Chapter 47
Cuauhnahuac, 77 K
Cuernavaca, MX, 1445)
My father died in his sleep the night after he finished writing. I found the last page on his table when the children who found him the next morning came to get me. He had a wonderful smile on his face, but then, (at least in my memory) he had always been a happy man, able to see his way clearly no matter what happened. I could never understand him. I didn’t know he was writing what seems to be a journal or more accurately a memoir. He never mentioned it to me or anyone else, but I’ve got the whole of it and will read it. His remains were taken to Tlatelolco and cremated with full honors as befits a Khan. My nephew John, the current Khan, lit the pyre and carried the ashes to the center of the lake with great ceremony. Rather than grieved, the crowd seemed almost reverent. There was barely a sound from them. Few of them knew him, of course, and not that many more remembered his reign, but all knew of him, and he was always spoken of with reverence, at least, in my hearing. I always found that puzzling. He unquestionably deserved respect, and he had mine, but reverence seems a bit much. Perhaps his memoir will shed some light on this for me.
Having read his memoirs, I am amazed at how little I knew of, or indeed, thought of our coming to this land. It was a remarkable trek. The founding and growth of the Khanate was also remarkable, spawned as it was by little more than one man’s vision. And to think that my father was uniquely involved almost from the beginning and was instrumental in carrying out that vision. All of my life the only danger I faced, of which I was aware, was from the elements. I have never been involved in any military campaign except indirectly treating the wounded. Neither have I done any exploring or mapping or trading. I have, however, wandered over much of the land and visited places my father never saw, and everywhere I went I never sensed any danger from any man. That is the legacy of the Mongols. My father played a large part in that legacy, but also, he had his own legacy, that of the good ruler. He was scrupulously fair, completely honest, and utterly devoid of arrogance. The only inaccuracies in his memoirs, which I can detect, are those which people he trusted told him. I am surprised he didn’t see through them, but who would expect his oldest friends and his sons to lie to him. I think perhaps now I should set the record straight.
The first deception was regarding the Southeast Campaign that added the isthmus to the Khanate. My father never seemed to know that Juchi ordered George and Mukali to add the territory without regard to the wishes of the locals; they were only given the chance to join before they were attacked. Otherwise, there would have been very little land added to the Khanate. I guess he never realized that George was more loyal to Juchi than to him. Then there was the matter of Mukali’s “accident” on his return trip. He was ordered to return by land “to make sure the land was pacified,” and a man loyal to Jelme and familiar with snakes made sure Mukali had his accident. Since Juchi ordered him to return by land, I have always felt he had a part in his son’s demise, but I could never get any confirmation. Smoking Mirror was shocked when he learned about it, but he had no love for Mukali, since he held him responsible for his son’s near-fatal wounding. I was surprised that he never told my father the real story. I suspect, my father never asked about it, and knowing Smoking Mirror, he would never have volunteered such information.
The first campaign in the southern landmass was also conducted in the same manner. George did break precedence by not wiping out the Tairona, and there was some grumbling about it, but no one was prepared to question him openly. The real reason he spared them was because he was much taken with their goldsmithing and was sure it would prove a valuable asset. His wife also greatly treasured gold bangles and received quite a load of them from him. I should also mention that George was most unfair to the Maya Tumen. In each campaign their losses were alarming. They were never supported with artillery and were always employed in any frontal assault on a difficult position. They are a fearless people and fierce warriors and were led to believe they were being honored rather than deliberately being killed off. To be fair, it was a prudent policy, for they are a difficult people. In all the time I spent among them, I never felt truly accepted nor did I have a clue what they were thinking about me or about what I told them. I was, however, always treated respectfully by them, and they were always kind to and generous with me. I will always have the greatest respect for them. I do suspect that Smoking Mirror would have lived longer if he ruled over a more pliable people. He was smart to maintain his capital among the far more cooperative Putun Maya.
There was some talk about Juchi’s death in the Eagle Ordu, but Jelme was far away at the time, and Juchi was hardly a young man by then. I am puzzled that my father maintained a high opinion of Jelme. The latter was always quite clever, but he never impressed me as being thoughtful. Perhaps my father was blinded by loyalty to Juchi, or perhaps subsequent events forever soured me on the man. This brings me to the final error. I found out from Theodore that the outbreak of the Zhen plague in the southern landmass was no accident. It seems that there occurred a minor outbreak of the disease in one of the more isolated Northeast Bands not long after they incongruously received a gift of silk cloth from Jelme. This outbreak was reported to Jelme in a dispatch from the nearby Ordu, which had already sent help. Not nearly long enough afterward, a small party arrived to replace the “diseased” silk for the band. They gathered up the silk and passed out new cloth. Then they departed to “destroy” the contaminated silk. They next time they were seen, they had embarked to join the new campaign in the south and were carrying curious bundles along with their personal weapons. When they arrived in the south, they sent gifts of silk to several of the more truculent tribes as “a peace offering.” Not long after the gifts arrived, the plague broke out. While it was unquestionably a very effective move, the plague spread far beyond the target tribes and moved back to strike our people. The results were devastating, and I labored mightily for four years to end it, four years that I would have preferred spending with my family and especially my wife who died shortly after my return.
Other than these few things, the book is quite accurate as far as I know. I will make sure the rest of the family reads the book, but I do not intend to write any more. Perhaps one of the children will pick up the narrative later on.