Tsubodai held up his hand to halt those who would surge forward and kill the messenger. More than a few of them drew swords with cold-numbed hands, growing angry on his behalf. The moment had come, and though it hurt worse than the cold, he knew just how to reach Jochi.

‘I have not come to hunt, minghaan. Lead me to a place where my men can make camp, eat and rest. Then I will come with you alone. You will take me to him.’

The officer did not reply at first. Those with Tsubodai began to clamour at him, demanding the right to protect him amidst their enemies. He shook his head and they fell quiet.

‘He will see me, minghaan,’ Tsubodai went on. ‘Did he say that? That he would see me if I came alone? I trained him. He should have thought that far ahead.’

The officer bowed his head. His hands shook as he held the reins, though it was not from the cold.

‘I will guide you in, general,’ he replied.

It was another night and dawn before Tsubodai and the minghaan officer walked their horses into Jochi’s camp. From the instinct of years, the general could not help taking note of the defences. They had chosen a spot surrounded by deep woods and forested hills. Even the path to it wound its way on fresh snow between ancient trees. Tsubodai’s respect for the scout who had found them increased sharply. He would commend the man if he lived to return to his tuman.

There were gers there, the thick felt walls far better than stone or wood at keeping out the cold. A wooden palisade sheltered the settlement from the worst of the wind. As he rode through an open section, Tsubodai could see sheep and goats in wooden pens, huddled together in whitish clusters. The numbers were small and he was not surprised to see wooden huts made from the trunks of pines lashed and pinned together. Smoke rose from them and the village had a sense of being warm and snug that Tsubodai enjoyed. He had grown up in just such a place, each home separated from the rest by frozen, muddy tracks.

His arrival had not gone unnoticed. Men whose faces he vaguely recognised stood watching him. His memory was legendary amongst the tribes, but away from the tumans, he could recall only whispers of names and none strongly enough to be certain. Some of them made a point of continuing their work as the general passed, but most stood idle and stared, almost yearning as they recalled a different world. He saw piles of tanned furs, with fresh skins being trimmed and washed in wooden tubs. To his surprise, he also saw pale-skinned women, some of them even pregnant. They worked as hard as the men to make a life in that frozen village and they did not look up as he passed. The name of Tsubodai meant nothing to them.

Jochi stood waiting at the door of a log house, the building squat and small, but solid-looking compared with the gers. Jochi’s shoulders were more powerful than Tsubodai remembered, perhaps from the hard work of creating the settlement. Tsubodai felt his heart quicken with pleasure at seeing him, despite the circumstances. He would have urged his mount to a trot, but the minghaan officer reached out and took his reins before he could do so. Under that man’s silent warning, Tsubodai dismounted, watched all the time by Jochi.

The general kept his expression cold as he allowed two warriors to search him for weapons. They were very thorough, inspecting the lining of his deel and removing every sharp edge from his armour, even if they had to cut them free with knives. He endured their inspection without looking at them. One of them jerked roughly to free a piece of iron from his armour and Tsubodai turned his gaze on the man, making him flush as he finished his work. When they were done, there was a pile of sharp-edged scales where they had been tossed into the snow, with his sword and two daggers lying on top. The heavy canvas underneath his armour was revealed in many places and some of his dignity had been stripped away. Only then did Jochi come forward, while his men stood close with swords ready to take the general’s head.

‘You should not have come, Tsubodai,’ Jochi said. His eyes were bright, and for an instant Tsubodai thought he saw affection there, quickly smothered.

‘You knew I would,’ Tsubodai replied. ‘Even though you will abandon this place when I have gone.’

Jochi looked around him.

‘I thought it was worth the price, though many of my men wanted you killed in the woods.’ He shrugged. ‘I have other sites marked out, far away. We will rebuild.’ His face hardened. ‘But you have cost me already, Tsubodai, just because you knew I would let you come to me.’

Tsubodai held himself still, knowing that a single sharp movement would end his life. As well as the swordsman at his back, he did not doubt there were archers sighting on him.

‘Then be sure it is not a waste, Jochi. Make me welcome in your camp and we will talk.’

Jochi hesitated. The man before him was one of his oldest friends, one he respected above all others. Still, he could not shake the sense of dread that came with his presence. He could not out-think Tsubodai and it was hard to crush a swelling sense of fear.

‘It is good to see you,’ Tsubodai said gently.

Jochi nodded. ‘And you, old friend. You are welcome in my camp. Join me for tea and salt. I will let you live for the moment.’

Jochi waved the warriors away and Tsubodai climbed two wooden steps that kept the little home clear of the slushy ground. Jochi stood back to let him enter first and Tsubodai went into the little room beyond.

As Jochi pulled the door shut, Tsubodai caught a glimpse of armed men gathering outside. The message was clear enough and he tried to relax as an iron kettle began to hiss on the stove and Jochi poured watery tea, adding milk and a pinch of salt from a pouch hanging by the door. There was only one low bed in that place and Tsubodai sat on a stool, sipping at the bowl of tea and enjoying the way it eased the cold in his chest. Jochi seemed nervous and his hands shook as he held his own.

‘Is my mother well?’ Jochi asked.

Tsubodai nodded. ‘She thrives in the hot lands, more than most of us. Your brothers too are growing stronger each year. Ogedai now has a tuman of his own and Tolui as well, though his are but boys. I would not like to see them fight. Your father…’

‘I do not care how my father is, Tsubodai,’ Jochi snapped, cutting him off. ‘Has he sent you to kill me?’

Tsubodai winced as if he had burned his lips. Carefully, he put aside the bowl, still half-full. He had thought his way through this conversation many times, but nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of desolation on seeing Jochi again. At that moment, he would have given anything to be far away, riding different lands for the khan.

‘Genghis has given hard orders, Jochi. I did not want them.’

‘Yet you are here, his faithful hound,’ Jochi said, without softening. ‘Tell me then what he wants from me.’

Tsubodai took a deep breath.

‘You have barely seven thousand men, Jochi. They cannot stand against my tuman. Their fate lies with what I must ask you.’

Jochi sat like stone, giving him nothing until Tsubodai went on.

‘If you come back alone, they will be left in peace. If you do not, I must kill them all.’

‘If you can,’ Jochi said, his anger flaring.

‘Yes, but you know I can.’

‘Not if I have you killed here, general. I know these woods. My men will fight for their homes.’

‘If you break truce,’ Tsubodai said quietly, ‘mine will fight to avenge me. Think as a leader, Jochi. You have brought them here, far from your father. They look to you for honour and life. Will you see them all killed?’

Jochi rose to his feet, his bowl of tea falling to the floor and shattering.

‘You expect me to come back to be butchered by my father? To leave everything I have built here? You are insane.’