under his arms and on his brow. A great lethargy settled across his shoulders as his heart thumped slower and slower, reducing him to dizzy exhaustion. He had not slept well for weeks and the constant fear of death was wearing him to a shadow, until only his will remained. He had shocked those present with his sudden rage, but at times he could barely control his temper. He had lived under a great weight for too long and sometimes he simply could not remain calm. He would be khan, if even for just a day. His voice was slurred as he spoke. Both Tsubodai and Tolui watched him with worried expressions.
‘Stay here tonight, both of you,’ Ogedai said. ‘There is nowhere safer on the plains, or in the city.’
Tolui