He thought for a moment as Arslan coloured in pride.

‘You will have a thousand horses from my own herd and a dozen women as servants for your wife. I will send three young men to guard you in your old age. You will not be lonely in your retirement, general. You will have sheep and goats enough to make you fat for a hundred years.’

Arslan dismounted and touched his head to Genghis’ foot in the stirrup.

‘You honour me, lord, but I need very little. With your permission, I will take my wife and just a small herd of breeding goats and horses. Together, we will find a quiet place by a stream and there remain. There are no thieves in the hills any longer and if by chance there are, my bow and sword still speak for me.’ He smiled at the man he had seen grow from a boy to a conqueror of nations. ‘Perhaps I will build a small forge and make one last sword to be buried with me. I hear the sounds of the hammer in my mind even now and I am at peace.’

Genghis found tears in his eyes as he viewed the man who had been like a second father to him. He too dismounted and embraced Arslan briefly, causing the shouting children around them to fall silent.

‘It is a good dream, old man.’

The lands around the Orkhon river were a deeper green than could be found anywhere else. The river itself was wide and clear. It had to be to support two hundred thousand men and women, with twice that number of horses when Khasar and Tsubodai arrived within a day of each other. Under the khan’s ruling hand, the nation had grown and there were always children squalling somewhere. Since his return from the Chin capital, Genghis had made a near permanent camp at the river, rejecting the plain of Avraga. It was true that Avraga would always be sacred as the place he had forged a nation, but it was a dry, flat land. In comparison, a nearby waterfall beat the waters of the Orkhon into white spray and the horses and sheep could drink their fill. Genghis had swum many times in its deep pools, regaining his strength.

Khasar had come in first and embraced his brothers: Genghis, Kachiun, even Temuge, who was no warrior, but ran the camps and settled disputes between families. Khasar brought Ogedai with him. The boy was barely thirteen years old, but stood muscular and long-limbed, with the promise of his father’s height. In the sharp planes of Ogedai’s face, the brothers could see an echo of the boy who had once kept them alive when they were banished and alone, just a few scraps of food away from starvation and death. Khasar gripped the back of Ogedai’s neck as he sent him forward to see his father, showing his pride.

‘He is a good hand with a bow and sword, brother,’ Khasar said, tilting a skin of black airag and directing a line of the spirit down his throat.

Genghis heard the delighted cry of his wife Borte from the family ger and knew his son would be surrounded by women in just a few moments.

‘You have grown, Ogedai,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I will want to hear all about your travels tonight.’ He watched as Ogedai bowed formally, the boy’s face hiding any emotion. Three years was a long time to be away, but Genghis was pleased with the stripling warrior who had returned to him. Ogedai had the same yellow eyes and Genghis approved of his stillness and calm. He did not test it by embracing him, not with so many warriors watching who would perhaps follow Ogedai in a charge one day.

‘Are you old enough to drink, boy?’ Genghis asked, hefting a skin in his hands. When his son nodded, he tossed it over and Ogedai took it cleanly, overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of his people all around. As his mother came forward and embraced him, he remained stiff, trying to show his father that he was not a little boy to melt into her arms. Borte hardly seemed to notice and held his face in both hands, weeping at his safe return.

‘Let him stand, Borte,’ Genghis muttered at her shoulder. ‘He is old enough to fight and ride with me.’ His wife ignored him and Genghis sighed to himself, his mood mellow.

Genghis felt his chest tighten as he saw Tsubodai trotting through the crowded plain towards him, Jochi at his side. Both men dismounted and Genghis saw that Jochi walked with the springy step of a natural warrior. He had grown an inch taller than the khan, though his dark eyes still reminded Genghis that some other man may have fathered him. He had not known how he would react to Jochi, but on instinct Genghis spoke directly to Tsubodai, ignoring him.

‘Have you carried them all before you, general?’ he said.

Tsubodai responded with a chuckle.

‘I have seen many strange things, my lord khan. I would have gone further if you had not called us back. Is it war, then?’

A shadow crossed Genghis’ face, but he shook his head.

‘Later, Tsubodai, later. I’ll have dogs for you to whip, but Arslan is stepping down as my general and when Jelme comes in, we will feast his life.’

Tsubodai showed sadness as he heard the news.

‘I owe him a great deal, lord. My poet is a fine man. May I offer his service?’

Genghis grinned.

‘For the swordsmith general, I have a dozen poets and storytellers fighting like cats for the honour, but your man may as well join them.’

Genghis could feel Jochi’s mother watching him as he spoke. Borte would be looking for some public acceptance of her first-born son before she too welcomed him home. As silence fell, Genghis turned at last to Jochi. It was hard not to bristle under that flat, black stare. It had been a long time in the camps since any man dared to meet the eyes of the khan in such a way and Genghis felt his heart thump faster, as if he faced an enemy.

‘I am pleased to see you well and strong, father,’ Jochi said, his voice deeper than Genghis had expected. ‘When I left, you were still weak from the assassin’s poison.’

Genghis saw Tsubodai’s hand twitch, as if he wanted to raise it to Jochi in warning. The general had sharper wits than Jochi, it seemed. The young warrior stood proudly before him as if he were not a rape-born whelp, barely welcome in the gers of his family.

Genghis struggled with his temper, very aware of the silent presence of his wife.

‘It seems I am a difficult man to kill,’ he said softly. ‘You are welcome in my camp, Jochi.’

His son remained still, though for Genghis to grant him guest rights like any common warrior was a subtle barb. He had not said the words to Tsubodai or Khasar; they were not needed between friends.

‘You honour me, my lord khan,’ Jochi said, bowing his head so that his father could not see his furious eyes.

Genghis nodded, weighing the young man as Jochi took his mother’s hands gently in his own and bowed, his face pale and strained. Borte’s eyes filled with tears of joy, but there was more restraint between mother and son than there had been with Ogedai. In such an atmosphere, she could not embrace the tall young warrior. Before Genghis could speak again, Jochi turned to his younger brother and all the stiffness left him in a rush.

‘I see you, little man,’ Jochi said.

Ogedai grinned and came forward to punch Jochi on the shoulder, prompting a brief wrestling match that ended with his head jammed into Jochi’s armpit. Genghis watched irritably, wanting to say something else that would prick Jochi’s easy manner. Instead, Jochi walked Ogedai away over his muffled protests at having his head rubbed. The khan had not actually dismissed his son, and Genghis opened his mouth to have him brought back.

‘Your son has learned well, lord,’ Tsubodai said before he could speak. ‘He has commanded a thousand in battles against the warriors of Russia and the men respect him.’

Genghis scowled, knowing the moment had somehow escaped him.

‘You have not raised him too fast?’ he said.

A weaker man might have agreed, but Tsubodai shook his head immediately, loyal to the young man he had fostered for three years.