‘Your father does not want your men, Jochi. In betraying him, you wounded him publicly. He does not care about hunting them, if you come back. Yes, you will die; did you expect me to lie? You will be executed as an example to any other man who might turn against him. But your people will be left alone. When they leave this camp, no one else will come searching for them, not while I live.’ He too stood to face Jochi, his expression becoming stern.

‘You have brought them to this, Jochi. You hold their lives in your hands alone. They will either be killed, or you will come with me and they will live. That is the choice you must make, and make now.’

Tsubodai’s chest was tight at seeing the agony in the younger man. He felt it himself, but like Jochi, he had no other choice. He saw the fight go out of Jochi in a slow breath and he slumped back to his seat on the bed. His eyes were dead as he looked into nothing.

‘I should have known my father would never let me go,’ he said almost in a whisper. ‘I gave him everything and he still haunts my steps.’

The weary smile he turned on Tsubodai almost broke the general’s heart.

‘What is one life, after all, Tsubodai? Even my own.’

Jochi straightened his back and rubbed his hands roughly over his face so that Tsubodai would not see the glistening of his eyes.

‘This is a good place, Tsubodai. We have even begun trading in furs, selling them to other places. My men have found wives in raids and in just a short time there will be children here who have never heard the name of Genghis. Can you imagine that?’

‘I can. You have made a good life for them, but there is a price for it.’

Jochi stared at him in silence for a long time. At last, he closed his eyes.

‘Very well, general. It seems my father sent the right man to bring me back.’

He rose once more, recovering some of his poise as he opened the door and let the wind rush into the little room.

‘Collect your weapons, general,’ he said, pointing to the pile on the snow.

Around it, many men had gathered. When they saw Jochi, their faces lit up. Tsubodai came out, ignoring the hostile men as he stooped to pick up his sword and daggers. He left the broken scales of armour where they were as he belted on the blade and shoved the daggers into his boots. He did not watch as Jochi spoke to the senior men. He did not think he could bear it. His horse was ready for him, its reins held by a stranger. Tsubodai nodded to him out of habit as he mounted, but the man was looking past him.

Tsubodai turned to see Jochi approaching. The younger man looked tired and smaller somehow, as if something had been taken from him.

‘Return to your tuman, general. I will come to you in three days. There are things I must say here.’

Tsubodai bowed in the saddle, shame eating at him.

‘I will wait for you, general,’ he said.

Jochi jerked slightly at the term, but then he nodded and turned away.

Snow still fell as the light faded on the third evening. Tsubodai was not sure that Jochi would come as he had promised, but he had not wasted the time. His men were ready for an attack as they froze and waited. His scouts were out in all directions and he could not be surprised. He stood on the edge of his men, watching the trail as it vanished under the falling snow. He wished his memories could disappear so completely, made fresh and clean, rather than torturing him with what he might have done. He still remembered how it had felt to receive the gold paitze from Genghis’ own hand, with the world before them. He had devoted himself to the khan, striving always to show that he was worthy of the honour. Tsubodai sighed. The khan was a man to follow, but he would not have wanted to be his son.

His scouts reached him before Jochi, reporting a lone rider making his way through the woods. For a time, Tsubodai hoped it was not Jochi, that the man would throw his men’s lives away for his freedom. Genghis would have done just that, but Jochi had lived a different life and Tsubodai knew him too well.

When he saw it was Jochi, Tsubodai sat still in his saddle. Even then, he hoped that Jochi would change his mind, but he came closer and closer until he stopped his horse facing the general.

‘Take me home then, Tsubodai. Take me and let them go.’

Tsubodai nodded and Jochi guided his mount among Tsubodai’s staring warriors, who hardly understood what he had done. The tuman turned to go home and the two generals rode through them to take the lead.

‘I am sorry,’ Tsubodai said.

Jochi looked at him strangely, then sighed.

‘You are a better man than my father,’ he said. He saw Tsubodai’s gaze fall to the wolf’s-head sword he wore at his waist. ‘Will you let me keep it, Tsubodai? I won it fairly.’

Tsubodai shook his head.

‘I cannot. I will hold it for you.’

Jochi hesitated, but he was surrounded by Tsubodai’s men. He grimaced suddenly, sick of all the struggle he had known in his life.

‘Take it then,’ he said, unbuckling the belt and scabbard.

Tsubodai reached over as if to accept the sword. Jochi was looking down at it when Tsubodai cut his throat in one swift movement. The younger man was unconscious before he fell from the horse, his blood spattering bright on the snow.

Tsubodai sobbed as he dismounted to check the body, each breath torn from him.

‘I am sorry, my friend,’ he said. ‘I am your father’s man.’ He knelt by the sprawled body for a long time and his men knew better than to speak.

At last, he regained control of himself and he stood, breathing the frozen air deeply as if it could scour away the blood on his hands. He had followed his orders, but there was no comfort in it.

‘At dawn, we will ride back to their camp,’ he said. ‘They will come, now he is dead.’

‘What shall we do with the body?’ one of his minghaan officers asked. He too had known Jochi when he was just a boy and Tsubodai could not meet his eyes.

‘We will take him with us. Treat him gently. He was the khan’s son.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Genghis reined in at the valley of Panjshir. A howling wind swirled dust across the emptiness and on one side of the river hosts of carrion birds leapt and bickered, calling amongst themselves. Genghis grunted at the sight before digging in his heels and riding down. Jebe led those with him, including the tumans commanded by his youngest sons. Ogedai’s men had seen the aftermath of battles and raids before, but most of Tolui’s tuman were still young, some of them barely fourteen years old. They followed with wide eyes, until more senior men jabbed the most obvious gawkers in the ribs with a sword hilt.

Forty thousand men followed Genghis into Panjshir, dusty and thin after a hard ride. Only Chagatai’s tuman had remained to guard the families and move them to new grazing. Genghis had taken every other man he had available, with two spare horses for each of them. Laden with waterskins and supplies, the vast tail of mounts trotted after the warriors, with just a few men at the rear to herd them.

As Genghis rode across the dusty ground, the heat increased until it seemed to beat directly onto their heads. The river ran on his left, the one source of life in a place of desolation. Genghis could see trampled banners as he approached the battle site and, in the distance, people ran from the town of Parwan to the safety of the fortress on the other side of the river. Genghis did not pause as he rode towards the fighting birds, scattering ravens and vultures before the horses of his men so that they shrieked and wheeled angrily around them.

Two men still remained on that side of the river, sitting their horses like statues as the khan came in. Kachiun had left them to guide Genghis into the mountains, but they were pale with tension as the tumans approached. Surrounded by birds, they decided as one that it would be a good idea to dismount and prostrate themselves. Genghis saw the movement and angled his mount towards them, Ogedai and Tolui following. Unlike their father, they stared at everything and Tolui looked faintly ill, though he tried to hide it.