The chieftains responded to Bayan’s speech with a roar of assent. Now Kublai was protesting that he was not worthy. He held out his hands in a gesture rejecting the honour offered him. Bourkina had told Taniko exactly how this part would go, so that even though she understood little Mongolian, she could follow what was happening. Shouts went up from the crowd. They were demanding that he accept the Great Khanate. How rude and strange, subjects shouting orders at the man they had chosen to be their ruler. No more rude and strange, though, than the very idea that people could choose their ruler.

The roar became insistent, even frightening in its intensity. Some of them were chanting his name, “Kublai, Kublai,” over and over. Still he shook his head and tried to make his refusal heard above their clamour, ludicrous behaviour for a man wearing crown jewels and sitting on an Emperor’s chair of state. But it was expected of him, as Bourkina had explained.

At last Kublai stood up. He held out his hands again, but this time the gesture was one of yielding. He bows to accept the supreme power, Taniko thought, still bemused by it all.

The shout of the leaders of the Mongol empire was deafening.

Bayan and an older general—she supposed it was Uriangkatai—held up a long strip of dark grey felt. This, Bourkina had told her, had been traditional for Mongol khans from the days when their tribe was created by the spirits of snow and ice. The two generals draped the felt over the seat and arms of the throne. Slowly Kublai Khan sat down.

So simple, thought Taniko. A man plants his buttocks on a piece of felt and becomes lord of the world.

The cheering redoubled in volume, then died away. One by one the men removed whatever head covering they wore—fur hats, steel helmets, Chinese-style caps of office, turbans, burnouses. As a silence fell over the room they unbuckled their belts. Swords and daggers thudded to the carpeting. The standing men draped their belts over their shoulders. Thus they made the traditional submission to the new Great Khan.

One by one the chieftains moved forward to greet Kublai and to make individual pledges of loyalty to him. Servants bearing large porcelain wine jars and silver platters laden with smoking roasts of beef and mutton began to move through the crowd. Taniko saw the tumanbashi Torluk pushing his way out of the hall. His felt hat was on his head and his sword buckled at his side, but nobody seemed to notice him.

In the gallery Bourkina called out, “Ladies, it’s time we were leaving. It won’t be long before the level of feasting and rejoicing here passes what is safe. Each of us will surely have her opportunity to congratulate the Great Khan in her way and in her own time.” There were cries of protest.

Hotai said, “That may be well enough for foreign women, but I’ve grown up attending Mongol feasts. I will be quite safe and comfortable, and I will stay.”

“Indeed, she’s safe enough,” Seremeter said quietly to Taniko. “What man would look twice at that cow?”

One of Kublai’s Chinese consorts smirked. “Cows are what the Mongols like best.”

Taniko stared at the Chinese woman. “You could lose your head if any Mongol heard that.”

The woman laughed. “Not at all. To call a woman a great cow is regarded a high compliment among the Mongols. Didn’t you know that?”

Except for Hotai and several of the older and more prestigious Mongol wives, such as the principal wife, the lady Jamui, Kublai’s women permitted themselves to be shepherded by Bourkina down the gallery stairs and out of the place. Across a wide courtyard with a fountain in its centre was the women’s palace. Though it was the Fifth Month, the beginning of summer, the wind was from the steppes of the north, and it was cold. Taniko could see why Kublai had chosen Shantu for his summer residence.

The women crossed the courtyard in a group. Like a flock of geese, Taniko thought. A monk approached them, one of the many who had come from the furthest corners of the world to observe the kuriltai and see what these new world conquerors portended for the various religions. This one was only slightly taller than Taniko, with white hair and a white beard. He wore a grey robe.

“Stand aside,” Bourkina called loudly. “No man is permitted to approach the Great Khan’s wives.”

The elderly monk chuckled and stood his ground. “Surely, my lady, one my age and wearing the robe of a monk is harmless enough.”

“Many a monk’s robe has concealed a pestiferous weapon,” said Bourkina in a slightly more pleasant tone.

“The range of my weapon is not so great these days, lady,” said the monk with a smile. “I assure you, you’re well beyond it.” Taniko wondered about him. From his size and general appearance he looked neither Chinese nor Mongol, but as if he might come from her own country. Immediately after that thought came the shocking recognition that on his robe was the same Willow Tree symbol she had seen on Jebu’s. The old man was a Zinja from the Sacred Islands. She was sure of it.

She had no idea until that moment how much she had been missing her country and her people. She wanted to cry.

“What do you want, old monk?” Bourkina snapped. “If it weren’t for your white hair, I’d have had the guards take your head by now.”

The old man bowed as only the men of the Sacred Islands knew how to bow, with respect and yet dignity.

“I realize that I may not speak directly to one of the Great Khan’s consorts,” said the monk. “But I see among you a lady whom I recognize as a countrywoman of mine.” He looked directly at Taniko and his eyes twinkled. “I have news for her.”

“Indeed,” said Bourkina. “I should have recognized from your imposing stature that you are from the Land of the Dwarfs.” Several women snickered, and Taniko glared at them. She wanted to rush across the courtyard to the old monk and throw herself at his feet, but she dared not even speak to him directly.

“What about the siege of Wuchow?”

“That’s over. It’s of no importance now.”

“What about Kweilin? Has Kweilin fallen?”

Bourkina smiled. “Ah, that’s where the men from your country are, isn’t it? It will take awhile for a messenger from the tarkhan Arghun to reach us, but at last report Kweilin still held out. There is no more war with China, lady. We have a more important question to settle now, one that will decide the future of Mongolia and China and the whole world. To say nothing of your future and my future. Who is to be the next Great Khan?”

Chapter Sixteen

Now Taniko sat in the gallery of the great hall at Shangtu with the wives and consorts of Kublai Khan, watching as he met an open challenge from those opposing his election.

Kublai seated himself on an ivory chair that had once belonged to the Kin Emperor who reigned in Yenking. His manner was casual, rather than ceremonious, as if he were making himself comfortable in his yurt with a few close friends.

In the same easy manner he said, “You mystify me, Torluk. It has been ten months since my elder brother was taken from us by the will of Eternal Heaven. With great tasks to perform, we stand like tethered horses. How long would you have us wait?”

Torluk, a commander of ten thousand troops, had a voice that carried through the hall. “This is the first time a kuriltai has not been held in our homeland, by the waters of the Kerulan,” he said. “All members of the Golden Family have been present. Why does this kuriltai meet in a pleasure city in a conquered land? And why are there so few of the blood kin of Genghis Khan here? Where is Birkai, khan of the Golden Horde of Russia? Where is Kiadu, Ogodai’s grandson? Where is your brother Hulagu? Where is Arghun Baghadur, the great general of the south-west China campaign? Why are you counselled only by your own officers of the Left Wing, Bayan and Uriangkatai, and by foreigners—Chinese, Turks, Tibetan lamas? Can these men of small account rightfully elect a Great Khan? Will the Mongol nation accept their choice? Above all, where is your brother Arik Buka? It is out Mongol custom that the youngest son inherits. Arik Buka is the youngest son of Tuli, ruler of the homeland, Keeper of the Hearth. Let him call a proper kuriltai in the homeland, O Khan, and you will be keeping faith with the Ancestor.”

One of Kublai’s generals shouted, “The voice is yours, Torluk, but the words are those of the khan’s enemies.”

“Peace,” said Kublai. “Many will attack what we do here for the reasons Torluk gives. It is good that we have this chance to answer.”

Kublai stood up. Most of the Mongols were big men, but he was one of the biggest among them. Taniko had heard that his grandfather, Genghis Khan, was also very tall.

“As to the place of the kuriltai. We are north of the Great Wall here. This country has always been part of the homeland. We were fighting in the south when the news of my brother’s death came. From here we can return to that fighting more quickly than if we go all the way to Karakorum. Let any who would have a voice in ruling the empire come here, where we are building the empire.”

His deep voice, calm at first, grew fiercer as he spoke. When he paused, the assembled leaders cheered until he raised his hand for silence.

“As for those who are not here. The khans of Russia have not attended a kuriltai since my grandfather’s day. They will have to support whomever we choose. My brother Hulagu is just as far away, fighting in the lands of the Arabs. The Mameluks of Egypt press upon him, and he cannot disengage without the loss of everything we have gained in thirty years of fighting there. Hulagu has sent me permission to cast his vote as I see fit. As for Kaidu, Arghun and my brother Arik Buka, perhaps you can tell me where they are, Torluk. Why have the elderly dung eaters who advise my young brother persuaded him to remain in his yurt by the Gobi when he could be my guest, enjoying the delights of Shangtu?”

There was laughter, which died away when Torluk replied, “Let me remind the khan that those who dwell in yurts have always triumphed over those who live in palaces. And this is no true kuriltai while your brother remains in Karakorum.”

A young tarkhan beside Kublai, whom Taniko recognized as Bayan, stepped forward and drew his sabre. Taniko held her breath. In the Sacred Islands when a warrior bared his sword he could not honourably sheathe it again until he had drawn blood. But Kublai rumbled softly to Bayan, who put his sword away and sat down.

“I am at home in both yurts and palaces, Torluk,” said Kublai with a smile. “But I advise you now to have a care.” The smile fell away and the broad, dark face was as stern as the visage of a carved god. “You come close to saying that you will not accept the judgment of this kuriltai. That would be treason.”

Torluk remained on his feet but stood silent, while Kublai stared him down. At last he turned away from the khan and pushed his way through the crowd. Kublai began speaking quietly to the councillors around him. Gradually the huge room filled with the roar of many different conversations.

What a strange way to conduct the business of an empire, Taniko thought. She had never been to a public gathering in which men talked all at once to one another and ignored their leaders, while their leaders ignored them and also talked among themselves. She tried to imagine what it would be like if the Son of Heaven were elected at a meeting conducted by the great men of the realm. It was unthinkable, sacrilegious. But the Emperor of the Sacred Islands, of course, was a god.

Now the tarkhan Bayan was calling for silence. He made a long speech in Mongolian. Taniko had lived with Mongols long enough to understand the drift of it. He called upon the kuriltai to choose Kublai as Great Khan. He gave many reasons. The reasons were all obvious. They added up to one reason: that there was no one else in the world who could govern, maintain and expand the huge Mongol empire. She wondered why Arik Buka and those around him couldn’t see that.

The chieftains responded to Bayan’s speech with a roar of assent. Now Kublai was protesting that he was not worthy. He held out his hands in a gesture rejecting the honour offered him. Bourkina had told Taniko exactly how this part would go, so that even though she understood little Mongolian, she could follow what was happening. Shouts went up from the crowd. They were demanding that he accept the Great Khanate. How rude and strange, subjects shouting orders at the man they had chosen to be their ruler. No more rude and strange, though, than the very idea that people could choose their ruler.

The Ancestor, Kublai told her, had had four sons by his principal wife. These were his heirs. Each son had been given a separate domain within the empire. Genghis Khan had indicated that he wanted Ogodai, the third son, to reign after him as Great Khan. After the death of Genghis Khan, Ogodai had been elected Great Khan at a kuriltai. The orkhons, tarkhans, noyans and baghadurs swore that the Great Khan would always be a member of the house of Ogodai. Ogodai commanded the Banners to ride westwards, where they completed the conquest of Russia begun by Genghis Khan and overran lands beyond called Poland and Hungary. The campaign ended when Ogodai died.

Kublai’s own father was Genghis Khan’s youngest son, Tuli. He was a brilliant, daring and merciless warrior who had inherited something of his father’s strategic genius. He was known as the Master of War. The portion of the empire given him to govern was the Mongol homeland, and with it the title Keeper of the Hearth. Tuli died nine years before Ogodai.

For five years after Ogodai’s death, his widow ruled as Regent. She was a proud and foolish woman, and she made many enemies. She was rude and overbearing to members of the Golden Family and veteran commanders. She demanded excessive gifts from vassals and allies, showed favouritism to the Nestorian Christian religion, and threatened to impose it on the whole empire.

Finally a kuriltai elected Ogodai’s son, Kuyuk, Great Khan. He was sickly and a heavy drinker. He died after reigning a little over two years.

Kuyuk’s widow was rumoured to be a witch. Together with Ogodai’s widow she ruled the empire for two years. Then they put forward Ogodai’s grandson as their candidate for Great Khan.

The two widows of the house of Ogodai never suspected that yet another great lady would bring about their downfall—the widow of Tuli, Kublai’s mother, Princess Sarkuktani. She was as wise and discreet as the women of Ogodai’s house were headstrong and arrogant. Like Genghis Khan himself, Tuli had four able sons. Princess Sarkuktani saw to it that the four young men were trained in the Chinese classics of statesmanship and philosophy as well as in the Mongol arts of warfare. She quietly made alliances with the leading men of the empire.

When the kuriltai to elect Kuyuk’s successor was finally convened, the Mongol leaders ignored their promise that the house of Ogodai would always rule them. Instead they elected Mangu, the eldest son of Tuli.

A year after his election Mangu discovered a plot against his life led by the widows of Ogodai and Kuyuk. The Mongol law forbade shedding the blood of any person of high rank. So the bodily orifices of the two women were sewn shut to prevent the escape of evil spirits, and they were tied up in leather bags and thrown into a river. Mangu commanded the execution of hundreds of other members of the house of Ogodai and their supporters.

Mangu then set out to extend the Mongol empire further. He sent his second brother, Hulagu, westwards to invade the Moslem lands of the Middle East.

Kublai invaded China on Mangu’s order, and then Mangu decided to go to war himself. Under Kublai Khan, the Great Khan Mangu, and Arghun Baghadur, three armies invaded southern China.

A chill went through Taniko when she heard the name Arghun Baghadur on Kublai’s lips. At once she remembered the giant red-haired warrior who had come to Daidoji looking for Jebu. Could this be the same one, or were there other Mongols of that name?

Mangu left his youngest brother, Arik Buka, behind at Karakorum, the Black Walls, the Mongol capital built by Genghis Khan. Just as Tull, the youngest son of Genghis Khan, had been Keeper of the Hearth, so now Arik Buka, Tuli’s youngest son, was given that title. He was ruler of the homeland and commander of the army of the Centre.

The Sung empire was a more populous land than any the Mongols had ever invaded, and its cities were bigger and better fortified. Kublai frankly admitted to Taniko that the invaders had bogged down. Arghun was besieging Kweilin in Kwangsi province, Mangu’s army was before Hochwan in Szechwan, and Kublai was here in Hupeh, trying to take Wuchow. The war had been going on for two years.

“By the way, a number of your countrymen are making the war more difficult for us,” said Kublai with a smile. “Arghun reports that a contingent of warriors from the Land of the Dwarfs is in command of the defence of Kweilin. They fight like devils, almost as well as Mongols. They have considerably delayed Arghun’s capture of the city.”

Taniko carefully kept her face expressionless, though her heart was pounding like a taiko drum. What strange karma brought Jebu and his enemy together at a remote city in China?

“I did not know there were any warriors from my country in China,” she said.

Kublai’s broad face creased in a smile. “Didn’t you? Prince Horigawa knew about them. They are members and supporters of that warrior family you told me about, the one on the losing side.”

“The Muratomo?”

“Yes. They won’t delay Arghun much longer. Through Prince Horigawa we have made an arrangement with a Chinese statesman that will lead to their being overrun shortly.” He was watching her closely, searching for a reaction.

Taniko smiled. “My lord, my country may seem small to you, but it is full of people I don’t know, whose karma is of no interest to me. My family is related to the Takashi, and I have always been close to them, rather than to the Muratomo.”

Later, in her yurt, she wept for herself and Jebu, who must be with the samurai at Kweilin if he were alive at all. She remembered Horigawa’s saying the samurai would be sacrificed by the Sung Emperor’s chief councillor as part of a secret peace offer. They would be destroyed at Kweilin, and the Chinese, whom they had come to help, would not lift a finger to save them.

Her heart was a pit of ashes. It would be with Jebu as it had been with Kiyosi. One day, almost casually, someone would tell her that he was dead.

A few days after that conversation with Kubali came stunning news of another death. On the eleventh day of the Seventh Month of the Year of the Sheep, the Great Khan Mangu, Kublai’s elder brother, had died of dysentry at Hochwan. Bourkina told her to prepare for a long journey.

“It will take us at least a month to get to Shangtu.”

“Who besides us is going there?”

“All of the khan’s household that is not there already. His advisers and ministers. And the entire left wing of our army.”

“What will we do there?”

“We will wait and watch what the other great ones of the empire do—the khan’s brothers, the survivors of the house of Ogodai, the members of the other families descended from Genghis Khan, the noyans, the orkhons, the tarkhans.

“What about the siege of Wuchow?”

“That’s over. It’s of no importance now.”

“What about Kweilin? Has Kweilin fallen?”

Bourkina smiled. “Ah, that’s where the men from your country are, isn’t it? It will take awhile for a messenger from the tarkhan Arghun to reach us, but at last report Kweilin still held out. There is no more war with China, lady. We have a more important question to settle now, one that will decide the future of Mongolia and China and the whole world. To say nothing of your future and my future. Who is to be the next Great Khan?”

Taniko felt a chill of fear. Torluk clearly spoke with the voice of those who were in league against Kublai. Everyone in the hall was watching the khan now, waiting to see how he would meet this challenge.

Chapter Fifteen

Taniko had come to know Kublai well, but she had never before seen him presiding as a khan among his chieftains. Always when they met he had been alone, or at most with a few other people, in his chambers.

She had been utterly terrified the first time she had met him. He seemed, at first sight, a monstrous man. Since she expected that he would want to lie with her, she thanked the Buddha that she had known Jebu as a lover; at least she knew it was possible to couple with a man so tall and heavy and not be hurt.

“Sit here beside me,” he had said in a rumbling voice, patting a cushion with a large hand. “Will you have wine?”

“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured. Wine might make this easier. He picked up a beautiful silver drinking vessel from a low table before him and poured dark yellow wine into an alabaster cup. She took the cup and then held it out to him with her right hand, the left hand underneath to steady it; this was the proper way for a lady to offer wine to a man of rank.

“You must let me serve you, my lord. It is the custom in my country.” He took the cup from her, smiling, and drank. She poured a second cup for herself.

His eyes were very narrow and very black-splinters of ebony. The bones of his face were heavy, like the bones of a horse. It was a strong face, but the alertness of the eyes, the mobility of the mouth, suggested an acute intelligence.

“Your country, the Land of the Dwarfs. You may have heard that I— what is your name?”

“Taniko, my lord. I am the daughter of Lord Shima Bokuden of Kamakura.”

“You may have heard that I am a very inquisitive man, Taniko. I know nothing about the Land of the Dwarfs, and I would like to know everything.”

There could only be one reason why he would ask questions about the Sunrise Land. If she told him anything, she might betray her people. But she dismissed the fear. To get through this night she would have to laugh at everything and be serious about nothing, not even about herself, not even about the Sacred Islands.

“Perhaps, my lord, I can begin by correcting some of the fantastic tales you may have heard. First of all, we are not dwarfs. You and the Chinese are giants. And we do not worship gods with heads of animals. Nor does our Emperor live in a palace made of solid gold. Nor are we cannibals.”

“Not cannibals?” Kublai’s eyebrows went up. “What a pity. I had a fine, fat Chinese sage especially roasted for you. Now I will have to feed him to my hunting dogs. My people are also the subject of many false reports. The stories say we also eat human flesh. They do not say we worship gods with the heads of animals, they say we ourselves have animal heads. We are supposedly not even human, but devils spawned to scourge mankind for its sins. But tell me what is true about your country. What sort of palace does your Emperor really live in?”

The questions went on long into the night. Uneasy about Kublai’s purpose, she stressed that hers was a poor land compared to China. The Emperor’s palace in Heian Kyo would look small and bare beside the house of any rich man in Linan. Always Kublai pressed her for details of law, of custom, of daily life, details that most people would consider too obvious or trivial to notice. Three times during the evening he struck a small gong with a hammer, and the wine was replenished by a Mongol guard armed with a huge scimitar. Kublai showed her a silver table at the entrance to the tent laden with fruit and meat and pitchers of milk.

“Eat what you want,” he said. “No one goes hungry in the khan’s tent.” She helped herself daintily, never forgetting that this giant had the power of life and death over her. His manner might be gentle and pleasant, but his questions assaulted her mind with the relentlessness of a Mongol army storming a city.

But, she reminded herself, knowledge is the one thing I can still possess, even after another has taken it from me. And I am discovering that I know things about my own land that I never thought were important or did not even realize I knew. Her country reshaped itself in her mind under his questioning. She saw its people and events through the eyes of a master of strategy.

After she explained the complexities of the feud between the Takashi and Muratomo, he commented, “How like my own people yours are. Both peoples live on the edge of China. Both learn from China, both are poor compared to China. Both peoples breed fierce fighters, so fierce that we weaken our nations by fighting among ourselves. With us, the feuding was stopped by the Ancestor, my grandfather Genghis Khan. Perhaps this orkhon Sogamori will do the same for your people.”

He stood up, towering over her. Hastily she rose to her feet. He patted her shoulder with a large, brown hand.

“I have had much wine, and I have worked long and hard today. I will sleep now. One of my guards will escort you back to your yurt.”

Taniko was startled. No rape of the body to follow the rape of the mind? Perhaps he thought her unattractive.

He seemed to notice her surprise. “That’s another tale they tell about us, that we take women brutally, without ceremony. It’s not true. Please believe that I find you most attractive. You are an exquisite little creature.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, bowing with apparent shyness and seething inwardly at “little creature.”

“If you were to lie with me tonight, you would do so as my prisoner. I know that you are not a courtesan, despite what Prince Horigawa told me when he presented you to me. Bourkina told me your version of the story. It amuses me greatly that giving you to us was the most horrible fate your husband could imagine for you. Tonight, talking to you, I became convinced that you are a lady of rank, as you say. I find you a beautiful and singularly interesting woman. I intend to give you time to become accustomed to me. Go now.”

She had seen him about once a month after that. Since there were over four hundred women in his household, and new women were constantly being sent to him, for him to send for her that often was a mark of high favour. He continued to question her about her homeland, but gradually the range of their topics broadened. She had begun to counter with questions of her own. Kublai’s answers revealed to her the landscape of a world staggeringly larger than she had ever imagined existed. And much of that world, she learned, was ruled by the family of Genghis Khan.

The Ancestor, Kublai told her, had had four sons by his principal wife. These were his heirs. Each son had been given a separate domain within the empire. Genghis Khan had indicated that he wanted Ogodai, the third son, to reign after him as Great Khan. After the death of Genghis Khan, Ogodai had been elected Great Khan at a kuriltai. The orkhons, tarkhans, noyans and baghadurs swore that the Great Khan would always be a member of the house of Ogodai. Ogodai commanded the Banners to ride westwards, where they completed the conquest of Russia begun by Genghis Khan and overran lands beyond called Poland and Hungary. The campaign ended when Ogodai died.

“What has he decided, Bourkina?”

The round-faced woman shrugged. “I don’t know. He whispers his secrets to you ladies under the quilts, if he tells them to anyone at all.”

“He will have himself proclaimed Great Khan tonight,” said Seremeter. “I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not,” said Taniko. “If he makes himself Great Khan, he may wreck the empire of the Mongols. If he doesn’t, whoever becomes Great Khan may destroy him. If I were he, I could never decide what to do.”

“His enemies are many and powerful,” said Seremeter. “What will happen to us if there is a war and he is defeated?”

“You know what will happen,” said Taniko, thinking that if such were the case, Horigawa would have his vengeance on her after all.

“It’s better not to talk about it, ladies,” said Bourkina briskly. “Let’s ride back to the city.”

Taniko and Seremeter sat on silk cushions in a gallery overlooking the great hall Kublai Khan had built for the kuriltai. The hall smelled of newly cut wood and fresh paint. There were hundreds of Kublai’s women in the gallery, including the great lady herself, the principal wife, Jamui Khatun, a serene women who looked a good deal like Bourkina.

Hotai and several other young Mongol women sat near Taniko and Seremeter. Hotai sighed loudly. “These are strange times indeed, when we must share our places with a cannibal and fire worshipper.”

Taniko, who as a good Buddhist had never eaten meat, could not understand how the story had started that her people were cannibals. She wondered what Seremeter’s reply to Hotai would be. To disparage Hotai’s Mongol background would hardly be politic, especially at a

“You know as much about the customs of our lands as a lump of camel dung knows about the sea,” said Seremeter, tossing her head.

Poetry, thought Taniko, sheer poetry. I wish I could teach Seremeter to write tanka. But first she’d have to learn our language.

She turned her attention to the main floor of the hall. In a space as vast as a public square, men from three-quarters of the world were gathered—Kin, Cathayans, Tibetans, Manchus, Koreans, Annamese, Kampuchans, Burmese, Nan Chaoans, Turks, Persians, Arabs, Alans, Kipchaks, Armenians, Bulgars, Russians—, and men of many other nations whose names Taniko had not yet learned. Lording it over all were those of the many northern nomad tribes who now called themselves Mongols—dark Kiraits, broad-shouldered Merkits, talkative Uighurs, tall Kankalis, silent, secretive Reindeer People. The most splendid, in furs, silks and jewels looted from half the kingdoms of the earth, were those whose grandfathers had been Yakka Mongols, the tribe of Genghis Khan himself.

On a raised dais under a cloth of gold canopy was the place, still empty at this hour, where Kublai Khan and his chief advisers would sit. They were meeting elsewhere, Taniko knew, deciding what this gathering of leaders of the Mongol empire should proclaim as its collective decision.

Besides those who had a vote in the kuriltai, there were many who came simply to be present and to observe. There were lamas in red; black-robed monks from the lands of the Franks, the white-skinned people to the west; men with turbans and long white beards from the Moslem countries where Seremeter’s people lived. There was even a sohei from the lands of the Franks—a warrior-monk with yellow hair who wore a white cross-shaped crest on one shoulder of his black cloak. He reminded her a little bit of Jebu.

The kuriltai was the knot that held together the Mongol empire. At the kuriltai all members of the house of Genghis Khan, all Mongol nobles and generals, all the princes of the kingdoms that had submitted to the Mongols came together in council to vote on great decisions. At a kuriltai, Genghis Khan had proclaimed one government for the warring tribes of Mongolia with himself as its head. At kuriltais his successors, Ogodai, Kuyuk and Mangu had each in turn been elected Great Khan. At a kuriltai the Great Khan Mangu had reopened the war against China that had ended in his untimely death.

Now Kublai Khan, Mangu’s younger brother, had called a kuriltai to choose the next Great Khan. Whoever was elected would lay claim to all the lands from Korea in the east to Russia in the west, from Siberia in the north to Burma and Annam in the south. He would rule not only the largest empire in the world, but the largest empire mankind had ever known.

There was a blast of horns and a rumble of drums. Hangings parted, and Kublai Khan, surrounded by noyans, orkhons, and tarkhans, entered the hall. The assembled chieftains, most of whom had been seated on the carpeted floor eating, drinking and talking, rose to their feet.

When Kublai opened his mouth to speak, a total silence fell. “Ten months have passed since my brother, the Great Khan that was, died of his illness at Hochwan.” His voice, deep and powerful, carried to the furthest parts of the hall. “Thirty days ago the summons went out to this kuriltai. Four days we have been meeting here. There has been time for all to come to this kuriltai. The Ancestor said, ‘All they who do not come to a kuriltai shall be as arrows shot into reeds. They shall disappear.’ So let it be with all those who have not come to this kuriltai.”

Though Taniko had by now spent many hours with Kublai Khan, the sight and sound of him appearing before this group of powerful men was breathtaking. He wore robes heavy with gold embroidery, and his shoulders were draped with collars of gold and jade and precious stones; on his head was the jewelled headdress of a Chinese Emperor, making him look even taller than he was. But he would have dominated this gathering physically even without such a display of magnificence. He was a huge man, towering over the Mongol commanders who stood at his side. He was heavy as well, with the build of a wrestler. His broad face was swarthy, his eyes so black they seemed to draw light from the room—light radiated again by his glittering robes.

“I demand the right to speak.”

All heads turned to look for the source of this new voice. Taniko saw a man pushing his way forward, striding from the centre of the hall towards Kublai’s dais.

“I am of the Yakka Mongols, O Khan, and I have served the Golden Family all my life.” The descendants of Genghis Khan were known as the Golden Family.

An orkhon beside Kublai called, “Be silent now, Torluk, if you want to be able to speak tomorrow.”

“This is no true kuriltai if we cannot make our voices heard,” the grey-haired Mongol answered back. Taniko heard a murmur of agreement from other Mongols in the crowd.

Kublai Khan raised a large hand. “The tuman-bashi Torluk is quite right. All men may speak freely at the kuriltai. Torluk’s years of service are three times my own, and his words deserve our respect.”

Torluk walked up to the dais with the rolling gait of a Mongol horseman and turned so that all in the room could hear and see him.

“I urge the Khan to call an end to this kuriltai at once. This meeting has no right to choose the next Great Khan.”

Now there was a shocked murmur. Taniko could see those who did not understand Chinese asking others near them what the tuman-bashi Torluk had said. The orkhon beside Kublai who had spoken before cried, “Treason!”

Taniko felt a chill of fear. Torluk clearly spoke with the voice of those who were in league against Kublai. Everyone in the hall was watching the khan now, waiting to see how he would meet this challenge.