The Tiger Queens Page 44

  My throat tightened to realize that Toregene might not live that long if her illness didn’t abate. I pushed away the thought, for I couldn’t imagine a life without this sister of my heart.

  “Ogodei’s councilors won’t tolerate a woman set above them for so long,” she said.

  “Dismiss them.” I waved away her concern with a gloved hand. “Consolidate your power immediately so their distaste for a woman as ruler is no longer an issue.”

  Toregene gave a slow smile. “Who knew my docile calligrapher could be so vicious?” Her eyes regained their old warmth, but her face remained wan. “Together, Fatima, we’ll gain control of this unruly empire and ensure Güyük’s succession.”

  I couldn’t promise that I’d work to support Güyük’s claim to the throne, but next to Toregene, I would help govern the largest empire the world had ever seen. The thought both thrilled and terrified me.

  * * *

  Dawn warmed the sky like a pale bruise over Karakorum upon our silent arrival. Herds of shaggy horses outside the walls nudged the snow with their noses, searching in vain for shoots of early spring grass. Implacable stone tortoises stood sentry at the main gate and the palace loomed tall, finished in our absence and decorated with painted roof tiles incised with grimacing dragon faces. Three stories high, its white exterior was accented with fluted red trim in the style of Cathay, and blue flags atop its roof honored the pagan sky spirit. The pieces of the palace had been named according to the colors of the empire—the Golden Ordu for the sun, the Green Courtyard for the grasslands, and the Yellow Pavilion for the wildflowers that dotted the countryside each summer.

  We entered through the west gate and waded through its sheep and goat market, on our way to the main street through town, passing the domed mosques of the Saracen quarter. Outside the courtyard sat a darvıˉsh, his ragged beard and oft-stitched robe bespeaking his holy vows to Allah. I dropped a silver coin into the iron bowl in his lap, then pressed another into his hand. “One for the mosque,” I whispered in Farsi to the ascetic. “And one for you to buy bread for yourself.”

  The man’s eyes widened, but he avoided my gaze. “You wear no veil, lady, but speak the old language. I fear I hardly recognize this new world the Mongols have forged.”

  “I would be honored if you prayed to Allah for me,” I said. “For I fear he no longer hears my prayers.”

  I stood before he could reject my pleas, imagining for a moment that we might be home in Nishapur, but the illusion was ruined by the dirty snowdrifts outside a nearby pagan temple and its cloying smell of incense that spilled into the air amidst the angry snorts of several nearby yaks. Few people were out in the streets in the blowing snow, but those that were exclaimed over our arrival in a medley of languages: Mongolian, Mandarin, French, English, Hungarian, and even Farsi. The city still smelled of freshly hewn lumber and newness, its bright colors gaudy and all for show. Beyond the metal shops with their steaming domed forges and smelting furnaces, four lurid silver lions reclined at the base of the Silver Tree, and heated airag flowed freely from their open jaws. The French goldsmith Guillaume Boucher had designed the masterpiece; he had been captured during the campaign against Belgrade and conscripted into Ogodei’s army of craftsmen to turn Karakorum into a cosmopolitan city. Gems hung from the tree’s branches and four golden serpents climbed up its towering trunk, their eyes studded with rubies, while four filigreed branches poured wine, clarified mare’s milk, and warmed rice mead into silver basins. I dipped a hesitant finger into the last basin, smiling at the sweet bal, a honeyed milk that Mongol children lapped up like starving kittens. Beyond the Silver Tree was a man-made river, mostly frozen. We passed through courtyards shoveled free of their snow and filled with herds of the Five Snouts, each lazy beast marked with a golden tag in its ear to denote its ownership by the Golden Family.

  I was reminded of the interior of the Great White Tent when the palace’s towering door thudded closed behind us, blocking out the wind, although smoke from the torches permeated the air. Beneath our feet, stone ducts guided heated air into the room—a recent innovation brought from Cathay—but despite the decadence that Ogodei had sought when planning his capital, the simple elegance of the meanest villa in Nishapur might have rivaled all this.

  Güyük found us in the main corridor, dressed in cloth of gold like his father, his beard crimped and a foreign shah’s turban on his head. Oghul Ghaimish stood behind him, her braids pinned in two giant loops around her ears and decorated with a plethora of silver bells and ivory animal combs. A child with dried milk on its upper lip clung to the embroidered hem of her deel.

  “I’m glad to see you returned safe, Mother.” Güyük gave a deep bow, his face a perfect mask. “It was with great sorrow that I heard of my father’s passage to the sacred mountains.”

  This dutiful son was hardly the man I’d expected to find upon our arrival, a stranger wearing a familiar—if unwelcome and still pockmarked—face.

  “The Great Khatun is weary from her long journey,” I said when Toregene didn’t respond. Instead, she stared at her son as if confronting a stranger for the first time.

  “When will you call a khurlatai?” Oghul Ghaimish’s whine was followed by the escalating whimpers of her child. Despite her tasteful attire, angry red scratches poked from the collar of her deel, although I couldn’t tell if they were put there by her own nails or someone else’s. She picked at her scalp, as if there were nits hidden beneath her oiled braids. “Güyük promised me a green headdress when you returned.”

  A green headdress. The Khatun’s boqta.

  I wondered if Güyük had already promised to make Oghul Ghaimish the Great Khatun. Borte would writhe in her grave to see such an unstable young woman crowned as Mother to the People of the Felts.

  “Perhaps you should return to our chambers and rest for a while, wife,” Güyük said gently, his hand on the small of her back. “And take our son with you.”

  “Your son.” Welcome color blossomed on Toregene’s cheeks as she stared down at the child cowering behind his mother’s legs. “You made me a grandmother while we were away?”

  “I did indeed,” Güyük said, beaming like any proud father. “And my second wife is ready to drop a foal any day.”

  Toregene exclaimed over that, but I continued to study Güyük. Perhaps fatherhood had calmed his violent streak, or perhaps that was only what he wanted his mother to believe. I knew not what game he played, but I wasn’t convinced by his act.

  Oghul Ghaimish slunk away, taking with her the sound of tinkling bells and the child’s cries as she disappeared around a tiled corner. Toregene patted Güyük’s hand. “I worried when your father chose Oghul Ghaimish as your wife,” she said. “But you’ve done well by her. Treat her gently, and I’m sure she’ll reward you with her loyalty and many more children.”

  Güyük followed us back outside and to the Golden Ordu—the white velvet tent held up by pillars plated with gold—inquiring politely about our journey and whether there were plans to return to Wien for a second siege. “Also,” he said, “Sorkhokhtani and her eldest sons recently arrived.”

  “Good,” Toregene answered. “Fatima sent a message requesting their presence in the capital upon my return.”

  Güyük’s eyes darkened at that, but then he offered his mother a polished smile. “I’m pleased to hear they obliged, especially considering all the times Sorkhokhtani defied my father.”

  “Sorkhokhtani desires a quiet life,” Toregene answered as we approached the doors of the Golden Ordu, fluted at the top in the Persian style but carved with dragons and horses in the style of Cathay. Like his people, Ogodei’s palace was a conglomeration of styles from around the world, and I found the mix jarring and disconcerting. “Yet she is grown almost as old as me and has served our family well since Tolui’s death. She understands her duties as Princess of the Hearth.”

  It seemed Toregene had for
given Sorkhokhtani her rejection of Güyük, perhaps because she realized she’d now need the support of Tolui’s widow.

  Güyük didn’t have a chance to answer, for the doors were flung open at Toregene’s gesture. Inside, Ogodei’s former councilors milled about, as did various members of the Golden Family, the men standing to the west and the few women to the east as if this were still a humble ger that stunk of wet goat wool instead of the grand throne room of the most powerful family on earth. I nodded to Sorkhokhtani, recognizing her sons Möngke and Kublai across from her.

  At the opposite end of the room, two sets of stairs formed an inverted V, and atop them sat the Horse Throne. Gilded chairs set along the stair’s wooden platforms awaited the members of the royal family.

  The hum of conversation quieted and I felt a surge of pride as Toregene lifted the hem of her deel and mounted the stairs. She didn’t hesitate when she reached the pinnacle, but ignored the Great Khatun’s stool to take her place on the Horse Throne.

  “My dear Khatun,” a councilor shouted. It was Korguz, Ogodei’s ape-like scribe, recently recalled from Persia at my behest, although he didn’t realize that. “We offer our condolences for the loss of your husband.” Yet his face showed no sadness as he separated himself from the crowd, daring to stand on the bottom step of the dais unbidden. “We assume you’ve come here today to share with us the name of the Khan’s chosen successor.”

  “Did Ogodei name Güyük as his heir?” another yelled.

  And still another, “Or perhaps Möngke or Batu?”

  Toregene held up her hands. “My husband neglected to name an heir, as he neglected many things in this life.” She sat straighter and I feared she might be seized with a coughing fit, but she only rested her forearms on the wide armrests of the throne. “For now, I shall sit upon the Horse Throne.”

  “But that is impossible,” sputtered Korguz. “A woman cannot—”

  Toregene leaned forward. “The great Genghis Khan often left Borte Khatun to administer his empire in his absence. Do you believe our great ancestor was mistaken to do so?”

  “That was a time of war. Surely now we must have a new Khan—”

  His words hung in the air as Sorkhokhtani picked herself up and mounted the stairs, trailed by her sons Möngke and Kublai. They took their seats beneath the throne, gazing out impassively at the lower ministers in challenge. To my consternation, Güyük emerged next from the crowd, followed by his younger brothers by Ogodei’s lesser wives.

  A heavy and uncomfortable silence fell. It seemed none of the whitebeards wished to challenge the Golden Family, yet they weren’t quite finished with Toregene.

  “Why was the Khan not better protected when he was in Wien?” yelled another of Ogodei’s ministers, an elderly Buddhist dressed in an orange deel.

  “The Khan was protected, but Al-Altun poisoned her own wine and gave it to our husband,” Toregene said calmly. “She paid for that decision with her life.”

  More shouting broke out until Kublai stood up, craning his neck to better see the Horse Throne. “Great Khatun,” he said. “The mandate of Genghis Khan forbade the execution of any member of the Golden Family. Yet Al-Altun was still put to the sword. Why?”

  Sorkhokhtani stood abruptly, leveling a scathing glare at her son. “My apologies for my son, Great Khatun,” she said. “He is still young and has yet to learn when his opinion is warranted.”

  But Toregene smiled down upon them both. “Young Kublai’s question is a good one. The Great Khan did decree that those who carried his blood were beyond the reach of the law. Yet I determined that Al-Altun’s crime was so great that her death was the only proper penalty.”

  “A prescient move,” Güyük agreed, one hand over his heart as he inclined his turbaned head in Toregene’s direction. “I commend my mother for her decisive action against so treacherous a woman.”

  There were grunts of approval at that and many nodding heads. Still, Sorkhokhtani pressed her son into his seat while Toregene surveyed the pillared hall. “My husband’s bones shall be laid to rest in the mountains before the sun sets tomorrow. As Ogodei’s Great Khatun, I shall rule as regent until an appropriate time can be determined to call a khurlatai. I thank my husband’s advisers for their service and hope they may now enjoy their retirement. Going forward, Shigi, adopted brother of Genghis Khan, and Fatima of Nishapur shall serve as my eyes and ears in Karakorum.”

  The dismissed advisers stared in shock, some openly gaping. Korguz leapt to his feet, his hairy fists clenched at his sides. “But, Khatun—”

  Güyük crossed his arms before his chest. “Do you wish to contradict the Great Khatun?” he interrupted. “If so, perhaps you’d wish to follow in Al-Altun’s footsteps?”

  “There is no need for threats,” Toregene said calmly. “It is the simple truth that my husband spent extravagantly, and I can no longer afford to pay the extensive list of advisers and artisans he employed.”

  I’d seen the palace accounts myself; it was true that Ogodei had squandered every gold coin he came across, but with the impressive tax revenues from the trade routes and the tribute sent every year from the empire’s vassal states, Toregene could afford as large a retinue as she liked.

  Korguz stormed to the door of the colossal tent. “I shall not suffer this humiliation,” he said. “This empire shall crumble while you or your brood sit upon that throne.”

  Toregene ignored him to address the remaining advisers. “I thank you for your service to my husband, gentlemen. You have served your empire well.”

  At her nod, the advisers filed reluctantly from the Golden Ordu. I’d ensure that each—including miserable Korguz—was sent a sizable gift to soothe any ruffled feathers.

  Shigi’s brush flicked over the book in his lap, recording all this for his history of the Golden Family, and my fingers itched for my own pen and ink. Of everyone left in the tent, Toregene’s lover and I were the only people without either the blood of Genghis Khan running in our veins or the ability to claim one of his descendants as a child of our bodies. Everyone else was a member of the Golden Family, either by blood or by marriage. “Borte Khatun, the Mother of the Thirteen Tribes, foretold that this empire would fracture after Genghis Khan’s spirit fled for the sacred mountains,” Toregene said. “I am not prepared to watch that happen. I ask for your support as I keep watch over the Horse Throne and guide the empire until we are ready to proclaim the next Khan.”

  Sorkhokhtani stood. “You have the support of the Toluids,” she said. “But my sons and I would ask your permission to return to our lands.”

  Toregene gave a terse nod, and I wondered if she’d expected this from Tolui’s widow. “You may go,” she said. “And I thank you for administering Karakorum in our absence.”

  Sorkhokhtani bowed over her hands. Möngke opened his mouth to protest but closed it at his mother’s sharp glare. The sons of the Princess of the Hearth would either be well equipped to withstand this family’s travails or they would be weak-willed men cowed by any woman they met. The royal family began discussing plans for Ogodei’s funeral, a mix of pagan and Christian traditions that made my skin crawl. Ogodei’s body had been wrapped in scented felts on the night he died, but then he’d been dragged from one end of the empire to the other. Now his spoiled corpse would be blessed and hidden on some mountaintop, yet even the vultures would forgo such a desiccated feast.

  I followed Sorkhokhtani and her sons into the corridor, catching her in the midst of berating Kublai for speaking out of turn.

  “Fatima,” she said when she saw me. “How may I assist you?”

  “Can’t you see that you should stay?” I asked her. “Toregene needs your help now more than ever.”

  Sorkhokhtani waved her sons away. “It is true that Toregene navigates uncharted lands,” she said to me. “Dangerous even.”

  “Yet you abandon her.” My accusation was tinged with
anger, but she appeared not to notice. Sorkhokhtani might have made a fine Khatun, for not even the most skilled courtier could discern her true feelings.

  She tucked her hands in her sleeves. “Toregene’s every move will be scrutinized from this moment forward and her every decision endlessly debated. I, on the other hand, shall fade away as I’ve always done, disappearing into the shadows.” She leaned toward me, as if taking me into her confidence. “The interesting thing about shadows is that while they are ever present, few notice them.”

  I didn’t have time for nuances and hidden meanings. “Toregene plans to give the throne to Güyük one day.”

  “Then Batu was right in not coming.” Her fingers fluttered at my questioning glance. “Jochi’s son feared that Toregene might call a khurlatai for Güyük today.”

  “She thinks Güyük may be able to one day replace her. Not even Ogodei supported Güyük,” I muttered.

  Sorkhokhtani gave a delicate sniff. “Then Ogodei and I agreed on one thing in this life.”

  It was the closest I’d ever heard to Sorkhokhtani declaring her opinion on something. “Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to stay?”

  She gave a sad shake of her head. “Toregene must make her own way. And I will do as I’ve always done: protect my sons and ensure they always have their father’s lands to rule.”

  I gave a wan smile. “Go in peace then, Sorkhokhtani Beki,” I said. “May Allah watch over you and your sons.”

  She pressed her forehead to mine. “And may he watch over you as well. I fear you’ll need the gift of his divine guidance in the days to come.”

  * * *

  Toregene’s breathing grew easier in that spring and summer, but fall’s dampness and winter’s cold made the air crackle in her lungs, and her constant cough battered her ever-frail body. The scent of honey clung to her, for she swallowed a spoonful of the golden nectar with each meal and drank infusions of columbine tea to soothe her raw throat, but neither had any effect on the miasma that had settled in her lungs.