Ogedai winced as he recalled the words. 'I did not know then that you would spend days in your revels, taking men from their training. I was trying to make you a warrior, not a drunken fool.'

'Well, you must have failed then, if that is what I am,' Guyuk snapped. He would have left, but Ogedai took him by the arm.

'I did not fail, Guyuk. When have I criticised you? Have I complained that you have not given me an heir? I have not. I have said nothing. You are the image of my father. Is it any surprise that I look for some spark of him in you?'

Guyuk pulled away from him in the darkness and Ogedai heard his breathing grow harsh.

'I am my own man,' Guyuk said at last. 'I am not some weaker branch of the line of Genghis, or you. You look for him in me? Well, stop it. You will not find him here.'

'Guyuk…' Ogedai began again.

'I will go with Tsubodai, because he is riding as far away from Karakorum as anyone,' his son replied. 'Perhaps when I return, you will find something to like in me.'

The young man stalked off over the shining paths while Ogedai struggled with his temper. He had tried to impart a little advice and somehow the conversation had slipped from his control. On such a night, it was a bitter draught to take before sleep. It was another two days of feasting and triumphs before Ogedai summoned his most senior men to the palace. They sat with bloodshot eyes, most of them still sweating from too much meat, airag and rice wine. Considering them, Ogedai saw they were almost a council of the sort the Chin lords used to rule their lands. Yet the final word was always with the khan. It could be no other way.

He looked down the table, past Chagatai, Tsubodai and his uncles, to Batu who had won in the horse races. Batu still glowed with the news that he would lead ten thousand and Ogedai smiled and nodded to him. He had placed good men in the new tuman, experienced warriors who would be able to guide Batu as he learned. Ogedai had done his best to honour Jochi's memory, to right the sins of Genghis and Tsubodai. In face and gesture, the young man bore a strong resemblance to Jochi in his youth. In a moment or a glance, Ogedai could almost forget his brother had died years before. It hurt him every time it happened.

Across from Batu sat Guyuk, staring fixedly into space. Ogedai had not broken through the cool reserve his son had adopted since their words in the garden. Even as they sat at the table, Ogedai could not help wishing Guyuk had half the fire of Jochi's boy. Perhaps Batu felt he had to prove himself, but he sat as a Mongol warrior, silent and watchful, filled with pride and confidence. Ogedai saw no sign that Batu was intimidated in that company, even among renowned leaders such as Chagatai, Tsubodai, Jebe and Jelme. The blood of Genghis ran in many of the men there and in their sons and daughters. It was a fruitful line and a strong one. His son would learn to be a man on the great trek, Ogedai was certain. It was a good beginning.

'We have grown beyond the tribes my father knew, beyond a single encampment drifting across the plains.' Ogedai paused and smiled. 'We are too many now to graze in one place.'

He used words that tribal leaders had used for thousands of years, for when it came time to move on. Some of them nodded automatically and Chagatai thumped his fist on the table in approval.

'Not all my father's dreams will come true, though he dreamed of eagles. He would approve of my brother Chagatai ruling as khan in Khwarezm.'

Ogedai would have gone on, but Jelme reached out and clapped Chagatai on the back, setting off a chorus of approval for the son of Genghis. Tsubodai inclined his head in silence, but even he did not stand apart from it. When the noise died down, Ogedai spoke again.

'He would approve of the sacred homeland in the hands of my brother Tolui.'

It was Tsubodai who reached out and gripped the shoulder of the younger man, shaking him slightly to show his pleasure. Tolui beamed. He had known what was coming, but the reality of it brought joy. To him had fallen the mountains where their people had roamed for thousands of years, the sweet grass plains where their grandfather Yesugei had been born. Sorhatani and his sons would be happy there, safe and strong.

'And you, brother?' Chagatai said. 'Where will you rest your head?'

'Here in Karakorum,' Ogedai replied easily. 'This is my capital, though I will not rest here yet. For two years I have sent out men and women to learn about the world. I have welcomed scholars of Islam and priests of the Christ. I know now of cities where the slaves walk bare-breasted and gold is as common as clay.'

He smiled to himself at the images in his mind, but then his expression became stern. His eyes sought out Guyuk and held his gaze as he spoke.

'Those who cannot conquer must bend the knee. They must find strength, or serve those of us who have. You are my generals. I will send you out: my hunting dogs, my wolves with iron teeth. When a city closes its gates in fear, you will destroy it. When they make roads and walls, you will cut them, pull down the stones. When a man raises a sword or bow against your men, you will hang him from a tree. Keep Karakorum in your minds as you go. This white city is the heart of the nation, but you are the right arm, the burning brand. Find me new lands, gentlemen. Cut a new path. Let their women weep a sea of tears and I will drink it all.'

PART TWO

'He who controls the heartland controls the world.'

CHAPTER NINE

The palace gardens of Karakorum were still young. The Chin gardeners had done their best, but some of the plants and trees would take decades to reach their full growth.

Despite its youth, it was a place of beauty. Yao Shu listened to the rush of water running through the grounds and smiled to himself, marvelling once again at the sheer complexity of souls. For a son of Genghis to commission such a garden was nothing short of a miracle. It was a blaze of subtle colours and variety, impossible, but there it was. Whenever he thought he understood a man, he would find some contradiction. Lazy men could work themselves to death; kind ones could be cruel; cruel ones could redeem their lives. Each day could be different from all the ones that had gone before it; each man different, not just from others, but from the tumbling pieces of himself stretching back into the past. And women! Yao Shu paused to stare up through branches to where a lark sang sweetly. At the thought of the complexity of women, he laughed aloud. The bird leapt and vanished, calling its panic all the way.

Women were even worse. Yao Shu knew he was a fine judge of character, more so than many men. Why else would Ogedai have trusted him with such authority in his absence? Yet talking to a woman like Sorhatani was like staring into an abyss. Just about anything could be looking back at you. Sometimes, it was a kitten, playful and adorable. At other times, it was a tigress with a bloody mouth and claws. Tolui's wife had that quicksilver quality. She was utterly fearless, but if he made her laugh, she could giggle as helplessly as a girl.

Yao Shu glowered to himself. Sorhatani had allowed him to teach her sons to read and write, even to share his Buddhist philosophy though she was herself Christian. Despite her own faith, she could be utterly pragmatic about her sons as she prepared them for the future.

He shook his head as he crested a rise in the park. At that point in the gardens, the architect had indulged a whim, building the hill high enough for a walker to see over the garden walls. Karakorum lay all around him, but his thoughts were not with the city. He affected the air of a scholar, wandering through the gardens without a thought for the world outside. Yet he was aware of every rustling leaf around him and his eyes missed nothing.