Lords of the Black Banner Chapter 1

Mongke Bulag – Summer 1468

Mandukhai sat in Dust’s saddle on the hill to the east of Mongke Bulag, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back to bask in the sunlight. A warm breeze caressed her skin and ruffled her deel around her ankles. Three years had passed since her vision of Genghis Khan. Three years since losing the only child she had conceived, a bitter failure that still stung deep in her heart. Three years during which she had acted as a faithful wife—more than she had before her vision. Manduul was not her future—the vision made that clear enough—and that knowledge offered endless comfort. It made pleasing him much less painful. She did not know when the winds would change, but she could feel them coming as surely as the wind against her skin.

During those three years, Mandukhai’s wisdom and level head had earned trust and loyalty from several officers in Manduul’s camp. While Manduul was not blind to Mandukhai’s part in court, he did not know how much loyalty she had acquired through his men. He would die and leave her widowed one day, as Genghis Khan had hinted in her vision. She had to be prepared to protect herself and Esige, as well as Mongke Bulag.

Today, as every day, Mandukhai rode Dust up to the hilltop and observed how Mongke Bulag had swelled in size. Domed gers dotted the horizon in clumps. More tribes and families joined the Great Khan as Bayan, Vice Chancellor Issama, and Unebolod continued their mission along the Ming border.

Jalair families were among the first to join the Great Khan in Mongke Bulag, and they had assimilated so well into the encampment that Mandukhai could no longer tell where their tribe ended and the Borjigin tribe began. They, along with the Khorlod and Khorchin, who had joined the Khan in the early days of Mongke Bulag, had become part of the Borjigin in a way that the other tribes had not yet managed. The Jalair commander, Altan, continued along the borders with her tumen to keep away enemies of the Khan—and for the best as well; Altan had been a rough influence on Esige, giving the princess notions of battle and glory that she could never fulfill simply because she was a princess.

Mandukhai thought back to when she had first arrived in Mongke Bulag four years ago. It had been a fairly small capital, consisting only of the remaining Borjigin, along with a few thousand Khorchin and Khorlod loyal to Unebolod and Togochi. Now, Manduul had three more tribes under his wing in the makeshift capital. Mongke Bulag served as a hub to nearly forty thousand Mongols spread across the northern steppe.

Not all the families had come to Mongke Bulag out of loyalty to the Great Khan. A few Uyghur and Asud milled among the tribes. While Manduul maintained peace between the tribes, some tensions remained high—particularly between the Uyghur and Khorchin. Manduul had moved their sections of the capital as far from each other as he could to avoid any mishaps.

Mandukhai, too, swelled with pride to see their numbers grow. While she was uncertain what the future held for her, she knew she would need as many tribes united behind the khanship as possible to face whatever would come.

Dust bent his neck to graze on the sparse grass. Mandukhai stroked his neck and loosened her grip on the reins to lessen the resistance. Her two guards lingered nearby, close enough to protect her, but far enough to give her privacy. It had been hard to teach them such lessons when Manduul had first assigned six new guards to her protection after Nergui’s murder and losing her child. The attempted assassination had put Manduul on edge, and he worried one guard would never be enough.

Mandukhai now had to walk with two men always in her shadow day and night. They had taken their role as her guards seriously, constantly crowding so near to her they felt more like a stifling suit of armor than her guards. Manduul had insisted on their endless presence, and it took her the better part of a year to train the six of them on how to afford her the space she needed without smothering her or disobeying Manduul’s commands. Failure would be certain death, and such a penalty would motivate them far more than anything she could offer.

A single rider raced in her direction, making the guards stiffen in defense. Mandukhai easily identified Esige by the streaming hair rippling in the wind and the effortless way she rode her horse. The girl she once knew had transformed into a stunning young woman. At fourteen, marriage wouldn’t be far off in her future, but so far, the girl had scorned every boy who had made an advance.

Esige’s spirit was as fierce and wild as Mandukhai’s own, and it filled Mandukhai with great pride. Marriage seemed a poor fate for a girl who could fight just as well as many of the men. But she was a princess, a niece of the Great Khan, and she would have as little choice in the matter as Mandukhai had herself—possibly less. Out of respect for Esige’s uninhibited spirit, Mandukhai became just as selective about the man Esige would someday marry. None of them were good enough.

“Mother!” Esige called out with open enthusiasm as she reined her mount in hard enough to make it buck beneath her. Her face was flush with excitement and youth. Have I lost such a flush?

“Does your uncle know you’ve ridden out again?” Mandukhai asked, amused at the exhilaration on Esige’s face. Whenever the girl called her “mother,” it filled Mandukhai’s heart to the brim. Esige was the only child she had not failed … yet. Mandukhai had not found many to love in her life so far. But Esige certainly ranked high above the others. It had little to do with Esige’s spying skills and more to do with how spirited and warm the girl was around her. The bond between them was stronger than Mandukhai had ever felt with anyone else. Esige was the only salve on Mandukhai’s wounded soul.

“Who cares?” Esige grinned devilishly, controlling her labored breathing after the hard ride. “I have to prepare myself for the inevitable.”

Mandukhai raised a brow sharply at her, though inside she struggled to keep her pride from overflowing. “And what inevitability would that be?”

Esige’s mare danced, but the girl effortlessly reined the mount to obey. “That one day, I will face a man who challenges me, and I cannot make it easy for him. If a man cannot capture me, he cannot have me.”

Despite her best efforts to keep a cool face, Mandukhai couldn’t help but smirk a little at this. Capture the bride was a common practice among nobles. The bride would be placed on the mount of her choice and given a brief head start before her suitor would give chase. His job was to catch her and pull her onto his horse before they crossed the finish line. It was a way to show that the bride was worthy of her husband and that he was strong enough to be worthy of her. For Mandukhai’s marriage to Manduul, this tradition had been skipped in favor of a swift union. Mandukhai knew Esige wouldn’t need the head start. In fact, she felt great sympathy for the man who would have to capture the young woman.

“You know these things are not quite that simple,” Mandukhai said. “It’s a formality, not a necessity.”

“I will not end up like my sister.” Esige’s demeanor shifted, and a fire burned in her dark eyes.

Mandukhai flinched. Borogchin had sent multiple messages to Mandukhai through her trusted spy, Seguse, and she continued to do her part keeping a close eye on Bigirsen. However, only twice since Bigirsen took away her from them had Borogchin returned to visit. By that time, her son Nemeku had been just old enough to ride a foal while tied to the saddle.

The good news had been that Bigirsen had enemies amongst his own men. Borogchin had seized the opportunity to make those men her spies and allies. It offered some comfort to know that those men would protect her to their final breath from outside forces and from her own husband.

“I also came to fetch you,” Esige said, pulling Mandukhai from her thoughts. “The Ladies Satai and Jaghan have invited you to tea.”

Mandukhai groaned inwardly. She got along quite well with Jaghan. Togochi’s young wife was close to her own age, and the two often walked the capital together. Around Satai, Mandukhai felt a bit more guarded. Satai’s husband, Unige, served as one of Manduul’s advisors, and the older woman seemed to think this entitled her to make demands of her queen. Mandukhai wouldn’t trust Satai at all if the woman didn’t have outright and visible scorn for Yeke. By Satai’s estimation, Yeke was a Uyghur and not worthy of being a Great Khan’s wife, let alone a queen. Mandukhai would need women such as Satai on her side when the inevitable came, so she suffered through the woman’s company.

“Very well.” Mandukhai heaved out a sigh and turned Dust toward the camp. “You will join us.”

Esige scoffed. “No insult intended, Mother, but I will not.” She turned her own mount to ride beside Mandukhai. The guards trailed behind them. “Lady Satai infuriates me, and I’m afraid that one of these days I will throw a knife into her open mouth and make sure she swallows it.”

“Hardly the actions of a princess,” Mandukhai said tersely, though her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t fault Esige’s frustrations.

“I never asked to be one.”

“You would be worse off if you weren’t.”

This lulled Esige into silence as they approached the fields of white gers and turned toward the area of camp where Satai’s ger rested. Were Esige not the niece of the Great Khan, she would have either been forced into a marriage arrangement already, enslaved for some unchecked insult to one of the men in camp, or dead—possibly for much the same reason.

The sun burned high in the wide blue sky. Mongke Bulag buzzed with activity as men bartered with each other to exchange goods, women pounded wool into felt or carried water or various goods from one place to the next, and children ran between gers with sticks and pretended to swordfight. Everyone parted for the queen as she passed, and Mandukhai inclined her head in gratitude.

Since the capital had grown, Mandukhai and Manduul had instituted designated pits for slop and excrement away from the gers. Disease was a serious threat with so many gathered. Ever since those pits had been moved away from the gers, the stench of filth had lessened and allowed a pleasant breeze to blow through Mongke Bulag without causing one to cover their nose and mouth. The air was fresher, tinged with sweat, leather, and the occasional whiff of cooked mutton.

Satai’s home rested in the center of her own tribe’s segment of Mongke Bulag. The exterior’s white canvas walls were adorned with the blue of the Borjigin, though they were not Borjigin themselves. Satai stretched her hand to display such colors, proclaiming her family and her people as a direct extension of the Great Khan with the blue ribbons along white.

Esige shifted in her saddle. “Please don’t make me do this,” she hissed. She sagged in her saddle as they approached Satai’s ger. “I’ll do anything. I’ll pound felt for a week.”

Esige often shirked her responsibility to learn the art of creating felt, coming up with any excuse she could to get out of the tedious, exhausting task.

“You know as well as I do that she will expect you to be present,” Mandukhai said.

Esige grimaced. “I know. But you could make some excuse for my absence.”

“And why should I do such a thing?” Mandukhai teased. “If I must suffer this, you will be right beside me.”

“I would rather be plunged into a frozen river.”

Mandukhai shot a warning glare at Esige as they drew close enough to see Satai’s serving girl standing outside the door, waiting for them. To Esige’s credit, she sat up straighter and raised her chin. They arrived beside the front door and handed the reins over to the serving girl as they dismounted. Esige ducked into the ger behind Mandukhai.

The inside of the ger was brightly lit with lanterns hanging from the ceiling lathes, and the smoke hole opened to the sky. Mandukhai had been in this ger a hundred times before, but each time, an extra detail caught her attention. As she inclined her head to offer a polite greeting to the hostess, Mandukhai noticed the new mattress on the floor opposite the bed that doubled as a sofa. Curled up on the new mattress, Satai’s two-year-old son, Alag, slumbered. Seeing the young boy so close to the age her own child would have been opened the wound on her heart. Mandukhai swallowed the lump that swelled in her throat and averted her gaze.

Satai enjoyed displaying her husband’s wealth, and she often acquired new baubles to set on the alter against the northern wall or on the dish shelves beside the altar. Compared to most gers aside from Manduul’s, Yeke’s, and Mandukhai’s, this one placed opulence on exhibit. Somehow, it always smelled of fresh herbs that calmed Mandukhai’s nerves.

“Lady Mandukhai,” Satai trilled once Mandukhai offered her formal greeting, “I’m so pleased you made it.”

Mandukhai didn’t believe Satai had doubted her attendance. “It would be rude of me to refuse when I had no other pressing matters to attend.”

Satai’s hair was drawn up off her neck and adorned with silver chains and bells that chimed with each movement. The silver highlighted the few strands of gray in her dark hair. Her husband had served under Manduul in the first year of his khanship, when they rode against the men responsible for killing the Borjigin princes before him. Satai was Unige’s reward for the battle won, a woman of low noble birth whose first husband had died in the fight. Having no children with her first husband, Satai went willingly with Unige when he had claimed her. Mandukhai couldn’t understand such women who would just give themselves to any man who staked a claim on them. Having been married and widowed, Satai was older than Mandukhai by at least ten years. She and Unige had only Alag, and Satai doted on the boy too much. He would become a weak warrior if Unige didn’t put a stop to Satai’s doting soon.

Satai had a table set near the center of the ger. Jaghan rose from her seat and smiled brightly at her friend as Mandukhai entered. Jaghan had a stunning smile that could light up a ger.

Unlike Satai, who put her wealth and power on display and expected lesser men and women to defer to her husband’s superior rank, Jaghan remained humbled and grateful for all that she had. She hailed from the Jalair tribe, and within a year of arriving in Mongke Bulag had caught Togochi’s attention. Mandukhai had enjoyed watching their romance blossom—even envied it. Jaghan was a young, beautiful girl of sixteen when she had married Togochi, and the celebration had been a festive event. Within a year, they had their first son, Torudur. Now Jaghan was pregnant with their second child. Why do they get two when I could not even have one? Mandukhai thought sadly as she noticed how large Jaghan’s stomach had become.

She was happy for her friend’s good fortune, but it stung as a bitter reminder of what she had lost—even after three years of searching, they still had not uncovered the man Altan who had hired that serving girl to poison her and her child. Mandukhai had given up hope years ago that they ever would find him.

“Please sit, Jaghan,” Mandukhai said, feeling bad that the other woman had stood for her in the first place with her stomach as large as it was.

Jaghan breathed a sigh of relief as she sat back down. “Princess Esige,” Jaghan said politely.

Esige offered a sugary-sweet smile and swept into the room with all the grace of a queen, despite being just shy of fourteen years. She didn’t wait for Satai to invite her to sit before claiming her place at the table—an obvious display of her rank over this older woman—and the action drew a tight-lipped grimace from Satai that Esige no doubt enjoyed.

Once they were all seated, a serving girl poured each of them a cup of salted tea. Satai drank first, a sign that the tea was safe. Mandukhai had grown cautious since losing her child after drinking poisoned tea—a fact that everyone in the Mongol Nation seemed to know about now. Esige raised her cup and breathed in the fumes, then set the cup down without taking a drink. The action seemed curious to Mandukhai. But as she took her first drink, she instantly understood Esige’s hesitation. It was strong and bitter. Much like Satai, Mandukhai mused.

Their hostess made small talk through the first cup of tea and engaged them in mundane conversation: rumors and gossip, all of which Satai absorbed eagerly from every source and would later pour out like water from a bucket over anyone who would listen. Mandukhai found this task both tiresome and troublesome. One day, Satai’s rumors would stir up true trouble.

“I overheard a Uyghur woman talking about the return of the men who went south last year,” Satai said casually. “Do you know of this, my Lady?”

Mandukhai sipped slowly to consider her answer. She knew Manduul had sent a messenger to Issama, but he had not told her to what end. The mission along the border had been Issama’s plan: send Bayan, the Golden Prince, to stir up rebellion among the Ming-controlled Mongols cautiously so the Great Khan could raise the black banner, sweep in, and reclaim their land and people, further unifying the fractured empire. It was a surprisingly clever plan which Issama had orchestrated quite efficiently.

From what she had heard, so far Bayan had done well in his task. It should not have surprised her. The Golden Prince had a tongue to match his namesake and could easily pull others into his orbit, even if he did not know how to lead. She had not realized Manduul had recalled the military tumens of warriors he sent south, but she could never allow Satai to know he had left her out of that piece of politics. It would make her appear weak and possibly strip away some of the power and authority she had over the women in Mongke Bulag.

“It is unseemly for women to discuss such things over tea,” Mandukhai said carefully.

There must have been some truth to the rumor or it wouldn’t have been worth repeating, but Mandukhai did not know the extent of how many would return. She made a mental note to speak to Manduul about it later. Being surprised like this made their marriage appear weak.

“What does it matter?” Jaghan asked, as if sensing Mandukhai’s dilemma. “Your husband is here already. As are ours.”

“Is Une coming back?” Esige sat up straighter with the eagerness of a child on her youthful face. She adored the orlok much as a girl adored her father. Perhaps more. His training had never been lost on her, and before he had left on this mission, he had given Esige a new bow to strengthen her arm, then taught her how to fire from horseback in that breath of a moment when all hooves were off the ground. He had also given his dog, Kilgor, to her care. Esige had taken care of Kilgor as if it were her sacred duty.

Mandukhai scowled at Esige’s reaction, but the girl only shrank back a fraction.

“Yes,” Satai said. “And rumor has it the Golden Prince will remain behind.”

Mandukhai breathed a small sigh of relief at that. While she did not like Bayan gathering so much power and support so far from home, she was pleased he had been sent somewhere far away from Yeke. While she had never caught the two of them in the act, she suspected they were having an affair behind Manduul’s back. She also never forgot what Bayan had done to Nergui. Unebolod had uncovered the truth, that Bayan had murdered her Ongud guard. However, they did not have enough evidence to bring this truth to Manduul and convince him. Nor did they understand why Bayan did it. Instead of accusing Bayan of murder, Mandukhai held her vengeance close to her heart. One day, she would see justice done. When the time was right.

“You mustn’t put too much trust in rumors, Satai,” Mandukhai said as she set down her cup. “It’s dangerous to spread the wrong ones.”

Jaghan cocked her head to the side and studied Mandukhai.

“So, he is returning?” Satai asked.

“I’m afraid some matters of state are not mine to divulge,” Mandukhai responded, pleased with her ability to evade answers without making herself appear ignorant.

“He can stay away, as far as I’m concerned,” Esige said briskly into her cup.

Mandukhai slapped her, drawing a wounded expression from the girl as she rubbed her cheek. “He is your future Great Khan and your kin. Do not speak ill of your kin.”

For just a moment, Mandukhai felt bad for admonishing Esige. When the two of them were alone, she allowed Esige to speak freely, but the girl needed to learn that such things were for the privacy of the ger and not to be spoken around others. Insulting the Golden Prince in front of anyone could get her into serious trouble.

Esige lifted her chin defiantly and straightened her back as Satai cast a satisfied, smug smile in her direction. Jaghan dipped her head toward her cup to lessen Esige’s humiliation.

“I’m sorry, mother,” Esige murmured.

After tea, Mandukhai excused herself from the others and went in search of Manduul. She could not afford to be surprised like that again. If something was happening, she needed to know about it.

Manduul had not been difficult to find. He sat atop his throne in the gathering tent, reviewing reports that had come in over the past few days. As Mandukhai entered, he lifted his gaze to hers and smiled briefly before returning to his task.

Mandukhai approached the dais and settled in her chair a step below his, waiting patiently for him to finish reading a report.

“You wait for something, wife,” Manduul said, staring at the paper. “Out with it.”

“Did you recall the southern tumens?”

Manduul sighed, and the sigh turned into a cough that shook his whole body. He didn’t stop until one of the serving girls brought him a cup of airag to wet his throat. Mandukhai’s brows drew together as she watched him hack.

“Are you well?”

“Fine.” Manduul waved a hand and leaned back in his throne, gulping down breaths. “Just had some dirt caught in my throat from my walk this morning.”

Mandukhai wanted to believe him, but the vision came back. The words of Genghis Khan echoing in her mind. He is no Khan.

“Don’t look at me like I’m a wounded animal,” Manduul grumbled. “I said it’s nothing.”

As Manduul gulped down air, she swore she heard him wheezing. A bit of dirt wouldn’t cause such a reaction, would it?

“You asked about the tumens,” he said, changing the subject. “Yes. I recalled all but enough to protect Bolkhu on his mission. I need them here.”

“What is more urgent than the uprising against the Ming?” Mandukhai asked, taking his cup and setting it aside to shift closer. “You haven’t told me something. What troubles you?”

Manduul scowled and waved a paper at her. “This. It’s the third report within six months of the Oirat gathering together. They are up to something, and I need Issama to help.”

Issama. His name sent a shiver down Mandukhai’s spine. He had arrived in Mongke Bulag on Bigirsen’s orders one year ago and quickly landed himself into position as the Vice Chancellor. Issama was certainly a clever man, more so than Bigirsen. Something about Issama set Mandukhai on edge. Manduul had been quick to accept the man’s confidence—too quick.

Issama had established a bond of trust with Manduul and a friendship with Bayan that Mandukhai found unnerving, yet she could discern no good reason for these feelings other than her gut instincts. Issama was respectful to her—to everyone—and she had learned he was the only other person at court as intelligent as her in thinking things through. She should be grateful for his arrival. Yet she couldn’t shake that discomfort.

“You fear an Oirat attack,” Mandukhai surmised.

Manduul nodded bitterly. “Payback for our attacks on them.”

“Attacks I warned you and Bolkhu both against.”

Manduul slapped his hand against the armrest. “Now isn’t a time for your self-righteous unbraiding.” His voice rolled off the felt walls. “I would rather see this end without more fighting, and I need Issama to do so.”

“So, he is the only one you’ve recalled?”

Manduul rubbed his forehead and shoved the stack of papers at her. “No. Bolkhu will continue his work. The rest are to return. He does not need them anymore. Activity along the border has increased. Bolkhu is doing as I asked.”

Mandukhai gathered the papers, but her reading skills remained minimal. She couldn’t understand most of what he laid in her hands, despite the lessons she had undertaken. She needed to learn how to read, and quickly.

The news that stuck in her heart was not regarding the Oirat or the border mission, but that she would see Unebolod again. Their parting had been distant, as most of their interactions with each other had been since losing their child. Perhaps he sensed a change in her. Or maybe she sensed a difference in him. Unebolod had distanced himself from her after the miscarriage, except when he shared the evidence implicating Bayan in Nergui’s murder. After that, he had volunteered to lead raids, hunting parties, and scouting expeditions. So many that, in the last three years, they had hardly seen each other. At first, Mandukhai assumed Manduul suspected something and was trying to keep them apart. But when she overheard Unebolod insisting fervently on leading another expedition in Manduul’s name, she knew the fault did not fall on her husband.

Unebolod avoided her.