Chapter 3: Patience, Little Wildcat

Before and around and behind us, the picked guards of the Khagan strode, ever alert, swords in hand, eyes constantly roving as my father’s guards eyes had constantly roved, ever searching for any danger, any threat. Behind them, and close to my back, strode Chingay with a dozen of his picked men and in the midst of those guards, my hand in the Khagan’s, I walked the hallways of a palace such as I had never imagined. My eyes roamed, ever curious for it had never dawned on me that men’s hands could create a single building as enormous as this.

Hallway after hallway we trod, long corridors, great halls whose purpose I could not imagine, verdant courtyards paved with stone walkways, fountains with flowing water, lanterns hung, and always around us the guards, moving ahead and behind and around us. Beside me the Khagan strode silently, and it was not my place to speak unless I was bidden. Curious though I was at all we passed through, I restrained that curiosity, walking silently at the Kagan’s side; silent as a woman should be unless her husband or her father bids her speak, although I was not always so obedient.

“Wait, Lord, Lady,” one of the bodyguards spoke as we reached two carved wooden doors flung wide, guards to either side and half a dozen pairs of the guards who had escorted us from the banquet hall moved ahead through the doorway. Thus had my father’s guards moved ahead of my father as he entered a yurt.

I waited, my hand in the Khagan’s as if it were a child’s, and my fear and my excitement rose within me.

“Patience, little wildcat,” the Khagan murmured, smiling as I glanced up at him and now I was shy, for I had never been with a man, as befits a Princess who must retain her virtue for her husband and for her wedding night.

“All is safe, Lord.” The guards emerged.

“Come, my Princess.” The Khagan led me through the doors and into such a room as I had never seen before. There had been much in this Xanadu, this Summer Palace of the Khagan, that had been beyond anything that I imagined; and this room, this chamber of pleasure, for that is what it was, it was beyond anything my eyes had yet seen.

Used I was to sleeping in my father’s yurts, the walls hung with tapestries, the ground lain over with thick rugs of knotted wool, a burning brazier keeping all warm through the long cold of winter on the steppe. Used I was to sleeping on thick sheepskins and layers of felt, covered by blankets of wool. Used I was in the harsh frozen weeks of mid-winter to sleeping kneeling on my forearms and my knees to raise my body from the chill of the frozen ground that sucks the heat from the body even when overlain by thick layered felt and by woollen fleeces and blankets.

This room, this bedchamber, it was a room of such palatial splendor that my heart caught in my throat and my breath came in a gasp of astonishment.

“Do you enjoy my bedchamber, Princess?” the Khagan smiled down at me as I gazed around in open admiration.

While this room was in the midst of this great palace, it could almost have been the interior of my father’s great yurt but twice, perhaps thrice the size, and for one man alone where my father’s yurt was his and whichever of his wives and family he chose to eat and sleep there with him. My father’s pride and joy was a single silk painting of the Han, brought to him by the Han “princess” gifted to him when he had succeeded as Chanyu, and I had never met her, for she had died before I was born.

Of a weakness of the lungs, my mother had said. I would not have put it past my mother to have rid herself of competition to her children, for my father had treasured that princess of the Han for her frail and delicate beauty. At times when he turned maudlin with the heady strength of the airag he would talk to me of her, for it was to me my father turned rather than my brother the fool; and always I listened, for even in his drink my father was a wise man, and words of great wisdom often fell from his lips.

I gazed around me and how I wished my father was here, gifting his daughter to the Khagan and able to offer me those words laden with his wisdom and advice. For here, in this great City of Stone, this Xanadu, I was a stranger in a strange land, a swimmer in great waters far out of my depth and this room held me speechless, for anything I should say might work against me.

“It is a place of great beauty, Lord,” I whispered at last, for indeed it was. Great beauty and yet a savage beauty that was not of the Han, and my heart thrilled within me.

Those stone walls were painted white and hung with scored and damaged leather shields, bows and bow-cases of every sort, daggers, swords, axes, even spears. Between those weapons were colored paintings in the Han style, of horses and riders hunting, of strange mountains and flowing rivers, even of trees and flowers -- and those flowers were things of beauty beyond a vision.

At the far end, against one wall, a bed was placed, a large bed. A bed of carved wood overlain with layers of soft felt and sheets and cushions of silken white, and on the stand to one side of that bed were my sword, my knife, my bow and my quiver of arrows and against the wall stood my spear, all laid out as they had ever been close to me in my father’s yurts -- and the sight reassured me for those weapons meant that the Khagan trusted me with his life. My heart swelled with pride at the honor done to me this night, with this simple gesture of trust in one hitherto unknown to the Khagan.

“Never have I seen such a sight as this, my Lord husband,” I said as the Khagan closed and barred the wooden doors behind us with his own hands. We were alone now, his guards and Chingay’s men, my own guards in truth now, they stood without.

“You will see this sight often in the nights to come, little wildcat,” the Khagan had smiled. “For beautiful and spirited as you are, you will be summoned often to my bed.”

Now my smile was shy, my cheeks pink, for I was a maiden and unused to being summoned to any man’s bed. He chuckled at my shy embarrassment, watching me as I examined that room, unlike any yurt I had ever entered, and my father’s yurt had been impressive indeed, needing a dozen carts to carry but the felt walls and roof. This room by itself dwarfed by far my father’s greatest yurt, and it was merely one room in this great palace.

Glancing at the Khagan, I wondered at my fate, for this was something I had never dreamed of. To be the Khagan’s wife, albeit his most junior wife. Not one of his concubines, and of them there had been many and no doubt there were more. I was a wife of the Khagan, and this was beyond anything I had dreamed of and certainly this had not been my fool of a brother’s intent. The Khagan’s first wife and I had already talked during the ikhudar, the wedding feast, and her I had understood, as she had understood me.

I was of the steppe as his First Wife was, and I had given her the respect that a First Wife was owed. No usurper, I, and I had been at some pains to make that clear for I was new here, I was the most junior wife, and I was of the steppe -- but I was not of pure Mongol blood. I was Hu, I was Hun, I was Xiongnu and of that I was proud.

First Wife, she had welcomed me, reassured me. Before all his wives and concubines she had called me Little Sister, and my heart had overflowed with gratitude and relief. Those other Mongol wives, they had welcomed me also and those two of the Khorula’s, they had acknowledged me as kin. They knew my grandmother’s family and they had welcomed me as sister, and with that welcome and that acknowledgement as kin, my status and place was assured.

But now, now I was in the Khagan’s bedchamber, alone. He and I, and as he turned and gazed at me, his smile grew and his arousal grew visibly with that smile. Now I was both filled with desire and afraid, for the time to defend my virtue had passed. Now was the time to surrender myself, to be taken as a maiden is taken -- and I was both eager and more than a little fearful for I knew his strength, as one who had fought him and been vanquished. Also, I had felt his arousal, and he had been large and hard, as a stallion is for a mare.

“Come, be not afraid, little maiden,” the Khagan said, extending one hand to me and I gave him my hand, trembling a little now, following as he led me through an archway and into yet another room of stone, the floor paved with marble. In the center of that floor was set a giant waterhole from which steam rose, and my eyes widened in amazement.

“It is called a bath, little wildcat,” the Khagan smiled. “Where we of the steppe bathe in rivers and icy lakes and in the snow, the Han build these from wood or stone and heat the water, and delightful they are.” He chuckled. “Is it any wonder we defeated those Han, for they are soft and unused to hardship such as we of the steppe know it.”

His hands sought the fastenings of my dress, my fine wedding dress of red felt which I still wore and my eyes gazed upwards into his. My protest that this was unfitting, that the Khagan should not do this, that protest died unspoken for his eyes and his face said that he did indeed want to do this -- and so I stood unmoving as his fingers completed the unfastening, as his hands eased my dress from my shoulders to discard on the marble flagstones.

“Hush.” One finger touched my lips as I began to bend for I treasured this dress of pure red felt as my wedding dress, and I would not see it despoiled by the dirt of the floor on which we stood, although those flagstones gleamed and never had I see such cleanliness.

“There are servants here, little wildcat. A wife of the Khagan has no need to labor except at that which pleases the Khagan. Servants will take your clothes, servants will bring you fresh clothes in the morning. Borte will come to you and guide you, and tomorrow you will have your own maids and servants and your own suite of rooms near to Borte and your Khorula sisters. Chingay and his men will guard you well. You need have no fear that you will be left unguarded, unguided and untended. But for tonight, for our wedding night, it is I that will guide and tend you, my Altani, my beautiful little wildcat.”

His lips spoke my name gently, as if he was tasting me, and I kissed his finger then, a gentle kiss. My smile was tremulous for I was fearful and his reassurance and his care for me meant much as his fingers ran over body, caressing me through my leather tunic; and he held me close, he buried his face in my hair, in my neck and I was ashamed, for those many concubines, those other wives, they had that smell of scented soap, of perfumes, their hair shining and silky, their complexions white and flawless.

I knew my hair, in its braids decorated with pearls and gold and silver coins, was matted and thick with oil and smoke, my face and arms burnt brown from those long days and weeks of travel, and I did not have that pale delicacy of his Han concubines. I had come straight from the road and that bout with the Khagan to my wedding feast, and now to my wedding bed. Of that I was all too conscious, for did not the Khagan prefer his concubines silky and smooth, freshly washed and perfumed, reeking not of horses and dirt and sweat.

“Ahhhhhh,” the Khagan breathed, inhaling deeply, his face buried in my hair, his hands running over the black leather of my tunic. “Altani, my princess, my little wildcat, you bring to me the scent of the steppe. The scent of our people. Sweat and horses and the smoke of our cooking fires and the steel of our weapons, the milk of our sheep and the salt-blood of our mares on your lips.” He lifted his head, his eyes looked down into mine and there was a deep longing there.

“We have lost much in this conquest of the Han, in this Great Khanate, for while we have conquered from horseback, while my armies ride ever onwards, we cannot rule an Empire from the backs of our horses. It is the dismounting and governing that is hard, and in adopting their ways, we weaken ourselves. It is such as you, my little wildcat, who remind me of this. It is something I need to be reminded of often, for it is all too easy for our people to lose ourselves in these sybaritic luxuries. At times I yearn for the steppe, for the freedom of riding with my warriors under the blue skies, with nothing but the grasslands as far as the eye can see and the blue sky overhead.”

“Let me remind you now, my Lord husband,” I murmured, no longer ashamed of that familiar scent of sweat and horse and smoke that permeated my hair, my skin, my clothing. “Forget this bath, forget these Han affectations and take me now, Lord. Take me as you would have taken a woman of the Xiongnu whom you captured in the old days. Take me on the hard ground beneath our feet as you would have taken a wife newly stolen from her father’s yurts and let me scream for you, let me struggle and fight as you take me, let me remind you of the old days and the old ways, Lord. Let me give you that, if that is your desire, Lord.”

My hand reached down and held him where he was swollen and rigid beneath those leather breeches that he wore, and they were the leather of the Mongol horsemen, leather such as my own people wore, even the women such as I. The Khagan wore not the silk robes of the Han, and I knew where his heart lay and I was gladdened, for this I could give him. In this I could lighten his load, ease his stress and make myself favored and my hand caressed him.

“Forget the ways of the Han on this night and take me in the old way, Lord. Let me give you that gift on our wedding night. Take me as you would have taken a maiden of my people in the old days. Let me remind you of what you are, and I shall be content.”

He shuddered under the touch of my fingers. His eyes burned with desire. The power and strength and will in those eyes brought a weakness to my knees, a flood of heated excitement to my sex such that I knew I was melting with my own desire -- and I had seen men with women, I had heard the women talk. My own mother had advised me of this, and I had watched the stallions mate with the mares, the rams with the ewes. I knew this Khagan was as a great stallion, and on this night I was to be his mare.

“Take me, Lord,” I breathed. “Take me in the old way if that gives you pleasure, clasp me to you as you would clasp a daughter whom you have taken by force from her father’s yurts.”

“Little wildcat of the steppe,” he breathed, and there was no laughter in his voice now, only the flaring of his nostrils and a quickening of his breathing as my fingers fumbled at the fastenings of my leather tunic. My hands pulled my tunic over my head. My hands unwrapped the binding that restrained my breasts. His hands joined mine, exposing my skin of pale olive, revealing the youthful firmness of my breasts. His hands sought my breasts, cupped them. Under his large hands my breasts of whose beauty I was so proud were small, tiny almost; and I shivered at his touch, my nipples swelling to a firmness that ached; and my knees weakened.

“You are beautiful, Altani,” he breathed. “I will take you indeed, but not as a maiden ravished from her father’s yurts in the night. Rather I will take you as a wife willingly wedded, for you come to my bed as a wife, eagerly and willingly, and I will not spoil what should be for you a night of joy merely to slake my desire.” His look now was one almost of anger. “Your brother insulted you by offering his father Attila’s daughter to me as a mere gift and not as a wife.”

“Do not punish him for that, Lord,” I breathed in sudden fear, for while I would have willingly killed him myself, that was now in the past, and he was my brother. “He offered me to you in good faith, humbling himself and me to show his loyalty to you, and I came to you in obedience to his gifting.”

While I would have killed my brother to better rule my people myself, now that I was a wife of the Khagan, that would never be. I would never rule my people, and that was something that could not be changed. My destiny was in this room with me, and I would make the most of this, my fate.

The fate of my Khorula grandmother was mine now, and had not my grandmother’s son become the Chanyu? Was I not now the Khagan’s wife? A son of mine to the Khagan would succeed the Khagan, for he had no sons as yet, and new ambition flared bright within me, for was I not now at the center of the world, was I not the Khagan’s wife? Power beyond any held by the Chanyu of the Xiongnu lay here, and so now lay I.

“He is my brother and your loyal servant.” I smiled. “He is too respectful of your strength to be anything other than loyal, and he will serve you well, Lord, and now I am your wife he is also kin and he will serve you loyally.” He would be too afraid not to. Also, he was my blood, and he was the Chanyu of the Xiongnu as I would never now be, and there was no benefit to me in ensuring his death. Better he was alive, there might be use to be made of him should I establish myself here in the Khagan’s court.

My hands fumbled at the Khagan’s clothing, for I had never unclothed a man before, and in my inexperience I as timid. My fingers unfastened his tunic, unfastened his breeches so that they dropped to his ankles. In his eagerness he kicked them off, his hands peeled off his own tunic. Now he was naked, naked and erect, and I eyed that erection with a fearful excitement for he was overly well-endowed. I trembled now as I looked down at him, and it was his hands that found the ties that belted my trousers of black leather.

It was his hands that unfastened those ties and eased my trousers down and the hot wet excitement overwhelmed me as he laid my body bare and exposed me, naked for his eyes to enjoy, and his eyes and his smile said that indeed, he enjoyed the sight of my naked body.

“I desire you, my Altani,” the Khagan murmured, holding me in his arms and he was large, muscular and strong with a strength beyond any man I had known and his erection pressed hotly against my skin. “You are beautiful, maiden of the Xiongnu.” His hands ran over the smooth skin of my back, down to my hips, caressing my butt and I shivered in his arms, shivered and trembled for I was a maiden, my virtue intact for I had never known a man, and the Khagan was a man. This night, I was his wife, and this night he would take me.

“Lord,” I gasped, for I was afraid, just a little, and the Khagan read now the fear on my face as I trembled in his arms.

“Be not afraid, my little wildcat,” the Khagan murmured, and he buried his face in my hair, inhaling deeply. “You bring with you the scent of the steppe, my Altani,” he said. “The scent of grass and dust and of our horses and the mare’s milk, fresh from the teat.” He smiled now, and his eyes were bright and eager as he sank to his knees and his hands drew me with him, drew me down to my knees before him, and then downwards to lie on my back on the smooth stone.

My head lay cradled on his arm, my clothes a pillow, his discarded clothes the mattress on which we lay, his body close to mine, his manhood resting hotly on my thigh.

“I have not the skills of your Han concubines, Lord,” I said, for I had heard tales of the wiley seductiveness of those Han princesses sent to my grandfather’s and my father’s yurts, as well as of the pleasures they could offer men. I had seen those Han dancers on this very evening, with their insinuating graces and sensual movements, their silky hair and scented bodies, and I was sure they knew also the arts of the mating dance between a man and a woman, and this was a skill with which I could not compete.

“It is not that which I desire, my Altani,” the Khagan murmured as his hand caressed my breasts, and my cheeks were pink for never had a man’s hands caressed my body, and I was finding that I enjoyed this. “It is your innocence and your lack of any subterfuge, little wildcat. You come to my bed willingly, eagerly, and yet with the innocence of a maiden, and I find I desire you now above all others.”

“I am yours, Lord,” I gasped, my heart pounding, for even as his voice murmured soft words, his eyes drank in my body in the flickering light of the single lantern while his hand explored. I welcomed that exploration, for was not the Khagan now my husband? Was I not now his, to be taken at his pleasure?

“You are, Altani. You are mine and I take great delight in that,” the Khagan said, and he was smiling, and now I smiled shyly back. Shyly, timidly, for this intimacy with a naked man was something I was unused to, and unprepared for. A daughter of the Chanyu of the Xiongnu was not as other women.

Unlike other women, many of whom lay with men before their wedding, a daughter such as I, the daughter of the Chanyu, was expected to remain a virgin, for my bride price in the old days before the Khagan father’s armies ensured our submission would have been many sheep and many horses, even for one such as the Khagan, and if I had been stolen in a raid, the price would have been the higher for the warriors lost in battle, and this I had always known.

“I am yours, Lord,” I whispered, and my breath caught as his sword-calloused hand circled on the silken smoothness of my stomach.

“You are of the steppe, Altani,” he murmured, hand caressing. “You have the taut muscles and the strength of a women of the steppe, so unlike the softness and weakness of these Han.” He smiled, bowing his head to take one of my breasts in his mouth, his lips and tongue suckling, unexpected pleasure rippling through me in waves as he drew on my nipple, tasting and tugging, his beard soft against my skin, and my hands clutched now at his head, my back arching as I offered my breast eagerly to his mouth.

“You taste of the steppe,” he whispered, as if to himself and his hand roamed over my hips, my thighs, parting my legs and shyly, timidly, I acquiesced, my knees parting as he explored my inner thighs, his fingers touching, stroking, kneading a little so that I gasped, and then I moaned softly, for his fingers brought me unaccustomed pleasure, a flooding heated wetness at my center that demanded more.

“May I look at you, Lord?” I whispered, filled with curiosity, for while I had seen the stallions mating the mares, while I had heard men and women in the darkness of the night, I had never seen an aroused man before this night, and the Khagan’s erection rested hotly on my thigh.

“Look upon me as long as your heart desires, little wildcat,” the Khagan smiled, lying back, his arm raised me so that I lay against his chest, and that which I desired to see jutted upwards before my eyes. “You may even touch, and I will enjoy my anticipation the more as I gaze upon your face.” He reached down to take my hand and place it on his shaft, his breath quickening as my fingers clasped his thickness, and thick he was, for my thumb and finger could not encircle his girth.

Thick, and also long, for as I looked upon him, my fist barely enclosed a third of his length and his manhood was enormous to my inexperienced eyes, and gazing down at him, I felt a little faint. This? This was to take me? I did not think it would fit within me, and the Khagan chuckled, a low, almost silent sound, his chest vibrating beneath me, one hand caressing my back, for I lay half across him facing towards that which would make a woman of me, and under my fingers it was as a steel bar overlayed with the silk of his skin.

“Move your hand on me, little wildcat,” the Khagan breathed, and his body was taut beneath me, his breathe coming faster, as was mine. “Stroke and caress that which will make you my wife in truth as well as in name.”

“Lord,” I whispered, my heart pounding as my hand moved on him, and that steel was covered with blue veins, the swollen bulbous head at it’s tip and my fingers gently caressed him, running up and down his length as he commanded. My breath came faster, my touch timid and my eyes were busy, examining, and I half turned to glance at his face.

“Lord,” I whispered, and my cheeks were pink with shame at my inexperience and lack of knowledge. “I am not as of the Han, I am not instructed in the arts of a concubine and I do not know how to please you. Do not be angry with me, for I have never been with a man.”

“It is well, my little wildcat,” the Khagan murmured, and he was smiling as his fingers brushed my cheek, a gentle caress. “Your innocence and lack of knowledge and experience is what gives me the greatest pleasure. One tires of the wiles and tricks and trained seductiveness of these Han girls. One longs for the innocence and eagerness of a maiden of the steppe brought to bed for the first time, and it is that which I desire on this our first night together, my Altani.”

His hands took me, moved me onto my back beside him and he rolled himself up onto one elbow, gazing down at me as I lay before him, his hand now caressing my breasts, first one and then the other. “In you, Altani, I see your beauty, I see the beauty of the steppe, of the green grass stretching forever before my eyes as my horse strides across the great plains, and there is that wild untamed beauty about you, that inner strength, and also I see the wisdom of your father, Attila, gazing from your eyes as when we fought side by side, and that wisdom too I would have at my side and in my bed.”

“You knew my father?” I whispered, for of this my father had never spoken. That he had known the Khagan. I knew that when he was young, my father had been a great warrior and a leader of warriors and that he had fought under the Mongol Khan, for my grandfather had told me this, and it was submit and send our warriors to fight in the Great Khan’s armies or all Xiongnu would die, for the Khagan’s father was merciless. “My father spoke of many things to me, Lord, but never that he served under the Khagan.”

“Attila fought at my side and under my command when I was a young man,” the Khagan said. “In those days many years in the past when I led my tumens in battle at my father’s command, before I succeeded him as Great Khan. Your grandfather sent your father with a tumen of Xiongnu warriors, and fine warriors they were, and wise were the words of your father. Brothers in battle, we were, Attila and I. Brothers in battle against the Khwarezmid and your father, he fought well and I valued his wisdom and his words, as I shall value yours, Attila’s daughter.” As he spoke, his hand continued to caress me, but his eyes said he thought now of the past and this I did not desire for I was not of the past.

“I revere my father Attila’s memory, for he was indeed a wise man and a great warrior, but do not value me in memory of my father, Lord,” I murmured, and my hand quested for his manhood and found him easily, for it was hard to ignore that rigid length resting hotly against my thigh. “My father would not have me ride in his shadow. Rather value me for what I am, and how I can serve you best, my Lord husband.”

My hand once more clasped him and stroked him slowly, the solid steely hardness of him brining a renewed flooding wet heat to my sex and Khagan’s sudden tension told me that the Khagan indeed had thought once more of how I could serve him best. His smile pleased me and indeed, my hand seemed to please him, and it pleased me to caress his arousal.

“I shall, my little wildcat,” he said, his hand finding my sex. My eyes widened as he explored, touching me, and I was wet, wet and slippery, my sex parting easily to his questing fingertip, and the Khagan smiled as my back arched and he kissed me as his finger pushed into me slowly. He kissed me gently, taking possession of my lips, my mouth and my mouth was wide open to him, his tongue deep inside, exploring me, exploring my mouth with his tongue as his finger explored my sex.

His lips sealed themselves to mine, his hand cupped my sex, his thumb brushed my clitoris, his finger probed deeply. I moaned as back arched, my legs spread for him as I shuddered, and I made little noises into his mouth as his finger touched me inside where no man had ever touched me, but this touch I surrendered myself too and welcomed. His thumb brushed and stroked my swollen clitoris, sending exquisite ripples of pleasure though my body, leaving me limp, helpless, wanting more and when he lifted his mouth from mine, that questioning look on his face told me what he wanted.

“Yes, Lord,” I gasped, and we both knew what I was saying yes to, and I was willing, for he had taken me as wife before all.

He smiled and lowered his head, his mouth engulfing one breast entirely and my breasts were small, and he suckled, he licked, his teeth closed gently around one nipple, biting me lightly as his thumb stroked across my clitoris. Something inside me burst with that featherlight brushing, a golden rushing wave swept through me, my back arched, my body stiffened, my eyes stared blindly at the roof above me as pleasure wracked me in an endless wave that left me limp and shattered, barely able to gasp for breath and he kissed my lips again, his mouth on mine, muffling my sobs and gasps of pleasure.

“Ohhh,” I gasped, when his mouth lifted from mine. “Ooohhh ... oh Lord husband ... how? ... how did you do that to me?” I had never experienced such exquisite pleasure and I could not believe what he had just done to me, how his touch had made me feel and I glowed. I glowed and I knew I was melting for him, my wetness flowing around his finger and onto his hand where he cupped me.