Chapter 2: Tonight We Shall Have an Ikhudar

Food was bought, food and hot tea for me, salted and with butter, and I drank gratefully. Kumis, fermented mare’s milk, for the Khagan. and he drank of it as he ate, drank copiously, ate enormously and I, I ate the roast mutton and the tender lamb and the steamed rice and the meat of the steppe antelope. I ate hungrily. I ate gratefully, my strength restored with every mouthful, but I did not eat to excess for I intended to fight and fight well. I would be no easy victory for this Khagan.

I smiled now as he drained another great wooden bowl of the kumis, for every bowl he drank would slow him a little, and when his bowl emptied I took the jug from the servant’s hands and refilled his bowl myself as a maiden would fill her suitor’s bowl. I picked the choicest meats for him with my fingers and placed them on his dish, smiling shyly as I did so for he was not yet my husband, and I was not yet vanquished, but all who watched saw and nodded their approval, for my actions were those of a courted maiden who favors her suitor, and it was not as if there were any doubt as to the outcome of this nights wooing.

At his back, the drums of the hastily summoned shaman’s now beat softly, their song background to our meal. The Khagan’s ladies arrived on foot or in palanquins, the Han ladies twittering like the helpless birds of pleasure that they were, the Mongol women silent, their eyes assessing me as they seated themselves on carpets spread across the grass before the Khagan’s guards. I bowed my head low to she to whom all others deferred, and she was Mongol, the Khagan’s First Wife, and I knew her name was Borte for the Captain of Five Hundred had told me of her.

Her returned smile warmed me.

The Khagan sat cross-legged, as did I, and with a gesture and a word, he summoned Chingay, the Captain of Five Hundred, to his side. I listened as they talked, not understanding their words for they spoke a dialect unknown to me, their faces inscrutable, expressionless although their eyes glanced at me on occasion, so that I assumed they were talking of me. At last, Chingay backed away.

“Has the Princess Altani of the Xiongnu refreshed herself?” the Khagan asked me, his eyes twinkling. “Is she ready to continue?” And he winked but I needed not that warning.

“She has, Lord, and she thanks you for your hospitality, and she is more than ready to continue,” I said, and as he threw himself across the table at me, scattering the food, smashing priceless porcelain, any piece of which would have been a treasure beyond price amongst my people, I rolled backwards, flipping myself to my feet and slamming one foot into his head hard enough to rock him sideways, hard enough that I evaded his grasping hands, and his nose was bloody as he rolled to his feet for I had in no way pulled that kick.

“A Princess of the Xiongnu is not so easy to vanquish with little tricks, Lord,” I said, feinting, but he did not move. The gasp from his wives and his concubines was audible, the hisses of appreciation from his men even louder, and the Khagan’s laughter louder still.

“Princess Altani of the Xiongnu,” his voice boomed out. “You are a wildcat indeed, and zerleg muur, wildcat, I name you. With the exception of my First Wife...” His smile grew. “ ... the only woman who can ever say she has landed a blow on the Khagan. Is that not so?” He glanced at his guards.

“It is so, Lord,” they rumbled, and they were grinning, enjoying the show and so was his First Wife, for she was laughing; and I saw that even though he was the Khagan, the Great Khan whose word was life or death, there was a bond between the Khagan and his men that was true loyalty, they to he and he to they. Loyalty such as my father’s warriors showed to my father; and this was a leader, a ruler, whose warriors followed from respect and love as well as duty and honor.

I used that moment, that glance at his men, to dart in, a kick to the back of his knee, with all the force I could put behind it, buckling his knee; and I pivoted, my other leg kicking back, at his chest and out of balance he fell backwards, rolling, seizing my ankle in a grip of iron but I kicked free though his fingers were of steel and bruised me; but I was no tender Han maiden to quail at mere bruises. I was Xiongnu, and I rolled back and away as he rolled to his feet and eyed me, and he was not laughing now.

There was nothing passive about the Khagan as he stood there, looking at me. He might have been still, but it was the stillness of the snake, waiting to strike. On my feet, mine, mine was the stillness and the alertness of the mongoose, and I held the knife in the knife-fighters stance and all who saw me would know I knew how to use that knife.

I needed every fraction of that alertness for the Khagan was fast, striking like a viper; and he almost had me with that first attack, moving in, and he was fast, faster than any of Chingay’s men whom I had fought, and I would not make the mistake of closing with him, for his chest and shoulders and arms were thick with muscles, and once those arms had me in their grasp, it would be over.

No, my advantages were my speed and my skill and I would use them. I would use every iota of them and as the Khagan moved in, my knife slashed out, slicing through the leather of his sleeve; and all who saw gasped, for my knife was of razor sharpness, and I was not hesitant. A fraction of an inch closer and the Khagan’s arm would have now been streaked with red but he showed no hesitation as he moved in, evading my knife as he attempted to close and I, I danced backwards, staying out of reach of those hands of steel. Now I shielded my knife hand, for it was the concealed threat of my knife that held him at bay, cautious now for I was faster than he, but without his strength.

“The zerleg muur, the wildcat, has sharp claws,” he said, and his eyes were narrowed, narrowed to slits, concentrating, focused, and I knew now that he took me seriously. He knew now that this was not mere bravado on my part, and Chingay’s men too had discovered that too on our long journey.

I bared my teeth in a smile, not answering, my own eyes narrowed, focused, intent, looking for that flicker that would signal his intent; but he was impossible to read and now he came in faster and his balance, his footwork, they were perfect; and I drifted back, almost running backwards, my mind clear and calm as the old master who had been my instructor for so many years had taught me.

As I drifted backwards I watched for any weakness but there was none; and when I looked into his eyes they were dark, dark as the night, and I knew that unlike me, the Khagan had looked death in the eye many a time in battle. He had an age of experience that had me feeling as a child, and he had fought for his life many times and survived, victorious, for was he not the Khagan, the Great Khan. I had killed on occasion. I had killed men, warriors even, but never had I fought a warrior such as this and for a moment there was doubt within me, but then I restored my breathing, centering myself, focused.

“Good,” the Khagan said. “Very good, my zerleg muur,” and his voice was quiet, his words only for he and I; and he came in faster, and he was focused on the knife.

“Kiiyaaahhhh.” My shout was exhaled sharply as I ceased that backward movement, reversing that momentum to leap forward towards him, and my weapon now was not my knife. I cast my knife to the ground far behind me for I did not wish his guards to intervene, as they surely must should they believe the Khagan’s life to be in danger.

My weapons were my feet with which I took the Khagan in the solar plexus with a stop-kick and a followup to his heart, knocking him a pace backwards. I twisted in the air, landing on my hands and feet, springing to my feet and diving away from him for I had only slowed his advance for a second, and he was almost on me, and I rolled and rolled and sprang up, pivoting.

“Kiiyaaaahhhh.” Again, and I was poised on my left leg, my right lifted, coming around in a vicious reverse roundhouse kick aimed at his jaw; but his arm blocked my kick. I knew I had hurt him but his arms were massively muscled, and my kick would have broken a women’s or a boy’s arm, but it did not faze him in the slightest.

“Haaaaaaaaaa.” He did not strike me, for if he had and his strike had had connected, I knew I would be dead or crippled for his strength was enormous. I felt that strength as he seized my leg with one hand, and I kicked myself free at the last, a frantic kick which barely sufficed. His lips twitched in a faint smile and in that moment I knew he had let me escape.

My breath hissed out, and I kicked and kicked again. Kicks which he blocked, moving forward. I danced back, almost running as he moved towards me, and I was circling, circling around the ring of his warriors who enclosed us. They were grinning and cheering me on as I landed kick after kick on the Khagan’s massive forearms; but those kicks served no purpose for they did not get past his blocks, and he blocked me with impunity.

Dancing backwards, I continued to kick at him, but now I waited my moment. It came when I let the distance between us close a little. I kicked.The Khagan took his opportunity and dived forward, reaching for me. I gripped his tunic in both hands, falling backwards, my weight and his momentum overbalanced him and he came down with me. I curled my legs, feet braced against the steel of his stomach, and I kicked upwards, thrusting him up into the air -- and he was grinning as he let me go.

The thump of his body hitting the ground came as I rolled to my feet and spun, kicking for his head again as he rolled and I landed a glancing blow. One kick made contact, and then another, and he was up, crouched now in a wrestlers couch; and he was toying with me. I spun away, and now he moved faster, beckoning me with one hand as my Father’s master at arms who had taught me would beckon me, and all who watched knew that he was giving me honor.

For a moment, I paused, and the Khagan paused with me as I bowed my head.

“You are my master in this, Lord,” I said, for I knew he was, and there was no shame to me in acknowledging this, for he was a man, he was a warrior, he was the Khagan.

His warriors who watched us knew too, for skilled as I was, his strength would over power me at any time now that he had my measure, and I had not my knife with which to hold him at bay. We both knew that, his warriors too knew. They cheered me on in good humor, and the bets flew between them. Not that I would win, but on how much longer I would last.

The Khagan smiled. “Show me your attacking style, Princess Altani of the Xiongnu,” he said. “Consider me as your Master who teaches you. I will block only, but now I wish to see your true abilities.”

His warriors hissed their amazement. For the Khagan himself to spar with such a one as I was an honor indeed, but I did not pause. I moved into the attack now, launching kick after kick with all my strength and speed. Kicks which he blocked with ease; and now I closed, using knee and elbow strikes, using the knife hand and the spinning kicks and those little tricks I had learnt, and every other technique I knew.

His speed and his ability to block me amazed me. Even the best of Chingay’s warriors on the long journey here had not been able to block my every kick and strike, and at the start I had thought I was faster than the Khagan, but he had been honoring me indeed.

I kicked again and now he moved and my ankle was gripped in a clasp of steel and struggle as I might, he drew me towards him and wrapped his arms around me, and when I moved to throw him to the ground he went with me; but I knew it was his choice and not my skill that brought us too the grass, our bodies pressed together, and I refrained from the head butt, for that would be an insult. He smiled, knowing the choice that I had made, for his eyes looked into mine and he read me.

He smiled and his teeth were good, strong and white, unblemished. I looked at them as I struggled. Strong, he was strong, his muscles of banded steel and strong as I was, even with all my strength exerted I could not prevent him from shifting his grip and my hands were seized. I could not free my hands from his one hand gripping my wrists, effortlessly pinning them above my head as his other hand gripped my hair so that I must look at him.

I struggled still but his legs pinned mine even as I tried for the knee strikes, and I knew I was defeated. But still I fought, for a maiden of the Xiongnu should fight to the end before she acknowledges that she is truly mastered.

His legs and his hands and his body moved, moved and immobilized me, not without exertion on his part; and I was proud of that, my honor satisfied, and I ceased to struggle for I knew, and he knew, and his warriors knew that struggle was now fruitless. It was not as if I was a maiden stolen from her father’s yurts, taken to be ravished in the night and then cast aside. The Khagan had already acknowledged that he would take me as his wife, and he had given me my honor and my pride.

“You are captured and vanquished in the old way, little wildcat of the Xiongnu,” the Khagan said as now he held me effortlessly, for his arms and legs were as steel bands imprisoning me and his eyes were smiling. “Shall I now take you in the old way, here before my guards, or shall we hold the wedding feast before I carry you unresisting to my bedchamber where we will first talk and bathe before the taking.”

My laughter was as clear as my voice, giving honor to the Khagan so that all could hear.

“I am vanquished, Lord, this zerleg muur, this wildcat, she is at the mercy of the Khagan. This maiden of the Xiongnu surrenders herself to you in the old way, yours to do with as you will. Take me here in the old way before your men, or take me to our wedding feast, or take me to your bedchamber. It shall be as you please for I acknowledge you before all your warriors as my vanquisher and my master, for the word of a Princess of the Xiongnu is her honor, and I have given you my word before all your warriors.”

That murmur of approval that arose around us told me that I had spoken well. The Khagan’s eyes spoke that same message and around us the drums of the shaman’s thundered now, shaking the very ground beneath us and all in this city of Xanadu would hear the distant thunder of those drums and know that something momentous had taken place this night.

My heart filled with joy as his tumescence pressed hard against me, and I would not have objected in the slightest if he had taken me then and there, before his warriors and his women, for was I not now his?

“Take me now if that is your desire, Lord,” I murmured, for his ears and his alone, and I no longer fought him. My body was now soft and yielding beneath his, and I knew desire as I had never known it before. He saw that in my eyes and on my face and he smiled. He smiled and he rose to his feet, lifting me with him and standing me on my feet, one of his arms around me, and his eyes fell on my knife as it lay on the ground. Around us, there were gasps as he stooped and picked it from the grass, holding the naked blade out to me.

“Use this blade always in my service, Princess Altani of the Xiongnu, who is to be wedded to me this night,” he said.

“I will, Lord who is to be my husband,” I said, sinking to my knees before him, pressing my lips to that blade as he held it, taking the knife from him and cutting my arm enough for the blood to flow. Wetting the blade and raising it high, I swore the sacred oath that the Xiongnu warriors swore to their Chanyu.

“By knife and by blood, before your warriors and before Mongke Koko Tengri, the Eternal Blue Sky God, I swear myself to your service, Lord, to live and to die as you command.”

There was that long moment of silence, a hush as all present digested my words. This was not an oath that a woman swore, except in the old legends of our ancestors from the dawn-time, and my heart beat the faster at my own temerity.

The Khagan’s eyes looked down into mine for a moment that seemed an eternity and almost I dreaded his response, for indeed this was not an oath that a woman swore and I had presumed much. His eyes looked deep into mine, reading my very soul, and then his hands reached out and clasped mine where I held the hilt of my knife.

He bent and he licked my blood from the naked blade. He took my knife from me and he cut himself. Around us there were gasps as he smeared his own blood, the sacred blood of the Khagan, on my blade and he held it in turn for my tongue to lick the blade clean and I did, every drop, and he knew the rites of the Xiongnu.

“By knife and by blood, and before Mongke Koko Tengri, the Eternal Blue Sky God, I accept your oath, Princess Altani,” and his hands raised me to my feet and he returned my knife to my hands. “As one of my warriors you have sworn, and as a warrior-wife I accept your service.” He smiled. “As a warrior and as my wife you shall serve me.”

He raised his hand and silence fell. “Tonight we shall have an ikhudar,” his voice boomed out. “A feast of great rejoicing, for tonight I will take the Princess Altani of the Xiongnu as wife.”

A storm of cheers greeted his words, and already there was the scurrying of many feet as servants rushed to do their master’s bidding.

“Summon your horse, Princess,” the Khagan said. “We ride together to our wedding feast, and on this night you shall be seated in honor between myself and my First Wife.”

A shrill whistle summoned Aranjagaan to my side as the Khagan’s horse was led to him. We mounted and now I rode a little behind the Khagan, his guards fanning out around us as lanterns flickered into light all across the parklands through which we rode. Chingay was there, close by, the Lieutenant with him and they carried my weapons still.

“Chingay.” The Khagan summoned him to his side. “You and your Five Hundred have guarded the Princess Altani faithfully and well on her long journey here. You and your men, you are assigned to permanent guard of the Princess who will be my wife. Her life and her safety are your responsibility.”

“As you command, Lord,” Chingay bowed. His look said that he was not at all displeased with this duty. Falling back, he bowed to me, a hand gesture to the Lieutenant and half a dozen of his men were behind me in a half-moon, the Lieutenant and the Captain Of Five Hundred deep in conversation.

Ahead of us loomed another palace set in the midst of a great grove of tall trees. A palace that looked to my eyes as a dream of the gods and my eyes widened as lanterns flickered into light everywhere I glanced. The Khagan dismounted, and I with him. A man of the Five Hundred took the reins from me, bowed low to me, and there were others of Chingay’s Five Hundred behind him, and they bowed as one, and I, I returned that bow for they were good men, picked warriors all and they were now my guards, as my father’s men had once guarded me.

“I will care for Aranjagaan, Lady, fear not. He will be cared for and guarded as you would yourself,” for on that long journey I had refused all assistance.

Arajagaan was mine and my own hands had cared for him; but this warrior was one who had brought water for him and had assisted me from time to time in caring for my saddle and reins. I smiled at him and nodded as I turned to follow the Khagan for Aranjagaan knew him, and he was whickering and tossing his head as I left him but otherwise he did not protest.

This palace, it was built from bamboo, I saw that at a glance as the Khagan reached for my hand and led me inside through a great arched entrance way. Within, light flickered, lanterns hung as if they were stars in the sky, and the bamboo glowed golden. Great gilded and painted pillars of carved wood supported a roof far above our heads; and the roof was made from woven bamboo covered by waterproof silk. Ropes braced the structure, and I realized this was a single great yurt, greater by far than any I had imagined, and the floor beneath my feet was of polished wood, glowing like honey under the light of those lanterns and more and more flickered into life as we walked forward.

“Come, my bride,” the Khagan smiled down at me and nervous now, I clung to his hand for around us more and more people thronged in, chattering and talking and eyeing me with great curiosity, deferential to the Khagan as his guards formed a circle around us as we moved to the dais at the head of this great tented hall and music was playing now.

Not the music of the steppe, but Han music, atonal and strangely beautiful. There were rows of tables at which everyone was taking seats, hundreds of seats; and the Khagan lead me through them, pausing here and there to speak to a bowing warrior. He led me up the steps to a dais that sat high above everyone, looking down over their heads, a sea of upturned faces as the Khagan took his seat and gestured to me to take the seat beside him as his First Wife sat on my other side.

Now his wives and concubines were filing in, seated below us and to one side. To the other were the generals and the leaders, more hastily arriving as if they had been summoned from elsewhere. The great tent was a sea of color and noise, great bursts of chatter, calls and cries, a feast, an ikhudar such as my father had held but on a vastly larger scale -- and I, who had been sent as a mere gift to the Khagan, I sat at the head of this hall on the raised dais beside the Khagan himself and many were the curious glances that came my way.

Food and drink were served by attendants, lavish in its quantity and now, for the first time, I tasted the dishes of the Han that I had rejected on that long journey here. Strange dishes and strange flavors, exotic, deliciously spiced, melting on the tongue, and I ate of them sparingly, as I drank sparingly of the rice wine while beside me the Khagan summoned men to question, and I listened, for any knowledge in this strange new world was of use. An aged lama came forward, clad in the simple red robes that any lama wore, kneeling before the Khagan as all others had knelt and his gaze on me was thoughtful, his eyes deep with wisdom and with power.

“This is Chögyal Phagpa, Princess.” The Khagan’s hand squeezed mine. “Chief of my Shaman’s and one of my close advisors. He will perform the marriage ceremony shortly.”

“Holiness.” I bowed my head in respect, for the lama’s of Tibet were well known among my people, though we worshiped the Sky Gods and not the Buddha.

“Princess Altani.” He inclined his head and he knew my name and my rank. I noted that news traveled quickly within this Palace, and the Khagan smiled.

“We will follow only a little of tradition, for you have no family here but Khulan and Naran are of the Khorula and as near to family as you will have in my court. Borte will take you to them now. They will prepare you.”

“Yes, Lord.” Glad I was that I had drunk sparingly of the rice wine. I rose as Borte rose, and I followed her to the rear of the dais, passing through a doorway behind which servants awaited, together with two Mongol women resplendent in the silk dresses of the Han.

“Princess Altani,” Borte said, and she too used my title. “This is Naran, and this is Kulan, they are of the Khorula.” She smiled at me. “You mentioned your grandmother was of the Khorula.”

“Yes, Lady,” I said, bowing more than a little for she was First Wife. “My grandfather took my grandmother from the yurts of the Cho’os-chakhan. Her name was Gan, and she was indeed bold for she was not first wife of my grandfather, the Chanyu of the Xiongnu, but her son, my father, succeeded as Chanyu and his son, my brother, is now Chanyu in turn.”

“The Cho’os-chakhan?” She who was named Khulan spoke, and her brow was wrinkled in thought. “Gan. I remember the story of a beautiful young girl named Gan who was stolen, and she was a daughter of my Great-grandfather, for he was Khan of the Cho’os-chakhan at that time, and Gan was a younger sister of my grandfather; we are therefore related by blood.”

“I too,” Naran said, and she embraced me. “For I and Khulan are cousins, thus you must be cousin to me too. I bid you welcome, sister.”

“I too, sister,” and Khulan embraced me in turn. “As family to us you will be. Our knives will protect your back, for blood is blood.”

“Blood is blood,” I said, and I was happy to have found kin in this strange place, for friends were friends and could betray you, but blood was blood. “I greet you, my sisters. My knife is yours.”

Khulan giggled them. “Having seen you fight the Khagan himself, of that I am happy, sister, for I must tell you, I have seen even his warriors do worse than you in fighting him. I would not have dared fight as you did.” She smiled. “Borte would, but she is First Wife.”

“Even I would not dare fight him as the Princess Altani fought him,” Borte shook her head, smiling. “In anger I have struck him, but never in such a fight. You will be talked about, Princess, and all will know your name.” She clapped her hands sharply. “And now, enough talk. We must dress the Princess Altani for her wedding.” *** The wedding ceremony completed, shortened but not carried out in haste, the tea offered and drunk before all, the vows exchanged, I was a wife of the Khagan, the Great Khan, and surely my brother the fool who was now Chanyu of the Xiongnu would tremble in fear when word reached for him, for he knew me as I knew myself and he had dispatched me as a gift to the Khagan as an insult. He would know I would remember that insult and he would tremble, and I smiled at the thought.

“It is a great thing to be a wife of the Khagan, my little wildcat,” the Khagan said. “Are you now pleased with your fate, Princess Altani of the Xiongnu?”

Glancing sideways at him, I smiled and my smile, my happiness, it was not feigned.

“Lord,” I murmured, and my hand raised his as I bowed my head and kissed his fingers. Those fingers of steel, thick and strong and calloused by the sword and all who saw whispered their approval, for my look was as a maiden who has been wedded to her favored suitor.

“Lord,” I murmured again, and my words were for his ears and his alone. “When my brother the Chanyu dispatched me as a gift, sending me to serve you as a concubine, I dreaded my fate and my heart was bitter. But now, chance and the good wishes of the eternal blue sky gods have given me to you as a wife and I have looked upon you and you have vanquished me as a Xiongnu maiden, even one of the royal blood such as I, should be vanquished, and I am indeed pleased and honored with my fate, Lord.”

I looked up then, into his eyes and they were eyes such as the guilty and fearful would quail before, but I was neither guilty nor fearful. “Lord, I have sworn to you as wife and also sworn myself to you as a warrior of the Xiongnu swears to the Chanyu. I am not Han, who break their oath without thought or care. I am not Mongol, except for my Khorula blood. I am Xiongnu and my word is my pride and my honor and always I will speak the truth to you as I see it, for to speak untruths is dishonor beyond measure.”

I smiled then. “And so, Lord, I tell you that I am well pleased with my fate. To be even the most junior wife of the Lord of the Steppe, that is a fate and an honor beyond any I had ever dreamed and you are a man beyond any I have dreamed of.”

The Khagan’s eyes held mine for a long moment, and it was as if he peered into my soul, and then he nodded. “It is well, Princess Altani. I am indeed pleased to take you as wife, and you will have my favor.” He smiled. “For this is not a marriage of diplomacy or to cement ties with another clan. This is a marriage of the heart, for I desire you, Princess. I desire you with my heart.”

“As do I, Lord,” I breathed, and there was a long moment where he looked upon me and I looked back and our eyes were for each other only and I saw he spoke truly, as did I. “Although in taking me as your wife, you weld the Xiongnu to your banner, for all Xiongnu know how and why I was sent to you, and they will see you taking me as wife to be a great honor and they will praise your name.” And laugh at my brother the fool, but while they would laugh, they would not break their vows and my brother had achieved his intent. He was safe, though he would know it not.

I smiled now. “In wedding me, you have wedded the Xiongnu to you, Lord, whether you willed it or not.” For I knew my people as I knew myself.

“I take not the Xiongnu to my bed, little wildcat.” The Khagan laughed, and his laughter was the deep-bellied laugh of true amusement. “I take you, and rather would I take you to my bed now, but Duty calls. We must tarry awhile to honor our wedding guests.”

And tarry a while we did, for many would speak with the Khagan. Many would come forward to bow and offer their congratulations to the Great Khan of all and his newest wife. Many were the exchanges of bows, and many were the curious glances at this Princess from the far distant steppes beyond the great mountains to the west.

“My Chancellor, Wu Sheng.” The Khagan looked down at the silk-clad Han of high rank who knelt before him. Han, not Mongol, and I trusted not the Han for even ruled by the Mongols, they sought power and wielded it as deviously as ever they had under the Emperors of their own blood.