'This is madness,' Khasar said, his voice tight with suppressed rage. 'Let me spill this shaman's blood first.'

'Very well, general!' Mohrol snapped suddenly. He stepped forward to face Khasar with his arms open. 'I will pay that price. You have spilled my blood already this morning. Have the rest if you wish. It will not change the omens. It will not change what must be done.'

Khasar touched his hand to where his knife lay under his belt, tucked into the grubby folds of cloth, but Mohrol did not look away from him. The paste he had consumed had stolen away any fear, and instead he saw Khasar's love for Ogedai and Tolui, coupled with his frustration. The old general could face any enemy, but he was lost and confused by such a decision. After a time, Mohrol dropped his arms and stood patiently, waiting for Khasar to see the inevitable.

In the end, it was Tolui's voice that broke the silence.

'I have much to do, uncle. You should leave me now. I have to see my son and have letters written to my wife.' His face was stiff with pain, but his voice remained steady as Khasar glanced at him.

'Your father would not have given up,' Khasar said gruffly. 'Believe me, as one who knew him better than any man.'

He was not as certain as he seemed. In some moods, Genghis would have thrown his life away without a thought, enjoying the grand gesture. In others, he would have fought to the last furious breath, doomed or not. Khasar wished with all his heart that his brother Kachiun were there. Kachiun would have found an answer, a way through the thorns. It was just ill luck that Kachiun was riding with Tsubodai and Batu into the north. For once, Khasar was alone.

He felt the pressure from the younger men as they looked to him in hope for some stroke that would cut through the decision. All he could think of was to kill the shaman. That too was a useless act, he realised. Mohrol believed his own words, and for all Khasar knew, the man spoke the perfect truth. He closed his eyes and strained to hear Kachiun's voice. What would he say? Someone had to die for Ogedai. Khasar raised his head, his eyes opening.

'I will be your sacrifice, shaman. Take my life for the khan's. I can do that much, for my brother's memory, for my brother's son.'

'No,' Mohrol said, turning away from him. 'You are not the one, not today. The omens are clear. The choice is as simple as it is hard.'

Tolui smiled wearily as the shaman spoke. He came close to Khasar and the two men embraced for a moment while Ogedai and the shaman looked on.

'Sunset, Mohrol,' Tolui said, looking back at the shaman. 'Give me a day to prepare myself.'

'My lord, the omens are set. We do not know how long the khan has left before his spirit is taken.'

Ogedai said nothing as Tolui looked at him. His younger brother's jaw tensed as he struggled with himself.

'I will not run, brother,' he whispered. 'But I am not ready for the knife, not yet. Give me the day and I will bless you from the other side.'

Ogedai nodded weakly, his expression tortured. He wanted to speak out, to send Mohrol away and dare the malevolent spirits to come back for him. He could not. A wisp of memory of his helplessness came to him. He could not suffer it again.

'Sunset, brother,' Ogedai said at last.

Without another word, Tolui strode out of the ger, ducking to pass through the small door into the clean air and sun.

Around him, the vast camp was arrayed in all directions, busy and alive with the noise of horses and women, children and warriors. Tolui's heart thumped with pain at such a pleasant, normal scene. He realised with a stab of despair that it was his last morning. He would not see the sun rise again. For a time, he simply stood and watched it, holding one hand above his eyes to shade them from its brilliant glare.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Tolui led a small group of ten riders to the river that ran by the camp. His son Mongke rode at his right shoulder, the young man's face pale with strain. Two slave women ran at Tolui's stirrups. He dismounted on the banks and the slaves removed his armour and underclothes. Naked, he walked into the cold water, feeling his feet sink into the cool mud. Slowly he washed himself, using silt to work the grease from his skin, then dipping under the surface to sluice himself down.

His female slaves both stripped to enter the water with him. They shivered as they worked bone tools under his fingernails to clean them. Both women stood up to their waists in the water, their breasts firm with goosebumps. There was no lightness or laughter from them and Tolui was not aroused by the sight, whereas any other day might have had him playing in the shallows and splashing to make them squeal.

With care and concentration, Tolui accepted a flask of clear oil and rubbed it into his hair. The prettier of his slaves tied it into a black tail that hung down his back. His skin was very white at the nape of his neck, where the hair protected it from the sun.

Mongke stood and watched his father. The other minghaans were senior men who had seen battle a thousand times. Next to them, he felt young and inexperienced, but they could not look at him. They were quiet with respect for Tolui, and Mongke knew he had to maintain the cold face for his father's honour. It would have shamed the general to have his son weeping, so Mongke stood like a stone, his face hard. Yet he could not take his eyes off his father. Tolui had told them his decision and they were all bruised by it, helpless in the face of his will and the khan's need.

One of them gave a low whistle when they saw Khasar ride out from another part of the camp. The general had earned their respect, but they were still willing to block him from the river as he came close. On that day, they did not care that he was the brother of Genghis.

Tolui had been standing with blank eyes as his hair was tied. The whistle brought him out of himself and he nodded to Mongke to let Khasar through, watching as his uncle dismounted and came to the bank.

'You will need a friend to help you in this,' Khasar said.

Mongke's stare bored into the back of Khasar's head, but he did not notice.

Tolui looked up in silence from the river and finally dipped his head in acceptance, striding out of the water. His slaves came with him and he stood patiently as they rubbed him down. The sun warmed him and some of his tension seeped away. He looked at the armour that lay waiting, a pile of iron and leather. He had worn something like it for all of his adult life, but suddenly it seemed an alien thing. Of Chin design, it did not suit his mood.

'I will not wear the armour,' he said to Mongke, who was standing ready for orders. 'Have it bundled up. Perhaps in time you will wear it for me.'

Mongke struggled with his grief as he bent and gathered the pieces into his arms. Khasar looked on with approval, pleased to see how Tolui's son kept his dignity. The father's pride was shining in his eyes, though Mongke turned away without seeing it.

Tolui watched as his women yanked on clothes to cover their nakedness. He sent one barefoot over the grass with instructions to find a particular deel and leggings from his ger, as well as new boots. She ran well and more than one of the men turned to watch her legs flash in the sun.

'I am trying to believe this is really happening,' Tolui said softly. Khasar looked at him and reached out to grip his bare shoulder in silent support as he went on. 'When I saw you coming, I hoped that something had changed. I think some part of me will expect a shout, a reprieve, up to the last moments. It is a strange thing, the way we torture ourselves.'

'Your father would be proud of you, I know that,' Khasar replied. He felt useless, unable to find the right words.