7.

  Several objects from distant lands were displayed inside Sorqoqtani’s pavilion, items familiar even to Batu. There were many books as well. The interior was spare and orderly, as though it reflected the clarity of its owner’s mind.

  Batu knew Sorqoqtani only through what his father had told him. She was Tolui’s widow, a woman of keen intellect and gentle nature. After her husband’s death, she had taken charge of Chinggis Khan’s vast holdings, managing both the House of Chinggis and the House of Tolui, now left without their masters. A woman of uncommon steadiness.

  “Welcome. Please, come this way.”

  Her cool, refined voice invited Batu deeper into the pavilion. Freshly prepared dishes filled the table.

  “I wish we could have spoken much earlier,” she said. “Once again, I offer my condolences. Your father passed far too young.”

  “Thank you,” Batu replied. “It has been ten years now. Entrusting everything to someone as inexperienced as I was must have weighed heavily on him. And my youngest daughter was still an infant then.”

  He smiled faintly.

  “She lost her mother in childbirth as well, so my wife and I took her in. Now she has reached an age where one must begin to think of marriage.”

  “That is a happy concern,” Sorqoqtani said. “I have only sons. Sometimes I wish I had raised a daughter.”

  “Perhaps we allowed her too much freedom in the countryside,” Batu said with a laugh. “She has grown rather… unladylike.”

  Sorqoqtani smiled with him.

  “You are fortunate,” she said softly. “Truly.”

  “Thank you.”

  After a pause, she asked, “Have you heard of the history between your father and Lord Chagatai?”

  Batu’s brow darkened.

  “In part,” he said. “But my father never spoke of it in detail.”

  “I have heard that you have governed the House of Jochi admirably,” she continued. “Your father rarely came to Karakorum. It must have been deeply painful for him.”

  “Painful?” Batu asked. “Because of his conflict with Uncle Chagatai?”

  Sorqoqtani did not answer directly.

  “What I am about to tell you,” she said instead, “may not bring you comfort. But I believe it is something you must know.”

  Batu lifted his gaze to her beautiful, composed face.

  In those days, Chinggis Khan’s great pavilion was not yet as vast as it would later become. Still, it was large enough for a ruler who governed wide lands and called himself king.

  That pavilion now shook with the force of his voice.

  “What nonsense is this!” Chinggis roared. “Jochi is without question the son of myself and the woman standing here—his mother. To believe such foolish rumors is disgraceful.”

  Chagatai’s body trembled with fear, but he forced himself to speak. This, he believed, had to be settled.

  “I have heard this rumor not once or twice,” he said. “I have heard it many times, since childhood. Even ?gedei here has heard it!”

  ?gedei shrank back, bracing himself to be scolded.

  “Do you insult me as well?” their mother cried, tears welling. “Do you accuse me of infidelity?”

  “This is not your fault, Mother,” Chagatai said quickly. “You were taken by the Merkit.”

  “Then you mean it is my fault?” Chinggis thundered. “That I failed to protect my wife?!”

  Realizing he had gone too far, Chagatai faltered.

  “That is not what I mean,” he said desperately. “What I am asking is whether my elder brother is truly my brother.”

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  “He is your brother,” their mother said. “Without question.”

  “Can you prove it?” Chagatai shot back, cutting over her words.

  “Do you doubt our mother’s word?” Jochi demanded, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “I have lived believing both Mother’s and Father’s words.”

  Chagatai stared at him in shock.

  “Then… you knew?” he said. “You knew all along, and yet you never told us?”

  A sharp pain pierced his chest. He could not believe his brother had kept such a secret from him.

  “That is—”

  No one spoke.

  “Brother, please,” ?gedei cried.“Isn’t this enough? It wasn’t true. Father and Mother have both said so.”

  He had never imagined that his careless question would lead to this.

  Chagatai’s clenched fists trembled.It was not only that his parents could not give him the proof he demanded. More than anything, it was the knowledge that his brother had known—and had said nothing. If only Jochi had spoken to him first. Or perhaps… even then, would anything have changed? Chagatai himself did not know. Only that it should not have come to this.

  “Brother—”

  “I know!” Chagatai shouted.

  He rose abruptly, then stormed out of the pavilion.

  “Brother!” ?gedei ran after him.

  Outside, Chagatai stood shaking, weeping openly. ?gedei could not bring himself to approach.

  “Leave him be,” Jochi said, placing a hand on ?gedei’s shoulder.

  When ?gedei looked up, he saw tears running down Jochi’s face as well.

  The family that had once been close was gone.

  ?gedei tried desperately to gather the fragments of their happiness. He joked before their parents, begged his brothers to train with him, tried anything he could think of. Nothing worked. The two elder brothers cursed one another, wounding each other with words.

  He wondered again and again whether things might have been different—if he had spoken to his mother instead of Chagatai, or to Jochi. And at last, the conflict between the two became impossible to hide.

  Chinggis Khan was renowned for his skill in building herds. That talent earned him great respect, and when the time came to move to the summer pastures, many gathered to hear his counsel.

  It was there, before all those eyes, that the brothers’ quarrel erupted.

  Their faces flushed red as they hurled insults, blind to everything around them.

  “How can one of unknown blood dare to call himself Father’s son?!”

  At Chagatai’s words, the color drained from Jochi’s sun-darkened face. Chagatai realized too late what he had said, but words once spoken could not be taken back.

  “Go.Now,” Jochi said, his voice low and scraping.

  Chagatai reached for his hilt. ?gedei went pale.

  “No—stop! Please!”His body had already moved before he realized it.

  “Watch out!”

  Both brothers reached out at once, shoving ?gedei aside.

  “Stop it!” ?gedei burst into tears.

  The brothers seemed to come back to themselves. Chagatai staggered away, his face empty, as though his soul had fled. Jochi knelt and pulled the sobbing ?gedei to his feet.

  Their father arrived, drawn by the commotion. Someone hurriedly explained what had happened.

  “Lord ?gedei threw himself between them to stop the fight.”

  Chinggis looked stunned. Jochi bowed silently and left the place. Chinggis gathered ?gedei into his arms and patted his back.

  “Well done,” he said softly. “You did well.”

  Hearing his father’s gentle voice for the first time in many days, ?gedei felt the tension finally loosen.

  From that day on, mediating between his brothers became his role. When they argued, all eyes turned to him.

  “Lord ?gedei…”

  They expected him to speak. And he did.

  “Now, now—calm yourselves. Brother Jochi, anger is bad for your health. Brother Chagatai, indulge your little brother this once.”

  Reluctantly, the two would relent.

  The people praised him.

  “As expected of Lord ?gedei.”“How fortunate that Lord ?gedei is so mild-tempered.”

  The more his brothers fought, the more he was needed.

  As ?gedei grew, different words began to reach his ears.

  “If Jochi becomes khan with relations this poor, will Chagatai submit?”“If Chagatai becomes khan, will Jochi accept it?”“It must be Lord ?gedei.”“Lord ?gedei is neutral.”“Lord ?gedei would be best.”

  A thought that had never existed before took root in ?gedei’s heart.

  “No one was wholly at fault,” Sorqoqtani said at last.“Chagatai was a man who upheld the law even against his own feelings. Jochi was blamed for something beyond his control—it must have been unbearable. My husband told me that your family was once truly close.”

  She let the words fall into silence. A heavy sadness settled over Batu.

  He remembered his father’s back, curled small at night. When Batu inherited his father’s position, Jochi had said—

  “You will carry my ulus. But Orda is your elder brother. Honor him. Watch over him.”

  “And to Orda—whatever happens, trust your younger brother. Stand with him. Help him.”

  “So that old grievance still lingers,” Batu murmured.

  He thought of the petty harassment he had endured, the way Chagatai’s house had opposed him in council, as if opposition itself were the goal. Yet the Chagatai Sorqoqtani described was not a man ruled by resentment or hatred. Perhaps his uncle had suffered, just as his father had. The words exchanged in council returned to Batu’s mind.

  It had been Chinggis who entrusted the western lands to the House of Jochi. It had been Chinggis who willed the western campaign. Both were his grandfather’s intent.

  If so, then perhaps Chagatai was only trying to keep faith with that will.Then what of the harassment? Batu set the question aside. That was not what mattered now.

  Sorqoqtani watched him with quiet concern.

  For a long moment, Batu said nothing. At last, he lifted his head and met her gaze.

  “I will not become like my father,” he said. “In this western campaign, I will win. Not just victories—victories that leave no room for doubt. Victories that show what my grandfather’s blood is capable of.”

  Sorqoqtani smiled at the sight of his hardened resolve.