As he turned into a main street, Genghis saw sprawled bodies, most of them in the armour the Arabs of Samarkand favoured. A doorway was splashed with drying blood, still bright in the sunlight, but with no sign of how it got there. The snap of bows was louder by then and he passed two more streets before he reached the shah’s palace grounds and the high wall around them. The smoke was thicker there, though it seemed to be limited to a few houses nearby. No doubt someone had knocked over a lamp in a struggle, or kicked a cooking fire as they rushed through. The flames were roaring away, making the day even hotter. His men milled around the shah’s wall like furious ants, suddenly aware that the khan watched.
Genghis reined in to observe his men assault the home of Shah Ala-ud-Din. Beyond the wall, he could see a rising hill set with flower gardens, and on the crest a great palace stood. Whether by accident or design, the walls of the grounds came right down to the street itself, their length broken only by wide gates of heavy iron bars. Genghis glanced up and down the long street that ran alongside. The houses were in deep shade, but looked cleaner than he had expected. Perhaps the people of Samarkand had cesspools running under the houses, or some system to carry the nightsoil away. There were problems in having so many people in one place and Genghis was beginning to appreciate the intricate cleverness of Samarkand.
There was no room for catapults, even if his men had troubled to drag them through the streets to that place. Though the walls were barely ten feet high, the garrison had chosen a good place to defend to the death.
Genghis watched as the best archers stood back, sending shafts at any face that appeared over the high edge. Was there a platform on the other side? There must have been. Genghis could see armoured men ducking back to it as arrows whirred past their heads. Not many survived at such a range, though they carried heavy shields and wielded their swords and bows from behind that protection. Genghis saw his shaman, Kokchu, exhorting the warriors to greater efforts. The man wore only a breechcloth around his waist, his body painted in lines of dark blue so that his skin seemed to writhe as he moved.
With the shaman and the khan present, the warriors worked themselves into a frenzy, using spiked poles to pull at the top edge of the wall, trying to bring it all down. They had already loosened part of it and Genghis saw a great crack appear in the brickwork. He had been about to give the order to stand down while catapults were brought. The closest houses could have been levelled to make a platform and then the wall would have fallen easily. Seeing the crack, he relaxed. It would not be long.
Kokchu had spotted him, of course. Genghis could see the shaman watching out of the corner of his eyes. He remembered the first time they had met, when Kokchu had led the Naiman khan to the top of a hill away from a battle. Genghis had given him just a year of life, but many more had passed since then and he had grown in influence, part of the handful of loyal men who ruled under the khan. Genghis approved the shaman’s naked ambition. It suited him well to have his warriors in awe of the spirits and who could really say if the sky father had blessed their khan? The victories had come and Kokchu had played his part.
Genghis frowned suddenly, his thoughts shifting to another memory. Something nagged at his mind as he played words over in his head, but it would not come clear. With a sharp gesture, he summoned one of his scouts, always watching for orders.
‘Go to the camp outside the city,’ Genghis told the fresh-faced young warrior. ‘Find my wife, Chakahai, and ask her why she cannot look on Kokchu without thinking of my sister. Do you understand?’
The man bowed deeply, nodding as he memorised the question. He did not know why the khan should look so thunderous on a day when they had taken a new city, but his task was to obey and he did so without question, riding swiftly away and not even looking back when the wall tumbled outwards, crushing two warriors who had not moved in time. Under the cold gaze of the khan, Kokchu capered like a painted spider and the warriors rushed in with a roar.
Chagatai watched his brother ride towards him. The bulk of his tuman were walking the battlefield, looting the dead or despatching those who still moved. A core of warriors and officers remained with him and he did not have to give them orders. They knew why Jochi approached and moved subtly to surround their general. Many of the older men deliberately sheathed their swords rather than face a general with a bared blade, though Chagatai sneered at them and called out in anger as he saw it. Those closest to him were all young and confident. They kept their weapons high and visible, their faces arrogant. They did not care that Chagatai had left his brother to be killed. Their loyalty was not to the rape-born son, but to the true one, who would one day inherit and be khan.
Even the young warriors became nervous at the sight of Jochi’s men. Chagatai’s personal guard had not fought that day and those Jochi had with him were wet with blood, from their hair and spattered faces to the soaked cloth of their leggings. They stank of sweat and death and the sneers faded from the faces of Chagatai’s young warriors as they came close. This was not a game. Jochi shook with strong emotion and he had already killed that day.
He did not rein in as he reached the warriors with Chagatai. His gaze never wavered from his brother as his mount pushed two standing men aside even as they opened their mouths to warn him off. If he had paused for a moment, they would have firmed their nerve and stopped him, but he did not. He passed two more men before a senior officer swung his horse in hard and blocked Jochi’s path to Chagatai.
The officer was one of those who had put aside his blade. He sweated as he came within reach of Jochi’s sword and hoped the general would not strike him down. He saw Jochi’s gaze pull away from his smiling brother and settle on the man in his path.
‘Get out of my way,’ Jochi said to him.
The officer paled, but shook his head. Jochi heard Chagatai laugh and his hand tightened on the wolf’s-head hilt.
‘Are you troubled, brother?’ Chagatai called, his eyes bright with malice. ‘After such a victory as well? There are too many nervous hands around here. Perhaps you should return to your own men before there is an accident.’
Jochi sighed, hiding the flare of his anger well. He did not want to die in such a place, but he had been mocked too many times in his life. He had held his temper until his muscles knotted, but on this day he would take his grinning little brother with him.
He dug in his heels and his mount leapt forward. Jochi backhanded the officer across the face, knocking him off his saddle as Jochi’s mount went past. Behind him, his men roared and attacked.
Jochi had the pleasure of seeing Chagatai’s face turn to shock before more men stood in his way. Warriors around them gaped at the sudden crash of arms and came rushing in. Jochi had known they would, but his own men were close enough to force a path and their blood was already up. They killed without compunction, feeling his rage as keenly as their own.
Chagatai’s young hotheads were not slow to respond. In heartbeats, they were struggling and stabbing men who hacked at them. Jochi felt his horse cut from under him and slid free, staggering as his leg buckled. His right leg was dark with blood from an earlier wound. He took another step forward, ducking under a wild swing and drawing his ragged blade across an armpit, cutting deeply.
Chagatai saw his wounded brother on foot and shouted, kicking his horse forward through his own men. The shoulders of the animal knocked them aside and suddenly he was there facing Jochi. He brought his sword down in a sweeping arc and Jochi almost fell under the hooves as he dodged, his leg giving way again. Chagatai gave up any pretence at style and swung wildly. He had been attacked among his own men and there had never been a better chance to remove the thorn that was his brother.