Bones Of the Hills c-3 Read online

The streets had cleared around them and the market that had bustled all day had somehow disappeared. The ululating call from the mosque had ended, to be replaced by a dim and muffled chant.

  ‘You Arabs would not kill good horses, I think,’ Tsubodai said. ‘They will be somewhere close by in stables. While they pray, we will search. How many good mounts can there be in this dirty little town? Find the horses and we find the shah.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jelaudin could not sleep as he lay in darkness, his mind tormenting him with bright images. It was hard not to give in to melancholy as he scratched fresh flea bites and pulled a thin blanket tighter around his shoulders for warmth. At least in the dark none of his brothers were looking to him to tell them what to do and his father’s once-piercing gaze could not find him. He retired as early as he could each night, seeking sleep as a release and willing each day away into nothingness. Yet sleep evaded him and his mind worked as if it was a separate thing, alive and twitching in his head. When he closed his eyes, he was tormented with visions of revelry in his father’s palaces, lit by a thousand candles and lamps. He had danced until dawn many times and never once thought of the cost of tallow or oil. Now their single candle needed to be eked out as much as food or charcoal. Running a household was a revelation to him, even one as poor and meagre as the rooms in Khuday When Jelaudin opened his eyes in frustration, he could see moonlight through the cracks in the roof. The air was thick with the stench from a slop bucket. He had put one outside on his first night in Khuday, but it had been stolen in the morning and they had been forced to buy another. He had learned to pay a boy to carry it to a public pit outside the town, but of course his brothers had forgotten. Everything cost money in Khuday. Life was more complicated than he had realised and at times he wondered how poor merchants could afford to live.

  Jelaudin jerked upright as a noise sounded and the small door shuddered in its frame. Someone was knocking and his heart thumped painfully in his chest as he reached for his sword.

  ‘Jelaudin?’ one of his brothers called fearfully.

  ‘Be ready,’ he whispered back, pulling on his clothes in the dark. The leggings stank of old sweat, but the water bucket was as empty as the other was full, without even enough to splash his face. The knocking sounded again and he took a deep breath as he drew his sword. He did not want to die in the dark, but if the Mongols had found them, he knew better than to expect mercy.

  Jelaudin yanked open the door with his sword ready, his bare chest heaving. The moon was bright enough to see a small boy standing there and relief flooded through the young prince.

  ‘Why do you disturb our sleep?’ he demanded.

  ‘My master Abbud sent me while he went to the mosque for evening prayers, master. He said to tell you the Mongols know where you are staying. You must leave Khuday.’

  The boy turned to go, his message delivered. Jelaudin reached out and grabbed him, making him yelp in fear. The life of a boy in Khuday was even more precarious than their own and the little one squirmed in his grasp.

  ‘They are coming here?’ Jelaudin snapped. ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes, master,’ the boy replied, his fingers jerking at Jelaudin’s hand. ‘Please, I must run back.’

  Jelaudin released the boy to stagger away. He faced the moonlit street for a moment, seeing enemies in every shadow. He gave a swift prayer of thanks for the old jeweller’s kindness, then turned inside, pulling the door shut as if it could hold back his fears.

  His three brothers were dressed and ready, once more looking to him for leadership. Jelaudin grimaced at them.

  ‘Light the candle and get our father into his clothes. Run to the stables, Tamar, and take our horses.’

  ‘Do you have coins, brother?’ Tamar replied. ‘The stable owner will want payment.’

  Jelaudin felt as if a noose was tightening around his neck. He opened a pouch and handed a small ruby to his brother, leaving only five as the total of their worldly wealth.

  ‘Give him this and tell him we are devout followers of the prophet. Tell him there will be no honour for any man who aids our enemies.’

  His younger brother darted out onto the dark street and Jelaudin began to help the others with his father. Shah Ala-ud-Din groaned as he was moved and his wheezing became louder in the gloom. Jelaudin winced at the sick heat coming off the old man’s skin, but there was no help for it. His father murmured meaningless words, but none of them stopped to listen.

  Once his father was dressed and the candle lit, two of his sons supported him and Jelaudin cast a last look around the infested little place that had been home for a time. As mean as it was, it had given them sanctuary. The thought of returning to their hunted lives wrenched at them all, but Jelaudin could not ignore the warning. The jeweller had done him this one favour and he would not waste it.

  He cast his eye over the small brazier, but the doctor had left it in trust and Jelaudin would not steal for the first time in his life. Though he took the papers of bitter herbs, he left that behind. He was consumed with the need to get out and hardly dared think of his father’s illness. It was wrong that an old man should be forced to run again. Jelaudin’s hopes withered in him as he stood there, replaced by a desperate rage. If he was granted just one chance to revenge himself on the Mongol khan, he would take it if it meant his own life. He prayed to be given that chance.

  Jelaudin closed the door as he left with his father and brothers. He did not want thieves to steal the doctor’s brazier, though if anyone wanted the slop bucket, they could have it, contents and all.

  The streets were not empty so early in the night. Jelaudin could see many men returning from the evening prayers to their families, looking forward to warmth and food. Only he and his brothers had tried to banish another night with sleep. The stables were some distance away, a decision meant to protect them when he had made it. Their father stumbled as he walked between them and Jelaudin did not know if the old man even understood what was going on. When he heard a slurred question from his father’s lips, Jelaudin shushed him softly.

  ‘The men you seek are in there,’ Abbud said.

  Tsubodai snapped orders and the warriors moved instantly, kicking open the door and vanishing inside.

  Abbud waited, sweating, listening to strange noises. The warriors came back almost as quickly and he did not miss the looks of anger they turned on him. The young Bedouin took Abbud by the arm, his grip almost painful.

  ‘Old man, this is not a night for games, do you understand? I have searched stables for half a night waiting for you. Now you have led me to an empty house. It will be hard for me to stop them killing you.’

  Abbud winced, but he did not try to pull away.

  ‘They were here! It is my brother-in-law’s house and he talked of them in the markets. Four young men and an old one who was very sick. That is all I know, I swear it.’

  In the moonlight, the Bedouin’s eyes were in shadow, his face colder than the night. He let Abbud’s arm fall, then exchanged a flurry of words with Tsubodai that Abbud could not understand.

  The one Abbud had marked as leader stared at the old jeweller for a long moment of silence. Then he gave new orders. Abbud could only stand and watch as the warriors kicked in other doors and the night was broken with screams. A struggle started in a house nearby and Abbud cried out in shock as one of the warriors drew his sword and killed a young man with a thrust to his heart, stepping over him to search his home.

  ‘There is no need for this!’ Abbud shouted. ‘They are not here!’

  The Bedouin turned to him and to Abbud’s astonishment seemed to be smiling.

  ‘I cannot stop them now, old man. They will search every house in the street, perhaps the whole town. Then they will burn Khuday down around you.’

  It was too much for the jeweller.

  ‘There are stables nearby. If they have gone anywhere, it is there.’

  ‘Take me there, old man,’ the Bedouin said. ‘If you are right, perhaps Khuday will
not be destroyed.’

  Jelaudin brought his horse to a clump of straggly bushes on the crest of a hill. The air was sweet with the scent of lemon leaves and his heart was heavy as he looked back at the town that had sheltered them. On his right hand, the North Star shone in the heavens, the air clear and bright.

  To the east, far away, he could see the fires of the Mongol camp as a dim glow. To the west, the Caspian Sea waited, a final barrier to his fleeing family. He knew he could not ride along its banks for a hundred miles with the Mongols searching for them. They would be caught as easily as running hares. He felt the east as a hunger, desperate to return and seek out the cities he had known as a boy.

  The night was still and his father’s tortured breath hurt him to hear. Jelaudin and his brothers had tied the old man to his saddle and led his horse out of the town, heading across scrub wasteland and avoiding the eastern road.

  If the Mongols had been certain they were in Khuday, they would have surrounded the city. As it was, the sons of the shah had walked their horses away from the town and not seen a living soul. Yet escaping such a place was a small thing. If they could not turn south, the sea would trap them as surely as any net. As his father’s wheezing intensified, Jelaudin was overwhelmed for an instant. He was too tired to run again, too tired even to mount.

  His brother Tamar heard the sound of his weeping and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘We must go, Jelaudin,’ he said. ‘There is always hope while we live.’

  Jelaudin nodded despite himself, rubbing at his eyes. He swung a leg into his saddle and took the reins of his father’s horse. As they moved away into the darkness, he heard Tamar gasp and looked back at Khuday.

  The town gleamed in the night. At first, Jelaudin could not understand the strange light that flickered over the huddled streets. He shook his head as the light spread and knew the Mongols were burning the town.

  ‘They will glut themselves on that place until dawn,’ another of his brothers said.

  Jelaudin heard a note of triumph in the younger man’s voice and wanted to strike him for his foolishness. He wondered if Abbud and his servant boy would survive the flames they had brought to Khuday, as if the brothers trailed pestilence and destruction in their wake.

  There was nothing to do but ride on to the sea. Though he felt his own death like dark wings beating at him, Jelaudin kicked in his heels and made his horse trot down the slope beyond.

  The brothers led their father’s horse for four more days before they saw riders following them. They could not hide their tracks on the dusty ground and Jelaudin had known they would be followed, though he had still clung to thin hopes that the Mongols would miss them. He had ridden to exhaustion through night and day until he could smell the salt of the sea ahead and hear the calls of gulls. For a time, the clean air had revived them all and then he had seen dark figures in the distance, a mass of warriors on their trail, riding them down.

  Jelaudin looked at his father’s waxy face. There had been no time to stop and make a fire for the bitter herbs and the old man’s condition had worsened. More than once, Jelaudin had pressed his ear to his father’s lips, listening to see if he still breathed. He could not leave him to be torn apart by these hunting dogs of the khan, but his father slowed them all.

  For a moment, Jelaudin wanted to roar out his hatred and terror at the distant lines of those hunting him. He hardly had the strength even for that and he shook his head wearily, looking up as he and his brothers passed over a sandy dune and saw the shimmering blue vastness of the sea ahead. Darkness was coming and they would have one more night before the Mongols found and killed them. Jelaudin looked along the shore and saw just a few huts and fishing boats. There was nowhere to hide and nowhere they could run any longer.

  He ached as he dismounted and his horse shivered as his weight was removed. The animal’s ribs were showing and Jelaudin patted the mount’s neck for its faithfulness. He could not remember when he had last eaten and light-headedness made him stagger.

  ‘Are we to die here, then?’ one of his brothers asked plaintively.

  Jelaudin barely grunted in reply. He had set out strong and young, losing men and strength at every turn for the best part of a year. He felt old as he stood on the shore, taking a piece of grey rock and casting it into the salt water. The horses dipped their heads to drink and Jelaudin did not bother to pull them away. What did it matter if they drank salt when the Mongols were coming to kill the sons of the shah?

  ‘I will not stand here and wait for them!’ Tamar was the next in age after Jelaudin. He strode up and down the sandy ground, straining his eyes for a way out. With a sigh, Jelaudin eased himself down to the ground and dug his fingers into its dampness.

  ‘I am tired, Tamar,’ he said. ‘Too tired to rise again. Let it end here.’

  ‘I will not!’ his brother snapped. Tamar’s voice was hoarse from lack of clean water, his lips cracked and lined with blood. Even then, his eyes were bright in the evening sun. ‘There is an island out there. Can these Mongols swim? Let us take one of the fishing boats and smash the others. We will be safe then.’

  ‘As trapped animals are safe,’ Jelaudin said. ‘Better to sit and rest, brother.’

  To his amazement, Tamar stepped close and slapped him hard across the face.

  ‘Will you see our father butchered on this beach? Get up and help me put him in a boat, or I will kill you myself.’

  Jelaudin laughed bitterly without replying. Nevertheless, he stood almost in a daze and helped his brothers carry the shah to the shore. As he struggled through the damp sand, he felt some life come back to his limbs and some of the despair seep away.

  ‘I am sorry, brother. You are right,’ he said.

  Tamar only nodded, still furious.

  The fishermen came out of their driftwood huts, shouting and gesturing as they saw the young men hammering at their boats. The sight of drawn swords reduced them to sullen silence, standing in a knot of fury as they watched the strangers break the single masts, batter holes in the hulls and then push them into deep water so that they vanished in frothing bubbles.

  As the sun set, the brothers pushed the last boat into the calm water, wading in after it and clambering over the sides. Jelaudin raised the small sail and caught the breeze, the moment strangely reviving to his spirits. They left their horses behind and the fishermen took the reins in astonishment, still yelling curses after them, though the animals were worth far more than the crude boats. As the breeze freshened, Jelaudin took his seat and pushed the rudder down into the water, tying off a rope that held it in place. In the last light, they could see the white line of breaking waves on a small island out on the deep. He looked down at his father as he set their course and felt numb calm steal over him as he left the land behind. He could not last much longer and it was true the old man deserved a peaceful death.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The name Samarkand meant ‘town of stone’ and Genghis could see why as he gazed on its buttressed walls. Of all the cities he had known, only Yenking was more of a fortress and he could see the minarets of many mosques towering behind the walls. Built on the flood plain of a river running between huge lakes, it was surrounded by the most fertile soil Genghis had seen since coming to Arab lands. He was not surprised to find Shah Ala-ud-Din had made the place his jewel. There was no dust or sand there. The city was a crossroads for merchant caravans travelling thousands of miles, secure in the protection it gave them. In times of peace, they trundled across the plains, bringing silk from the Chin and collecting grain at Samarkand to take even further to the west. There would be no more of that trade for a time. Genghis had broken the line of cities that supported each other and grew rich. Otrar had fallen, then Bukhara. To the north-east, he had sent Jelme, Khasar and Kachiun to batter other cities into submission. He was close to obliterating the spine of the shah’s trade routes. Without trade and messages, each city was isolated from the others and could only suffer as they waited for h
is warriors. While the shah still lived, it was not yet enough, nor even close to enough.

  In the distance, Genghis could see white smoke rising into the air from the last of the trading caravans to have tried reaching Samarkand before he entered the area. No more would come now, not until the Mongols had moved on. Once again, he considered Temuge’s words on the need to establish more permanent rule. The concept intrigued him, but it remained a dream. Yet he was no longer a young man and, when his back ached in the mornings, he would think of the world running on without him. His people had never cared about permanence. When they died, the troubles of the world slipped away from them. Perhaps because he had seen empires, he could imagine one lasting beyond his life. He enjoyed the thought of men ruling in his name, long after he had gone. The idea eased something in him that he hardly realised was there.

  As Genghis watched, the tumans of Jochi and Chagatai rode back from the city walls, having spent the morning riding close enough to terrorise the population. They had raised a white tent before Samarkand when the siege was in place, but the gates had remained closed. In time, they would replace it with a red one and then the black cloth that signified the death of all those within.

  With the shah gone, the Arabs had no one to organise the defence of Khwarezm and each of his cities fought alone. Such a state of affairs suited Genghis very well. While the cities sweltered in fear, he could bring two or three tumans to bear on a single point, breaking the resistance and moving on to the next with only death and fire behind them. This was war as he preferred it, the breaking of cities and small garrisons. His Arab interpreters claimed that half a million people lived inside the walls of Samarkand, perhaps more now that the farms were empty all around. They had expected him to be impressed, but the khan had seen Yenking and he did not let the numbers trouble him.

  He and his men rode with impunity and those who lived behind stone could only wait and fear. It was hard to imagine choosing that sort of life over the ability to move and strike where he pleased, but the world was changing and Genghis struggled with new concepts every day. His men had ridden as far as the frozen wastelands in the north and Koryo in the east. He considered those lands conquered. Yet they were far away. They would rebuild and forget they owed tribute and obedience to him.