Bones of the Hills. Conn IgguldenЧитать онлайн книгу.
closed and looked around at the unsmiling faces. It distressed him to see three of them were from his own training group. They at least would not meet his eyes. The others were strangers carrying heavy sticks.
‘We have you now, monk,’ one of them growled.
Yao Shu readied himself, dropping slightly on bent legs so that he was in perfect balance. He could not defeat so many, but he was once again ready to teach.
Eight men fell into the centre of the circle and Yao Shu almost slipped between two and was away. By chance, one of them snagged his robe. Yao Shu felt fingers slip over the skin of his skull and he brought his head back sharply. The hard fingers vanished and the monk struck out with his right foot. Another man fell back with a cry, his knee shattered, but by then they had struck him many times and Yao Shu was dazed. He still hammered blows with hands, knees and head wherever he could, but they knocked him down. The heavy sticks rose and fell with mindless anger. He did not cry out, even when one of them stamped on his right foot and broke the small bones.
Before he lost consciousness, Yao Shu thought he heard Kachiun’s voice shouting and felt the hands on him falling away. The words of his own teachers spiralled in his mind then as he collapsed in the snow. They had told him that holding on to anger was like grasping a hot coal. Only he would be burned by it. Yet as the men scattered and he felt strong arms lift him up, Yao Shu held the hot coal closely and felt only warmth.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Yao Shu looked up as Kachiun came into the ger where the wounded were treated. By day, sick men and women travelled on the carts, well wrapped in furs. There were always some who needed a poisoned toe lanced or a wound bound. Yao Shu knew three of the men with him. They were the ones he had injured himself. He had not spoken to them and they seemed embarrassed by his silence and would not meet his eyes.
Kachiun brightened as he greeted Jochi, sitting on the edge of his bed and chatting lightly with him. He admired the striped tiger skin at Jochi’s feet, running his hands over the stiff folds and flattened head as they talked. Yao Shu could see the two men were friends. Tsubodai too visited each dawn and, despite his seclusion, Jochi was well informed. Yao Shu watched the pair talk with some curiosity as he tested the splints on his foot and winced.
When conversation died away, Kachiun turned to the monk, visibly searching for words. He knew as well as anyone that it could only have been Chagatai who ordered the beating. He knew also that it would never be proven. Chagatai strutted around the camp and there were more than a few warriors who looked on him with approval. There was no shame for them in taking revenge and Kachiun could guess what Genghis thought about it. The khan would not have relied on others to make his point, but he would not have lost sleep about it if he had. The camp was a hard world and Kachiun wondered how to explain that to Yao Shu.
‘Kokchu says you will be walking in just a few weeks,’ he said.
Yao Shu shrugged.
‘I heal, general. The body is just an animal, after all. Dogs and foxes heal and so do I.’
‘I have not heard anything else about the men who attacked you,’ Kachiun lied. Yao Shu’s eyes drifted to the others in the small ger and Kachiun flushed slightly. ‘There is always someone fighting in the camp,’ he said, spreading his hands.
Yao Shu looked calmly at him, surprised that the general seemed to be feeling guilt. He had played no part in it, after all, and was he responsible for Chagatai? He was not. In fact, the beating could have been much worse if Kachiun had not come and scattered them. The warriors had vanished back to their gers, bearing their wounded away. Yao Shu suspected Kachiun could have named each one if he wanted to, perhaps with the names of their families as well. It did not matter. The Mongols loved revenge, but Yao Shu felt no anger towards young fools following orders. He had vowed to teach Chagatai another lesson in the fullness of time.
It troubled the monk that his faith came second to such a base desire, but he still relished the prospect. He could hardly speak of it with Chagatai’s own men in the ger, but they too were healing and it would not be long before he was alone with Jochi. Though he might have gained an enemy in Chagatai, Yao Shu had seen the fight with the tiger. As he glanced at the great striped skin draped over Jochi’s low bed, he thought he had surely gained an ally as well. The Xi Xia princess would be pleased, he thought wryly.
Kachiun stood automatically when he heard Genghis’ voice outside. The khan entered and Yao Shu saw his whole face was swollen and red, the left eye almost closed.
The khan registered the presence of the men in the ger and nodded to Yao Shu before speaking to Kachiun. He ignored Jochi as if he were not present.
‘Where is Kokchu, brother? I have to get this broken tooth out of my head.’
The shaman came in as he spoke, bringing with him the strange odour that made Yao Shu wrinkle his nose. He could not like the skinny magic worker. He had found the shaman competent at splinting broken bones, but Kokchu treated the sick as if they were an annoyance, then fawned on the generals and Genghis himself without shame.
‘The tooth, Kokchu,’ Genghis growled. ‘It is time.’
Sweat beaded his brow and Yao Shu guessed he was in great pain, though the khan made a fetish of never showing it. Yao Shu sometimes wondered if they were insane, these Mongols. Pain was merely a part of life, to be embraced and understood, not crushed.
‘Yes, lord khan,’ Kokchu replied. ‘I will take it out and give you herbs for the swelling. Lie back, lord, and open your mouth as far as you can.’
With an ill grace, Genghis took the last bed in the ger and tilted his head far enough so that Yao Shu could see inflamed flesh. The Mongols had very good teeth, he thought. The brown stump looked out of place in the white ones. Yao Shu wondered if their diet of meat was responsible for their strength and violence. He shunned flesh himself, believing it to be responsible for bad humours in the blood. Still, the Mongols seemed to thrive on it, bad humours and all.
Kokchu unrolled a leather tube to reveal a small pair of blacksmith’s pincers and a set of narrow knives. Yao Shu saw Genghis’ eyes swivel to see the tools, then the khan met his gaze and a stillness came over him that was impressive to watch. The man had decided to treat the ordeal as a test, Yao Shu could see. The monk wondered if his self-discipline would hold.
Kokchu clacked the ends of the pincers together and took a deep breath to steady his hands. He looked into the khan’s open mouth and pursed his lips.
‘I will be as quick as I can, lord, but I have to take out the root.’
‘Do your work, shaman. Get it out,’ Genghis snapped and again Yao Shu saw the pain must have been immense for him to speak in such a way. As Kokchu probed the broken tooth, the khan clenched his hands then let them fall loose, lying as if he slept.
Yao Shu watched with interest as Kokchu dug deep with the pincers, trying to get a purchase. The metal tool slipped twice as he brought pressure to bear. With a grimace, the shaman turned back to his roll and selected a knife.
‘I have to cut the gum, lord,’ he said nervously.
Yao Shu could see the shaman was shaking as if his own life was at stake. Perhaps it was. Genghis did not bother to reply, though once again the hands tensed and relaxed as he fought his body for control. The khan stiffened as Kokchu leaned on the knife, digging deeply. Genghis choked on a flood of pus and blood, waving Kokchu away so he could spit on the floor before settling back. His eyes were wild, Yao Shu saw, quietly awed at the man’s strength of will.
Once more, Kokchu cut and jerked the blade, then reached in with the pincers, took a grip and heaved. The shaman almost fell as a long shard of root came out and Genghis grunted, rising to spit once more.
‘That is almost all of it, lord,’ the shaman said.
Genghis glared at him, then lay back