Podcasts about jurchen

This is the first in a two part series on the people living to the Northeast of Yamato, in the areas of Tohoku and Hokkaido.  They are called in the Chronicles, the Emishi and the Mishihase, and these designations appear to refer to areas that include the Epi-Jomon and later Satsumon cultures as well as members of the Okhotsk Sea Culture, all archaeological designations for various people whom we know primarily through their archaeological remains.  We also discuss a bit about how all of this ties in (or doesn't) with the modern Ainu, and why we don't necessarily use that term until much later in the historical record. For more, check out our podcast blog at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-116   Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 116: The People of the North, Part 1   A soldier stood watch on the Nutari Barrier.  It was only a few years old—built to define and defend the boundaries between the lands under Yamato rule and the untamed wilds, beyond.  Looking behind him, the soldier could see the smoke from the nearby settlement, also newly constructed, which would supply him and his fellow guards with food and clothing while they took their turn at the border. Looking outwards, the soldier wondered what life beyond the barrier was like.  He had seen people crossing through, mostly with various trade goods.  For the most part, they didn't seem all that different, but he had heard stories: stories of wild men and women who lived in caves and slept under the trees.  They were hunters who knew the woods and could easily slip through areas that didn't even have roads. As one traveled further north, things grew only more wild and untamed—or so the stories said.   Giant bears with paws as large as a human head roamed the land—he'd seen a skin once and it was massive.  The people of the north fought with them and, or so he'd heard, even kept them as pets. Further, well beyond the pale, there were people who lived on the sea.  They traveled between islands in the frozen north, and hunted the beasts of the ocean.  They were few, but they were mighty people. A chill went through the soldier's spine.  He'd only ever heard stories of most of these outsiders, and even then it was hard to tell what was truth and what was merely exaggeration.  He had never actually gone out to see it himself, though he'd met some who claimed they had. It gave him some sense of worth that he was out here, defending the settled, civilized lands of his people from the wild, ungoverned tribes beyond the border.  That said, he hoped with all his heart that things remained peaceful.  Yes, it would certainly be better that way for all involved.   We are just starting out the second reign of Takara Hime, which started in the year 655.  For her first reign, the Chroniclers would give her the title of Kougyoku Tennou, but when she retook the throne they named her Saimei.  As we talked about in the last couple of episodes, there was a lot going on at this point, not just on the archipelago, but in the rest of Asia as well.   We'll summarize that briefly just to set the stage for the beginning of Takara Hime's reign, but this episode we're going to primarily focus on the expansion of Yamato authority throughout the rest of the archipelago, or at least the rest of Honshu.  In this context, we'll be talking extensively about the people that the Chronicles call the Emishi, since this section of the Chronicles contains numerous entries that give us our clearest look, to date, at who they were, at least from a Yamato perspective.  We'll also be looking at another group in the north, known to us as the Mishihase, for whom we have even less information. As this whole episode got a bit long, we are going to be doing this in two parts.  This episode, I'd like to introduce you to some of the terms, discuss some of the problems and considerations around these topics, and touch on what we know based largely on the archaeological record.  In the second episode we'll focus on the narrative as it appears in the Nihon Shoki, which hopefully will be something that makes more sense once we have that archaeological context.  While there are certainly some things that appear to coincide between the two narratives, there are a lot of differences.  Archaeology can help us understand the material culture, and give us some insights into the lifeways of a particular group of people, but it doesn't let us know what they said, and rarely gives us information about a particular event. Before we dive into this, I think it would be useful to touch on terms that we are going to be using this episode, and next.  I mention this because while we are dealing with the past, our story of the past is very much affecting the lives of people in the present.  Most specifically, the lives of the Ainu people of Hokkaido, and how their history and experience intertwines with the concept of the “Emishi” that we see in the Chronicles.  So let's explore these terms, and see where it takes us. First, I should probably make a note about the difference between “Wa” and “Yamato”, at least as I'm using it in this episode.  When I use “Wa” I'll be referring to the ethnic group, while “Yamato” refers to the state.  For the most part, as we are focused on the historical state forming in central Honshu, we'll talk about Yamato, or the State of Yamato. That is a political entity that is majority Wa in its make-up, but that doesn't mean that there weren't Wa people outside of the Yamato state, nor that Yamato was made up of only people who identified, ethnically as Wa.  As we've seen, the Yamato state also included immigrants who identified as people of Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, and even Emishi. Next, the Emishi.  The term “Emishi” is an exonym used by Yamato to describe those who are outside of Yamato's borders and controls, especially up in Tohoku.  By “exonym”, I mean that it's a term imposed from outside – in this case, by Yamato – on the group of people known as the Emishi, because we really don't know what they called themselves. Moreover, the term “Emishi” is complex, and doesn't necessarily describe a single, monolithic ethnic group or culture – more a group of possible ethnicities, that occupied a particular “slot” relative to Yamato cultural identity, namely that of outsiders.  The Chronicles refer to several different geographic regions as “Emishi”, situated relative to the core of the Yamato polity -- but the archeological evidence is much more nuanced.  A prime example are the studies carried out on the “Emishi” mummies of the Oshu Fujiwara, a 12th century ruling elite who lived in Hiraizumi and who were considered “Emishi” by the court in Heian-kyo—modern Kyoto.  In studying the mummies, it was determined that they were closely related to the Wa people of Japan and the Kinki region.  This finding is important and I'll come back to it in a bit, but the takeaway is that “Emishi” doesn't automatically mean physical or cultural differences like we might assume.  There were likely ethnic Wa Emishi, along with Emishi who were more closely connected with the indigenous people—descendants of the Jomon and possible ancestors to the later Ainu people. Finally, the Ainu.  It's extremely likely that some of the people that the Chroniclers called “Emishi” may have been the ancestors of the Ainu people of today.  But the correspondence is definitely not one-to-one, as some historians used to think.  And since this is a sensitive topic with ongoing patterns of inequity and silenced voices, it's important to lay some groundwork before going further. For my part, I would like to do my best to introduce the people and the history as we know it with as little bias as I can manage, but please realize that there are certainly controversies around this area and open wounds that have not yet healed. The modern Ainu are the indigenous inhabitants of Hokkaido, Sakhalin, and Kuril islands.  They also once inhabited the very northern part of Tohoku.  In their own language, Ainu Itak, these islands are part of Ainu Mosir, the Lands of the Ainu, and “Ainu” itself is simply a word for “humans” or “people”.  While there are many cultural and linguistic ties to the Japanese—they have been neighbors for centuries—they are culturally distinct, and their language, Ainu Itak, is considered a linguistic isolate, with no known relatives outside of the Ainu homelands. The relationship between the Ainu and the Wa people—the general term for ethnic Japanese—has been one of tension and conflict born of colonization.  In the 19th century in particular, the nation of Japan claimed Hokkaido and began to settle it.  The wide open spaces were great for new industries, such as cattle ranching, which could supply dairy and beef, two things that had come into vogue with other aspects of Western culture.  I won't get into the entire history of it, but the Japanese government used tactics similar to those used in the United States against indigenous populations, often forcing people to speak Japanese instead of their native language in a paternalistic attempt to quote-unquote “civilize” the Ainu people.  Only relatively recently have the Ainu been accorded some protections in Japanese law. For our part, the study of Ainu history has long been one conducted by outsiders looking in, which of course has come with all sorts of baggage.  For instance, as I alluded to above, there has long been a tendency to equate the Ainu with the Emishi, which along with everything else cast the Ainu as somewhat less culturally evolved.  Much of this study was also taking place during a time when Marxist concepts of societal evolution were in vogue.  Add to that the generally patronizing and Colonialist concepts that were rampant in Western anthropology at the time—things like the stereotype of the “noble savage” and even the concept of “primitive” societies—and there were definitely some problematic concepts that continue to echo through into modern discussions.  Another complexity in understanding Ainu culture and history has been that the Ainu people do tend to be physically distinct from many other Japanese, which has been linked to outdated ideas about physical types and ethnicity.  Many Ainu people show more tendency towards body and facial hair than mainland Japanese, with bushy beards being common among men, and blue eyes aren't uncommon – which, combined with overall light skin, led to early identification of Ainu people as being of “Caucasian stock” according to outdated racial classifications.  The theory was that they traveled from the west across Asia in the distant past and somehow settled in the islands north of Japan.  This ties into how much of the archaeological fervor of the 19th and 20th centuries in Japan was wrapped around ethno-nationalist ideals and looking to find the origins of the Japanese people, often using concepts of eugenics to seek out physical and cultural differences between the Japanese and “other” people, such as the Ainu, to help better define who are—and who are not—Japanese.  For example, remember those Oshu Fujiwara mummies and how they were from a group described by the Chronicles as “Emishi” but ended up being more physically similar to modern Wa than modern Ainu?  Some scholars took this finding to mean that all of the Emishi were Wa people, effectively denying any ancestral claims or links that Ainu people may have had to Honshu, other than those historically attested to from about the 15th century onwards.  In similar ways, for each instance of some new “finding”, there have often been those who would use it as a further reason to discriminate against the Ainu. There is a lot of important archaeological work that has been done in Tohoku and elsewhere to help shed more light on the people living in areas that the Chronicles associate with the Emishi and beyond.  But while archaeological digs in places like Honshu and Kyushu were often done with great public support, archaeological work in places like Hokkaido often involved investigating burials of potential ancestors without consent, and even today there is some contention over how various artifacts were acquired.  As with too many places in the world, the data was not always gathered under what we may consider, today, the strictest of ethical standards.  So as important as the archeological perspective is – at least we are going off of physical items that we find rather than on the narrative imposed on the region by those in Yamato – it's important to keep that context in mind. Even recent attempts to better contextualize Ainu history at places like the Upopoy National Museum in Shiraoi, while apparently doing their best to provide that context, are still hampered by the weight of previous missteps in the relationship between the Ainu and the government.  Activists have noted that even Upopoy, the first such national museum devoted to the Ainu themselves, is still built on colonialist policies and artifacts and human remains acquired without all of the necessary consent and consultation with local Ainu.  Upopoy, for its part, appears to have reached out to those willing to work with them, and for all that there may be some controversy, it certainly has a lot of information for those interested in it. So, given these caveats, what does the archeological record tell us about the wide range of people and areas called “Emishi” by the Chronicles, including both those areas closer to the Yamato heartland, and the areas we know today as Ainu Mosir? To understand the patterns of settlement and cultural trends that we see up north – in Tohoku and Hokkaido --let's go back to the end of the Jomon period and the very start of the Yayoi.  As wet rice paddy cultivation (and accompanying pottery styles and other material goods) began to make its way into the archipelago, up through about the Kinki region—the original land of Yamato, or Yamateg—it was brought by a people that seem quite strongly connected to other people in east Asia, and these people largely replaced the indigenous Jomon era populations in western Japan.  However, the new material culture traveled faster and farther than the new people themselves, and it appears that in eastern Honshu, at least, much of the new farming technology, pottery, and other lifeways of the Yayoi culture were adopted by people that appear to share a great deal in common, physically, with the previous Jomon populations, suggesting that local populations were, themselves, adopting the new technology and being absorbed into the Yayoi culture.  This expansion of Yayoi culture and rice farming initially exploded all the way up to the very northern edge of Tohoku, but over time it started to decline in the northernmost regions.  Whether due to a change in the climate or simply the fact that the colder, snowier regions in Tohoku were not as hospitable to farming, we see that rice cultivation fell into disuse, and people seem to have once again picked up the lifeways of their ancestors in the region, returning to a more hunter-gatherer style of subsistence.  Indeed, in northern Tohoku and Hokkaido we see the continued evolution of Jomon culture in a phase that is generally known as the Epi-Jomon, or, in Japanese, the Zoku-Jomon period, which generally lasted through the end of the 7th century.  This Epi-Jomon or Zoku-Jomon cultural region lay far outside the “official” Yamato borders according to the Chroniclers in an area considered to be part of “Michinoku” – literally past the end of the road – so it's understandably commonly associated with the Emishi.  But once again, it's not that simple, because we do see Yayoi and Kofun culture extending up into this region.  In fact, there are even keyhole shaped kofun up in Tohoku, the largest of these being Raijinyama kofun, thought to have been built between the late 4th and early 5th centuries.  It sits south of modern Sendai, and there are numerous other tombs there as well, suggesting it was well connected to Yamato and the kofun culture of central Honshu. Another complication is that we have regions officially designated Emishi that were much closer in – on the borders of Yamato itself.  Based on simply the written record, it would seem that “Emishi” resided as close to Yamato as the lands of Koshi and the land of Hitachi, at the very least.  The Emishi in Koshi are mentioned several times in the Chronicles, and both the Nihon Shoki and works like the Hitachi Fudoki mention Emishi or people who are at least outside of the Yamato cultural sphere.  This area bordering Yamato seems to have been the most affected by kofun and even Yamato culture, and also would have likely come into the most direct conflict with Yamato itself.  It is also the area most likely to include those who, for one reason or another, decided to yet themselves outside the growing reach of the Yamato state, a pattern that would continue for centuries to come.  On top of that, there is something else going on in northern Hokkaido, where, starting around the 5th century, we see different archeological assemblages from the south, indicating further cultural distinctiveness from the Tohoku and southern Hokkaido inhabitants.  These are mostly found on the coast in the northern part of Hokkaido, and match closely with the culture we see first in the Sakhalin island, and later the Kurils, along the edges of the Okhotsk Sea.  Hence the name we've given to this unknown culture:  The Okhotsk Sea Culture, or just the Okhotsk culture. From what we can glean, the people of the Okhotsk culture subsisted largely off the hunting of marine mammals, such as seals, sea lions, sea cows, and whales.  In contrast, the Epi-Jomon people appear to have subsisted more on inland hunting strategies, along with coastal fishing, which is represented in their settlement patterns, among other things.  This latter description likewise tracks with descriptions of the Emishi as subsisting largely off of hunted game. It is unclear what exactly happened to the Okhotsk Sea Culture, but they appear to be one of the ancestral groups of the modern Nivkh people, on the northern part of Sakhalin and the lower Amur River and coastal regions, though the Okhotsk Sea Culture also seems to have had a large influence on the development of the people known today as the Ainu.  Modern DNA testing of Ainu demonstrate connections both with the earlier Jomon people of Japan—a connection that is much stronger than in most Japanese—but also with people from the Okhotsk Sea region.  Still, how and in what ways those people came together is not clear. The connection to the Jomon and Epi-Jomon people appears to be strengthened by the fact that throughout Tohoku there are placenames that appear to be more closely related to the Ainu language than to Japanese.  For example, in Ainu itak, terms like “nai” and “pet” refer to rivers and streams, and we find a lot of placenames ending with “nai”, “be”, or “betsu”.  These are often written with kanji that would be understandable to Japanese speakers, but the prevalence and location of these names often make people think that they are likely related to Ainu itak, in some way—possibly a proto-Ainuic language or dialect that is now lost. While I can't discount the fact that some this could be due to false etymologies, we can add to it the fact that the term “Emishi” was eventually changed to “Ezo”, which itself came to be used primarily for Hokkaido and the people there, including the people we know of today as the Ainu.  However, it isn't clear that the term Emishi, or even “Ezo”, was consistently applied to only one group, and its usage may have changed over time, simply being used in each period to refer to the people of the Tohoku and Hokkaido regions outside of the control of the Japanese court. Another aspect of the archaeological record is the change in the Epi-Jomon culture to what we know as the Satsumon culture around the time of our narrative.  Satsumon, like Jomon, is derived from the distinctive pottery styles found.  “Jomon” means “cord-marked”, referring to the use of pressed cords and similar decoration on the pottery, and starting in the 7th century we see a new style using wood to scrape designs, instead.  Thus the term “Satsumon”.  It first pops up in Honshu, but by the 9th century it had spread to Hokkaido and eventually even spread to areas associated with the Okhotsk Sea Culture.  It would last until roughly the 13th century, when it was replaced by a culture that is more clearly related to the modern Ainu people. But the Satsumon culture wasn't just new types of pottery.  We see more ironwork appearing in the Satsumon culture, as well as the cultivation of millet and other types of agriculture.  Tohoku and Hokkaido were still a bit cold for the ancient forms of wet rice agriculture that were prevalent in more southern regions, and millet and other crops likely fit more easily into the lifeways of the people in these areas. Likewise, by the 8th century, we also see a new type of stove appearing in Satsumon villages.  This “kamado” seems clearly related to the type of stove that came over to Honshu from the Korean peninsula around the 5th century, reaching Hokkaido by the 8th, and eventually finding purchase on Sakhalin by the 11th, demonstrating a slow yet continuous adoption. Some of these changes might be explained by greater contact with Wa people and the trade networks that extended through Honshu and over to the mainland, but there were also trade routes through Sakhalin island over to the Amur River delta and beyond that should not be overlooked, even if they weren't as prevalent in the written histories of the time. I previously mentioned that in the next episode, we'll dive into more of what the Chronicles have to say about the Emishi, but to give a preview, the Chronicles have already mentioned the Emishi several times as trading and treating with the Yamato state.  Back in the era before the Isshi Incident, Naka no Oe's coup in 645, Soga no Emishi himself had dealings with the Emishi of the land of Koshi, which we covered in episode 107.  Then, in the previous reign, Emishi had attended court, but the court had also erected barriers and barrier towns in Nutari and Ihabune in 647 and 648 to protect the border areas from purported raids by the Emishi.  Hence the episode opener, imagining what it might be like for a soldier at one of these barrier towns.  But, there is also another people that we've already talked about, mentioned in the Chronicles:  The Sushen people, also glossed as either the Mishihase or Ashihase people.  In the Nihon Shoki, they first appeared in an entry in the reign of Kimmei Tennou, when a group of them came ashore on Sado island, which we discussed back in episode 86.  In this period, however, the  appear to be referencing a people who were living in the north of Hokkaido, and who were putting pressure on the people to their south, much as Yamato was putting pressure on the people to their northeast. The Sinitic characters, or kanji, used to name them in the Nihon Shoki uses a term from mainland writings for the Sushen people.  This name is first given to people mentioned in early Warring States documents, such as the Classic of Mountains and Seas, as living on the Shandong peninsula.  Eventually, however, as empires expanded, the term was used to refer to people along the Amur river region and the coast, in modern China and Russia—the eastern areas of what we know as “Manchuria”.  These were probably not the same people originally referred to as living in Shandong, and instead seems to apply to the Yilou people, and likely also is cognate with the later term “Jurchen”. In the ancient Sinic documents, the Sushen are described as hunter-gatherers who live in the open, using caves and other such natural features for temporary shelter.  They hunted with bows and arrows, which were tipped with stone arrowheads.  To the settled cultures of the Yellow River basin, they were considered a primitive and barbaric people. As for the people mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, it is quite likely that the term “Sushen” was used differently.  Rather than referring to Jurchen people, or someone from mainland northeast Asia, it is thought that the characters were used because of the similar role played by the people of northern Hokkaido and Sakhalin island—and possibly because of connection with the Amur river region, including the area referred to in older documents as “Su-shen”.  Still, the people referred to in the Nihon Shoki were probably what we know as the Okhotsk Sea culture, especially based on what we know from later descriptions.  From Yamato's point of view, they were likewise living in the extreme northeast and they were a hunter-gatherer society that used stone arrowheads in their hunting.  The fact that it is glossed as either Mishihase or Ashihase by later commentators suggests that this was the name by which the Yamato knew these people, and the kanji were just borrowed for their meaning of a people in the northeast. And so in the 7th century we have both the Emishi and the Mishihase, at least in the northeast.  There are also the Hayato, another group of people in the southern reaches of Tsukushi.  We are told that they and the Emishi both attended the court in 655 in great numbers.   Discussion of who the Hayato were is probably best left for another episode.  Suffice it to say that they appear to be culturally distinct from the groups in the northeast, at least at this point. And that's where we are going to pause things for now.  The archaeological record gives us some idea of the people inhabiting the areas of Tohoku and up to Hokkaido, but it only tells part of the story—and it is a story that we are continuing to uncover.  Even today people are working on archaeological sites that just may turn up new information that will change how we see things. Next episode, we'll dive into the narrative of the Nihon Shoki and take a look at the actions of individuals—especially the actions of Abe no Hirafu, a key player in what was to happen in the north. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Moving on with our third part of the Gishiwajinden Tour, we head to the old area of Matsuro, which, for us, means modern Karatsu.  Here we have some of the oldest rice paddies in all of Japan, but Karatsu is so much more.  It was part of Matsura, where the Matsura family (aka league, factions, or pirates, depending on how you saw it) arose.  It is also a short hop from Nagoya, which briefly became the capital of Japan; Nagaoka-kyo gets a mention in the histories, but Nagoya rarely merits it, since it was just the Taiko and every actually important person minus the Tenno. For more photos and others such things, check out: https://www.sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/matsuro-koku/   Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Tour, Part Four:  Matsuro-koku So far on this tour through the locations listed in the Weizhi's Wa Record, the Gishiwajinden, following the route to Queen Himiko of Wa, we've hit the area of Gaya, or Gara; Tsushima—or Tuma-koku; Iki, aka Iki-koku; and now we are arriving at Karatsu, thought to be the location of Maturo-koku. Now before we go any further, let's talk about the name.  After all, up to this point in the account, the names haven't been too far off.  Well, Tsushima was recorded as something like Tuma in the Chinese record, which seems reasonable, and “Iki” was actually recorded as something like “I-dai”, though we are pretty sure that was a transcription error based on other evidence. But Karatsu and Maturo, really don't seem related.  Also, didn't we earlier equate Matsuro with Matsuura, Matsura?  But if you look for Matsuura on a map it is quite some distance away from Karatsu—in fact, it is in modern Nagasaki prefecture as opposed to Karatsu, which is in modern Saga prefecture. First off, Karatsu is a later name for the city, not the area.  It literally means “Tang Port”, and that name seems to appear in the 15th century in the form of Karatsu Jinja, or Karatsu Shrine.  So no, the names Karatsu and Matsuro are not related.  Prior to being called Karatsu, though, it was part of a larger area called Matsura.  It sits at the head of the Matsura River, which spills out into what is now called Karatsu Bay.  In ancient times this seems to have been the heart of the area known as Matsura or Matsuro.  Over time it was incorporated into the larger area known as Hi no Kuni, and when Hi no Kuni was divided up by the Ritsuryo state into Hizen and Higo, we see the Matsura district, or Matsura-gun, is a part, along the coast.  The fact that it is spelled as “Matsu” and “Ura”, meaning “pine beach”, might hint at the original name of the place or could be a false etymology, imposed by the need to record the location in kanji, the Sinitic characters used at the time.  Fun fact time:  Hizen refers to the area of the land of Hi that was closer to Yamato, while Higo refers to the area of the land of Hi that was further away.  If you look at a modern map of where these two ancient provinces were, however, you'll notice that by a slight technicality, Higo is actually closer, as the crow flies.  But remember, people are not crows, at least not in this life, and in all likelihood, most of the travel to and from Yamato would have been via sea routes.  So Hizen is closer to Yamato from that perspective, as you would have to sail from Higo, around Hizen, or take the long way south around Kagoshima. But where were we? So Matsura district in Hizen started at Matsura-gawa and the area around Karatsu bay, and included modern areas of Hirado all the way out to the Goto islands.  That was a pretty large area.  It later got further subdivided into East, West, North, and South Matsura subdistricts, with Karatsu in the Eastern subdistrict, and some portion of the west.  Eventually, Karatsu city became its own administrative district, in modern Saga prefecture, and so did Hirado city, in what was the old Northern Matsura sub-district, joining Nagasaki prefecture.  The western sub-district went to Karatsu or incorporated as Imari, known for their Imari-ware pottery.  And that left a small portion of the northern sub-district. The incorporated villages and islands eventually came together as Matsuura city, in Nagasaki prefecture, which is what you'll see, today.  And that is why, looking at a modern map, “Matsura” and modern “Matsuura” are not precisely in the same place. That history also helps demonstrate the historical connections between Karatsu, Hirado, Iki, and Tsushima—as well as the Goto islands.  This region was where the Matsura clan arose, which controlled at least out to Iki, Hirado, and the Goto archipelago, and it was known for its strong navy, among other things. For our trip, heading to Karatsu was originally borne out of convenience:  Our goal was to take the ferry so that we could travel along the ocean routes.  We had traveled the route from Izuhara, on Tsushima, to Ashibe port, on Iki island.  During that trip it was interesting to watch as Tsushima disappeared and then eventually Iki appeared on the horizon, but it wasn't immediate, and I suspect you would have wanted an experienced crew who knew the route and knew what to look for.  Conversely, from Indoji port, on Iki, to Karatsu I felt like we were constantly in sight of one island or another, or at least could see the mountains of Kyushu to get our bearings.  There wasn't really a time that felt like we were that far out from land.  Even so, it would still have been a treacherous crossing back in the day. Coming in to Karatsu from the ferry, the first thing you will notice is the castle.  Karatsu castle, also known as Maizuru Castle, is a reconstructed castle, but it really does provide a clear view of what one would have seen.  The original was abandoned in the Meiji period and sold off in 1871.  The main keep was later demolished and made into a park.  In 1966 they built a new, 5-storey keep on the original base, and from 1989 onward have continued to make improvements to various parts of the castle moats and walls.  You can still see the layout of the Ninomaru and honmaru sections of the castle, encompassing the old samurai districts of the jokamachi, or castle town, of Karatsu during the Edo period. Our primary goal in Karatsu, however, was not castle focused.  We wanted to go back to an earlier time – the Yayoi period, to be precise - and Karatsu and the Matsuro-kan did not disappoint.  While not quite as extensive as the reconstruction at other Yayoi sites like Harunotsuji or Yoshinogari, the site at the Matsuro-kan is still impressive in its own right. What is the Matsuro-kan, you might ask?  It is the building and grounds of what is also known as the Nabatake site.  In 1980, construction workers were excavating for a road through the Nabatake section of Karatsu when they noticed they were pulling up artifacts.  An investigation between 1980 to 1981 determined that the artifacts were from the late Jomon to middle Yayoi period.  Further investigation discovered the presence of old rice paddies.  In 1983 the site was designated as a national historic site, further excavations were carried out, and the Matsurokan was built to house the artifacts and also provide some reconstructions of what the rice paddies would have looked like.  For context these are some of the oldest rice paddies found in Japan, along with the nearby Itazuke rice paddies, in neighboring Fukuoka prefecture, and are key for giving us insights into what we know about early rice field cultivation. Here I should point out that these fields were in use through the middle Yayoi period, while the mission to Yamato—or Yamatai—recorded in the Weizhi would have been in the late Yayoi or early Kofun period, so likely several hundred years later.  There are other Yayoi settlement remains found up and around the peninsula, and there are Kofun in the area, especially along the banks of the Matsura river.  Given how built up much of the area is, it is possible that any large scale settlement may have been destroyed by subsequent settlements, or is somewhere that there just hasn't been a good reason for a full excavation.  Still, who knows what we might eventually find.    The Matsurokan appears to stick with the dating of the Yayoi period from about 300 BCE.  This is based largely on assumptions regarding the development of different pottery styles.  Recent research has suggested that this should be pushed back to about 800 or even 1000 BCE, suggesting a more gradual development.  For our purposes, it is enough to note that this site appears to cover from the final Jomon era in Kyushu to the coming of wet rice agriculture with the advancing Yayoi culture. Based on what was found at the site, the wet rice paddies were created in what at least one scholar has suggested as a “primitive” wet rice paddy.  The paddies themselves appear to have been placed in a naturally swampy area, irrigated by a natural stream.  This would have made flooding the fields relatively simple, without the large ponds or waterworks required to cover a more extensive area.  This may have sufficed for a small village, possibly only a handful of families living together and working the land. Besides the impressions of the paddies themselves, various tools, pottery, and more were also found at the site.  Stone harvesting knives were plentiful—a semicircular stone knife that was held in the fingers of one hand, allowing a harvester to grasp the stalks and cut them quickly.  This was the standard method of harvesting prior to the arrival of the sickle, or kama, and is still in use in some parts of China and Southeast Asia.  It is more labor intensive than the sickle, but provides some benefits in the consistency and lack of waste product. The Matsurokan demonstrates how a lot of the Yayoi tools are, in fact, still in use in one form or another in different cultures that also absorbed rice cultivation, showing how widespread it became. In addition, there are artifacts such as shards of pottery showing what looks to be the imprint of a woven fabric, and various equipment for weaving and sewing.  We have some beams and posts from buildings, which give us something at least try to guess at how things were put together. There are bones of various animals as well as stone arrowheads.  There are also fish and even dugong bones, suggesting they also made a living from the nearby sea.  And there are various bits of jewelry, including magatama, and what appears to be a shark's tooth with holes drilled in so it could be worn on a cord.    There are also carbonized rice grains found at the site, likely grown there. We don't have any ancient strains of rice that can be proven to come from these fields, but in their reconstruction, outside the museum, they have rebuilt some of the rice fields and grow old rice variants in them.  This is used, in part, to teach local schoolchildren about rice cultivation – in fact, local schools are allocated individual paddies each growing season. Besides the rice paddies, the Matsurokan also boasts several reconstructed dwellings.  These are similar to ones you might find elsewhere depicting what life was like back in the Yayoi period. As the Yayoi period gave way to the kofun, we do see some mounded tombs in the area, though not quite as many as in others.  Matsura appears to be rather rural. Around the Heian period, we see the rise of a local group that comes to be known as the Matsura group, or Matsura-tou, which eventually consolidated into the Matsura family.  There are several lineages claiming that the Matsura family descended from the Minamoto or Abe clans or through branch families thereof.  Matsura-to itself is sometimes called the 48 factions of Matsura.  It wasn't as much a family as an alliance of local warriors, each with their own base of operations.  I can't quite tell if the lineage of the later Matsura clan, as they were known, were meant to represent a single lineage or the various lineages that came together.  For all we know, they may have married into official families or otherwise concocted lineages to help legitimize them as much as anything else—this far out from the center, in the 11th century, there wasn't necessarily as much oversight. Early in the 11th century they also had a chance to prove themselves with the Toi invasion – that was the Jurchen invasion we mentioned last couple episodes.  After the Toi invaders attacked Tsushima and Iki, they set their sites on Hakata Bay, which was the closest landing to the Dazaifu, the Yamato government in Kyushu.  They were chased off and headed down the coast.  Minamoto Tomo is said to have led the forces that repelled the Toi invaders, who finally departed altogether, striking one more time on Tsushima before heading back to wherever they came from. Minamoto Tomo is said, at least in some stories, to have been the founder of the Matsura clan, or at least the leader of the 48 factions, which then coalesced into the Matsura clan, which eventually would run the Hirado domain. Over two hundred and fifty years after the Toi Invasion would come the Mongols.  If the Toi were bad, the Mongols were much worse.  The Toi were a band of marauders, who caused a lot of havoc, but do not appear to have had state backing.  The Mongols were perhaps more appropriately the Yuan empire, who had already conquered the Yellow river valley and were working on the Song dynasty along the Yangzi.  While the Toi had brought with them Goryeo warriors as well—who may or may not have joined up willingly—the Mongols had huge armies from all over that they could throw at a problem. As we talked about in the past two episodes, the Mongols swept through Tsushima and Iki and then headed straight for Hakata, the closest landing zone to the Dazaifu, the government outpost in Kyushu.  Even during the height of the Kamakura shogunate, this was still an important administrative center, and would have given the Mongols a huge advantage on holding territory and eventually sweeping up the archipelago. Fortunately, they were stopped.  Whether it was the gumption, skill, and downright stubbornness of their samurai foes or the divine wind that swept up from the ocean, the Mongols were turned back, twice. During each of these invasions, the Matsura clan and others rushed to the defense of the nation, but unlike with the Toi invasions, there do not appear to have been any serious battles along the Matsuura coastline—not that I can make out, anyway. After the Mongol invasion, Kyushu was not left out of the troubles that would follow, including the downfall of the Hojo, the rise of the Ashikaga, and the eventual breakdown of the shogunal system into the period known as the Warring States period.  Through it all the Matsura continued to ply the seas and encourage the trade from which they and others, like the Sou of Tsushima, came to depend on.  They also allied with other entrepreneurial seafarers, known to others as pirates, and they started trading with a group of weird looking people with hairy beards and pale skin, who came to be known as the Nanban, the southern barbarians—known to us, primarily, as the Portuguese. One faction of the Matsura were the Hata—no relation to the Hata that set up in what would become the Kyoto region in the early periods of Yamato state formation.  The Hata ruled the area that would become Karatsu, but eventually they were taken over by the Ryuzoji, who were allied with Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi's interest in the Karatsu and Matsura area had to do with its easy access to the continent.  And so Hideyoshi began to pay attention to Nagoya, at the end of the peninsula down from Karatsu.  And no, not *that* Nagoya.  If you hear Nagoya, today, you are probably talking about the bustling metropolis in Aichi, which was where Toyotomi himself got his start, growing up and going to work for the local warlord, named Oda Nobunaga.  Due to a quirk of Japanese names and how they read particular characters, this is a different Nagoya. The Kyushu Nagoya had been one of the Matsura trading posts, run by a sub-branch of the Hata family, who had built a castle on the site.  Hideyoshi had much grander plans for the area.  In 1591 he began work on a massive castle and associated castle town.  This castle was to be his new headquarters, and he moved his entire retinue there from Osaka, with an expectation that all of the daimyo would follow him.  Sure enough, they showed up with their own vassals, setting up camps around the peninsula and in the new city-to-be. The castle was the base of operations from which Hideyoshi coordinated the invasions of Korea.  It was a massive undertaking, and extremely impressive.  The city itself sprung up, and although the wood was still new, and the buildings somewhat hastily put together, it was soon a bustling metropolis and briefly became the center of art and culture in the entire archipelago. Hideyoshi himself had a teahouse built within the confines of the castle, where he apparently spent most of his days, even when receiving reports on how things were going across the sea on the archipelago.  The city had a Noh theater, as well.  It must have been a sight to see. As for the castle itself, based on the remains, it was massive.  It appears to use the contours of the hill upon which it sits.  It seems there was a previous castle there of some kind, and it is unclear how much this was merely expanded, but Hideyoshi's new castle was truly monumental, with a labyrinth of gates to get in -- similar  to Himeji Castle, for anyone who has been there, but with a serious vertical incline as well.  Nagoya Castle was second only to Osaka castle, and yet it was erected quickly—only 8 months.  I guess that's what you can do when you can mobilize all of the daimyo across Japan.  Even today, ruined as it is, the walls tower over you, and you can spend hours wandering the grounds. For all that it was impressive, the good times at Nagoya Castle lasted only for a brief seven years—when Hideyoshi passed away, the council of regents moved back to Osaka, and Nagoya castle was deliberately destroyed, stones removed from the walls such that it could never survive a true siege. This was a sign to the Korean peninsula – the Joseon court - that, with the death of the taiko, Japan had given up any pretext of conquering the peninsula. Today, only the stones and earthworks remain of the briefly thriving city, but on the grounds is a wonderful museum that catalogs this particular slice of Medieval life.  The Nagoya Castle Museum of Saga prefecture is off the beaten path—there is no train, so you'll need to take a bus or private car to get there—but it is well worth it. The museum itself is dedicated to Japanese and Korean cross-strait relations, which feels a bit like atonement given that the castle was built with conquest in mind. Of course, the centerpiece of the Museum is the castle, but it also does a good job telling the story of relations between the peninsula and the archipelago.  It starts in the ancient times, talking about how, even during the Jomon period, there were commonalities in fishhooks and similar equipment found from Kyushu up through the Korean peninsula.  From there, of course, trade continued, as we've seen in our journey through the Chronicles.  It talks about some of the shared cultural items found from the Yayoi through the Kofun, and also demonstrates how some of the earliest Buddhist statues have clear similarities to those found in Silla.  It goes over the various missions back and forth, and even gives a map of the Toi Invasion that we talked about hitting Tsushima and Iki. The Mongol invasion is also heavily talked about, but not nearly so much as the invasion of Korea.  There is another reproduction of the letter of King Sejeong, with the faked seal from the Sou clan in Tsushima.  This of course, was the period when they built Nagoya-jo into a castle and city of at least 100,000 people, almost overnight.  Even the Nanban were there, trading in the city while supplies from across the country were gathered and shipped off to keep troops fed on the invasion of Korea. There are plenty of images from this time—from a Ming envoy to Nagoya castle to images of the invasion from the Korean perspective, with Koreanized samurai manning the walls of the castles they had taken.  They don't exactly lionize the samurai, but they don't accentuate some of the more horrific things, either, like the piles of ears taken from those killed because taking their heads, as was standard practice in older days, was too cumbersome. There is also some discussion of relations afterwards—of the Joseon embassies, though those went through Hakata, Nagoya-jo having long been abandoned at that point.  For reasons one can probably understand, it doesn't go into the post-Edo relations, as that is much more modern history. After the destruction of Nagoya castle, the area was largely abandoned, but the city of Karatsu proper really thrived during the Edo period.  Karatsu was also a castle town, as we've mentioned, but a bit out of the way.  As sailing ships were now more sturdy and able to handle longer sea crossings, it was now often Hakata, in Fukuoka, that received much of the trade, and the Dutch traders who had replaced the Portuguese, were limited to Dejima, in Nagasaki. When Hideyoshi swept through, the Hata were not exactly considered trustworthy, and were placed under the Nabeshima, a branch of their rivals, the Ryuzouji.  During the invasion of Korea, the Hata rebelled, and were destroyed for it in 1593.  Their territory was given to Terazawa Hirotaka, who had been put in charge of the construction of Nagoya castle and later put in charge of the logistics for the invasion effort from the Kyushu side.  As a result, he was granted the lands formerly controlled by the Hata, including Karatsu, and what would become the Karatsu domain. Hirotaka could see which way the wind blew—in more ways than one.  After Hideyoshi's death, he supported Tokugawa Ieyasu, allowing him to keep and even expand his fief.  He redirected the Matsura river—then known as the Hata river—to its present course, and he built a pine grove along the northern beach that is the third largest such grove in all of Japan.  Known as the “Niji no Matsubara”, or the ”Rainbow Pine Forest” for its shape, it was erected as a windbreak to protect the precious farmland just on the other side.  It is still there today, still managed, and quite famous.  You can drive through the pine trees or stop and walk through them, even out to the beach.   And there is even a fantastic burger truck that parks along the main road through the pine grove, so you can enjoy a lovely picnic among the trees. The Terazawa would not remain in place for very long.  During the Shimabara rebellion of the early 17th century—a rebellion based on either taxes or Christianity, depending on whom you ask—the Terazawa line was extinguished.  Terazawa Katataka, then ruler of the Karatsu domain, was held liable for mismanagement of the domain and loss of a castle to the rebels.  He had land confiscated and he felt publicly humiliated, and so he took his own life while he was in Edo.  As he had no heir, the Terazawa line died out. Karatsu domain went through a variety of hands after that.  Its value fluctuated, but it is generally thought that the real value of the domain, thanks to the ability to trade, was well beyond what it was assessed to produce.  As such it was a lucrative position, and also held sway as a check against Nagasaki, watching the trade there with the Dutch merchants.  Because of all of this, the lord of Karatsu was also banned from holding certain government positions, so as not to distract from their duties, making the position something of a blessing and a curse. Through the years, Karatsu thrived.  They were and are still known for a type of traditional pottery, known as Karatsumono, or Karatsuware, and they maintain elaborate festivals.  One of the festivals, the Karatsu Kunchi, is considered a UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage.The Karatsu Kunchi is an annual parade where neighborhood associations carry giant floats through the city from Karatsu Shrine down to the shore.  It was inspired, in the early 19th century, by the famous Gion Matsuri of Kyoto—a wealthy merchant saw that and donated the first lion-head float to Karatsu Shrine.  Later, others would create their own floats. These floats, known as “Hikiyama” or “pulled mountains” can be five or six meters high and weigh anywhere from two to five tons.  There appear to be 14 hikiyama, currently, though there used to be 15—a black lion is currently missing.  The floats have gone through a few iterations, but are largely the same, and often have some relationship to the neighborhoods sponsoring them. From Matsura, aka Matsuro-koku, we went north along the coast of Kyushu to Itoshima, thought to the be old country of Ito-koku, and beyond that, the Na-koku of Fukuoka.  We'll cover both of those in our next and final installment of our Gishiwajinden tour. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This is Part 3 of our Gishiwajinden Tour--following the route of the Wei embassy through the land of Wa and looking at the various locations along the way.  So far we've looked at the old land of Gaya, as represented at Gimhae, the site of the old Geumgwan Gaya, and the island of Tsushima, on the border.  This episode we look at the next island:  Iki. It might be easy to overlook Iki--it was neither the center nor exactly the periphery.  From the point of view of those in the court or those outside it was rather "mid", in a literal sense.  However, it was certainly at the center of its own vibrant history, which was certainly important to everyone there, and hosted a thriving community. It is also a great place to visit in the modern day: something of a hidden gem for anyone looking for a slightly more out of the way place to visit, with a slower pace than cities like Tokyo. For more, see our blog page:  https://www.sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/iki-koku Rough Translation: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Tour Part 3: Iki-koku. As regular listeners know, we are currently taking a break from the Chronicles.  With the Isshi Incident of 645—see Episode 107—we are about to get into the time known as “Taika” or “Great Change”.  Spoiler alert: This is the rise of Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou; Nakatomi Kamako, aka Nakatomi Kamatari, the progenitor of the Fujiwara family; and more.  It is the beginning of what is known as the Ritsuryo System, the idea of a state governed by laws and punishments similar to what we see on the continent, based largely on Confucian principles, but mixed with a healthy dose of local tradition.  There is a lot there, and I want to do it justice.  And so for now I have a little bonus content for you. Earlier this year, Ellen and I took a trip based on the account in the Gishiwajinden, the Wa section of the Weizhi, the section in the Wei Chronicles regarding the trip to visit Queen Himiko of Wa.  In Part 1 we talked about our trip to Gimhae, formerly known as Geumgwan Gaya, a part of the old Gaya—or Kara—confederacy, with close ties to the archipelago.  Part 2 we talked about our next stop, the island of Tsushima.  But we didn't just talk about it in the 3rd century, because if you visit there is so much more to see from an historical perspective. This episode we are talking about the island of Iki, aka Ikijima, though in the Weizhi it is known as its own country:  Iki-koku. Relative to Tsushima, Iki island is much smaller—about one fifth the overall landmass.  However, it is much flatter as well—the highest point is only 212 meters above sea level, compared to Tsushima, which rises to about 649 meters at Mt. Yatate.  This makes Iki an island with a lot of flat land or rolling hills—perfect for the kind of wet rice paddy agriculture that created the population boom in the Yayoi period, which we will talk about here in a minute.  However, I will note that even today the population of Iki is similar to that of Tsushima despite having much less space. The flora and fauna of the island is much closer to that of the rest of the archipelago—in fact, it is nearly identical to what you would find in southwest Kyushu.  This is not surprising given how close it is.  For reference, Hitakatsu, on Tsushima is under 50km from Busan, Korea, and about 147 km to Hakata port in Fukuoka, or 138 km if you depart from Izuhara port instead.  Comparatively, it is about 76 km from Hakata to Iki, and even less—just about 42km—from Iki to Karatsu, south of Fukuoka, and these routes are dotted with islands along the way.  At its closest point, Iki is probably only 20km from Kyushu, but the ferries only stop at certain ports.  Tsushima to Iki, on the other hand, is around 68 km, from Izuhara to Iki.  Iki is about as close to Karatsu as Tsushima is to Pusan, and they are both further away from each other than from their respective larger landmasses.  That makes this leg – Tsushima to Iki - the longest leg in the trip, realistically. Today, both Iki and Tsushima, along with the Goto islands to the south, are all part of Nagasaki prefecture, despite the fact that they are both closer to Saga and Fukuoka prefectures.  This is in part because Iki came under the jurisdiction of the Hirado domain, which also was heavily involved with foreign trade through Nagasaki. Today, Iki is broken up into roughly four areas.  This includes Katsumoto, Ashibe, Indoji, and Gonoura, based around the four main port towns on the island.  Three of these ports, Ashibe, Indoji, and Gonoura, have ferries that regularly travel to either Tsushima or Kyushu. And all of them have various boats to take people out the islands around Iki, one of the major draws for many people coming to the island being to see the natural beauty of its coastline and surrounding waters.  There is also a small airport. Although Iki is small—you can drive from one end to the other in 40 minutes or less—I highly recommend renting a car, much like Tsushima.  This will be helpful to get to various sites, although be aware that while the main roads are well cared for, there are plenty of roads where it is better to go on foot rather than get stopped by fallen trees and branches in a less well maintained area.  Taxis can be had, but aren't always convenient, and that adds cost and time.  A car will give you much more freedom to get around. Iki is a popular tourist destination, with more people coming during the summer months.  We were there in the off-season, which was somewhat nice, but also meant that many restaurants and the like were closed.  Also, similar to Tsushima, there isn't a konbini—a convenience store—on every street corner.  You can certainly find them, but just be aware.  That said, we never really had a problem finding what we needed. Iki is known for several things.  One, perhaps unsurprisingly, is the squid, and you can see the squid boats in the harbor or out at night.  They have arrays of lights set up, to help draw the squid to the surface, a common technique around the world that makes squid fishing quite distinctive. In addition, Iki island is quite proud of its beef, a much more recent addition.  The flat land allows them to raise cattle, and the Iki raised wagyu cattle, known as Iki-gyu, is highly prized.  You can find several yakiniku restaurants around the island, that particular Japanese style of Korean barbecue where you grill up thinly sliced beef on a hot skillet or even an open grill at your table. An older product is the barley shochu.  Iki island is said to be the birthplace of barley shochu, developing it in the 17th century.  Back then, taxes from the island had to be paid in rice, and there wasn't enough left to make much alcohol, such as traditional sake.  As such, the local farmers started using barley and koji, instead, to make the base alcohol that they then distilled into shochu.  Shochu itself goes back to at least the 16th century, as distilling techniques reached southern Japan via either the Ryukyu kingdom or via the Korean peninsula—records are unclear, as these techniques reached both places before Japan, and Kyushu had connections to each.  That said, early shochu was made with rice, and later it would be made with cheaper ingredients, such as barley, in the case of Iki, or sweet potato, in Satsuma, modern Kagoshima.  These methods spread to other parts of Japan. There are plenty of other food options available on the island as well, and I don't think we had a bad meal anywhere we went. And so we left Izuhara port, on Tsushima, early in the morning and arrived at Ashibe port around lunchtime.  We had arranged a car to meet us at the port, and after grabbing a bite at a locally renowned yakinikuya, we decided to start getting our historical bearings on the island.   Our main objective on Iki island was to see the Yayoi site of Harunotsuji and the Iki-koku Museum, the museum of the country of Iki. Quick note for anyone looking this up:  The “Haru” in “Harunotsuji” is typically pronounced “Hara” outside of Kyushu and Okinawa.  This affects a lot of placenames in Kyushu, including Iki, and likely comes from remnants of an old dialect of Japanese spoken in this area.  Whatever the reason, if you look up the site in Japanese you may want to type “Hara-no-tsuji” to help find the right kanji. Harunotsuji site is an incredible find in regards to the Yayoi period.  It was a large settlement built on flat land in the interior of the island.  Today it is surrounded by rice fields, and fortunately nobody else seems to have built up on the raised hills where the settlement once stood, allowing the site to remain for us to find years later.  This is one of the better preserved sites from the Yayoi period, and is often touted as the likely center of activity in Iki during that period.  Of course, as with other sites, like Yoshinogari, we can only see those sites  that were preserved—those that were built upon in later generations may not have left any trace.  However, in this case there's clear evidence that there was a thriving community here.  And because of that, and the tremendous effort they've put into reconstructing the site, as well as the excellent museum, we wanted to make sure that we gave Iki a visit. There aren't many museums on Iki island, but the Iki-koku museum ranks up there with some of the best we've visited.  The building itself is built to blend into the landscape, and from the observation tower you can look out over the Harunotsuji site.  The museum provides an automated introduction to the area, with a small film depicting what they believe life was probably like back in the Yayoi period.  From there you travel down a hallway that takes you through the history of Iki, but eventually deposits you in a room focused on the Yayoi period.  Here they show a reconstructed boat, as well as a large diorama of the Harunotsuji site. One of the major finds at Harunotsuji is what appears to be a dock, reinforced with rocks, similar to what they find on the continent.  This dock was at a small stream that was once larger, and was likely used to ferry goods and people from Harunotsuji to a settlement or outpost on the shore.  It gives greater insight into what trade and life looked like. Speaking of which, props to the museum for their excellent use of often comical figures in their diorama, which is clearly made to appeal to young and old alike.  They help humanize the figures, and each part of the layout that they created of the site tells a story about what was going on. In addition to the diorama of the site, and what it may have looked like, there were also actual Yayoi era pots that were there which you could pick up and handle yourself.  I have to admit that I did this with some trepidation, even knowing that these were not particularly special, and that there are many pots and shards that are found at sites like these.  Still, it was something to actually handle a pot that was made back in that time—something that was made by an actual person living back then and used for whatever purpose before it was discarded or lost, only to be found centuries later.  Besides the room on the site, there is another side to the museum in that it is a working archaeological center.  You can see the lab where people are working, and they also have a room where you can see the stacks—the giant shelves with all of the historical and archaeological bits and bobs that weren't on display for one reason or another.  That is something that many people don't always appreciate:  For many museums, only a portion of their collection is actually on display.  It was really great to see all of that out in the open. The museum also has a café and some function rooms, as well as a giant observation tower, from which it feels like you can see the entire island, and beyond.  You could definitely look down and see the site, but you could also see some of the more distant islands as well. From the museum we went down to see the actual Harunotsuji site.  There is another museum there, which was a little less impressive but still quite informative, and it was where you park and then walk over to the site itself.  And here I admit that it was getting late, so we came back to it another day, but it doesn't really take that long to see the site itself. Most of the site sits on a rise of land that sits just a little higher than the surrounding fields, with a gentle slope to it.  It is oddly shaped, likely because they used the natural contours of the land rather than explicitly building up a terrace.  There is another rise towards one end of the settlement, with what may have been a fence around the area, indicating that the buildings in that area were set aside as special.  There are also ditches that appear to have been purposefully dug to separate a part of the rise from the area of the settlement, as buildings were apparently found on one side but not the other.  What was found was a small area surrounded by a moat, generally thought to have been used for some kind of ritual. At the site today are reconstructed buildings of multiple kinds, based on the archeological findings.  There are pit buildings, buildings sitting flush on the ground, as well as raised buildings, all based likely on the arrangements and size of post-holes and the like.  There also appears to have been some kind of gate or barrier structure, also based on postholes, which they have physically reconstructed. It is always tricky to interpret what a building looked like other than guessing at its general shape and size.  Extremely large post-holes likely held larger posts, which would make particular sense if they were for a tall structure, like a watchtower, but exact architectural features such as doorways, roof structure, etc. are derived based on other examples as well as Shinto shrine architecture, which seems to originate from some of the early Yayoi buildings. There were also some finds in the surrounding areas, including what appears to have been a stone-lined dock for boats to pull up, some kind of guard post to inspect people entering or leaving the settlement, and moats, which likely surrounded the settlement as well. Harunotsuji is not the only Yayoi site that has been excavated on Iki island, but nothing else is quite so large.  Put in context with other archaeological sites from the same time period, Harunotsuji is thought to have been the most powerful, and therefore where the ruler, or the quote-unquote “King”, of Iki would have lived. Here I'd note that the interpretation of Harunotsuji as a kingly capital is quite prevalent in the local literature, but what exactly was a “king” in this sense isn't fully explored.  As we talked about two episodes back with Gimhae and the quote-unquote “Kingdom” of Gaya, Iki-koku probably better fits the English term of a large chiefdom, rather than a kingdom.  However, that would also likely apply to Queen Himiko, as well—even if her chiefdom dwarfed Iki-koku by comparison. That said, there certainly appears to be a social stratification of some kind going on at the site, especially with a special area clearly set aside at one end of the settlement.  Was that where a shaman-king—or queen—similar to Himiko carried out private, arcane rites on behalf of the entire settlement?  Perhaps the entire island?  Or is it something else? Unfortunately, we can't really know, at least not right now.  However, we do know that it was an important part of the trade routes from the continent out to the archipelago.  This isn't just because of the Weizhi, or the common sense that this is the clearest route between the two, but also because of artifacts found at the site, which include abundant goods from the continent.  In addition we found evidence of dogs, armor, shields, and various pots. One thing I didn't see evidence of was a large funkyubo, like at Yoshinogari, where they buried people in pots on a large, communal cemetery mound.  Here the highest elevations appear to have been used for living structures.  There were graves discovered, and some of these were the pot-style burials found at Yoshinogari and the continent, and others were rectangular, stone-lined coffins, similar to those used on the Tsushima kofun:  they are lined with large, flat slabs that define a rectangle, into which the body is placed, and then flat slabs of stone are used to cover it back up. Harunotsuji shows signs of habitation from the start of the Yayoi period to the beginning of the Kofun period.  After that, though, the trail grows a bit cold. We do know, however, that people were still living on Iki through the Kofun period—we assume they didn't just pack up their bags and leave—and that is thanks to the many kofun found across the island.  There are some 280 kofun preserved today, and Edo period accounts had that number at more like 340.  Indeed, Iki has one of the largest and best preserved collection of kofun of all of Kyushu.   Many are smaller kofun, but there are plenty of groups of large kingly kofun.  A group of the larger kingly kofun can be found in the border area between Katsumoto-cho and Ashibe-cho, due west of Ashibe port.  This includes the large Soroku Kofun, Oni-no-iwaya Kofun, the Sasazuka Kofun, as well as the Kakegi kofun and the Yurihata Kofun-gun.  Soroku kofun, a large, keyhole shaped tomb, boasts a length of 91 meters, making it not only the largest on the island, but the largest in all of Nagasaki prefecture.   Kofun culture on the island differed slightly from elsewhere.  For instance, there is evidence of multiple burials in the same tomb, suggesting that they were viewed more like family mausoleums than  simply a single tomb structure. The earliest kofun found on Iki so far can be dated to about the latter half of the 5th century, with most of them being built in the 6th to 7th centuries.  Many are stone chambers with a horizontal entryway, which in the case of the Kakegi and Sasazuka kofun, are open to those who want to get in and explore.  Be aware, though, as many signs tell you, various local residents have also made these tombs their homes, including bats, centipedes, snakes, and more.  Most of them are relatively harmless, but it is always good to know what you are getting into. With the earliest kofun on the island dating to about the 5th century, this does pose a slight question yet to be answered by the archaeological record:  Where were people living in the century between the end of Harunotsuji and the start of the kofun building period?  Heck, where were people living on the island at all?  We certainly know where the dead were buried. Looking at a map, one probably assumes that many of the kingly kofun would have been built somewhat near a population center.  After all, you don't build giant burial mounds just to hide them—these would have likely been visible to people in some way, shape, or form.  I would note that modern roads, likely built on earlier pathways, wind in between the kofun, even today. Personally, I can't help but notice that the Iki Kokubunji temple, the Provincial temple built in the 8th century, was quite close to some of the kingly kofun in Katsumoto.  It is said that this temple was originally built as the family temple of the Iki clan.  As one might guess from the name, the Iki were the traditional rulers of Iki, officially appointed by Yamato as the “Agata-nushi” or district lord, and later as “Shima no Miyatsuko”—the island equivalent of a “Kuni no Miyatsuko”.  Various biographies trace the Iki back to various lineages close to or intertwined with the Nakatomi.  However, this is not without some debate, and it is entirely possible that any such ties were fabricated to give the Iki clan greater clout and stature.  It is possible, and even likely, that the Iki clan grew out of the ruling elite on Iki island. In addition, we have the old Tsukiyomi Jinja, said to be the oldest on the island, and the Kunikatanushi shrine built right next to the Kokubunji site.  The Tsukiyomi shrine is dedicated to the moon god, who is said to be the god of navigation, among other things, and this is the clan shrine of the Iki clan. It is unclear, but seems plausible that the center of the Iki polity may have shifted north, to the modern Kokubun area.  If so, and if this continued to be the area of the regional government headquarters through the Nara period and beyond, then it is possible that any earlier settlements would have simply been covered up and even erased by later buildings and structures.  I don't think we'll ever truly know, though, unless something significant is uncovered. We do have some historical records of later Iki, quite understandable as it was where many of the envoys and expeditions to and from the mainland would have stopped. In the 11th century, Iki, along with Tsushima, was attacked by pirates from the mainland, thought to be of Jurchen descent, in an event called the Toi Invasion, which caused quite a bit of destruction.  After that we see the rise of the Matsura clan.  They arose in the Matsura area of Hizen province, just a little ways over from Karatsu.  That name may be related to “Matsuro”, but we'll talk more about that when we get to Karatsu. The Matsura largely came to power thanks to their navy—which was a navy to some and pirates to others.  They ended up gaining a foothold in Iki island. Whatever plans they had, however, met with a giant setback in 1274.  As we discussed last episode, that was when the first Mongol invasion hit Japan, and after steamrolling through Tsushima they began a bloody conquest of Iki.  The video game, Ghosts of Tsushima, which we talked about fairly extensively last episode for, well, obvious reasons, actually has an expanded Iki island area for those who want to try fighting off this invasion for themselves.  There are numerous reminders across the island of the invasions, both in 1274 and 1281.  The death toll was catastrophic, and even today parents will often tell their children that if they don't behave the Mongols will come back and take them away. In 1338, soon afer the Ashikaga shogun came to power, Ashikaga Takauji and his brother, Tadayoshi, directed the erection of temples in all 66 provinces, including Iki, to pray for the repose of those who died in battle during turbulent times, including the Mongol invasions and the later civil war.  That temple is still there, just a little ways north from the Harunotsuji site. The temple building itself only dates from the Edo period, as it burned down multiple times, but it is still said that it is the oldest extant temple building on the island.  There is a large cedar tree thought to be over a thousand years old, which may have even been there during the Toi and Mongol invasions.  There are also signs of Christian activity in some of the artwork, if you know what to look for. When Europeans arrived in Japan in the 16th century, they brought not only guns, but also a new religion:  Christianity.  Priests were given permission to set up churches and convert people.  Some daimyo converted—whether out of true faith or simply to get more lucrative trading deals with Europeans—and they often made their entire fief convert as well.  When Christianity was eventually outlawed, many Christian communities went underground, becoming known as “Hidden Christians.”  A lot of these communities continued, especially in the Iki and Goto islands, which were a little further away from shogunal authority.  They continued despite the lack of priests and Bibles, often using iconography that could be plausibly passed off as Buddhist or Shinto in nature.  Many remained in hiding throughout the Edo period, only revealing themselves after the Meiji government came in and issued a law protecting the freedom of religion, including Christianity.  Around Iki you will occasionally find little hints of such communities' existence. The 16th century saw more than just European traders and new religions.  The Matsura clan retained control over the island from their base in Hirado, even during the tumultuous era of Warring States.  Last episode we talked about how Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the new Taiko, came out of that time and declared war on the Joseon court, in Korea. To start with he built Nagoya castle on Kyushu and moved himself and all of his retainers out to it.  And before you ask, no, this probably isn't the Nagoya castle you are thinking of.  Similar name, but different kanji characters Anyway, from Nagoya on the coast of Kyushu, supply lines were run out to Tsushima, and then across to Busan.  To defend against a counterattack by Joseon forces, they built castles along the way as well.  In Iki, this meant building several, including Katsumoto-jo, at the northern end of the island, under the command of Matsura Shigenobu. Later, Tokugawa Ieyasu, eager to restore good will with the peninsula, would have the castles intentionally ruined, often by removing key stones so that they could no longer be considered defensible.  Today you can climb up to the Katsumoto-jo castle site and see the stones of the main gate and get a tremendous view from the observation platform. Katsumoto Castle isn't the only thing in Katsumoto that still remains from that time.  There is a local shrine, the Shomogu Shrine, which has a gate donated by Kato Kiyomasa, one of the generals who led troops on the invasion of Korea.  They also hold a cup that he is said to have donated. This shrine is certainly interesting and worth a visit.  Traditionally, they say that it was built on the site where Jingu Tennou departed from Iki during her legendary conquest of the Korean peninsula.  According to at least one source, at that time she called the place Kazamoto, the place where the wind comes from, and when she returned she changed it to Katsumoto, the place where her victory came from.  Of course, as we know, that whole narrative is rather suspect.  It is possible that the area was known as Kazamoto and that changed to Katsumoto. It also doesn't help that this is also where the Mongol army came ashore back in the 13th century, and I suspect that not much remained from before.  Still, there is a stone that is said to have the print of Jingu's horse's foot as she left, and it was at least connected to the ocean, given its location. There is a contention that this shrine may have once been known as “Nakatsu” shrine, literally “Middle port” shrine, one of the shrines listed in the Engi Shiki.  However, there is another Nakatsu shrine that also claims this distinction, also in Katsumoto-cho.  The Shomogu shrine theory holds that this was a branch shrine of Shomogu shrine, then known as Nakatsu.  This makes some sense as the current Nakatsu shrine is more inland, not exactly lending itself to being the “Middle Port” Shrine.  Then again, it would have referred to “Nakatsumiya”, meaning the “middle shrine” or “middle palace”, which puts us back at square one. More important than the actual history of this shrine, at least in the 16th century, is the fact that those generals heading off to conquer the Korean peninsula definitely would have appreciated praying to the spirit of Jingu Tennou before heading off to try it a second time.  Shomogu Shrine clearly had a link with her by then. By the way, slight side note, the “Shomo” of “Shomogu” literally means “Holy Mother”.  In this case it is referencing the “Holy Mother” Jingu Tenno, who was pregnant when she left Japan and didn't give birth until she came back—not quite a virgin birth.  “Shomo” was also the term that Christians, particularly hidden Christians, used to reference the Virgin Mary.  While I cannot find any evidence that Shomogu Shrine was connected with Christianity—its existence and worship there predates that religion coming to the archipelago by some time—it is still one of those things that the Hidden Christians could have used to their advantage, hiding their worship of the Virgin Mary and her holy child behind the name for Jingu Tenno. Now the town of Katsumoto, although only briefly a castle town, was still quite important through the Edo period, and the main street certainly recalls a time long past.  We stayed in a ryokan there that was over 100 years old, and there is both a sake brewery, and a craft beer brewery inside an old sake brewery, just down the street.  It isn't a big town, but it has character. In the Edo period, many of the Joseon envoys stopped in Katsumoto on their way to or from the archipelago.  These envoys typically had around 400 to 450 of their own people from Korea, but by the time they reached Iki they were joined by about 800 quote-unquote “guides” from Tsushima who were there to help them with whatever they needed.  Technically it was up to the Matsura daimyo, in Hirado, to provide for their needs, but it seems that more often than not that role more immediately fell to the wealthiest family on the island, the Toi family. The Toi family—not to be confused with the Toi invasion—made their money from capturing whales; a lucrative but dangerous enterprise, especially given the state of the boats at the time.  The stone wall of their mansion can still be seen in Katsumoto, though it is now wedged in between other buildings, as the mansion itself is otherwise long gone.  They may not have been daimyo, but they were apparently the rough equivalent for the people of Iki, and certainly Katsumoto. The envoys ended up calling at Katsumoto about 19 times between 1607 and 1811—11 times on the outbound trip and 8 times going the other direction.  For one mission, in the 18th century, we are even provided the amount of food that they required, which included 1500 sweet potatoes, 15,000 eggs, 7 and a half tons of abalone, 3 tons of squid, 7 and a half tons of rice, and 15 koku of sake, equaling about 1500 standard bottles, today.  A drawing of the 1748 envoy showed parts of Katsumoto that you can still visit, today, including the old boat launch, the Shomogu shrine and nearby streets, Shigayama, and what is today “Itsukushima Shrine”, related to the worship of Susano'o's three daughters, as are the Munakata shrines and the Itsukushima shrine on Miyajima with the famous torii in the water. Besides the historical sites, Iki island offers a plethora of other activities and attractions.  The famous monkey rock, or Saruiwa, is a famed natural feature, as are many others.  There are also beaches that people appear to enjoy—though we were there in the winter, so not great—or just getting out in a boat and seeing the natural beauty of the island.  There are also many more shrines and temples to visit; Iki has its own 88 temple pilgrimage based on the 88 temple pilgrimage of places like Shikoku.  You can also do a pilgrimage of the many Shinto shrines, some of which are mentioned in historical documents like the Engi Shiki and others that are more modern.  While many of the buildings are often newer, and things have of course changed over the centuries, these sites often still contain connections to history, and may even have historical treasures in their storehouses or on the grounds. We only had a limited time, so tried to keep our trip focused on more of the Yayoi and Kofun era stuff.  We both agreed we would gladly go back again in a heartbeat. Next up, we caught the ferry from Indoji on Iki over to Karatsu port on Kyushu, what is thought to be the site of the old Matsuro kingdom.  While others might point to the modern Matsuura city area, this region is may be more likely, and we'll talk about that next episode.  In addition, we'll talk about Karatsu, which literally means “Chinese port”, and about the nearby castle ruins of Nagoya castle—an area that was, for about seven brief years, in the late 16th century the de facto capital of Japan. But that will be next time. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This is Part 2 of our special Gishiwajinden Tour from Gaya to Tsushima, Iki, Matsuro, Ito, and Na--aka Gimhae and Busan to Tsushima, Iki, Karatsu, Itoshima, and Fukuoka.  This time we talk about the island of Tsushima, the border island between Japan and Korea.  While itself a difficult place to make a living, it has long been the border--a place for foreign ambassadors, invadors, and pirates alike. For photos and more, check out our blogpost:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/tsushima Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Tour Stop 2: Tsushima. As I mentioned last episode, we are taking a break right now from the workings of the Chronicles while I prep a bit more research on the Taika reform.  As we do so, I'm taking you through a recent trip we took trying to follow the ancient sea routes from Gaya, on the Korean peninsula, across the islands to Na, in modern Fukuoka.  This may have been first described in the Wei Chronicles, the Weizhi, but it was the pathway that many visitors to the archipelago took up through the famous Mongol invasion, and even later missions from the Joseon kingdom on the Korean peninsula. Last episode, we talked about our start at Gimhae and Pusan.  Gimhae is the old Geumgwan Gaya, as far as we can tell, and had close connections with the archipelago as evidenced by the common items of material culture found on both sides of the strait.  From the coast of the Korean peninsula, ships would then sail for the island of Tsushima, the nearest of the islands between the mainland and the Japanese archipelago.  Today, ships still sail from Korea to Japan, but most leave out of the port of Pusan.  This includes regular cruise ships as well as specialty cruises and ferries.  For those who want, there are some popular trips between Pusan and Fukuoka or Pusan all the way to Osaka, through the Seto Inland Sea.  For us, however, we were looking at the shortest ferries, those to Tsushima.  Tsushima is a large island situated in the strait between Korea and Japan.  Technically it is actually three islands, as channels were dug in the 20th century to allow ships stationed around the island to quickly pass through rather than going all the way around. Tsushima is the closest Japanese island to Korea, actually closer to Korea than to the rest of Japan, which makes it a fun day trip from Pusan, so they get a lot of Korean tourists.  There are two ports that the ferries run to, generally speaking.  In the north is Hitakatsu, which is mainly a port for people coming from Korea.  Further south is Izuhara, which is the old castle town, where the So family once administered the island and relations with the continent, and where you can get a ferry to Iki from. Unfortunately for us, as I mentioned last episode, it turned out that the kami of the waves thwarted us in our plans to sail from Busan to Tsushima.  And so we ended up flying into Tsushima Airport, instead, which actually required us to take an international flight over to Fukuoka and then a short domestic flight back to Tsushima.  On the one hand, this was a lot of time out of our way, but on the other they were nice short flights with a break in the Fukuoka airport, which has great restaurants in the domestic terminal.  Furthermore, since we came into the centrally-located Tsushima airport, this route also gave us relatively easy access to local rental car agencies, which was helpful because although there is a bus service that runs up and down the islands, if you really want to explore Tsushima it is best to have a car.  Note that also means having an International Driver's Permit, at least in most cases, unless you have a valid Japanese drivers' license. As for why you need a car:  There is a bus route from north to south, but for many of the places you will likely want to go will take a bit more to get to.  If you speak Japanese and have a phone there are several taxi companies you can call, and you can try a taxi app, though make sure it works on the island.  In the end, having a car is extremely convenient. Tsushima is also quite mountainous, without a lot of flat land, and there are numerous bays and inlets in which ships can hide and shelter from bad weather—or worse.  Tsushima is renowned for its natural beauty.  Flora and fauna are shared with continent and the archipelago.  There are local subspecies of otter and deer found on the islands, but also the Yamaneko, or Mountain Cat, a subspecies of the Eurasian leopard cat that   is only found in Japan on Tsushima and on Iriomote, in the southern Okinawan island chain.  They also have their own breed of horse, as well, related to the ancient horses bred there since at least the 8th century. Tsushima is clearly an important part of Japan, and the early stories of the creation of the archipelago often include Tsushima as one of the original eight islands mentioned in the creation story.  That suggests it has been considered an ancient part of the archipelago since at least the 8th century, and likely much earlier. Humans likely first came to Tsushima on their crossing from what is now the Korean peninsula over to the archipelago at the end of the Pleistocene era, when sea levels were much lower.  However, we don't have clear evidence of humans until later, and this is likely because the terrain made it difficult to cultivate the land, and most of the activity was  focused on making a livelihood out of the ocean. Currently we have clear evidence of humans on the island from at least the Jomon period, including remnants such as shellmounds, though we don't have any clear sign of habitation.  It is possible that fishermen and others came to the islands during certain seasons, setting up fish camps and the like, and then departed, but it could be that there were more permanent settlements and we just haven't found them yet.  Most of the Jomon sites appear to be on the northern part of Tsushima, what is now the “upper island”, though, again, lack of evidence should not be taken as evidence of lack, and there could be more we just haven't found yet.  After all, sites like Izuhara, which was quite populated in later periods, may have disturbed any underlying layers that we could otherwise hope to find there, and perhaps we will one day stumble on something more that will change our understanding.  Things change a bit in the Yayoi period, and we see clear evidence of settlements, pit buildings, graves, and grave goods at various sites up through the Kofun period.   Unsurprisingly, the assembly of goods found include both archipelagic and continental material, which fits with its position in between the various cultures. Understandably, most of these archeological sites were investigated and then either covered back up for preservation or replaced by construction – so in many cases there isn't anything to see now, besides the artifacts in the museum.  But some of the earliest clear evidence that you can still go see today are the several kofun, ancient tumuli, scattered around the island at different points.  Most of the kofun on the island appear to be similar, and overall fairly small.  These are not the most impressive kofun—not the giant mounds found in places like Nara, Osaka, Kibi, or even up in Izumo.  However, to students of the era they are still very cool to see as monuments of that ancient time.  One example of this that we visited was the Niso-kofungun, or the Niso Kofun group.  The Niso Kofungun is not like what you might expect in the Nara basin or the Osaka area.  First, you drive out to the end of the road in a small fishing community, and from there go on a small hike to see the kofun themselves.  Today the mounds are mostly hidden from view by trees, though there are signs put up to mark each one.  Some of them have a more well defined shape than others, too, with at least one demonstrating what appears to be a long, thin keyhole shape, taking advantage of the local terrain.  Most of these were pit style burials, where slabs of local sedimentary rock were used to form rectangular coffins in the ground, in which the individuals were presumably buried.  On one of the keyhole shaped mounds there was also what appears to be a secondary burial at the neck of the keyhole, where the round and trapezoidal sections meet.  However, we don't know who or even what was buried there in some instances, as most of the bones are no longer extant. Besides the distinctively keyhole shaped tomb, two more kofun in the Niso group caught my attention.  One, which is thought to have been a round tomb, had what appeared to be a small stone chamber, perhaps the last of the kofun in this group to be built, as that is generally a feature of later period kofun.  There was also one that was higher up on the hill, which may also have been a keyhole shaped tomb.  That one struck me, as it would likely have been particularly visible from sea before the current overgrown forest  appeared.  There are also plenty of other kofun to go searching for, though some might be a little more impressive than others.  In the next episode, when we talk about the island of Iki, we'll explore that ancient kingdom's much larger collection of kofun. After the mention of Tsushima in the Weizhi in the third century, there is a later story, from about the 6th century, involving Tsushima in the transmission of Buddhism.  This story isn't in the Nihon Shoki and was actually written down much later, so take that as you will.  According to this account, the Baekje envoys who transmitted the first Buddha image to Japan stopped for a while on Tsushima before proceeding on to the Yamato court.  While they were there, the monks who were looking after the image built a small building in which to conduct their daily rituals, effectively building the first Buddhist place of worship in the archipelago.  A temple was later said to have been built on that spot, and in the mid-15th century it was named Bairinji. While the narrative is highly suspect, there is some evidence that the area around Bairinji was indeed an important point on the island.  Prior to the digging of the two channels to connect the east and west coasts, the area near Bairinji, known as Kofunakoshi, or the small boat portage, was the narrowest part of Tsushima, right near the middle, where Aso Bay and Mitsuura Bay almost meet.  We know that at least in the 9th century this is where envoys would disembark  from one ship which had brought them from the archipelago, and embark onto another which would take them to the continent, and vice versa. Likewise, their goods would be carried across the narrow strip of land. This was like a natural barrier and an ideal location for an official checkpoint, and in later years Bairinji temple served as this administrative point, providing the necessary paperwork for crews coming to and from Japan, including the various Joseon dynasty missions in the Edo period. Why this system of portage and changing ships, instead of just sailing around?  Such a system was practical for several reasons.  For one, it was relatively easy to find Tsushima from the mainland.  Experienced ships could sail there, transfer cargo to ships experienced with the archipelago and the Seto Inland Sea, and then return swiftly to Korea.  Furthermore, this system gave Yamato and Japan forewarning, particularly of incoming diplomatic missions.  No chance mistaking ships for an invasion or pirates of some kind, as word could be sent ahead and everything could be arranged in preparation for the incoming mission.  These are details that are often frustratingly left out of many of the early accounts, but there must have been some logistics to take care of things like this. Whether or not Bairinji's history actually goes back to 538, it does have claim to some rather ancient artifacts, including a 9th century Buddha image from the Unified, or Later, Silla period as well as 579 chapters of the Dai Hannya Haramitta Kyo, or the Greater Perfection of Wisdom Sutra, from a 14th century copy.  These were actually stolen from the temple in 2014, but later recovered.  Other statues were stolen two years previously from other temples on Tsushima, which speaks to some of the tensions that still exist between Korea and Japan.  Claims were made that the statues had originally been stolen by Japanese pirates, or wakou, from Korea and brought to Japan, so the modern-day thieves were simply righting an old wrong.  However, Korean courts eventually found that the items should be returned to Japan, though there were those who disagreed with the ruling.  This is an example of the ongoing tensions that can sometimes make study of inter-strait history a bit complex. More concrete than the possible location of a theoretical early worship structure are the earthworks of Kaneda fortress.  This is a mid-7th century fort, created by Yamato to defend itself from a presumed continental invasion.  We even have mention of it in the Nihon Shoki.  It appears to have been repaired in the late 7th century, and then continued to be used until some time in the 8th century, when it was abandoned, seeing as how the invasion had never materialized, and no doubt maintaining the defenses on top of a mountain all the way out on Tsushima would have been a costly endeavor. Over time the name “Kaneda” was forgotten, though the stone and earthworks on the mountain gave the site the name “Shiroyama”, or Castle Mountain, at least by the 15th century.  In the Edo period, scholars set out trying to find the Kaneda fortress mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, and at one point identified this with an area known as Kanedahara, or Kaneda Fields, in the modern Sasu district, on the southwest coast of Tsushima.  However, a scholar named Suyama Don'ou identified the current mountaintop site, which has generally been accepted as accurate.  The earthworks do appear to show the kind of Baekje-style fortifications that Yamato built at this time, which took advantage of the natural features of the terrain.  These fortresses, or castles, were more like fortified positions—long walls that could give troops a secure place to entrench themselves.  They would not have had the impressive donjon, or tenshukaku, that is the most notable feature of of later Japanese and even European castles. Most of the Baekje style castles in Japan are primarily earthworks—for example the Demon's castle in modern Okayama.  Kaneda is unique, though, with about 2.8 kilometers of stone walls, most of which are reportedly in quite good condition.  There were three main gates and remains of various buildings have been determined from post-holes uncovered on the site.  There is a name for the top of the mountain, Houtateguma, suggesting that there may have once been some kind of beacon tower placed there with a light that could presumably be used to signal to others, but no remains have been found. The defensive nature of the position is also attested to in modern times.  During the early 20th century, the Japanese military placed batteries on the fortress, and an auxiliary fort nearby.  These constructions damaged some of the ancient walls, but this still demonstrates Tsushima's place at the edge of Japan and the continent, even into modern times. For all that it is impressive, I have to say that we regrettably did not make it to the fortress, as it is a hike to see everything, and our time was limited.  If you do go, be prepared for some trekking, as this really is a fortress on a mountain, and you need to park and take the Kaneda fortress trail up.   Moving on from the 8th century, we have evidence of Tsushima in written records throughout the next several centuries, but there isn't a lot clearly remaining on the island from that period—at least not extant buildings.  In the records we can see that there were clearly things going on, and quite often it wasn't great for the island.  For instance, there was the Toi Invasion in the 11th century, when pirates—possibly Tungusic speaking Jurchen from the area of Manchuria—invaded without warning, killing and taking people away as slaves.  It was horrific, but relatively short-lived, as it seems that the invaders weren't intent on staying. Perhaps a more lasting impression was made by the invasions of the Mongols in the 13th century.  This is an event that has been hugely impactful on Japan and Japanese history.  The first invasion in 1274, the Mongols used their vassal state of Goryeo to build a fleet of ships and attempted to cross the strait to invade Japan.  The typical narrative talks about how they came ashore at Hakata Bay, in modern Fukuoka, and the Kamakura government called up soldiers from across the country to their defense.  Not only that, but monks and priests prayed for divine intervention to protect Japan.  According to the most common narrative, a kamikaze, or divine wind, arose in the form of a typhoon that blew into Hakata Bay and sank much of the Mongol fleet. That event would have ripple effects throughout Japanese society.  On the one hand, the Mongols brought new weapons in the form of explosives, and we see changes in the arms of the samurai as their swords got noticeably beefier, presumably to do better against similarly armored foes.  The government also fortified Hakata Bay, which saw another attack in 1281, which similarly failed. Though neither attempted invasion succeeded, both were extremely costly.  Samurai who fought for their country expected to get rewarded afterwards, and not just with high praise.  Typically when samurai fought they would be richly rewarded by their lord with gifts taken from the losing side, to include land and property.  In the case of the Mongols, however, there was no land or property to give out.  This left the Kamakura government in a bit of a pickle, and the discontent fomented by lack of payment is often cited as one of the key contributors to bringing down the Kamakura government and leading to the start of the Muromachi period in the 14th century. The invasions didn't just appear at Hakata though.  In 1274,  after the Mongol fleet first left Goryeo on the Korean Peninsula, they landed first at Tsushima and then Iki, following the traditional trade routes and killing and pillaging as they went.  In Tsushima, the Mongol armies arrived in the south, landing at Komoda beach near Sasuura.  Lookouts saw them coming and the So clan hastily gathered up a defense, but it was no use.  The Mongol army established a beachhead and proceeded to spend the next week securing the island. From there they moved on to Iki, the next island in the chain, and on our journey.  Countless men and women were killed or taken prisoner, and when the Mongols retreated after the storm, they brought numerous prisoners back with them.  Although the Mongols had been defeated, they were not finished with their plans to annex Japan into their growing empire.  They launched another invasion in 1281, this time with reinforcements drawn from the area of the Yangtze river, where they had defeated the ethnic Han Song dynasty two years prior.  Again, they landed at Tsushima, but met fierce resistance—the government had been preparing for this fight ever since the last one.  Unfortunately, Tsushima again fell under Mongol control, but not without putting up a fight.  When the Mongols were again defeated, they left the island once again, this time never to return. If you want to read up more on the events of the Mongol Invasion, I would recommend Dr. Thomas Conlan's book, “No Need for Divine Intervention”.  It goes into much more detail than I can here. These traumatic events have been seared into the memories of Tsushima and the nearby island of Iki. Even though both islands have long since rebuilt, memories of the invasion are embedded in the landscape of both islands, and it is easy to find associated historical sites or even take a dedicated tour.   In 2020, the events of the invasion of Tsushima were fictionalized into a game that you may have heard of called Ghost of Tsushima.  I won't get into a review of the game—I haven't played it myself—but many of the locations in the game were drawn on actual locations in Tsushima.  Most, like Kaneda Castle, are fictionalized to a large extent, but it did bring awareness to the island, and attracted a large fan base.  Indeed, when we picked up our rental car, the helpful staff offered us a map with Ghost of Tsushima game locations in case we wanted to see them for ourselves. As I noted, many of the places mentioned in the game are highly fictionalized, as are many of the individuals and groups—after all, the goal is to play through and actually defeat the enemies, and just getting slaughtered by Mongols and waiting for them to leave wouldn't exactly make for great gameplay.  Shrines offer “charms” to the user and so finding and visiting all of the shrines in the in-game world becomes a player goal. And so when fans of the game learned that the torii gate of Watatsumi Shrine, one of the real-life iconic shrines in Tsushima, was destroyed by a typhoon in September of 2020, about a month after the game was released, they came to its aid and raised over 27 million yen to help restore the torii gates.  A tremendous outpouring from the community. And while you cannot visit all of the locations in the game, you can visit Watazumi Shrine, with its restored torii gates that extend into the water. Watatsumi Shrine itself has some interesting, if somewhat confusing, history.  It is one of two shrines on Tsushima that claim to be the shrine listed in the 10th-century Engi Shiki as “Watatsumi Shrine”.  This is believed to have been the shrine to the God of the Sea, whose palace Hiko Hoho-demi traveled down to in order to find his brother's fishhook—a story noted in the Nihon Shoki and which we covered in episode 23.  Notwithstanding that most of that story claims it was happening on the eastern side of Kyushu, there is a local belief that Tsushima is actually the place where that story originated. The popular shrine that had its torii repaired is popularly known as Watatsumi Shrine, today.  The other one is known as Kaijin  Shrine, literally translating to the Shrine of the Sea God, and it is also known as Tsushima no kuni no Ichinomiya; That is to say the first, or primary, shrine of Tsushima.  Some of the confusion may come as it appears that Kaijin shrine was, indeed, the more important of the two for some time.  It was known as the main Hachiman shrine in Tsushima, and may have been connected with a local temple as well.  It carries important historical records that help to chart some of the powerful families of Tsushima, and also claims ownership of an ancient Buddhist image from Silla that was later stolen.  In the 19th century it was identified as the Watatsumi Shrine mentioned in the Engi Shiki, and made Toyotama Hime and Hikohohodemi the primary deities worshipped at the shrine, replacing the previous worship of Hachiman. Shrines and temples can be fascinating to study, but can also be somewhat tricky to understand, historically.  Given their religious nature, the founding stories of such institutions can sometimes be rather fantastical, and since they typically aren't written down until much later, it is hard to tell what part of the story is original and what part has been influenced by later stories, like those in the Nihon Shoki or the Kojiki. Another interesting example of a somewhat unclear history is that of the Buddhist temple, Kokubun-ji.  Kokubunji are provincial temples, originally set up inthe decree of 741 that had them erected across the archipelago, one in each province at the time, in an attempt to protect the country from harm,  Knowing the location of a Kokubunji can therefore often tell you something about where the Nara era provincial administration sat, as it would likely have been nearby.  In many cases, these were probably connected to the local elite, as well. This is not quite as simple with Tsushima Kokubun-ji.  While it was originally designated in the decree of 741,  a later decree in 745 stated that the expenses for these temples would come directly out of tax revenues in the provinces, and at that time Tsushima was excluded.  Moreover, the Kokubunji on nearby Iki island was funded by taxes from Hizen province.  So it isn't until 855 that we have clear evidence of an early provincial temple for Tsushima, in this case known as a Tobunji, or Island Temple, rather than a Kokubunji. The location of that early temple is unknown, and it burned down only two years later when Tsushima was attacked by forces from Kyushu.   It is unclear what happened to it in the following centures, but by the 14th or 15th century it was apparently situated in Izuhara town, near the site of what would become Kaneishi Castle.  It was later rebuilt in its current location, on the other side of Izuhara town.  It burned down in the Edo period—all except the gate, which was built in 1807.  This gate is at least locally famous for its age and history.  It was also the site of the guesthouses for the 1811 diplomatic mission from Joseon—the dynasty that followed Koryeo. Those missions are another rather famous part of the history of Tsushima, which, as we've seen, has long been a gateway between the archipelago and the peninsula.  In the Edo period, there were numerous diplomatic missions from the Joseon dynasty to the Tokugawa shogunate, and these grand affairs are often touted in the history of Tsushima, with many locations specifically calling out the island's deep involvement in cross-strait relations.  Relations which, to really understand, we need to probably start with a look at the famous (or perhaps even infamous) Sou clan. The Sou clan became particularly influential in Tsushima in the 13th century.  The local officials, the Abiru clan, who had long been in charge of the island, were declared to be in rebellion against the Dazaifu, and so Koremune Shigehisa was sent to quell them.  In return, he was made Jito, or land steward, under the Shoni clan, who were the Shugo of Chikuzen and Hizen, including the island of Tsushima.  The Sou clan, descendents of the Koremune, ruled Tsushima ever since, first as vassals of the Shoni , but eventually they ran things outright. Thus, Sou Sukekuni was in charge when the Mongols invaded in 1274.  Despite having only 80 or so mounted warriors under his charge, he attempted to defend the island, dying in battle.  Nonetheless, when the Mongols retreated, the Sou family retained their position.  Later, they supported the Ashikaga in their bid to become shogun, and were eventually named the Shugo of Tsushima, a title they kept until the Meiji period. As we've mentioned, despite its size, Tsushima is not the most hospitable of locations.  It is mountainous, with many bays and inlets, making both cross-land travel and agriculture relatively difficult.  And thus the Sou clan came to rely on trade with the continent for their wealth and support.  Although, “trade” might be a bit negotiable. Remember how the early Japanese regularly raided the coast of the peninsula?  It was frequent enough that a term arose—the Wakou, the Japanese invaders, or Japanese pirates.  In fact, the term “wakou” became so synonymous with piracy that almost any pirate group could be labeled as “wakou”, whether Japanese or not.  Some of them that we know about were downright cosmopolitan, with very diverse crews from a variety of different cultures. Given its position, the rough terrain, and myriad bays that could easily hide ships and other such things, Tsushima made a great base for fishermen-slash-pirates to launch from.  Particularly in harsh times, desperate individuals from Tsushima and other islands might take their chances to go and raid the mainland.  In the early 15th century, the new Joseon dynasty had had enough.  They sent an expeditionary force to Tsushima to put an end to the wakou. The expedition came in 1419.  The year before, the head of the Sou clan, Sou Sadashige, had died.  His son, Sou Sadamori, took his place, but had not yet come of age, leaving actual power in the hands of Souda Saemontarou, leader of the Wakou pirates. Eventually the Joseon forces were defeated by the forces of Tsushima, including the wakou.  The Joseon court considered sending another punitive expedition, but it never materialized.  What did eventually happen, though, was, oddly, closer ties between the peninsula and Tsushima.  Sou Sadamori, who grew up in that tumultuous time, worked to repair relationships with the Joseon court, concluding a treaty that that allowed the Sou clan to basically monopolize trade with the Korean peninsula.  Treaty ports on the peninsula began to attract permanent settlements of Japanese merchants, and these “wakan”, or Japanese districts, came nominally under the jurisdiction of the Sou of Tsushima. The Sou clan maintained their place as the intermediaries with the Joseon state through the 16th century.  Messages sent from the Japanese court to Joseon would be sent to the Sou, who would deliver them to the Joseon court, and in turn handle all replies from the peninsula back to the Japanese mainland.  And this over time led them to develop some, shall we say, special techniques to make sure these exchanges were as fruitful as possible.  You see, the treaties with the Joseon court only allowed fifty ships a year from Tsushima to trade with the peninsula.  But since all of the documents flowed through the Sou, they had plenty of time to study the seals of both courts—those of the Joseon kingdom and those of Japan – and have fake seals created for their own ends.  In part through the use of these fake seals, the Sou clan were able to pretend their ships were coming from other people—real or fake—and thus get around the 50 ship per year limit.  They also used them in other ways to try and maintain their position between the two countries. All of this came to a head when the Taikou, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, began to dream of continental conquest.  Hideyoshi, at this point the undeniable ruler of all of Japan, had a bit of an ego—not exactly undeserved, mind you.  His letter to the Joseon king Seongjo, demanding submission, was quite inflammatory, and the Sou clan realized immediately that it would be taken as an insult.  Not only could it jeopardize relations with the continent, it could also jeopardize their own unique status.  Which is why they decided to modify it using what in modern computer hacker terms might be called a man-in-the-middle attack – which, with their fake seal game, they had plenty of experience with. The Sou were able to modify the language in each missive to make the language more acceptable to either side.  They also dragged their feet in the whole matter, delaying things for at least two years   But Hideyoshi's mind was set on conquest.  Specifically, he had ambitions of displacing the Ming dynasty itself, and he demanded that the Joseon court submit and allow the Japanese forces through to face the Ming dynasty.  The Joseon refused to grant his request, and eventually Hideyoshi had enough.  He threatened an invasion of Korea if the Joseon dynasty didn't capitulate to his requests. Throughout this process, the Sou attempted to smooth things over as best they could.  However, even they couldn't forge the words presented by a face-to-face envoy, nor could they put off Hideyoshi's anger forever.  And thus Tsushima became one of the launching off points for the Japanese invasions of Korea in 1592 and again in 1597.  Tsushima, along with nearby Iki, would have various castles built to help supply the invading forces.  One such castle was the Shimizuyama-jo, overlooking the town of Izuhara.  Some of the walls and earthworks can still be seen up on the mountain overlooking the town, and  there are trails up from the site of Kaneishi castle, down below.  Both of these invasions ultimately failed, though not without a huge loss of life and destruction on the peninsula—a loss that is still felt, even today. The second and final invasion ended in 1598.  Both sides were exhausted and the Japanese were losing ground, but the true catalyst, unbeknownst to those on the continent, was the death of Hideyoshi.  The Council of Regents, a group of five daimyo appointed to rule until Hideyoshi's son, Hideyori, came of age kept Hideyoshi's death a secret to maintain morale until they could withdraw from the continent. With the war over, the Sou clan took the lead in peace negotiations with the Joseon court, partly in an attempt to reestablish their position and their trade.  In 1607, after Tokugawa had established himself and his family as the new shogunal line, the Sou continued to fake documents to the Joseon court, and then to fake documents right back to the newly established bakufu so that their previous forgeries wouldn't be uncovered.  This got them in a tight spot.  In the early 1600s, one Yanagawa Shigeoki had a grudge to settle with Sou Yoshinari, and so he went and told the Bakufu about the diplomatic forgeries that the Sou had committed, going back years.  Yoshinari was summoned to Edo, where he was made to answer the allegations by Shigeoki.  Sure enough, it was proven that the Sou had, indeed, been forging seals and letters, but after examination, Tokugawa Iemitsu, the third Tokugawa Shogun, decided that they had not caused any great harm—in fact, some of their meddling had actually helped, since they knew the diplomatic situation with the Joseon court better than just about anyone else, and they clearly were incentivized to see positive relations between Japan and Korea.  As such, despite the fact that he was right, Yanagawa Shigeoki was exiled, while the Sou clan was given a slap on the wrist and allowed to continue operating as the intermediaries with the Joseon court. There was one caveat, however:  The Sou clan would no longer be unsupervised.  Educated monks from the most prestigious Zen temples in Kyoto, accredited as experts in diplomacy, would be dispatched to Tsushima to oversee the creation of diplomatic documents and other such matters, bringing the Sou clan's forgeries to a halt. Despite that, the Sou clan continued to facilitate relations with the peninsula, including some twelve diplomatic missions from Korea: the Joseon Tsuushinshi.  The first was in 1607, to Tokugawa Hidetada, and these were lavish affairs, even more elaborate than the annual daimyo pilgrimages for the sankin-kotai, or alternate attendance at Edo.  The embassies brought almost 500 people, including acrobats and other forms of entertainment.  Combined with their foreign dress and styles, it was a real event for people whenever they went. Today, these Tsuushinshi are a big draw for Korean tourists, and just about anywhere you go—though especially around Izuhara town—you will find signs in Japanese, Korean, and English about locations specifically associated with these missions. And in years past, they've even reenacted some of the processions and ceremonies. Speaking of Izuhara, this was the castle town from which the Sou administered Tsushima.  Banshoin temple was the Sou family temple, and contains the graves of many members of the Sou family.  In 1528, the Sou built a fortified residence in front of Banshoin, and eventually that grew into the castle from which they ruled Tsushima.  Today, only the garden and some of the stone walls remain.  The yagura atop the main gate has been rebuilt, but mostly it is in ruins.  The Tsushima Museum sits on the site as well.  Nearby there is also a special museum specifically dedicated to the Tsuushinshi missions. Izuhara town itself is an interesting place.  Much of what you see harkens back to the Edo period.  Much like Edo itself, the densely packed wood and paper houses were a constant fire hazard, and there were several times where the entire town burned to the ground.  As such they began to institute firebreaks in the form of stone walls which were placed around the town to help prevent fire from too quickly spreading from one house to the next.  This is something that was instituted elsewhere, including Edo, but I've never seen so many extant firewalls before, and pretty soon after you start looking for them, you will see them everywhere. The area closest to the harbor was an area mostly for merchants and similar working class people, and even today this can be seen in some of the older buildings and property layouts.  There are also a fair number of izakaya and various other establishments in the area.  Further inland you can find the old samurai district, across from the Hachiman shrine.  The houses and the gates in that area are just a little bit nicer.  While many modern buildings have gone up in the town, you can still find traces of the older buildings back from the days of the Sou clan and the Korean envoys. Today, Izuhara is perhaps the largest town on Tsushima, but that isn't saying much—the population of the entire island is around 31,000 people, only slightly larger than that of nearby Iki, which is only about one fifth the size of Tsushuma in land area.  From Izuhara, you can catch a ferry to Iki or all the way to Hakata, in Fukuoka.  You can also always take a plane as well. Before leaving Tsushima, I'd like to mention one more thing—the leopard cat of Tsushima, the Yamaneko.  This has become something of a symbol in Tsushima, but unfortunately it is critically endangered, at least on the island itself.  It is all but gone from the southern part of Tsushima—human encroachment on its habitat has been part of the issue, but so has the introduction of domesticated cats.  The yamaneko itself is about the size of a typical housecat, and might be mistaken for one, though it has a very distinctive spotted appearance.  Domesticated cats have been shown to outcompete their wild cousins, while also passing on harmful diseases, which also affect the population.  Just about everywhere you go you'll see signs and evidence of this special cat. There is also a breeding program in the north if you want to see them for yourself. Even the small Tsushima Airport is named Yamaneko Airport, and the single baggage claim features a whole diorama of little plush leopard cats wearing traditional clothing and waving hello to new arrivals. If you like rugged coastlines, fascinating scenery, and the odd bit of history thrown in, might I suggest taking a look at Tsushima, the border island between Japan and Korea. We only had a few days, but it was a truly wonderful experience.  Next up we caught the ferry to Iki island, the site of the ancient Iki-koku, possibly represented by the Yayoi era Harunotsuji site.  Of all the places I've been so far, this is second only to Yoshinogari in the work and reconstruction they've done.  They've even discovered what they believe to be an ancient dock or boat launch.  But we'll cover that next week, as we continue on our self-guided Gishiwajinden tour. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Hey, Hi, Hello, this is the History Wizard and welcome back for Day 10 of Have a Day w/ The History Wizard. Thank you to everyone who tuned in for Day 9 last week, and especially thank you to everyone who rated and/or reviewed the podcast. I hope you all learned something last week and I hope the same for this week. This week we're going to be learning about history's favorite war criminal, Genghis Khan. The man, the myth, the incorrigible slut. But first! It's time for another installment of the Alchemist's Table. Today potion is called Summer Cyclone. Take 1.5 oz of anejo tequila, 1 oz of Blue curacao, and 1 oz of coconut syrup. Shake vigorously and pour into a wine glass. Top with prosecco and enjoy. With that out of the way it's time for a biography! Would it shock you to hear that Genghis Khan was not his given name? The Khan of khans was born Temujin sometime between the years 1155 and 1167, there is still a lot of dispute over exactly when Temujin was born, though many traditions have him being born in the Year of the Pig, so either 1155 or 1167, although based on its fidelity to the accepted timeline of Temujin's life, 1162 is generally considered the most accurate estimate for his birth year. Temujin's life gets even more confusing when you learn that even his birthPLACE is up for debate. The Secret History records his birthplace as Delüün Boldog on the Onon River, but this has been placed at either Dadal in Khentii Province or in southern Agin-Buryat Okrug, Russia. The Secret History being the book The Secret History of the Mongols, which is the oldest surviving literary text we have written in a Mongolian language, though it bears noting that it was written after Temujin's death. Oh yeah, and we also don't know where he's buried. It's generally accepted that he is buried somewhere near the Mongol sacred mountain of Burkhan Khaldun in the Khentii Mountains. But the exact site of his burial is, to this day, unknown. So, we don't know when he was born, we don't know where he was born, and we don't know where he was buried.  So what DO we know about the life and times of Temujin? Luckily, a whole fucking lot. Though, before we get into the scholarly consensus, let's talk about some of the myths and legends surrounding his birth. Some legends say that Temujin was born clutching a blood clot in his hand, this is a somewhat common trope in various Asian folktales prophesying that Temujin would grow up to be a great warrior. It is also said that Hö'elün, Temujin's mother and the principal wife of Yesügei, chieftain of the Borjigin tribe was impregnated by a ray of light. Oh, and apparently Temujin's entire family line was started by a blue grey wolf and a red doe about 21 generations prior to his birth. Yesügei,died when Temujin was 8 years old after being poisoned by a group of Tartars that he was sharing a meal with. Temujin was able to ally himself with some of his father's former friends and allies and began to rise to some levels of prominence, but tensions with one of his friends Jamukha eventually led to the two men fighting a decisive battle, which Temujin list and afterwards was not seen in the lands of his father for about a decade. There was, for a long while, debate and dispute over where Temujin was and what happened to him during that time, though it is now generally accepted that he crossed the border into Jin China where he lived as either a servant or slave, sources are unclear on exactly which. Temujin's clash with his former friend Jamukha took place in 1187 Dalan Baljut, and it would be around 1196 that Temujin returned to the steppes, now much more powerful and influential than he'd been before. In early summer 1196, he participated in a joint campaign with the Jin against the Tatars, who had begun to act contrary to Jin interests. As a reward, the Jin awarded him the honorific cha-ut kuri, the meaning of which probably approximated "commander of hundreds" in Jurchen. At around the same time, he assisted Toghrul with reclaiming the lordship of the Kereit, which had been usurped by one of Toghrul's relatives with the support of the powerful Naiman tribe. The actions of 1196 fundamentally changed Temüjin's position in the steppe—although nominally still Toghrul's vassal, he was de facto an equal ally. Now, when speaking of Genghis Khan one of the things that is most often spoken about is his infamous cruelty, but this trait was not unique to him. After his defeat of his former friend Temujin Jamukha is said to have boiled 70 prisoners alive. Shortly after his return, when many of Jamukha's former allies defected in the face of his cruelty and harshness, Temujin was able to subdue the disobedient Jurkin tribe that had previously offended him at a feast and refused to participate in the Tatar campaign. After executing their leaders, he had one of his men symbolically break a leading Jurkin's back in a staged wrestling match in retribution. What followed was a series of campaigns with Temujin and Torghul on one side, and Jamukha on the other, having been named gurkhan, khan of the tribes, by those tribes, mainly the Onggirat, the Tayichiud, and the Tatars, who wanted to break the growing strength and supremacy of Temujin and Torghul. This campaign began in 1201 and was completed by 1202. During it a man named Jebe, from one of the tribes Temujin fought against entered into Temujin's service. How you ask? Well during one of the battles Jebe shot Temujin's horse out from under him. Temujin thought that was dope as fuck and said “Hey, you want a job? If you don't I can always kill you.” Jebe took the job. After each tribe was defeated Temujin killed their leaders and folded the surviving troops into his armies, many of them becoming nökor or noyans of Temujin during the rest of his life and campaigns. After proposing the marriage of his son Jochi (who might not have been his actual blood related son, but might have been adopted by Temujin after his wife Borte was captured and then several months later gave birth to him) Temujin was betrayed by his ally Torghul. Jamukha, who had been granted clemency following his defeat whispered poison into the ears of the other tribal leaders. He said that this was a ploy by Temujin to gain control of Torgul's tribe the Kereit. He also fed into their fears of how Temujin was already shaking up steppe society by promotion based on merit instead of based on blood lines, something that annoyed and angered many of the tribal aristocracy. After his defeat and forced retreat Temujin called in every available ally he still had and swore to them a, now famous, oath of loyalty that has come to be known as the Baljuna Covenant. What follows is allegedly part of Temujin's declaration as recorded in The Yuanshi in 1370: "[Temüjin] raised his hands and looking up at Heaven swore, saying "If I am able to achieve my 'Great Work', I shall [always] share with you men the sweet and the bitter. If I break this word, may I be like the water of the River, drunk up by others." Among officers and men there was none who was not moved to tears. The oath-takers of Baljuna were a very heterogeneous group—men from nine different tribes who included Christians, Muslims, and Buddhists, united only by loyalty to Temüjin and to each other. This is something that Temujin would maintain for his entire life. The khanate was a shockingly diverse and multicultural place. Genghis Khan was well known, by friends and enemies alike, for being a culturally and religiously tolerant man. All people needed was to be loyal to him. This doesn't mean that Temujin was not a religious man. He worshipped the ancient Turkic deity Tengri, God of the Heavens and the Sky. Tengrism is an interesting religion that has elements of poly and pantheism in it. Part of Genghis Khan's reason for conquest was his belief that it was the destiny that Tengri had laid out for him, but more on that later. After the Baljuna Covenant there followed a few years of war where Temujin and his allies defeated Torghul and eventually Temujin's childhood friend Jamukha. The Secret histories indicate that, despite his many betrayals Jamukha was executed honorably, though other sources indicate that he was dismembered until he finally died. And so it was, that in 1206 Temujin became the sole ruler of the steppes. He proceeded to call a kuraltai, a gathering of the tribal chiefs and took for himself the name Genghis Khan and was named the Khaqan, the Khan of Khans over all of the Mongol tribes. Now, Genghis Khan knew something that all the men he had defeated in his rise to power didn't. He knew why no tribal confederacies before had succeeded. It wasn't because of any personal failing on the parts of the men in charge, it was because of the very structure of their society. The Mongol tribes were too, well, tribal. They felt their loyalty belonged to their specific family of clan and not to a larger idea of an empire or nation.  Luckily for Genghis though, he'd already killed most of the traditional tribal leaders and chieftains, so he was able to reshape his society, like wet clay, into what he wanted it to be. So he set out to create a highly militarized society and meritocracy where loyalty to the nation, to the khan, and your own ability would decide how far you could rise. Every single man in the empire between the ages of 15 and 70 was in the army and was organized into large 1000 men segments that were further broken down into 10 blocks of 100 that were broken down into 10 units of 10. Any captured troops who were to be folded into the Khan's army were sent, each one, to different units so they couldn't organize and rebel against him. Between 1206 and 1210 Genghis consolidated his hold on power over the steppes. It was during this time that the Tangut led Western Xia kingdom fell under Mongol control. The siege of the capital Zhongxing while ultimately successful, was not one of the Khan's greatest moments. His armies, while vast, lacked any true siege equipment save for some crude battering rams and their attempt to flood the city by diverting the Yellow River failed and wound up flooding their own camp. Still, in the end Emperor Zhangzong surrendered to the Khan and agreed to pay tribute in exchange for the Mongols withdrawing. And now Genghis would turn his attention to the Jin Dynasty Wanyan Yongji, a man who had previously served with Genghis back when he worked for the Jin, and who Genghis hated. usurped the Jin throne in 1209. When Genghis was asked to submit and pay the annual tribute to Yongji in 1210, Genghis instead mocked the emperor, spat, and rode away from the Jin envoy—a challenge that meant war. Despite being outnumbered 8 to 1 by the 600,000 strong Jin army, Genghis decided to invade. He made his way easily across the border and immediately began a scorched earth campaign. Anything they couldn't carry with them would be burnt. If they couldn't have the supplies, they'd make sure that the Jin couldn't have them.  The conquest of the Jin took 4 years and during that time the army of Genghis Khan grew, both in size and ability. After the failed siege of Xijing Genghis decided it was time to build a troops of siege engineers and proceeded to recruit some 500 of them from the Jin over the next 2 years.  This trait is what would make the Khan and his armies so fearsome and successful. Well this and their willingness to be utterly ruthless and brutal when they felt they had to. But this flexibility, this humility to look at their methods and say “this isn't working, let's try something new” would allow them to defeat forces they, frankly, shouldn't have been able to. Genghis used his past successes and the stories about him that spread ahead of his armies enhance his reputation and then he wielded it like a club to smash through resistance. Take the siege of the Jin capital of Zhongdu. Yongji had been killed and the government was in shambles, but still Genghis had no way to breach Zongdu's walls. His army was able to do nothing except camp before the city walls and wait as disease and starvation ravaged his armies. Some sources even allege that they turned to cannibalism to survive during this siege. Yet, despite this Genghis still called for peace negotiations with the Jin. Negotiations that were successful. Genghis secured the Jin empire as well as a tribute of 3,000 horses, 500 slaves, a Jin princess, and massive amounts of gold and silk. As we stated earlier, of all the things Genghis Khan is known for, one of the most notable and oft repeated is his brutality to his enemies. Nowhere are the more stories about this than in his treatment of the Khwarazmian Empire, a Persianate Sunni Muslim empire. The khans armies there were under the command of his youngest son Tolui. Over the course of the conquest three major sieges of note took place at Nishapur, Merv, and Herat. Contemporary Persian historians put the death toll of this campaign at 5.7 million people, though more modern historians estimate and much lesser death toll of 1.25. One story says, that after the death of one of Genghis's step sons Toquchar, that the entire city was order slaughtered. Some stories say that all 1,748,000 people living in Nishapur were killed within an hour.  Genghis Khan would die in 1227. He had fallen off his horse in the winter of 1226 and became more and more ill as time went on, eventually passing on August 25, 1227. The exact nature of the khan's death has been the subject of intense speculation. Rashid al-Din and the History of Yuan mention he suffered from an illness—possibly malaria, typhus, or bubonic plague. Marco Polo claimed that he was shot by an arrow during a siege, while Carpini reported that Genghis was struck by lightning. Legends sprang up around the event—the most famous recounts how the beautiful Gurbelchin, formerly the Xia emperor's wife, injured Genghis's genitals with a dagger during sex. Following Genghis Khan's death the capital city of the Xia Kingdom, Zhongxing was put to the sword and almost the entire population of the city was killed. There are many stories of the Khan's brutality, and of the brutality of his descendants. One story from later in the Mongol Empire has the plague entering Europe during the Siege of Caffa when the Mongol troops launched diseased bodies over the walls in an early form of biological warfare. We also have stories of Mongol armies marching civilians in front of their armies to act as human shields. Over the entire course of the Mongol Empire, from 1206 until about 1400 it is estimated that their armies killed between 30 and 50 million people. Based on Antarctic ice cores, scientists have identified a sudden decrease in atmospheric carbon of about three parts per million (ppm) between 1200 and 1470 CE, which roughly correlates with the Mongol invasion of Asia as well as the Black Death in Europe. So it is very possible that Genghis Khan, his descendant's and armies killed enough people to cool down the entire planet. Still, slaughter and mayhem are not all Genghis was known for. He was largely responsible for the existence and prosperity of the Silk Road, he is, at least partially responsible for the existence of written Mongolian languages, which were based on the Uyghur script, he helped lay the foundation of the legal system known as the Great Yasa. The legacy of Genghis Khan is a complex one. One the one hand we have plenty of stories of him boiling his enemies alive, of his armies creating mountains of thousands of skulls, of human shields. But as we study more and more of the legacy and life of Genghis Khan we are more and more convinced that those stories are fear based myths from the people's he conquered, because it is also often noted that Genghis Khan abolished the use of torture thoroughout his Empire. He was religiously tolerant, he outlawed slavery, he created one of the first international postal systems. Also, about .5 percent of the population is directly related to him. So what do we really know about the life of Genghis Khan, especially considering that no eyewitness description or contemporaneous depiction of Genghis Khan survives. We don't really know anything. Not where or when he was born, not where he was buried, not what he looked like, nor even, really, what his conduct was in war. So did he even really exist? Yes, there's no debate on that. There ARE plenty of contemporary sources from Mongolian, Chinese, and Persian sources discussing Genghis Khan and his verifiable existence. But beyond saying that he lived? Most everything else is propaganda from one source or another. We can still find truth in propaganda though. All we have to do is find the things that multiple, independent sources agree on and we can reasonably assume that to be the truth. So, Genghis Khan existed, and he definitely killed a lot of people in his quest for power and wealth. The details though? Those are a bit fuzzier. That's it for this week folks. No new reviews, so let's get right into the outro. Have a Day! w/ The History Wizard is brought to you by me, The History Wizard. If you want to see/hear more of me you can find me on Tiktok @thehistorywizard or on Instagram @the_history_wizard. Please remember to rate, review, and subscribe to Have a Day! On your pod catcher of choice. The more you do, the more people will be able to listen and learn along with you. Thank you  for sticking around until the end and, as always, Have a Day.  

Dr. Pete Jurchen of Concordia Publishing House Prepared with a Reason The post 1353. What Is a Human Being? – Dr. Pete Jurchen, 5/14/24 first appeared on Issues, Etc..

As the newly enthroned Khan of the Manchus, Hong Taiji has a lot of plates to keep spinning. Conquest of Joseon Korea to the east, conquest of the Chahar Mongols to the west, and continuing to pound against the ever-weakening Ming Dynasty to the south. But he still has time for aesthetic considerations, such as the fact that names like "Jurchen" and "Jin" are so passé, while names like "Manchu" and "Qing" are the new hotness. Time Period Covered: 1626-1643 CE Major Historical Figures: Qing: Hong Taiji (Emperor Taizong of Qing) [r. 1626-1643] Prince Amin [1585-1640] Prince Haoge [1609-1648] Prince Dorgon [1612-1650] Prince Fulin (The Shunzi Emperor) [r. 1643-1661] Ming: Gen. Mao Wenlong [1576-1629] Gen. Yuan Chonghuan [1584-1630] Gen. Zu Dashou [d. 1656] Gen. Hong Chenchou [1593-1665] Gen. Wu Sangui [1612-1678] Joseon: King Injo [r. 1623-1649] Northern Yuan: Ligdan Khan [r. 1603-1634] Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Wir springen in dieser Folge ins 17. Jahrhundert. Schauplatz ist der Nordosten Chinas, wo sich ein junger Anführer eines Clans daran macht, sein Volk zu vereinen. Wir sprechen in dieser Folge über Nurhaci, dessen Anstrengungen nicht nur in der Vereinigung der Jurchen, sondern gleich auch in der Begründung einer neuen chinesischen Kaiserdynastie münden werden. //Literatur - Kenneth M. Swope. The Military Collapse of China's Ming Dynasty, 1618-44. Routledge, 2014. - Mark C. Elliott. The Manchu Way: The Eight Banners and Ethnic Identity in Late Imperial China. Stanford University Press, 2001. - Pamela Kyle Crossley. The Manchus. Wiley, 1997. - Pei Huang. Reorienting the Manchus: A Study of Sinicization, 1583–1795. Cornell East Asia Series, 2011. Das Episodenbild zeigt eine Darstellung Nurhacis aus dem 17. Jahrhundert. //Aus unserer Werbung Du möchtest mehr über unsere Werbepartner erfahren? Hier findest du alle Infos & Rabatte: https://linktr.ee/GeschichtenausderGeschichte NEU: Wer unsere Folgen lieber ohne Werbung anhören will, kann das über eine kleine Unterstützung auf Steady oder ein Abo des GeschichteFM-Plus Kanals auf Apple Podcasts tun. Wir freuen uns, wenn ihr den Podcast bei Apple Podcasts rezensiert oder bewertet. Für alle jene, die kein iTunes verwenden, gibt's die Podcastplattform Panoptikum, auch dort könnt ihr uns empfehlen, bewerten aber auch euer ganz eigenes Podcasthörer:innenprofil erstellen. Wir freuen uns auch immer, wenn ihr euren Freundinnen und Freunden, Kolleginnen und Kollegen oder sogar Nachbarinnen und Nachbarn von uns erzählt!

Continuing our series on the "other" dynasties and kingdoms and co-existed with the Song Dynasty, which we typically think of as the mainline Chinese regime of this period, we look at the Jin Empire.The Jurchen people rose up against the Khitan Liao Empire in the early 12th century and established their own empire and called it the Jin. But, at every turn, they seemed destined (doomed?) to repeat the drama that the Liao already played out.And yet another nomadic people waited in the wings, almost ready for their moment in the sun...

On this episode of Linguistics Everyday, Ed, Cara, and Drew discuss the Manchu language, the Jurchen people, and a little bit about the History of China. Contact us at @LinguisticsEver or email us at LinguisticsEveryday@gmail.com    Some papers: Language death and language revivalism The case of Manchu by Daniel Kane The Manchu Academy of Beijing by Laura E. Hess Manchu-Chinese Bilingual Compositions and Their Verse-Technique by Giovanni Stary Some Observations on a Rubbing of a 17th—Century Inscription in Uighur-Mongolian Script with Elements of Manchu Script and Orthography by Hsiao Su-yin The Legitimization of the Qing Dynasty by Piero Corradini

Quite likely the greatest female poet in Chinese history, Li Qingzhao might be deemed a Sappho of the East or the Emily Dickinson of China.Living during the Song Dynasty, Li Qingzhao came from an extraordinary family background and received the best possible education in imperial China. As a teenager, she already wrote better verses than most of the men who attained the jinshi degree in the civil service examination: the highest level of distinction. She then had the good fortune of a loving marriage.But then tragedies both national and personal struck. The Jurchen invasion in 1127 forced millions of refugees to move from northern China to the south, including Li and her husband. Shortly afterward, he died.In spite of her personal tribulations, or because of them, Li Qingzhao left us with a unique body of work, poems with a distinctly feminine voice that soars above a literary pantheon otherwise full of men.

Last time we spoke, Xiong Tingbi had created a grand defensive strategy that paved the way for the defeat of the Jin invaders. However he was soon impeached and executed, a victim to his rivals in the Ming Court. Despite this his defensive strategy would live on with the appointment of Sun Chengzong. We also talked about the rise of the Sea King Mao Wenlong and how his crazy antics impressed the Ming Court. Yet something was not right about Mao Wenlong's victories, they simply did not add up. Then at the last hour when all hope seemed to be lost for the lonesome commander, Yuan Chonghuan at the fortress of Ningyuan a miracle happened. The cannon expert managed to not only defeat the Jin invaders at Ningyuan, he also managed to kill the great Khan Nurhaci. With the death of Nurhaci, what will the Jin empire do next? Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on world war two and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. This episode is Wrath of Hung    In the wake of Nurhaci's death, his son Hung Taiji became the new Khan of the Jin Empire. Hung faced many rivals amongst his own relatives when he took power. Interestingly enough Hung began his Khanhood by flirting with some peace talks with the Ming. Hung laid out 2 conditions for peace, the first that the Ming should send tribute to the Jin, the second that a border be fixed at Shanhaiguan. In return the Jin would also send the Ming tributary gifts, thus the Jin would be below the Ming Emperor, but above the Ming officials, honestly a fair arrangement. Emperor Tianqi warned his officials not to enter peace talks lightly, but did seem to heed to offers. Now historians think Hung was perhaps doing all of this merely to raise his own authority in the grander scheme of things. To talk the way he was to the Ming Dynasty really elevated the status of the Jin. Another major reason historians argue as to why Hung began these peace talks was to buy time for a new operation. Somewhat as a result of the Sea King Mao's ventures, raiding on the Bohai coast drew attention to the unfortunate land due south east of it, Korea. Hung chose to invade Korea to secure his flank for anticipated attacks on the western Ming front. The Ming held an overwhelming advantage in resources and some of those resources such as food came from Korea. By defeating Korea, Hung could extract tribute, such as much needed food supplies from the koreas and stop it from getting into the Ming's hands. The Korean's for their part were aiding and abetting the sea king Mao by shielding many of his raiders within Korea. Though they did this begrudgingly might I add as they did not trust Mao.   The Jin sent 30,000 troops over the Korean border in 1627 easily overrunning the border towns. When they advanced on Uiji, Mao fled into the Bohai gulf with some of his forces. Soon the Jin captured Anju, Pyongyang and were quickly crossing the Taedong River. The battle for Anju was very intense and when the defenders knew they were going to be beaten they allegedly blew themselves up with gunpowder. As soon as the word got out of the invasion, the Ming dispatched a relief force to help the Koreans. Meanwhile the royal family of Korea fled to Kanghwa island and tried desperately to bribe the Jin to stop. Hung was amenable to this and left only 1000 Jurchen and 200 Mongols at Uiji and 300 Jurchen and 1000 Mongos at the Fortress of Zhenjiang, allegedly to guard against raids by Mao. After this point, the Joseon Dynasty now had a tributary relationship under the Jin state. The relationship was that of an older brother and younger brother unlike the Ming-Joseon tributary relationship which was more like that of a father and son. Hung also pressed the king of Korea to stop trade with the Ming. Meanwhile Yuan Chonghuan was impeached at once because many in the Ming Court perceived him to have been duped by the Jin when entering into peace talks, while the Jin were simply biding time to invade Korea.    Hung next struck out at Jinzhou not too far away from the island of Juehua. Hung led 40,000 troops against the city which held 30,000 defenders under the commander Zhao Shuaijiao. Emperor Tianqi immediately ordered a relief force of 30,000 to rush to its aid as Hung's army began their siege. The Jin scaled the walls of Jinzhou with siege ladders as the defenders rained arrows, rocks and cannonfire upon them. The battle raged for over 12 hours until the Jin pulled back to their camp. Zhao allegedly shouted out over the walls “You can keep attacking the city but we're not coming out!”. Enraged, Hung would continue the attacks upon the city for several days, but it did not fall. Hung in frustration took some of his forces back to probe nearby Ningyuan where there was an advancing Ming column out in the open field. The Ming column attacked the Jin as the wall cannons of Ningyuan aided them, forcing the Jin to flee back to their camp beside Jinzhou. Despite this the Ming did not come over to his camp, thus Hung resumed the attack on Jinzhou despite the advice to not do so by some of his sub commanders and for his efforts the Jin received thousands of casualties. Hung in frustration simply continued to attack Jinzhou, now from a different side of the walls. The Jin corpses began to pile up and finally Hung gave the orders to retreat after losing 2-3 thousand men. The battle became known as the Great Ming victory of Ning-jin. Hung learnt a painful but valuable lesson from all of this.   Taking a look back at the situation in Korea, the Korean were very leery of the Jin, but also of Mao Wenlong whose adventurism got them into the terrible situation they were in. The Joseon Court was divided as to how best to deal with the Jin-Ming situation. Some thought Korea had no place in the Jin-Ming war, others argued the very preservation of the Joseon Dynasty was owed to the Ming. The Ming eventually installed a new King named Injo in Korea and began to twist his wrist to their side. They wanted Korea to cut off ties with the Jin and to adopt a more pro-Ming policy. This of course meant working with Mao Wenlong who they deeply distrusted. The Koreans continued to report that Mao was exaggerating his claimed fights against the Jin and was actually spending most of his time hiding on islands. They also lamented over Mao's army consuming a ton of Korean food rations while achieving little in return. Yet whenever they made these statements to the Ming court, Mao would also come along with some Jin heads to showcase his achievements. Still there were those in the Ming Court growing wary of Mao, theorizing he might be actually working with the Jin and planning to rebel against the Ming. Mao continued to demand more and more supplies from the Koreans to feed refugees fleeing from the Jin state, a process that had begun when Nurhaci died, quite a few inside the Jin territory fled. The Koreans acquiesced, handing over provisions, but Mao stated it was not enough. Mao then began to open up markets on his islands and offered to protect merchants willing to trade there. Then he attempted to produce his very own coinage with metals extracted from Korea. THENNN he asked the Joseon Court to make fewer tributary missions to the Ming and instead help build up his trade monopoly in the gulf. Well the Ming began to see the illicit trading going on. Then in 1627, Emperor Tianqi died and was succeeded by his younger brother, Zhu Youjian, becoming Emperor Chongzhen. When Chongzhen took the throne he felt he had 2 major problems: 1 the court needed a cleansing of the enormous power of the eunuchs and their supporters, 2 Liaodong needed to be pacified. His first act as emperor was to recall the Eunuch military inspectors from the frontiers. This led one of the Eunuchs favorite supportive commanders, Wei Zhongxian to believe he was soon going to be arrested soon and thus he hung himself. I have not stated it too much at this point, but a large issue that was growing was the dispatching of Eunuchs as military inspectors all around China. The Eunuchs began to be quite meddlesome and their authority kept growing. Then the emperor set about micromanaging everything and demanded his officials bring him all reports. It seemed from the offset, unlike his predecessor, this Emperor was going to be a very active ruler. But this would have an adverse affect. In his efforts to stop factionalism with the dynasty, the new Emperor who tried to control everything made it much harder for any policies to be implemented. In turn this actually contributed to making it more factional, as every sign of possible failure was pounced upon by enemy factions on another. The emperor also would have a bad tendency to execute competent officials for minor setbacks.    With the new emperor came the reappointment of Yuan Chonghuan as Censor in chief of the right. He was also given supreme command of military affairs in the northeast. Yuan proclaimed to the emperor that he could recover all of Liaodong in just 5 years time if they implemented his defensive strategy that he had been using before being impeached. He advocated that the people in the Jin state were starving and now fleeing as a result, the best course of action was to “use the people of Liaodong to defend Liaodong and the land of Liaodong to nourish the people”. While the Emperor fully endorsed his plans, Yuan would unfortunately only receive around 40% of the funding he asked for. Reduced funding was a problem everywhere in the frontier, many places faced multiple mutinies.   Upon his appointment Yuan first turned his attention to the sea king Mao, he wanted to evaluate the troops strength of Bohai so they could better coordinate their operations. Mao told him that he had 28,000 serviceable men, but not enough food supplies to support them. Now while Mao was telling Yuan this, Yuan was receiving reports from an informant with the Jin that Mao was secretly negotiating with them. Thus Yuan resolved to act decisively. Yuan began to funnel supplies through his own bases, curtailing Pidao, the stronghold of Mao. Now it is theorized Mao had been in secret talks with the Jin as early as 1622, but Nurhaci had died before any concrete agreements were made. Hung Taiji did not trust Mao and broke talks off when he launched his invasion into Korea. But after his setback in 1627 at Ningyuan, Hung Taiji realized he lacked the strength to fully engage the Ming and the Jin were also very low on food supplies, leading to many refugees fleeing to none other than Mao. So this led Hung to open up talks again with Mao, and by 1628 Mao was pretty fearful his charade with the Ming was in jeopardy. And he was certainly right about that, as Yuan finally resolved to pay Mao a personal visit bringing with him a significant contingent of loyal troops. Yuan met with Mao and asked him to relocate to a base closer to China proper rather than Korea and to coordinate operations with him. Mao protested against this stating it was important he kept near Korea to keep them in the fold, which was the very opposite of what he was actually doing. Now for a few days, Yuan would keep persisting to try and meet with Mao and ask him to come closer into the fold with him and other Ming officials, and Mao would continuously find reasons not to do so. Each day, Yuan would hand out gifts and rewards to Mao's soldiers. Then one day Yuan began asking Mao's officers their surnames and they kept answering “Mao”, which Yuan found very curious. He then asked them how they could complain about rations when they had been sent ample supplies from Ningyuan. He proceeded to ask where had all the supplies gone to, to which the men began to weep and bow before Yuan. Yuan then  berated Mao for squandering funds without overseeing all he had been entrusted with concluding “where has all the money we sent you from Ningyuan gone?”. Mao protested upon which Yuan said “You can till look me in the eye, but how can you resist the imposition of national law as imposed by the sagacious son of heaven as derived from heaven with brave martiality. “You were given the authority of a general. But now you, Mao Wenlong, have treacherously raised yourself to the level of a lord, amassed soldiers, siphoned off rations, slaughtered the refugees of Liaodong, despoiled Korea, harassed Denglai, carried out illicit commerce, looted and plundered commoners' boats, changed people's names, and violated the people's sons and daughters. These are the crimes for which you will be put to death.”. Mao pleaded for his life and Yuan turned to his commanders and asked them if they disagreed with the charges adding “if you don't think I should kill him, then you may come forward and kill me”. No man budged at this, and Yuan took up a double edged sword and decapitated Mao in front of them all stating “The punishment was only for Mao Wenlong. The rest of you have committed no crimes”. Then Yuan presided over a funeral for Mao stating “ “Yesterday I killed you by the order of the emperor; this was in accordance with the Court's law, but today I offer you oblations and this is in accordance with my own personal feelings.”. Thus ended the great sea king Mao Wenlong, who might I add was stealing all the limelight from Yuan's great achievement at Ningyuan. Yuan divided the 28,000 former troops of Mao into 4 wings, with 1 wing given to a son of Mao named Mao Chenglu. He disbursed money to all the soldiers making sure they were properly organized and paid. Yuan then set out to Korea to report to them his execution of Mao. While the Koreans shed no tears for the death of Mao, the man who had caused them some much trouble, many were concerned with what his death would mean for Korea.    Another problem loomed for the Ming dynasty was occurring in the northwest. Since 1627 a widespread drought had hit Shaanxi. Food prices skyrocketed, people began to starve and many fell into banditry. For the past 60 years or so, not a single year went by without at least 1 natural disaster occuring. To add insult to injury, because the Ming were so preoccupied with the Jin in the northeast, most funding and supplies also went there. Peasant rebellions began rising up, one under Wang Jiayin who assembled a large force of starving peasants to raid parts of the Great Wall. Soon army deserters joined the ranks and before long all of Shaanxi was falling into chaos. Wang Jiayin held some 5-6 thousand followers, one of them being Zhang Xianzhong, someone who would deeply impact the future. The Ming sent forces to quell the rebellion, but the rebels would simply flee into the mountains, and re-emerge later to raid more. The Ming eventually appointed Yang He as supreme commander of the 3 border regions of Shaanxi. He identified the key problems in the northwest to be 1) supply issues, 2) constant threat of Mongol raids and 3) dereliction of duty by local officials. His answer was to improve the administration and to try and pacify the rebels by encouraging them to surrender in exchange for food or agricultural opportunities. Meanwhile officials in other areas were simply employing Mongol allies to help smash rebel forces which did a lot to dissuade rebels from surrendering overall. Seeing the looming problem, the Emperor ordered famine relief to be sent to Shaanxi, but this would not stop the rebellions from springing up more and more. Eventually Yang He was impeached for his apparent too light of a touch approach and was replaced by Hong Chengchou.   Back to the warfront, in 1629 the Jin began an invasion of Da'ankou and Zunhua, bolstered by their Mongol allies. The Jin forces first captured Jizhou with the aid of Ming fifth columnists. The commander of Jizhou had his own men turn on him, trying to force him to surrender, he refused and his men soon were routed and he alongside them fell to the rain of arrows. Sun Chengzong was appointed Minister of War and given command of the armies at Tongzhou as Man Gui prepared a force of 5000 to face the Jin at Shunyi. Man's force were soon driven back towards Deshengmen. Hou Shilu's force was nearby and was routed, leaving Man on his own. Man enjoyed a lot of artillery support from the walls, but his forces were ironically hit by friendly fire and had to pull back within the cities walls losing over 40% of his troops, yikes. Now the Jin were a threat to Deshengmen, so Yuan Chonghuan turned his focus northeast, taking tons of forces from garrisons all over to drive the Jin away. Yuan's efforts won out and they did push the Jin back and now Yuan began to strengthen the defenses at the city. At Deshengmen the Jin re-commenced their attacks, managing to kill Man Gui and routed Zu Dashou's army who fled east. More Ming forces tried to push the Jin back around the Marco Polo Bridge but it was a disaster, the men routed yet again and many Ming commanders were captured. As more and more troops were plucked from the west to meet the invaders, a general panic began to emerge in the capital. Ming officials were being executed left right and center and many of the relief forces being sent to the northeast were looting Ming cities enroute to Beijing. Yongping fell to the Jin in 1930 and the Jin just kept coming. There were quite a few setbacks at this point, many fortresses managed to fight off the Jin. Hung Taiji sent some letters to Yuan Chongzhen trying to come to some terms, but received no replies. Hung eventually decided to take his forces back to Shenyang leaving behind some of his commanders to occupy the newly conquered cities. Now the Ming attempted to gather forces near Luanzhou and Yongping to launch a counter attack.   Yuan Chonghuan then was impeached, because it was believed by some in the Ming Court that he was secretly working with the Jin. Turns out Hung Taiji had leaked false information to Ming Court officials about him working with Yuan. It did not help Yuan's cause that he had recently executed the sea king, who was still loved by many officials. Also that friendly fire that hit the forces of Man Gui, was done by Yuan's forces, and they happened to also be rivals, so there was an air of conspiracy going around. Thus Yuan was tossed into jail while his forces were actually doing quite well by this point, driving the Jin back past the Great Wall. Eventually the Ming forces reached the fortress of Luanzhou in mid 1630 as the Jin tried to slow them down via diplomacy. The Ming forces brought with them heavy artillery and now it was the Jin desperately trying to hold onto a fortress while being besieged. The Jin utilized all the tactics they had seen the Ming use: tossing burning pots of oil, rocks and logs, using cannons, amongst other defenses. The Ming's artillery however was so fierce, the Jin knew they had to try something else. Thus a Jin forces came rushing out of the eastern gate trying to attack a force led by Zu Dashou, but they were met with intense crossbow fire and had to flee back into the city. The Jin were so low on ammunition, that allegedly they began to use severed heads as projectiles, eeek. Eventually it was incendiaries being lobbed over and fire arrows that smoked the Jin out of the city, who had to flee. In turn 4 more large walled cities and 12 fortresses were taken back by the Ming in 1630, with over 3300 Jin troops captured.   But by no means was the Jin excursion in any way a failure, they had plundered a considerable amount and the raiding had exposed many weaknesses in the Ming's ability to wage wage. For one thing, Hung Taiji's sneaky ploy against Yuan that got him impeached simply by sending false information, proved the Ming were quite incompetent and perhaps more efficient commanders could be taken off the board using similar tactics. In the wake of the invasion, for the Ming a debate began to brew as to how best to defend the capital if it came to that. One idea was to employ more Portuguese cannons, and in 1930 they would get their hands on 30 new ones from Goncalbo Teixeria Correa. However some in the Court were suspicious of the westerners and thought they might be working for the Jin. Regardless, a few Portuguese would end up training Ming forces in gunnery and how to create the cannons. One major supporter of utilizing the Portuguese knowledge and weaponry was Xu Guangqi who further proposed a new style brigade; outfitted with new wheeled wagons pulling cannons alongside a considerable specialized infantry gunnery force. The Ming also began to put pressure on the Bohai coast by putting to use their naval units to link up with their Korean allies. Their idea was to open up a new front by using coastal defenses, perhaps by mustering troops from Lushun and the many islands in the gulf.   Meanwhile the poor imprisoned Yuan Chonghuan was executed via dismemberment in the marketplace, and many saw him as a “fall guy” for the Jin excursions of 1630. As for the man he executed, Mao Wenlong had a long lasting effect on the Bohai region even after his death. It seemed now the gulf had become the focal point for Sino-Korea relations and joint military operations. The Jin took notice of this and realized the best way to prevent the two dynasties from cooperation would be to sever their communication/transport network. The Jin required legitimization of their state and a major component of that was to exact tribute from other places like Korea. Mao for his part brought so much bad attention to the Jin Korea border and after his death, his former forces continued to be a problem for the Ming. They continued to beg for supplies while doing little militarily in return. Then in late 1630, a revolt occurred on Pidao island led by Liu Xingzhi, to which the Ming tried to appease him and his forces by sending supplies, but the Jin were able to stop them from getting out of Lushun. Eventually the Ming did manage to get supplies to Liu Xingzhi and talked him down, but the underlying problem still loomed.    With the competent Yuan Chonghuan taken out of the picture and the Korean flank secured, Hung Tiaji now decided to hit the important fortress of Dalinghe. Dalinghe was the most forward Ming base in Liaodong and the largest threat to the Jin capital of Shenyang, yeah did I ever mention the capital was back at Shenyang? The Jin capital moves around a  lot hard to keep track of. Dalinghe had been heavily fortified, with 13, 800 troops as a garrison and many more on the way. Hung Taiji had intel, that the Ming were undergoing a massive construction project at Dalinghe to reinforce it even more and was eager to hit it before it became too well defended. Another large worry was that if Dalinghe was made impenetrable, it might entice the Ming-Joseon to consolidate more trade and resources into the region thus kicking the Jin out. In preparation for the attack, Hung created his first ever, entirely Han divisions, whom would eventually become the Han banners. Leading them was Tong Yangxing who was tasked with overseeing the construction of 40 Western style cannons. By 1631, Tong's efforts were greatly rewarded as he was given command over all Han under the Jin state. In July of 1631, Hung's army of 80,000 reached Dalinghe and began to construct a large network of siege weapons. Hung took to heart how his father Nurhaci had died at Ningyuan, knowing suicidal frontal assaults were no longer the way to go about things. Hung's siege weapons were soon set upon the Ming defensive towers. Tong's oversaw the red cannons: Ie: western style cannons, as they would smash Dalinghe's most vulnerable posts. Meanwhile Hung took some forces to Jinzhou to guard against Ming relief forces. The Jin siege weapons devastated the outlying defense towers in under a week. One of the commanders of Dalinghe, Zu Dashou led a couple of sorties, inflicting considerable casualties but being forced back into the city each time. When some Ming relief forces showed up, Tong's red cannon force defeated 2 small armies at Songshan and Jinzhou. Hung also defeated a relief army later on at Jinzhou. Now Hung needed to try something to get the Dalinghe defenders to come out, so he began circulating false reports of Ming relief forces being on the way and requiring their assistance. Zu Dashou fell for this ploy and came out, and was immediately ambushed but managed to crawl back into the city. Another relief force of 40,000 tried to help the city in August, but were easily turned back at Changshan.    The siege would enter a new phase when Hung began sending letters to Zu Dashou trying to get him to defect. In one letter Hung said “Who does not desire peace but rather wished for war? Now that our peace talks have been severed, I want to strengthen my state, to extend happiness and prosperity; this is my wish. If the general believes I am sincere, please send a reply”. Well Zu Dashou replied he would die in defense of Dalinghe, buuuuut that he also feared for the safety of his family should the city fall. This prompted Hung to pledge he would not kill anyone stating “the slaughter of people in Liaodong happened during Nurhaci's reign but we are different. In my state we make use of soldiers. Those who should be punished are punished. Those who can be of use are employed. As some can tell you, my kindness is great. For those who submit you can rest assured that my kines will be extended”. Rations in Dalinghe were running out, so much aso that people began to eat horses and then if its to be believed resorted to cannibalism as well. Meanwhile Beijing was wondering what was happening, while those in Dalinghe wondered why no relief forces were showing up. The situation was hopeless and Zu Dashou surrendered.   The people within Dalinghe had suffered 80 days of starvation, it is estimated 11,632 people were left alive when it was captured. In exchange for his life and his families, Zu pledged allegiance to Hung and would assist him in taking Jinzhou and Songshan. Zu Dashou was showered with gifts and even shared wine with Hung as they planned their attack on Jinzhou. Zu Dashou's plan was that he alongside 350 men would go on ahead pretending to be refugees to get inside Jinzhou and open the gates for Hung. As you might have guessed,  instead Zu Dashou rejoined the Ming and requested a dismissal from his post for failing at Dalinghe. So he pulled a fast one on Hung to save his family and men from death. Despite that, Hung had acquired a lot of firearms at Dalinghe which accelerated their growing firearms program. Hung told Tong to manufacture as many new cannons as possible, stating “even 1 hundred cannon were not too many and even 100,000 catties of gunpowder was still too little”. The Jin cannon industry secretly began to flourish under the oversight of Tong, though he would die in 1632 and be succeeded by Shi Tingzhu, another Ming defector.    With the firearms program being built, Hung also began to develop his army structure more. He organized a left and right wing led by Ming defectors, Kong Youde and Geng Zhongming. The story of how both these Ming defected will be told shortly as they are key players. Both these men had convinced Hung to create Han banners to augment his army and thus these forces they commanded became artillery wings, expanded into 4 units which eventually evolved to become the Han banner of the 8 banner army.    Meanwhile the Ming Court was quite dismayed by the loss of Dalinghe. Yuan Chongzhen advised constructing more defenses and reinforcing the northeast to prevent further Jin incursions. But a problem was brewing from within yet again. A rebellion had emerged under the leadership of a man named Luo Rucai in the northwest and a subordinate of the late Mao Wenlong named Kong Youde was performing a mutiny.    As I mentioned previously, the revolt on Pidao under Liu Xingzhi was somewhat quelled, but not extinguished. When Mao was executed, all of his former men began to factionalize, despite the efforts of Ming officials to wrangle them into the fold. Many of Mao's subordinate officers were given command of the forces, but none of them panned out. All the former commanders under Mao fought to take control of the force while simultaneously struggling to get supplies from the Ming/Joseon/ or even Jin. The Ming tried to transfer many of these commanders around to thwart the mutinies, one man they moved to Shandong was Kong Youde. Kong ended up commanding one of the relief forces sent to help Dalinghe. The force he was given was undersupplied and not at all happy about. Thus enroute to Dalinghe, they looted Ming towns and soon a mutiny had sprung up. The mutineers turned their attention to the port of Dengzhou and Laizhou in January of 1632. Kong's small force of men enjoyed some success as they had a good amount of firearms, thus they were able to plunder parts of Shandong. Soon the mutineers were a full on rebel group fighting off Ming forces and were working with Mao Chenglu, a son of the sea king who had forces on some islands in Bohai. Kong began to siege Dengzhou and Laizhou while his force of 15,000 rebels simultaneously fanned out to plunder Shandong. The Ming dispatched commanders to stamp out Kong's rebellion, but Kong had access to the sea which allowed his forces to fight off quite a lot of Ming armies. Kong eventually managed to take Dengzhou and deceived the commander of Laizhou to come out and negotiate with him, where he promptly assassinated him. This prompted Yuan Chongzhen to enact a policy of extermination against Kong's rebellion. Relief armies rallied up at Changyi and advanced on the rebels at Dengzhou smashing an army that was outside the city there. Parts of the relief army then marched on the rebels besieging Laizhou, prompting Kong to lead 3000 men out of Dengzhou to try and save them. Kong's force was then caught between the defending forces at Laizhou and the relief army, forces to abandon a lot of their weapons and retreat back to Dengzhou. Kong's forces tried to fight in the field again, but a decisive battle was won by the Ming at Baima where they killed 13,000 rebels. Now the Ming surrounded and besieged Dengzhou, but Dengzhou was also a port and the Ming had trouble naval blockading it, as Kong had friends helping him in the Bohai gulf. Regardless, Kong's forces held out for 4 months and resorted to cannibalism. Kong planned a breakout, but was caught in an ambush and forced back to Dengzhou in December. This prompted Kong to try and flee via the sea in February of 1633. The Ming pressed on trying to capture islands in the gulf and capture Kong, but he kept evading them. Eventually Kong and one of his fellow commanders Geng Zhongming defected to the Jin. Kong was made a marshal and Geng a commander. Yuan Chongzhen hailed all of this to be a major victory for the Ming, they had quelled a rebellion successfully, however the other side of the coin was that Kong and Geng would be vital to the expanding of the Jin. Hung Taiji took his 2 new allies and had them help him retake the port city of Lushun. Kong and Geng advised Hung that he should attack Lushun with a joint land-sea operation, which would be a first for the Jin. Thus in 1634, the Jin hit Lushun from the land, being repulsed by Lushun formidable cannons, but soon the Ming defenders ran low on ammunition. Then attacks came from the sea and with the simultaneous fronts battering the city, Lushun fell. Now the Jin held a strategic port and could use it to root out Ming power in the Bohai gulf. Hung followed this up by sending a letter to Pidao trying to get its commander to defect.   Meanwhile in the northwest, the successor to Yang He, Hong Chengchou set to work thwarting growing rebellions. Hong proved to have a much firmer hand than He and scored repeated victories over bandits in the early years of his appointment. Hong dished out bonuses to soldiers based on the number of bandits killed which as you would imagine resulted in the slaughter of many bandits as well as commoners. Despite Hong's efforts, by late 1631 there were an estimated 200,000 bandits still at large, then the following year it would grow to be 300,000 in Shanxi alone. 3 rebellion leaders would emerge here who would play major roles for the next 15 years, Zhang Xianzhong, Li Zicheng and Lao Huihui. In 1632, the Ming Court dispatched the censor, Wu Sheng to investigate the situation in Shaanxi. Wu reported the problem to be starvation and privation. Many commanders were reduced to eating grass and bandit leaders were strolling around with official Ming seals of authority to which he referred to them as “official bandits”. Basically it was bandits who were pacified by the late Yang He who were continuing banditry but under the guise they were changed men. Wu advised the emperor to enact a campaign of extermination and that's just what he did. 200, 000 taels were allocated to help agriculture and sooth the starvation and edits were made that all rebels would be henceforth exterminated. A major issue for the Ming was that the bandits were increasingly enlisting in the Ming military as soon as they had nowhere to plunder. Then after a while in the army, they would desert and return to banditry. This turned into a vicious cycle where the bandits would take advantage of the military troop transfers, to find new regions to plunder, particularly the Liaodong frontier. To make matters so much worse, most of these bandits knew another and were able to form larger rebellions all over the place. Rebels began to hit major cities, and when Ming armies came after them they would simply flee into the countryside. In turn pursuing the rebels left more cities vulnerable to attack.    In mid 1634, Hung Taiji resumed his invasion of China. This time his forces went through Mongolia with his Mongol allies by his side. They advanced in 4 wings towards Shouzhou, Xuanfu, Datong and the Yellow River. The primary purpose of the assaults was to test Ming readiness and continue to chip away at the morale of the local populaces, exposing the Ming's inability to protect its subjects. Over the course of 50 days, dozens of Ming fortresses and towns were attacked with various degrees of success. While they performed these operations they sent word to the Ming that they were simply trying to earn recognition as an equal neighboring state, but received no replies. Some officials did reply to the Jin however and this led the Emperor to fall into a state of paranoia that his dynasty was full of traitors. Thus more officials were exiled or executed by the end of 1634. A lot of the time it was Ming officials simplifying trying to opt out rivals that led to this. As bad as things were getting for the Ming, they did manage to grab a few victories and this led them to believe if properly outfitted and led, they could stand up to the Jin threat, especially if it was them dictating the circumstances of battles. But the Ming were hampered by lack of troops, lack of training and lack of supplies, the usual.    Beginning in 1635, Hung Taiji began the practice of designating the Jurchen peoples as the Manchu, forbidding the term Jurchen. The origin of the term “Manchu” is still argued to this day. Some believe the term arose from the word for “river”, others say it is linked to efforts made by Hung to venerate his father, who claimed to be the reincarnation of the bodhisattva Manjusri. That one in effect may have been an effort by Hung to establish himself as a multi ethnic ruler. Regardless, calling themselves Manchu imbued a sense of unity and significantly departed from the past. It also provided a sort of mythos, or ancient identity befitting a state. Hung  purged Daisan, who he saw as a rival amongst the Jurchen nobles. Hung then had a major victory over the Great Khan Ligdan, leader of the Chahar Mongols, making himself the heir to the Chinggisid line. While he consolidated his inner circle, Hung saw his peace talks with the Ming not coming to fruition and resolved yet again, to invade the Ming. But what was different now, was Hung was now in a position to challenge the Ming on a whole new level, he was about to adopt a dynastic name. He chose the term Qing, meaning “pure” and sent the message to the King of Korea, Injo in early 1636, requesting recognition of the new state. The Joseon dynasty refused to meet with the Qing envoy's. On top of this the Joseon dynasty was supplying the Ming with rice and other supplies, despite previous agreements with the Jin to not do so. Hung was furious and mobilized an invasion force. But instead of attacking Korea outright, he instead sent investigators to find out why they would not recognize his state and in the meantime set out to attack the Ming. The attack was led by Hung's brother Ajige and this time they hit Shanxi, razing towns west of its capital. There was a ton of back and forth, but by August, the Manchu's were driven back east, by a commander named Lu Xiangsheng. Lu was promoted to supreme commander of both Xuanda and Shaanxi and soon recovered many lost towns to the Manchu. Still the Manchu forces got as close as the Marco Polo Bridge and began probing attacks on Shanhaiguan, but were repulsed. The Emperor freaked out, demanding to know from his officials how the Manchu had got so close to Beijing. For the Qing, it was like any other raid they had made countless times over the years. They acquired plentiful booty and further weakened their rival. Now Hung could turn his attention to the pesky koreans.    The second invasion of Korea would be much bloodier than the first. To prevent the Ming from sending aid, Ajige and other Qing commanders were sent a month ahead to secure the coastal approaches to Korea. In december of 1636 the invasion commenced and Hung went to Zhenjiang to personally direct operations. The Qing commanders, Dorgon, a brother to Hung and Haoge led Mongol wings that swept in towards Seoul. The invasion was quick and overwhelmed the guards of the Joseon capital. Dorgon's wing defeated 15,000 troops sending other Korean armies to flee. Kong Youde who was now made Prince Gongshun since the creation of the Qing struck out by sea against Kanghwa island and Pidao. The Qing now boasted 70 ships commanded by countless Ming and Joseon defectors hitting the islands with cannon barrages. The Ming lost an estimated 10,000 men trying to defend Pidao. The Joseon King fled to the mountain fortress of Namhan, trying to order his armies into battle as the Qing ransacked Seoul. More and more Korean armies tried to repel the invaders, but to no avail. Soon the Qing forces were setting up a siege of Namhan, when the King began to make peace talks. In the meantime Dorgon had captured the Kings concubines and children from Kanghwa island and displayed them before the army. The Qing used this to threaten the King to capitulate if he wished to save his family. King Injo relented and sent a minister to surrender at the Han River. King Injo sent a son to the Qing as a hostage and turned over his Ming seals of investiture. Hung stated to the Koreans, henceforth their relationship would be that of elder and younger brothers. The Koreans were ordered to now submit tribute as they had done for the Ming, but now to the Qing. They were also ordered to provide boats for the Qing war effort, which was to be a real game changer. In turn the Qing would not harm or loot the subjects of the Joseon dynasty. Now the Ming had lost this important vassal and the Qing had secured their flank and acquired a much needed new source of war supplies. The Qing dynasty was emerging with a real bang.   I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.  With Nurhaci's death at the legendary battle of Ningyuan, now Hung Taiji was the great Khan. The pesky Sea King Mao Wenlong proved to be faking much of his famed achievements and may have been a turn coat to boot. Yuan Chonghuan got his chance to take out Mao and take his turn in the sunlight unmolested by his rival anymore,  but would ironically fall victim to being called a turn coat himself and be executed. As the Ming lost more and more competent commanders, a new problem emerged and it was internal rather than external. Peasant bandits were spreading in Shaanxi and full on rebellions were soon emerging. Hung Taiji got his hands on some very useful Ming defectors and the military underwent numerous upgrades. Hung Taiji proclaimed his people to be the Manchu under the new Qing dynasty as he defeated all of Korea forcing their tribute to go to the Qing rather than the Ming. Now Hung set his eyes on trying out his new toys upon the Ming.   

Long Intro   China is one of the world's four ancient civilizations, alongside Mesopotamia, the Indus valley and Egypt. It has a written history dating as far back as the Shang Dynasty, that's around 1600 BC, over 3000 years ago! Now as you can also imagine  you are not getting the full rundown of the entire history of China, it's simply too immense for the overall story we are getting into. The story I want to tell has been termed by scholars, “the century of humiliation” dating 1839 until 1949. During this period China or better called the Qing Dynasty and later Republic of China faced terrible and humiliating subjugation by Western powers and the Empire of Japan.The story we are going to begin today is one of pain and hardship, but it is also a tale of endurance and resilience that created the China we see today.    This is the Fall and Rise of China Podcast I am going to let you in on a little secret, I myself am quite new to the vast history of China. As some of you listeners might already know, I am the writer and narrator of the Pacific War Podcast week by week. I specialize in the Pacific War and Japanese history and I ventured into a journey to explain everything that is the Pacific War of 1937-1945 when I began my personal Channel called the Pacific War Channel on Youtube. Yet when I sat down to begin writing about the history of Tokugawa Japan and how Japan would find itself on a path towards virtual oblivion, I thought to myself, well what about China? This is when I fell down a rabbit hole that is 19th century China. I immediately fell in love with it. I am a westerner, a Canadian, this was knowledge not usually told on my side of the world. So I thought, what are the most important events that made the China we see emerging during the Pacific War, or to be more accurate the Second Sino-Japanese War? I fell upon the first opium war, by the time I read a few books on that, it was the second opium war, then the Taiping Rebellion, the Nian Rebellion, the Boxer rebellion, the list goes on and on. 19th Century China is one of the most fascinating albeit traumatic episodes of human history and has everything to do with the formation of the China we see today. The term a century of humiliation or 100 years of humiliation is how many Chinese historians describe the time period between the First Opium War and the end of the Chinese Civil War. I do not speak the language nor have a full understanding of the culture, I am a lifelong learner and continue to educate myself on the history of one of the most ancient peoples of our world. This will be a long and honestly difficult story to tell, but I welcome you to join me on this journey.   Stating all that I want to begin our journey explaining how the Ming Dynasty fell and the Qing Dynasty rose up.  This episode is the rise of Nurhaci Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on world war two and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.   The Ming-Qing transition is a story filled with drama and corruption, heroes and villains, traitors and martyrs. Peasant rebellions, corrupt politicians and terrifying invaders would eventually collapse what was the Ming dynasty.   The Ming Dynasty was the ruling dynasty of China between 1368 and 1644. It would be the last dynasty to be ruled by Han Chinese. They had overthrown the Mongol led Yuan dynasty of 1271-1368 which fell for a plethora of reasons such as class conflict caused by heavy taxation and ethnic conflicts. During the entire history of China, there is always room for rebellions, and quite a number of Han revolts would occur such as the Red Turban rebellion beginning in 1351. Now amongst these many rebellions taking place there was Zhu Yuanzhang a man born into a impoverished peasant family in Zhongli county, present day Fengyang of Anhui Province. He had 7 older siblings, of which several were sold off by his parents because there was not enough food to go around. When he was 16, a severe drought ruined his family's harvest and this was accompanied by a plague that took the lives of both his parents and all his siblings, save for one brother.  Around this time the Yellow River dykes had flooded causing a widespread famine. More than 7 million people would starve as a result of the drought and famine in central and northern China. The now orphan Zhu would then dedicate his life to become a buddhist monk at the Huangjue Monastery near Fenyang to avoid starvation, which was a common practice of the poor. Then the monastery where he lived was destroyed by an army suppressing a rebellion. I would say enough had been enough for Zhu because this prompted him in 1352 to join a local rebel group associated with the White Lotus Society against the Yuan Dynasty. So he began to live a life as a bandit, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor as it's said. The leader of the rebel group was a man named Guo Zixing who led an attack to capture Haozhou. Zuo became his second in command and took on the name Zhu Yuanzhang. Guo quickly began to see the rising star that was Zhu as a rival, but would eventually die in 1355, leaving Zhu to take leadership of the rebel army. Zhu attacked and captured towns and cities in eastern China and as Zhu did this he also found scholars who could educate him. This allowed Zhu to learn the principles of good governance and soon his abilities were beginning to show. This local rebel group in turn eventually joined the larger Red Turban Army rebels against the Yuan Dynasty. Eventually young Zhu rose through the ranks and would emerge the leader of the rebellion. Zhu early on ordered the scholars in his ranks to portray him as a national leader against the Mongols rathan that just a popular rebel.  In 1356 Zhu's forces captured the strategic city of Nanjing which would become the future capital of the Ming Dynasty. Zhu would then emerge as the national leader against the Mongols, though he had rivals such as Chen Youliang based in Wuchang and Zhang Shicheng based in Pingjiang. Both rivals declared themselves leaders of new dynasties, Chen as emperor of the Han dynasty, Zhang as a prince of the Zhou dynasty. Zhu managed to defeat Chen's naval forces at Lake Poyang in 1363 and Chen would die with the destruction of that fleet. With the conquest of Chen's holdings at Wuhang, Hubei, Hunan and Jiangxi, Zhu soon proclaimed himself a Prince of Wu. Then Zhu was able to capture Zhang Shicheng who committed suicide, after this many rebel groups fell into submission. After continuing the fight against the Yuan and other warlords until 1368 when he then proclaimed himself emperor of the Ming Dynasty adopting the name Hongwu meaning “vastly martial”, though he is more correctly referred to as the Taizu emperor.    Emperor Hongwu sent out his armies to conquer the north while provinces in China submitted to his rule. The northwest was first to fall, followed by the southwest and by 1382 unification would be complete. Under his rule, the Mongol bureaucracy that had dominated the Yuan dynasty were replaced with Han Chinese officials. He re-instituted the imperial Examination, something that had roots going as far back as the Three Kingdoms period. He began major projects such as a long city wall around Nanjing. Now Hongwu was a very paranoid, cruel and even irrational ruler and this would increase as he aged. Upon taking power he immediately transformed the palace guards into a quasi secret police force and began a massive campaign to root out anyone who might threaten his authority. Hongwu set his secret police to work which resulted in a 14 year campaign of terror. In 1380, the prime minister Hu Weiyong was found to be plotting a coup to take the throne, he would be executed alongside 30,000 or so officials. Hongwu would abolish the prime minister and chancellor roles in government. Yet this did not satisfy him and 2 subsequent campaigns would occur resulting in the killing of 70,000 other people ranging from government officials all the way down to servants, your typical new emperor stuff.    Emperor Hongwu began a process of stationing members of his royal family all across the empire. He did after all have 26 sons, wow, and those who survived long enough became princes and were assigned a territory and military to rule. This system he built up would have some dire consequences down the road. Now just because Hongwu had overthrown the Mongol led Yuan dynasty and drove them up north, but this did not mean they were gone. Zhu envisioned early into his reign a border policy where mobile armies along the northern frontier would guard against the Mongol threat. Adding to this he wanted 8 outer garrisons near the steppe and a system of forts and other defensive structures. The inner line of this defense would end up being the  Ming Great Wall, part of the Great Wall of China. Manchuria and parts of outer mongolia remained under the control of Mongols and they held what is called the Northern Yuan dynasty. They too would be conquered by Hongwu's forces and after the emperor's death would be “complacent”, though they would claim to still be the legitimate heirs to the throne. Speaking of heirs to the throne, Hongwu would eventually die and he was succeeded by his 15 year old grandson Zhu Yunwen who would take up the title Jianwen Emperor in 1398.    Now Hongwu had chosen Zhu Yunwen to succeed him, but as is common throughout history, there would be someone else who would vie for the position. Now following somewhat in his grandfather's footsteps, the Jianwen Emperor began his emperorship by trying to limit the power of those who could threaten him, IE: his family. One of the first edicts he would make was for his uncles to remain in their respective territories, while he simultaneously began to effectively reduce their military capabilities. The first uncle he threw proposals at held the largest territory and most powerful military, he was Zhu Di the Prince of Yan and he simply refused the proposals. Then Jianwen arrested one uncle on treason charges, stripped his family of their royal status and exiled them. Jianwen followed this up by doing the same thing to 4 more uncles. Well as you can imagine a rift began to emerge between the families being targeted and that of Jianwen, so the Prince of Yan, Zhu Di who was the eldest surviving uncle and had the most formidable military assumed leadership amongst the targeted families. This prompted Jianwan to appoint several officials to go to current day Beijing where Zhu Di was stationed to stop his uncle from allegedly planning a coup. Zhu Di feinted being ill to illude the officials, but they reported back to the Emperor they thought a coup was about to occur. Thus the emperor gave the order to arrest his uncle at court, but a official at court leaked this information to Zhu Di.   Zhu Di soon began a rebellion against his nephew which led to a 3 year civil war (also known as the Jingnan Rebellion). This all cultivated in the end with Zhu Di personally leading his forces to take the imperial palace in Nanjing. Allegedly, Emperor Jianwen set the imperial palace on fire in his own despair. His body was never located and it is alleged he may have made an escape and went into exile. Zhu Di regardless held a imperial funeral for his nephew and was crowned the new Yongle Emperor which means “perpetual happiness”.    The Reign of Yongle is considered a second founding of the Ming Dynasty because of the enormous amount of achievements made. Nanjing was demoted to a secondary capital and now Beijing was made the main one. Yongle began the construction of the Imperial City and Forbidden City employing hundreds of thousands of workers. He decided to build a treasure fleet in 1403 and from 1405 to 1433 there were 7 maritime expeditions undertaken by the Ming treasure fleet. The ambitious project resulted in the construction of upto almost 3000 ships and expanded the Chinese tributary system to other countries as far as India, the Persian Gulf and east coast of Africa. An entire podcast could be dedicated to the Ming treasure voyages alone.   Yongle would stage 5 giant campaigns against the Mongols and Oirats north of the Great Wall which in turn would lead to more building up of the Great Wall of China throughout the 15th to 16th century. Indeed Emperor Yongle's efforts allowed the empire to be stable and prosperous for a century before it began to weaken. After Yongle the 6th & 8th Emperor of the Ming Dynasty, Emperor Zhengtong and yes you heard that right 6th and 8th allow me to explain. Emperor Zhengtong was encouraged by an influential court eunuch named Wang Zhen to lead a force personally to face off against the Oirats of the Northern Yuan dynasty leaving his half-brother Zhu Qiyu in charge temporarily. The Oirats had begun a 3 pronged invasion of the Ming dynasty At the age of 21, Emperor Zhengtong personally led the battle of Tumu Fortress against the Oirat leader, Esen Taishi. He lost one of the most humiliating battles in Chinese history, some rather ridiculous sources state half a million Ming forces fell to a Oirat cavalry force of just 20,000. Zhengtong was captured by Esen Taishi and held for ransom leading to what is called the Tumu Crisis. In the meantime his brother took the throne as the Jingtai Emperor. Zhengtong would eventually be released in the year of 1450 and return home, only to be put under immediate house arrest by the Jingtai Emperor for 7 years. Jingtai would be succeeded by Zhengtons son as the Chenghua Emperor, but Jingtai stripped him of his royal title and installed his own son as heir. That son died and the Jingtai Emperor would follow soon as the former Zhengtong Emperor led a palace coup against him. The Zhengtong emperor seized the throne and changed his regnal name to Tianshun meaning “obedience to Heaven”, then he demoted Jingtai to the status of a Prince and ruled for around 7 years. So yeah that's how you become Emperor twice apparently.    The Ming Dynasty was a very impressive empire and would be one of the most stable and longest ruling periods in Chinese history. Many enormous achievements were made by the Ming, as I mentioned they built up a large part of the Great Wall of China, the Forbidden City and led 7 massive voyages with the treasure fleet, but there was much much more. They created woodblock color printing and China's first metal movable type printing created by the Ming scholar Hua Sui in 1490. The first book printed using the technique was Zhu Chen Zou Yi. Alongside that the most comprehensible medical book ever written by Li Shizhen in 1578 about traditional Chinese Medicine, Compendium of Materia Medica (Bencao Gangmu). Another book was published during the Ming period and was called “Journey to the West” in 1592 by Wu Cheng'en and is considered one of the 4 great classical novels of Chinese literature. It built upon the accounts of the pilgrimage of the Tang Dynasty's Buddhist monk Xuanzang who traveled to Central Asia and the Indian subcontinent searching for sutras.   The economy of the Ming Dynasty was the largest in the world, following in the steps of the Han and Song periods to become known as one of China's 3 golden ages. With a massive agricultural surplus, porcelain goods and silk led to silver pouring into China. Speaking of porcelain it was one of the most loved exports of the Ming as they had perfected the technique built up during the Tang Dynasty. The blue and white porcelain became extremely popular in Europe. Speaking of Europe, while the Ming made such incredible achievements, one department they did less well in seems to be in terms of scientific discovery. The Ming Dynasty was characterized to be generally conservative and very inward looking, hard to blame them though when they were basically one of if not the pillars of the world. The west and east were not as isolated as one would think and the Ming by no means opened any relatively new relations with the west. For example there is evidence to support that Roman merchants during the reign of Marcus Aurelius had ventured as far as the Han capital city of Luoyang. Yet it would only be much later in history when one particular group made some waves in Ming China and that would be the Portuguese in the 16th century. The first to land on Lintin Island in May of 1513 was the Portuguese explorer Jorge Alvares which was the first time Europeans made contact with China via the sea route around the Cape of Good Hope. Then in 1516, the cousin of the famous Christopher Columbus, Rafael Perestrello became the first known European explorer to land by sea and trade in Guangzhou. The Portuguese would follow this up by attempting an inland delegation in the name of Manuel 1st of Portugal to the court of the Zhengde Emperor. Unfortunately for them the Zhengde Emperor would die in 1521 as they awaited an audience and they ended up being quasi blamed for the Emperor's death and would all be imprisoned for life. Rather hilariously one Simao de Andrade, the brother to the ambassador sent as a delegation, began to rile up the Chinese belief that the Portuguese were trying to kidnap Chinese children, allegedly to cook and eat them. There has been speculations this was all based on the idea Simao was purchasing and or kidnapping chinese children to take them as slaves. Well one thing led to another and the Ming Dynasty found itself enveloped in a small naval battle with the Portuguese naval force of Diogo Calvoin 1521. The Naval battle of Tunmen was the result of the Portuguese sailing up the river to Guangzhou without permission. Allegedly the Portuguese gave a cannon salute when they reached Guangzhou and this friendly gesture was quite alarming to the locals. Well while things were pretty cool for a bit, but then the delegation situation had gone sour at roughly and an edict was made to evict the Portuguese too which the Portuguese refused to comply with. The Portuguese cannons had superior range, but they were easily surrounded by a hoard of ships and the 5 Caravels were forced to use some bad weather to their advantage to flee the scene. By the way the slave purchasing / child kidnapper Simao continued for decades to do business in Xiamen and Ningbo. Eventually he ran into some trouble when he did what he did best, steal children and the locals banded together to slaughter him and those working with him.   Despite this, let's call it minor setback, the Portuguese continued to do limited trade along the Fujian coastline with the help of some rather corrupt local Ming merchants. By 1529 the Portuguese were sending annual trade missions to Shangchuan Island and by the 1550's the Portuguese established firmer feat in Macau where they established a trade colony. The Portuguese even began to help the Chinese fight off the hundreds of pirate ships running havok in the area. They then followed this up by fighting off the Dutch later in the 17th century. This of course would not stop the great Dutch maritime empire from eventually taking over, though the Portuguese found a very lucrative business in becoming middle men when the Japanese were banned from trade with China. The Portuguese would take Chinese silk, hock it for Japanese silver and presto, quite a good hussle.    Things were looking good for the Ming dynasty, but troubles loomed around every corner. One of those corners we hinted to just a bit, that being the Japanese. Japan had stopped sending tribute missions to China in 838 when it was the Tang Dynasty. 6 centuries later, between 1403-1547 the Ming Dynasty was quite powerful and the Japanese shogunate was relatively weak. The founder of the Ming Dynasty, Zhu Yuanzhang demanded Japan resume its tributary relationship with China if Japan wanted to trade with China. Japan agreed to recommence the tributary relationship with China believing that the trade would be beneficial and that China's recognition of the shogun as a partner would help to strengthen the shogunate. Thus the tributary relationship continued as of 1403 and it would be almost a century until Japan abandoned it again.   Speaking of Japan, by 1590, Japan's Warring states struggles came to an end when Toyotomi Hideoyosih emerged victorious and unified the nation. Yet soon the ailing leader of Japan, for a platitude of reasons decided to try and invade the Ming Dynasty, but to do so he would need to go through Korea. Historians argue one of the main reasons for the invasion of Korea was so Hideyoshi could keep his troops occupied as he may have feared them returning home would result in another domestic conflict. Hideyoshi did not study his enemy nor the territory his forces would be fighting upon. It really seemed Hideyoshi was in afit of egomania after unifying Japan and became convinced he would be able to conquer China. Now I cannot go into what is collectively known as the Imjin War of 1592-1598, but if you are interested you can check out King's and Generals over at Youtube where they have a few episodes on the event including: Imjin War: Beginning of the Japanese invasion of Korea / Imjin War: Rise of admiral Yi Sun-sin / Noryang Straits 1598.    What you need to know is that Hideyoshi asked, or rather ordered the Joseon Dynasty to allow his forces safe passage to go and invade their allies and protector, the Ming Dynasty. The Koreans gave a prompt no and did not stop Hideyoshi from transporting around 160,000 warriors to Pusan with the intention of marching them through Korea, then Manchuria and straight towards Beijing. This all would see Japan invading and fighting against the Joseon and Ming forces in 2 separate campaigns. Now initially the war went quite well for the Japanese, the Koreans were not prepared and the few thousand Chinese troops dispatched to help them, got stomped around the Yalu river. Well the Ming Emperor Wanli, surprised by the failure of his forces, decided to toss a much larger number of men, very much to the shock of the Japanese. The combined forces of the Ming and Joseon dynasty managed to push the Japanese out of the Korean peninsula. A cool fact of this war by the way was how the Koreans designed these armored warships known as turtle ships which held a ton of firepower. The turtle ships under the command of Admiral Yi Sun-sin out maneuvered the Japanese ships and decimated them, thus thwarting the Japanese from sending anymore troopships over to Korea. In the end the Ming Dynasty had quelled the Japanese challenge at their status as the supreme military power in East Asia and also affirmed that the Ming were willing to protect their tributary states like the Joseon Dynasty.  The Japanese by some estimates lost ⅓ their troops during the first year of the war. The cost of the war came at a steep price, it is estimated around 250-300 thousand died, perhaps 100,000 Japanese, 185,000 Koreans and 29,000 Chinese. And while that is truly horrible, the monetary costs were also quite steep, estimates put it in the range of up to 26,000,000 ounces of silver for the Ming Dynasty. Overall the war was a lose-lose situation for Japan, China and Korea. Yet it seems this war had a side effect that would prove to be one of the many nails that would be smashed into what was to become the Ming Dynasty's coffin. For while this venture played out down south in Korea, its effects rippled back all the way up to the Ming Dynasty's northern realm.   During this time period there were 3 major Jurchen tribes, the Wild Jurchens who lived in the most northern part of Manchuria. The Haixi Jurchens, who lived along the Haixi river and the Jianzhou Jurchen, who lives along the Mudan River in the region of Changbaishan. Jerchen by the way is something like a collective name for these people, their ancestors went by another name, the Manchu. They were semi-nomadic people and  heavily influenced by their neighboring Mongols. A Jianzhou Jurchen named Nurhaci had lost both his father Taksi and grandfather Giocangga, when a rival Jurchen chieftain named Nikan Wailan attacked them at Gure in 1582. Nurhaci demanded that the Ming hand over Nikan Wailan to him for execution, but they refused and went as far as considering to declare Nikan Wailan as new Khan of all the Jurchens, believing this would keep them all divided. It goes without saying Nikan Wailan forces were supported by the Ming. The Ming were utilizing the same strategy that had been done since the ancient times to deal with the peoples of the steppe, foster rivalries amongst the tribes and keep them disunified.    It is said that Nurhaci was a gifted mounted archer from youth, could speak multiple languages, and loved to read Chinese literature such as Shuihu Zhuan “water margin” and Sanguo Yanyi “romance of the 3 kingdoms”.  At the age of 25 Nurhaci avenged his father and grandfather's deaths by defeating Nikan Wailan in battle in 1587 sending him fleeing to the Ming for protection. The Ming would eventually execute him years later, but this would not satisfy Nurhaci. In 1589 the Ming Dynasty appointed Nurhaci as the Paramount Chieftain of the Yalu Region. It seems the Ming Dynasty believed that Nurhaci's tribe was too weak to unify the other tribes and become a threat to them, thus fulfilling their strategy of keeping them disunified.  Then Nurhaci managed to defeat a coalition of over 9 rival tribes, one of which was the Yehe tribe during the battle of Gure. In 1591, Nurhaci had consolidated a large swathe of territory stretching from Fushun to the Yalu River and this provoked the Yehe tribes who sent a force of over 30,000 against him. Nurhaci's men were able to turn back the Yehe menace and while Nurhaci continued to rally tribes under his command,  the Imjin War began.   As the Japanese were invading Korea, the rising Jurchen leader had some limited engagements against the Japanese along the border of Korea and Manchuria. This led Nurhaci to offer assistance to the Ming and Joseon dynasties for the Imjin War effort. But both the Ming and Joseon dynasty's would refuse his offer however, especially the Joseon who stated “to accept such assistance from northern barbarians would be disgraceful”. Now the Imjin War indirectly weakened the Ming Dynasty's position in Manchuria and gave the now rather insulted Jurchen leader Nurhaci an opportunity to expand his influence and territory. Nurhaci began to conquer and consolidate the unrelated tribes surrounding Manchuria. In 1599 Nurhaci had his trusted scholar Erdeni create a system of writing using the traditional Mongolian alphabet that laid out the foundation of what would become the Manchu alphabet. The Manchu as a people by the way are hard to really define and have been referred to as simply Jurchens, Tatars given who is speaking about them and what time period it is. In reality the Manchu is a rather broad umbrella for a few different groups of people in the large area of Manchuria and the term Manchu was chosen specially to create a sort of legitimate ancestry by those who eventually would bear its name.   In 1601 Nurhaci began to develop the Manchu military which became the banner system later on seen in the Qing dynasty. The banners derived from the niru “arrow” , a designation for a small Jurchen hunting band. This led to the organization of cavalry and infantry companies of around 300 men with subdivisions of 75. These units eventually evolved into differing banners, yellow, white, red and blue at first, then this increased to a total of 8 later on. If you have never seen the 8 banner army uniforms from the late Qing Dynasty, I highly recommend googling it. Absolutely awesome to see, unique colors for the armor and everything. Now the banner system was not purely military, it also became the established social hierarchy of what was to be a new state. Its important to note during his unifying efforts, Nurhaci also acquired a vast amount of Han Chinese defectors and with them Ming knowledge and technology such as firearms. A lot of these Han Chinese  would be married to Manchu women to form marriage alliances.The idea behind it was to take the tribe system and use it as building blocks for a military bureaucracy. This in turn also acted as a method of creating an administrative structure of the future Manchu people. Nurhaci built up his new empire's economy via mining and trade and managed to accumulate a lot of silver from tributary missions to the Ming Dynasty.    In 1607 Nurhaci declared himself the Kundulun Khan over what he proclaimed to be the Jin State, named after the former Jurchen led Great Jin Dynasty. Now this was also done to assert divine lineage to the Jin Dynasty of the 12th century and in some ways was an implied challenge towards the Ming Dynasty. Indeed, Nurhaci even began to publicly refer to the Ming Dynasty as merely the “Southern Dynasty”, implying equality with his new state. So it seems the Ming Dynasty had greatly miscalculated Nurhaci and now they had quite a threat bearing down upon them. In 1610 Nurhaci broke relations with the Ming imperial court and in 1618 he demanded they pay him tribute and sent them what is legendary known as the “seven grievances”. This was a list of 7 terrible acts the Ming Dynasty had performed against Nurhaci personally and that of the Manchu people, basically a highlight reel of everything they did to try and stop the tribes from unifying. Smack dab as number 1 by the way was supporting the man who killed Nurhaci's father and grandfather. The seven grievances also acted as a formal declaration of war against the Ming Dynasty. To think one day your financing the murder of some small tribal leaders, next thing you know their offspring has raised a new national peoples to take you out?    A confederacy of Jurchen tribes referred to as the Hulun tribes gradually began to recognize Nurhaci's authority, but some took more convincing so to say. The Jurchen tribes of the Hada, Hoifa, Ula were all defeated and assimilated by 1613, but then there remained one last Jurchen tribe that would not submit and it was one of the most formidable, the Yehe. In 1618 the Yehe leader Gintaisi united with the Ming Dynasty to combat the newly emerged threat that was Nurhaci.    As it would turn out, the flashpoint for the conflict that would ultimately lead to the downfall of the Ming Dynasty would occur at a frontier town in the northeast. The town held one of the 18 key fortresses established by the founder of the Ming, Emperor Hongwu. The first official battle with the Ming Dynasty would occur in Fushun. Fushun was located on the Hun River just east of Shenyang. Nurhaci sent a letter to the Yehe at Fushun stating “If there is a battle then the arrows shot by our soldiers will strike all in sight. If you are hit, you will surely die. Your strength cannot withstand. Even though you die in battle, there is no profit. If you come out and surrender, our soldiers will not enter the city. The soldiers attached to you will be given complete protection. But suppose our soldiers do attack and enter. The old and young inside the city will surely be in jeopardy, your official salaries will be taken away and your ranks will soon be reduced [for losing the battle]... If you submit without fighting I will not change your great doro (guiding principles; Ch., li yi) at all. I will let you live just as you did before. I will promote not only the people with great knowledge and foresight but also many other people, give them daughters in marriage and care for them. I will give you a higher position than you have and treat you like one of my officials of the first degree”.    In addition to being the first official military challenge to the Ming Authority, Fushun was connected to Nurhaci's strategy of assimilating the remaining rival Jurchen tribes such as the Haixi. Fushun also happened to be quite isolated and not as well-protected as the other great fortress cities. Commanding the defenses of Fushun was Li Yong Fang who had around 1200 men under him. Nurhaci would throw 20,000 at the city, but before he did this he sent around 50 men disguised as horse traders into the city. These 50 infiltrators opened the gates to Nurhaci's men who soon poured in. Li Yongfangs was horrified by the scene as several of his subordinates rushed to give their lives facing the invaders. Li Yongfang was captured and brought before Nurhaci who said to him “I know you are a man of many talents and have had many experiences and my state is in search of talent, as we are lacking in capable officials and are looking to employ capable generals. What purpose will your death serve? But if you surrender, you and all you soldiers will be safe”. Li Yong fang agreed to surrender if the people would be spared. Nurhaci honored this promise, in the end around 590 Ming soldiers died during the attack. Li Yongfang soon became a general under Nurhaci and even married one of his granddaughters. Li Yongfang became the first prominent Ming commander to defect and this would set a precedent for many many more. A large reason Ming officials like Li Yongfang defected was because they were not going to be forced to give up their own culture and customs.   After capturing the Fortress of Fushun, Nurhaci left 4000 men to guard it and now turned his attention to another fortress in Qinghecheng or known simply as Qinghe. The outraged Ming Court did not waste any time sending a counter attack to take back Fushun. The Ming dispatched commander Zhang Chengyin with 10,000 men to recapture the city. Zhang led the men and besieged the city, digging trenches and raining hell upon its walls using cannon and firearms. Nurhaci's sons Hung Taiji and Daisan took the force of 4000 men outside the city and to the shock of the besiegers charged directly upon them. It is estimated only 20% of the Ming force survived this devastating attack, and the rest fled or were captured.   The Ming Court was stunned by the loss of Fushun and knew it was not the only Fortress that would be attacked. Thus they dispatched an expeditionary force of 5000 men with 2 commanders, Li Rubai, the commander of Liaodong and Yang Hao the Military affairs commissioner to support the region, beginning with Qinghe. Both men were personally liked by Emperor Wanli, but both also had undergone scandals during the Imjin War when they messed up during a siege battle. With the new reinforcements brought over by the 2 commanders, Qinghe now had a garrison 6400 strong. Before leaving to help other areas, Yang Hao advised the commander of the Qinghe fortress, Zou Chuxian that he should lay an ambush out for the invaders, perhaps in the mountain pass nearby where they could take advantage of Ming firearms. Zou did not heed this and opted instead to remain within the fortress.   The reinforcing of the Qinghe fortress would prove to be fruitless. The defenders fired their cannons, hurled large boulders and logs and tossed hot oil all inflicting heavy casualties upon Nurhaci's men, but despite all of this the besiegers were able to take a corner wall as the defenders were busy loading their cannons. The siege quickly turned into bloody street to street fighting and with it the complete slaughter of the city's forces. Zou and his subordinates perished alongside most within the city. This prompted the Ming court to place a price over Nurhaci's head, 10,000 taels of silver. It is apparent, the Ming were not prepared to face the challenge pressed upon them by someone like Nurhaci. They had failed to anticipate Nurhaci's state-building efforts and now the fruits of his work were bearing witness.   With the fall of Qinghe and the surrounding towns, the Ming Court now dispatched a large force of 100,000 men to attack Nurhaci's forces. Yang Hao formulated the strategy for the grand operation, they would divide into 4 groups of around 30,000 men each and approach Nurhaci's stronghold of Hetu Ala from 4 different directions and surround it. Ma Lin would lead the northern group coming from Kaiyuan. Du Song from the west coming from Fushun. Li Rubo would come from southwest through the Yau Pass. Last, Liu Ting (also known as Big Sword Liu) would come from the Southeast from Kuandian supported by a 13,000 strong Joseon Dynasty Expeditionary force commanded by Gang Hong-rip. Despite all the planning, Yang Hao did not believe their forces had adequate training nor the supplies for the venture.    It is estimated that Nurhaci had around 60,000 men at this time. Nurhaci also had amazing scouts that provided him with great intelligence of the Ming plans and he decided the best course of action was to concentrate all of his forces together and pick off each Ming group one by one. Thus he sent small detachments of around 500 men each to intercept Liu Tin, Ma Lin and Li Rubo to misdirect them, while he would take the main force and smash Du Song, whom he deemed the greatest threat out of the 4 groups. To beat Du Song, Nurhaci snuck 15,000 of his men in the forested mountains near Sarhu for an ambush.   Du Song's force of around 30,000 set forth from Fushun which they had recently recaptured with ease as it was left undefended. Du Song was frustrated by this and wanted to face the enemy and finally found them when he came across the Hun River and saw a Jin force on the other side.    Du Song took 10,000 of his men to cross the river and attack, so that a beachhead could be formed and thus providing adequate room for a safe transfer of the rest of his forces and equipment. So he left behind the other 20,000 men with the war equipment who would follow them once the Jin force were pushed back. When Du Song's men were halfway across the river, Nurhaci sprung a trap. It turns out Nurhaci had ordered his forces to prepare the breaking of dams, and at the moment Du Song's 10,000 men got half way in, well they broke them. The Ming forces in disarray had to flee back from the raging water, abandoning a ton of their equipment. Now Du Song's force had to go from offense to defense, erecting 2 camps on the opposite side of the river frantically.  Those troops Nurhaci snuck in the forested mountains then came down upon the camp that held Du Song  and Nurhaci himself personally led 6 banners to attack the camp as well.   Nurhaci's forces much like that of Ghenghis Khan's, came in with horse backed archers to pelt the defenders. The Ming Musketeers divided themselves into 2-3 rows, taking turns to fire their guns and reload, known as “repeated fire”, basically a more rustic version of what you see during something like the revolutionary wars of America. Some of theses guns by the way are known as Zhuifeng Qiang “windchasing” guns. They are around 5 feet long and shoot fairly large lead bullets. With one of these you can probably hit something within 40 feet away effectively. So you must be thinking, well the Ming Musketeers must have shot the Jin cavalry up like a turkey shoot, but you would be wrong. Interesting little side note here, the bow and arrow historically has trumped firearms honestly until the invention of the repeating rifle and revolver. If you know something about the Aboriginal wars in the America's, it was this innovation that finally allowed militaries to defeat peoples like the Comanche. Until those were invented, horseback archers would be able to get off far too many shots by the time people using firearms could shoot and reload. And thats basically what happened, Nurhaci's horseback archers pelted the Ming Musketeers and began flanking them, until they began to break formation and soon fled. After this Nurhaci besieged the other camp at Jilin Cliff. Soon the Jin's had surrounded the force there and Du Song alongside 2 other generals were killed during the slaughter. It was said that “corpses piled up like a mountain and the fields were drenched in blood”.   Upon hearing that Nurhaci had annihilated the force under Du Song, the inbound force led by Ma Lin coming from a northern position chose to be much more cautious. Ma Lin's 30,000 men soon found the fleeing remnants of Du Song's force and quickly incorporated them into his own force. He then formed 3 camps at Xiangjiayan and fortified them with trenches and cannons. Nurhaci's sent a 1000 men to prod the defenses of the main camp that held Ma Lin's command and also to draw its attention. The 1000 men dismounted and moved forward cautiously, drawing the Ming gunfire their way.   Once Nurhaci had a good idea of the layout of their defenses, he sent in a joint infantry-cavalry assault to make a swift attack upon a weakest point on Ma Lin's camp. The Ming Musketeers could barely get off more than a single volley before the Jin horse riding warriors descended upon them. The front lines were being cut to pieces and soon the entire army's morale broke and several men were routed. Commander Ma Lin barely escaped with his life and many of his officers died in a nearby river turning it quote “crimson with their blood”.  The other 2 camps fell in a similar fashion. Thus Nurhaci had just annihilated 2 out of the 4 incoming armies and took some 4000 of his forces to Hetu Ala to recuperate their strength.    Yang Hao saw the absolute mayhem occurring and ordered the remaining forces to retreat and regroup, but the force coming in from the east led by Big Sword Liu Ting never got the orders. Now unlike his colleagues, Liu Ting was actually having some success against some Jin expeditionary parties. The 13,000 Joseon Expeditionary force was with Liu Ting consisting of 10,000 Musketeers and 3000 archers were proving themselves very capable warriors. He managed to capture a few fortresses, killed 2 Jin generals and inflicted a few thousand casualties. Nurhaci then decided to do something rather cunning: he slipped some saboteurs into Liu Ting's army. These saboteurs pretended to be messengers from Du Song, stating his force was already besieging Hetu Ala and desperately needed assistance for the final victory. Liu Ting proceeded to respond by increasing his army's speed to rush to Hetu Ala. Because of the increased speed they were going, Liu Ting's force became very stretched out and now there were practically 2 divided groups. Around 18 miles from Hetu Ala, Liu Ting's frontal force was ambushed in the Abudali Pass. This allowed 2 of Nurhaci's son's Daisan and Hong Taiji to both make cavalry charges one after the other into the front of Liu Ting's force. These back to back charges inflicted heavy casualties, and they soon managed to surround the Ming force, exacting an estimated 10,000 casualties upon them. It also claimed the life of Liu Ting who was said to go down killing several Jin with him, must have been waving around a pretty big sword. By the way I tried quite hard to find out how the nickname came about and failed to find anything concrete, if anyone knows let me know perhaps by commenting on one of my Youtube episodes!   The Korean Musketeers performed quite well, but the archers, it is alleged, fired without arrowheads, because the Joseon Dynasty intended to keep a neutrality with the newly emerged Jin people. The Joseon Musketeers were eventually overwhelmed by the Jin cavalry, because they lacked spearmen in their formations to thwart off the charges, something they would improve upon later down the road.  Gang Hong-rip ended up surrendering the remaining 4500 of his forces. Those who survived later captivity were eventually allowed to return to their homeland. Gang Hong-rip was proficient in the Jurchen language and was held hostage. Interestingly, once the battle was won and done, Nurhaci went back to Hetu Ala to celebrate and one of the first things he did afterwards was send a message to the King of the Joseon Dynasty asking why they sent an expeditionary force to aid the Mings. The king tried to play it cool and sent a letter of congratulations for the victory, but made sure not to write anything that recognized the Jin state. It seemed the Joseon dynasty was now stuck between the Ming-Jin conflict and this would hold dire consequences later.    Li Rubo had received the message to retreat from Yang Hao, so he was able to avoid disaster, losing around 1000 troops before getting out to safety. Overall it is estimated that the Ming lost some 45,000 troops, 28,000 horses and a ton of war equipment. The Jin claimed to have only lost 200 men, but better estimations put them at losing around 5000. The Ming Court was rocked by this loss and ordered the arrest of Yang Hao, sending the Embroidered Uniform Guard after him; those are essentially the Emperor's secret police. Li Rubo was impeached, because there were rumors he had only survived because he had a personal relationship with Nurhaci. Li Rubo would commit suicide before his trial and Yang Hao would rot in prison for almost a decade before being executed.   I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.  Nurhaci did not stop after defeating the 4 armies, he continued to raise hell by capturing Kaiyuan, Tieling and Xicheng without breaking much of a sweat. Hell Nurhaci was said to have braved a hail of arrows when he personally led the assault on the east wall of Xicheng. Over in Chahar, some of Nurhaci's subjects were defeated at Guangning and this would lead to ongoing troubles between the Jin and Chahar mongols for 15 years. Now Xicheng was the last bastion of Nurhaci's Yehe Jurchen rivals, so now he looked towards more empire building activities. Alongside his advisors they began to plan the conquest of Shenyang and perhaps to establish a new Jin Capital in its place. 

    For the final episode on the Mongol Empire, we take you, our dear listeners, in a quick survey of the final years of Chinggisid rule in Mongolia, after the Yuan Dynasty was forced from China in 1368, until the Manchu conquests in the seventeenth century. This will help bridge the gap with the next series in this podcast, and serve as an afterword to this season.  I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.   We detailed in previous episodes the final years of the Mongol Yuan Dynasty in China, which culminated with Töghön Temür Khaan fleeing his capital of Dadu to Mongolia. With the Yuan rulers ousted, the new Ming Dynasty, ruled by the Chinese warlord Zhu Yuanzhang now styled the Hongwu Emperor, seized Dadu. Dadu was renamed to Beiping, “northern peace,” and would soon to Beijing, “northern capital.” The Ming, under its early emperors, was a highly militarized state with what's often described as an oppressively strong government. The Hongwu Emperor, though recognizing that the Mongols had had the Mandate of Heaven, had settled on one key flaw which allowed corruption and poor governance to settle in. That is, that the Yuan Khans simply did not have enough authority within their government, which had been augmented by Töghön Temür Khaan's debauchery. The lords of the Yuan state simply had too much more power in comparison to the Yuan Emperor. The Ming solution to that, was to, at least in early years of the dynasty, ensure there were few checks on the might of the Ming Emperor. This would lead to intense control over society and its own oppression, but that's another matter.       The flight of the Yuan rulers back into the steppe was neither the end of the Yuan, nor of the Mongol threat, and the Ming knew this. The flight of 1368, and Töghön Temür's death in 1370, was hardly the end of war, as Ming and Yuan forces raided back and forced over the frontier repeatedly. The Ming led continued assaults into Mongolia itself, on one occasion sacking the much reduced former Mongol capital of Qaraqorum. But the Hongwu Emperor's forces met defeats in Mongolia in 1372, and his armies were forced back in humiliating, destructive routs. The Hongwu Emperor continued to send armies into Mongolia throughout the 1380s, but finally recognized the stalemate. He had solidified rule over China, defeated the last of Yuan holdouts, but in the steppes his armies could be drawn out, starved and crushed by the Mongols. It was better to fall back to military garrisons along the frontier to launch counter attacks, rather than waste more resources in the steppes. Frustratingly, the sons of Töghön Temür continued to claim the right to rule China, and refused to recognize that the Ming now held the Mandate of Heaven. Ming historians from this point on refer to the Yuan in Mongolia as the Northern Yuan, though the Yuan Khaans themselves saw their rule as continuing unabated.       In the early fifteenth century, the ascension of the Hongwu Emperor's son, Zhu Di, known as the Yongle Emperor, brought renewed conflict. The Yongle Emperor personally led some of these campaigns, and when he met the Mongols in battle he was victorious, aided by the prodigious usage of gunpowder weapons. But in the final campaigns, the strong man of the Northern Yuan, a fellow named Arughtai, increasingly favoured avoiding direct engagement with the Ming entirely. The Yongle Emperor's ambitions were thus thwarted, and the threat of starvation and isolation in the steppes forced his withdrawal. It was on one of these withdrawals in 1424 that the Yongle Empire succumbed to illness, and with him died the last skilled military emperor of the Ming.    The arrival of the Yuan nobility back to the steppe brought with it its own problems, for the sinicized elite accustomed to the finery of great Dadu found life in Mongolia difficult and unrefined. The local lords in Mongolia, having long since felt abandoned by Dadu, did not easily abide the new arrivals or their demands for troops. The Dadu refugees also were decidedly much too Chinese for the liking of Mongolia's local elite. Many of the Mongolian leaders were descendants of Ariq Böke or Chinggis Khan's brothers, those who felt they had been left out of the power and resources of the empire. The upheaval brought on by the constant Ming attacks in eastern and central Mongolia at the same time did no favours to the position of the Yuan. On Töghön Temür's death in 1370, he was succeeded by his son, the much more capable Ayushiridara. Ayushiridara Khaan and his skilled general Koko Temür led effective counter attacks against the Ming, and even succeeded in gaining lost territory, though Ayushiridara's son Maidiribala was captured by the Ming. On Ayushiridara's death in 1378, the Ming released Maidiribala back to Mongolia to influence the election, for Maidiribala had been well treated and was seen as favourably disposed to the Ming. But Ayushiridara was succeeded by his brother Tögüs Temür, who continued war with the Ming and interfering along the border. After a series of battles, in 1388 Tögüs Temür was defeated near Buyur Lake in northern Mongolia. Though he escaped, the depowered Tögüs Temür Khaan was soon murdered by a distant relation named Yesüder. With the death of Tögüs Temür Khaan, the unbroken succession of the house of Khubilai came to an end. Now various lords within the Northern Yuan declared their independence, sought peace with the Ming or fought for the Chinggisid throne. As was the usual case when this occurred, khans now rapidly ascended to the throne only to soon be killed or ousted. Their order remains confused, their identities uncertain, and many were little more than figure heads for puppet masters. One of the most notable and longest lasting of these Mongol puppet masters was Arughtai. Until his death in 1434, Arughtai remained the most powerful man in the Northern Yuan court, fighting against the Ming, the Oirats and other rivals to power, but never able to reassert Yan hegemony over all of Mongolia.       This infighting in the Yuan court greatly benefitted one party in western Mongolia. These were the Oirat, or western Mongols, assembled in a political union known by its clever name, the Four Oirat. While they had been subjects to the Great Khan, their local lords were not Chinggisids, and had enjoyed a great degree of autonomy in the recent decades before the Yuan expulsion. The arrival of the Great Khans from China brought interference in their internal matters, demands for troops and supplies which caused resentment. The turmoil brought on the wars with the Ming and the succession struggles led to the Oirat leadership to challenge the Great Khans. In 1399, Ugechi Khasakha of the Khoit Oirat and Batula, son-in-law to the Khan, killed the Great Khan Elbeg, beginning open warfare between the Oirat and the Yuan. When Ugechi Khasakha assassinated Elbeg Khan's son Gün-Temür in 1402, the Oirat leader assumed supreme power in Mongolia and the title of Guilichi Khaan. By 1408 his former ally, Batula, ousted Ugechi Khaskha and assumed power himself, while Arughtai elected another of Elbeg Khan's sons, Bunyashiri, as Khaan. While this civil war was ongoing, the Ming continued to interfere, by granting imperial titles and supplies to other Oirat factions to strengthen them against the Khaan, coupled with invasions of Mongolia itself by the Yongle Emperor. On other occasions, in order to prevent the Oirat from becoming too powerful, the Ming would send troops and supplies to aid the Yuan Khans against the Oirat.       After the Yongle Emperor's death in 1424, Ming meddling in Mongolia slackened. With this, the Oirat leader Toghon Chingsang, son of Batula, gradually succeeded in taking control over eastern Mongolia. A skilled politician and diplomat, he maintained good ties with neighbours outside Mongolia, like the Ming and the Jurchen, while strengthening his control over the Mongols and finding rival puppets to install on the Yuan throne. Toghon and his son Esen defeated and executed Arughtai in 1434, and then the rival Chinggisid Khan in 1438. With this, Toghon took effective control of Mongolia. Through marriage alliance and diplomacy he took most of the rest too. With a new puppet Khaan on the throne, Toghon was made the taishi, derived originally from the Chinese Grand Preceptor. Toghon died soon after this, and was succeeded to the position of taishi by his son Esen. Hence, the influential Esen Taishi came to dominate Mongolia.       A skilled general beyond even his father, by the time Esen Taishi took control at the start of the 1440s he had campaigned as far west as Moghulistan and back. He held onto power with an iron hand and cooperative khaans, crushing rebellions and bringing the Jurchen in Manchuria and cities of what's now northwestern China's Gansu province under his rule. Ming armies into the steppe were defeated; the Ming generals and emperors could no longer hold a candle to the might of the Yongle Emperor.       Struggling to contain Esen Taishi's expansion militarily or politically, the Ming tried a new strategy: economic warfare. During Toghon Taishi's period, trade had flowed relatively easily between Mongolia and the Ming, with horses, livestock and furs coming from Mongol lands and manufactured goods and materials from China. Envoys had travelled freely, but the Mongols had also learned to take advantage of Ming gift giving to envoys. Mongol embassies arriving with several thousands persons in tow, which all had to be housed, fed and gifted at the expense of the Ming court. The Ming demanded that Esen Taishi restrict these embassies to only a few hundred men, which Esen felt as an insult. Though forbidden by the Ming, in exchange for horses, border guards and other lords near the frontier traded weapons and armour to the Mongols. Though Esen Taishi would have preferred to maintain good relations and continue profiting off of the Ming, the Ming's harsher treatment of his envoys and efforts to shut down the trade over the border either pushed Esen too far, or served as a useful pretext for war. Mongol attacks on the north began, and the inexperienced, overconfident and poorly advised Zhengtong Emperor, a great-grandson of the Yongle Emperor, marched from Beijing to face the Mongols in battle. In August 1449, the Mongol-Oirat forces outmaneuvered the Ming and then inflicted a crushing defeat upon them at the Tumu Fort, and captured the Zhengtong Emperor. With his captive in tow, Esen Taishi laid siege to Beijing itself and raided the northern countryside, though called off the campaign and eventually freed his imperial prisoner, hoping he would cause trouble with the new Ming emperor who had been installed.        The Tumu Crisis, as it came to be known, was a huge embarrassment for the Ming, and put an end to any belief that the Ming could continue to work offensively against the Mongols. While that had been possible in the careful military structure under the Yongle Emperor, after his death the Ming imperial and military infrastructure lacked the ability or the will to carry out such campaigns, yet had retained the misplaced confidence in their ability to do so. Esen Taishi had just poked through that lie with a hundred thousand arrows. Now turning to the defensive, the Ming renewed an age-old strategy against the nomads: building border fortifications to impede their movement. So began the steady construction of the Great Wall of China as it exists today, beginning first north of Beijing and in time crawling along the entire Mongol frontier.       In turn, the Tumu crisis did not help Esen Taishi's leadership. His puppet khan, Taisun, began to conspire against him, and they met in battle in 1452. Victorious, Esen Taishi sought to do away with the puppets altogether and rule as khan in his own right, until his assassination in 1455. The height of Oirat domination over the Chinggisids thus passed, and for the next decades contenders to the Chinggisid throne fought against Oirat efforts to reassert their hegemony. What followed was more warfare, great and petty, until Mongolia was reunified again under Chinggisid leadership in the early 1500s by Batu-Möngke Dayan Khaan, more usually known as Dayan Khaan. Raised to office and aided throughout his reign by his skilled mother-in-law/wife Mandukhai Khatun, after years of fighting against Oirats, other Mongols and the Ming, by 1510 Dayan Khaan succeeded in controlling all of Mongolia.  He appointed his sons and commanders to head new administrative units; removed the lords who stood against him, reconfirmed those who supported him,  and divided the population of Mongolia into  6 tümens, made up of  54 otogs.        The Dayan Khaanid 1500s was much more stable compared to the century before. It's not clear how long Dayan Khaan reigned for, with some putting his death in the 1540s, or before 1520. One consequence of his reign was dividing the empire between his sons, assigning them to the various tümed across Mongolia, with one intended as an overarching khan. But his power waned as that of the aristocrats' grew, and at the end of the 1540s a grandson of Dayan Khan, Altan Khan, usurped power. This ushered in another period of centralization and military authority, as Altan Khan led attacks against the Kazakhs, Oirats and the Ming. In one of his most notable exploits, in 1550 he attacked Beijing itself and set its outskirts aflame. The Ming Emperor was forced into a peace treaty which heavily favoured the Mongols and provided them gifts and advantageous trade terms; a far cry from the offensive might the Yongle Emperor had once employed.       One of the most lasting consequences of Altan Khan was the promotion of Buddhism in Mongolia, for Altan Khan and his third wife, Jönggen Khatun, were its great patrons. Though Buddhism had a presence in Mongolia for centuries, it had never been a large or significant one. The late thirteenth century saw some flourishing of the faith among the elite, which continued in the following centuries. In the 1570s Altan Khan and his Khatun invited to Mongolia the Third Dalai Lama, Sonam Gyatso; except, he was not yet called the Dalai Lama. This title was bestowed upon Sonam Gyatso by Altan Khan, coming from the Mongolian word Dalai,  meaning Ocean. The Dalai Lama was thus the oceanic, or universal, lama, and the title was posthumously applied to Sonam Gyatso's two previous reincarnations. After Sonam Gyatso's death in 1588, the Fourth Dalai Lama was a great-grandson of Altan Khan, and thereby a descendant of Chinggis Khan.        The official, dedicated patronage of Buddhism by Altan Khan and his successors allowed it to spread across Mongolia as it never had before. Altan Khan even took materials from the ruins of the once imperial capital of Qaraqorum to build a monastery nearby, known as the Erdene Zuu which still stands today. Anti-shamanic efforts by the succeeding khans and the new Buddhist clergy reduced the influence of the shamans, and the building of monasteries across Mongolia was the start of the powerful Buddhist Lamas who would, in time, rule large swathes of the country. It was not a quick or perfect transformation;  Mongolian sources speak of efforts to replace the traditional Mongol shamanist-animism well into the seventeenth century, and even today shamans can still be consulted in Mongolia.    From the conversion of the Northern Yuan and its people, Buddhism spread to the remaining independent Oirats, who the Yuan had steadily pushed from their base in western Mongolia. Part of the Oirats travelled far west in one of the final great steppe-migrations; these were the Kalmyks, who made their way west of the Caspian Sea, displacing and ruling over the Nogai Horde. This Kalmyk Khanate was conquered by the Russians in the early eighteenth century, and today they remain largely in Russia's republic of Kalmykia, which contains the only notable Buddhist population in Europe. Meanwhile, the left wing of the Oirat confederation, known in Mongolian as the dzün gar, went on to establish, in the early seventeenth century, what is normally considered the final steppe empire; the Dzungar Khanate. They ruled that ill-defined region of Moghulistan, known after them as Dzungaria, where today the border of China, Kazakhstan and Kirghizstan meet. The Dzungars would be a fierce foe against Qing Dynasty expansion into Central Asia, and fought constantine against their neighbours in Tibet, Mongolia proper and westwards against the Kazakhs. Ultimately the Dzungars met utter destruction at the hands of the Qing Dynasty in the mid-eighteenth century, an event known as the Dzungar Genocide. The state itself was not merely dismantled, but in its heartland in the Dzungar Basin, its Mongolian speaking population was exterminated and then their lands given to Qing soldiers.   After Altan Khan's death in the 1570s, the final period of Mongol unity under a Chinggisid khan passed. The succeeding khans of the lineage of Dayan Khaan could not regain their authority after Altan Khan's usurpation and minimization of them. The lords of the tümed, the regional divisions, had grown in power and independence. In 1604, a descendant of Dayan Khaan was to become the last Chinggisid in Mongolia to have real power. This was Ligdan Khaan, whose thirty year reign saw the end of Mongolian independence for the next four hundred years. So weak had the position of Great Khan grown compared to other tümed leaders, that Ligdan's rivals disparagingly called him only the Khan of the Chakhar Mongols —corresponding roughly to today's Inner Mongolia— rather than Great Khan. His greatest foe came from the east; the Jurchen had been unified and made resurgent. Their leader, Nurhaci, had declared himself Khan of a new Jin Dynasty. It was as if the Mongols' old foes had returned from the grave. Nurhaci led repeated attacks against Ligdan Khaan, and allied with his rivals in Mongolia.    Ligdan Khaan was hounded and pursued, and last minute reforms and promises he made could not arrest his fate. In 1634, he died of smallpox in what is now Gansu. His son, Ejei Khaan, was quickly forced to surrender to Nurhaci's son and successor, Hong Taiji, who declared both a new name for the Jurchen, and a new dynasty; now they were the Manchu, masters of the Qing Dynasty, the final imperial dynasty to rule China. With Ejei at his side, Hong Taiji took the submission of most of the Mongols. Many accompanied him in his conquest of China following the collapse of the Ming Dynasty in 1644, and Mongols remained important part of Qing armies even in the wars against the Dzungars. The Manchu, descendents of the Jurchen Jin Dynasty which had fallen to the Mongols in 1234, had in turn conquered both dynasties which had emerged from the Yuan. Ejei Khaan spent the remainder of his life a humbled prince in the Qing court, while his younger brother, Abunai, led a revolt in 1675 against Qing rule, which was swiftly crushed, Abunai killed and many Borjigin in the Chahar lands of southern Mongolia executed.   And so, Chinggisid rule in Mongolia passed into memory. Not all Borjigon were killed; an aristocracy of Dayan Khanid descent remained in Mongolia until the twentieth century, when most were lost in Soviet purges. But effective rule of Mongolia remained in the hands of the Qing Dynasty, their appointees, or Buddhist clergy who became feudal lords in their own right. And yet, Chinggis Khan's memory could not be dislodged. The Qing Emperors appealed to it when it came to controlling the Mongols, and after the start of Qing rule, new chronicles began to be written in Mongolia, in the same Uighur script Chinggis had adopted 400 years prior. With the rediscovery of sections of the Secret History of the Mongols in the seventeenth century, the past and the present of Mongolia could be reunited. In the Erden-yin Tobchi of Sayang Sechen, for example, chapters of the Secret History were combined with the Buddhist teaching which now permeated the Mongol world. Chinggis Khan's confrontation with the Tangut King now involved them both transforming into animals, with Chinggis' victory complete with his transformation into the very sky itself.  But even here, the story begins just as it did in the Secret History; a blue-grey wolf, and a fallow deer, from whose line would come the boy, Temüjin, born clutching a blood clot in his fist the size of a knuckle bone.         Our next series picks up with the conquests of the rise of the Manchu Qing Dynasty, and its conquest of China, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this and want to help us continue bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on Patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals , or share this  with your friends and leave reviews on the podcast catcher of your choice. This series was researched and written by Jack Wilson. You can hear more of his discussions on the Mongols at his channel on Youtube, the Jackmeister: Mongol History. This series was narrated by David Schroeder, host of the Cold War on Youtube. This has been Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest, Season 2: The Mongol Conquests. Thank you for listening, and we'll catch you on the next one.   

Over the centuries, Chinese civilization has produced a number of figures who have entered the pantheon of national heroes. Perhaps none is more famous than Yue Fei (1103-42).As the great defender of the Song Dynasty, Yue Fei repeatedly beat back the Jurchen or Jin invaders who swept down from the north. As a notable poet, he left Chinese literature with arguably its most resonant statement on patriotism.Finally, Yue Fei is remembered as an embodiment of the Confucian virtue of undying fidelity. When corrupt Song courtiers conspired with the Jurchens and convinced the Song emperor that his greatest general intended treason, the emperor urgently recalled Yue Fei. Even knowing that the recall was the product of treachery and that to return was to accept execution, Yue Fei welcomed his fate, because his emperor willed it so.In the centuries since, Yue Fei has secured an unshakeable place in the Chinese imagination as the paragon of patriotism and loyalty. The people have mythologized him as an epic hero, and in some temples they even worship him like a god. And his example has served as the template for heroes to come.

The Goryeo Dynasty would lead the Korean Peninsula into a golden age of art, culture, and prosperity, but first it would have to deal with the aggression of the Liao Dynasty.Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/AHistoryOfJapan)

In this episode, we will take a closer look at the lives of the people who lived in Manchuria, north of China, and their considerably powerful dynasties.Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/AHistoryOfJapan)

After nearly a hundred years of fighting between petty states and half-baked dynasties, the Song Dynasty finally emerged as a unifying force in China. Under their leadership, China would make some impressive technological and cultural gains, forging a renaissance throughout East Asia in the 1000s.Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/AHistoryOfJapan)

On this episode, Rev. Dr. Pete Jurchen joins us to discuss how we can engage the Psalms in an intentional, meaningful way. Rev. Dr. Jurchen  is the editor of a Engaging the Psalms.Learn more about Engaging the Psalms: A Guide for Reflection and Prayer Connect with us on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter.

The rapid expansion of the Mongol Empire in the thirteenth century cannot be attributed to a single new military invention providing technological supremacy over their enemies. The weaponry and equipment of the Mongols differed little from those of their enemies or from previous nomadic empires. Still, the Mongols were adept in employing the tools of their foes. As historian Timothy May wrote, “the Mongols rarely met a weapon they did not like.” Therefore, many questions have been raised regarding the usage, or lack thereof, of gunpowder weapons in Mongolian expansion, particularly outside of China. Today, we give a brief introduction to gunpowder weapons, both their history of use, their use by the Mongols, and the possible role of the Mongol Empire in the dissemination of these weapons. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.   For some historians, like J.J. Saunders or Kate Raphael, the Mongols as both users of gunpowder and transmitters of its knowledge to the west is a total negative or extremely unlikely. They see no clear indication of it’s usage in the western historical sources, seeing possible mentions as too equivocal to be relied upon. But the great British sinologist Joseph Needham and his associates, after a thorough study of well over a millennium of Chinese written sources and archaeology, has demonstrated thoroughly that not only were a number of a gunpowder weapons a common feature of Chinese warfare by the thirteenth century, but that the Mongols also used these during their wars in China. More recent historians such as Iqtidar Alam Khan, Thomas T. Allsen and Stephen G. Haw, have advanced Needham’s arguments, arguing that the Mongols carried gunpowder weapons, such as bombs, fire-lances and rockets, west in their conquests over the rest of Eurasia. Stephen Haw in particular has suggested that the infamous smoke-screen employed by the Mongols in Poland at the battle of Liegnitz in 1241 was a gunpowder-based weapon.    To demonstrate this, we must very briefly give an introduction to Chinese usage of gunpowder. Chinese alchemists and engineers had been mixing various chemicals for medicinal and experimental purposes for centuries, including some of those which constitute gunpowder. Gunpowder itself was not the result of any single individual’s experiments, in the style of the old European fable of Berthold Schwarz, but rather a long series of trials combining materials -often, rather ironically, in search of elixirs to eternal life- which ultimately resulted in discovering a rather flammable substance. The first recipe for gunpowder finally appears during the Tang Dynasty in the 8th century CE, in a Taoist work urging alchemists not to mix saltpetre (potassium nitrate), sulphur and carbon-rich materials like coal, and to especially not add arsenic to the mixture, as the result would light aflame. The Chinese quickly found the energy produced by these materials quite mesmerizing when used in fireworks display, and found use for it in civil engineering and mining,  but contrary to some popular sentiments that the Chinese only used it for peaceful purposes, it appears they rather quickly applied this new material for warfare. From the 10th century to the 13th, the Chinese created a great number of weapons to violently disseminate knowledge of gunpowder. By 1044, possibly in reaction to military defeats against the newly established Tangut ruled Xi Xia Dynasty, the Song Dynasty was presented a collection of nine kinds of gunpowder weapons and three distinct gunpowder recipes in the Wujing Zongyao. This technology advanced under the Song Dynasty, which faced a collection of ever-more fearsome foes on its northern borders.   From the 10th century onwards, these weapons took a number of forms.  Bombs thrown from catapults (huopao), enclosed in pottery or fragmenting metal shells. Arrows (huojian) with incendiary packages strapped to them, launched from bows or massive mounted crossbows, developing into early rockets over the twelfth century.  Most infamous was the fire-lance (huojiang): a bamboo or metal tube capable of shooting a jet of flame three metres in length, sometimes with shrapnel and toxic materials packed into the tube to form a terrifying, flame-spouting shotgun. The proportions of consitutent chemicals were refined to increase power, with other additives such as lime to even human faeces to produce a number of horrific bombs; some to explode and throw armour piercing shrapnel, some to spread flame and destroy buildings, with others to have a choking, blinding gas dispersed by the explosion to envelop and confuse the enemy.   The Song Dynasty government was so reliant on these weapons -and so terrified of their foes acquiring them- that it prohibited the sale of any of the materials composing gunpowder to the Khitan Liao Dynasty or Tangut Xi Xia in the 11th century. Both lacked access to natural reserves of saltpetre producing lands. But with the Jurchen conquest of the Liao and Northern Song in the early 12th century, the newly formed Jin Dynasty seized not only stores of these weapons, but the knowledge and resources to produce their own. Now facing a powerful, gunpowder armed foe, this spurred a new stage of gunpowder experimentation by the Song Dynasty. The first textual references to fire-lances, rockets, and new kinds of bombs appear as Song forces desperately resisted Jin invasions. The Song were imaginative when it came to employing these against the Jurchen. The narrow crossing over the rivers into south China became the main lines of defence, and the Song quickly took to arming their ships with rockets and huopao, catapults capable of lobbing bombs against Jin troops, to destroy ships or cast poisonous clouds against men and horses. As early as 1127, Song officials were recommending that all warships be equipped with such weapons to repel the Jin. Other uses speak of the desperation of defenders, coupled with considerable access to gunpowder. The 1207 siege of Te-an is a well known example: the Song defenders filled tea sacks with rice straw, used matting and gunpowder to hurl against the Jin troops assaulting the walls. The Jin were quick to pick up such weapons too, a cause for no shortage of alarm amongst the Song court, among other things. While perhaps effective in slowing the Jin invasions of southern China, gunpowder weapons were neither key in the initial Jurchen conquests of the north, or in actually repelling them. Skilled leadership and political will, in addition to general miltiary resources and logistics, were by far the determining factors. Gunpowder weapons were another tool in an arsenal, rather than the defining strategic component as they often appear in popular imagination.    When Chinggis Khan invaded the Jin Dynasty in 1211, whole companies of Chinese siege engineers entered into his service, either willingly deserted to him or forced into service, bringign with them knowledge to construct various siege machines from catapults to rams. There is not, however, clear indication of the usage of gunpowder weapons against the Jin in these very first years of the conflict. One such Chinese siege specialist who willingly deserted, Guo Baoyu, accompanied Chinggis Khan west on his camapign against the Khwarezmian Empire. According to his biography in the Yuanshi, when the Mongols attempted to force a crossing of the Amu Darya, a number of Khwarezmian ships blocked their path. Guo Baoyu ordered a volley of huojian to be launched against the fleet. The ships were all set aflame, allowing the Mongols passage. While huojian originally and literally meant fire arrows, according to Joseph Needham, Jixing Pan, and Thomas Allsen, over the twelfth century the term came to signify rockets, when powdered gunpowder mixtures with higher percentages of saltpetre, charcoal and less sulphur made for effective rocket propellants.   In addition, the Persian historian Juvaini often makes a distinction between “fire, naphtha and stones,” being thrown into cities during Chinggis Khan’s Khwarezmian campaign, as if there were distinct incendiary weapons being used in addition to the naptha (i.e, petroleum) derived weapons more familiar in the Islamic world. According to Needham, naptha has been utilized for military purposes since the 4thc entury BCE, and remained a feature of armies in the Middle East up until the Mongol conquest. Juvaini’s flowery language makes it difficult at times to know if he was simply being poetic, or literal in terms of the weapons being used, even when he was an eyewitness to the events he describes. While Chinggis Khan certainly brought Chinese siege engineers westwards with him, it does not seem that gunpowder weapons made up a key component of his tactics. Likely, Chinggis lacked the resources to manufacture gunpowder and gunpowder weapons, and if he was making use of them, it was in limited quantities- his tactics for taking cities relied on skillful use of Chinese siege machines in great numbers alongside local forced labour and his powerful Mongol warriors. As mentioned earlier, gunpowder weapons were a tool in the arsenal, rather than a defining component. They lacked the ability to destroy walls by themselves: this was still the job of stones thrown from catapults, which the Mongols are expressly described using throughout the Khwarezmian campaign.    After Chinggis Khan’s death in 1227, his son and successor Ogedai completed the war with the Jin Dynasty, in the process cquiring greater experience with gunpowder weapons, and the natural and manpower resources to produce them. In the early 1230s there are a number of references in Chinese sources to the use of these weapons in the last years of the Mongol-Jin war. In 1231, for instance, the Jin utilized a new development in bomb technology, the heaven-shaking thunder-bomb (zhen tien lei), to sink Mongol ships in a naval engagement. These were bombs with high nitrate content in their  gunpowder mixture encased in a cast-iron shell. When set off, they created a monstrous noise like thunder, while also splintering the iron shell into a wave of armour and flesh tearing shrapnel, an early fragmentation grenade.   The most famous gunpowder engagement came the next year well recorded in a detailed description in the dynasty history of the Jin, the Jinshi, compiled under Mongol auspices in the fourteenth century. In 1232, the great Mongol general Subedei besieged the Jin capital of Kaifeng, in a year-long siege in which sides utilized gunpowder weapons. Subedei had catapults launched gunpowder bombs into the city, while the Jin defenders had a variety of gunpowder tools in their defensive arsenal. Mobile shelters pushed up to the walls of Kaifeng were annhilated by thunder-crash bombs dropped onto them via an iron chain. Additionally, great number of ‘flying-fire-spears’ (feihuojiang) were employed. Depending on the interpretation of the historian, these were either fire-lances packed with wads of shrapnel and arrows which when fired acted as a sort of flaming shot gun, while others like Jixing Pan suggets these were infact rockets.    Either way, they were used to great effect and in great numbers. At one point in the siege, a Jin commander took 450 men armed with fire-lances into the Mongol encampment, a surprise attack resulting in hundreds of Mongol troops killed or drowned then they tried to flee. The Jinshi remarked that the thunder-clap bombs and flying-fire-spears were the only two weapons of the Jin the Mongols feared. Yet, these devices could not arrest the fate of the dynasty. A scovered back in episode 14 of this series, the Emperor abandoned Kaifeng before the siege was complete, and the city fell in 1233, and the Jin Dynasty itself finally extinguished the next year.   We must emphasize again, that while terrifying, these gunpowder weapons were not themselves the key determining factors in these wars. The modern concept of all powerful, destructive guns, bombs and cannon must be ignored. The reliability of these early medieval weapons was questionable. Different proportions of the necessary chemicals, or in the design of a given weapon, might result in a device going off early, too late, or not at all. The range of these weapons was often short, and they were best utilized in the defense, in situations where their effect on enemy morale could be maximized. These bombs were not yet the secret to destroying city walls, though they could set fire to wooden structures, towers or gates along the battlements.    Regardless, they were a frightful weapon when used properly. Thus it seems unusual that Subedei, the commander of the final campaigns against the Jin who faced these gunpowder weapons, made little use of them in the great western campaign begun only a few years later. Though specialized Chinese artillery was employed against the Alans of the north Caucasus, Rus’ principalities and Hungarian, there is little direct indication of the use of gunpowder weaponry in the west. Many of the mostly wooden cities of the Rus’ principalities were burned, it is true, but the Rus’ sources generally offer no description of how this occurred, only that it did. Usually they imply the fire was started after the city already fell. In the case of the siege of Vladimir, the Nikonian Chronicle specifies that a great volume of stones were shot into the city, and that the church at Vladimir was burnt only after the Mongols stacked a great pile of wood next to it and set that on fire.   A possible indication of gunpowder usage is supplied by the Franciscan friar John de Plano Carpini, who travelled through the Rus’ principalities late in the 1240s bearing messages from the Pope to the Great Khan. In his report of his travels, Carpini offers a very accurate description of Mongol battle and siege tactics, with the intention that his observations be used to help prepare Christendom against further attacks. Carpini’s short description is worth quoting:   They reduce fortresses in the following manner. If the position of the fortress allows it, they surround it, sometimes even fencing it round so that no one can enter or leave. They make a strong attack with engines and arrows and they do not leave off fighting by day or night, so that those inside the fortress get no sleep; the Tartars however have some rest, for they divide up their forces and they take it in turns to fight so that they do not get too tired.  If they cannot capture it in this way they throw Greek fire; sometimes they even take the fat of the people they kill and, melting it, throw it on to the houses, and wherever the fire falls on this fat is almost inextinguishable. It can however be put out, so they say, if wine or ale is poured on it. If it falls on flesh, it can be put out by being rubbed with the palm of the hand.   As the Mongols, as far as is known, did not have access to Greek Fire, it seems that Carpini is attempting to describe an incendiary of unusual properties using cultural terms he was familiar with. And as Carpini’s knowledge of Mongol siege tactics largely came from his discussions with survivors in the Rus’ territories, it seems to imply that a special type of fire-causing weapon was used against the Rus’: quite possibly gunpowder weapons Subedei had brought from China.   The famous smoke screen employed by Mongol forces at the battle of Liegnitz in Poland in April 1241 may also have been a type of gunpowder weapon, as suggested by Stephen Haw.  Firstly, for those of you unaware of the context, here is the relevant quote from the description of the battle of Liegnitz, recorded in the fifteenth century Polish chroncile by Jan  Długosz.   “Among the Tatar standards is a huge one with a giant X painted on it. It is topped with an ugly black head with a chin covered with hair. As the Tatars withdraw some hundred paces, the bearer of this standard begins violently shaking the great head, from which there suddenly bursts a cloud with a foul smell that envelopes  the Poles and makes thm all but faint, so that they are incapable of fighting. We know that in their wars the Tatars have always used the arts of divination and witchcraft, and this is what they are doing now. Seeing that the all but victorious Poles are daunted by the cloud and its foul smell, the Tatars raise a great shout and return to the fray, scattering the Polish ranks that hitherto have held firm, and a great slaughter ensues.”   Haw suggests that the smoke weapon used at Liegnitz was the same as a category of smoke bombs used in Chinese warfare over the preceding centuries. Devices to deploy toxic smoke and smoke screens have been used in Chinese warfare since at least the 4th century CE, but during the Song Dynasty more effective versions were developed with gunpowder. in easily shatterable pottery containers, these weapons were packed with poisons, foul-smelling ingredients, shrapnel, arsenic and lime. Dispersed by the force of the explosion, these bombs unleashed a cloud or fog of painful gas containing lime and arsenic in order to blind, disorient and confuse enemy forces- very similar to the smoke weapon described at Liegnitz. Not understanding it was a gunpowder weapon, either a bomb or modified fire-lance, the Poles focused on the most visible ‘tool’ as the origins of the smoke, mistakenly identifying a Mongolian horse-hair standard as the device. The failure of the chronicle to describe the sound of the weapon going off could be attributed to the confusion of battle distance in time of Jan  Długosz’s compilation from the actual event. None of the contemporary Polish observers would have known what gunpowder was, and therefore failed to associate obvious things we would associate with it, such as the sound, lash of flight or actual mentions of delivering the weapon.    This is a point we must emphasize. The ambiguity of language of many western sources on the Mongols makes it difficult to  identify if a new gunpowder weapon was used. Not knowing what the device was, or lacking words for these new devices which the Mongols were almost certainly unwilling to let non-military individuals examine, it is hard to determine when a medieval author is using a term they were familiar with, such as Greek Fire or Naptha, to refer to a new technology which served a similar purpose. The fact that most chroncilers were not first hand witness, but recording accounts from survivors, means it is hard to  know how many details of a given day or battle’s events were accurately recorded, particularly as in the case of Jan  Długosz, who was writing almost two centuries after the battle of Liegnitz, and was at the mercy of whatever was recorded or survived discussing the battle in 1241.   On the other hand, it can be hard to tell if a source is  just providing a dramatic description of a more ‘mundane’ weapon. Such is the case of the Persian writer Juvaini’s account of Hulegu’s campaign in the 1250s, to which he was a direct eye-witness. Juvaini writes of how Hulegu was provided by his brother, the Grand Khan Mongke, a thousand households of Chinese catapultmen, as well as naphtha throwers. As the siege of the Nizari Assassin fortress of Maymun Diz, covered  back in episode 28, Juvaini mentions a large crossbow-like weapon deployed by Hulegu’s Chinese siege engineers, which he called an  ox-bow, in Persian, kaman-i-gav, a direct translation of the Chinese term for the weapon, ba niu nu, “eight-ox-bow.”. Juvaini writes that it delivered meteoric shafts which burnt the enemy, in comparison to stones lobbed by the defenders, which did little but harm a single person. The passage is as follows:    [A] kaman-i-gav [‘ox’s-bow’ ], which had been constructed by Khitayan craftsmen and had a range of 2,500 paces, was brought to bear on those fools, when no other remedy remained and of the devil-like Heretics many soldiers were burnt by those meteoric shafts. From the castle also stones poured down like leaves, but no more than one person was hurt thereby.   These ox-bows in Chinese warfare, as described by the Wujing Zongyao, could have gunpowder packages attached to the bolts, and were used in the same manner as Juvaini describes. While some historians like Stephen Haw see this as a clear usage of gunpowder, it must be remarked that Juvaini’s tendency for over-flowery language makes it difficult to gauge how literal this passage must be taken, though he was an eye-witness to the siege.   Generally it seems that gunpowder was little used in most of the Mongols’ western campaigns. Likely difficulties in travelling with it prevented them from taking great quantities of it, and at the time of the conquests there was not sufficient knowledge in the west which would allow them to procure more supplies. The matter was very different in the continuing Mongol wars in China, where under Khubilai Khan bombs were a main component of the wars against the Song Dynasty, which continued to employ them as well. Thousands of bombs were made every month in the Song Dynasty, though often they failed to properly supply these to the necessary border regions which needed them. One Song official in 1257 inspecting the arsenals of the border lamented how poorly supplied these vulnerable sites were in these weapons, and how despite repeated requests to the central government, amends could not be made. The Song continued to throw whatever they could against the Mongols as they advanced deeper into southern China, but by then the Mongols not only had ample supplies of these weapons for war in China, but manpower reserves, a powerful military structure and a leadership hell-bent on overrunning the south, driven by the energetic Khubilai who believed in the eventuality of his conquest. Khubilai’s great general Bayan set up ranks upon ranks of huopao during his drive to Hangzhou, lobbing stones to pound down the walls, gunpowder bombs to annhilated gates and towers and terrify the defenders withi. Against such an inplacable foe, the last of Song resistance was ground to dust.   Khubilai employed gunpowder weapons against other enemies as well. Most famously against the Japanese, where archaeological evidence, the account of the Hachiman Gudokun and the invasion scrolls of Takezaki Suenaga demonstrates the Yuan forces using iron bombs against the Japanese. Though as we mentioned in episode 26 discussing Suenaga’s scrolls, the addition of the bomb going off in the scroll was likely made later, as it is in different ink and Suenaga fails to mention such weapons. For such a boisterrous warrior like Suenaga to not mention surviving a terrifying grenade like that is rather unlikely.   It appears that an advance in gunpowder weapons was made sometime in the late thirteenth century. Near the ruins of Khubilai Khan’s summer capital of Shangdu, the earliest confirmed cannon has been found. Bearing an inscription in the ‘Phags-pa script dating it to 1298, a serial number, weighing just over 6 kilograms (13 lb 11 oz) and just under 35 cm (approx. 14 in) in length,  it suggests a product of considerable experimentation and systemization. Earlier, much more primitive and rougher models have been found which from archaological context imply they come from the last years of the Tangut Xi Xia Dynasty, crushed in 1227 by Chinggis Khan. It is probable that the evolution of fire-lances from bamboo to metal tubes was a stepping stone to larger metal tubes capable of larger gunpowder charges and projectiles, brought on by the emergency of the Mongol invasions.  Only in the last years of the 13th century did these models reach a level of standardization and sophistication to become bombards, and more and more sophisticated models are known from over the fourteenth century. There are a few passages from 13th and 14th century Chinese texts which may indicate the usage of these cannons, usually in naval engagements; where muzzle flashes seem to be described when Mongol ships fire upon fleeing Jin ships, or on small vessels at the blockade of Xiangyang launch projectiles, but from ships too small for catapult. Much like the western texts, the Chinese did not yet have a name for this new technology though. Calling them huopao, the same name for the catapults which threw gunpowder bombs, it is impossible to know, unless a description is given, which texts refer to bombs, and which to early cannons.    From 1288 we have perhaps the earliest description of small hand held guns or cannons. In the war against his rebel cousin Nayan, Khubilai Khan led his army against Nayan himself, but attacked from multiple fronts. One such operation was led by a Jurchen commander in Khubilai’s service, Li Ting. Using the word for fire-catapult or cannon, huopao, Li Ting and his small squad of Korean soldiers is described as at night sneaking into an encampment of Nayan’s men and setting off these weapons to great effect. From the context, it is clear that these weapons are too small and mobile to be catapults. In further support of this interpretation, it appears one of the actual weapons has been found. Discovered in 1970 in Heilongjiang province, nearwhere Li Ting’s troops fought Nayan, a small bronze cannon or handgun has been discovered from an archaeological site supporting a late thirteenth century context. Weighing 3 and a half kilograms, 34 cm in length, with a bore of 2 and a half centimeters, these were small, anti-personnal weapons. Not much use against walls, but devastating against men and horses. It is no suprise that Nayan’s rebellion was quickly crushed if Khubilai had men with such armaments at his disposal.   The Yuan Dynasty continued to produce cannon over the fourteenth century. One well known example from 1332 bears an inscription with its date and purpose of manufacture, intended to be used on board a ship for suppression of rebels. By the rise of Zhu Yuanzhang and the Ming Dynasty in the late fourteenth century, cannons and other  firearms were standard features of Chinese armies.  Over the Ming Dynasty, gunpowder weapons continued to advance into more deadly and efficient variants, but did not replace the basic tools of the Mongol conflict in China. Rockets, fire-lances, and bombs were used even into the Qing Dynasty, but supported by cannon, mines and two-staged rockets and even multiple-rockets launchers, similar to the famous Korean hwacha developed during the Imjin war. The Qing too would face fearsome nomads bearing firearms in the form of the Dzunghars, but by  then the military advantage was considerably in favour of the Qing.    We can also briefly note evidence for an even earlier usage of firearms, in the form of some controversial iconographic evidence in China. In the Dazu cave system in Sichuan, there is an extensive carved relief featuring individuals armed with a variety of weapons. One carved figure holds something visually very close to early designs of handguns or handcannons, from which clouds of smoke, and possibly a projectile, seem to be carved leaving. As these carvings dates to 1128, this would push back the development of the fire-arm even earlier, and suggest a much more widespread usage of cannon and gun than previously thought. However, the identification is hardly accepted. Some have suggested it was a later addition to the complex during repairs, while others have argued it is not depicting a fire-arm, but merely a wind-spirit holding a bag of wind. As it currently stands, there is no hard evidence for emergence of true fire-arms until the late thirteenth century during the Yuan Dynasty.   So did the Mongols spread gunpowder westwards? Recipes for gunpowder and even the first gunpowder weapons appear in Europe, the Islamic World and India late in the thirteenth century, after contact with Mongol armies. However, the diffusion is difficult to track due to the already mentioned ambiuigisties in terminology. It’s likely the Mongol armies did not travel with great quantities of powder and were reluctant to share it’s knowledge. It is notable though that when perhaps the earliest recipe for gunpowder is recorded in Arabic, circa 1280 by Hasan al-Rammah, he records most ingredients as being Chinese in origin, with saltpetre for instance called Chinese snow, or rockets as chinese arrows. A common word for gunpowder in Arabic and Persian meant [dawā’ in Arabic, and Persian dārū], a literal translation of the Chinese huoyao, fire-drug [ often shortened to just yao in 13th century] which implies that knowledge was transmitted directly from Chinese engineers in Mongol service. By the start of the fourteenth century, fireworks appear as  objects of regular entertainment in the Ilkhanate, and therefore transmission from the Mongols, in some fashion, seems certain.   In Europe there are tantalizing clues to transmission. A great number of diplomats, travellers, priests and merchants made the trek from Europe across the Mongol Empire and back, and many brought gifts from the Khans with them, or observed closely the Mongol army in an attempt to learn its secrets. The Franciscan friar, William of Rubruck, spent much time with a European goldsmith in Mongol service, William Buchier, the man who made the famous Silver Tree of Karakorum. Buchier appears to have worked often in conjunction with Chinese artisans in his work for the Mongols. Though Rubruck’s account does not describe gunpowder, Rubruck is known to have met, while back in Paris, the first European who did: Roger Bacon, who describes with amazement his experience viewing Chinese firecrackers going off in Europe. Even if the Mongol army itself did not directly or intentionally transfer gunpowder, or use it in quantities to replace their own bows and arrows, they opened the pathways which allowed its knowledge to move across the Eurasian continent. Over the early decades of the fourteenth century, fearsome hand guns and bombards became regular features of battlefield across the continent, the secret to gunpowder no longer restricted to the Chinese government.   Our series on the Mongols will continue, so please be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this and would like to help us continue bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/KingsandGenerals. This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next none. 

With the Yuan Dynasty reduced to an ever shrinking area of land around Dadu in north China, to tell the story of the expulsion of the Mongol rulers in 1368 is to tell the story of Zhu Yuanzhang, a peasant turned monk turned warlord turned emperor. Today, we give  you the rise to power of Ming Taizu, the Hongwu Emperor, his great victory at Lake Poyang and the Rise of the Ming Dynasty,  and the final Yuan efforts to hold onto their dynasty. I’m you host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.       Our last two episodes took us through the period of Mongol rule in China from Khubilai Khan’s death in 1294, through his many successors until the reign of Toghon Temur Khan, who took the throne in 1333. Toghon Temur was largely a puppet to his chancellors; first Bayan of the Merkit, and most notably Bayan’s nephew, Toghto. Though faced with a colossal economic and environmental crisis which spawned a series of uprisings in 1351, the Red Turbans, by the end of 1354 Toghto had nearly crushed the movement and restored order. But Toghon Temur Khan made the foolish decision to banish Toghto in January 1355, a decision which signalled the death blow to the Yuan Dynasty. Toghto was the last actor who could have arrested the fate of the Yuan or controled the dynasty’s resources. Within months of Toghto’s dismissal, the rebellion picked up with new energy, and the power of the Yuan court became restricted to the very north. The rest of the empire became subject to various warlords, some with nominal allegiance to the Yuan, and some seeking nothing but its utter destruction.   A few points should be emphasized. The lack of interest Toghon Temur had in governing ensured that there was no individual in the Yuan court who could step into the role of Toghto. The strengthening of the regional rulers during the chancellorship of Berke Bukha, followed by mass mobilization in Toghto’s last years left provincial, regional and local rulers newly empowered and at the heads of much stronger military forces. The famed Mongol army was one of conquest, not garrison duty: there were simply not enough Mongols to garrison all of China, leaving a light Mongol presence past even the Yellow River. Most actual Mongolian and Turkic cavalry were kept in a few strategic areas, largely centrered around the capital and the steppes. Southern China had been poorly integrated into the Yuan, where Song dynasty structures had often been hastily co-opted. With most of the Yuan government and armed forces in the north, in the south’s countryside banditry became a real problem, as years of flood, famine, locust plagues and other environmental catastrophy annihilated farmland, the local economies and regular support networks. Unable to rely on the Yuan army for protection, regional and local leaders organized local defense forces for protection against bandits, the Red Turbans or even the undisciplined newly mobilized Yuan troops, which militarized and armed the population. It must have seemed apparent that the Yuan had lost the Mandate of Heaven, the right to rule China.   In the years immediately after Toghto’s dismissal, three warlords emerged within the Red Turban movement as the most powerful, all along the Yangzi River: Zhang Shicheng, the former salt-worker who became a warlord, declared himself emperor and was nearly crushed by Toghto during the chancellor’s final campaign; Chen Youliang a former fisherman, then office clerk who became leader of the southern Red Turbans and declared his own Han Dynasty with himself as emperor; and a peasant, turned monk, turned warlord, Zhu Yuanzhang.    Born into a destitute family of tenant-farmers in 1328, Zhu Yuanzhang grew up surrounded by famine and uncertainty in central Anhwei. His grandfather had fought against the Mongols for the Song Dynasty in its final years, and Zhu grew up listening to his exploits. In summer 1344, he lost most of his family to famine within three weeks. Unable to feed him, his surviving family gave him away to a Buddhist monastery for labour. With the monastery also unable to feed him, he spent a few years wandering before the twenty year old Zhu returned to the monastery, where he learned to read and write. There he may have happily stayed, until a local battle between Yuan forces and Red Turbans in 1352 resulted in some of the Chinese troops in the Yuan army sacking and looting Zhu’s temple. Once again having lost everything, Zhu went to the only place he could: he joined a nearby Red Turban group. For a starving peasant turned monk, Zhu showed a surprising aptitude for war and gained the attention of the local Red Turban leader, Kuo Tzu-Hsing. Under Kuo’s tutelage, Zhu rose in the ranks, and within a year was given his own command and married Kuo’s adopted daughter, the future Empress Ma. By the start of 1355 Zhu was leading an army of about 30,000 men and building his own staff of educated men around him, most notably the scholar Li  Shanchang, who encouraged Zhu’s ambitions, urging him to take the city of Nanjing on the Yangzi River. His first attempt in summer 1355 was a failure, but it resulted in the deaths of Kuo Tzu-Hsing’s sons and heirs, leaving Zhu Yuanzhang in sole command of the local Red Turbans.   Gathering his strength, in April 1356 Zhu finally took Nanjing, making it his capital. This brought him to the attention of the figureheads of the Red Turbans in the north, Liu Futong and his puppet “Song Emperor,”  Han Lin-erh. The young Han Lin-erh acted as a sort of symbol for the movement, a Manichean-Buddhist saviour in addition to apparently being a descendant of the Song Emperors. Together, they had redeclared the Song Dynasty, and soon after Zhu Yuanzhang took Nanjing he was appointed governor of Jiangxi province by Han Lin-erh. This placed Zhu at the forefront of the northern Red Turbans on the Yangzi, but Zhu was careful to maintain official subordinance to this ‘Song Emperor,’ who Zhu became the most powerful defender of. In this time Zhu began developing his administrative apparatus, and under the supervision of the scholar Li Shanchang, began cultivating a reputation as a refined, dignified ruler concerned for the safety of the common people. Always he sought to have his armies minimize the destruction they caused, in contrast to the Yuan government forces and the often wild damage caused by other Red Turbans. He gained valuable administrative experience as the governor of Jiangxi, and it is not hard to imagine he was drawing his eye already to the loftiest of aspirations.   All the while, Zhu was eyeing his two powerful neighbours: Zhang Shicheng to the east, who, after a nominal submission to the Yuan government was now happily expanding along the Yangzi River, and to Zhu’s west, the warlord Chen Youliang, the major figure of the southern Red Turbans. Zhu, Zhang and Chen had before even the end of the 1350s were among the most powerful men in China, the three Yangzi lords having wealth and resources beyond any of the minor warlords or Yuan loyalists south of the Yangzi river. To the north it was a slightly different story, where the major powers after the fall of Toghto were the Yuan aligned warlords Chaghan Temur and his nephew, Koko Temur.   Chaghan Temur was a fourth-generation Naiman commander based in eastern Honan, a region his great-grandfather had helped conquer in the early thirteenth century. Both Mongolized and sinicized, having sat for civil service examinations, since the late 1340s Chaghan Temur had been fighting rebel forces with his own army. His victories over them in the early 1350s brought him rewards and titles from the Yuan court, and his power began to expand. Within a few years he was the most powerful force serving the Yuan, doing his best to stay out of the court intrigues and defeat the rebels. In the latter, Chaghan Temur had more successes. In 1358 when Liu Futong and his Song Emperor Han Lin-erh rode triumphant into Kaifeng, once the capital of the Song Dynasty, it was Chaghan Temur who drove them and their armies back, bringing the city once more under Yuan control. By 1362, Chaghan Temur and his allies had managed to restore Yuan Rule from Shanxi to Shandong, and even former enemies like Zhang Shicheng and the pirate Fang Guozhen were sending a token yearly tribute of grain to the capital of Dadu.   Of course, it is difficult to amass such power without making enemies, and Chaghan Temur’s tendency to ignore court orders, make his own appointments and strengthen himself did him no favours. Chaghan Temur was challenged by a rival, Bolod Temur, another powerful commander and father of Toghon Temur Khan’s empress. The court intrigues between the two hamstrung the ability of the Yuan to resist the rebels, and Toghon Temur Khan, in typical fashion, was totally unable to control them. In 1362 officers claiming to be serving the dynasty assassinated Chaghan Temur while he besieged  a rebel city, apparently doubting his commitment to the dynasty- and promptly fled to the same rebels they had been campaigning against. The court then confirmed Chaghan Temur’s will, granting his military and civilian positions to his adopted son, Koko Temur.   While Koko Temur’s name means ‘blue iron,’ in Mongolian, it may surprise you to learn that the final effective figure of the Yuan Dynasty was not a Mongol, but a Chinese. Born to a Chinese father and Koko Temur’s sister, his birth name was Wang Baobao, but he had been officially adopted by Chaghan Temur and in 1361 awarded his Mongolian name by the Great Khan.  Recognized as a true and loyal servant of the dynasty, Koko Temur seems to have preferred the ideals of steppe life more than his Confucian education, and carried himself in the image of a Mongol ba’atar, and had fought valiantly beside his stepfather. Immediately assuming his late stepfather’s command post, Koko Temur completed the siege, caught the men who had assassinated Chaghan Temur, and in a decidedly un-Chinese ceremony,  cut the assassins’ hearts out and sacrificed them to the spirit of Chaghan Temur.   Under the efforts of Chaghan Temur and Koko Temur, most of China north of the Yangzi was secured by the 1363, the Yuan having managed to survive a few serious scares. Rebel forces sent by Liu Futong and Han Lin-erh had raided as far as Liaodong and Shangdu, burning it in 1358, but since then the situation had somewhat stabilized. Bolod Temur continued to denounce Koko Temur, and the court intrigues did not stop. Toghon Temur Khan’s son and heir, Ayushiridara, seems to have wanted his father to abdicate the throne, as the Khan had shown utter incompetence and no leadership throughout the crisis. In alliance with his mother, Toghon Temur’s Korean empress Ki, and the chancellor, they sought to undermine Toghon Temur by convincing him to dismiss one of his chief ministers. The minister fled to Bolod Temur, who was then declared a rebel for housing the minister. Tension raised, Bolod Temur attacked Koko Temur, was defeated and fled to Dadu. At Dadu, Bolod took control of the capital in 1364, putting the chancellor to death and nearly got his hands on Ayushiridara, who fled to Koko Temur. Ayushiridara stayed there under Koko Temur’s protection until Bolod Temur’s  cruel treatment of the court resulted in his assassination in August 1365, and Koko Temur marched Ayushiridara back to Dadu.   Koko Temur was rewarded with royal titles, and ignored Ayushirirdara’s efforts to have him remove Toghon Temur. Koko Temur was by then by far the most powerful man in the north, but had no love for court politics and wanted to continue the war against the rebels. Given overall command and a large army, Koko Temur finally set out in 1366 to clear the rebels off the Yangzi, only to find that some of the Chinese commanders and former allies of Bolod Temur in his service resented this upstart and attacked him. Forced to waste time in a pointless civil war, the final chance for the Yuan to even retain the north was lost as Zhu Yuanzhang unified the south.   China’s future was decided with the opening of hostilities between Zhu Yuanzhang and Chen Youliang. While Chaghan Temur rose and fell, the Yangzi warlords quickly moved past any pretenses of ‘peasant uprising to expel the Mongols.’ By the end of the 1350s, it was a battle for imperial power between the three most likely claimants to succeed the Yuan, or at least establish a regional kingdom: Chen Youliang, Zhu Yuanzhang and Zhang Shicheng. By 1357, Chen Youliang had taken control of the Red Turbans south of the Yangzi, Zhu Yuanzhang was the preeminent member of the northern Red Turbans and the protector of the puppet Song Emperor Han Lin-Erh, and Zhang Shicheng nominally recognized Yuna overlordship, though he was clearly building his own kingdom along the coast. Chen Youliang’s state had expanded dramatically, but his eastern expansion down the Yangzi was blocked by Zhu Yuanzhang, and to the north by the effective armies of Chaghan Temur and Koko Temur. Needing more strength before he faced then, and not trusting his Yangzi rivals, Chen decided to deal with the Yangzi foes first. In summer 1360, Chen Youliang sailed down the Yangzi with 100,000 men aboard a great navy. Armies of the early 1360s were built upon peasant troops, but since the 1350s had become operationally much more sophisticated and experienced, with river warfare a key component. Since the early years of the uprisings city walls had been repaired, forcing combatants to resort to lengthy blockades or costly assaults. There is little evidence to suggest Mongol military techniques of the thirteenth century were adopted by the Chinese, cavalry taking only a minor role in these battles.   Chen Youliang’s 1360 attack utilized ships with high sterns which allowed his men to climb onto city walls. This brought him some initial success, and made him so overconfident he had a puppet emperor he had been controlling beaten to death, and had himself proclaimed Emperor of a new Han Dynasty. Chen urged Zhang Shicheng to open another front against Zhu, then sailed for Nanjing. Tricking Chen into disembarking much of his fleet north of Nanjing, Zhu Yuanzhang ambushed Chen’s army and captured much of his navy, forcing Chen to retreat. Due to conflict with Zhang Shicheng, Zhu struggled to immediately exploit this victory. The next year, 1361, Zhu Yuanzhang finally led a naval assault on Chen Youliang’s territory, but was only marginally successful, as rebellion forced him to return to his territory in early 1362. Before he departed, Zhu’s forces took Nanchang near Lake Poyang.    While Zhu struggled with treason and rebellion in his territory, Chen Youliang built another armada. The sources indicate this was a  massive effort, totalling 300,000-600,000 men, with large, red painted ships with iron covered turrets for archers and high sterns to once again climb over city walls- the same tactic which had worked so well for him in 1360. In June 1363 his fleet was outside the walls of Nanchang, and Chen believed its fall would lead to the submission of other nearby cities. Unfortunately for Chen, the walls of Nanchang had been reinforced, and his boarding tactic was unsuccessful. Chen was forced into a siege, ruining his plans and taking away his element of surprise. His forces suffered heavy losses, and as the siege dragged into summer the water levels began to lower, risking the large ships which made up the core of his fleet.    Zhu Yuanzhang did not appear to learn of this until August 1363, during which time much of his forces were occupied near the border with Zhang Shicheng. Rapidly reassembling his forces at Nanjing, he sent an army overland to relieve Nanchang, while he prepared a fleet to confront Chen Youliang. Zhu was outnumbered, with perhaps 100,000 to 200,000 men aboard much smaller ships. Further, he risked opening his flank to Zhang Shicheng and rebellion as had happened in 1361. This operation was a great risk, yet he threw all of his weight against Chen Youliang.    His fleet departed Nanjing on the 15th of August 1363, arriving at the entrance to Lake Poyang on the 24th. There he constructed fortified positions to prevent Chen’s fleet from breaking out of the lake. On the 28th, Zhu’s fleet entered the lake, and a startled Chen was forced to lift his 85 day long siege of Nanchang, suddenly realizing he had been trapped. Late on the 29th, the two fleets met off the island of Kanglang shan, where they waited until sunrise the next day. So started the battle of Lake Poyang, the most famous, and largest, naval battle in Chinese history.   On the morning of August 30th, Zhu deployed his fleet into 11 groups, taking the center with his heaviest ships and stationing his lighter vessels on the wings, likely mirrored by Chen’s larger fleet. Zhu’s wing commanders were experienced and had the wind on their side, and their catapults wreaked havoc on the enemy wings, setting ships and men aflame. In the center Chen’s larger ships pushed back Zhu, his own flagship coming under threat. Zhu was forced to retreat to shallower water where Chen’s fleet could not follow, grounding several of Zhu’s ships in the process.   The first day of battle was disappointing, and Zhu sent his top commander Xu Da back to Nanjing with the damaged ships. The next morning Zhu executed some of his officers to get them to line up for battle, but once again the fight went poorly, Chen’s numbers, larger ships and densely packed fleet proving superior in close combat.  High ranking officers were lost, and by midday Zhu had to pull back, aware that they were playing to Chen’s strengths. Finding inspiration from the fire used by his lieutenants the previous day, Zhu filled some smaller vessels with reeds and gunpowder, and with the wind shift in the afternoon sent these fireships into the densely packed enemy fleet.    Chen Youliang lost several hundred ships, 60,000 men, several squadrons and two of his brothers in the ensuing conflagration, while Zhu Yuanzhang only lost 7,000 men for the two days. The outcome was still undecided however, as Chen stil outnumbered Zhu greatly. September 1st was spent repairing and resting the fleets, and fighting resumed on the 2nd. Chen put his forces into a more open formation as defense against fireships, which allowed Zhu’s smaller vessels to isolate Chen’s ships, even sailing through Chen’s line at one point. However, Chen’s numbers were telling, and by noon Zhu withdrew, under pressure to depart from the lake by his commanders. The army he had sent by land had now relieved Nanchang, the goal of the campaign achieved. That night Zhu sailed out of  Lake Poyang, Chen following the next morning only to find himself confronted with the fortifications Zhu had constructed.    It was clear to everyone that Chen Youliang had been outmaneuvered, and several of his generals defected to Zhu. For nearly a month, Chen waited before the fortifications, trying to determine the best course of action, while Zhu goaded him with antagonizing letters and his food supplies ran lower and lower.   Finding a weak position, Chen ordered his fleet to storm it and take it. But this was part of Zhu’s plan. As Chen was making his way onto the Yangzi  river with his tightly packed fleet he sailed into another trap. Zhu was positioned upstream of Chen with more fireships, which were once more sent into Chen’s fleet. The ships that weren’t destroyed fled back down stream, and with order lost Zhu’s ships chased and captured them. Groups of ships locked in combat sailed down river, where forces Zhu had stationed also joined in. In this chaos Chen Youliang attempted to cross between ships in a smaller vessel, when he was killed by an arrow in the eye. News spread rapidly, and with it the last vestiges of resistance collapse. The following morning around 50,000 men and most of the fleet surrendered to Zhu Yuanzhang.    The victory at Lake Poyang was greater than Zhu could ever have hoped. With the death of his main rival and absorption of much of his army and fleet, he quickly annexed Chen’s former territory. By 1364, Zhu was the strongest single power in China, with double the manpower and resources of his next greatest rival, Zhang Shicheng. Zhang had failed to take advantage of Zhu’s war with Chen Youliang, and despite throwing off the pretense of submission to the Yuan Dynastyand  proclaiming himself the Prince of Wu in February 1364, his domain was easily swallowed by Zhu’s forces. Zhang was captured in 1367, and later died in prison. Zhang’s defeat freed Zhu to commit to conquering the rest of China and crush the Yuan, while the deaths of Liu Futong in 1363 and the Song Emperor Han Lin-erh in 1366 left Zhu to assume supreme command.   In January 1368 Zhu Yuanzhang proclaimed the Ming Dynasty with himself as emperor, taking the era name Hongwu, meaning “overflowing martial accomplishment,” and began the campaign to push the remnants of the Yuan from China. The Hongwu Emperor did not take part himself, sending his skilled general and boyhood friend Xu Da to do it for him. Victory had already been determined; the Hongwu Emperoe had merely to stretch his hand and seize it for himself.   The Yuan failed to react to the rise of the Ming. The strongest warlord aligned with the Yuan, Koko Temur, had spent the last years battling other Yuan warlords. When Ming armies began to advance in 1368, Koko Temur refused an order from the court to repel them due to regional concerns, and for this was declared a foe of the court, open for all to attack. Koko Temur soundly defeated all of the foes sent against him until he was finally reinstated to his position, but by then it was simply too late. The Yuan could offer no counter offensive as Ming armies crossed the Yellow River in August, general Xu Da approaching Dadu in September. Toghon Temur Khan and his heir Ayushiridara fled the city to Mongolia only days before the arrival of the Ming armies, and on the 20th of September, 1368, Dadu came into Chinese rule for the first time in over 400 years. The city fell without a fight, only a few holdouts being executed. The Hongwu Emperor renamed the city to Beiping, meaning ‘pacified north.’ In time the city became the capital of the Ming Dynasty and was renamed to Beijing, the name it holds today.   Over the next two decades, the Ming incorporated the rest of China. In distant Yunnan, the Mongol prince Basalawarmi held out against the Ming until 1382. The fleeing Toghon Temur Khan and Koko Temur were pursued into the steppes and pushed from Inner Mongolia in 1370 after a humiliating defeat, where Ayushiridara’s son Maidiribala and 50,000 Mongols were captured by the Ming forces. Khan Toghon Temur died soon after, a man broken and humilated, lamenting the loss of his capitals, his empire, yet never understanding how it had happened. Ayushiridara finally became Khan and escaped with the remainder of Yuan forces across the Gobi desert into their ancestral homeland, almost exactly a century after Khubilai Khan had declared the Yuan Dynasty. The Ming continued to probe the border, looking to hunt down the new Khan who had not  abandoned claims on China, despite Ming diplomats urging their submission. Threats, promises of support, using Ayushiridara’s son as leverage, to a rapid completion of a  dynastic history of the Yuan with its glowing portrayal of Chaghan Temur in an attempt to persuade Koko Temur, did nothing to assuage the defiance of the Mongols. This dynastic history, by the way, is the Yuan shi we have referred to so many times over this series, and its rapid completion by the start of the 1370s is part of the reason it’s full of so many errors and even repeated entries.   With Ayushiridara refusing to submit, the Ming pressed the advance. Xu Da inflicted a major defeat on Koko Temur in the Gansu corridor  which assisted Ming expansion in Sichuan and the west. In 1372 Xu Da marched with a massive army into the steppes, well over 150,000 men and torched the old capital of Karakorum, but Xu Da learned how dangerous the Mongols were in their homeland. Koko Temur simply manuevered around Xu Da for a month, exhausting the Ming army in marches into seeming nothingness, before falling upon his disillusioned foe. Xu Da’s army was annihilated, the great general forced to flee, and the impetus for Ming advance into Mongolia was broken. The Ming would never be able to conquer Mongolia, and were forced to step back to a defensive position along their borders. The only exceptions were raids and a brief period of Ming aggression during the reign of the Yongle Emperor, the Hongwu Emperor’s  son, who led a number of campaigns into the steppe. Over time, this border became entrenched and fortified, particularly in the 15th and 16th centuries, into the Great Wall of China as we know it today. Though border walls had existed prior in much earlier dynasties, it took for the Ming Dynasty for them to develop into a single connected fortification across China’s northern border, and the famous brick structure we know it as today. The Yuan did not relinquish their claims on China, though we generally call the exiled court the Northern Yuan. Confined to Mongolia, aside from raids it would not be until the 1450s and the Tumu crisis that  the Mongols would again form an existential threat to the Ming. After the death of Koko Temur in 1375 and Ayushiridara in 1378,  the northern Yuan lost their unity, falling into infighting with the Chinggisid Khans becoming puppet rulers for non-Oirat Chinggisids. It would be many years before Chinggisid unity would be reformed, albeit only briefly, in Mongolia.   So the Nothern Yuan and the Ming would form uneasy neighbours for the next centuries, sometimes at war, often conducting trade, each taking advantage of the other at various times. So would be the relationship until the 1600s, when both Ming and the northern Yuan were finally subsumed by a new enemy-  the Manchu Qing Dynasty, the descendants of the enemies of both the Mongols and the Chinese, the Jurchen. But that’s  a story for another day.       So ends the period of Mongol rule in China. We will return to the later history of Chinggisid Mongolia, but our next episodes bring out attention westwards, to the fates of the Chagatai Khanate, Ilkhanate, and Golden Horde, so be sure to subscribe to our podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this and would like to help us keep bringing you great content, then consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one. 

In the almost 40 years from the death of Khubilai Khan in February 1294, to the ascension of Toghon Temur Khan in July 1333, nine Khans of the Yuan Dynasty had been enthroned, with only Temur Oljeitu Khan reigning over a decade. It was a period of treachery, political infighting, civil wars, fraticide, economic mismanagement and inflation and environmental crises upon environmental crises. It was for Toghon Temur, the final Yuan ruler in China, to have the longest reign, sitting for 35 years in the two capitals of Dadu and Shangdu. His long, passive reign saw the disintegration of Mongol rule in China and the expulsion of the Yuan court in 1368- despite some energetic efforts to save the dynasty. Today, we present to you the final years of the Yuan Dynasty, and the last, but doomed, efforts to save it from  total ruin by a series of energetic chancellors, none more famous than Toghto of the Merkit. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.   Toghon Temur was only 13 years old when he became Khan of Khans in July of 1333. A great-great-grandson of Khubilai Khan, Toghon Temur was a son of Qoshila, who had briefly reigned as Khan in 1329 before being murdered by his brother, Tuq Temur. The young Toghon Temur had been exiled from the Yuan court by Tuq Temur Khan and his chancellor, El-Temur, first to Korea, then to Guangxi province in China’s far south. It was unlikely he’d ever see the throne, and aside from some time with a Buddhist teacher in his exile, he received no training for governance. But when Tuq Temur Khan’s designated heir died in 1331, the reigning Khan had a crisis of conscience, evidently from his guilt in the murder of his brother Qoshila. On his deathbed, Tuq Temur indicated he wanted the throne to go to the line of  Qoshila; not to Toghon Temur, but his younger half brother, the six year old Irinjibal. There was a major obstacle to this, in the form of El-Temur, the real power in the Yuan Dynasty. It was El-Temur who had engineered the coup which placed Tuq Temur on the throne in 1328, and Tuq Temur Khan had been a puppet for El-Temur throughout his reign. Of Qipchaq descent, El-Temur was from the fourth generation of a celebrated family of Qipchap servants to the Khans. His great-grandfather and grandfather had both served Khubilai Khan in his campaign against the Dali Kingdom in the early 1250s, and since then the family had been among the most prominent in the Yuan realm, controlling one of the empire’s key military units, the Qipchaq Guard. El-Temur and his father had loyally served Qaishan Khan, but after his death in 1311 had lost wealth and prestige. The coup El-Temur orchestrated in 1328 was not just to restore the line of Qaishan and place Tuq Temur on the throne, but restore his family’s power.   Alongside another non-Chinggisid powerbroker named Bayan of the Merkit, El-Temur controlled the Yuan court and married into the imperial family. Before his death, Tuq Temur Khan had entrusted his youngest son El-Tegus into Chancellor El-Temur’s  care, and El-Temur wanted the young boy to succeed his father. But Tuq Temur’s widow Budashiri rallied the court into supporting her husband’s final wish, and the aging and ill El-Temur reluctantly agreed to make Qoshila’s six year old son Irinjibal Khan… until Irinjibal died of illness not even two months later. Once again El-Temur wanted El-Tegus to become Khan of Khans, but resistance from the court was too great; they wanted the throne to go to Qoshila’s 13 year old son Toghon Temur. Even  El-Temur’s number 2, Bayan, was convinced of it by Empress Budashiri, and after several months of argument over early 1333, a declining El-Temur acquiesced, in part due to agreement to marry his daughter Danashirin, to Toghon Temur. With that, El-Temur died soon after.   In July 1333, a little over a century since the death of Chinggis Khan, Toghon Temur was enthroned as the Khan of Khans. The boy was, as to be expected, a puppet. This time, for Bayan of the Merkit, who after serving as second fiddle to El-Temur, wanted to implement his own designs. Part of this was by securing power. In 1335 he unleashed a bloody coup which killed the members of El-Temur’s family and loyalists still in government. Even the daughter married to Khan Toghon Temur was killed. That year, Bayan made himself the sole chancellor of the Yuan Dynasty, the maximum power and authority he could ever hope to attain.    Bayan was not in the office simply for the sake of authority and killing his former coworkers. He actually had a dream. A rejuvenation of the Yuan Dynasty, desiring a restoration to the way things had been in Khubilai’s time; the good old days, when Mongols and Chinese were separated, the racial hierarchy and ensuing privileges clearly enforced. Bayan changed Toghon Temur’s reign title to Chih-yuan, which Khubilai had used from 1264 until his death, a clear symbolism, but there were  much more overt and practical methods to Bayan’s plan. Chinese were banned from a great number of government offices, forbidden from learning Mongolian and other west Asian languages, and the Chinese population was to be disarmed and their horses confiscated. The examination system to choose officials reinstated by Ayurburwada 20 years prior was to be again cancelled. Yet Bayan also wanted to make government more efficient by cutting court expenditures, and reduce stress on the empire’s population by decreasing the high fees on the salt monopoly, encouraging agriculture, and improving and speeding up the government relief system. The environmental crisis we spent so much of the last episode discussing had not abated by any  means, and Bayan saw it as governmental duty to provide for the people hurt by it. Of course, that couldn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to enrich himself with wealth, honorifics, titles and positions along the way.   A man who had cut his teeth in the wars of the steppes against Qaidu, Bayan had a tendency to overreact to threats violently. Toghon Temur was said to have complained how he spent his first years as Khan in fear for his life due to Bayan. His political enemies were violently persecuted, as seen when he eradicated the allies and family of his former partner El-Temur, and whenever plots were discovered against him. Bayan even had the gall to execute a Chinggisid prince outside the gates of Dadu. News of uprisings, and even the revolt of a city in 1339, led to Bayan believing in a wide conspiracy against him, seeing assassination plots around every corner. He responded with rounds of investigations, charges and violent purges to anyone he suspected involved. His enemies were convinced of the need to bring him down, and in spring 1340 a coup was launched against Bayan, with the support of Khan Toghon Temur and led by Bayan’s own nephew, the rising star Toghto. While Bayan was out hunting, the court stripped him of titles and positions and banished him. Returning from the hunt to find himself jobless and exiled, Bayan died less than a month later. With him died the last of those who tried to bring the court back to the ‘old ways,’  succeeded by those who recognized, and even celebrated, the sinicization of the Mongol dynasty.   The new generation of court leadership was symbolized by Toghto. Only 26 years old at the time of Bayan’s ouster, Toghto had been well educated and raised to prominence by his uncle. Unlike Bayan, Toghto had no misconceptions about restoring things to the time of Khubilai Khan. Raised in China, Chinese culture  and Confucianism was something to be appreciated. Believing all government problems could be solved with a steady hand and powerful government, Toghto wanted to centralize and strengthen the Dynasty, with a variety of reforms to tackle the empire’s problems. His first period as Chancellor saw removal of the last of Bayan’s allies, the restoration of the civil service examinations, greater incorporation of Confucian scholars into government than ever before, and actual visibility to Toghon Temur Khan. The Khan finally was able to give a decree denouncing his uncle Tuq Temur for murdering Qoshila, and banished many of the handlers Bayan had placed on him. His cousin El Tegus was almost certainly put to death on his order, removing this claimant to the throne. Toghon Temur’s own son Ayushiridara was entrusted to Toghto’s household to be raised, fed and educated, the boy’s welfare being some Toghto took very seriously.    Luckily for the historians among us, one of Toghto’s most important tasks for posterity was providing the funding to finally complete the official  histories of the Liao, Jin and Song Dynasties by 1344. On his encouragement, the Liao and Jin Dynasties were recognized as legitimate, a debate which had in part  slowed the completion of these histories in the first place: the Confucian-Chinese editors had rather thoroughly argued against recognizing the Khitan ruled Liao or the Jurchen ruled Jin as proper dynasties, but Toghto, with an eye for the future representation of the Mongol ruled Yuan, pushed for it. So the Liaoshi, Jinshi and Songshi were finally completed and presented to the court, though the quality of the Liao Dynastic history in particular has been lamented by later scholars. As you can imagine, Toghto has always earned a warm reception from  historians for this effort, though it does not mean all his efforts in his first Chancellorship were successful. His expensive proposal to cut a new waterway to transport grain to Dadu was a spectacular failure, though it was a problem he would not stop in his efforts to resolve.    Toghto’s bright plans were cut short in the emerging crisises of the 1340s. This was a decade of almost annual earthquakes, unseasonal snowstorms in Mongolia eradicating entire herds, severe flooding in central China, accompanied by widespread famine, drought and epidemic. There has been suggestion that bubonic plague began spreading in China in the 1340s, moving west with Mongol armies to reach Europe in 1347. However, from the beginning of the most severe phase of epidemic in 1344 to having reached the armies of the Golden Horde two years later is a rather tight schedule to cross all of Asia. There has not been enough evidence to identify the epidemics in China as the Black Death, and a great number of other viral epidemics remain likely culprits. After years and years of these environmental issues, the field of frustration finally began to bloom into violent uprisings in the 1340s. In 1341, there were more than 300 bandit uprisings across central China. And among these revolts was the emerging Red Turban Movement.   To quote Frederick Mote’s chapter “the Rise of the Ming Dynasty,” in part 1, Vol. 7 of the Cambridge History of China: The Ming Dynasty, page 18, the Red Turbans were “loosely Manichean within folk Buddhist religion and were millenarian in their impulses. They defied the normal sources of authority and displayed capacities for conspiratorial cohesiveness and for uncompromising relations with the government, thus making their behaviour more extreme than that of conventional rebels. All the important movements of this kind in this period have been loosely grouped under the designation of the Red Turban (Hung-chin) rebellions.” The Red Turbans, so called for their red headbands, were a large and loosely connected group which espoused a sectarian, millenarian Confucianism, calling for radical change of society through military means, returning to an older, ‘purer’ China. Having began in the late 1330s as a respeonse to the environmental and financial crisis blamed on the foreign barbarians ruling China, the movement steadily picked up steam with each year and with each successive trouble and crisis. The Yuan had greatly overlooked this social aspect of their rule and constant attempts to restrict Confucianism and Chinese rights. The Red Turbans were going to provide a framework for many looking for an excuse to fight back, or just to fight. We’ll return to them soon enough.   Toghto’s reaction to the country wide problems in 1344 was to resign his post. For the next five years, the chancellorship was largely dominated by a man named Berke Bukha. He was also genuinely reform minded, but in the other direction from Toghto. Having experienced firsthand the slowness of government relief, Berke sought to decentralize the government, and make each region more able to effectively respond to local problems, be they environmental or banditry. Corresponding and getting permissions with the Central Government in Dadu took too long, especially for the most distant provinces. By the time aid or relief arrived, it could have been much too late to do any good. Essentially, Berke Bukha wanted to cut government red tape, to use a modern parlance. It was a good idea, and one about two decades too late to avert the oncoming catastrophes. The problem of uprisings, economy and environment piled ever higher regardless of Berke Bukha’s efforts, and in 1349 Toghon Temur Khan recalled Toghto to the court to resume his post.   Toghto got back into the saddle with great energy. He was said to have wanted to dazzle his contemporaries and make his name immortal in the historical record, and immediately set about trying to do just that. One problem Toghto had been stumped by in his first chancellorship was  how to pay for his great schemes, and in 1350 finally stumbled on an absolutely fool-proof idea: why not just print more money? The fact it was entirely unbacked by the depleted silver reserves in no way would be a problem. With a firm central guiding hand, Toghto got to work on his grandest scheme yet: forcing the Yellow River back into its former course, in order to once more enter the sea south of the Shandong peninsula. This was not a mere vanity project. The annual flooding of the Yellow River had become disastrous, and in 1344, 20 days of nonstop rain had caused the River to rise to 6.7 metres, break its banks and flood 18 districts and 17 cities, cutting of the Grand Canal, and draining into the Huai River, which in turn caused it to rise and  threaten the salt fields in Shandong and Hebei provinces, before entering the ocean south of the Shandong peninsula, whereas before it had come out to the north. The threat to the salt fields was  a particular  concern for the court: as the salt trade and its associated taxes was worth six-tenths of Yuan yearly revenue, it was vitally important to ensure its protection. This was also necessary in order to restore the flow to the Grand Canal, the north-south canal which carried the rice and grain of south China northwards to feed the capital of Dadu every year. This had already been in trouble due to a pirate, Fang Guozhen, having taken control of a portion of the canal and blocking shipments of supplies to Dadu, refusing peace offers, titles and resisting a military operation by Toghto in 1350.    There was intense opposition to the project to reroute the Yellow River, but Toghto had firmly taken control of government and forced the plan through. Printing 2 million ingots worth of the new currency to pay for it, from May to December 1351, 150,000 labourers, and 20,000 soldiers dug a 140 kilometre long channel to reroute the river; and it worked! Once more the Grand Canal was fed, the salt fields were protected and the Yellow River exited into the ocean north of the Shandong peninsula.    Toghto’s genius engineering project was designed to protect the producers and economy of the Yuan Dynasty, but it accidentally became one of the events which sparked off the dynasty’s ultimate collapse. The large gathering of workers, hungry and weak from years of famine, being punished by cruel overseers trying to meet a strict timetable, and paid in a currency that was only a little above worthless, was fertile soil for the Red Turbans. Even as work continued on the canal, a massive revolt erupted in the Huai River valley, which spread rapidly. The Yuan were taken aback, the sheer size of the uprising causing cities to fall in quick succession- few city walls had been rebuilt after the initial Mongol conquests, after all. In the first engagements, the government forces were poorly prepared and beaten back, including an army commanded by Toghto’s brother Esen-Temur. This was not the highly mobile, horse archer forces of the conquest period, but generally local Chinese militias commanded by Mongols and Central Asians. The actual cavalry forces made up of Mongols and Turks were kept close to the capital.   But this was the time for Chancellor Toghto to shine. He seemed almost custom made for this crisis. He immediately organized the defense, raised new armies and conscripted militias. New training and command structures were implemented. He knew he had to tread carefully, lest mismanaged and underpaid troops join in the revolts. In a dizzying juggling effort, Toghto organized and reorganized the larger military units, transferred and reappointed commanders around the dynasty, all to stop this sudden mobilization of troops from creating an opportunity for individuals and regions to form alternate powerbases to resist the government. And it worked shockingly well. With his so-called Yellow Army, named for the colour of their uniforms, this newly raised force of mostly Chinese volunteers under Mongol and Turkic commanders became Toghto’s “nationwide apparatus of pacification,” as historian John Dardess termed it. Leading the most important campaigns himself, Toghto began to halt, then push back, and finally overrun the rebellion. By the end of 1352 Toghto had brought the Huai River valley back under government control. Methodically, they retook the cities which had fallen to the Red Turbans. By the end of 1354, Toghto was effectively about to crush the final major figure of a largely broken movement.    At the city of Gao-Yu on the Grand Canal, in the closing months of 1354 Toghto had surrounded and was advancing on Zhang Shicheng, a former salt worker turned warlord who had declared himself an emperor in 1353. Zhang Shicheng’s control of the strategic city of Gao-yu cut off much of the grain shipment to Dadu and starved the capital, particularly dangerous when epidemics was swirling around the metropolitan region and killing thousands. Toghto had a two-fold plan to overcome Zhang and the liability of the Grand Canal. One was obviously for Toghto to advance with a large army and crush Zhang, but the second was to make the north, for the first time in Chinese history, a rice producing region. 2,000 dyke builders and paddy farmers were transported into central Hebei, Honan and even southern Manchuria to instruct them on how to cultivate rice, and make the north less reliant on southern producers. Given that for most Yuan rule, some of the most important grain and rice producing regions of the south had been depdendent on outside relief efforts due to excess typhoons, floods and droughts, it was a sensible, though expensive plan, one paid for by the unbacked paper currency  he continued to print huge quantities of.    In the last days of 1354, Grand Chancellor Toghto had Zhang Shicheng’s city of Gao-yu isolated and on the edge of collapse. The starving Zhang Shicheng, the final figure of the rebellion of any power, was about to crushed beneath the boot of Toghto, and order restored through the Yuan, when Toghon Temur Khan made the spectacular, and by far the worst, single decision of any Yuan Emperor: he dismissed Toghto in January 1355, and Toghto, as  loyal servant, accepted. If any single decision could be pointed to as the moment the Yuan lost China, it was this one. The dismissal of Toghto was the dismissal of the last, and only figure, who could have held the dynasty together.   The exact reasons for this short sighted decision are unclear. Toghto’s power had grown considerably from 1350 through 1354, and had developed a system granting him great control of government, finances and the military. It is feasible his enemies at court simply had enough of his might, and led by a former ally of Toghto named Hama of the Qangli, they wanted to act before Toghto had his final victory over the rebellion. They very reasonably asked where might his energies and intentions have gone once the crisis was over? Would all foes of Toghto be wiped away, and Toghto rule in total dictatorship? With the rebellion about to be crushed, they may have felt it safe to remove him and simply finish the work themselves. Toghon Temur Khan may have wanted Toghto’s removal due to the attention and power Toghto had been giving to the Khan’s  son and likely successor, Ayushiridara. Toghto had raised the boy in his household, grown close with him and saw to it that he was finely educated, trained for governance and prepared for rulership. Even in the midst of the rebellion, Toghto had given the lad his own palace in Dadu, his own staff, power to choose officials, an allowance and in late 1354, power to review all business conducted by his father the Khan. The young Ayushiridara was on his way to becoming a power within his own right, and Toghon Temur could have worried Toghto was going to replace him with his own son.   We should of course comment on this point on Toghon Temur Khan himself. Usually, Toghon Temur is presented as a Khan who specialized in debauchery and all sorts of sexual perversions, holding his own one-man saturnalias and all that. This isn’t what he spent his entire reign doing, to be sure. His first years as Khan when he was in his early teens were spent living in fear of Bayan, but after the 1335 coup, especially with Toghto’s encouragement, Toghon Temur actually began to take a bit of a role in government. But by the start of the 1350s, the Khan had started to grow tired of the work and  began to abandon even the small list of duties he was given. At this point he really started to enter this phase of “party-mode,” as it were, though  the level of debauchery is almost certainly overstated by largely hostile Ming Dynasty sources. “Semi-retirement,” as historian John Dardess described it, is probably better to imagine. Certainly, there was excessive eating, drinking and such. You can probably guess what his “participation” was in the “all-female dance ensembles and orchestras'' that he enjoyed. But he had other interests too, such as Buddhism, and sponsored a circumambulation of the imperial palace grounds of Dadu by 108 monks. He had engineering interests, designing his own pleasure barge for the lake in the imperial gardens, and taking part in the construction of a rather clever water clock. He enjoyed his yearly sojourns to the summer capital of Shangdu, spending almost two months of every year simply on the move between Dadu and Shangdu. Really, a lot of interests other than governance.   Toghon Temur was shortsighted, a poor governor, and absolutely not up to the task of stepping into the vacuum left by Toghto’s dismissal. The Khan and the Central Government assumed they could operate the carefully built apparatus Toghto had, somewhat precariously, balanced around his person. Of course, this was not the case in the slightest. With the loss of their leader, Toghto’s army deserted, joining the rebel movements which spread once more, while Zhang Shicheng saw this as divine intervention and expanded his realm onto the Yangzi River. Toghto had been the last credible leader of the Yuan, for no one else in Dadu had the foresight or ability to assuage the dynasty’s fall. In the months following Toghto’s dismissal rebellion reignited, and a lead member of Red Turbans in the north, Liu Futong, declared Han Lin-erh emperor of a restored Song Dynasty. The years of strengthening  the regional governments followed by mass mobilization of resources by Toghto resulted in the provincial commanders essentially becoming completely autonomous warlords in at best loose allegiance to the Yuan government. The Yuan Dynasty’s effective area of administration became limited to an area around Dadu in the north,  a regional power among a number of competing warlords. Some maintained a nominal adherence to the Yuan government, but were more concerned in fighting for survival against Red Turban and other upstart Chinese warlords than imperial unity. A number of Chinese warlords popped up in loose connection with the Red Turbans, using them as basis to build their own power networks and legitimacy- Zhang Shicheng, Chen Youliang, and of course, the former peasant from Anhwei, Zhu Yuanzhang.  Toghto would not see the end of the dynasty- he was assassinated by  his enemies while in exile in Yunnan at the start of 1356. Neither did he live long enough to see that his excess printing of the currency and the ensuing hyperinflation resulted in it becoming totally worthless, ceasing to be circulated within months of Toghto’s death. Toghon Temur Khan would sit almost idly as the Chinese warlords fought amongst each other, eventually snowballing under  the authority of Zhu Yuanzhang- though you might know him better by his era name, the Hongwu Emperor, the founder of the Ming Dynasty. For the final decade of Yuan rule in China, the Yuan were practically bystanders to their final fate. Our next episode is not a fall of the Yuan, as much as it is the rise of the Ming- so be sure to subscribe to the King and Generals Podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this and would like to help us keep bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one.

Today on the podcast we talk with Rev.  Dr. Pete Jurchen. He shares some tips and strategies with us for how we can help encourage healthy faith habits in our young people.For more from Dr. Jurchen on lifelong learning of God's Word, consider reading Timeless Truth: An Essential Guide for Teaching the Faith.For more on the importance of building a faithful community of adult lifelong learners in your congregation, consider reading Built on the Rock by Ted Kober, or Connected to Christ: Overcoming Isolation Through Community by Brian Davies, either on your own or studying it with your congregational leadership. For an excellent resource that provides lectionary-based daily readings from God's Word for youth and adults, along with daily prayers and other devotional materials, consider using Treasury of Daily Prayer or the PrayNow app. Build the habit of being a lifelong learner of God's Word through daily engagement with the Bible, and encourage others to join you!For building up the habits of daily learning God's Word in your household, consider reading Portals of Prayer, Portals of Prayer for Kids, or any other of CPH's excellent devotional materials that heads of households can read with their families each day. By simply devoting a few minutes each day to reading these devotionals, in the morning, at meal time, in the car, or before bed, you can help establish a culture of lifelong learning of God's Word. Dr. Jurchen also referenced Luther's Small Catechism with Explanation which contains not only contains the core teachings of the faith, but also different prayers to help form the habits of lifelong learning of God's Word. This is not only a book for Confirmation instruction, but is a manual for discipleship for the lifelong learner of God's Word. The book Luther's Small Catechism: A Manual for Discipleship, wonderfully explains this.Connect with us on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter.

“In the West there is a province called Kafje-Guh, in which there are forests and other places of difficult access. It adjoins Qara-Jang and parts of India and the coast. There are two towns there, Lochak and Hainam and it has its own ruler, who is in rebellion against [Kublai Khaan]. Toghan, the son of the [Khaan], who is stationed with an army in Lukin-fu in the [south of China], is defending [China] and also keeping an eye on those rebels. On one occasion, he penetrated with an army to those towns on the coast, captured them, and sat for a week upon the throne there. Then all at once their army sprang out from ambush in the sea[shore], the forest, and the mountains and attacked Toghan’s army while they were busy plundering. Toghan got away safely and is still in the Lukin-fu area.”       So the Ilkhanid historian and vizier Rashid al-Din, writing in the first years of the 1300s, describes events less than twenty years prior but very far away. Rashid al-Din transcribed a very brief, but recognizable sketch, of the Mongol invasions of Vietnam in the 1280s. Having covered for you the first half of Kublai’s reign up until the end of the 1270s and his conquest of China, we will now take you to the beginnings of his failures. Back in July we already presented the Mongol invasions of Japan in 1274 and 1281, so now we’ll turn our gaze southwards, to the efforts to extend Mongol suzerainty over the kingdoms of what is now Vietnam. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.       Before we discuss the military operations, it’s useful to set the scene and establish Vietnam’s 13th century status. As has been so often over this series, for context we must go back to the fall of China’s Tang Dynasty in 907. For roughly a thousand years, starting from the Han Dynasty in 111 BCE, the northern half of what is now Vietnam was under Chinese dominion, broken up by a few decades of revolts and brief independence here and there. Of course, the Chinese Dynasties were not dominating a ‘Vietnam’ in any modern sense. Rather, they were exerting control or tributary relationships with the Viet, or Kinh, peoples around the Red River, or Hong River, Delta. This delta is usually described as the cradle of Vietnamese civilization, the most densely populated and fertile part of the country even today. Vietnam’s capital, Hanoi, sits in this region. The long period  of Chinese rule and influence left an undeniable mark upon Vietnamese conceptions of state, and every succeeding Viet dynasty has born obvious echoes of it.       With the collapse of the Tang in 907, the Chinese presence in the north of Vietnam weakened, and local groups began to exert independence. Some of the Tang’s successors in Southern China invaded and briefly brought the Red River Delta back under Chinese rule. But by the middle of the tenth century, the first fully independent Vietnamese Dynasty in centuries, the Ngô Dynasty, was established… and collapsed into feuding warlords by 965. It was not until the Lý Dynasty, founded in 1009, was stability reached. Under the Lý Emperors- though only Kings, if you asked the Chinese- the recognizable aspects of medieval northern Vietnam were built. The capital was moved to Thăng Long, modern day Hanoi. Buddhism was adopted as the state religion, and in 1054 a new emperor declared a new name for their state; Đại Việt,, meaning ‘great Viet,’ by which we most commonly know the medieval and early modern state. Administrative and military reforms made it the most stable and powerful Vietnamese kingdom yet, and the state expanded both north and south. Agricultural expansion and land reclamation fueled population growth and a steady Viet colonization southwards.       Good times for the Lý Kings did not last. By the start of the thirteenth century their rule had weakened, local warlords exerted their independence and the monarchs were generally inept with few heirs. In a series of political alliances and marriages, the Trần family gathered power and began to try to force the Lý Kings to be their puppets. Warfare broke out. The Lý Kings maintaned the throne, but with the Trầns the power behind it. The final ailing Lý King abdicated the throne in 1224 with only two daughters. His 7 year old daughter, Lý Chiêu Thánh, was enthroned as the only queen-regent in Vietnam’s history. Throught the machinations of the Trần “mayor of the palace,”  Trần Thủ Độ married the young queen to his nephew, Trần Cảnh. The queen soon abdicated the throne, making Trần Cảnh the reigning monarch- the first ruler of Vietnam’s prestigious Trần Dynasty, known by his temple name Thái Tông, the Vietnamese rendition of that classic Chinese temple name, Taizong. His father was posthumously made Taizu, and the scheming uncle Thủ Độ became the chancellor and the major powerbroker within Đại Việt until his death in 1264.       The powerful new Trần Dynasty of Đại Việt centralized power and continued the expansion begun the Lý  Dynasty. Further reclamation efforts and dykes to control the flooding of the Red River continued to increase the agricultrual production of the north. Adminsitration, territories, taxes, the army, the law code, all were reorganized under the Trần. Confucianism influenced the government but did not replace Buddhism, and Chinese was the official language of the court. Relations were stabilized with their most important neighbours; the Song Dynasty to the northeast, to which Đại Việt paid tribute and nominal allegiance in exchange for expensive gifts and lucrative trade; to the northwest, trade flowed with the Dali Kings in Yunnan; to the south, a cordial period began with the Chams.    The Chams are a part of the far flung Austronesian people, inhabiting central and southern Vietnam for millenia. For most of their history they were a collection of small, competing Hindu and Muslim kingdoms, but in the 12th century entered a new period of unity in the face of an invasion by the Khmer Empire of Cambodia, the builders of the famed Angkor Wat. United under a ‘king of kings,’ the Chams repulsed both the Khmer and Đại Việt when it attempted to take advantage of perceived Cham weakness. Though not unified or centralized in the manner of Đại Việt, from the mid-12th century onwards there was a King of Kings based out of Vijaya who wielded more influence over the other Cham kings and princes- the kingdom of Champa, as it’s sometimes called. And hence, by the 13th century we can say that Vietnam was divided into two states; Đại Việt in the north, ruled by the Trần Dynasy and known as Annam to the Chinese, and Champa in the south. You can get your references to twentieth century North and South Vietnam out of the way now.    Đại Việt was the first of the two to encounter Mongol armies in the 1250s. As we’ve discussed a few times before, in 1253, on the orders of his brother the Grand Khan Mongke, prince Kublai marched into Yunnan and conquered the Dali Kingdom. Though Kublai quickly returned north, his general Uriyangqadai stayed in the region and continued to subdue the local peoples. Uriyangqadai, the son of the illustrious Sube’edei, led a series of wide ranging campaigns across Yunnan, the edges of Tibet to the small kingdoms on the western edge of the Song Dynasty. In this process, Uriyangqadai came right to the northern border of Đại Việt. At this point Mongol imperial ideology was well entrenched: of course Đại Việt would become subject to the Grand Khan. The more immediate strategic concern though was to prevent the Trần kings offering any sort of support to the Song Dynasty, against which Mongke was planning a massive assault upon for 1258. With Đại Việt’s trade and tribute contacts with the Song, the Mongols were not willing to allow a possible enemy in their rear. With his envoys to the Trần court at Thăng Long illicting no response, in the winter of 1257 Uriyangqadai and his son, Aju, led the army over the border, some 10-30,000 men, Mongols supported by locally raised troops from Yunnan.   Splitting his forces into two, Uriyangqdai ordered the vanguard to cross the Thao River, north of Thăng Long, but not engage the Việt forces; Uriyangqadai knew of the river fleets used by Đại Việt, and desired to draw them into an ambush and thus neutralize their mobility. The vanguard commander did not listen and immediately engaged with the enemy, and a frustrated Uriyangqadai then advanced to support him. Despite the insubordination and the Vietnamese fielding war elephants, the Mongols had the better of the battle; Aju is said to have ordered archers to shoot into the eyes of the elephants. However, a defiant rear guard allowed the Trần leadership to escape the battle on the ships, and the always strict Uriyangqadai ensured the foolish vanguard commander paid for this with his life.   The Trần forces again attempted to stop the Mongol advance, occuping a bank of the Phù Lỗ river at the start of 1258 and cutting down the bridge. The Mongols cleverly found a ford; shooting arrows into the sky, when they fell and disappeared -meaning they had sunk into the mud- that indicated an area shallow enough to cross. They met and routed the Trần army, and now they rushed onto the capital, Thăng Long- only to find it abandoned. The Trần King, government and most of its population had evacuated before the Mongol arrival, taking most of the foodstuffs with them.   Vietnamese and the Chinese sources differ on the precise details of what followed, but generally it can be said that Uriyangqadai withdrew, and was harassed by local forces as went, and the Trần King offered tribute to keep the Mongols at bay. It may have been that the heat, humidity and tropical disease wreaked havoc on Mongolian men, bows and horses and he wanted out of there as quickly as possible, only escaping with heavy losses. It may have been that due to the timetable Mongke had set for the assault on the Song, Uriyangqadai simply did not have time to stay in Đại Việt any longer. Indeed, upon his return to Mongol occupied Yunnan, he was almost immediately leading forces into the Song Dynasty’s southwestern border.   The Trần Kings now sent tribute to the Mongols, expecting it would be a continuation of the relationship they had had with the Song: tribute once every three years, a nominal submission to keep the peace. For almost two decades, this was essentially what followed, as the Mongols were too preoccupied with the succession struggle after Mongke’s death and Kublai’s ensuing war with the Song Dynasty to press the matter further. Likewise, Champa began to send tribute to the Khan. With the Song still a buffer between them, the kingdoms of Vietnam felt some security from the Mongols.       However, Kublai began asking for both monarchs to submit to him in person and confirm their allegiance, which both put off in favour of continued tribute missions. Other demands had to be met as Mongol vassals, such as censuses, allowing daruqachi to be posted in their cities and demands for labour and materials- all were requirments neither kingdom had yet to meet.  The end of Song resistance at Yaishan by 1279 to Kublai’s Yuan Empire removed  the buffer between them, and now the excuses of the Trần and Cham kings was far less acceptable, as was their housing of fleeing Song officials. In 1280 Kublai demanded that if the Trần king could not come in person, then he must send a massive golden likeness of himself with pearls for eyes, as well as increased amounts of tributes, as well as demanding the kingdom’s most skilled doctors and artisans, most virtuous scholars and most beautiful women every three years. The Great Khan’s demands grew ever greater, the intention clear: the submission of Đại Việt and Champa must be total.   Kublai’s eyes were also going further afield. Dreaming of completing the conquest of the world, the fall of the Song, the greatest single independent power not subject to the Mongols, seemed to open up access to valuable maritime trade routes.  It has been speculated that Kublai saw Champa as key to controlling the south-east Asian trade, essentially a landing strip jutting out into the trade routes darting from India, Indonesia and China. After years of perceived insubordination, once the Chams imprisoned Yuan envoys in 1282, Kublai had his pretext for war and a chance to seize the sea trade. Striking at Champa first had the added benefit of putting Đại Việt in a vice grip between Yuan China and an occupied Champa, and hopefully bring it to heel as well. Having overcome the formidable Song Dynasty, the often politically fragmented Champa would have seemed an easy target in comparison. Officials in Guangxi province had sent encouraging messages to the court, saying less than 3,000 men would be needed to overrun the Chams. After the failure of the second invasion of Japan in 1281, Kublai was also hungry for a quick and easy victory. Though the 1270s had been successful, they had worn Kublai out; by the 1280s, he was no longer the patient man he had been in the 1250s, planning out every detail of the Dali campaign with his experienced generals and advisers. His most loyal and critical advisers had died over the 1270s, and Kublai had outlived the most veteran commanders. Having come to expect total victory regardless, Kublai now demanded it immediately.       In December 1282, Sogetu, a hero of the final war against the Song Dynasty and governor of Fujian, departed with 5,000 men drawn from former Song territory aboard a hundred transport ships, arriving near the Cham capital of Vijaya in February 1283. After brief resistance, Vijaya fell to Sogetu, who found that the Cham leadership, its King Indravarman V and Prince Harijit, had fled into the mountains. After wasting a month in fruitless negotiation with Cham envoys, once Indravarman executed his envoys, in March 1283 Sogetu set out on the attack.  In the jungle his men were ambushed and driven back, and Sogetu retreated to the coast where he cleared land to plant rice to feed his men. There, he sent envoys to the Khmer Empire (who were detained) and sent messages to the Yuan court for aid.        Initially, the court’s response was slow, still planning for a third invasion of Japan. Ariq Khaya, the Uighur commander who had helped crush the last of Song resistance, was ordered to raise thousands of Jurchen, Northern Chinese and former Song troops to aid Sogetu, but failed to do so. It was not until March 1284, after plans for the third Japanese invasion were finally abandoned, when an army of 20,000 was dispatched to aid Sogetu. Setting out by sea and delayed by a brief mutiny, they arrived the next month to link up with a campaigning Sogetu, who had begun sacking Cham cities along the coast. The Cham King Indravarman sent word he was willing to submit, but would be unable to offer tribute due to the plundering. Such concerns did not really bother the Mongols.       By August 1284 the Yuan court had received maps showing the land routes through Đại Việt to Champa, and it was declared that Kublai’s eleventh son Toghon would lead a force overland to assist Sogetu. Đại Việt was ordered to help supply this army, but they refused: it was immediately apparent in the Trần court that this was almost certainly a pretext for a Yuan conquest of Đại Việt. At that time, the reigning Trần King was Trần Khâm, temple name Trần Nhân Tông. His father, the previous king Trần Thánh Tông, was still alive: the Vietnamese had a similar institution to the Japanese, wherein the previous monarch would ‘retire,’ abdicating the throne for their heir and as ‘emperor-emeritus,’ tutor their successor while stepping out of all that strict court protocol. So it was in 1284 that the 15th century chronicle the Complete Book of the Historical Records of Đại Việt, records a famous episode. The ‘emperor-emeritus’ Trần Thánh Tông, once it was apparent that the Mongol attack was forthcoming, summoned elders and advisers from across Đại Việt to discuss the best course of action and strategy. Supposedly, they all shouted in unison, “Fight!”   So the Trầns began to prepare for the assault, readying officers and men. Of these, one man is the most famous for his preparations, Trần Quốc Tuấn, though you may know him better by his later title, Prince Hưng Đạo. Part of Hưng Đạo’s long standing popularity in Vietnamese history was his character, worth a small digression. Hưng Đạo’s rise to prominence was an unexpected thing. He was the nephew of the first Trần King, the son of his rebellious older brother. While his father died disgraced and as a traitor, Hưng Đạo made himself a shining beacon of loyalty and filial piety- two very good traits to have if you want to have Confucian inspired historians write nice things about you. Hưng Đạo actively made himself appear the most loyal of all the Trần King’s servants, perhaps to overcompensate for his father’s actions. His charisma, natural talent and skill made his life an exemplary subject for chroniclers to fawn over,  with one notable exception: when he was around 20 years old, Hưng Đạo had an affair with an imperial princess already engaged to another man. It was a scandal resolved by marrying the two, but was nonetheless an embarrassment. When it became apparent that war was coming, Hưng Đạo marked himself out by preparing and training men and officers, before taking a leading role in the strategy himself.    In January 1285, Prince Toghon and Ariq Khaya led some eight tumens over the border from Yunnan into Đại Việt. He had with him an ousted member of the Trần royal family, Trần Ích Tầc, who the Yuan had declared the new King of Đại Việt and were going to place onto the throne. In addition, another column came further west, led by Nasir ad-Din, the Khwarezmian appointed by the Mongols to govern Yunnan; he was the son of the first Mongol appointed governor of the province, a skilled figure named Sayyid Ajall. The forces sent against Toghon, Ariq Khaya and Nasir ad-Din were quickly overcome, and captured ships allowed them to cross the Phu-luong River in February.  Meanwhile, Sogetu was marching north, a great pincer movement on Đại Việt. Prince Hưng Đạo divided his forces to try and prevent Sogetu from linking up with Toghon, but Sogetu overwhelmed them, capturing 400 renegade Song officials. By the time Sogetu linked up with Toghon, the Prince had constructed a full river fleet and placed them under the command of Omar, one of the Yuan’s top naval commanders and Nasir ad-Din’s son. Together, they undertook a full offensive against Đại Việt, Omar driving the King out to sea while Toghon and Sogetu captured the capital of Thăng Long. Armies sent against them were annhilated and many Trần generals defected to the Yuan forces.       With Thăng Long’s seizure, the Yuan experienced their final success of this campaign. Again, Thăng Long had been skilfully evacuated to deny the Mongols access to supplies or the royal family, thus preventing the city’s occupation from being a true strategic gain. In Thăng Long, Yuan forces and supply lines were overextended, running low on food while heat and disease took their toll. In June one of the Yuan commanders, Li Heng, was killed by poisoned arrows and his force decimated by ambushes. A former Song Dynasty officer and his entourage, fighting alongside the Vietnamese, donned their old Song style uniforms and armours, which panicked  the Yuan detachments thinking they were now facing long-lost Song reinforcment! The fallen Vietnamese were found to have tattooed “kill the Tatars!” on their own bodies, angering, frustrating and frightening the Yuan forces- many of whom, it should be noted, were not Tatars but conscripted Chinese and others who would be forced to share their fate. All bodies with such tatoos were ordered to be decapitated. Toghon, seeing their position was untenable as morale crumbled, decided to call a full retreat back to Yuan territory. So swiftly was this done that Toghon failed to inform Sogetu of the retreat, who suddenly realized he was left isolated deep in enemy territory.  Hurriedly he forced his way north, but the Vietnamese harried him. Sogetu was captured and killed in battle, and the remainder of his force was largely surrounded and destroyed at Ssu-ming on the Yuan border.       This was a disastrous end to the campaign. The Mongols had suffered reversals, loss of commanders and had to turn back from campaigns before. Battles had been lost of course, but major defeats like the Japan invasions could be explained away as the interventions of nature and the heavens. But the Vietnam campaign was a direct military fiasco, one of Kublai’s own sons failing to deliver victory.  Kublai was so furious he refused to allow Toghon back to the capital. Frustrated by failures and his mind increasingly clouded by drink and depression, Kublai ordered a third invasion of Đại Việt. Special care was taken for this invasion. The Trần pretender Trần Ích Tầc was once again to be promoted, to hopefully encourage dissension, and great effort was taken to prevent the logistical issues of the previous campaign. Supply ships were ordered from all along the southern Chinese coast to ferry troops and provide the food necessary for the great army being assembled: 70,000 Mongol, Jurchen and Northern Chinese, 6,000 troops from Yunnan, 1,000 former Song soldiers, 6,000 local troops from Guangxi and 17,000 Loi people from the island of Hainan, for a total of 100,000 men not including the crews of the 500 warships and transports. Toghon was placed in overall command again, his final chance to redeem himself before his aging father.        While it is easy to focus on the Yuan losses, it must not be thought it was an easy experience in Vietnam. As per custom, the Mongols had metted out savage reprisal on cities; we know from elsewhere that when frustrated, as when denied a chance to meet the foe directly in battle, it only resulted in increased devastation on those they fell across. Crops and rice patties were destroyed by the tred of armies and horses, and we cannot imagine what starvation and horrors greeted the population caught in the middle of this conflict. Many thousands fled into the wilderness to escape the Yuan armies, and few could have been prepared for the experience. Their suffering from disease, lack of water and resources goes unmentioned in the sources. The capital of Thăng Long had been looted and occupied for the second time in thirty years. In Champa the evidence is less clear, but it seems Sogetu burned his way through many of the most prominent city’s along the coast in his march north. In the Complete Book of the Historical Records of Đại Việt, in the entry for the year 1286 Prince Hưng Đạo provides this assessment to the King:   “Our kingdom has been at peace for a long time. The people do not know about military matters. Previously when the Yuan came and raided, there were those who surrendered or fled. By relying on the potent awe of the imperial ancestors, Your Highness’s divine [perspicacity] and martial [awe] wiped clean the dust of the nomadic barbarians. If they come again, our troops are trained at fighting, while their army fears a distant campaign. They are also dejected by the defeats of Heng and Guan. They do not have the heart to fight. As I see it, they are sure to be defeated.”   Hưng Đạo, as fitting his character, comes across optimistic and eager to fight. Yet, he recognized that many had quickly defected or routed before the Mongols. The Vietnamese needed to prepare to meet the Mongols again ahead on, rather than simply rely on the ‘awe’ of the King.       In October 1287, the third invasion began. The army  into three major forces: Toghon took the main army overland, 6,000 traveled west of the main army to act as a diversionary force and 18,000 were taken by Omar and Fan Yi aboard war ships sailing along the coast to find and neutralize the Việt navy. The large transport fleet followed some days behind Omar’s armada, anticipating that Omar would have cleared the way of enemy ships for them. In December the main army crossed the border in two columns and defeated several Đại Việt forces, marching to Vạn Kiếp on the Bạch Đằng River to await the arrival of Omar’s fleet, who arrived after fighting off a Vietnamese navy. Despite early success, neither force had brought much for food supplies, expecting to be supplied by the transport fleet.       Toghon waited for the supply fleet until the end of January 1288, but unbeknownst to him much of the supply fleet was blown off course by a storm, and the rest were attacked by the Việt  navy. The commander Trần Khánh Dư held his fleet in secret up a river near the coast at Vân Đồn, and allowed the Yuan warships under Omar to pass by. Once Omar and the warships were beyond reach, Trần Khánh Dư  fell upon the unguarded, slower moving Yuan supply ships. By seizing and scattering these, he ensured the breakdown of the massive Yuan army. With food supplies running low, Toghon marched onto Thăng Long, hoping to resupply there. The city fell without opposition in February 1288, but to their horror they found there wasn’t a grain of rice left within: the defenders had once again stripped it in their flight. The increasingly desperate Yuan forces went to great effort to gather food until learning of the disaster which befell the supply fleets at Vân Đồn. Toghon ordered the army back to stockades they had constructed at Vạn Kiếp, and by the end of March, once his men were on the verge of starvation, he ordered a general retreat back to China. It was now the Việt forces sprung their trap. The Yuan army’s route north was harried by continual ambushes and the destruction of roads and bridges to hamper their movements. Arrows flew out from the trees to strike men down. Tropical diseases the Mongols were unused to spread among them, humidity warped their bows and the trees howled with the sounds of alien creatures ensuring sleepless nights. Toghon, great-grandson of Chinggis Khan, showed his pedigree by hiding in a copper tube on the march, then abandoning the troops to board a warship and sail back to the Yuan realm.       On April 9th, 1288, Omar’s fleet was sailing past the mouth of the Bạch Đằng river when a group of Vietnamese ships, commanded by Prince Hưng Đạo, sailed out to meet him at high tide. Eager for some sort of victory, Omar took a portion of the fleet and attacked. The Vietnamese routed before the Yuan warships, fleeing back up the river whence they had come. When the Yuan fleet pursued up the river, the trap was sprung: while the smaller and lighter Vietnamese craft had cruised by in safety, wooden stakes placed along the river bottom impaled the larger Yuan vessels, holding them in place as the tide receded. With the Yuan ships immobilized, the Vietnamese turned about and attacked: helpless, many Yuan soldiers jumped into the river, drowning or picked off by the arrows of Đại Việt, and Omar was captured. The other fleet commander, Fan Yi, attempted to rescue Omar, but his vessels were surrounded and boarded, Fan Yi himself killed in the fighting. Some 400 ships were captured, capping off a campaign which saw most of its land forces destroyed in the wilderness.       1288 proved to be a total fiasco for the Yuan. Only a few years after the destruction of the great armada off the shores of Kyushu, another fleet and army were destroyed with little to show for it. Toghon was sent into political exile after both disastrous campaigns, his son another disgrace to add to Kublai’s troubles of the 1280s. Unlike earlier, thoroughly planned and prepared campaigns, the Mongol leadership was unable to gather the information they needed to properly orchestrate their attacks. The destruction of the cities did not sway or put adequate fear into the Vietnamese monarchs, the sufferings of the population could not move them and unable to capture the enemy leadership, the Mongol were denied many of the strategic tools they had commonly employed to disable the enemy defense. In the dense and rugged jungles and mountains, the Mongols’ greatest tactical advantage, the mobility and range of their horse archers, was neutralized, while the heat, humidity and diseases wrought havoc upon troops and horses unused to such a climate. While victorious in the primary field engagements, the Yuan were unable to transform these battles into strategic successes. And crucially, the Mongols struggled to supply themselves. Small foraging parties could be picked off by the locals, supply lines could more be secured and larger armies were dependent on those supply fleets. When the supply fleets of the third invasion were destroyed by Trần Khánh Dư  at Vân Đồn, the massive army commanded by Toghon became a huge, unreadable, liability. All of these were compounded by the fact the Yuan leadership totally underestimated Vietnamese resilience and the Yuan commander, Toghon, was an inept and inexperienced general: in contrast, the military leaders of  Đại Việt were able to maximize their strengths and strike at the Yuan when they were their most vulnerable.    While Bạch Đằng was a masterfully executed victory by Prince Hưng Đạo, Đại Việt and Champa had suffered terribly over both campaigns, and both kingdoms, to avoid another invasion began sending tribute and recognized Kublai’s authority. Still, their resilience and refusal of either monarch to come before him left Kublai wanting another invasion, the Trần pretender Trần Ích Tầc again readied to be put onto the Trần throne, but as with much else, such thoughts were abandoned on Kublai’s death in 1294. After Kublai’s death, relations were eased between Yuan, Đại Việt and Champa. The kingdoms in Vietnam paid their tribute, and they were spared another Mongol assault. Relations between Đại Việt and Champa improved, and a marriage alliance was organized. The former Cham Prince Harijit, now King Simhavarman III, married the daughter of the Trần King, only to die suddenly in 1307. The death of the Cham king brought a new round of tension between the two states, eventually turning into a continuous conflict between them that ultimately culminated in the Viet seizure of Vijaya in 1471.   Today, Bạch Đằng is a highly celebrated episode in Vietnam’s history, the tactics and strategy of Hưng Đạo studied by the Vietnamese during the Vietnam war. The introduction of the idea of the nation-state to Vietnam has seen Hưng Đạo turned into a symbol of the nation, a single person embodying the ideals of resistance to powerful, foreign foes.  But for Kublai, the disasters in Vietnam were only the start to a rough decade, which we will explore over our next episodes, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast to follow. To help us keep bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on Patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. This script was written and researched by Jack Wilson, with the kind assistance of Phú Võ for accessing Vietnamese and Chinese materials. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one.

“Now I wish to tell you [...] all the very great doings and all the very great marvels of the very great lord of the Tartars, [...] who is called Kublai Khan, which [...] means to say in our language the great lord of lords, emperor, and [...]this great Khan is the most powerful man in people and in lands and in treasure that ever was in the world, or that now is from the time of Adam our first father till this moment; and under him all the peoples are set with such obedience as has never been done under any other former king. And this I shall show you quite clearly in the course of this our second book, that it is a true thing which I have told you so that each will be sure that he is, as we say without contradiction, the greatest lord that ever was born in the world or that now is.”       So Marco Polo introduces Kublai Khan in his Description of the World, as per the classic translation of Moule and Pelliot. Having now taken you through the successful Mongol conquest of China and fall of the Song Dynasty, we’ll now look at Kublai’s reign itself, and his efforts to build a new dynasty in China. Great Khan of the Mongol Empire and simultaneously Emperor of China, Kublai Khan was one of the single most powerful men in human history, rumours of his vast wealth and might spreading across the world. Kublai Khan’s long reign will be dealt with in two halves; a first one today covering 1260 to 1279, followed by a look at Kublai’s foreign ventures, then another episode detailing his last years. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.       Kublai’s name has popped up in several episodes even before his war with Ariq Boke, but we’ve dealt little with the man directly. Born on the 23rd of September, 1215, Kublai was the second son of Tolui and Sorqaqtani Beki, and a grandson of Chinggis Khan. Indeed, Kublai was the last of the Great Khans to have ever personally met Chinggis, though Kublai was little more than 12 years old at the time of Chinggis’ death. It was never likely that Kublai would have come to the throne: while all of Sorqaqtani’s son received the same extensive education, learning to read and write the Mongolian script, take lessons in governance and even had Chinese advisers, Kublai was the only one of her four sons who really found himself attracted to Chinese culture. In time, Kublai even came to speak some Chinese, though never learned the characters. While Sorqaqtani’s eldest son Mongke led armies on the Great Western Campaign across the steppe in the 1230s, Kublai was beginning to govern Chinese for the first time, having been given an appanage in North China by Ogedai Khaan in 1236. Like many Mongols granted territory in China, Kublai did not actually rule from China, staying in Mongolia proper. As with much of North China, Kublai’s appanage was left to the whims of tax farmers and merciless officers demanding extraordinary levies. By the time Kublai learned of it, thousands of tenants had already fled their lands. Perhaps on the council of his Chinese tutors, Kublai sought assistance and local knowledge. The tax farmers in his lands were dismissed and replaced with dedicated officials. A regular taxation system enforced, burdens lessened and by the 1240s Kublai had succeeded in encouraging a number to return. The episode was an important one for Kublai. Leaving government to operate without oversight would allow all manner of corruption and abuse into the system, depreiving the lord of his tribute and putting increased pressure onto the peasanty and farmers at the bottom. Given the chance, they would flee, leaving those petty officials to now increase the pressure on remaining tenants and continue the cycle. By curbing abuses and encouraging growth, Kublai reasoned, the lord would reap even greater rewards over time.       For most of the 1240s, Kublai was a minor figure. He was a grandson of Chinggis and thus a high ranking prince, to be sure, but one of little importance without a military record to his name- the only kind of record which mattered, as far as the Mongols were concerned. Just before 1240 Kublai married his second and most famous wife, Chabi of the Onggirat. A wise and outspoken woman, Chabi would, for most of Kublai’s long life, be one of his most significant advisers and supporters, a calming and motivating voice when he needed it most. Chabi was also a devout Buddhist, and certainly must have encouraged Kublai’s own interest in Buddhism. It’s no coincidence their first son was given a rather classically Tibetan Buddhist name, Dorji. She may very well have been a driving force in bringing more Buddhist advisers into Kublai’s fledgling court in the 1240s. In 1242, the Buddhist monk Hai-yun was summoned to Kublai, who further educated Kublai on Buddhism. In 1243, Hai-yun helped Kublai choose the Chinese Buddhist name of Zhenjin, “True Gold,” for Kublai’s second son, rendered in Mongol as Jingim. Hai-yun introduced Kublai to another Buddhist, Liu Ping-chung, who would become one of Kublai’s most prominent advisers in the years to come. While Kublai was personally more inclined to Buddhism, he did not limit himself to it. Confucian scholars such as Chao Pi, Tou Mo and most famously, Yao Shu, came to Kublai in these years. Yao Shu was highly trusted by Kublai, and the Chinese sources are replete with examples of Yao Shu turning ancient Chinese parables and stories into practical advice for Kublai as a general and in time, ruler. These  men were made responsible not just for informing Kublai of the ancient Confucian classics, but of tutoring Kublai’s sons as well. The oldest boy, Dorji, died early, and Jingim became the focus of their teaching efforts, receiving an education in Buddhism, Confucianism and even Taoism.       Confucians and Buddhists were not his only advisers; Uighurs, Turks and Central Asians served Kublai in a vareity of roles as interpeters, translators, officials and financial advisers. For military matters of course, Kublai relied on his Mongolian kinsmen. Over the 1240s and into the 1250s, Kublai cultivated what historian Morris Rossabi has termed the “kitchen cabinet,” of advisers, a wide collection of opinions and experiences which he could draw upon, men he knew for years and trusted, backed up by his wife Chabi.      As we’ve covered before, when his older brother Mongke became Grand Khan in the 1250s Kublai was thrust into the international spotlight. We needn’t go into this in great detail again; how Kublai was for the first time given a military command, against the Dali Kingdom in Yunnan. How Kublai returned to Northern China to oversee matters for Mongke there, only to annoy his brother with possible aspirations to greater autonomy and perhaps independence, an overconfidence brought on by a successful military campaign and fruitful years as a governor which saw him construct his own capital, known as Shangdu in Inner Mongolia. Mongke greatly reduced Kublai’s influence in the aftermath, and Kublai only managed to crawl back into Mongke’s favour in time to be given command of an army in a massive assault on the Song Dynasty. The sudden death of Mongke in August 1259  brought the campaign to a screeching halt. Mongke and Kublai’s youngest brother, Ariq Boke, stepped up into the regency. Kublai ignored requests to return to the imperial capital at Karakorum in Mongolia, and continued to campaign for a few more months, until his wife Chabi sent word of rumour that Ariq was going to put his name forward for the Khanate. But Kublai had already been aspiring for the throne. He may have intended to keep campaigning and build up his rather lacklustre resume as a commander, but now had to rush north earlier than he had hoped. In May of 1260, at his residence in Shangdu, Kublai declared himself Khan of the Mongol Empire, precipitating a four year civil war between himself and Ariq. Though Kublai had Ariq’s surrender by 1264, over those four years the princes in the western half of the empire took their independence, leaving Kublai ruler of a realm much reduced in size. As our previous episodes have demonstrated, Kublai sent his armies on the colossal effort to conquer southern China and its Song Dynasty, a task only completed by 1279. Kublai though, did not lead these armies himself, instead focusing on building his new empire, as we’ll go into today.       After declaring himself Khan in early 1260, his early efforts were directed at the war with Ariq Boke. Once the conflict quieted by 1261 and 62, as Ariq was pushed from Mongolia, Kublai could begin to consolidate his empire. Though he still perceived of himself as ruler of the Mongol Empire, he understood that his powerbase was in China. From the beginning, Kublai could not have merely co-opted Mongke’s administration. Since the reign of Ogedai, the Mongol imperial organization functioned through Secretariats, influenced by yet unique from the Chinese system. The Central Secretariat, based in the imperial capital, was the central government, the head of which served as a sort of Prime Minister, consulting with the Great Khan to carry out his will and laws. For Ogedai, Guyuk and Mongke, the Central Secretariat had been staffed by members of the keshig, the imperial bodyguard. The Central Secretariat delegated authority to the various Branch Secretariats, the regional offices overseeing imperial government. Branch Secretariats for North China, Central Asia  and Western Asia were the three main offices, with a Secretariat for the Rus’ Principalities in the process of being organized at time of Mongke’s death. The Secretariats struggled to carry out their will, for they were operating alongside various regional Mongol princes who had been allotted these lands as well. The conflict over whether the Secretariats or the Princes carried out administration or taxation, among other responsibilities, was a key component of government ineffiencies over the century.    With the outbreak of war with Ariq Boke, most of the top members of the former Central Secretariat had sided with Ariq Boke in Karakorum, leaving Kublai to rely on his own men. Among his earliest actions was to get the loyalty of the China Secretariat and local Mongol princes, and prevent them from allying with Ariq. Of these, Qadan was the most significant, a son of Ogedai who ruled on Kublai’s northwest frontier, the border close to Ariq’s territory and the Chagatayids. Key allies like this allowed Kublai to focus on more internal matters.    The officials of the China Secretariat were naturally brought on into Kublai’s new government. Without access to the old Central Secretariat offices though, Kublai had to establish a new one after becoming Khan. Unlike the Central Secretariats of the previous Khans, Kublai’s was not filled by men of his keshig -though they were present- but civilian administrators and his own advisers. The first to head the new Secretariat was Wang Wen-tung. In structure Kublai’s Secretariat had much more in common with the usual Chinese office, indicative of the influence of Kublai’s Confucian advisers. The head of the Secretariat was assisted by two Chancellors of the Left and Right, often serving as his replacement and primary advisers to the Khan. The Head of the Secretariat and the two Chancellors oversaw what was known as the Six Functional Ministeries, which carried out the day-to-day running of the empire: the Ministry of Personnel, responsible for civilian officials; the Ministry of Revenue, responsible for the census, taxes and tribute; the Ministry of Rites, responsible for ceremonies, sacrifices and embassies; the Ministry of War, responsible for some aspects of military command, colonies, postal stations and supplies; the Ministry of Justice, which managed law and prisons; and the Ministry of Public Works, which repaired and maintained fortifications, dams and public land.   In 1263, Kublai also re-established another Chinese institution, the Privy Council, which managed the Imperial Army and protected the capital. Kublai sought a more centralized control of the army, but in this found resistance from the Mongolian leadership and princes. While Chinggis Khan had largely replaced the traditional military leadership and chiefs, a new hereditary leadership was installed, both from his sons and non-Chinggisids. By Kublai’s time, he was dealing with well-entrenched egos born into these positions. They would answer the Khan’s summons for war, of course, but did not want to be managed in all aspects by officials in a distant capital who may not have been nomads. To compromise, Kublai organized his armed forces into three major branches. The first a “Mongol Army,” under his direct control, and that of the Privy Council. This was stationed close to the Imperial capitals, made up of Mongols, Central Asians and Turks. This was followed by the “Tammachi,” the Mongols who served the Khan, but maintained their own princes and lived out in the steppes. Then there was the “Chinese Army,” the largely infantry force of Chinese who served as garrison troops.   By 1268, in order to watch his growing bureaucracy, Kublai brought on another Chinese institution, the Censorate. The duty of the Censorate was to inspect officials and route out corruption; they would report directly back to the Khan to inform him of the goings-on in his government, of tidings which may not have reached him through regular channels. For Kublai, good governance was a high priority, and he gave his Censorate great resources and power. The Khan wanted to know what happened at all levels of government. Compared to other dynasties, Kublai’s Censorate had great power… on paper. In reality, there is little evidence for its effectiveness outside of the provinces closest to the capital. The Censorate’s first leader, a Confucian named Zhang Dehui, resigned after a dispute with Kublai on how the law applied to the Khan. To put simply, Kublai argued that it didn’t, and Kublai had him replaced with a more pliant Mongol.    Kublai’s affinity for the classic Chinese government structures should not be overstated. Employing traditional styles of governance helped placate Confucian elites and scholars, going some ways to convince them that Kublai had ‘stepped past,’ his nomad roots, but he was unwilling to let himself be tethered to it. The most obvious example was in his refusal to restore the Civil Service examination systems. Since the Tang Dynasty, most Chinese bureacrats were selected after completing these exams. The highest men in the empires were scholar officials who were well versed in Chinese history and literary classics, and jealuously guarded access to high office from those who had never completed the exams. Kublai did not want to limit himself in who he could appoint to office, preferring to keep his doors open to anyone he perceived useful or deserving, regardless of their origins. So, the non-Chinese men from his keshig could still staff high positions, and men from Central Asia could be raised to high station. Of these, none were more famous than Ahmad Fanakati, becoming Kublai’s finance minister in the 1260s. Particularly with the rebellion of Li Tan in 1262, a Mongol-aligned warlord in Shandong, Kublai’s desire to place power in the hands of the Chinese lessenged. Though the rebellion was quickly crushed,  Kublai’s chief minister of the Central Secretariat, Li Tan’s father-in-law Wang Wen-tung, was found complicit and executed. The power of Mongol-allied Chinese warlords across North China was greatly curtailed following this, and Kublai found himself far more suspicious of the Confucians in his government.   For Kublai’s empire, the old imperial capital of Karakorum was untenable. Deep in Mongolia, it was a difficult to supply and highly exposed location, now vulnerable to the mobile horsemen of Kublai’s Central Asian kinsmen- first Ariq Boke, the Chagatayids and in time, the young Ogedeid prince Qaidu. Neither could the complex bureaucracy he was building be managed from Mongolia’s Orkhon valley. Karakorum was to be effectively left abandoned,  a garrison outpost of only symbolic value. For a little over 30 years Karakorum had been the administrative centre of most of Eurasia. Never again would it regain its importance. Kublai first made Shangdu, in what is now Inner Mongolia at the edge of the steppe and Chinese frontier, his capital. Shangdu, originally called Kaiping, is most well known through Samual Taylor Coleridge’s poem Xanadu. Though it housed Kublai’s court and was in the steppe, it was built in Chinese style; roughly a square, with low, rammed earthern walls and a palace. But even Shangdu was insufficient for governing the empire. The area was unsuited to housing a great population, and would still have kept Kublai removed from his subjects. Chinese sources assert that Kublai’s Chinese advisers informed him of the need to govern from within China, but Kublai must have seen it himself. Most Imperial capitals were located more centrally, along the lower arm of the Yellow River where it cuts through the North China plain. Of these cities, none were better known than Xian, in Shaanxi province, from which a great many dynasties ruled from. The former Song and Jin capitals of Kaifeng were also located along the Yellow River. Kublai did not wish to abandon his homeland though, desiring to maintain some proximity, both for personal and security reasons. So a more northerly location was chosen: the ruins of the Jin capital of Zhongdu. Fittingly, the city had been taken by the Mongols the same year as Kublai’s birth, in 1215, and now Kublai was the one to restore it… somewhat. His new city was built just northeast of Zhongdu, straddling three rivers to provide ample water for the population. Construction began in 1267. Built in Chinese style but overseen by a Muslim engineer, it was a vast, square shape with walls of rammed earth. Within was a smaller enclosed area, housing the imperial city, palaces and residences of the Khan. This was to be Dadu, meaning great capital. To Mongols and Turks, it was Khanbaliq, the Khan’s city. Marco Polo would interpet it as Cambulac. Today, Beijing sits atop of it.       Dadu in many ways embodied Kublai’s often roughly mixed Chinese and Mongolian demands. The Chinese wanted Kublai to step into the expectations of a Chinese Emperor and conduct proper rituals to maintain the Mandate of Heaven; constructing a capital within China, building requisite temples to honour his ancestors and donning proper imperial garb helped  to present the necessary image. Yet, Kublai and his sons slept not in Dadu’s sumptuous residences, but in gers in the city’s central park; feasts were decidedly more Mongolian in terms of drunkenness and yelling; his altar sat on top of soil brought from Mongolia. In a sort of quasi-nomadization, Kublai conducted treks between Shangdu and Dadu every year, spending summers in Shangdu and winters in Dadu. Each trek was marked with Mongolian shamanistic ceremonies: flicking airag onto the ground for the departing Khan and calling out the name of his illustrious grandfather. At Shangdu Kublai hunted and feasted, doing a little bit to remind himself of his heritage and escape the demands of office.       As we’ve been iterating, the image of a legitimate emperor of China was a major part of actually ruling China. Each Chinese dynasty, it was believed, ruled with the Mandate of Heaven, the divine support necessary to control the Middle Kingdom. Victory in war meant the conqueror had Heaven’s support. But Heaven needed to be appeased through proper ritual and ceremony. Good governance and climate meant that the Dynasty had Heaven’s support. Corruption and ecological disasters, coupled with military defeats, meant Heaven had rescinded its blessing. The image of being a proper Chinese ruler was therefore necessary for any man wishing to have that divine backing. Kublai would have been reminded of this constantly by his advisers, particularly Liu Ping-chung, who urged Kublai to commit to declaring a dynasty and marking himself as the successor to the Song. In 1271 the Yuan Dynasty was officially declared. Yuan was taken from the Yijing, the Book of Changes, one of the most ancient of all Chinese classics. Yuan has connotations of primal energy and the origins of the universe; all auspicious things to refer to for a man who already had the backing of Eternal Blue Heaven.        To Kublai, taking the Dynastic name of Yuan was not an indication he was replacing the Mongol Empire. To him, Da Yuan, the Great Yuan, was another way to express Yeke Mongghol Ulus, the Great Mongol State. It was to help Chinese acceptance of his rule and maintain Heaven’s Mandate. But it was a fine line to try and present oneself as both Mongol Emperor and the Chinese Emperor, and the declaration of the Yuan may have been in part a recognition of his lack of effective power over the western Mongol Khanates. Kublai still very much saw himself as their overlord, but even he would have recognized his actual power over them was limited at best.        By declaring the Yuan Dynasty, Kublai was also demonstrating his intention was not just to loot and occupy China, but actually rule there. Now, we’ve talked alot about things Kublai ordered, declared and issued: but what did his rule actually look like? In terms of wanting to be a good ruler, what did Kublai accomplish in this regard? Well, ol’ Kublai was not just a man of ideas, but put things into action. Reconstruction of China both north and south was a primary goal of his. Northern China had hardly recovered from the prolonged Mongol-Jin warfare. Despite efforts in the past to institute regular taxation as proposed by the thanksless Yelu Chucai, much taxatio remained adhoc, local populations still being taken advantage of by Mongol officials. For the success of his Dynasty, Kublai wanted the burdens on the population relieved.       In 1261, Kublai began to provide funding for the Office for the Stimulation of Agriculture, headed by his friend and adviser Yao Shu. The stated goal of the office was to help peasants restore, develop and advance agriculture. Kublai wanted Northern China to once again reach a state of food security and be able to produce surplus as protection against shortages. A starving and discontented peasantry would pose a risk of massive uprisings, and the surplus was needed for the massive capital at Dadu. Dadu required 58 grainaries, each one holding 2,170,440 kilograms of grain, or  4,785,000 lbs. Kublai needed a reserve just to feed his capital, let alone secure northern China.        Kublai also understood it was not just a matter of providing funds and labour; the peasants needed to be protected from the Mongols. In 1262, Kublai forbade Mongols from ranging their animals through peasant fields, protecting vital cropland from becoming lunch for hundreds of goat and sheep. He also sought to abolish, once and for all, the tax farmers who sought to beggar the Chinese. Taxes needed to be simplified, and the power of the princely appanages curtailed in order for the Central Secretariat to retain dominance. For this, princes were denied their ability to collect taxes; rather than pay both the local prince and the Central Government, the taxes would go just to the government. Then, an allotment would be provided to the princes. Simplifying and reducing taxes always goes a long way to reducing stress on the folk on the bottom of the social rung. Taking this further, Kublai also reduced or completely removed taxes on entire regions to help them recover. Funds were provided for farmers to restore lands damaged during the conquest, as was grain for those in need. The Khan regularly met and sought knowledge from his advisers on how to restore the countryside and promote trade, and heaped rewards on those who provided effective ideas.       Kublai also promoted what he saw as useful professions. Generally, Chinese dynasties looked down on craftsmen and doctors, but Kublai carried on the Mongol practice of favouring those with skills. Craftsmen and doctors were exempted from certains taxes and corvee labour. For craftsmen and merchants, Kublai encouraged trade, especially from Central Asia  and on the South Asia sea routes.  In 1268 he opened the General Administration for Supervision of the Ortogh, which provided government loans to merchants taking part in caravans from Central Asia. In southern China, kilns were registered and supported by the government to aid the production of porcelains, a valuable part of the Southeast Asian sea trade.  Taxes were lowered on commercial transactions, roads and routes were improved to facilitate movement. Foreign merchants were encouraged to come to China in order to advance the overseas trade, bring their knowledge and even serve in the government: owing their work to the Khan was thought to make them more useful. It is in such a capacity that Marco Polo would work, serving it seems in Kublai’s keshig, as we’ll explore in a future episode.   For doctors and physicians, Kublai established and funded academies and hospitals for them to work in, and to learn from Muslim medical knowledge Kublai imported- a full 31 volumes of Muslim medical practices were collected for the court library. As Kublai was often in poor health and suffered terribly from gout, he was keen to support this industry and whatever relief they might bring him. Expensive drugs, ingredients and doctors were collected from across the Islamic world and even southern India and brought to China. Exempted from many tax obligations and corvee labour, and often serving upon the elite and government, medical leaders reached a very high, and very lucrative, social standing they had not previously enjoyed. By encouraging the growth in numbers of physicians and hospitals, this brought greater access of their services to people at large as well.       Within his first years as Khan, Kublai had also organized the printing of new paper currencies. The first of these was backed by silk, and the later by the silver reserve. Earlier Khans had encouraged payment in coinage over kind, and Kublai took this to the next level. He hoped to employ the same currency throughout his realm to ease trade and aid in economic stability. The earlier paper mony printed by his predecessors and the Song emperors was invalidated, though in the former Song territory the people were given a period of years to hand in the old money, including gold, silver and copper coins,  in exchange for the new. Until the late-1270s, Kublai kept tight control on how much was printed in order to prevent inflation, and the system worked quite well. Only with costs endured from the failed attack on Japan and the last years of war with the Song, did the printing of paper money escalate, though not yet to disastrous levels.   In science too, Kublai promoted cross-continental contacts. Astronomy was always of interest to Chinese monarchs and diviners, and a good mark of any emperor was formatting a new calendar. For this, considerable Muslim knowledge was imported. In 1271 the Institute of Muslim Astronomy was founded, allowing Chinese astronomers to study translated Islamic texts and instruments to design their own, and eventually provide Kublai a new, more accurate calender. Kublai also ordered the establishment of a new legal code which began to take effect in the early 1270s. It was actually more lenient than previous dynastic legal codes: only 135 crimes were punishable by death in the Yuan legal code, less than the preceeding Song, or succeeding Ming, legal codes. Executions per year during the 13th century rarely exceeded 100, with the Khan personally reviewing these cases, preffering to send them to labour or to pay a fine. The latter was an uniquely Mongol addition to the Chinese legal system. For the Mongols, such fines were regular compensation for punishments, and now too would become standard practice in China.       Kublai also gave China the basis for the provincial organization it holds today. As the first man to unite all of China in 300 years, he was able to order a country-wide provincial reorganization. Unlike previous dynasties, Tibet, Xinjiang and Yunnan were now part of China; Yunnan, for instance, had never been under Chinese suzerainty before, and has never left it since. Kublai reorganized China into 12 provinces, each governed by regional versions of the Central Secretariat. In much of the south, former Song officials were brought to staff the lower levels of government, but a system of Mongol and Central Asian daruqachi supervised and managed them.       As part of his hope to tie the various disparate regions of his empire together, Kublai sought a writing system all could use. He did not want to rely on Chinese, a script few Mongols had ever learned. But neither was the Uighur script the Mongols used for their own language fully adequate. Adopted by Chinggis Khan in 1206, it only barely covered the sounds of spoken Mongolian, and was simply incapable of representing Chinese. For this task, Kublai turned to one of his best known advisers, the ‘Phags-pa Lama. Born in 1235, in the 1240s he accompanied his uncle, the Sakya Pandita, one of the leaders of Tibetan Buddhism’s Sa-Skya sect, to the court of Ogedai’s son Koten. Basically growing up in Mongol courts, in the 1250s he found himself attached to prince Kublai, and in time Khan Kublai. Made Kublai’s personal chaplain after he became Khan, in 1264  the ‘Phags-pa Lama and his brother were appointed to govern Tibet on behalf of the Mongols. Having spent comparatively little time there, they did not do a great job. His brother died in 1267, which was soon followed by an uprising from a rival Buddhist sect, crushed with a forced reimposition of Mongol rule. With the Mongols now ruling Tibet directly, the ‘Phags-pa Lama returned to Kublai’s court, where he was given a new task: designing for Kublai a new universal script for the empire. Completing it by 1269, this was the famed Yuan square script, or ‘Phags-pa script, as named for its designer. Based on the Tibetan script, it was 41 square shaped letters written vertically and designed to capture sounds of both Chinese and Mongolian. Kublai was delighted and heaped rewards onto the ‘Phags-pa Lama, making him Imperial Perceptor and Head of all monks in Kublai’s empire, in addition to further tutoring Kublai’s son Jingim. Kublai ordered the script to be taught to all officials, and all government documents were to be issued in the new script. Surviving stone inscriptions, paper money, porcelain and state paizas from the Yuan period all feature the characteristic blocks of the ‘Phags-pa script. But aside from official and decorative purposes, the script never caught on even within the government, despite repeated proclamations from Kublai for his officials to learn it.        In keeping with the precedent of previous Khans, Kublai’s early reign encouraged the respect of religions. The legal code did not set out to prohibit any religion, and religious communities, especially Muslims, were often self-governing as long as they paid taxes. Respect was shown to Confucians, Buddhists, Taoists, Muslims, Shamanists and even those Christians in China. Like Mongke, there were members of these religions convinced that Kublai was about to, or had already, converted to their faith, so effective was Kublai at protraying himself as a friend to all. The ‘Phags-pa Lama, for instance, presented Kublai as the Buddhisatta of Wisdom to Tibetans while Marco Polo portrayed Kublai as a fine Christian monarch in his accounts. Tax exemptions were provided to religious orders, financial aid to help in rebuilding and constructing new temples, representation at court and other privileges were granted to these various communities. In exchange, they convened with the Heavens and Gods on Kublai’s behalf to bring good fortune onto the Yuan realm and maintain the Mandate of Heaven.       It should not be thought that Kublai set out to create an idealized utopia-  he was still Mongol Emperor after all, and the Mongols were only a small minority among tens of millions of Chinese. Kublai issued proclamations to keep Mongols and Chinese separate; the Chinese could not learn Mongolian or wear Mongolian clothing, and it was illegal to sell Mongolian horses to them. Marriage and intermingling were dissuaded. Most famously, Kublai organized a racial heirarchy to determine favours and certain rights. Obviously, Mongols were at the top of the hierarchy, followed by the semuren, referring to Central Asians, Muslims, various Turks and even Tangut. Below the semuren was the hanren, the northern Chinese and former denizens of the Jin Empire. Khitans and Jurchen were included among them. After 1279, another category was added, the nanren, the Southern Chinese of the late Song Dynasty. The cateogrization though was vague, subject to change and often ignored. Yet it underlined a key fact: despite all Kublai did to look like a Chinese monarch, neither he nor his successors would ever be Chinese, and that divide would not disappear after Kublai’s death. For those Mongols still in Mongolia though, Kublai certainly looked too much like a Chinese monarch for their tastes. This was not a dynamic that would promote the longevity of the Yuan Dynasty.       From 1260-1279, Kublai Khan’s reign was marked by numerous accomplishments, with the notable exception of the invasion of Japan in 1274, and of course, his loss of control over the western Khanates. He set about creating a new government structure to run his empire, utilizing talent from across Eurasia and rebuilding China after decades of war. For the first time since the collapse of the Tang Dynasty in 907, China was united under one ruler. But 1279 was to be, in many ways, the high water mark of his reign. The effort it took to manage the Yuan government was considerable, and needed tremendous personal energy on the part of the monarch to keep it running as effectively as possible. As age, health and personnal losses took the energy out of him, the 1280s ultimately marked a series of failures for Kublai, which we will explore in forthcoming episodes, so be sure to subscribe to our podcast for more. If you’d like to help us keep bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/Kingsandgenerals. This script was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one. 

With the loss of control over the western half of the Mongol Empire, Kublai Khan was left to direct his considerable energies against the single strongest holdout to Mongol rule; the Southern Song Dynasty, dominating China south of the Huai River since the early 1100s. An immense economic and military power, the conquest of this dynasty would be no small feat- trying to do so claimed the life of no less that Kublai’s predecessor the Grand Khan Mongke in 1259, as covered in episode 31. The completion of the conquest of China was to be Kublai’s greatest accomplishment; but first Kublai needed to overcome the mighty walls of Xiangyang, the key to Song China. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.       As discussed in episode 31 and 32, at the end of 1259 Kublai was forced to withdraw from his campaign against the Song, returning to his residence in Inner Mongolia where he declared himself Khan in the first months of 1260. The led to war between Kublai and his brother Ariq Boke for the throne, culminating with Ariq’s surrender in 1264 and Kublai securing his title as Khan of Khans. However, the upheaval of this conflict broke Mongol imperial unity, and by the mid 1260s the Mongol Empire was irrevocably broken into independent Khanates. Kublai had little authority over these western Khanates, his effective power only with difficulty reaching to the Altai Mountains and the Tarim Basin.        Unlike the previous Khans whose power centres were in Mongolia proper, Kublai’s very legitimacy was tethered to his Chinese territory. Aside from his own personal interests in Chinese culture, it had been the resources of northern China which had allowed him to overcome his brother Ariq. Abandoning Karakorum in Mongolia, which was exposed and difficult to support, Kublai moved his capitals south: first at Shangdu, in what is now Inner Mongolia on the very border of the steppe and China; and then at the site of the former Jin Dynasty capital of Zhongdu, where modern Beijing sits. This was Dadu, the “great city” in Chinese, or as it was known to Turks, Mongols and Marco Polo, Khanbaliq, the Khan’s city. The indications were clear from the outset; Kublai was not just a Mongol Emperor, but Emperor of China- though the specifics of this political aspect we will explore in a future episode.        As a part of this, Kublai needed to bring the Song Dynasty under his rule. Kublai, much like his brothers, was a firm believer in the eventuality of Mongol world domination.  It was not a debate of if, but when. Kublai may have cultivated an image as a more humane conqueror than the likes of Chinggis or Mongke, but he was a conqueror nonetheless. The Song Dynasty had to accept Mongol overlordship or be destroyed. For a man also trying to overcome his ‘barbarian’ origins to show himself as rightful ruler of China, having a rival dynasty claiming to be the heirs of the illustrious Han and Tang Dynasties was a major hurdle to his legitimacy in the eyes of many Chinese. The flight of refugees from north China to the Song Dynasty was considerable throughout the thirteenth century, and any revolt within Kublai’s domains could see Song aid, financial, moral or military.       The subjugation of the Song to solidify his rule as both a Mongol Khan and a Chinese Emperor was, in Kublai’s mind, absolutely necessary. The problem was actually doing that. Warfare with the Song broke out in 1234, months after the final defeat of the Jin Dynasty. Thirty years later, in 1264, the frontier had hardly shifted. The Mongols controlled the territory across the Song’s northern and western frontiers, including Tibet and the Dali Kingdom in Yunnan. Even the northern Vietnamese Kingdom of Dai Viet, known to the Chinese as Annam, now paid tribute to the Khan. Advances against Song were difficult; western Sichuan was under a tenuous Mongol hold, unmoved since Mongke’s death in that province. The Mongols had found they could often easily penetrate the Song border, but holding territory was another matter. Unlike northern China, marked by the relatively open North China Plain, the south was a myriad of thick forest, mountains, rivers and canals, the available space covered in rice paddies and other agriculture. This was not the open terrain so suited to Mongol cavalry warfare. The humidity and heat grew ever more oppressive the farther south one travelled, spreading diseases the Mongols and their horses struggled against. It was also home to the largest cities in the world. The Song capital of Linan, modern Hangzhou, held well over one million people- about the population of Mongolia when Chinggis Khan unified the tribes in 1206. The Song fielded a regular army of at least 700,000, supported by a large navy. The many huge cities built along the Yangzi River could be resupplied by naval support, an area in which the Mongols had little experience. The thoroughly planned campaign of Mongke in 1258-9 had wrought much devastation but little gain, and on the Mongol withdrawal at the end of 1259 the Song reoccupied most of the lost territory.       A military conquest of the Song was an immense task, and something Kublai wanted to avoid. Soon after declaring himself Khan in 1260, he sent an emissary with terms. The Song Emperor, Lizong of Song since 1224, could continue to reign as a client of the Khan. They had merely to recognize Kublai as the Son of Heaven and they could continue to rule, with of course yearly tribute and prayers in the name of the Khan. It was, from Kublai’s point of view, a chance for them to enjoy great prosperity and avoid the many hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of lives that would be lost by further fighting.  Since it didn’t involve extensive retribution as punishment for thirty years of fighting, Kublai must have thought it a very generous offer.       Kublai’s envoy, one of his top Chinese advisors named Hao Ching, was promptly imprisoned. He would not be released for 15 years. Hao Ching had run afoul of the man now in charge of the southern Song, the infamous Jia Sidao. To some, Sidao was the last intelligent man in Hangzhou, deftly guiding the dynasty against an indomitable enemy, outmaneuvering his foes and a political mastermind let down by a corrupt and rotten dynasty. To others, Sidao is the archetypal “bad minister,” overconfident and inept, downplaying the Mongol threat and hiding the truth from the emperors until it was too late. For some, he is best known as the ‘Cricket Minister,’ who liked to train the insects to fight each other. Sidao’s role in the fall of the Song is complicated, though his 15 year mastery of the Song court saw the loss of the final chance to avoid disaster.       Unlike the majority of the court officials, Jia Sidao was no graduate of the Examinations from which most bureaucrats from the Tang to the Qing were chosen. Born in 1213 to a military family in Zhejiang province, Sidao’s father Jia She was a respected Song military commander in Shandong, and Sidao followed in a variety of military and civil positions in strategic areas along the Yangzi River. Sidao’s good fortune was helped by his talent and the fact his sister was a favourite consort of Emperor Lizong. Lizong and Sidao did not meet until 1254 when Sidao was Associate Administrator of the Bureau of Military Affairs, and immediately struck up a friendship. Promotions quickly followed. The relationship seems to have been genuine; contrary to the Netflix series where Sidao’s rise is due to his sister’s influence, Sidao’s sister had died in 1247, leaving Sidao to ascend on his own charisma and competence.        In Sichuan when Mongke attacked in 1258, Sidao returned east after the Khan’s death. His timing was good; the removal of the Chancellor of the Right, Ding Daquan, left an opening at the top of the Song court, which Lizong replaced with his buddy Jia Sidao at the end of 1259. One of Sidao’s first acts was to play up Kublai’s withdrawal, acting as if Sidao had won a great victory. It was Sidao who imprisoned Kublai’s envoy, Hao Ching in 1260. Acting as sole Chancellor from 1260 onwards, Sidao wished to fervently resist the Mongols, something in which the court was in agreeance. How to do it was another matter. For Sidao, an important step was fiscal reform to strengthen the dynasty. The economic cost of the war was immense. A massive standing army, destruction of valuable regions across the frontier, alongside rampant corruption and hyperinflation of their paper currency put the Song court in a precarious economic position. Sidao ordered land surveys in 1262 to find those avoiding taxation. In 1263, he ramped this up with his Public Fields Measures, wherein officials with tax exempt status had  their excess lands confiscated. The government was supposed to purchase the land from the owners, but they were largely paid in the increasingly worthless paper money, or the land was outright seized.  Sidao hoped to use this land to grow the foodstuffs necessary for the Song army, but his effort had the side effect of creating a large body of Song officials and elite highly antagonistic to Sidao.        Sidao also set up letter boxes to anonymously report corruption and official offensives. It was a fine sentiment, though it turned out many of these corrupt officials also happened to be the ones Sidao didn’t like. Removing and at times executing those who stood in his way, Sidao appointed his own men to their positions. The polarization of the court was intense, though Sidao could overcome this as he had the strong support of the Emperors. Lizong died suddenly in November 1264, succeeded by his 24 year old nephew Zhao Qi, known by his temple name Duzong of Song. Duzong, if anything, had an even closer relationship with Jia Sidao, who had been his tutor. Duzong was much more interested in extravagant feasts and women than affairs of state -hardly the image of austerity expected when facing the threat of the Mongols, when other lordly men were required to give up lands and sons for the cause. The new Emperor was immensely loyal to Sidao, and in some depictions subservient to him. In 1269 when Sidao played with resigning from the court, Emperor Duzong came on his knees begging and crying for Sidao to return, which Sidao did with the dismissal of more of his court foes.       While this was going on, Sidao was putting substantial investment in defense, especially around the region of Xiangyang, which we will get to shortly, and in improving the walls of the capital. Diplomatic efforts were at their lowest with the Mongols since the outbreak of war in the 1230s, and even though Kublai Khan routinely released captured Song merchants and prisoners in an effort to build goodwill, Jia Sidao did not budge. And since Sidao controlled the court and policy of the Song, the Song court did not budge either.       Aside from retaking some cities and border skirmishing, Jia Sidao did not take any larger offensives against Kublai during his occupation with Ariq in Mongolia. Sidao likely recognized that, with their well-built walls and defensive weapons supported by rivers and ships, the Song’s defense could stick up to the Mongols. Yet on the offense, especially in the more open territory of the north, the Song armies would suffer the same results they had on every other northern expedition in the Dynasty’s 300 year history; a dismal defeat against the cavalry based armies.  Perhaps the most notable effort at undermining Kublai’s rule in north China was by encouraging a Chinese warlord in Shandong allied to the Mongols, Li Tan, to revolt. Despite both he and his father, the Red Coat warlord Li Quan, having fought the Song for decades, Li Tan was not feeling like he was favoured under Kublai. Encouraged by Song promises and Kublai’s conflict with Ariq, in February 1262 Li Tan declared for the Song and threw off Mongol rule.        It took about a month for Mongol forces to arrive and defeat Li Tan’s rebels in the field. Li Tan was caught in August 1262 and executed. The Song had provided no direct aid for Li Tan, whose small forces were quickly overcome by Mongolian and Chinese under Shih Tienzi, a Northern Chinese whose family had loyally served the Mongols since the late 1210s. Jia Sidao may have wanted to see if the Chinese of the north would rise up against the Mongols, but the Mongol response was quick enough to violently put a stop to any talk of rebellion. The most significant outcome of the rebellion was upon Kublai himself. Not only had Li Tan, a Chinese warlord considered a loyal subject of the Khan rebelled, but Li Tan’s father-in-law Wang Wentung was found to have been complicit. Wang Wentung was the Chief Administrator of Kublai’s Central Secretariat, and one of the most influential figures in Kublai’s administration. Executed only weeks after Li Tan’s initial revolt, it was a blow to Kublai’s trust of the Chinese in his government. In the aftermath, Kublai decreased the power of many of the Chinese in the upper echelons of the bureaucracy, replacing them with Central Asians, Muslims, Turks and Tibetans. Many of the Chinese warlord families who had served the Mongols since Chinggis Khan saw their holdings reduced or forfeited. The family of Shih Tienzi, a man noted for his loyalty to the Mongols over many decades of service, ceased to be feudal lords, though this was partly on Tienzi’s urging in order to not lose the trust of the Khan.  Such was the effect of Sidao’s effort to undermine Mongol rule in North China.       Kublai’s first years as Khan were focused on consolidating and establishing his governing apparatus of northern China, and for the first half of the 1260s conflict with the Song was relegated to border skirmishes. Aside from diplomatic efforts to encourage a surrender of the Song Dynasty, Kublai also offered great rewards and lands for defectors in an effort to encourage desertions. Here, Kublai had some successes, perhaps the most notable early on being Liu Zheng, who became one of Kublai’s staunchest supporters and the ardent proponent of a navy. Liu Zheng and other like minded men convinced Kublai that the key was not multi-front attacks, but seizing control of the Yangzi River, the backbone of the Song realm where the Dynasty’s most prominent cities sat. To do this, the Mongols needed to build a navy and take the stronghold of Xiangyang.       If you look at a topographic map of China, three river systems should stand out to you, running in three lines from west to east. The northernmost and the longest is the Yellow River, which curls from the foothills of Tibet down into the Ordos desert, where it forms its great loop before cutting across the north China plain to spill out into the sea by the Shandong peninsula. This was the barrier which the Jin Dynasty moved their capital behind in an effort to protect themselves from Chinggis Khan. South of the Yellow River is the Huai, the shortest of the three rivers here, which marked the border between Jin and Song for a century, and now served as the Mongol-Song border line. By Kublai’s time, the Mongols had failed to hold it, the area south of the Huai a mess of canals and smaller rivers serving agriculture, terrain unsuited to cavalry maneuvers. Our third river on the map is the Yangzi, a wide and fast flowing river which was the natural defense against any northern invader. The most populated cities in the world were clustered along it, including the Song capital of Hangzhou, a short trip south from the River’s eastern end on the ocean. The Yangzi could only be crossed with difficulty, and the Song used it as a highway to reinforce and resupply cities, ferry troops and generally prevent a Mongol conquest. Lacking any beachheads on the Yangzi, the Mongols had nowhere to build up a navy and begin to challenge Song authority there.       That is, except for the Han River. Nestled between the mountains of Sichuan in the west and end of the Huai river to its east, runs the Han River, cutting north to south to intersect with the Yangzi at what is now Wuhan. The Han was the strategically vital access point, one where the Mongols had the potential to build up a river fleet in security before assaulting the Yangzi. Kublai knew this, and so did Jia Sidao, who for this reason spent huge amounts improving the defences of the twin cities of Xiangyang and Fancheng, which today are the super-city of Xiangfang. Sitting on opposite sides of the Han River, the two cities stood at the edge of the Song Dynasty and the Mongol Empire. Xiangyang and Fancheng were both huge, well fortified with wide moats, well provisioned and guarded by large garrisons and a variety of counter siege weapons. With both cities right on the river, they could continually be resupplied and deny the Mongol advance. Liu Zheng and the other Chinese defectors argued that Kublai should forget the favourite Mongol ploy of vast pincer movements. The Song had resources and moral enough to withstand these. Instead, the defectors argued, Kublai needed to throw his total might against Xiangyang and Fancheng.        Preparations began in the second half of the 1260s with the creation of a river fleet. In 1265, the Mongols won a battle at Tiaoyu Shan in Sichuan against the Song, capturing 146 boats. Koreans, Jurchen and Northern Chinese were put to work building more ships; in early 1268, officials in Shaanxi and Sichuan were ordered to construct another 500 vessels. By the last months of 1268, a large force of Mongols, Turks and northern Chinese converged upon Xiangyang and Fancheng. The Song defector Liu Zheng was placed in charge of the Mongol fleet, blocking off the Han River south of the cities to cut them off from the Yangzi. Aju, Subedei’s grandson, was entrusted with the siege of Fancheng; Shih Tienzi, the Chinese warlord long in service to the Khans, held overall command outside the walls of Xiangyang. A frontal assault was dismissed; the wide moats and thick walls were all but impervious to the catapults the Mongols brought with them. Attempting to storm the cities would result in heavy losses. No, they would need to be starved out. To do so, the Mongols erected walls and defensive works around the cities to cut off land access, while Liu Zheng and his fleet prevented Song reinforcements from the river.        In December of 1268 the garrison made an attempt to break out before the cordon could be tightened, but this was repulsed. The Song commander in Xiangyang, Lu Wenhuan, was a steady hand and kept moral up. They probed the Mongol besiegers continuously, trying to find the weak point in the lines. By March 1269, Shih Tienzi requested another 20,000 reinforcements from Kublai for this reason. The large cities and river access made closing them off a great challenge.       While Jia Sidao has often been accused of hiding the details of the siege of Xiangyang from the Song court, this is a baseless accusation. Duzong of Song may have taken little interest in military matters, but it was beyond the skill of Jia Sidao to hide the massive efforts going on outside Xiangyang; everyone along the Yangzi River would have known of it. The court was very much aware of the siege; the annals of the Song Dynasty, the Song shih, describe the court heaping rewards onto the defenders of Xiangyang in order to encourage their resistance. The court was still united in the opinion of resisting Kublai, even if the how was not agreed upon. Sidao sent multiple armies to relieve the defenders, some of them led by his own brother-in-law, Fan Wenhu. In August 1269, the first of these relieving forces sailed up the Han River to Xiangyang, but was defeated by the Mongol fleet and their boats captured.        In March of 1270 another attempt by the garrison of Xiangyang to break out was defeated and another Song relief fleet was repulsed. Though by then the city was largely closed off by the ever expanding Mongol fortifications, the Mongol commanders needed more men: 70,000 men and 5,000 more ships were requested, giving an image to the scale of the task to really surround these cities. Xiangyang was a whirlpool pulling in men from across the Mongol and Song empires, neither side willing to budge. Several times in later 1270 and 1271 Sidao’s brother-in-law Fan Wenhu led fleets up the Han River to assist Xiangyang, and each time the new Mongol navy proved victorious. The skilled Mongol fleet commanders, most notably the Chinese Liu Zheng and Zhang Hongfan, were adept at this river warfare, luring the Song into ambushes and developing a lengthy system along the Han to detect approaching fleets and communicate response. Jia Sidao ordered attacks on Sichuan, along the border and even a naval attack on the Shandong peninsula. His hopes these would divert Mongol resources were dashed, as most of these were inconclusive, won only minor victories or were outright disasters, as with the Shandong attack. All Sidao achieved was the wasting of Song resources while the noose tightened on Xiangyang.       Though the Mongol navy had a good chokehold on Xiangyang and Fancheng, the cities stood defiant. Well stocked and moral still high, any sort of frontal assault would still result in high losses and possibly allow the Song to break the siege. In 1272 one relief force actually pushed through to reach the city, albeit with heavy losses of most of their men and resources.  Kublai needed something to bring the siege to an end, and reached out west to see about acquiring some news tools.       In 1271, Kublai’s nephew Abaqa sat on the throne of the Ilkhanate. Abaqa was Hulegu’s son, and unlike his cousins in the Golden Horde, still recognized Kublai as the nominal head of the empire. When Kublai’s envoys arrived in 1271 asking for something to assist in the siege, Abaqa had just the ticket. Abaqa sent two Muslim siege engineers, Ismail and Ala al-Din, experienced in the newest advancement in projectile weaponry; the counterweight trebuchet. Developed in Europe in the early thirteenth century, it spread to the crusader kingdoms by the end of the 1250s, where Hulegu may have utilized them in his campaign in Syria in 1260. They were pretty nifty; instead of manpower, as required by the Chinese catapults the Mongols used, the trebuchet used its counterweight and gravity to hurl projectiles with greater accuracy, power and distance.        By the last weeks of 1272, Ismail and Ala al-Din arrived outside the walls of Fancheng and began to build the machines. In December, the first shots were launched into the walls of Fancheng. Within days, they were breached, the Mongols in the city and Fancheng was overrun. A massacre was conducted on those found within, ensured to be visible from the walls of Xiangyang. Still, Xiangyang held out.  Carefully, the trebuchets were disassembled and transported across the river. In the first weeks of 1273, the weapons were carefully set up at  the southeastern corner of Xiangyang. The trebuchets were carefully calibrated and launched a projectile supposedly nearly 100 kilos in weight. The first shot hit a tower along the city walls, a crack like thunder heard across Xiangyang. Panic set in, Xiangyang’s formerly untouchable walls now under real threat.       One of the Mongol commanders, a Uighur named Ariq Qaya, rode to the walls and called for the city’s commander, Lu Wenhuan. He commended Wenhuan on his skilled resistance, but now it was time to submit; do so now, and he would be rewarded by Kublai. Resistance would meet the same end as Fancheng. Lu Wenhuan recognized there would be no relief force from the Song for him now. On the 17th of March, 1273, Lu Wenhuan surrendered Xiangyang to the Mongols. After a 5 year siege, the battle was decisely won in the favour of the Mongols, and the Han River could now become a veritable shipyard for the Mongol advance on the Song.       The fall of Xiangyang sent shockwaves across the Song Empire; Jia Sidao’s authority was greatly undermined, though Duzong of Song’s confidence in him was not shaken. He had  now to prepare for a full river and land invasion of the Song heartland. For Lu Wenhuan, the Mongols kept their promise; siding with the Khan, he would now lead the Mongol spear thrust against the Song. Xiangyang was perhaps the decisive victory in the Mongol-Song war, its fall ensuring the Mongols had a route to truly conquer the dynasty. So great was the story that Marco Polo retold it time and time again on his return to Europe; either through his own ‘enhancing’ of the story, or that of his ghost-writer Rustichello, the account was shifted to remove the Muslims’ role from the siege. Instead, Polo, his father and his uncle became the ones who shared the knowledge of the trebuchet with Kublai. Considering that the siege ended in early 1273, and Polo did not arrive in China until 1274 or 5, we can rather safely dismiss that. However, Polo, the Chinese language Yuan Shi compiled around 1370, and Rashid al-Din, writing in Iran in the early 1300s, all include the story of Kublai gaining his siege equipment from westerners.  Polo just happened to be the only one indicating it wasn’t a Muslim.     Kublai Khan was now poised to end the forty year long war with the Song Dynasty, completing the conquest of China begun by Chinggis Khan some sixty years prior. Our next episode will look at the fall of the Song Dynasty, so be sure to subscribe to our podcast. If you’d like to help us continue bringing you great content, please support us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one. 

Now that we’ve taken you through Hulegu’s campaigns during Mongke’s reign, it’s time we cut back east to Mongke himself, and the Mongol invasion of the Song Dynasty, the great and immensely wealthy masters of southern China. Among the largest and most thoroughly planned of Mongol campaigns, it was one cut suddenly short with drastic consequences for the Mongol Empire. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.   Planning a war against the Song Dynasty was no easy task. All of Mongke’s actions of his reign from 1251-1258 can be understood as him making preparations for it: cataloguing the resources and manpower of the empire, strengthening the central government and securing his various flanks. Mongke had valuable experience to use to determine his strategy; since 1234, the Mongols had fought rounds of inconclusive warfare with the Song; penetrating deep into the Dynasty’s territory, routinely defeating armies and taking cities, yet never able to make substantial gains and frustrated by Song tenacity, all in an environment almost tailor made to hampher cavalry armies.   To understand the war with the Song, it’s  necessary to introduce the Dynasty and its ruling house of Zhao- but what a task that is! In its 300 year history the Song were among the most complex and fascinating of all of China’s imperial dynasties, a period when Chinese culture reached staggering new heights. To summarize it with any accuracy requires an entire podcast series to do so-  the Cambridge History of China managed to get it down to two volumes totalling over 2,000 pages. The Song emperors oversaw a period of amazing economic, technological, agricultural and cultural achievements. Urbanization increased; the southern Song capital of Linan, modern Hangzhou, had a population in the 13th century conservatively estimated at 1.5 million. Paper money, a massive expansion and improvement of farming and rice cultivation, foreign and overseas trade, gunpowder, porcelain… the list goes on and on for either innovations or improvements the Song undertook. The wealth of the Song was immense, and it is rightly considered a Golden Age.    The Song were a dominant force in China since the 960s, emerging in the decades after the fall of the powerful Tang Dynasty, a period of disunity called the 10 Kingdoms and 5 Dynasties.  Through great effort the Song swallowed up the other kingdoms of southern China and marched up into the north China plain, where they butted heads with the Khitan ruled Liao Dynasty. Rounds of warfare followed for the remainder of the 10th century, but a pattern which became all too routine emerged. The northern, largely cavalry based armies could outmaneuver and often annihilate the Song armies, whose offensive performance was poor even at their height. Yet the Khitans were frustrated by the defensive ability of the Song, and were unable to hold gains made against them- particularly when a giant Song crossbow speared the Khitan leader in 1005. Weeks later, the Song and Liao came to terms for the infamous Chanyuan Treaty, marking their borders and requiring the Song deliver a massive annual tribute of silk and silver to the Liao.   Part of the reason for the often criticized poor offensive military performance of the Song goes back to its founder, Zhao Kuangyin (kuang-yin), Taizu of Song. Zhao was a military man, as was his father and grandfather. Zhao owed much of his rise to the military- and also blamed it for the dissolution of the Tang Dynasty. Often, new Chinese dynasties structure themselves on what they perceived to be a key weakness of the preceding dynasty. To Zhao Kuangyin, the breakup of the Tang Dynasty came from military leaders and generals who grew too powerful, ignoring the imperial court to seek their own power, such as An Lushan in the 8th century. To Zhao, internal stability of the dynasty could only be secured with the military on a tight leash. Soon after consolidating power, the military leaders who had helped Zhao rise were eased into retirement and the army placed under permanent civilian command, the Bureau of Military Affairs. While often lambasted by later commentators, especially in the Youtube comments section, it wasn’t a horrible idea. The Song Dynasty was never beset by warlords seeking independence and still succeeded in seizing most of China. The fact the dynasty went up against some of the fiercest military powers of the medieval world could not have been predicted.   While an uneasy status quo was reached with the Khitans, in the early 12th century a major upheaval arose in the form of the Jurchen and the Jin Dynasty. In a few short years the Jin crushed the Liao; the Song allied with the Jin in an effort to seize Chinese territory and failed miserably. The alliance between Jin and Song hardly outlived the Liao Dynasty. In 1125 the Jurchens’ fearsome heavy cavalry tore through the Song; by the end of the 1120s the Song capital of Kaifeng was taken, the Song Emperor Qinzong,  whose father who had recently abdicated,  and most of the imperial family and court, were all captured. Northern China was taken,  the Song Dynasty was in turmoil and nearly collapsed. The ninth son of the abdicated emperor managed to flee south, and recentre the Dynasty around Linan, modern Hangzhou, a coastal city at the mouth of the Yangzi River. This much reduced dynasty is usually termed ‘the Southern Song,’ to distinguish from the ‘Northern,’ when it ruled most of China. Over the 1130s leadership issues among the Jurchen, difficulties campaigning in south China and renewed defensive vigour by the Song halted Jin expansion, and a treaty in 1141 marked the Huai River as the boundary between Jin and Song. The Treaty of Shaoxing reimposed similar annual tribute demands as that of the Chanyuan treaty, thousands upon thousands of taels of silver and bushels of silk to be delivered to the Jin, and the Song had to recognize the Jin Emperor as the Son of Heaven- traditionally reserved for only a single ruler of China. The treaty was a humiliation and economic burden, on top of having to lose northern China. The peace was tense, and every few decades war resumed between Jin and Song, with neither able to make gains beyond the Huai.    Relations were somewhat cordial from the 1160s to the end of the 1180s, during the long and stable reigns of Shizong of Jin and Xiaozong of Song, something of a golden age for both states, though neither abandoned their territorial claims. Their successors were not nearly as capable and lacked the will, ability or the interest to direct forces within their courts. In the early 1200s, as the Jin were distracted by the northern steppes and ecological disasters, Song revanchism reached a new height. Seeking to take advantage of perceived Jin weakness, the Song launched a surprise invasion in 1206:  before the end of the year, the Song were sending peace overtures to the Jin. Song forces were largely repulsed, the top military commander in Sichuan defected to the Jin, and the Jin counter attacked with a massive, nine pronged assault along the entirety of their 2000 kilometre long border. Despite this massive expenditure of manpower, the Jin made no gains, Peace was reached by 1208, the Song providing an increased annual tribute of 300,000 ounces of silver and bolts of silk, and heads of the ministers seen as responsible for promoting the war. Humiliating as it was, the Song at least did not have to make territorial concessions.    Perhaps the greatest consequence of that brief round of warfare was that it distracted the Jin and occupied its considerable resources from the trouble brewing on their northern frontier; the unification of the Mongol tribes under Chinggis Khan. In 1211, Chinggis Khan invaded the Jin Empire, as covered far back in episode seven. The initial Song reaction was somewhat mixed; no tears were shed in Linan for the suffering of the Jin, but whether this was something the Song should take advantage of was another matter. Either way, in the aftermath of the peace in 1208, for the next 25 years the Song court was largely dominated by the Chancellor Shih Mi-yuan, a man who urged stability and moderation rather than progress or reform. No risky military escapades would be undertaken on his watch.    The Song were unable to provide their annual tribute due to the fighting from 1211-1214. Many voices in the court loudly argued against continuing it all, for what was the use in sending it to a dying dynasty? Demonstrating his often indecisive policy making, Chancellor Shih Mi-Yuan did not actually stop the tribute, but held the allotted tribute in storage. He may have secretly resumed it in 1214, hoping to keep the peace with the Jin while avoiding angering more voices in the capital. The fact that even the Tangut and Korea had halted their payments to the Jin was not lost on Shih Mi-Yuan’s detractors. Neither was this appeasement even successful, for in spring 1217 the beleaguered Jurchen, having lost most of the northern half of their empire to the Mongols, attacked the Song. The intention was to restore both some dignity to the dynasty, and further space for the Jin court to flee from the Mongols if necessary. The result was not what they anticipated. Shih Mi-Yuan, while openly favouring the status quo and not mobilizing armies, had also ordered border defences improved and gave regional commanders greater autonomy with little interference from the central government. Song defensive forces responded quickly, and Jin offensives were not just actively repulsed, but in some cases led to successful Song campaigns into Jurchen territory. For the Jin it was a great shock, a blow to morale and resources at a time where they had little enough of either to spare. The Song and Shih Mi-yuan in particular had a new confidence against the Jin, spurning their envoys and in 1219, cutting off all diplomatic contacts with them.   About this time, in 1221, the Song sent their first diplomatic mission to the Mongols, notable in that it was recorded in a written account still accessible today, the Mengda beilu. The initial Song perceptions of the Mongols, as described in an excellent article by historian Chad Garcia, presents the Mongols as a ‘different kind of northerner.’ Contrasting them to the deceitful and malicious Jurchen of the Jin Dynasty, the Mongols are something of “noble savages;” honest, straightforward, physically strong if not attractive. Chinggis Khan is described in heroic characteristics fitting the archetypal Chinese emperor, with a large, broad forehead and long beard. No mention is made of them as especially terrifying or cruel.   As we’ve mentioned no shortage of times in the past, the absence of Chinggis Khan in the west against the Khwarezmian Empire and death of Mukhali, the commander in the Chinese theater in 1223, resulted in a great reduction of Mongol pressure on the region. The deaths of the Tangut, Jin and Song rulers over the following years allowed new voices to come to the fore. This is dealt with more fully in episode 14 of this series, but the result was a general ceasefire between them. While a brief respite, it was no more than a breath before the plunge; episode 14 also details the destruction of the Jin Empire in the early 1230s during the reign of Chinggis’ son and successor, Ogedai. Song Chancellor Shih Mi-yuan sought to stay out of the conflict and maintain Song neutrality- though the Mongols penetrated the Song border and raided in order to outmaneuver Jin forces, while also demanding an alliance against them. There was a minority of voices within the dynasty warning of the danger of the Mongols. Once the Jin no longer stood as a buffer between them, what then? Shih Mi-yuan may have been mindful of this, but was dead by autumn 1233. In the weeks before his death, as age reduced his presence in the court, the Song had agreed to assist the Mongols in the final attack on the Jin, reduced to a strip of  land along the Song northern border. The Mongols needed to ensure the Jin emperor, Aizong of Jin, could not flee into Song territory. In return for this aid, the Song were given vague promises of land to be restored.   In the first months of 1234 the Jurchen Jin Dynasty was destroyed, its last emperor killed fighting in the streets. Yet, the promises of land did not materialize; Kaifeng, once the capital of the Song Dynasty, still remained in Mongol hands. Angry and belligerent voices, particularly among those who had only fought rebels with no experience of the Mongol way of war, were particularly loud in their complaints on the matter. Seeking to restore what was ‘rightfully theirs,’ and anticipating the local Han Chinese population would gladly rise up to join them, several Song armies marched over the Huai river in the middle of 1234… and promptly found a desolated, war torn landscape, a population unable to feed these armies let alone take up arms. The Song armies began a disorganized retreat, which turned into a rout when Mongol forces returned. Foolishly, the Song had just begun a 45 year long war.   Ogedai Khaan sent armies under his sons Kochu and Koten to lead raid the Song. Generally, these were in two regions: along the central frontier on the Huai River, and more westerly in Sichuan. Sichuan, where we’ll spend much of the rest of the episode, was, before the permanent incorporation of Tibet, Xinjiang and Gansu, the westernmost part of China. Roughly a bowl surrounded by mountains cutting it off from the rest of China, the Sichuan basin juts up against the eastern reaches of Tibet. Fertile, is one of the most densely populated regions of China, the Yangzi river which flows through it providing ample moisture for rich cultivation of rice, and a route to connect with the rest of southern China. Hot, humid and famous for its thickly forested mountain slopes, Sichuan saw more than its share of it fighting in the coming decades.   In both 1235 and 1236, attacks were led upon the central border and Sichuan; Koten led a particularly large, multi-ethnic force into Sichuan in 1236. The damage was immense. By the end of the year, only 4 of Sichuan’s 58 prefectural capitals still stood and Chengdu, the regional capital, was taken. The sudden successes were soured with the death of Kochu in November 1236 and retreat of most of the forces. Attacks in the rest of the 1230s were repulsed, often by the star Song general of the period, Meng Gong.  Whether the Mongols actually wanted to fight the Song at the time is unclear- certainly in 1234, they were not planning on it. In 1238, they sent envoys to the Song for a ceasefire, which the Song rashly brushed off. Deliberately they were choosing not to hold cities. In 1241 Hanchou fell to a general massacre, followed by a sudden Mongol withdrawal. Such actions may have been a reaction to a necessity of fighting against the Southern Song. The Song had no lack of manpower to fall upon, and the trouble with any rapid assault was that it would need to be able to reliably hold onto any territory taken. Mongols could rapidly penetrate the border defenses, but the threat of being surrounded was quite real. At the very least, without sizable garrisons any city could be quickly retaken by Song forces when the Mongols moved on. The generally hot, humid weather of southern China strained the Mongols and their horses, disease spreading quickly among troops unused to the climate. The general preponderance of rivers, mountains and forest made large cavalry operations difficult to effectively operate. On top of all of this, while the Song are often derided for some sort of innate military ineffectiveness, the most pressing issue was the fierceness of the Song defenders. Resistance was strong, and it was not unusual for the Mongols to find a campaign suddenly held up by valiant defenders in one city, locking at least a portion of the Mongol army in place for months and, in some cases, years.   By the time of Ogedai’s death at the end of 1241, no major gains had been made, though the Song had suffered a good mauling. Little effort was made over the remainders of the 1240s, the Mongols dealing with the political issues relating to the regencies and short reign of Guyuk Khan. Diplomatic discussions took place in 1247, which went nowhere. The Song could in the meantime prepare border defences, repair walls and mobilize men, though at great cost. Printing yet more paper money to solve inflation did not, it turns out, do so. Taxes made it back to the capital in smaller and smaller amounts as regional governors and commanders seized them to pay for the war effort. Sichuan suffered so terribly that it apparently provided no revenue to the capital after 1234. For the Song, the yearly cost to simply keep their armies mobilized was immense. Drought, flooding, epidemics, fires and locusts struck often over the 1240s-50s, another layer of cost which, through augmenting the destruction of farmland from Mongol attacks, further strained government resources. An ever growing bureaucracy brought more corruption, more cost and more issues. The emperors of the thirteenth century showed less and less interest in governing, leaving an ever-more divided imperial court to run things. After the death of Shih Mi-yuan and the last of his followers in 1251, the Song court was hamstrung by fighting between eunuchs and bureaucrats vying for power. Despite their vast wealth, they were under immense pressure threatening to collapse the dynasty, just as Mongke Khaan prepared to hurl the weight of the Mongol Empire upon it.   Mongke knew the assault on the Song was an immense task. In 1252, sending his brother Hulegu to the far west to subdue the rest of the Islamic world, Mongke ordered his other brother Kublai to take another army against the Song. Rather than throw men at the well defended Song northern borders- a strategy so far ineffective- Mongke sent Kublai to subdue the independent kingdoms along the Song’s southwestern border in what is now China’s Yunnan province, where Song defences were much weaker.   Kublai had not yet commanded armies in person before this campaign, so Mongke provided him a guiding figure: Uriyangqadai, the son of the mighty Subutai. Setting out in late 1253 from forward bases in Gansu, the former territory of the Tangut, Kublai’s army marched in three columns; an eastern column under the Chinese defector Weng Dezhen, which marched through Sichuan, the main army under Kublai and the western column under Uriyangqadai, both marching hrough the eastern edges of Tibet. Tibet’s conquest by the Mongols is a bit of a shadowy thing, difficult to reconstruct due to only brief mentions in the sources. By the early 1250s, most of the Tibetan tribes were subdued or paying tribute to the Mongols, who had sent repeated armies into the region over the previous two decades. By the mid-1250s, Tibet was largely under Mongol authority, though it would need to be reimposed and strengthened later in the century.    Cutting through the mountains of Tibet, Kublai’s army fell upon the hills of Yunnan and the Kingdom of Dali. Founded in the 10th century, Dali controlled the valuable trade between the Song Dynasty and the kingdoms of  Guizhou, Tibet, Vietnam and the rest of Indochina. Relations with the Song were amicable, and Dali became the Song’s major supplier of horses with the loss of Northern China; but Dali was independent and somewhat isolated from the affairs of the Chinese. Central authority of the Dali kings had declined by the thirteenth century, their actual rule hardly extending beyond their capital, also called Dali. By the time of Kublai’s invasion in 1253, the Dali King was puppet for his chief minister, who had ordered the deaths of Mongol envoys. Dali’s army would be no match for the Mongol forces, even under an inexperienced commander like Kublai. Crossing a river on sheepskin rafts, Kublai’s army surprised and destroyed the main Dali army under the Chief Minister, who fled back to the capital. In the last days of 1253, Kublai’s three armies converged on Dali City. In Chinese sources, Kublai’s confucian teacher Yao Shu convinced Kublai to spare the city’s inhabitants, and in January 1254 Dali submitted to the Mongols. The victorious Kublai returned back to north China, where he was appointed administrator and got up to other problems, as detailed in episode 23.  Uriyangqadai was left to subdue the remaining local powers and prepare for the great assault on the Song, as well as recruit locals to serve in the army. He moved against the independent kingdoms of China’s modern Guizhou province, the intermediate area between Song and Dali. He returned briefly to Gansu in early 1257, but in his absence revolt broke out in Dali, bringing Uriyangqadai back into the region. His efforts eventually led him to ride into northern Vietnam, Dai Viet, called Annam in Chinese sources. His envoys were killed, and Uriyangqadai attacked the capital, Thang-long, modern day Hanoi. Thang-long was greatly damaged, the king forced to flee to an offshore island, and send a son as royal hostage to the Mongols as well as tribute. Dai Viet was now vassal of the Mongol Emperor.   Though the Yunnan-Guizhou region would not be fully pacified until the 1280s, it was secure enough to act as a staging ground for the assault on Song. With affairs in order and resources from across the empire pooled, Mongke felt confident to launch the final war on the Song. The total force was immense: as many as 600,000 in some sources to attack Song from several directions. Mongke gathered his forces in the Liupan mountains in 1258, not far from where his grandfather, Chinggis Khan, had died some thirty years prior. Mongke was to take his force against Sichuan; a second army under his cousin Taghachar, was to strike east from the Liupanshan to the Song metropolis of Xiangyang, which controlled access to the vital Song river routes; Kublai was to take a third force from north China to the central regions of the Yangzi river, focusing on the city of O-zhou, today’s Wuhan. The fourth army was under Uriyangqadai, who from Yunnan would hammer the Song from the west and link up with Kublai and Taghachar along the Yangzi.   The idea was twofold. By striking the Song along so many frontiers, they would be unable to converge against a single army, while the Song empire could be split in half. With the capital and administration based on the far eastern edge of the Song realm, the Mongols could isolate it and perhaps drive a mammoth wave of refugees to it.    In the Autumn of 1258, Mongke’s host descended upon Sichuan. 100,000 troops had recently been sent by the Song to reinforce it, but frustratingly little else had been done by the central government to help repair fortifications of that western region. During the march on Dali some five years prior, much of Sichuan was occupied, but the major population centres stood defiant. The Grand Khan himself was now taking the field against them. Sichuan’s capital, Chengdu, a population of almost one million, quickly fell and it’s plain was soon in Mongol hands.  Initial successes were significant, but as 1258 turned to 1259, Mongke found himself bogged down in sieges in eastern Sichuan. Outside of the plain of Sichuan, the province turns to rugged mountains and valleys. Recently constructed mountain tops fortresses proved difficult to take; Chongqing, one of the major cities along the Yangzi in the region, was turned into a network of fortresses. Defenders fought tooth and nail, knowing defeat meant slaughter for them and their families. Mongke’s problems grew as he sought to take Ho-chou. For five months, the city resisted his efforts,  heavy losses frustrating him. By June, rain became incessant. Humidity and the climate proved an effective weapon. Disease spread rapidly among the Mongols and their horses. Even troops levied from northern China were unused to it, and progress halted. Mongke fought the rest of the summer in the hills around Ho-chou, trying to keep up the army’s momentum. Precisely how things went in August is not agreed upon in the sources. Mongke seems to have been drinking heavily, perhaps recognizing the water spread foul diseases to his men. His judgement and reflex may have been impaired, perhaps his own fortitude suffering. The sources speak of an arrow from the defenders of a local fort, or a projectile launched from a catapult. Others, of cholera or dysentery brought on by the conditions. No matter what it was, on the 11th of August, 1259, Mongke Khaan was dead.   His army ground to a halt. Messages were sent to the other armies, and Mongke’s son Asutai quickly took his father’s body back to Mongolia for burial. According to Marco Polo, the army killed everyone they came across as they hauled his corpse. News spread quickly, the Song found new heart: the great Khaghan was dead! Taghachar Noyan’s army had already floundered outside the walls of Xiangyang. Kublai, delayed by his severe gout, had not yet even crossed the Yangzi River when he learned the news of his brother’s demise. Only Uriyangqadai had made progress, perhaps due to a greater number of locally raised troops from Dali suited to the climate. From Dali or Dai Viet, he had marched through the modern provinces of Guangxi and Hunan to reach Kublai on the Yangzi, allegedly fighting 13 battles, killing 400,000 Song soldiers and capturing several major generals.    On learning of Mongke’s death, Kublai continued to campaign for another two months, initially dismissing it simply as a rumour, then stating he had been ordered south by the Khaan, and it was his duty to carry out his will. Crossing the Yangzi, he succeeded in taking O-chou, modern Wuhan. Perhaps the desire to get something done on the campaign drove him, or perhaps a thought crossed his mind: he didn’t have much for a military reputation. Taking a major city like O-chou would alleviate that, and make him a better candidate for the leadership to succeed Mongke. Doubtless, he imagined it would be months before an election would be held, giving him ample time to score some victories for his resume.   Therefore, he was quite surprised when messages came from his wife, Chabi, in late November 1259, warning that Kublai’s youngest brother, Ariq Boke, was making moves to become Khaan. Ariq had been left as regent in Karakorum while his brothers were on campaign, and now looked to declare himself Khaan before the families had all assembled. For Kublai, this was an opportunity he could not afford to lose. Thus he departed Wuhuan in winter 1259, the Song, under their new chancellor Jia Sidao, warily watching the frontier and seeking to reclaim the lost territory. Little could they have predicted, but the age of the unified Mongol Empire had just ended. Providing no designated successor, Mongke’s death opened a vacuum, one which would tear every fracture within the empire to the surface.  Civil war across Eurasia was about to follow, and the Song were offered a brief respite from the Mongols.  Our next episodes look at the great civil wars of the Mongol Empire, so be sure to subscribe to our podcast for more. If you’d like to help us keep bringing you outstanding content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one.

How do adults learn differently than children, and what does this mean for teaching and learning the faith? Today we'll be taking a crash course on how to approach teaching adults. Our instructor is the Rev. Dr. Pete Jurchen. 

God's Word is timeless. It's for everyone. But studying the Word is not a one and done experience. It is meant to be an ongoing, lifelong process.  As we go through our daily lives we are confronted with big questions. A quick glance at the news headlines these days reveals many big topics that we as Christians are left to wrestle with. While these questions may change from day to day, the Word doesn't change. Rather it speaks to us as we navigate our way through the challenges we are faced with. Simply put, the stronger our foundation is in the Word, the better equipped we will be to handle the big topics that come our way. We're still sinful human beings, so we won't always get it right, but we now where we can turn for hope, guidance, and forgiveness.But how do we as adults, parents, teachers, church workers help our children develop a strong foundation for faith, to become lifelong faith learning? How do we help equip them to turn to God's Word when they are faced with the big questions? Teaching the faith to our children is an epic responsibility. How can we be best equipped to meet that responsibility? That's what we'll be talking about today with our guest, Rev. Pete Jurchen.

For the release of the new Sucker Punch video game, Ghost of Tsushima, which depicts a lone samurai defending a Japanese island from Mongol invaders, we’re going to change up our presentation for a few episodes.  This will be the first in a three part series looking at the Mongol invasions of Japan, a slight jump ahead in the timeline of our episodes so far, going from the reign of Great Khan Mongke to that of his younger brother, Kublai Khan. This first episode will provide greater context to the game, discussing the cause of the first Mongol invasion of Japan in 1274, the actual battle for Tsushima island and the fighting in Hakata Bay.  Our following episode will detail the story of Takezaki Suenaga, a samurai who fought against both invasions and later produced a brilliant set of scrolls depicting his exploits. The final episode will cover the oft-overlooked consequences of the invasion on both Japan and Kublai Khan’s empire, as well as its historical legacy: altogether, we hope to provide an accurate and well rounded view of the historical events surrounding the game utilizing both primary sources and scholarly literature. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.       Japan first came to Mongol attention through Japanese raids against the Korean peninsula. Called wakō, piracy against the Korean coastline had existed for centuries, but picked up again in the 1220s during Korean weakness caused by the Khitan and Mongol invasions, covered in our previous episodes. The island of Tsushima, situated between Korea and Japan, was a prominent base for these pirates making the short trip over the straits to strike undefended settlements. These attacks were not court sanctioned, a crime of individual opportunity rather an organized effort. By the time the Korean leadership finally submitted in 1259 the raids had largely ceased, but it meant the existence of Japan was known to the Mongols. The new King of Korea in 1260, King Wonjong, had a good relationship with the new Mongol Emperor, Kublai. We will return to Mongke’s reign after these episodes, but for those of you who do not know, Mongke Khan died on campaign in China in August 1259. Two of his younger brothers, Kublai and Ariq Boke, both declared themselves Khaan in the months following. Known as the Toluid Civil War, Kublai based in China was able to overcome his brother based in Mongolia by 1264. Consequences were immense: Mongol imperial unity was shattered as the Mongol ruled Khanates across western Asia began their own conflicts, the Hulegu-Berke war between the Ilkhanate and Golden Horde. Kublai had defeated Ariq, but lost the empire. His authority beyond the western borders of China was only nominal, and the Khanates were effectively independent states from that point on, though contact remained between them. Kublai, by necessity, was forced to focus his continued conquests on China and the surrounding territories.      Kublai’s main target was the Song Dynasty, which ruled southern China. A huge economic power with a massive population, the Song war was a difficult task. The Mongols needed to resort to indirect strategies to help bypass the frontier: in the 1250s, Kublai had conquered the Kingdom of Dali, in China’s modern Yunnan province, to open a front on the southwest of the Song. The Japanese, who had trade ties with the Song, were another direction Kublai could exert his influence. Forcing the Japanese to cut trade with the Song would help weaken the Song economy, and so aid Kublai’s overall war with them. Further, like his brother Mongke, Kublai firmly believed in the eventuality that all of the world was to come under Mongol rule. Bringing in the submission of the Japanese was merely Kublai enacting heaven’s will. He had one other concern that his predecessors did not. Despite controlling Mongolia, the core of Kublai’s realm was China, and tied himself to Chinese imperial tradition for legitimacy there. In classic Chinese tradition he declared his own dynasty in 1271, the Yuan Dynasty, marking himself as heir to the Chinese empires of Han, Tang and successor to the dying Song Dynasty. In the days of the mighty Tang Dynasty, ruling from 618-907 CE, Japan had diplomatic, economic and religious ties with China, and the Tang Emperors considered the Japanese their vassals. These ties petered out before the end of the Tang, and only during the years of the southern Song was there even trade between them. For Kublai, to vassalize Japan would help to legitimize him to the Chinese, bringing Japan ‘back into the fold,’ so to speak. With these various interests in mind, in 1266 he ordered a first set of envoys to travel to Japan via Korea.       Kublai addressed the letter to the King of Japan, and it's here we can discuss a rather unique feature of Japanese government of the time. Firstly, Japan’s official ruler was not the ‘King,’ but the Emperor, at that time Emperor Kameyama, the 90th emperor of Japan. However, since the end of the Genpei War in 1185, the emperor was a figurehead, with real power held by the Shogun. Known as the Kamakura Bakufu, based in the city of Kamakura, the Shogunate was founded by the fearsome Minamoto no Yoritomo, military rulers exercising real authority with the imperial court relegated to ceremonial and religious roles. However, on Yoritomo’s death in 1199, he was succeeded by his young son as shogun. The boy too young to rule, real power was held by the family of Yoritomo's widow, the Hojo clan. Sidelining and replacing shoguns as necessary, for well over a century, Japan was ruled by the regent of the regent, called the shikken. In 1268, the 17 year old Hojo Tokimune became shikken, the de facto ruler, of Japan.       Though Kublai’s envoys in 1266 turned back before they reached Japan, he was not discouraged. Envoys were sent again in 1268, taken aboard Korean vessels specifically instructed not to return without handing off Kublai’s letter. The letter was not as demanding as earlier Mongol missives of the century, but still referred to Kublai as master of the universe, and informed the Japanese that they should open contact with him, for, as Kublai’s wrote at the end of the letter, “Nobody would wish to resort to arms.” It was a tough position for the Japanese, as they knew next to nothing of the Mongols. What they did know, they had learned from merchants or Buddhist Monks from the Song Dynasty, at war with the Mongols since 1234. Having not engaged in actual overseas diplomacy since the 9th century, there was no experience within the court or the Bakufu on how to react. So, the chosen Japanese response was to simply dismiss the envoys with no official response, per the order of the shikken. Ghosting the most powerful monarch on the planet is not a terribly easy thing to do, however.       Later that same year, Kublai ordered the Koreans to build 1,000 warships and conscript 10,000 men, for use against the Song Dynasty or Japan. Later in 1268, he sent a third embassy, which in the first months of 1269, stopped on the island of Tsushima and turned back, but not without first capturing two local fishermen. Brought all the way back to Kublai’s imperial capital of Dadu, modern day Beijing, they were wined and dined by the mightiest man under heaven. Showing off his splendour and unimaginable power, the Khan of Khans told the fishermen he only wanted to have his envoys reach Japan, and to have his name remembered for all time. Was that so much to ask? The fishermen were escorted back to Japan late in 1269 to bring word of Kublai’s desires and his great power, and were promptly ignored by the Bakufu. The ongoing insolence of the Japanese was not something Kublai could ignore.        A diplomatic solution was still preferable, as the war with the Song Dynasty was still ongoing and in 1269 revolt broke out in Korea due to the onerous demands for materials and men. As we discussed in the previous episode, Korea had suffered under near continuous Mongol attacks from 1231 until 1259, and the population struggled to meet the latest demands. It took until the middle of 1271 for the rebellion to be crushed, but by then some Koreans had brought word to Japan of Mongol preparations. Since 1268, some coastal defenses had started to be rallied, but news of the proximity of the danger caused quite the start in the Bakufu. No aid was sent to Korea despite the requests of the defectors, but more warriors began to be mobilized to the island of Kyushu, the westernmost of the five main islands of Japan and most likely site of attack. Mongol envoys returned in 1271 after Korea was pacified, now with a direct threat of invasion if the Japanese failed to reply.  The envoy returned to Korea empty handed by the end of the year, and after trips back to Japan in 1272 and 1273, he finally came to Kublai with news of his failure. The envoy had spent some time in Japan while trying to get the court’s response, so at least he brought the Khan intelligence on the people, land and defences. This was enough for Kublai. Sending more envoys would only make him look toothless. His armies had just taken the major Song Dynasty stronghold of Xiangyang in 1273, the key to southern China. With the Song poised to fall, Kublai could spare forces to punish Japan.        The final preparation for the invasions were carried out over 1274, and departed from southern Korea that November. It was not a massive army, some 15,000 Mongol, Northern Chinese, Khitan and Jurchen troops, 6-8,000 Korean troops, another 7,000 Korean sailors aboard some 8-900 ships. Prince Khindu served as overall commander, with Mongol, Chinese and Korean generals and admirals. The Mongols had little naval experience beyond fighting on rivers in South China, so were reliant on the knowhow of the Koreans for this aspect. Once they made landfall, the Mongols would take care of the rest. The Mongols had overcome every foe they had faced in the 13th century: Kublai imagined a swift victory against the insignificant island of Japan, for Eternal Blue Heaven mandated nothing less. Late on the 4th of November, 1274, the fleet was spotted off the coast of Tsushima.        The island of Tsushima was controlled by the Sō clan, whose head, Sō Sukekuni, was the deputy shugo, military governor. Per the tradition held in the Japanese chronicle, the Hachiman Gudokun, on Tsushima there was a major shrine to Hachiman, the Japanese god of war. The day of the Mongol approach, a fire broke out at the shrine, a bad omen. Once the fire was extinguished, white doves gathered on the shrine’s roof. As doves were the messengers of Hachiman, Sukekuni saw it must have been a warning from Hachiman: surely, he would not have set his own shrine on fire? Indeed, later that day Sukekuni was alerted that a fleet was seen approaching the island. His garrison was mobilized, some 80 Samurai and their retainers who he led to the beach of Komoda; there, they awaited the dawn and the Mongols.        Sukekuni sent a small vessel out as the Mongols neared the beach to inquire as to their intentions. His envoys were rebuffed and the landing ships neared the beaches, forcing Sukekuni to draw his small force up for battle. While famous for their swordsmanship, the 13th century Samurai was primarily a horse archer like the Mongols. With their long, asymmetrical yumi, the iconic bow of the Samurai, their skill and accuracy with the arrow made them deadly. However, the desire for individual glory and distinction in combat preempted them from utilizing the complex unit tactics, repeated hit and runs, skirmishing and feigned retreats which made Mongol horse archery so tactically powerful. When the ships landed under the command of the general Ho-tun, the first troops sent up the beach were likely those considered expendable- i.e, anyone not Mongolian. Poorly armoured Chinese were rushed off the ships and met with Japanese arrows. They suffered under this withering fire, but the Chinese and Koreans did their job, holding up large wicker shields to soak up arrows while the Mongols had time to disembark and prepare their own horses. Sukekuni’s position was overrun, despite withdrawing to the treeline to face the Mongols in close combat where the Samurai were deadly. One of Sukekuni’s comrades took down several advancing soldiers and a Mongol officer, and standing on the body he shouted threats at the Mongols, daring them to face him in battle. The Mongols responded with arrows, piercing the man’s chest armour and ending his boasts. Sukekuni led one final charge against the Mongols before the last of his men were cut down. The Mongols overran Tsushima from November 5th until the 13th, destroying towns, farmland and annihilating the last strands of resistance. The women of the Sō family committed suicide so as to not fall into Mongol hands. The next island to face the fleet, Iki, was greeted by a gruesome sight. Attested in both Japanese and Yuan Dynasty sources, prisoners, mainly women, had wire threaded through their palms and were strung across the prows of the ships in a horrific necklace.       The island of Iki too fell within a day. Several small islands and the Matsuura peninsula were taken after only token resistance as the fleet neared  the northwestern corner of Kyushu and Hakata Bay, the island’s largest natural harbour. It made an ideal landing point for any large army. Hojo Tokimune knew this, and here had collected his warriors. The defensive force was mainly drawn of men from Kyushu, though the mobilization had been extended to parts of western Honshu, the largest Japanese island, in 1274. Exact figures for the Japanese force are uncertain, but were outnumbered. 4-6,000 is a common estimate, against over 20,000 of the Yuan fleet- though the main source for the Mongol side, the Yuan shi, states 102,000 Japanese were arrayed against them.        Landing on the soft sand beaches of Hakata Bay on November 19th, the Chinese and Korean infantry protected by their large shields and long spears disembarked; following were Mongols, Turks, Khitans and Jurchen leading their horses out and mounting them. Traditionally, the Japanese began battle by sending arrows with holes dug through the head, creating a whistling sound as they went through the air. The Mongols, who used such things often for communication in battle, laughed. The beating of drums and gongs signalled Mongol orders; unused to such noise, the Japanese horses panicked. Samurai riding forward to challenge worthy opponents to single combat were met with arrows, and those who tried to ride individually through the thickly pressed enemy line were cut down.. The Japanese sources accused the Mongols of using poisoned arrows, which sickened the men struck by them. Bombs, made of paper or iron and filled with Chinese gunpowder, were lobbed into the Japanese who had never experienced such things- the flash, the noise and smoke injured, disoriented and frightened them.       The Mongols, advancing or retreating as ordered and in unison, were an unnerving sight to Samurai used to smaller, individually led combat. Over the course of the day the Japanese were pushed from the beach and their defensive line was broken through. Fires were set on the nearby town of Hakata, which spread quickly. Another force broke out and tried to make camp at Akasaka, but were repulsed. Once past the initial surprise of the assault, the Japanese archers made a good show of themselves. Every samurai trained since a young age with a bow, and the accuracy and power of their bows took even the Mongols by surprise. Small Mongol parties isolated from the main force were picked off, and one of the top Yuan commanders, Liu Fuxiang, was struck in the face by a Japanese arrow and had his horse stolen. The gravely injured commander was rushed back to the ships. Japanese resistance had proven stiffer than anticipated, and the overconfident Yuan forces had suffered losses for this. Divisions and language barriers in the leadership hamstrung them, and uncertain of moving further inland in unknown territory without reinforcement, by nightfall it was decided to call a retreat.        The Yuan forces returned to their ships and set out for Korea, at which point we get to the most well known aspect of the invasions. Very few contemporary Japanese sources mention divine favour or wind in regards to the withdrawal, at most, stating strong winds pushed the armada back to Korea. One of the main Japanese sources, the Hachiman Gudokun, states the defenders were surprised to find the fleet gone in the morning, only a single ship having run aground. In sources from the Mongol point of view though, we have the most dramatic presentation. The Yuan shi, compiled in the 1370s from Mongol documents, describes the Mongols having crushed the Japanese and needing to withdraw for they had ran out of arrows. On the way back, they were struck by an almighty storm, losing many ships in the ocean. This emphasis by the Mongols is obvious: by blaming a freak weather accident, the retreat was easier explained, rather than give credit to the Japanese fighting harder than the Mongols had expected. Whatever the fact of the storm was, the first of the so-called kamikazes, the Yuan fleet had begun to withdraw before it struck. In the words of historian Thomas Conlan, the Japanese were “in little need of divine intervention.”       Neither side saw this as inconclusive though. The Japanese anticipated a Mongol return, and further preparations were made, such as building a wall for dozens of kilometres along Hakata Bay and preparing to quickly mobilize samurai if needed. For Kublai, this had been but a small force, a taste of what he could throw against Japan. He sent envoys again in 1275 to the bakufu, who were killed by the Japanese, ensuring the Khaan would need to send an armed force once more. Once Kublai completed the conquest of the Song Dynasty in 1279, he turned his attention to a massive invasion to subdue Japan once and for all.    But the second invasion is a topic for another day. Our next episode will come out this Friday, looking at the story of Takezaki Suenaga, a historical samurai who fought in both invasions and later compiled an excellent set of scrolls presenting his exploits. Through him, we’ll get a chance to talk in-depth on the Japanese defence, tactics and more. If that isn’t enough, we’ll have another episode coming out after that discussing the impact of the invasions on Japan and the Mongol Empire. But that’s not all: check out Kings and Generals on Youtube for a video this Thursday on the battles for Tsushima and Iki islands, the direct inspiration for the game. As well, the narrator for Kings and Generals will actually be playing Ghost of Tsushima on a livestream this weekend. Our writer for this series will be there as well, so prepare any questions you have for him and he’ll do his best to answer. If you’d like to help us continue bringing you content, please consider subscribing to our Patreon at www.patreon/kingsandgenerals.com. I’m your host David, and we will catch you on the next one. 

Had you to guess a kingdom to offer decades of resistance to the Mongols at the height of their power, Korea might not have been high on your list. Situated close to Mongol dominated North China and first coming to Mongol attention at the start of the 1220s, it took until the beginning of the 1260s for the peninsula to be firmly under Mongol rule. Today’s episode will detail the long and devastating Mongol war in Korea and the final subjugation during the reign of Great Khan Mongke. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.   By the 13th century the Korean peninsula had been ruled by the house of Wang since 918. Their kingdom was called Koryo [also written Goryeo (Gor-yeo)], a shortened form of the name of the more ancient Korean Kingdom of Kokuryeo (kok-ur-yeo) [also written Goguryeo] which fell in 668 CE. Both terms are the origin of the modern name for the peninsula. Smaller in scale than the empire of Kokuryeo, the 13th century Koryo kingdom’s territory did not extend much past the Yalu river. Staunch Buddhists, the Kingdom of Koryo was a major player in regional trade and commerce, and a centre of art and culture, and was a proud state. Successfully resisting invasions by the Khitan Liao and Jurchen Jin, Koryo entered into tributary relationships with both but maintained its internal autonomy, and unique worldview where the Korean King was essentially also son of Heaven, alongside the Chinese monarch who traditionally held the title. Similar to the contemporary Song Dynasty, military roles were subservient to the civilian classes and excluded from powerful civil positions. Despite the military being key to repulsing the Jurchen invasion of the 1120s, they gained no recognition, or promotions, for their efforts. Conditions worsened over the 12th century when revolts needed the military to be crushed. During the reign of King Uijong from 1146-1170, matters came to a head. More interested in visiting Buddhist temples than governing, under Uijong, corruption peaked. Government institutions were controlled by aristocratic families competing with the central government, the court was divided among factional lines and critics were exiled. These grievances fed into existing frustrations of the military leaders, ultimately culminating in a coup by the general Chong Chungbu in 1170. The King was dethroned in favour of a brother, and military leaders assumed most of the top offices. This was the beginning of a century of military dictatorship in Korea, its kings reduced to puppets. It was a system remarkably similar to the shogunate established at nearly the same time by Minamoto no Yoritomo in Japan, wherein the Japanese Emperor still head his title and conducted ceremonial roles, but real power was held by the shogun- though after Yoritomo’s death in 1199, real power was held by regents, the shikken of the Hojo clan.    Chungbu struggled to exercise his authority and could not fix the problems facing Koryo; revolts across the country continued and Chungbu was ousted by rivals in 1178, followed in turn by a succession of generals vying for power. It was not until 1196 when the general Ch’oe Ch’unghon assassinated the military dictator. A skilled and brave warrior, Ch’oe Ch’unghon was also a patriot, and saw the years of failed military rule as a disaster for his career, and for Koryo. Ch’oe was adept at political maneuvering. After assassinating the current dictator, he met the King and explained his actions. Gaining royal approval, his authority was established quickly. With support of the Korean King- whom Ch’oe Ch’unghon soon replaced- as well as key military figures, Ch’oe rooted out rivals, skillfully threw bones to military officers, civil leaders and literati, and revitalized the dynasty. Authority was extended through existing dynastic institutions, reformed to weed out corruption but ensured loyal men were in control of those institutions. Marriage ties cemented political alliances, and Ch’oe Ch’unghon essentially established his own dynasty alongside the royal dynasty. He was careful to ensure that alternate power bases to his own were undermined: government military forces weakened while he built up his own private army. Knowing how to champion Zen Buddhism and Confucianism, Ch’oe Ch’unghon masterfully manipulated his public image and public works. Allowing the King to focus on ceremonial and religious roles, Ch’oe’s tight lease on government meant that, over the first decade of the thirteenth century, he felt his position on HIS peninsula to be quite secure.   But like so many others, Ch’oe Ch’unghon’s plans were upset by a little someone named Chinggis Khan. The Great Khan’s invasion of the Jin Empire began in 1211, during which the Korean ambassador to the Jin was killed in the fighting. We have little information on what the Koreans and Ch’oe Ch’unghon thought of the rapid Mongol conquest of the Jin. During these centuries, the Korean kingdoms were always concerned with their northern border with Manchuria, where the Manchurian tribesmen, be they Khitan or Jurchen, invariably proved dangerous foes, crossing to raid in small parties or conquer with full armies. As Jin Dynastic authority collapsed in their Manchurian homeland, the Koreans watched the north uneasily. There, aside from the ongoing warfare, two new states were formed: the first was a Khitan Kingdom in central Manchuria, a “restored” Liao Dynasty made subject to the Mongols in 1212. The second was in Eastern Manchuria and Russia’s Primorsky Krai, founded by the Jin defector Puxian Wannu in 1215, which soon submitted to the Mongols. The latter is often called the Kingdom of Ta-chen, Tung-chen or the Eastern Xia. The frontiers north of Korea were unstable, and Ch’oe Ch’unghon expected trouble would spill over his borders sooner or later.   In 1216 as many as 90,000 rebel Khitans displaced by Jin forces overran Wannu’s southern territory. A few months later, Mongols accompanied by loyal Khitans chased these rebel Khitans from Wannu’s borders. The rebels’ requests to Koryo for aid were denied, and stuck between the Mongols and Korea, the Khitans chose Korea. In autumn 1216 the Khitans blazed through the Korean border defences. Skilled horse archers, the Khitans drove deep into Korea, menacing the capital, modern Kaesong. Korean military resistance contained them to the northern half of the country. Aside from a brief foray back over the border to gain reinforcements in autumn 1217, the Khitans spent most of 1217 and 1218 pillaging and plundering in the northeast.    Unexpectedly, in winter 1218 10,000 Mongols under the command of Qacin and Jala, with 20,000 troops provided by Wannu, arrived in Korea. The Mongols sent a simple message to the Koreans: they would crush the rebel Khitans, requested troops and provisions from the Koreans to assist with this, and then would enter into the same tributary relationship the Koreans had with Liao and Jin. After a brief delay in answering the Koreans acquiesced, sending 1,000 picked troops and 1,000 bushels of rice. The rebels Khitans were crushed, and Korea began sending tribute to the Mongols in 1219.    Korea’s first Mongol experience was relatively peaceful. Though forced to send tribute, their cities had not suffered. Ch’oe Ch’unghon’s advancing age, failing health, and desire to pass his rule onto his son stopped him from taking any provocative actions. A keen observer, he had judged the danger of this new foe, expecting the relationship would differ little from Liao or Jin tribute demands. Ch’oe Ch’unghon died in late 1219, and was succeeded by his oldest son, Ch’oe U. A military man like his father, an effective administrator and decisive leader, though not quite as cautious, Ch’oe U helmed Koryo for the next two decades. Ch’oe U found Mongol demands were downright rapacious, especially for otter skins, highly desired for their water resistant properties. For a people who lived their entire lives outdoors, an otter-skin cap was a valuable product. The chief Mongol envoy to Korea, Ja’uyu (Chao-ku-yu), was said to have abandoned the rest of the tribute at the border and just kept the otter skins!   As we’ve noted in episodes past, when Chinggis Khan marched west against the Khwarezmian Empire in 1219 his general Mukhali was left to maintain pressure on the Jin Dynasty. With Mukhali’s death in 1223, the reduced Mongol military presence in north China and with Chinggis still in Central Asia, the political situation across the region changed dramatically. The end of hostilities between the Jin, Xi Xia and Song Dynasties around 1225 we’ve dealt with already, but changes occurred even in Manchuria and Korea. There, Puxian Wannu renewed his independence and asked for alliance with Koryo. The Koreans declined, but made their own moves. In 1225 the chief Mongol envoy to Korea, the aforementioned Ja’uyu (Chao-ku-yu), mysteriously disappeared while transporting the annual tribute north. The Koreans insisted it was bandits, but the Mongols put the blame square on Koryo.    Ogedai Khaan was enthroned in 1229 and immediately set about bringing the region to heel. The Jin Dynasty took his personal attention and was destroyed by 1234. Both Puxian Wannu and the Koreans were also to be punished. Initially the new Khaan demanded Korea aid in an attack against Wannu. With the failure of the Koreans to comply, Ogedai ordered an invasion of the peninsula, the first of six Mongol invasions. Led by Sartaq-Qorchi, the army crossed the Yalu River in autumn 1231. The attack was overwhelming; the government armies were annihilated in the field and the capital surrounded. There was some notable resistance at a few fortified cities, none more famous than the defence of Kuju. Famed for a victory over the Khitans in 1018, in late 1231 through early 1232 under the command of Pak So, the city withstood weeks of constant Mongol assault. The most famous event occurred early in the siege. The southern wall of the city was defended by Kim Kyongson and a skilled unit of pyolch’o, translated as Defense Command Patrol, Extraordinary Watches or Night Patrol. These were local troops from outside the regular army, an elite militia specializing in guerilla warfare. Sending most of the unit inside the city, Kim Kyongson led a group of 12 picked men before the south gate. Telling them “not to think of their lives and accept death as their fate,” Kim and his men withstood four or five Mongol charges. Taking an arrow to the arm, Kim and his forces stood proudly and girded the city to further resistance;  Attacks were launched on the walls day and night: carts of dry grass and wood were pushed to the gates to burn them, only to be destroyed by Korean catapults; a tower built before the walls to protect sappers was destroyed when the Koreans dug holes through their own walls to pour molten iron onto it. 15 large catapults were driven off by the Korean counter artillery; scaling ladders were toppled by Korean polearms. Bundles of sticks soaked allegedly in human fat, set aflame and hurled into the city could not be put out with water, but were smothered with mud and earth. Another catapult team through constant barrage made 50 breaches in the walls, which the defenders filled back in as the holes were made. After a month of terrible destruction but no success, the Mongol siege was lifted, deciding the city was protected by heaven.   Kuju city and other select settlements outlasted the central government. Military ruler Ch’oe U came to terms with the Mongols in January 1232, and was so frustrated that Kuju had continued to resist that he wanted to have its commanders, Pak So and Kim Kyongson, executed fearing Mongol retaliation. Here the Mongols are said to have interceded, saying: “Although he went contrary to our orders, he is a loyal subject of yours. We are not going to kill him now that you have already pledged peace with us. Would it be proper to kill the loyal subjects of all your cities?”   Still, Koryo had submitted to Sartaq-qorchi in the first month of 1232. The tribute demands were massive. 20,000 horses, 20,000 otter skins, slaves, royal hostages and clothing for 1 million men were demanded, alongside gold, silver and other treasures. The demands were impossible to meet; within a few months the Koreans had procured barely 1,000 otter skins. 72 Mongol darughachin were appointed to oversee Koryo, and Sartaq withdrew his forces, considering the peninsula conquered.    The Koreans were less keen to comply, however. The demands were onerous; while they sent much in gifts, they were unwilling to send royal hostages. Ch’oe U organized sambyolch’o units, a sort of paramilitary police force of the house of Ch’oe. By the end of spring 1232, Ch’oe held a meeting of his top ministers to decide the course of action. In June and July, the plan was struck. Ch’oe U, the King and the court moved from the capital at Kaesong to Kanghwa island offshore, making it the new administrative centre of Korea, protected by the experienced Korean navy. Mongol officials in Korea were murdered and the peninsula was in open revolt. Sartaq returned in fall 1232, blazing a trail of destruction across the northern half of the country until he was killed during a siege by a Buddhist monk turned archer, Kim Yunhu. On Sartaq’s death, the Mongol army withdrew.   The Mongols were not done with Korea. The defection of one Korean commander, Hong Pogwon, gave them control of Korea stretching north from Pyongyang, which Hong was made the overseer of. In early 1233 a Mongol envoy came with a list of grievances and demands, among them that Koreans had to fight against Puxian Wannu- though this came to naught, as Wannu’s kingdom, and the connection between his head and his neck, were removed from the scene later that year by armies under Ogedai’s son Guyuk. After the fall of the Jin Dynasty in 1234, a quriltai was held in Mongolia in 1235 to determine the next campaigns. Attacks were ordered against the Song Dynasty, Guyuk, Subutai and Batu were sent on the great western campaign, and another army, this time under Tangut Ba’atar, was sent to Korea.    Tangut Ba’atar’s invasion in summer 1235 was hugely destructive; with the assistance of Hong Pogwon by winter 1236, he had penetrated some 470 kilometres into Korea. The Koreans were unable to field armies against them, and alternative strategies were developed to respond. Just as the court had fled to Kanghwa Island, most of the population outside of fortified settlements was ordered to flee to coastal islands or mountain refuges, where they could escape Mongol riders. Offensives were limited to guerilla warfare, pyolch’o units launching surprise night raids, ambushes through mountain passes and striking small parties. Hitting quick and hard and making use of their excellent knowledge of local terrain, these small units were actually more mobile than the Mongols. It was a frustrating way of war for the Mongols, and when the Mongols got frustrated, the devastation only increased. Fortified settlements were left to fend for themselves, and when they did fall, the destruction was horrific. The countryside was ravaged, the death toll horrendous. The guerilla tactics could harass but not stop the Mongols, who in turn, unable to strike directly at the royal court or military dictator, could not immediately bring the country to submission. Korean defections to the Mongols were enormous; and in many respects the Ch’oe rulers had chosen a strategy to bring the most damage to their people.   By winter 1238, the Korean court was willing to come to talks with the Mongols to halt the destruction.  Tangut Ba’atar withdrew his forces with talks ongoing and it seemed the Koreans would pledge eternal submission. As the Koreans feared, the Mongolian idea of negotiated settlement was a bit different from their own. Alongside the expected tribute demands, the Mongols required a census, the court could no longer stay on Kanghwa Island, and the Korean King, at that time Kojong, had to present himself to the Mongol court. For the military ruler Ch’oe U, this presented an issue. His legitimacy rested on him being the one to control the King; Mongol demands would remove him from power. Peace on the terms the Mongols wanted could not be accepted as long as the Ch’oes wanted to remain in control. For two years the Koreans made excuses on not sending the King, Ch’oe U trying to find some room to maneuver. Finally, a ploy was decided on: a distant relation of the King was made up to be the Crown Prince, and thus Wang Sun was sent to Karakorum in 1241. The Mongols found out about the deception…. Some 14 years later. By then, he was a loyal member of the Mongol court and even married a daughter of Great Khan Mongke.   With the royal hostage sent in 1241 and resumption of tribute, Ch’oe U achieved a six year truce. The Mongols still wanted the royal court to return to the mainland though, and their envoys grew ever more insistent on the matter. Ch’oe U spent the next six years preparing defenses, building elaborate fortifications on Kanghwa Island and readying militia units.  Buddhist projects were consecrated to secure heavenly favours; the most famous was the recarving of the Tripitaka, the Buddhist scriptures, begun in 1237. Often called the Tripitaka Koreana, this was a massive project, over 80,000 wooden printing blocks carved, requiring thousands of scholars and 12 years to complete.   Guyuk was elected as Great Khan in 1246, and decided the Koreans had stalled long enough on returning the court to the mainland.  In Autumn 1247 an army under the general Amukhan and Hong Pogwon invaded. Official orders were sent for the countryside to be abandoned for coastal islands and mountain fortresses; guerilla attacks were launched; the northern half of the peninsula was desolated. The death of Guyuk in summer 1248 and Ch’oe U in winter 1249 brought a relative calm. Ch’oe U was succeeded by his son, Ch’oe Hang, who proved not the equal of his father or grandfather. More arrogant and hasty than his father, he struggled to maneuver the complicated politics of Koryo and Mongol attacks. Within a few months there was an attempted coup against him, and his reaction alienated major allies, at a time when they couldn’t afford to lose a single one.   In 1251 Mongke was confirmed as Great Khan; driven by the need to complete the conquests, the continued independence of Koryo was not something he could abide. Again, envoys demanded the Korean King visit the Mongol court and abandon Kanghwa island. Again, excuses were made.  King Kojong was too old and sickly for such a trip, but they could discuss the possibility of considering sending the Crown Prince. At the same time, the Koreans prepared for the expected invasion. At the quriltai in 1252 wherein Kublai was ordered against Dali and Hulegu against the Caliph in Baghdad, forces were organized to attack Korea. Prince Yeku invaded in August 1253 alongside Amukhan and Hong Pogwon. Envoys preceded him stating he was there to find out if King Kojong was as sick as he said he was. He had six days to comply and meet Mongol representatives on the mainland. Kojong actually met with Mongol envoys on the straits across from Kanghwa island, and achieved precisely nothing. Mongol forces rode and burned across the peninsula, inland settlements were abandoned for coastal and mountain defenses. Pyolch’o raids attacked Mongol parties, and Mongols destroyed the cities which fell to them. Yeku was held up and fell ill during the long siege of Ch’ungju, ably defended by Kim Yunhu, the same Buddhist Monk who had killed Sartaq some 20 years prior. Ultimately, Mongke recalled Yeku before the end of the year due to his feuding with another prince. Amukhan and Hong Pogwon continued the campaign for a few more weeks, organizing a brief effort at amphibious warfare: seven captured Korean ships landed troops on Kal Island in early 1254, to no great result. Amukhan pulled the troops back in spring, returning in August with reinforcements under Jalayirtai Qorchi.   Jalayirtai brought a variation on the Mongol demands for submission. Now ministers and people had to shave their heads in the Mongol style: leaving only a tuft on the forehead between the eyes, and over the ears to be braided into loops. He also demanded Ch’oe Hang and King Kojong come to the mainland. Predictably, Ch’oe Hang was unwilling to do so. Early in summer 1255 Jalayitrai and Amukhan fell back to the northern border; by then, aside from years of destruction and abandonment of farmland, the peninsula was also in the midst of an ongoing drought. We are told in the first year of Jalayirtai’s command in Korea an estimated 206,8000 persons were taken captive. The suffering was horrific. Jalayirtai’s forces attacked again in autumn 1255, beginning a ship building program. Frustrated with continued resistance from the Korean court, the Mongols were considering assaulting the well defended Kanghwa Island. A sense of Jalayirtai’s frustration is evident in his response to Korean envoys in mid-1256. The envoys came asking for peace and Mongol withdrawal, to which Jalayirtai, incensed with pyolch’o attacks in the night, snapped “if you desire peace and friendship, then why do you kill our soldiers in great numbers?”   Jalayirtai’s movement of troops back north in autumn 1256 was no respite: in spring 1257, famine gripped even Kanghwa island. As Jalayirtai returned in the spring, it must have been apparent that the Ch’oes were hanging by a thread. Ch’oe Hang soon died, succeeded by his son Ch’oe Ui, who proved a very poor choice. His attempts to win favour by grants of food to the populace and court did not offset bad advisers enriching themselves and his own poor decisions. Alienating just about everyone in the court, the pressure of the situation finally led to a coup. Officers led by Kim Injun assaulted Ch’oe’s palace in May 1258. Ch’oe Ui tried to escape over the walls, but was too fat to get himself over. Caught by the assassins, Ch’oe Ui’s death ended six decades of Ch’oe military rule in Korea. Gaining the support of the elderly Kojong and handing out the wealth of the Ch’oe’s, Kim Injun made himself the new military governor. However, his position was much weaker than the Ch’oe’s had been, and still refused to submit to the Mongols. Mongol envoys who arrived in summer 1258 brought threats that they would storm Kanghwa Island, and in August Jalayirtai received further reinforcements under the command of Yesuder. Refusal to supply either the Crown Prince or the King was met with unchecked destruction across the Korean peninsula. If the Royal court would not come to then, then the Mongols would impose direct rule.  No matter how bloody the pyolch’o attacks were, they could not stop the Mongols.   Resistance broke in 1259. Revolts against military rule began across the country, towns and cities surrendered on the arrival of the Mongols rather than continue fighting. With food supplies exhausted, their military forces ground nearly to dust, in the spring of 1259 a peace deal was reached. The Crown Prince, Wang Chon, was to travel to the Mongol court as a royal hostage, the court move back to the mainland, and the defences of Kanghwa be demolished. Kim Injun was not removed but his power was considerably lesser to that of the Ch’oes. Organized Koryo resistance to the Mongol Empire was over. In May 1259, Prince Wang Chon set out for the imperial court, which met a hiccup when Mongke died in August 1259. Wang Chon decided to head for the court of Mongke’s younger brother in China, Kublai. There, he became the first foreign ruler to officially recognize Kublai as the next Great Khan of the Empire. In turn, Kublai provided Wang Chon an armed escort to return to Korea and be installed as the new king, as the venerable Kojong had died in July 1259. Kojong had reigned through the entire Mongol-Korean war, and it was fitting he died only weeks after it ended.   Wang Chon, known better by his temple name, Wonjong, proved a loyal vassal to Kublai Khan, marrying his son and eventual successor to one of Kublai’s daughters. Military rule in Korea ended in 1270 after a series of assassinations, and the Korean court finally returned to the mainland. With that, Koryo was a fully incorporated client kingdom. The King ruled in earnest, though with Mongol backing; when briefly ousted by a coup, Kublai’s forces came in and reinstalled him. Yet Mongol demands upon Korea did not grow any less burdensome; rather,. Wonjong had to mobilize the Koreans for another war, this time fighting alongside the Mongols. Koreans ships, food supplies and men were needed by Kublai Khan against the island of Japan, which had spurned his demands for submission. Korea was to be a launchpad for the first Mongol Invasion of Japan of 1274. To coincide with the release of the new SuckerPunch game Ghost of Tsushima which covers that very same invasion, we will have a few special episodes discussing this area, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast. To help us keep bringing you content, consider supporting us on Patreon, at (inset patreon link here). I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one.

'We Han Chinese outnumber the Jurchen by more than a hundred to one. If the Imperial Court decided to employ honest and loyal men, our great Empire would prevail. With one hundred of our men against one of their worthless soldiers, how could the Jin army win?' In the thirty third episode of The Translated Chinese Fiction Podcast, we are looking at Legend of the Condor Heroes (射雕英雄传 / Shèdiāo Yīngxióng Chuán), the magnum opus of Wuxia grandmaster Jin Yong. Our guest is one of the translators working to bring it into English, Gigi Chang. Condor Heroes is a huge entry in Chinese literature (both highbrow and lowbrow), and pop culture in general. In this first episode of the podcast's Wuxia season, I begin to get to grips with this absolute behemoth of genre fiction.   // NEWS ITEMS // Paper Republic's Sunday Sentence 一周一句 Deng Anqing's Forty Days    // WORD OF THE DAY // (忠肝义胆 / Zhōng Gān Yì Dǎn / Loyal liver, righteous guts)   // MENTIONED IN THE EPISODE // Mobikes 'Qi Blasts' in Street Fighter President Deng Xiaoping as Wuxia nerd The Assassin, dir. by Hou Hsiao Hsien Paper Swordsmen: Jin Yong and the Modern Chinese Martial Arts Novel JG Ballard's Miracles of Life, Yao Xueyin's Li Zicheng 姚雪垠 李自成, Ma Ka-fai's new book 马家辉 鸳鸯六七四    // Handy TrChFic Links // Buy Me a Coffee Bonus Shows on Patreon  The TrChFic Map INSTAGRAM // TWITTER // DISCORD // MY SITE  

Had you a bird’s eye view of the Eurasian steppe in 1236, you could have watched an unparalleled sight.  Perhaps more than 100,000 mounted warriors spread out in vast columns converging upon the Kama River, followed with nigh on one million horses, goats, and sheep at some distance behind; thousands of carts, some small enough to be pulled by a single ox, to those so large they required full teams of oxen. Mounted on these carts were spare weapons and arrows, specialists and engineers in siege technology and the tools they needed to build their fearsome machinery, and on the largest carts, royal Mongols gers, round felt tents to house the many princes leading the army. Their very movement changed the landscape, politically and ecologically. The nomadic Turkic peoples who inhabited the steppe fled before them; new roads were cut, others formed by the very passage of ten thousand horses stripping bare the grassland; to avoid lengthy detours in order to stay on schedule, rivers were blocked and diverted to accommodate the great carts. This was an army with one purpose: to conquer everything as far as the hooves of Mongol horses would take them. This was the Great Western Invasion, Mongol princes from across the dynasty collected and hurled as a great spear westwards, which in the coming years would land deep into Europe. I’m your host David, und this is…       The Great Western Invasion is perhaps the most famous campaign of the Mongol Empire. It’s a campaign of big names and big personalities: Batu, Mongke, Guyuk and the great commander Subutai. It’s a story you likely know the broad strokes of already, the bloody conquest of the Russian principalities culminating in the famous battles of Liegnitz and Mohi. It’s generally presented as the master stroke of Subutai’s strategic genius,commonly said that the Mongols would have driven right to the shores of Britain if hadn’t been for the untimely death of Ogedai Khaan at the end of 1241, forcing them to withdraw to elect his successor.  It’s a great story and quite cinematic, but one which barely conveys any of the complexities of the great invasion, and one ripe with exaggerations and myths. Over the next episodes we’re going to try to change your view of the invasion, including as many of the intricacies and historiography of it as we can to provide a fuller understanding of the campaign, and a better, though more nuanced, respect for Mongol military success.       Mongol knowledge of the west came through an offshoot of the invasion of the Khwarezmian Empire, when Jebe Noyan and Subutai Ba’atar led an army through the Caucasus and onto the steppe, where they fought with the nomadic Turkic Cuman-Qipchaq tribes, an army of the Rus’ principalities on the Kalka River, and the Volga Bulghars, the mercantile masters of the Volga River’s trade routes. We covered this in a previous episode, so check that out for the specifics. Though popularly portrayed as a reconnaissance in force, it was a hard fought campaign resulting in the death of Jebe Noyan and Mongol defeats or narrowly won victories. The defeats demanded Mongol retaliation, as did the loss of a top commander- it’s  easy to imagine Subutai personally wanting to avenge himself and his fallen friend, as Jebe may have been a mentor to him. The foes encountered in the west had shown themselves fierce fighters, and the Mongols left with an impression that overwhelming force was needed for further campaigning in the region. The Cuman-Qipchaqs, a loose confederation of Turkic tribes inhabiting the steppes from the borders of Hungary past the Caspian Sea, were a particular issue. Nomadic enemies, similar in lifestyle to the Mongols themselves, were perceived as their greatest threat. Not only could they more readily flee Mongol armies than any sedentary foe, thus continuing to be a threat, but they were likewise skilled horse archers. If united under a charismatic leader as Chinggis Khan had done with the Mongol tribes, the Cuman-Qipchaqs could directly challenge Mongolian hegemony in the steppe. In the Mongolian universalist ideology which developed at the end of Chinggis Khan’s life, everything beneath Eternal Blue Heaven was the Mongols to rule. The fact that these foes had fought the Mongols, at times even besting them, was a state of open rebellion that the Great Khan could not allow.       Subutai had withdrawn from the western steppe over 1224, but that was not the final Mongol encounter in the west before the great invasion. Modern Kazakhstan was by then the ulus of Jochi, the territory granted to Chinggis Khan’s eldest son. As Jochi had died in 1225, the appanage was now headed by Jochi’s second son, Batu- this was the territorial beginnings of the later Golden Horde. From the Jochid ulus, the Mongols had a forward base to attack their foes within the Volga steppe. The closest foe was the Volga Bulghars, a distant Turkic relation to the Bulgarians who gave their name to the empires on the Danube in Southeastern Europe and the Balkans. Controlling the meeting point of the Volga and Kama Rivers, their influence extended to the Urals in the east, and to the borders of the Rus’ principalities in the west. Dominating the fur trade and other exports from the local Finno-Ugric population like the Mordvins and Bashkirs, Volga Bulgharia was a major trade centre, the stopping point between the Rus’ principalities and Khwarezmian Empire. At least, it had been until Chinggis Khan wiped the Khwarezmian Empire from the map. With extensive contacts in Khwarezm and the Qipchaq tribes of the region, the Volga Bulghars were well informed of the fall of Khwarezm and approach of Subutai in 1223, and defeated him on the Volga River that year. Despite this victory, they were not left in a great position. The most powerful Rus’ princely state, that of Vladimir-Sudzal’, was encroaching on Bulghar territory and competing for control over the Mordvins, making one of the Mordvin principalities their vassal. The Bulghars tried to appease the Rus’ through peace negotiations, hoping to focus their efforts for a Mongol return.   It proved fruitless. In 1229 with Ogedai’s ascension came the second Mongol attack, in which Mongol forces seized the steppe from the Ural River to the Volga, overrunning the Bulghars’ border guards.  This attack was led by the commanders Koketei and Sonitei, though it’s commonly suggested that this Sonitei may have been a misspelling of Subutai in the source. If it was Subutai, he was soon recalled to aid Ogedai and Tolui in the final conquest of the Jin Dynasty. The 1229 attack caused a great displacement of tribes, fleeing deeping into Bulghar territory to escape the Mongols. Another attack came in 1232, spending the winter in Bulghar country but were unable to move onto their capital.    Relatively smaller armies had undertaken these two offensives; with significant forces dispatched under Chormaqun to finalize conquests in Iran and accompanying Ogedai, Tolui and Subutai to destroy the Jin, as we have covered in our previous episodes, major resources were unavailable to attack Bulghar. Victory over the Jurchen Jin in 1234 changed this, freeing up troops to divert elsewhere. Most of the Mongol army and its auxiliaries were pulled back within weeks of the final victory over the Jin, though some forces remained on the border due to an attack from the Song Dynasty. Despite Song attacks, Ogedai ordered only minor offensives against them for the time being; the west had to be dealt with.    In 1235 a great quriltai was held in Mongolia to which the available princes of the dynasty were invited. In classic Ogedai fashion upon their gathering an entire month was spent in feasting, drinking and celebrating; gifts and loot were handed out from the treasury; the laws and ordinances of Chinggis Khan were read out again. After this imperial bender, it was time to get to business.  Ogedai’s son Qochu was ordered to hold the frontier with the Song Dynasty, while the rest of the available forces were to be taken west. The Mongol leadership was under the impression that the western end of the continent was home to fierce foes. Ogedai’s only surviving full brother, Chagatai, had been collecting information for him. In the Secret History of the Mongols, Chagatai gave this warning to Ogedai:    “The enemy people beyond consist of many states, and there, at the end of the world, they are hard people. They are people who, when they become angry, would rather die by their own swords. I am told they have sharp swords.”       Chagatai's idea was that this should be a unified effort with all branches of the dynasty -that is, from the lines of Chinggis Khan’s four sons with Borte- contributing troops. This was agreed to. While the western campaign is sometimes depicted as a side show, the sources inform us that the chief figures of the third generation of Chinggisids were present. A number of Jochi’s numerous children, especially his most important sons Orda, Batu, Shiban and Tangqut, were to be present. From Chagatai’s line were Buri and Baidar, Buri his grandson via Moetugen, Chagatai’s beloved favourite who had died in the Khwarezmian campaign. Ogedai’s own sons Guyuk and Qadan represented him, and from the line of the late Tolui was his eldest, Mongke, and Mongke’s half-brother Bojek. If some of these names sound familiar to you, it's because these were among the most prominent Chinggisids of the next decades: Batu, founder of the Golden Horde, with Guyuk and Mongke to be Great Khans in the years after Ogedai. Kolgen, a son of Chinggis Khan from a secondary wife accompanied them, as did the most famous of all Mongol generals, Subutai. While Batu was the lead prince and it was ostensibly his territory they were expanding, Subutai was to hold overall command. Ogedai wished to lead this army himself, but was talked out of it by the assembly- it was deemed too dangerous an expedition, and  Ogedai’s health may have already declined past being fit for such a trek.       Each of these princes brought the troops attached to their households and appanages, resulting in a massive and diverse army. Common estimates range from 100,000-150,000 men- largely Mongolian and Turkic horse archers, but with an important contingent of Chinese siege engineers. Representatives of other conquered peoples joined them- Tanguts, Uighurs, Khitan, Jurchen, already conquered Qipchaqs and perhaps even Central Asian Iranians. A mainly cavalry army,  speed, maneuverability and overwhelming firepower was its strength, taking advantage of the seemingly unlimited grassland and pasture of the great Eurasian steppe.  We know at one point in the quriltai it was considered to send a vast army of Chinese along with them, but this idea was talked down: Yelu Chucai declared they were unfit to the climate and long march.       A moment must be given to what the strategic goals were. The Qipchaq and Bulghars were obviously targets, with the Rus’ to be punished for allying with them. In general, the western steppe was to be conquered, but beyond that? It’s often said the famous European component of the invasion was an afterthought, little more than a raid, but there is some suggestion that Hungary was a definite target right from the beginning. Most Mongol imperial sources discuss Hungary, or rather, their garbled name representing the Kingdom, as a target from the outset. In the 1220s the Hungarian King, Bela IV, who we will meet in our next episodes, had declared himself King of the Cumans. The Hungarian Kingdom wanted to expand its control over and convert the neighbouring Cumans to Christianity. It’s possible rumour made it down the steppes that the Hungarian King was not the Cuman King in name only, but the actual lord of the Cuman tribes in fact. For the Mongols, who saw the Cuman-Qipchaqs as enemies, this made their “king” a major foe. As they moved west they likely gained more accurate information on him, but in distant Mongolia it was hard to correct that. Beyond that, we have statements from the likes of Friar Julian, who will be introduced below, stating in 1236 that the Mongols intended on attacking Rome. So the army, representing the four branches of the Chinggisid dynasty, had a goal to essentially conquer everything westwards, specifically intending on Europe as a part of this.        After the quriltai, the princes returned to their ordus, [or-doos] to assemble their forces: the various armies marched separately, setting out in spring 1236 to unite on the Kama River on the edge of Volga Bulghar territory.        We are provided an absolutely fascinating perspective from an Hungarian Dominican friar who traveled through Volga Bulgharia on the eve of the Mongol invasion. Called Julian, or sometimes Julianus, he had been sent to find the  Hungarians who remained in their old homeland. In a journey that took him across the steppe, through the Rus’ principalities, and Volga Bulgharia, he arrived east of Volga Bulgharia in what he called Magna Hungaria - “great Hungary,” inhabited by a Ugric people whose language, Julian was astonished to find, was mutually intelligible with his own, despite the 400 years since the Magyars had separated from them to enter the Pannonian Basin. These were the Bashkirs, related to the modern people of the same name in Russia’s Bashkortostan, though the modern descendants have been thoroughly turkicized. More relevant for us, Julian was in Magna Hungaria and Volga Bulgharia while Mongol armies gathered on the Kama River only a few days away. There is a sense that the Bulghars were quite aware of the strength of the Mongol army and the approaching terror, but lacked the manpower to repulse such a horde, leaving them to watch helplessly. During his time there, Julian encountered Mongol envoys  moving ahead of the main army with demands of submission. Julian departed before the Mongol attack on Bulghar, and we are provided no specifics on the fall. The Bulghar cities were well fortified, their army of fine repute, but they had been weakened in recent years by conflict with the Rus’ and Mongols. Over winter 1236, their capital cities were destroyed and the state of Volga Bulgharia ended.       While there, Friar Julian heard that Saqsin, a Turkic city along the lower Volga, had already fallen to them. Indeed, it seems the Mongols made to secure the steppes around the northwestern Caspian before moving onto the Volga Bulghars. This was a region inhabited by the Qipchaq-Olberli-Qanglis of the Cuman-Qipchaq confederation, who had fought the Mongols several times. We have little specific details of this, except for one episode. Many Cuman-Qipchaq peoples fled west before the Mongols, while others submitted, with limited resistance by one individual in particular. This was Bachman of the Olberli Qipchaqs. The ruler of a territory along the Ahktuba, a branch of the lower Volga, Bachman emerged sometime in the late 1220s and early 1230s, trying to organize against the Mongols. The leading Cuman-Qipchaq chiefs had fallen to Jebe and Subutai during their campaign in 1222-1223, leaving few in the Qipchaq steppe with the following or influence to rise up. According to the Yuan Shih, dating from the early Ming Dynasty, part of Subutai’s specific instructions had been to strike down this Qipchap chief. Before the fall of Volga Bulgharia, Subutai advanced with the vanguard ahead of the main and scattered Bachman’s army, somewhere along the Caspian Sea, capturing Bachman’s wife and sons. Subutai then turned back for the Kama River to await the main army before moving onto the Bulghars. Bachman was reduced to irregular warfare with a small following, striking at Mongol parties while fleeing southwards. In early 1237 as the main army under Subutai continued on from the ruins of Volga Bulgharia, Mongke and his half brother Bojek were despatched to hunt Bachman down, each travelling down a bank of the Volga. Finding an old woman left behind by Bachman’s troops who pointed them after him, Mongke and Bojek cornered Bachman on an island in the river. Heaven showed its favour when the winds picked up and pushed the water back to reveal a ford. Crossing rapidly, Mongke and Bojek’s army fell upon the unprepared and outnumbered Bachman, destroying the remnants of his men. Bachman was captured, asking only for the final honour to be killed by Mongke’s own hand. Mongke instead had Bojek cut Bachman in half, essentially putting an end to any form of organized Cuman-Qipchaq resistance to the Mongol advance.        After Bachmann’s death, Mongke and Bojek marched back across the steppe to rejoin the main army, which had stayed busy. The Bashkirs had been dispersed and subjugated, Volga Bulgharia destroyed, the next target being the Mordvins, another Ugric people still extant today, giving their name to the Russian republic of Mordovia. The Mordvins were divided into two principalities; once both under Volga Bulgharian influence, the western had since fallen under the domination of the Rus’. The eastern principality submitted to the Mongols and provided troops; the western made the mistake of resisting and was crushed.        This left the Mongols on the borders of the Rus’ principalities. Halting on the Voronezh River in late summer 1237, Batu and Subutai waited to allow Mongke and Bojek to rejoin them, finalizing their plan of assault, sending envoys to demand submission and waiting for the rivers to freeze in order to cross them. The Rus’ principalities were the divided heirs to the Kievan Rus’; still linguistically and culturally a part of the same heritage and the Riurikid dynasty, but politically each  principality was an independent entity. In the 1230s, the most powerful was the northeastern principality of Vladimir-Suzdal’ under the Grand Duke Yuri Vsevolodovich. While the Volga Bulghars had made efforts to prepare for the Mongol return, it seems the great slaughter on the Kalka River did nothing for the Rus’, who chalked it up to another attack, though a destructive one, by the various nomads of the steppe. Few rumours of the Mongols had reached the Rus’ in the following years, and their return was sudden and unexpected. For Batu’s force, the  closest Rus’ principality was  Ryazan, which bravely, but foolishly, refused to submit. The Princes of Ryazan, Murom and Pronsk sent an army against the Mongols, at the start of winter 1237, which was destroyed near the Voronezh River, the Rus’ horsemen pierced by Mongol arrows.   On December 16th, 1237, Batu’s  armies arrived outside Ryazan, surrounding the city with a stockade. On the 21st of December, the city’s wooden walls were breached by catapult and battering ram, the Mongols pouring in. In the words of the Chronicle of Novgorod, the Mongols “killed the Knyaz and the Knyaginya and men, women, and children, monks, nuns and priests, some by fire, some by the sword, and violated nuns, priests’ wives, good women and girls in the presence of their mothers and sisters.” The slaughter was total and indiscriminate. Grand Duke Yuri was unable, or unwilling to help. Some historians such as Alexander Maiorov have suggested based on the Laurentian Chronicle that Yuri had actually accepted a Mongol demand for submission, having sent back their envoys with gifts. In the Chronicle, Roman Igorevich, the brother of the Prince of Ryazan fled with his druzhina bodyguards, hotly pursued by Mongols, making his way to Kolomna on the Oka River. There he was unexpectedly supported by the commander- an officer of Grand Duke Yuri- who tried to help him. The Mongols won the battle, but one of their generals was killed- Kolgen, a son of Chinggis Khan. The killing of a Chinggisid prince was always cause for horrific retaliation, and even if Yuri had accepted submission, or at least hoped to avoid violence, it was too late. The consequence of Kolgen’s death was the rapid assault and sacking of numerous cities across the northern principalities over spring 1238, among them a small town called Moscow on the 15th of January.    Grand Duke Yuri fled north, his capital of Vladimir falling on February 7th, his family killed in the process. On the 4th of March , Yuri and a small force was caught on the Sit’ River by the Mongol Noyan Boroldai. Yuri was captured and suffered a horrific death the sources could only allude to   Only at Torzhok and Kozel’sk did resistance last weeks. Kozel’sk in particular was a bloody affair, aptly defended under its young prince Vasilko. Batu was unable to force the city for almost two months. At one point a wall was breached and the Mongols rushed it, only to be repulsed. Only when  Qadan and Buri arrived with reinforcements was the city to be taken. Before the city fell in May 1238, the citizenry rushed from the gates in an unexpected charge, taking the Mongols by surprise and inflicting heavy casualties, destroying catapults and killing the sons of three commanders before the Mongols overcame them. According to the Galician-Volhynian Chronicle, the Mongols came to call Kozel’sk “the evil city,” and none dared mention it in their presence. Of the major cities of the northern principalities, only the republic of Novgorod escaped slaughter with the timely submission of its prince, Alexander Nevsky, perhaps aided by the spring melt turning the approaches to the city into marsh and hamphering Mongol advances. Nevsky is most famous today as the victor over the Teutonic Knights at Lake Peipus in 1242, a small victory the Rus’ clung to in an era of devastation. With the onset of warmer weather around May 1238, the Mongols withdrew from northern Rus’ to rest men and horses and take stock of their efforts.   Why did the Rus’ fair so poorly? From December 1237 to May 1238,  the Mongols took the major cities of the northern principalities with few holding out longer than a couple of days. We can boil it down to two main factors. The first being the matter of defenses and weaponry. The defenses of the Rus’ cities were mainly logs on top earthworks, with towers few or non-existent and stone works rare. For catapults designed to bring down the great pounded earth walls of China, such walls provided little defense. Mongol siege techniques were simply far advanced beyond that of the Rus’, where sieges were generally blockades to starve out the inhabitants and catapults exceedingly uncommon. Defenders behind the city walls had nothing to compare to the range of Chinese catapults, leaving them only able to watch as the walls were battered down from afar. Cities and fortresses were, unlike Europe, built on level and approachable ground, making them easy to surround, advance to, and easy to strike with siege machines.    The other cause for the swift Rus’ defeat was the deep fragmentation of the principalities. Princely conflict was tense in the years building up to, and even during, the Mongol invasion,  princes keen to watch their neighbour take the force of the Mongol assault, only to be surprised when they were struck next. In comparison, the Mongols had a mostly unified and effective leadership- though their own princely antagonisms were about to begin to rear their heads. Mongol army units were able to cooperate and move independently from hundreds of kilometres apart, kept in contact with a series of messengers and set timelines to meet. Rather than a massive assemblage moving altogether, the Mongol army split into contingents led by their princes and commanders, units of 1000 darting across Rus’. The sensation within the cities must have been that they were totally surrounded, new parties of Mongols riding to and fro daily, their numbers seemingly endless. Like the cities of the Khwarezmian Empire, the Rus’ cities were basically each left to their own defense, allowing the Mongols to always isolate the enemy and enjoy local superiority in numbers despite the fierceness of the Rus’ garrisons.   By the time Batu ordered the withdrawal for summer 1238, northern Rus’ was devastated. Archaeologically the evidence of the slaughter of men, women and children has sadly corroborated Rus' accoutnts, though the destruction was not as total as commonly portrayed, as Rus’  princes still had military and economic power to continue fighting each other in the following years. Their ability to offer an effective military resistance to the Mongol Empire was broken, and it would be well over a century before the Rus’ could provide a direct military challenge to Mongol forces. Still, not all the principalities were destroyed in this first wave: the south and far western principalities like Chernigov, Kiev, Galicia and Volhynia had not yet been targeted, and the Cuman-Qipchap inhabited steppe between the Caspian and Black Seas still needed to be conquered, the next tasks for Batu and Subutai after their break for summer 1238, and the topic for our next episode, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!

A desperate, starving crowd of thousands presses together, smothering each other in the narrow city streets; defenders clad it broken or hastily repaired lamellar armour hurry to and fro, responding to new alerts along the city walls; the constant thundering of stone slamming into the city walls; the loud cracks of bombs exploding, lobbed into houses by the enemy siege weapons and setting them alite. Screams, some ongoing and others cutting off suddenly, marking where a poor defender, foolish enough to stick his head over the ramparts, was struck by arrows. Outside the city, smoke billowed up enemy sieges machines set on fire by the defender. Beyond them, was the whinnying of tens of thousands of Mongol horses, with Chinese subjects and allies sharpening swords and preparing for the assault. Such was life in the nearly year-long siege of Kaifeng, capital of the Jin Empire and now the target of the Mongol war machine. Today, we look at the final collapse of the Jurchen ruled Jin Dynasty, ending the twenty year long Mongol conquest of Northern China. Victory here laid the groundwork for Mongol war with the masters of southern China, the Song Dynasty, setting the stage for a conflict which would eventually leave the Mongols the rulers of the Middle Kingdom. I’m your host David and this is Ages of Conquest: The Mongol Invasions!        We’ve covered the early stages of the Mongol-Jin war in previous episodes but to give a quick recap. Mongol armies under Chinggis Khan had invaded the Jin Empire in 1211. The Jin, ruled by the Jurchen, hailing from Manchuria and ancestors of the later Manchu, controlled China north of the Huai river and had enjoyed a fearsome military reputation, renowned for their heavy cavalry and horse archers. But after nearly a century of their rule, the semi-nomadic Jurchen in China had adopted Chinese culture and language, losing their formidable military edge. Jin armies were routinely swept away in the field by the Mongols, and those Jurchen and Khitans who still lived as nomads or semi-nomads were soon allied with Chinggis Khan. In 1215, the Emperor Xuanzong of Jin fled south of the Yellow River, abandoning the capital of Zhongdu, now modern Beijing, and cutting ties to his Manchurian homeland. Formerly hardy horsemen, the final emperors of the Jin Dynasty, though still ethnically Jurchen, were now little different from the Chinese. Their armies were now made up of Chinese infantry, having lost most of their access to horse producing regions. Defections from the Jin army early on in the war brought the Mongols knowledge of Chinese siege weapons, and soon the fortifications of northern China were reduced one by one.  When Chinggis Khan moved against the Khwarezmian Empire in 1219, the Jin were granted no respite, as the talented commander Mukhali was left to continue pressure on the Jin. Only Mukhali’s death in 1223 granted the Jin a brief rest, with Mongol attacks for the next few years becoming decidedly more limited.       The Jin had been in an unenviable position from 1215-1223. Mongol pressure in the north was unrelenting and of great concern, bringing the losses of hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians. In the west, the Tangut ruled Xi Xia, former Jin vassals, had submitted to the Mongols and joined them in attacking the Jin. In the east, the Shandong peninsula and surrounding coastline was lost to a local insurrection known as the Red Coats, an umbrella term for a collection of independent warlords, some of whom declared for the Mongols, some who declared for the Song Dynasty, and all hating the Jin. The Chinese Song Dynasty ruled almost all of China south of the Huai river,  and were a formidable economic power as well as being longtime foes of the Jin. Having lost their northern territories, and two emperors, to the Jurchen in the early 1100s, few tears were shed in the Song court for the Jin’s struggles. In 1217 the Jin invaded the Song- a shocking development considering their ongoing military issues, but one with the intention to essentially provide further room to retreat from the Mongols. Fighting continued until 1221, proving both indecisive and wasteful.       1223-1224 provided an unexpected change of events. Beginning with Mukhali’s death, we have the already noted reduction in Mongol pressure. Though Mukhali’s son and brother continued to campaign, it was without Tangut military support, as their forces had abandoned Mukhali in his final days. Furthermore, Chinggis Khan was still absent in Central Asia, though making his return. This was the first real breathing room northern China had experienced in well over a decade. In the first days of 1224, the Emperor Xuanzong of Jin died, succeeded by his third son Ningjiasu (Ning-ji-asu), known also by his chosen Chinese personal name, Wanyan Shouxi (Wan-yan Shou-shi), Wanyan being the royal clan of the Jurchen Jin.    25 years old on his ascension, Ningjiasu (Ning-ji-asu) was the closest the Jin came to a competent monarch since the death of Shizong of Jin in 1189. More evenhanded and thoughtful than Xuanzong (shuan-zong) of Jin, and more competent than the arrogant and inept Wei Shao Wang, had Ningjiasu taken the throne at any other time, he may have enjoyed a fine reputation. However, he was unable to arrest the collapse of his state, and would die only a few hours before the end of his dynasty. In life, rulers of Chinese-style dynasties are simply known as ‘the Emperor,’ and prior to the Ming Dynasty, would take era titles to delineate certain years of their reign. After their deaths, they are all given posthumous temple names, such as ‘Taizu’ for dynastic founders. Xuanzong of Jin was the posthumous title for Ningjiasa’s father, whose personal name had been Wudubu. Wudubu’s predecessor was so hated he was posthumously demoted from emperor to prince, and hence known as the Prince of Wei, or Wei Shao Wang. The posthumous temple name given to Ningjisau was Aizong, meaning, ‘pitiable ancestor.’ His Chinese personal name, Shouxu (Shou-szhu), was also turned into a pun by the Mongols, as it sounded similar to “little slave.”        Aizong of Jin, as we’ll call him had a promising start to his reign. Both the Tangut and Song emperors died in similar time, and Aizong quickly set about organizing peace between them, though no military cooperation came of this. Able to redistribute troops against the Mongols and Red Coats, the Jin also began to receive horses in trade from the Tangut. Seeking to inprove relations with the Mongols, on Chinggis Khan’s death Aizong even sent envoys bearing formal condolences to the Mongols, though they were turned away. Jin forces were able to reoccupy some territory and strengthen fortifications. As we mentioned earlier, Xuanzong of Jin had moved the capital from Zhongdu to Kaifeng in 1215. Though a foolhardy decision which brought Mongol armies back into China, it wasn’t strategically awful. Kaifeng, in the central Henan province, had been the capital of the Song Dynasty before captured by the Jurchen in the early 12th century. With massive walls, a large population and rich hinterland, the city itself was difficult to siege. Unlike Zhongdu, which was situated comparatively close to Mongolia, Kaifeng was sheltered behind the Yellow River, fordable only at select, and guarded, points. Any passage directly over the river could prove highly costly. The Mongols would thus be more inclined to ford the river further along its great bend towards the Ordos, allowing them to make an approach to the west of the city. This would bring them into mountainous territory in Shaanxi (Shaan-shi) province to Henan’s west, the passage between these provinces guarded by the fortress of Tongguan. Bordered by mountains and possessing a strong garrison, either Tongguan would have to be forced by a costly siege, or bypassed entirely by cutting south through the territory of the now neutral Song Dynasty. Indeed, this was advice Chinggis Khan was said to have given his sons on his deathbed. But since peace had now been reached between Jin and Song, it was impossible to say if they would allow Mongol troops through their country unimpeded.       Such was the problem Ogedai faced when he became Khan in 1229. Ogedai was not the military equal of his father or brothers, and to quiet questions of how fit he was to succeed his famous father, he needed to complete the conquest of the Jin. Growing bolder through the recapture of their cities, defeats of small Mongol parties and absence of any major offensives for some years, the Jin would be a test of worthiness for the new Khan. Weeks after becoming Khan, Ogedai sent an army against the Jin, perhaps to test the waters. A Mongol army of  8,000 under Doqulqu (do-khul-khu) entered Shaanxi (Shaan-shi) at the end of 1229, besieging Qingyangfu (Ching-yang-foo). After a failed Jin peace embassy, a relief force was raised under the commander Pu’a with a vanguard of the “Loyal and Filial Army.” Pu’a was a bit of a rapscallion who had led raids into Mongol occupied territory for several years, looting and carrying off captured horses and provisions, then withdrawing before Mongol forces could catch him. Through his habit of playing up minor skirmishes like they were great victories, he had earned a reputation for skill against the Mongols, though whether it was deserved was another matter. The ‘Loyal and Filial Army,’ which Pu’a had been associated with for years also had an unsavoury, though effective, reputation. Made up of deserters and captives from the Mongols it included northern Chinese, Uighurs, Naiman, Tanguts and the odd Qipchaq, these were mounted units specializing in Mongol tactics. Paid three times that of normal soldiers, to encourage defections from the diverse Mongol armies, by the 1230s this was a crack force of 7,000. Often undisciplined and unruly, they proved effective at plundering and were fine horse archers- one of Pu’a commanders, Chenheshang (Chen-hae-shang) commanded a 1,000 strong vanguard of these men.        At Dachangyuan (da-chang-yuan) in January-February 1230, Pu’a drew Doqulqu’s (Do-hool-hoo’s) force up for battle. Chenheshang led the Loyal and Filial Army as vanguard, and for the first time in the nearly 20 years of war, the Jin defeated the Mongols in open battle. After the battle, Pu’a released a captured Mongol envoy, and sent him to Ogedai with a simple message: “We’ve got all our soldiers and horses ready- come on over and fight!” Soon afterwards, Pu’a, Chanheshang and the general Hada defeated  a Mongol army investing Weizhou on the northern bank of the Yellow River in Henan.        Ogedai was furious and frightened. Doqolqu (do-khul-khu) was removed from command  and possibly poisoned. Pu’a’s boast, followed by actual Jin victories coupled with peace between Jin and Song, made the new Khan very nervous. Naysayers within his own court who whispered how the more militaristic Tolui, Ogedai’s younger brother, should have been Khan, saw this as signs of Heaven’s displeasure. Ogedai tried to quiet these whispers by saying this was like the candle flaring up before it goes out, while at the same time raising a large army to personally lead against the Jin. It should be noted that details of this campaign are often contradictory, with later authors hiding details due to the Mongol defeats suffered in the campaign. The reconstruction which will follow is based on the work of historian Dr. Christopher Atwood, and his fantastic article on Doqulqu’s death.        Ogedai set out in early 1231, praying for nine days to Eternal Blue Heaven for victory. His solution to the described defenses of the Jin- the wide and fast moving Yellow River guarding the north, the neutral Song border to the south and the fortress of Tongguan protecting the west, was to bring the full might of his army against Tongguan, to force it or bypass it.       Up to 100,000 men in Ogedai’s army, including his brother Tolui, the general Subutai freshly recalled from the western steppe, and Mongols, Khitans, Uighurs and subject Chinese, marched into Shaanxi province, already suffering from a severe famine. With such a large army and limited resource available, Ogedai needed to find a way through Tongguan quickly. The Jin commanders, Pu’a and Hada, pulled all their available troops out of Shaanxi before the Mongol advance in order to reinforce Tongguan, and it quickly became apparent that an assault on the fort would be costly and lengthy.    An attempt by Ogedai’s adopted brother Shigi Qutuqu (shi-gi hoo-too-hoo) to draw the Jin defenders into a feigned retreat resulted in heavy Mongol losses, the Jin refusing to leave the safety of their fortifications. Subutai for his part, was able to find a route through the hills south of Tongguan, and seemed likely to outflank the fort. However, his forces became spread too thin during the rough voyage, and a counterattack led by Chenheshang and 1,000 of the Loyal and Filial Troops defeated Subutai at Daohuigu (dao-hui-goo). Subutai and part of his force returned, humbled, to Ogedai, who was so furious he threatened to totally remove him from command, and was only restrained by Tolui. The Mongols withdrew from Tongguan, besieging the large city of Fenxiangfu. The city fell in May 1231, 400 catapults concentrating on one corner of the walls. Despite this victory, Ogedai’s mood was little improved, and lambasted his generals, saying “If Mukhali were alive, I would not have had to come here myself!”       Struggling to support the large army in famine stricken Shaanxi, Ogedai ordered a withdrawal to Inner Mongolia for summer 1231 and replan the assault. There, Tolui suggested a plan which their father had discussed in his final days, bypassing Tongguan by going through Song territory and arriving deep behind Jin defenses. Ogedai agreed, ordering Tolui and Subutai to take their tumens on this flanking maneuver. Meanwhile, Ogedai and the main army would attempt a crossing of the Yellow River, while a smaller force under Ochin Noyan was to try the end of the Yellow River in Shandong, guarding Ogedai from encirclement. The plan was for their armies to act as a giant pincer, striking Kaifeng from the north and southwest simultaneously, Tolui coming up behind enemy lines and preventing the Jin from marshalling all of their forces on a single army.         Nothing started off to plan. While Ogedai’s force was held up by a long siege at Hezhongfu (Hay-zhong-foo) in their effort to cross the Yellow River, early indications were that the Song would not cooperate with Tolui. At the start of 1231 the Song had killed Li Quan, the Mongol’s Red Coat ally in Shandong. Also, the envoy sent at the end of summer to request passage through Song territory had disappeared. Entering into the Song empire without their approval could mean Tolui would face resistance or an army. If Tolui was bogged down fighting Song troops, he would be unable to rendezvous with Ogedai, leaving his brother isolated. Much of Tolui’s army had been in famine stricken Shaanxi, or relocated to the barren Qinling mountains during summer 1231- lacking resources to feed perhaps 20-30,000 men, medieval authors speak of cannibalism occurring here. They could hardly eat the horses they needed for war, afterall. These starving men faced a difficult ride through hostile territory, beyond which  they needed to return to the Jin realm with strength and numbers to fight.            It is testament to Tolui’s military ability that he kept his men together through this hard ride through mountainous territory. Once they reached the Song border in November 1231, Tolui allowed his men a month of pillaging across Sichuan. This Song province was rich, fertile and untouched by the two decades of Mongol-Jin warfare, a chance for Tolui’s men to regain strength, morale and fatten their horses. It also showcased a noted weakness of the Song border defenses- Tolui’s troops travelled over 290 kilometres into Song territory before turning back. This was not the first occasion of Mongol-Song warfare: a brief clash had occurred in 1227 during the destruction of the Tangut Kingdom when Mongol forces attacking the western edge of the Jin empire had gone over the border and raided Song prefectures. The Chief Councillor of the Song Dynasty, Shih Mi-yuan, in power since 1208, was as cautious and pragmatic as he was unpopular in the empire, and he was very unpopular. Neither clash was enough for him to send Song Chinese to die at Mongol hands, and he didn’t let Tolui’s raid escalate into a full military response. Tolui was thus able to enter the southern flank of Jin ruled Henan province in January 1232.       The Jin were panicking now, and Pu’a and Hada rapidly withdrew the garrisons of Tongguan to catch Tolui. At Sanfeng mountain, Tolui and Subutai found themselves surrounded by multiple converging Jin forces under Pu’a and Hada. Pu’a sent a message to Tolui which, in the words of the Ilkhanid vizier Rashid al-Din, the Jin threatened to “do this and that to their women folk.” The actual message was certainly not so polite, and Tolui bristled at this. Surrounded, the Mongols were in a tough position. Aid came from an unexpected direction, as it suddenly began to snow forcefully, a blizzard mixed with hail. Subutai reminded Tolui that they were facing soft men from cities and small villages- the Mongols, used to harsh winters on the open steppe, put on their winter coats and waited on their horses. The Jin troops were unprepared for the early February storm, and for four days they froze and suffered. On the fourth day, deciding their enemy was suitably weakened, Tolui ordered the assault. Racing down the mountain side, the Mongols cut into the Jin and obliterated them, Pu’a and Hada both captured. As punishment for their threat to rape the Mongol women, we are told the Mongols sodomized the captured Jin troops, and made a huge mound of severed ears from the slain.    The defeat at Sanfang mountain and capture of their best generals marked the end of the Jin Dynasty’s offensive capabilities. Ogedai pushed through the northern defenses, and was soon reunited with his brother. Subutai was given overall command of the army while Ogedai and Tolui returned to Mongolia,  possibly because Ogedai had fallen quite ill.  In April 1232, Subutai began the siege of Kaifeng, a noose which took almost a year to tighten.   Ogedai  and Tolui returned to Mongolia. Precisely what occurred is unclear, but by the end of 1232 Tolui was dead. The ‘official’ verison in the Secret History of the Mongols had Ogedai fall deathly ill, and Tolui urges the spirits to take him instead, sacrificing himself for his brother- but mention of him drinking  a ‘special  brew’ prepared for him have fueled rumours that Ogedai in fact had his brother poisoned. The problem with this theory is that it relies too strongly on later antagonism between the heirs of Ogedai and Tolui. By all accounts the two brothers were extremely close, and later editing to what became the Secret History of the Mongols by Tolui’s sons may have chosen to portray their father more heroically, and by villianizing Ogedai, helped justify their eventual ascension to the throne. Other writers like Juvaini say Tolui drank himself to death. Since this was the fate Ogedai, and numerous other Mongolian princes, shared, this is rather likely. Ogedai Khaan lost his closest companion late in 1232, a loss from which he never recovered.   Back at Kaifeng, Subutai led a brutal siege. The city, so flooded with refugees that it held over 1 million people, was totally blockaded, starvation and pandemic setting in over the summer of 1232. Gunpowder weapons were used by both sides in the form of bombs lobbed by catapults, and in fire-lances by the Jin. Essentially a flame thrower, fire-lances shot a jet of fire three metres long, burning men to death horrifically and were used to effectively block breaches in the walls. You can see this in action in episode 10, season 1, of Netflix’s Marco Polo. Subutai tried various means to breach the walls of Kaifeng, but the city was skillfully defended. Sappers would approach the walls under mobile shelters, with the intention to physically dig through them. Jin defenders dropped bombs onto them, destroying both shelter and attackers. Dykes on the Yellow River were broken, flooding the plain and the city.    This resistance was valiant, but ultimately doomed. The Jin leadership was chaotic, with individuals promoted, then demoted and executed within days for perceived slights or on suspicion of treachery. Finally, in February 1233 Aizong of Jin abandoned the city with some loyal guards, leaving it to its fate. One commander left in Kaifeng, Cui Li (Tsui Li),  assassinated those still loyal to Aizong, leaving himself in control. Realizing the only way to spare the population was a voluntary surrender, on 29 May 1233 Cui Li (Tzui Li) opened the gates to Subutai. Ogedai was urged to mercy by the protests of his adviser Yelu Chucai, and Subutai was restricted to plundering, killing only 500 members of the royal Wanyan clan who were still in the city. Cui Li for his efforts was assassinated by another Jin officer, in response for an offense Cui Li had committed to the man’s wife.   By August 1233, Aizong of Jin and his ever decreasing retinue fled to Caizhou (Tsai-zhou), only 64  kilometres from the Song border. Aizong’s messages to the Song for aid, warning them they would be the next target of the Mongols, fell on deaf ears. The Song agreed to cooperate with the Mongols against the Jin, closing off Aizong’s route of escape. By November 1233, a Song army joined Subutai outside Caizhou. Caizhou was reduced to starvation, but its defenders fought tooth and nail, inflicting heavy casualties. But there could be no other end now.   As Mongol-Song forces filled in a nearby lake with bundles of reeds and sticks to gain access to the city in February 1234, Aizong declared he would not be remembered as the last Jin Emperor. He abdicated for a distant relation, a man in better shape who Aizong faintly hoped would escape and continue to resist. Barely had Aizong hanged himself and the new emperor been enthroned when the Mongols had broken through the walls. On the 9th of February, 1234, the final emperor of the Jin Dynasty died fighting in the streets alongside his men, having reigned only a few hours. So ended the Jurchen Jin Dynasty, controlling north China for a little over a century. Despite defections, defeats and numerous other setbacks, both Jurchen and Chinese alike showed loyalty to the Dynasty to the very end. Few other kingdoms had suffered the full might of the Mongols as the Jin had, and it was not an easy conquest. In 400 years, the descendants of the Jurchen, the Manchu, would come to rule both the Mongols and the Chinese, but that’s quite another story.   The Mongol-Song alliance barely outlasted the Jin. Subutai moved north with his armies not long afterwards, eager for discussions on where to take them next. The Song commander in the region, Meng Gung, withdrew as well, the devastated Henan province no place to keep an army fed. Aside from a few sites, most of the area, including Kaifeng, stayed in Mongol hands.    As we’ve noted earlier, Kaifeng had once been a capital of the Song Dynasty before it fell to the Jurchen. Long had voices in the Song clamoured to reclaim the north. Chief Councillor Shih Mi-yuan had kept these hawks in check during his long administration, but his death in late 1233 left a vacuum, one the feeble Emperor Lizong of Song could not fill. Those Song officials and commanders who had firsthand experience of conditions in the north and against the Mongols knew what a foolhardy thought a campaign there would be, and understood the limits of the Song army, an army which had never performed well offensively against either the Khitan Liao or Jurchen Jin. However, Song generals who had won battles against the Red Coats and had been uninvolved with the Caizhou campaign were ecstatic at news of the destruction of the Jin, and immediately urged war.    Assuming the local Chinese would happily rise up and supply them, two Song armies marched into Henan in summer 1234, walking into the undefended Kaifeng and Loyang, the birthplace of the founder of the Song Dynasty- and found a population hardly able to feed itself, let alone an entire army. So expectant of a gracious local population, the Song armies had brought provisions for only two weeks. Their men refused to advance further, and a retreat began… just as Mongol forces returned to deal with the incursion. The Song army at Loyang was ambushed and almost totally destroyed. For a campaign that had lasted barely a month, the Song had unwittingly began what was to be a 40 year long war resulting in the destruction of their own Dynasty.   Rather inconclusive Mongol-Song warfare continued for the rest of Ogedai’s reign- much of the Mongol armies freed up from the fall of the Jin were sent to conquer the far west. This early Mongol-Song conflict did cost the life of one of Ogedai’s sons and designated heir, Kochu, in 1236. This was perhaps the final blow to Ogedai’s interest in anything other than alcoholism, which consumed his final years even as his armies under Subutai blazed into Europe. But we’ll return to those years of Ogedai’s  reign in future episodes. Our next episode will discuss the  continued Mongol expansion into the Middle East in the 1230s, led by Chormaqun Noyan (chor-ma-huun Noyan) against the Khwarezmian prince Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Positive reviews on Apple Podcasts, Stitcher or any other podcast catcher of your choice are also greatly appreciated. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!

We’ve now covered Chinggis Khan’s conquest of much of the Jin Dynasty and the Khwarezmian Empire, leaving him with an empire stretching from the Caspian Sea to the Pacific Ocean. With the defeat of Jalal al-Din Mingburnu on the borders of India at the end of 1221, Chinggis Khan began the long journey back to his homeland- much of this trip being discussed on our last episode where we also discussed the Khan meeting the Taoist, Qiu Chuji (Chee-u Chu-ji). Chinggis Khan was certainly returning to his native steppe with an idea for continued campaigning in north China, hoping to deliver the death blow to the Jin Dynasty. In his absence, his general Mukhali, supported by Tangut forces, had been left to maintain pressure on the Jin until the Khan’s return. Mukhali’s death in 1223 unravelled this plan, as it was followed by the ascension of new Jin and Tangut rulers who organized peace between their respective empires. The treachery of his erstwhile vassals, the Tangut, had to be punished, while the succession of the aging Chinggis had yet to be settled. Now, let us discuss the final years of Chinggis Khan! I’m your host David and this is the Ages of Conquest Podcast: The Mongol Invasions!       By the 1220s, Chinggis Khan was in his sixties, having lived a long and difficult life. In the almost  20 years since he had unified the Mongols, a generation of new warriors had known nothing but his rule. The thought that Chinggis even could die must have seemed impossible to many: the great success of the Khwarezm campaign had only demonstrated how Chinggis Khan was Heaven’s chosen, and surely he was destined to conquer the remainder of the world. His impending demise however, was something his top advisers were concerned over, and all knew the tendency for nomadic confederations to fragment on the ruler’s death. You will recall that Chinggis himself had taken advantage of  the division of the Naiman Khanate between Tayang and Buiruk after their father’s death in the 1190s. If the Secret History of the Mongols is to be believed, the matter was brought up and settled on the eve of the Khwarezmian campaign- so in 1219, though other sources have it settled as late as on Chinggis’ deathbed. It’s possible it was something dealt with in stages.       Though Chinggis had God knows how many children with likely hundreds of lesser wives and concubines, there were only four choices over who would become Khan after his death, those born of his first and chief wife, Borte Khatun. The eldest of these was Jochi [Зүчи, Züchi]. A skilled hunter and capable commander, infamously, Jochi was born after Borte’s abduction by Merkits in the 1180s. A haze therefore always hung over Jochi’s legitimacy, and though Chinggis Khan always publicly treated Jochi as his own, his second son Chagatai [Цагадай] utterly refused to. Perhaps two years Jochi’s junior, Chagatai was stern, a strict enforcer of his father’s laws, and had an intense dislike for his elder brother. Possibly by encouraging rumour of Jochi’s illegitimacy, Chagatai hoped to increase his own chances of succeeding their father. Their conflict escalated and resulted in Chinggis removing both from succeeding him as Great Khan, a decision made easier by Jochi’s untimely death in 1225. The sources are unclear as to the reasons for his death and cite anything from illness, to injuries from a hunting accident, to rumours that he was poisoned by Chinggis himself. Chinggis allowed Jochi’s sons to inherit their father’s territory, with Jochi’s second son, Batu, succeeding him.       The other two options to succeed Chinggis were his third and fourth sons, Ogedai [Өгэдэй] and Tolui [Тулуй]. Both were notable alcoholics, even by Mongolian standards but where Tolui built himself a reputation as a ruthless military commander, Ogedai was famously generous and conciliatory, a man capable of reaching compromise between the many loud voices of the empire. Unlike the less flexible Chagatai and Tolui, Chinggis anticipated Ogedai as having a head for establishing an actual administration, rather than just expansion. Indeed, the intention may have been for Ogedai to be a ruler, not just a conqueror, though he would undoubtedly do that. If we are to believe the account in the Secret History of the Mongols, Chagatai himself suggested Ogedai as the best choice from among them.    Chinggis Khan returned to Mongolia in spring 1225 in what was to be a short stay in the land of his birth. As we’ve already mentioned, the general Mukhali, with Tangut support, had campaigned against the Jin Dynasty while Chinggis was subduing the Khwarezmian Empire. With Mukhali’s death in early 1223, the Mongol offensive in China lost its impetus, though his son and brother continued to campaign. The Tangut abandoned the war, which was both hugely expensive and unpopular within their kingdom. In similar time, the Jurchen emperor Xuanzong (shu-an-zong) of Jin died, succeeded by Aizong (Ai-zong) of Jin, and the Tangut king was forced to abdicate by his son, Weiming Dewang (Way-ming De-wang).    With the slate wiped clean and the great Khan still in Central Asia, the Jin and Tangut entered into negotiations and proclaimed a peace treaty and fraternal relations in 1225- a treaty with no provisions for military assistance, mind you. Organizing their own peace treaty with the Jin Dynasty was, of course, an open refutation of the Great Khan’s mandate, the culmination of a defiant trend that had started with their refusal to supply troops in 1219.   Sitting comfy in our armchairs 800 years later with the benefit of hindsight, we know what a foolish decision this was. There was some sense to it from the Tangut point of view though. With Mukhali’s death and Chinggis still distant in the west, the Tangut gambled that the high tide of the Mongols had passed, the aging Chinggis Khan burning out the last of his energies in Central Asia. The known tendency for nomadic confederations to splinter on their founder’s demise, and the vast breadth of the Mongol Empire could have brought hopes of an approaching Mongolian civil war and breathing room for the Tangut. It turns out, this was not a good gamble.    On his return to Mongolia in 1225, Chinggis Khan sent messengers  to the Tangut court demanding they send a royal hostage to reaffirm their vassalage- an act the proud Tangut had never partaken in before. Mongol sources have the Tangut refuse to provide this hostage, and thus brought on Mongol wrath.  However, we have two very rare and precious Tangut documents- a commander’s report dated to 1225, and an early 14th century ritual song- which say the Tangut did provide a royal hostage, a prince who was less than 10 years old who the Mongols promptly murdered. That this killing went unmentioned in Mongolian documents makes sense. Killing a royal hostage, an envoy, a child, was not a good look, especially when unprovoked and even more when the Mongols tried using it to justify the invasion and destruction. If true, perhaps Chinggis Khan was already set on attacking the Tangut, intending to use their refusal as casus belli, not anticipating they might actually comply. That the Tangut actually did send a child took the Mongol leadership by surprise and made it hard to justify an invasion- so they killed the boy, spread rumours the Tangut had refused, and proceeded with their invasion.   In winter 1225, Chinggis Khan left Mongolia for what would be the final time, marching at the head of an army into the Tangut Kingdom in January  1226. In these months according to the Secret History of the Mongols, Chinggis Khan fell from his horse while hunting wild asses- the second such fall he suffered, with one a few years earlier mentioned in our episode on Qiu Chuji. This fall however was more serious. The elderly Khan developed a fever and was bedridden, and his captains argued that the army should fall back to allow Chinggis to recover. The Tangut in their pounded-earth walls would not be going anywhere. Chinggis refused,  instead ordering a final set of envoys to meet the Tangut and based off the response they received, Chinggis would decide if they should retreat.   Chinggis’ messengers reached the Tangut Emperor, called Burqan (Bur-chan) by the Mongols, and shared the Khan’s message, as per the account in the Secret History of the Mongols.   “... you, Burqan (Bur-chan), did not keep your promise and did not give me troops, but came out with  mocking words. As I was moving in a different direction at the time, I said that I would call you to account later. I set out against [Khwarezm] and being protected by Eternal Heaven I brought them duly under submission. Now I have come to call Burqan to account for his words.”       Before the emperor could reply, the minister Asa Gambu spoke up, the man who had issued the rebuff to Mongol requests for troops in 1219, and the same man dominating and leading the anti-Mongol faction in the Tangut court:   “I spoke the mocking words. As for now, if you Mongols, who are used to fighting, say, ‘Let us fight!’, then turn towards the [Alashan mountains] and come to me, for I have an encampment in the [Alashan].”       When the messengers came to Chinggis with Asa Gambu’s response, the injured Khan made this declaration:   “This is enough! When one lets oneself be addressed so boastfully, how can one withdraw? Even if we die let us challenge their boasts!... Eternal heaven, you be the judge!”    Thus did Chinggis Khan, suffering from internal injuries, remount his horse and ride into his final campaign. He had used his time wisely, developing a simple, perfectly executed strategy to ruin the Tangut. The western territory of the Tangut was taken methodically, preventing these garrisons from reuniting at the capital. Then, Mongol armies cut east, coming up behind the Alashan mountains and bypassing the defensive passes which had proved so troublesome in 1209. With their armies situated between the Tangut capital of Zhongxing and the Jin Empire, the Mongols cut the Tangut off from possible Jin support, investing the city while they reduced the other Tangut holdouts in the east of the kingdom.       Everything went according to plan. The fortress of Qara-qoto, famous ruins today, fell in February 1226, and the western settlements fell in perfect succession. Tanguts in Mongol service at times managed to prevent slaughter or reached negotiated surrenders, but the bloodbath could not be averted. By that autumn, entire districts were surrendering to the Mongols, and then Tangut emperor died suddenly, supposedly of fright. The reign of the kinsman who succeeded him was short and chaotic, watching helplessly as the 200 year old Tangut kingdom was reduced to an ever shrinking strip of land around the capital.       In winter 1226 Chinggis was outside Lingzhou (Ling-zho), northeast of Zhongxing (Zhong-shing). A Tangut army was sent from the capital, a desperate final gamble to kill the Khan and end the invasion. When the Yellow River froze, Chinggis Khan crossed the river and destroyed  the army- the final field battle Chinggis Khan seems to have commanded in person. An army was then ordered to invest the Tangut capital, while Chinggis moved to the kingdom’s southeast, to Lintao, to mop up those untouched cities and act as guard should Jin reinforcements come. By spring 1227, Chinggis had secured most of the region, but the injuries sustained the year prior had not gone away. Whatever the injury had been, the year of campaign had prevented it from healing properly. Perhaps ribs had been broken in the fall and been unable to heal, and now infection was setting in, the Khan’s old body failing him. To avoid the approaching heat of summer, and have a chance to rest, Chinggis made  his encampment high in the valleys of the Liupan (Leeo-pan) mountains. It was here that the Khan spent the last months of his life.        The order of events of the Khan’s final month, August 1227, are highly contradicted among the historical sources. Zhongxing (Zhong-shing) resisted for 6 months before it finally surrendered in July or August, the Tangut ruler asking for a month to prepare gifts for the Khan. When Weiming Xian (Way-ming Shian) came to surrender before the Khan’s ger in August, he was forced to stand outside his ger for three days- quite likely because Chinggis Khan had already died.       What exactly killed Chinggis Khan goes unspecified in the Secret History of the Mongols, though it strongly suggests it was related to the injury from his earlier fall. By then, Chinggis was in his late sixties and had gone through a life of injuries and rigour. Complications from internal injuries at that age in this period would hardly be an unusual way to die. Chinggis is recorded as ordering the time, the cause of his death and the very fact of it to remain secret: had news of it reached the Tangut too early, they could have found new courage to continue and brought renewed resistance. Furthermore, dying before the campaign was actually completed could have been interpreted as heaven rescinding its favour. Coupled with Mongolian taboos about discussing death, it’s almost a wonder we even learned he died at all!    His generals proved loyal to him until the very end and succeeded in keeping his death a secret. The true details around it were only known to a select audience of his commanders and family. The problem with this reasonable enough explanation is that it just wasn’t sexy enough for the rumour mills of Asia, and in the absence of an official explanation, we are provided with a litany of different variations in every medieval source which mentions it. The Persian writers Juvaini, Rashid al-Din and the Ming era Yuan shi speak of illness aggravated by the climate while the Syriac writer Bar Hebraues specified malaria. The Franscian Friar John de Plano Carpini thought Chinggis was killed by lightning and Marco Polo said Chinggis died of infection from a Tangut arrow to the knee; he used to be an adventurer, after all. A later Mongolian tradition from the 17th century said that Chinggis was severely injured during coitus with a captured Tangut princess, Gurblechin, who had… ‘cleverly’  hidden a knife in her body somewhere. We’ll let you fill in the blanks on that one.   Whatever the specifics, Chinggis Khan died in August 1227, with August 18th or 25th commonly given dates in the sources. The Tangut king was left standing for three days, for which the Mongols gave him the ironic name of ‘Sidurqu,’ (shid-ur-hoo) meaning ‘upright.’ With Sidurqu’s (shid-ur-hoo’s) death, Mongol forces rode down upon the unsuspecting Zhongxing, which was subject to fire and plunder. Though some were rescued by Tanguts in Mongol service, Zhongxing was obliterated, the vast pyramidal tombs of the Tangut kings looted and stripped of their tiles. These still stand today, barren, eroding memorials to a lost kingdom.         The Secret History of the Mongols treats the Tangut with nothing but scorn, this passage illustrating this:   “After he had plundered the Tang’ut people and, making Iluqu Burqan change his name to Sidurqu, had done away with him, and after having exterminated the Tang’ut people’s mothers and fathers down to the offspring of their offspring, maiming and taming, Chinggis Khan gave the following order: ‘While I take my meals you must talk about the killing and destruction of the Tang’ut and say, ‘Maimed and tamed, they are no more.’”   The Tangut Kingdom ceased to exist in August 1227, an escort for Chinggis Khan to the   afterlife. Temujin had entered the world clutching a blood clot in his fist, and Chinggis Khan left it with the blood of kingdoms on his hands. The Tangut people were scattered, their official records burned along with Zhongxing. It was not however a total genocide, as we know several Tangut cities surrendered without issue, with communities spread across China and the Mongol Empire. Tanguts would actually enjoy higher ranking than even Khitans and Jurchen under the Yuan Dynasty later in the century, as the Tangut were seen as less sinicized than them!       Chinggis Khan’s body was, according to contemporary accounts, returned to Mongolia beside an honour guard, buried most likely on mount Burkhan Khaldun, the mountain which had provided him shelter in his childhood and not far from his place of birth. The grave was kept small and hidden, trees supposedly planted to hide it, and the entire region placed under guard and forbidden to enter. Even today, the area is called the ikh Khorig, the great taboo, and only the most limited of non-intrusive scientific surveys have been undertaken in the area. There are of course other variations to the story, such as the caravan becoming stuck in the Ordos desert. In the Ordos during the Qing Dynasty a shrine was built to honour the Khan’s spirit, the cause of some misconception today that he was literally buried there. Other rumours mentioned the killing of every individual the funeral cortege came across. Human sacrifice is not mentioned with Chinggis’ immediate burial, but a few years later his son Ogedai sent 40 maidens for his father’s soul. Beyond that, we know almost nothing about the details: inference based off of what we know of the burials of later Khans are hard to apply to Chinggis, as these later burials had influence from sedentary cultures, though many Mongols Khans and notables would be buried on Burkhan Khaldun in the following two centuries.       So ends the life of Chinggis Khan, founder of the Mongol Empire, conqueror of much of Eurasia and flail of God. His death was met by sorrow among his people, cheers from peoples across Asia, and bated breath by the empire’s neighbours, waiting to see what would come next. Chinggis’ third son, Ogedai, was to succeed his father, inheriting a powerful, experienced and loyal army staffed by generals and officers who believed it was their destiny to ride over everything under the Eternal Blue Sky.    Once a young boy abandoned by his tribe, Chinggis had over time forged his people into a weapon, by the end of his life approaching the status of a demi-god among them. Today, Mongolians cherish him as the founder of their nation, and his reign was a turning point in Eurasian history. Kingdoms across the world were washed away by his armies, and an unprecedented era of Eurasia integration was to be ushered in his successors. Could Ogedai live up to Chinggis’ legacy, or would he be lost in the shadow of a man which could blot out the sun?  The continued expansion of the Mongol Empire is the topic of our next episodes, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are unable to help financially but still want us to support us, it would be highly appreciated if you can leave a positive review on Apple Podcasts to help us grow and bring you more Mongols. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!

“Heaven has abandoned China owing to its haughtiness and extravagant luxury. But I, living in the northern wilderness, have not inordinate passions. I hate luxury and exercise moderation. I have only one coat and one food. I eat the same food and am dressed in the same tatters as my humble herdsmen. I consider the people my children, and take an interest in talented men as if they were my brothers. We always agree in our principles, and we are always united by mutual affection. At military exercises I am always in the front, and in time of battle am never behind. In the space of seven years I have succeeded in accomplishing a great work, and uniting the whole world in one empire. I have not myself distinguished qualities.”       So opens a letter from Chinggis Khan in 1219. Though he did not write it himself, as no evidence suggests he ever learned to read or write, he may have dictated much of what was written down. Emphasizing his nomadic background and lifestyle, his military qualities and extreme humility, it’s easy to imagine this as part of the many ultimatums the Mongols sent to rulers across the world, demanding their submission by the will of Eternal Blue Heaven. However, this was not sent to any monarch, but a Taoist sage, and the letter goes on to describe the graces of one Qiu Chuji, begging him to come and provide his wisdom- and the secret to eternal life- to Chinggis Khan. The elderly Qiu Chuji agreed, and made the difficult journey from northern China, through Mongolia and Central Asia to finally meet Chinggis Khan in what is now modern Afghanistan. In this episode, we’ll relay to you one of the lesser known, but most intriguing episodes in the life of history’s greatest conqueror. Not a military campaign, but a religious discussion, one which illuminates some of the personality of Chinggis Khan. I’m your host David…       As always, context is key! In thirteenth century China, the three most noteworthy belief systems were Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism. Their history, and how they intertwined and affected one another, is fascinating but far beyond the scope of this episode. Each strongly influenced daily life and government in China, had done so for centuries and still does today. They were not monolithic belief systems, nor singular ecceleisatical entities like the Roman Catholic Church, and various sects and trends impacted each of  these systems over their combined millenia of adherence. What interests us in this episode is a sect of Taoism which combined elements of Buddhist and Confucian thought that emerged in the mid 12th century, the Quanzhen sect, meaning ‘complete realization’ or ‘complete perfection.’ Founded by Wang Zhe, a man who historical commentators have defined more for his eccentricity than sanctity, the Quanzhen quickly became associated with prolonging life, perhaps indefinitely, through controlling one's internal alchemy, which includes among other things, total celibacy. Thus the Quanzhen leadership, among them Qiu Chuji, were invited to the Jurchen Jin capital of Zhongdu in 1188 to share their knowledge with the ailing emperor, Shizong of Jin. The fact that Jin Shizong died the next year, and that Wang Zhe had died in 1170 at age 57, did little to dispel the association.        Qiu Chuji was among Wang Zhe’s earliest disciples, and after the master’s death, became one of the sects leading figures, eventually earning the title of Master Changchun. After Shizong of Jin’s death, Qiu Chuji was largely confined to his home region in north China’s Shandong peninsula, and along with other Quanzhen leaders, cultivated the sect’s popularity until it became one of the most popular of north China and the Jin Empire. As we know, the thirteenth century was not a good time for the Jurchen Jin state, and Mongol forces invaded in 1211, quickly grinding down the empire. In this time, Qiu Chuji received invitations from both the Jin court and Chinese Song Dynasty to the south, inviting him to come and share his knowledge. Both were declined. The sage may have been rather surprised when a messenger arrived from the Great Khan of the Mongols in 1219.        How did Chinggis Khan learn of Qiu Chuji?  That takes us to some interesting characters. One was Liu Zhonglu, personal name Liu Wen, a Jin defector, Chinggis Khan’s personal Chinese physician, a herbalist also skilled in the making of whistling arrows. The Mongols prized men of useful skills, as well as archery, so Liu Wen was a snug fit in the Khan’s expanding entourage. It was he who heard of the Taoist sage and brought him to Chinggis’ attention, having heard rumours Qiu Chuji was over 300 years old. He told the Khan that the Taoist would be able to share these secrets and prolong his life.       The meeting was encouraged by another figure of growing influence, a Khitan scholar named Yelu Chucai. Chucai is worth a digression as he is among the most famous of the non-Mongolian administrators of the empire, though his importance would not come until the reign of Ogedai. The Khitans, you may recall, were a people related to the Mongols who had once ruled northern China during the Liao Dynasty, from the 10th century to 1100s, before being conquered by the Jurchen ruled Jin Dynasty. Yelu Chucai was a distant relation of the Liao ruling clan, and his own father had been a personal attendant to Emperor Shizong of Jin.  He would have followed in his footsteps as a highly educated, sinicized servant of the Jin, if it wasn’t for the Mongol invasion. Stationed inside Zhongdu, the city of his birth, during the terrible final siege in 1215, Chucai was deeply traumatized by the intense suffering and horrors he witnessed. Had it not been for the three years of intensive Buddhist training he underwent following the siege, it seems unlikely he would ever have reared his head for posterity. But finding peace and purpose within the teachings of the Buddha, Yelu Chucai developed a steely resolve and determination to do his greatest to reduce further sufferings.  In 1218 he was summoned to Mongolia, gathered in a Mongol search to find ministers to govern their new empire- as a Khitan, educated in Chinese government but of kin to the Mongols, he was highly prized. In April of that year, he met Chinggis Khan in person, who was immediately impressed by the tall, deep voiced and long bearded Yelu Chucai- the Mongols would call him Urtu Saqal, ‘long beard.’       On meeting him, Chinggis Khan stated “Liao and Jin have been enemies for generations; I have taken revenge for you.”     To which Chucai responded: “My father and grandfather both served Jin respectfully. How can I, as a subject and a son, be so insincere at heart as to consider my sovereign and my father as enemies?”         Loyalty to one’s lord was something Chinggis Khan valued above almost all else, and would honour the Khitan for this. So Yelu Chucai entered his service, acting in a variety of roles, such as astrologer, adviser and court scribe. Hearing Liu Zhonglu’s notification of Qiu Chuji, Chucai encouraged the meeting, hoping the Taoist would be able to help pacify the Khan’s more violent tendencies. It is likely Chucai drafted the letters to Qiu Chuji, though he would in time come to regret this.       Was Chinggis genuinely enticed by the idea of eternal life? As always, the personal thoughts of the man are unknown to us. Rarely did Chinggis Khan ever find a single use for anything- while Qiu Chuji could bring the secrets to immortality, he was also a highly influential religious leader within territory the Mongols wished to conquer. To have him on their side would prove valuable in both the spiritual realm- for his prayers could entice Heaven’s continued support for the Mongols- and in the physical realm, as to bring the many Quanzhen followers into accepting and supporting Mongol rule would ease and consolidate the conquest. If a religious leader was unwilling to accept Mongol rule, then he must be destroyed.       The implicit threat behind this would have been clear to Qiu Chuji when Liu Zhonglu arrived with Chinggi Khan’s message and 20 armed Mongols in late 1219. Declining was not really an option for Qiu Chuji, though he may have been eager to attach his name to the growing hegemon of northern China; such an attachment would only strengthen the place of Quanzhen, and save them from Mongolian retribution.        Qiu Chuji and several disciples, protected by Liu Zhonglu and his men, set out in early 1220, traveling through the war torn  north China. We are rather fortunate to have one of Qiu Chuji’s disciples record the journey for us- it has been translated into English twice, by Emil Bretschneider and Arthur Waley. Both are available to read for free online: look up Bretschneider’s Mediæval Researches From Eastern Asiatic Sources, or Waley’s Travels of an Alchemist, if you wish to read the full, fascinating itinerary. In April they reached the Mongol occupied ruins of Zhongdu, now renamed Yen, where Qiu Chuji was received by escatic crowds. There the party received unfortunate news, as Chinggis had set out on the great Khwarezmian campaign- they were reaching Yen while Chinggis was resting his horses near the fallen capital of Muhamamd Khwarezm-shah, Samarkand. Qiu Chuji  understandably did not want to make the long journey to Central Asia, but Liu Zhonglu would not have it, and forced him on. Qiu Chuji’s next stalling tactic was directed at the large group of young girls Liu Zhonglu was collecting to present to the Khan. For reasons relating to purity and celibacy, Qiu Chuji refused to travel in their company, and a perhaps flustered Liu Zhonglu sent a messenger to Chinggis to inform him. They spent most of the rest of 1220 near Yen, awaiting the Khan’s reply, when in winter messengers arrived from Chinggis’ youngest, and perhaps only, surviving full brother, Temuge [te-moo-guh], who wished to hear his words.   In February 1221 they set out again, having received the Great Khan’s replies- one of which was a reminder for Liu Zhonglu to take the utmost care of the master. Before they departed, Qiu Chuji is said to have told his adherents in Yen he would return in three years time. Traveling north, they passed through the fortifications which the Mongols had broken through in 1211. Crossing the Yehuling, the site of the bloody battle of the Badger’s Mouth Pass, they saw the ground still littered with bleached human bones, 10 years after the engagement.  Around April or May, the party reached Temuge’s encampment in northeastern Mongolia. There, Temuge inquired about the secrets to prolonging life, to which Qiu Chuji told him it was improper for the prince to learn these secrets before the emperor. Getting the hint, Temuge supplied the travellers with oxen and carts to help them on their journey and hurry them onto his older brother.       The voyage is of great interest to scholars, as it provides a fascinating view of early imperial Mongolia, visiting the Orkhon Valley and encampment cities like Chinqai Balasghun, where they met the eponymous Chinqai, a senior minister of the empire ordered to help expedite the journey.  Jurchen and Tangut princesses that Chinggis had taken as wives came out to greet Qiu Chuji, as did various Chinese who had been transplanted west to serve the Mongol war machine. Sadly, we don’t have time to share all the details of the lengthy and difficult journey westwards, following roads cut by Mongol armies en route to Khwarezm, or at times, forced to tie ropes around carts and animals to lift or lower them through passes in the mountains. Details of cities they passed by or through, like Beshbaliq, Almaliq, Urumqi and the former Qara-Khitai capital of Balasagun are provided, In December 1221, they finally reached Samarkand, Qiu Chuji wintering in the palace of the late Khwarezm-shah. Likely at this time, he met Yelu Chucai and spent time discussing religion and philosophy.        Judging from the writings of Qiu Chuji’s disciple, the master found great pleasure in Samarkand, particularly in its gardens, describing them as finer than those in China. There he noted that Samarkand had a quarter of its former population, but had been repopulated somewhat by Chinese, Khitans, Turks and Tanguts who had travelled with the Mongol army. The party stayed in Samarkand in comfort until April 1222, when a Tangut messenger from Chinggis arrived.     “Sainted man, thou hast arrived from the country where the sun rises; thou hast met great difficulties in crossing mountains and valleys; indeed, thou hast taken great pains. I am now about to return, but I wait impatiently for thine explanation to me of the doctrine of the Tao. Do not delay meeting me.”  ...read the Khan’s letter to Qiu Chuji. At that time, Chinggis was making his steady way north after his victory over the Khwarezmian prince Jalal al-Din Mingburnu in November 1221 on the borders of India. Qiu Chuji met Chinggis Khan somewhere south of the Amu Darya River in what is now Afghanistan, on the 22nd of May 1222, where the Khan was joyed that this old man had made such an arduous voyage to meet him. After allowing him a meal, the Khan asked rather bluntly:       “Sainted man, you have come from a great distance. Have you a medicine of immortality?”       To which Qiu Chuji replied, equally bluntly:   “There are means for preserving life, but no medicines for immortality.”   Counter to what  you might have expected, at least publicly, Chinggis Khan lauded Qiu Chuji for his honesty. For a man to travel such a distance and  hardship at his age, only to tell the World Conqueror, “no,” required quite some courage, and the Khan always respected that. The Khan was not yet finished with him though, and ordered him to have a tent pitched next to his own. They were to together travel higher into the valleys of the Hindu Kush to rest and wait out the summer heat, though uprisings took Chinggis Khan away before he could speak with the master again. Qiu Chuji requested to return to Samarkand in the Khan’s absence, which Chinggis reluctantly agreed to, providing him a 1,000 man escort.   As Chinggis spent the next months putting down local rebellions, Qiu Chuji again in the palace of Shah Muhammad, enjoying melons and bathing. By the end of August, Chinggis Khan was ready for him, and sent for Qiu Chuji. A particularly erie detail mentioned is that while traveling south to rejoin Chinggis, Qiu Chuji passed the ruins of the once great city of Balkh: only dogs could be heard  barking within.    Chinggis once more showed the master great respect and patience. Presented to Chinggis by the minister Chinqai, Qiu Chuji was not required to bow or kneel before the Khan. When the Khan offered him airag, the traditional fermented mares’ milk so beloved by the Mongols, Qiu Chuji refused to drink it. Everyday he invited Qiu Chuji to join him for dinner, and everyday he declined, saying he preferred seclusion. The master told Chinggis to keep his soldiers distant, for the noise annoyed him, and when the army moved north in the autumn of 1222 and wintered near Samarkand, Qiu Chuji was given leave to take up in Shah Muhammad’s palace once more.    Over the course of this period, Chinggis Khan and Qiu Chuji had several meetings, Chinqai and Liu Zhonglu present, the Khitan governor of Samarkand Yelu Ahai acting as translator between the Mongolian and the Chinese. Together they discussed the concepts of the Tao, Chinggis supposedly being quite interested. Qiu Chuji’s disciple failed to provide specific details of these discussions, though we know he urged Chinggis to show mercy on the Chinese, establish a buffer state in north China and lift taxes for three years. In January 1223 their journey back east resumed, though the Taoist showed himself displeased with the progress of the army.  By March he was asking to set out on his own, hoping to return to his native Shandong before the end of the year. Chinggis urged him to stay, saying his sons would soon arrive and would like to hear of the doctrine and that he himself needed more information. Qiu Chuji cooly replied that he had told the Khan everything he knew.       Later that month while hunting wild boar, Chinggis Khan was thrown from his horse: the boar failed to charge and gore the Khan, avoiding the fate of Game of Thrones’ Robert of House Baratheon. When he learned of this, Qiu Chuji called it a warning from heaven, a sign that the Khan should give up hunting in his old age. Reluctantly, Chinggis gave up this favourite activity… for two months. Qiu Chuji’s advice on abstaining from sexual intercourse to prolong his life was likewise ignored. Continuing to badger Chinggis to allow him to leave, the Khan finally acquiesced and in April 1223 they seperated. The master declined the gifts Chinggis Khan offered, except for a major one: an edict declaring Taoists exempt from taxation and corvee labour        Qiu Chuji returned to Yen, modern Beijing, in the first months of 1224, within 3 years as he had foretold. He spent the remainder of his life in that city, dying in August 1227, the same month as Chinggis Khan.  We just mentioned the edict proclaiming Taoists exempt from taxation. Well, part of the original edict was that no more Taoists would be ordained. This was followed up with a proclamation a few months later making Qiu Chuji the head of all the Taoists and Buddhist of China. The consequences of this were many. It’s not sure what exact role Qiu Chuji had in what followed, as he fell ill not long after he returned to Yen and the Khan’s edicts may have been taken advantage of by ambitious disciples. Almost immediately this turned into thousands flocking into Quanzhen temples to escape taxation and forced labour for the Mongols. Likely, thousands of lives were saved through this, and Quanzhen Taoism quickly became the most influential religious sect of North China.  One scholar, Yuan Hao-wen, estimated that by the late 13th century, some 20% of northern Chinese were adherents. Even today, it remains one of the most popular forms of Taoism in China. Less positively, was that the Khan’s elevation of Qiu Chuji’s status over Buddhists turned into free license to confiscate Buddhist temples, destroy Buddhist artifacts and texts and force the conversion of Buddhist monks and nuns.    When the Buddhist Yelu Chucai returned to Yen in 1228, he was infuriated by what he found there, and how the Quanzhen had taken advantage of the privileges granted to them, compounding Chucai’s existing dislike of Qiu Chuji. Initially they had been friendly, but Yelu Chucai soon found Qiu Chuji to be totally ignorant of Buddhism, and came to see him as a fraudster taking advantage of the Khan’s generosity and power. In 1229, Yelu Chucai wrote a lengthy work criticizing Qiu Chuji and his positions, while blaming himself for having encouraged the meeting. He further accused Qiu Chuji of being fully complicit in the seizure and desecration of Buddhist temples, and it is in Chucai’s account we are told that Qiu Chuji died on the toilet, but his followers covered this up and said he died while at prayer. Yelu Chucai’s work provides a fascinating counterbalance to the more hagiographic account of the journey provided by Qiu Chuji’s disciple, though Chucai’s writing remains difficult to access, leaving Qiu Chuji’s reputation intact as a ‘saviour’ of the Chinese. The influence of Quanzhen Taoism, and it's armed conflict with Buddhists continued until the reign of Chinggis’ grandson Kublai, when their privileges were drastically reduced and forced to return Buddhist temples.        What did Chinggis Khan think of Qiu Chuji? He seems to have enjoyed his company, and would certainly have had respect for an old man who made the long journey to his court. If he was disappointed in the failure of Qiu Chuji to provide an elixir of immortality, he did not show it publicly. Since the main account of these meetings was from a follower of Qiu Chuji, we must note he had a vested interest to make the relationship between the two look as good as possible, securing Quanzhen privileges as they were granted at the Khan’s behest.       On the internet, their relationship is famous for the following letter, sent from Chinggis to Qiu Chuji not long after their final meeting in 1223:   “You left me and set out on your travels in the Spring and were still on the road during the great heats of the summer. I hope you suffered no inconvenience and were well supplied with post-horses. I hope that you were always provided with plenty to eat and drink and were never stinted. I hope the officials at Hsuan-te [Xuande] and elsewhere treated you properly.  Hope that the common people came to hear you. Are you well and in good spirits? Here I am always thinking about you, O Holy immortal. I have never forgotten you. Do not forget me.”       It is… a little unbecoming for the world conqueror, making him appear rather desperate for Taoist’s affection, like a high school student trying to win back his crush. There are two things to keep in mind:   The most obvious is that this letter was sent in very basic and repetitive simple  Chinese. Form wise, it is totally alien to the literary flourishes, metaphors and references from writing of scribes like Yelu Chucai. Arthur Waley suggested that because the Chinese is so basic, that perhaps this was Chinggis Khan himself dictating it in Chinese. He had Chinese speakers in his entourage for well over a decade, meaning he had plenty of time to learn to make simple sentences in the language. So the letter may have come across particularly love-lorn because the Khan couldn’t do much better than that. Chinggis Khan knew Qiu Chuji was a very popular figure in northern China. Getting Qiu Chuji to encourage his many followers across China to accept Mongol rule and pray for them may have been the Khan’s ulterior motive throughout. Note how Chinggis hopes the common people came to hear him- to hear him spread the word of accepting Mongol rule, and to pray for them. Then, the final line “I have never forgotten you. Do not forget me.” While it can be read as a rather sappy declaration, we might wonder if there was a threat  hidden between the lines. Should Qiu Chuji choose to forget about the Khan and proclaim for the Jin Dynasty, Chinggis and his men would not forget about him, and their arrows never missed their mark…       Shortly after the departure of Qiu Chuji, Chinggis Khan learned of the death of his general Mukhali in China, how Tangut forces had abandoned him and were now in peace talks with the Jurchen Jin. The aging Chinggis Khan was about to partake on the final campaign of his long life, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!

“For some years I continued averse from mentioning this event, deeming it so horrible that I shrank from recording it and ever withdrawing one foot as I advanced the other. To whom, indeed, can it be easy to write the announcement of the death-blow of Islam and the Muslims, or who is he on whom the rememberance thereof can weigh lightly? O would that my mother had not born me or that I had died and become a forgotten thing ere this befell! Yet, withal a number of my friends urged me to set it down in writing, and I hesitated long, but at last came to the conclusion that to omit this matter could serve no useful purpose.   I say, therefore, that this thing involves the description of the greatest catastrophe and the most dire calamity which befell all men generally, and the Muslims in particular; so that, should one say that the world, since God Almighty created Adam until now, has not been afflicted with the like thereof, he would but speak the truth. For indeed history does not contain anything which approaches or comes near unto it… Nay, it is unlikely that mankind will see the like of this calamity, until the world comes to an end and perishes, except the final outbreak of Gog and Magog. For even the Antichrist will spare such as follow him, though he destroy those who oppose him, but these Mongols spared none, slaying women and men and children, ripping open pregnant women and killing unborn babes.”    So begins the famous excerpt from Ibn al-Athir on the Mongol invasion of the Khwarezmian Empire. Living in Mosul, in northern Iraq, ibn al-Athir was just outside the range of Mongol armies as they annihilated the neighbouring Khwarezmian Empire in just a few short  years. Daily, news must have come into Mosul of stories of Mongol devastation and atrocities, suddenly Mongol armies were operating hundreds of kilometres farther west than previously thought, or how they were now doubling back, terrified townsfolk wondering if Mosul was next. The writers who lived through the Mongol invasion or just  after it, such as ibn al-Athir, Nasawi, Juzjani, and the most well known, Juvaini, all describe the invasion in near-apocalyptic terms, the Mongols a punishment sent by God. For how else, if not divine retribution, could one explain how every city could all fall so swiftly to these strange people from the north?    Today, we present the Mongol Invasion of the Khwarezmian Empire. I’m your host David and this the Ages of Conquests presentation of…The mongol invasions.   In our previous episode, we discussed in detail the period from 1216-1219, after Chinggis Khan returned from north China and entered into initial diplomatic contact with the Khwarezmian Empire. War between the Khwarezmian and Mongol empires came from three factors which occurred over this short period. The first was the breakdown and absorption of the empire of Qara-Khitai, which had served as a buffer state separating the two empires. Mongol forces under Jebe Noyan took most of the eastern half of the empire, while the Khwarezmians seized the territory from the Ferghana Valley westwards. The second was a battle between Mongol forces  under Jochi and Subutai against the Khwarezm-shah Muhammad II sometime in late 1218 or early 1219. And finally, the massacre of a Mongol trade caravan at the Khwarezmian city of Otrar by its governor, Shah Muhammad’s uncle Inalchuq. An envoy Chinggis Khan sent afterwards to try and solve the dispute was then executed by Muhammad. Coupled with the engagement with Jochi and Subutai, it seemed that the Khwarezm-shah had declared war on the Mongols, and with the fall of Qara-Khitai, now shared a border with them in what is now eastern Kazakhstan.       Though the Khwarezmian Empire now holds a reputation as a giant with feet of clay, this would not have been apparent from Chinggis Khan’s position. The Khwarezmians controlled a vast territory. Originally based in the Khwarezm region in modern Uzbekistan, south of the Aral sea, where their house’s founder, Anushtegin (Anush-te-gin) Gharchi (gar-chi), was appointed governor in 1077 by the final Great Seljuq Sultan, Malik-Shah I. Anushtegin’s successors expanded to incorporate Transoxania, central Kazakhstan, and south into Afghanistan, most of Iran and even Azerbaijan, though much of this territory south of modern Turkmenistan had only been taken since 1200, and Khwarezmian control was loose. Much of their military was Turkic Qipchaq-Qangli peoples from the steppe, fighting in similar fashion to the Mongols: horse archers, heavy cavalry, and supported by various Iranian peoples as infantry.  The Qipchaq-Qangli also made up a significant portion of the administrative and upper bureaucracy of the empire.    Having spent the early 12th century as vassals of the Seljuqs and then the Qara-Khitai, the house of Anushtegin showed themselves to be consistently ambitious and treacherous. In the 1190s, Muhammad’s father Tekesh, in alliance with the Caliph,  defeated and killed the final Seljuq Sultan Toghrul III, allowing Khwarezmian expansion into western Iran, but beginning their rivalry with the Abbasid Caliphs in Baghdad. The disintegration of the Ghurids in 1206 brought Khwarezmain rule to the northwestern borders of India, and the collapse of the Qara-Khitai due to Kuchlug’s usurpation extended Khwarezmian authority east into the Ferghana Valley.       With this massive expansion of the empire in a three decade period, Khwarezm-shah Muhmmad, ruling since 1200, could, quite rightly, feel he was among the most powerful sovereigns on earth, which may in part explain his haughty treatment of Chinggis Khan’s ambassadors. From the Mongol perspective, the Khwarezmians were acting antagonistically, and as a rapidly expanding empire, it seemed possible they would try and seize the new Mongol controlled territory of the former Qara-Khitai.       Internally, the Khwarezmian state was not as strong as it appeared. Since most of the empire was so newly taken, how reliable it would prove in the face of invasion would be questionable. The Qipchaq-Qangli in the administration and military not only mistreated the urban Iranian population, but many of them were essentially mercenaries, or held more loyalty to Muhammad’s mother, Terken Khatun, than him. Indeed, Muhammad and his mother were often at odds, and with Terken Khatun often issuing orders that conflicted with those of her son. Officers across the empire would receive contrasting orders from both, and would follow whichever arrived later. The antagonism between mother and son would hamstring the Khwarezmian defense.    Neither had Muhammad’s actions in the last two decades made him friends outside of the empire. From Baghdad to Delhi, the Khwarezm-shah had a reputation as greedy, unreliable and driven to conquer. Few tears would be shed for him, should he face calamity. Most of the contemporary sources lay the blame for the invasion squarely on Muhammad Khwarezm-shah, ibn al-Athir for instance, directly citing Muhammad’s conquest of the local kingdoms, leaving him as the sole defence, as the reason for the speed of the Mongol conquests. Most sources also cite his treatment of the merchant caravan and envoys, and present the Mongol invasion as something he brought on himself, and was equally unsuited to defend against.       With that background on Khwarezm, and the reasons for the war between the two empires, let’s get into the actual invasion, shall we?       Chinggis Khan made his preparations and set out in summer 1219. The general Mukhali with 20,000 Mongols, and several tens of thousand of Khitan, Jurchen, Chinese and Tangut soldiers, was left to maintain pressure on the Jin Dynasty, while Chinggis’ brother Temuge [te-mew-guh] was left with a small force keep Mongolia secured. The remainder of all available forces were to be taken west against Khwarezm. This was not just Mongolian cavalry, but subject Uighurs, Qarluqs, Khitans, and Jurchen horsemen, with Chinese siege engineers and doctors. 100-200,000 armed men are the common range for estimates, not including families and attendants who would have accompanied the army. Additionally, herds of horses and remounts for the soldiers, hundreds of thousands of sheep and goats to feed the men, and oxen and camels to haul wagons, gers, supplies and materials to construct siege weapons. The total animals brought may very well have approached a million.       Orders had also been sent for the Tangut to provide troops for the western campaign, but with the rise of the anti-Mongol minister in the Tangut court, Asa Gambu, they declined and told off the Mongol envoys. Now, this was not the cause for the later destruction of the Tangut, spoiler alert, by the way, as is often reported: the Tangut did provide troops for Mukhali’s campaigns, occurring at the same time. But it was the start of an insubordination, and finally independence, which would lead to the utter destruction of the Tangut state. But that is getting ahead of ourselves.   Shah Muhammad did not sit idle, and convened a war council at his new capital of Samarkand to decide the defense. One strategy proposed was by Muhammad’s valiant son, Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, who suggested the full might of Khwarezm should be levied and meet the Mongols in a titanic clash on the Syr Darya River, a formidable barrier where crossings would be limited. Muhammad balked at pulling all his garrisons north,  for in their absence his southern territories could assert independence. His fear at meeting the Mongols in open battle may have played a role as well. Ultimately, it was decided to spread garrisons across the major cities of Transoxania, Khwarezm and Khurasan: the northeastern frontier which would face the brunt of the Mongol assault, while Muhammad stayed south of the Amu Darya River to ensure the south of the empire didn’t rebel.    Though this plan has been criticized in the decades and centuries that followed, it wasn’t totally without merit. Just mostly. Attacks by steppe tribes were hardly new, but generally they lacked the siege equipment to take the walled cities of the region, and would contend themselves with pillaging the countryside. Muhammad assumed the Mongols would do the same, and in theory a long march without succeeding in taking any cities would smother the flame of Mongol wrath quickly. Transoxania, the region between the Amu Darya and Syr Darya, or Oxus and Jaxartes as these rivers were known in antiquity, marked the most important geographic barrier to the Mongols in the northern half of the empire. Crossings over each river were limited, and much of the expanse in between them was marked by the harsh Qizil Qum Desert. There would be reason enough to expect that it would slow them down, and perhaps even prevent, Mongol passage, or at least limit it to a few select routes which could be guarded. Unfortunately, Muhammad didn’t comprehend the significance of the experience the Mongols gained in China from 1211-1215, or that they now came west with a large body of Chinese engineers to build their siege machines, or that if the Gobi desert proved no barrier to the Mongols, then neither would the Qizil Qum.   Chinggis Khan’s armies reached the Khwarezmian border city of Otrar in autumn 1219, where the trade caravan had been massacred. With strong walls and a stout defence, Chinggis left a force to besiege Otrar while his armies split and marched up and down the Syr Darya river. Otrar fell after a difficult, five month siege, and its governor Inalchuq was captured. In famous tradition, when Inalchuq was brought before Chinggis, the Khan saw fit to punish him by pouring molten silver into his eyes and ears. It doesn’t often pay to defy Khal Drogo...I mean Chinggis Khan.    That Mongol armies split up after reaching Otrar proved a major issue for the Khwarezmian defenders: had the full force stayed encamped outside of Otrar, waiting to starve it out, the possibility was there that the Khwarezmians could bring their weight to bear upon them. But now, with Mongol armies ravaging both up and downstream of the Syr Darya, while keeping Otrar under siege, it was impossible to combine against them. Further issues came when Chinggis Khan himself suddenly crossed the Syr Darya and Qizil Qum desert: it had been expected he would have take the route directly to Samarkand, protected by a mighty garrison, while the Qizil Qum was thought too difficult for a large army to pass. The Mongols and their horses were sturdy, and they passed in winter with the assistance of local guides. In the early months of 1220, Chinggis Khan had appeared behind enemy lines. The towns of Zarnuq and Nur were the first Khwarezmian settlements to fall, shortly followed by the major centre of Bukhara. A sortie by the garrison was quickly destroyed, the citadel holding out only a little while longer. It is at Bukhara that Chinggis Khan, for the only time we know for certain, entered a city, and allegedly gave a famous speech, calling himself the punishment of God, if we are to believe Juvaini.   Bukhara’s population, particularly young men, were forced into the hashar: a forced levy used by the Mongols essentially as arrow fodder. Driven before the main army, Mongol lances pointed at their backs, the hashar would push siege equipment, fill in moats and be sent against the gates and walls of cities. In these highly exposed positions, they soaked up arrows which would have otherwise fallen onto valuable Mongol warriors; it served to frighten and demoralize the garrison and other populations; it made the Mongol army appear larger; and ground down a segment of the population most likely to resist later. Such multifaceted psychological tools were favourite weapons of the Mongols. The hashar of Bukhara and other settlements on the route were driven to Samarkand, the chief city of the region and Muhammad’s capital. With strong walls and a garrison of fierce Turkic warriors supported by war elephants, Samarkand would be a fearsome target to force. Chinggis arrived before it in March 1220, where he was reinforced by his sons Chagatai and Ogedai, who had taken Otrar and brought the captive Inalchuq. Three days into the siege, Samarkand’s garrison rode out to attack the Mongols, and were cut down to the last man. The city surrendered by the end of week, its citadel holding out until a nearby dam was destroyed, its floodwaters undermining its walls.    Craftsmen and artisans were put aside for Mongol service; women were taken as slaves; and the remainder were forced into the hashar. Unexpectedly quickly, the jewel of the northern half of Shah Muhammad’s empire had been snatched away. Near the ruins of Samarkand, Chinggis divided his forces again, divisions crisscrossing across the empire. On the advice of a Khwarezmian defector, Chinggis Khan had letters forged and sent to top Khwarezmian generals, making it seem that the Mongols were cooperating with Muhammad’s mother, Terken Khatun. This further paralyzed whatever still remained of Khwarezmian leadership. Chinggis sent his generals Jebe, Subutai and Toquchar after Shah Muhammad, whose courage had fled almost immediately. As Samarkand burned, Muhammad fled south.    Muhamamd Khwarezm-shah spent the remainder of his life on the run, Jebe and Subutai hot on his heels. Across Khurasan he rode, then northern Iran, where Terken Khatun was captured. He rode until December 1220 when the bedraggled Shah died on an island in the Caspian Sea, his final days spent suffering from pneumonia, awarding titles and lands to his sons. Titles and lands that were no longer his to give. So ended the reign of Ala ad-din Muhammad bin Tekesh, Shah of Khwarezm, whose actions signed the deathwarrant for many untold hundreds of thousands of people. Beside him had been his son, Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, who took his father’s title and would lead a resistance against the Mongols. This was not the end of Jebe and Subutai’s great voyage, but we’ll give that tale its own episode and focus on the main campaign here.   Once Mongol armies crossed the Amu Darya, the southern river of Transoxania, and Muhammad fled west, the fate of Khwarezm was sealed. The names of the cities change; the length of the sieges change; but the outcome rarely does. Cities that resisted were forced  open, their garrisons massacred, the populations enslaved. For strenuous resistance or the death of a Chinggisid prince, like that of Toquchar outside of Nishapur, then the entire population would be put to the sword, the city destroyed. These served as a stark message; resist, and you will perish. In contrast, those who surrendered immediately were largely left untouched. Often, they were ordered to dismantle their walls, provide food and tribute, and sometimes men for the Mongols and accept a Mongol appointed overseer, a daruqachi (da-roo-ka-chi), basqaq (bas-kak) or shahna (sha-nah), as they were known in Persian sources. Beyond that, the Mongols cared little for the internal affairs of towns, and they were left to their own devices. If they revolted afterwards though, as happened in Merv did, a spectacular example would be made of them- it is from these cases where we see stories of towers of skulls made from the inhabitants.    Did Chinggis Khan at the outset intend on conquering the Khwarezmian Empire? It is hard to say- certainly not even he would have anticipated how quickly the Khwarezmian defence would fail. Each city was essentially left to its own defence, ensuring the Mongols could surround and bring their weight to bear on individual sites. As Muhammad had fled, accompanied by Jalal al-Din, there was noone to organize any greater unity among the Khwarezmian amirs. After his father’s death at the end of 1220, Jalal al-Din and his brothers returned to the mainland, making their way to Gurganj, the original Khwarezmian capital. There, Jalal al-Din attempted to organize things, but some amirs, even in this crisis, refused to recognize him, as Terken Khatun had wanted another of Muhammad’s sons, a more malleable individual, to succeed him. With assassination attempts against him, Jalal al-Din abandoned Gurganj. Not long after he left, Jochi, Chagatai and Ogedai surrounded and destroyed the city after a lengthy siege.    Jalal al-Din fled southeast to Afghanistan, the former Ghurid territory which was his patrimony and where Mongol armies had not yet arrived. There, he was able to gather an army of Qangli, Qarluqs, Khalaj, Afghans and Ghuris, perhaps 60,000 in total. Jalal al-Din was a capable general, and led this army to defeat two Mongols forces. One of these, at Parwan, was a sizable force led by Shigi Qutuqu (tchut-oo-tchoo), the grand judge of the empire and Chinggis’ adopted son. The victory at Parwan late in summer 1221 set off a series of revolts in Khurasan, cities like Herat and Merv which had submitted previously, threw off Mongol rule. Chinggis Khan’s youngest son Tolui was sent to punish them severely for this. For Jalal al-Din, he suffered a catastrophic defection in his victory: a conflict over loot from the battlefield between some of his commanders led to one abandoning him, taking half the army with him. Unfortunately for the Khwarezmian prince, this coincided with Mongol forces converging upon Chinggis to march against him. Jalal al-Din, with now only half of his army, was to face the full might of the Mongol invasion.    Jalal al-Din attempted to flee to India, but the Mongols moved quickly, and caught him on the Indus river around November 1221. The Khwarezmian prince fought fiercely, his army backed up to a cliff over the river. Commanding the centre himself, even while his flanks crumpled under Mongol arrows he held firm, but fate could not be avoided. With a final charge, he pushed back the Mongols, then spurred his horse around, and in full armour, spear still in hand, lunged off the cliff into the river. Mongol archers rushed to the cliffside to send arrows after him, but according to Juvaini, Chinggis Khan personally ordered them to hold, and watched Jalal al-Din and horse swim across the river to India.  Then, turning to his sons he said:   “This is the kind of son that every father dreams of! Having escaped two whirlpools-  water and fire- and reached the bank of safety, he will commit many a glorious deed and  cause innumerable misfortunes. How can a man of reason but reckon with him?”   Chinggis Khan always appreciated heroic acts and Jalal al-Din, for his courage, earned the respect of the Khan. The other Khwarezmian soldiers were not so lucky, and those also trying to make the river crossing were sunk by Mongol arrows. The Battle on the Indus River essentially marked the end of the Khwarezmian Empire. Though Jalal al-Din escaped, and spent some years in India before making his way back to western Iran and resisting there, the state effectively ceased to exist. Most of Iran would be left in the hands of local dynasties for the next two decades, Khurasan left a ruinous buffer while Transoxania was absorbed into the empire, the threat of the return of Mongol forces hovering over all.    It is impossible to say how many were killed in the invasion. Sources like Juvaini often give grealy inflated numbers for those killed in certain cities, recording 2.4 million killed at Herat or 1.3 million at Merv, while another source gives 1.7 million lost at Nishapur. These numbers are certainly exaggerations, more to give an idea of total destruction than specific losses. It is doubtful that any city in the Khwarezmian Empire approached one million inhabitants, even when flooded with refugees fleeing the Mongols. Juvaini’s work will also mention 1.3 million killed at Merv, then have the Mongols return not long after and find another 10,000 to kill. It is also hard to distinguish how many were killed directly from Mongol arrows, or from the famine and spread of disease following the invasion. Many of the irrigation canals needed for sustaining agriculture around these cities were either directly destroyed, or had the people who knew how to maintain them killed or driven off. The starvation which set in following the reduction in agricultural production must have claimed many thousands.    Beyond that, we have mention of internal fighting, cities using the Mongol invasion as a chance to carry out old grudges, and following the Mongols’ withdrawal, the fighting between local dynasties, bandits and rebels would have claimed yet more lives. That many tens or hundreds of thousands of people were driven from their homes, fleeing the Khwarezmian empire entirely or carried back east as slaves, must not be discounted.    Gaining a truly accurate tally of the dead is impossible, but easily at least 1-3 million people were killed during, or because of, the invasion. It left not just a physical and demographic scaring, but a mental one as well, the Mongols becoming a byword for incomparable calamity even today. It is no wonder so many sources present the invasion in apocalyptic terms, though efforts at recovery and reconstruction under Mongol rule will be something we will explore in future episodes.   With Jalal al-Din Mingburnu’s defeat, Chinggis began the slow journey back to Mongolia. The campaign had been a victory beyond his wildest dreams, and it is at this point that the Mongols likely began to develop the belief that it was Heaven’s Will for them to conquer the world. For how else could one explain what had happened? Everywhere they went, military victory soon followed. The authority of Chinggis Khan among the Mongols was near absolute, though he still had the matter of the succession to deal with, as well as unfinished business in North China. Contrary to some statements, Chinggis did not immediately turn about from the Indus to attack the Tangut- it was not until after 1223, with the death of the general Mukhali, that the Tangut would openly rebel, and earn their own destruction.   Our next episodes will be discussing the great expedition of Jebe and Subtuai through the Caucasus and battle against the Rus’ and Qipchaq at the Kalka River, as well as Chinggis Khan’s final years, so be sure to subscribe to Ages of Conquest: A Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!

In our previous episode, we covered the whirlwind campaign of Chinggis Khan and his generals against the Jin Dynasty of North China from 1211-1215. Chinggis Khan’s empire had been baptised in the blood of the Jurchen state, and before the fall of the Jin capital to Mongol armies in 1215, Chinggis Khan returned to his homeland. A lesser conqueror would have sat proudly on his accomplishments then, having unified the Mongols and secured a lifetime’s worth of plunder from the Jin. But Chinggis Khan was no lesser conqueror. Never one to sit idle, even while his armies continued to fight in China he sent others to wipe away old enemies and uprisings and expand the economic reach of the Mongghol ulus. Unintentionally, these efforts set him on a collision course with the Khwarezmian Empire, which controlled a huge swath of territory from Transoxania in modern Central Asia to western Iran. Today, we will be looking at the uprising of the Siberian forest peoples, the fall of the Qara-Khitai, and the Otrar Massacre; the prelude to the Mongol Invasion of the Khwarezmian Empire. I’m your host David and this is the Ages of Conquest: A Kings and Generals Podcast. This is..the Mongol Conquests.       Before we delve into today’s episode, we must mention upfront that  the timeline of all of these events can be a bit messy. They all took place in a short period between 1215 and 1219 and in an area most westerners have very poor geographic knowledge of.  It is testament to Chinggis Khan’s army though, that he could have so many forces operating in different theaters over vast distances all at the same time, all of whom could succeed in their tasks and return to him triumphant. So let us begin!       Chinggis Khan crossed the Gobi desert to return to his homeland in July 1215, his first time north of the Gobi since 1211. The Jin Dynasty’s capital of Zhongdu, modern day Beijing, had fallen the month before, and he must have felt confident his presence would not be needed in that theatre for some time. In his absence, continued operations against the Jin Dynasty were led by his general Samuqa, who undertook a phenomenal circuit across the Jin realm, crossing the Yellow River and approaching their new capital at Kaifeng, darting around Jin armies and crushing those he could outmaneuver. The continued pressure kept the Jin from occupying their fallen settlements, and Chinggis could now deal with issues back at home. The danger from his length of absence was that more recently conquered peoples would find it a chance to reassert their independence- which is exactly what happened.       By 1216, unrest had spread among the forest tribes around Lake Baikal, north of Mongolia proper and only recently subjugated. It had been simmering for sometime with the Khan’s absence in China, but was set off by one of Chinggis’ lieutenants, Qorchi. Qorchi had joined Chinggis decades prior, and had ingratiated himself with the Khan with a vision of Chinggis’ future victory, and had been in turn promised at some point along the way, thirty wives. In 1216, Qorchi was finally allowed to ride north to claim them from the Tumed tribe near the southern reaches of Lake Baikal. Qorchi rode into the main camp of the Tumed and, quite gracefully [sarcasm], told them to deliver unto him thirty of their finest women. The Tumed were at that point ruled by their chief’s widow, a proud woman named Bodoqui Tarkhan. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Tumed were pretty pissed at this, and promptly captured Qorchi.        Chinggis Khan was not happy to learn of this, but hoping to avoid having to send an army deep into the Siberian forests, sent the loyal chief of another forest tribe, Quduqa Beki of the Oirat, to use diplomacy to garner Qorchi’s release. The soft touch proved no more successful, as Quduqa was captured. This was a real issue, as Quduqa was not just a chief, but also an imperial son-in-law, married to Chinggis and Borte’s second daughter, Chechiyegen (chech-i-yeg-en). It was time for armed retaliation. Chinggis summoned first the Noyan, Naya’a, who fell ill, and the duty then fell to Boroqul. One of the Khan’s ‘four steeds of war,’ an adopted son raised by Chinggis’  mother Hoelun, a high steward, cup-bearer, commander of a part of the Imperial Bodyguard, and a long time friend of the Khan, Boroqul was held in high esteem, and sending him showed how serious Chinggis took this matter. Boroqul marched north with a small army, intending to carry out the duty of his Khan. Entering Tumed territory in early 1217, Boroqul was perhaps a little too proud after the successful war against the Jin. If the mighty descendants of Wanyan Aguda had been humbled by Mongol archers, how could peoples of the Siberian forest hope to stand before them? Boroqul rode before the main army with two scouts, where he was ambushed and killed by the Tumed. With their commander lost, the Mongol army retreated.       Chinggis Khan was furious. A personal friend had been killed, a Mongol army was forced back- this was an affront he did not take lightly. Further, the rebellion spread. Other people of the forest were now in open revolt. The Kirghiz of the Yenisei River refused to provide troops, and the whole northern frontier of the empire threatened to break away. Chinggis Khan wished to lead an army himself to crush this insurrection, but was talked out of it by his close friend Bo’orchu, and a strategy was devised. In a great pincer movement, the commander Dorbei (dor-bei) Doqshin (dok-shin) was to be sent against the Tumed, while Chinggis’ eldest son Jochi was sent in a western army against the Kirghiz, preventing cooperation between the various peoples. The plan was a success. Dorbei Doqshin avoided the main routes that Boroqul had taken, cutting his own roads through the Siberian forests to surprise the Tumed at their main camp while they were in the middle of a feast. The victory was total, and the Tumed were subjugated. Quduqa Beki and Qorchi were freed, Quduqa taking the Tumed chieftainess Bodoqui Tarkhan as a wife while Qorchi got his 30 maidens. 100 Tumed were sacrificed for Boroqul’s spirit and many others were taken as slaves. Finally, Chinggis Khan took his dear friend Boroqul’s children to raise as part of the imperial household.        In the west, Jochi was also met with success. Assisted by Quduqa Beki and his Oirat, early 1218 saw Jochi subdue the remaining Oirat, Buryat, Tuvan and finally the Kirghiz. Controlling one of the northernmost grain producing regions along the Yenisei River, the Kirghiz were a formidable force and valuable to have as subjects. This region was to be Jochi’s patrimony, the seed from which the vast Golden Horde would later grow. This was just the opening move of a larger operation, however. While 1218 was the defeat of the hoi-yin irgen revolt, it was also the opening of the first western operation of the Mongols, and for this we must backtrack a small bit.       If you recall, with Chinggis Khan’s unification of the Mongols in 1206, there was a group of Naiman, under Kuchlug (whooch-loog), son of the late Tayang Khan, and Merkit, under their chief Toqto’a Beki, who fled west, making a stand on the Irtysh River in 1208 before being defeated and dispersed. Toqto’a, the long hated enemy of Chinggis who had captured his wife Borte in the 1180s, was killed there, and his sons took the remaining Merkit to the far west, while Kuchlug would make his way to the empire of the Qara-Khitai, in what is now eastern Kazakhstan and Northwestern China.        The remaining Merkit, under Toqto’a’s son Qodu, fled to the Qangli, the eastern branch of the vast Qipchaq-Cuman confederation. The Qipchaq-Cumans were a loosely connected grouping of Turkic tribes inhabiting the steppe from the borders of Hungary, to the open lands east of the former Aral Sea. Chances are, you know the Qipchaq-Cumans best for their battlemasks with the moustaches, or as enemies from the game Kingdom Come: Deliverance, set almost two centuries after the events we discuss here. With Jochi’s forces already acting in the west and subduing the Kirghiz, it was seen as a good time to not just strike back at the Merkit, but give Jochi a chance to prove his own strategic acumen.       We’ll briefly note that there is some confusion on the exact timing of this campaign against the Merkits, as some sources date it about a decade earlier, adding it onto that Irtysh River battle, or a bit later, adding it onto the great campaign against Khwarezm. But it has been convincingly argued by scholars today, such as Christopher Atwood, for a dating of 1218-1219, just after the hoi-yin irgen revolt and  before that Khwarezmian campaign. We’ll use this dating for this episode.        To the Mongols, other steppe nomads posed the greatest threat. Enemies in China would be tied down by their cities, but nomads could always withdraw and continue to pose a threat. The chance of them being unified under a charismatic leader,  like Chinggis himself had done with the Mongols, was a real danger, and their very existence as an independent steppe people challenged the growing sense of Mongol legitimacy as the masters of the peoples of the steppe. That they were harbouring Mongol enemies, from the much hated Merkit tribe, was tantamount to a declaration of war itself. With the return of much of the Mongol army from China, this was a fine time to crush the remaining Merkit, as well as Kuchlug in Qara-Khitai, which we will get to shortly.       This operation in 1217/1218 is also the first time  the famous Subutai held a major command, though it is unclear if Jochi or Subutai was the overall commander. Meeting up with the western vanguard, Toquchar, they marched across the steppe into what is now western Kazakhstan. On the Chem River, near the northeastern shore of the Caspian Sea, Jochi and Subutai caught and defeated the Merkit-Qangli force. According to a biography from the Ming era Yuan shih, the history of the Mongol Yuan Dynasty, Jochi and Subutai then pursued the fleeing Merkit-Qangli between the Ural and Volga Rivers, deep into Qipchaq territory, and destroyed the remainder. Qodu was killed, and his son or brother Qulqutan Mergen was captured.   Qulqutan Mergen deserves mention for the following anecdote, which highlights the relationship between Jochi and Chinggis Khan. As we’ve discussed, all Mongols were trained archers from childhood, but Qulqutan Mergen was considered highly skilled even among the skilled; indeed, ‘Mergen,’ means archer or shooter. In Robin Hood fashion, the captive Qulqutan sent arrows into a target, and then split those arrows in twain with his next shots, to Jochi’s delight. Jochi sent a messenger to Chinggis, asking them to spare Qulqutan’s life. Chinggis however, despised the Merkit, his long time foes, and had to deal with rumours that Jochi himself was a Merkit bastard. Chinggis’ response was, as recorded by Rashid al-Din was rather typical for the Khan:       “There is no tribe worse than the Merkit. We have fought so many battles with them and  suffered untold trouble and difficulties on account of them. Why should he be left alive to cause trouble again? I have stored up all these realms, armies and peoples for you: what need is there of him? For an enemy of the state there is no place better than the grave.”       Jochi duly did his duty and executed Qulqutan and his family, but this highlights the tension between Jochi and Chinggis which would emerge in the following years. It has been used to suggest Jochi was less sanguinary than his father, whereas this highlights a mantra Chinggis had become well acquainted with in his own youth: an enemy who is allowed to survive will only continue to be a danger in future. Had Chinggis’ own enemies taken note of that, then he would likely have perished long before.       Jochi and Subutai had a long journey back to Mongolia, but their return was interrupted by an unexpected encounter in early 1219, with a large army under the Khwarezm-shah, Muhammad II of the Anushtegenids (Anush-te-genids).  Based in the Khwarezm region just south of the Aral Sea, under the Shah Tekish, and his son Muhammad II, in the previous decades the empire had expanded dramatically with the collapse of the Seljuqs, the Ghurids and the Qara-Khitai.    Ruling the empire since 1200, Muhammad had shown himself to be an ambitious, though not always patient, man. Styling himself ‘the second Alexander the Great,’ in 1217 he had made a failed march on the Caliph in Baghdad, was gobbling up the former western territory of the Qara-Khitai and had an eye on the steppe, where much of his own military forces and family came from. In early 1219 he may have been seeking retribution for Qangli raids, or to go after the Merkit himself, when his army stumbled into that of Jochi and Subutai. Aware of Chinggis’ interests in trade with Khwarezm, the Mongols asked for free passage. Shah Muhammad, a vain man infront of a very large army and not trusting them, decidied to attack. Reluctantly, Jochi and Subutai lined up for battle. Greatly outnumbered, they fought fiercely, though Jochi was nearly killed.    With nightfall, the armies pulled back. The Mongols lit fires to make it appear they were resting for the night, then withdrew under cover of darkness. Morning broke, and the Shah looked out at an empty battlefield. This enemy had fought fiercely, much fiercer than he had anticipated, and inflicted great losses on his army. It was said that the Shah developed a phobia of sorts towards facing the Mongols in open battle, something which would have major consequences for our next episode.       Jochi and Subutai returned to Mongolia sometime in late summer 1219, coinciding with major news which also reached Chinggis. But we’ll pick up with them later, and move our attention now to the southeast, where other Mongols forces had been busy.        Kuchlug (whooch-loog), the Naiman prince we’ve mentioned several times already, fled to the empire of Qara-Khitai after the defeat on the Irtysh River in 1208. The Qara-Khitai was founded in the 1130s, by Khitans fleeing the fall of the Liao Dynasty to the Jurchen Jin Empire. One Khitan commander, Yelu Dashi, took the Khitan garrisons from Mongolia and entered Central Asia, where his well armoured Khitan cavalry proved decidedly deadly. He subdued the eastern Qarakhanids (tchara-khan-ids), then defeated the western Qarakhanids and the Seljuq Sultan Sanjar in 1141 on the Qatwan (tchat-wan) steppe, near Merv. The defeat was a major blow to the already fragmented Seljuq state, though Seljuq control in Iran would last another 50 years. In the aftermath, Yelu Dashi controlled an empire stretching across Central Asia, from the Tarim basin to Khurasan. The Anushtegenids (anush-te-genids) of Khwarezm, formerly Seljuq appointees, now became vassals of the Qara-Khitai, as Dashi’s empire was called by the Mongols, meaning ‘Black Khitans,’ or ‘black Cathay.’  The Qara-Khitai have a fascinating history,  but unfortunately, not one we have time to go into here. Buddhists, with Chinese dynastic trappings, their empire was decentralized, with many vassal kings subject to the gurkhan, the Khitan emperor. Two of their five emperors were women,  ruling an ethnically and religiously diverse realm, and for decades harboured dreams of retaking north China, though they stagnated under the long reign of Dashi’s grandson, the gurkhan Yelu Zhilugu. The Qara-Khitai had been overlords of the Naiman tribes, so after the Irtysh River defeat in 1208, the Qara-Khitai was a natural place for Kuchlug to flee. Zhilugu saw Kuchlug and his retinue as a useful ally against his own vassals, especially the troublesome Muhammad Khwarezm-shah. The gurkhan bestowed titles, favours and a daughter upon Kuchlug, who repaid this generosity by raiding the Qara-Khitai treasury during Zhilugu’s war against Muhammad.  After a series of back and forth attacks, including an incident where Zhilugu sacked his own capital after it barred his door to him, Kuchlug ambushed and captured the Gurkhan 1211, and held him captive until his death in 1213. Kuchlug seized power, but proved incapable to rule the complicated state. Muhammad Khwarezm-shah took much of the Qara-Khitai’s western territory and butted heads with Kuchlug, who challenged the Khwarezmian to personal combat. The Shah declined. Kuchlug, originally a Nestorian Christian, converted to a violent strain of Buddhism, and began persecuting Muslims within his territory, alienating the empire’s urban population. The Tarim Basin proved especially volatile, where Kuchlug nailed an imam to the doors of his own madrassa in Khotan, and his forces destroyed crops every year until starvation quieted them.        In the northeast, near the Mongolian border, Qara-Khitai vassals declared for Chinggis Khan. One such was Ozar, a Qarluq horse thief who had risen to control Almaliq, and on his declaration of loyalty, had been given one of Jochi’s daughters in marriage. Kuchlug besieged Almaliq in late 1215 and killed Ozar, though his widow succeeded in defending Almaliq and getting a messenger to Chinggis Khan on his return to Mongolia. The death of a vassal, especially a son-in-law, was something to always punish, and Kuchlug’s usurpation of Qara-Khitai was a real danger. So in late 1216 Chinggis sent his top general, Jebe Noyan, [Zev, Зэв], accompanied by the Uighur Idiqut Barchuk and Qarluq Khan Arslan, to deal with Kuchlug. The speed of the collapse of Kuchlug’s state was shocking. Securing Almaliq, Jebe pursued Kuchlug to the Qara-Khitai capital of Balasaghun. There Kuchlug was beaten, but escaped, and Jebe entered Balasaghun unopposed. With princes of the realm now declaring openly for Jebe, Kuchlug fled through the mountains into the Tarim Basin, where he was still despised.        Jebe’s forces followed suite, and upon entering the Tarim Basin, sent out a declaration of religious tolerance: whoever submitted to the Great Khan would have their freedom of worship respected, a rather marked change from Kuchlug’s policies. The region then erupted: wherever Kuchlug had garrisoned troops, the citizenry fell upon them. Kuchlug was chased from city to city, many barring their gates to him. Fleeing the Tarim Basin, he travelled through the Pamir Mountains, eventually making his way through rugged Badakhshan (bad-akh-shan) to the Wakhan (wa-han) Corridor in northern Afghanistan, where he was cornered by local hunters and handed over to Jebe. With Kuchlug’s severed head on a lance, Jebe paraded it through his territory and gained the submission of whichever cities still held out. Thus ended the Qara-Khitai, years of anarchy followed by a remarkably peaceful Mongol conquest. With hardly an arrow shot, Jebe had greatly expanded the Mongol Empire westwards, returning to Chinggis Khan in 1219 with 1,000 chestnut horses with white muzzles- the same colour as the horse Jebe had shot out from under him in 1202.       An unforeseen consequence of this conquest was that this brought the Mongol Empire to the borders of the Khwarezmian realm. Shah Muhammad had had his own ambitions to conquer Qara-Khitai and had succeeded in taking some of its western territory- only to suddenly have the remainder quickly fall to this rising power in the east, while encountering them on his northern borders.       Yet, conflict between the Mongols and the Khwarezmians was not yet inevitable.  In fact, Chinggis Khan wanted to avoid, at all costs, war with Khwarezm. The first Mongol-Khwarezmian contacts were an embassy sent out by the Khwarezm-shah in 1215, passing the ruins of Zhongdu. Chinggis was happy to generously gift them, a part of a general Mongol policy of overpaying merchants for their goods. With a surplus of silver ripped from North China, overpaying merchants was a fine way to encourage and direct trade in the difficult overland journeys, especially into Mongolia, and would be a hallmark of Mongol policy for the next century. Initial contacts seemed promising between the two states, and Chinggis sent a return embassy in 1218 to reaffirm trade and friendship. By then though, most of the Qara-Khitai realm, the bufferstate between the Khwarezmian and Mongol empires, had been ground down by the efforts of Shah Muhammad and Jebe.        Muhammad was perhaps eager to find fault in the embassy, led by Mahmud Khwarezmi, likely the same individual as Mahmud Yalavach, a significant figure under Ogedai Khan. The embassy’s message from Chinggis Khan said that the Khan considered the Shah on the same level as his dearest sons. The Shah was furious: how dare any man, even a great emperor, consider the Shah of Khwarezm a son, implying the superiority of the father?        After the initial meeting, the Shah continued to grill Mahmud Khwarezmi, who, as his name describes, was a native of Khwarezm. Mahmud managed to calm him down by telling him Chinggis’ armies were pitiful compared to the mighty forces of the Shah, and that the Khan was only interested in trade. Shah Muhammad was pacified, for now.       This embassy had been sent ahead of a larger, slow moving trade caravan, about 450 merchants and their attendants, carrying precious goods.  Sometime in late summer 1218, the caravan reached the city of Otrar on the northeastern frontier of the Khwarezmian Empire. Otrar was governed by Shah Muhammad’s uncle, Inalchuq, who, possibly on the orders of the Shah or his own vile initiative, accussed the merchants of being spies, seized their goods and finally executed them, only a single camel driver escaping. This was a shockingly short sighted decision. Even if Shah Muhammad didn’t directly order it, he did nothing to discourage it or punish Inalchuq for the act. One possibility, suggested by historian Dmitri Timokhin, was that it was ordered by the Shah’s domineering mother, Terken Khatun, Inalchuq’s sister. Terken Khatun, a strong willed woman of Qangli origin, often actively combated her son’s orders, and acted as monarch in her own right in the original Khwarezmian capital of Gurganj. Perhaps seeing war as inevitable with the Mongols, with their swift conquest of Qara-Khitai, she wished to force her son to act.       Whatever the reason, it may surprise you to learn that the Massacre of Otrar was not the direct casus belli for the Mongol invasion of Khwarezm. When that lone camel driver returned to Chinggis Khan with news of what had happened, he was mad, but had no desire to lead a full invasion of Khwarezm while the Jin were still unconquered, and the Khwarezmian army seemed fearsome enough on its own.  Trade with Khwarezm was of greater benefit than conquest, so Chinggis Khan, in early 1219, sent another embassy, led by a Muslim who had served Muhammad’s father and two Mongol notables. War would be averted and trade resumed, they told the Khwarezm-shah, if he only sent Inalchuq to Mongolia for punishment. As far as the Mongols were concerned, the massacre at Otrar was just the act of a shortsighted governor.       Muhammad was in an unenviable position: if he didn’t give up Inalchuq, war would come to Khwarezm.  If he did give up Inalchuq, he would antagonize the Qipchaq-Qangli officials in his empire loyal to his mother Terken Khatun, pitting much of the administration and military leadership against him and undermining his rule. Thus, Shah Muhammad II of Khwarezm sided with his mother and made the fateful decision to execute the Muslim envoy, breaking the cardinal rule of diplomacy with the Mongols: do not kill the envoys. The envoy’s Mongol accomplices had their beards singed off by Muhammad, and were sent back to Chinggis Khan.  They returned to him after Jochi and Subutai had come with news of their own encounter with the Khwarezm-shah, and the message seemed clear. A powerful foe in the west, who now bordered his empire, had made opening strikes against the Khan. Ignore it, and he would lose face while leaving his new western territory vulnerable to Muhammad’s armies. With his general Mukhali having been committed to the Jin realm and able to keep the pressure on them, his northern borders secure and remaining rivals to steppe legitimacy destroyed by Jochi, Subutai and Jebe, Chinggis Khan raised his armies, and unleashed hell upon Khwarezm Having explained the background to war between the Mongols and Khwarezm, you won’t want to miss our next discussion on the Mongol Invasion, so be sure to hit subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!

Columns of Mongol rider, armed with bow, lance and mace, march through the dark defiles and narrow valleys of the Yan mountains, a confined route for warriors used to the open steppe. Here, the valleys were marked by towns and villages in close proximity, a track for their army to follow, falling upon terrified settlements whose newly collected harvests now fed hungry Mongols. After days of this claustrophobic territory, of surprising and outwitting the garrisons of the forts blocking their path, the mountains suddenly gave way, opening up to the Northern Chinese Plain: low, open country, marked by the great Yellow River, farmland and the capital of the mighty Jin Empire: Zhongdu, modern day Beijing. Northern China was now open to the Mongol horde, and the Mongol conquests were about to begin in earnest. I’m your host David and welcome to Ages of Conquest: a Kings and Generals Podcast.  This is the Mongol Conquests.   After returning from the Tangut Kingdom in early 1210, and shortly thereafter disrespecting the envoys of the new Jin Emperor, Wei Shao Wang, Chinggis Khan began his preparations, reviewing his forces and gathering intelligence. Alongside Muslim, Uighur and Ongguds  merchants and travelers who brought him information on the Jin, a few Khitan and Chinese officials had already defected to Chinggis, bringing him detailed intelligence and urging an attack. Though still mighty, the 13th century had not been kind to the Jin Dynasty. The 1190s saw a huge flood of the Yellow River, so severe it changed its course; once entering the ocean north of the Shandong peninsula, it now spilled to the south, a drastic shift which displaced entire villages, destroyed cropland and sowed discontent. War with the Song Dynasty from 1206-1208 drained Jin finances, and inflation caused the paper currency of the Jin to be near worthless.  The Jin armies, though large and their horsemen still fierce, were past their prime, many having become quite sinicized and lost the biting edge of their grandfathers. The time was as good as any for an assault upon the Altan Khan, the Golden Khan, as the Mongols called the Jin Emperors.    At the start of 1211, the Qarluqs (Kar-luk) of Almaliq (alma-lik) and Qayaliq (kaya-lik) submitted to Chinggis Khan, providing their own Turkic horsemen as auxiliaries. Chinggis positioned his son-in-law, Toquchar, in the west of Mongolia, doubtless with Qarluq forces, to act as a guard against roaming tribes or the Naiman prince Kuchlug (whooch-loog), who usurped power in Qara-Khitai that year. Feeling himself secure and that he had the favour of Eternal Blue Heaven, Chinggis Khan was ready. He marched south early in the spring of 1211 with as many men as he could muster, around 100,000 split into two armies, one commanded by himself, the other by his three oldest sons, Jochi ( Джучи, Зүчи, Züchi) Chagatai (Цагадай) and Ogedai (Өгэдэй). By May 1211, they had crossed the Gobi desert, entering what is now modern Inner Mongolia, the band of steppe between the Gobi and the Yanshan mountains which shield north China.    You may be anticipating the Mongols cinematically bursting through the Great Wall of China, or the popular internet variation wherein the Mongols ‘just went around it.’ But the Great Wall of China as it exists today was built by the Ming Dynasty in the 15th and 16th centuries, well after Chinggis’ invasion. There had been sections of walls built prior, most notably in the Qin and Han dynasties a millenium prior, but the 1000 odd years between the Han and the Ming saw only sporadic building, generally of rammed or stamped earth, which erodes comparatively quickly over time in unmaintained. The Jin Dynasty in the late 12th century had ordered the creation of several dozen kilometres of wall built in Inner Mongolia, a ditch before a rammed earth wall, marked by gates and a few forts. The base of this is still extant, a long, low, grass covered ridge which today doesn’t even block the wanderings of sheep. This wall was manned by whichever people inhabited the local area, largely from the Onggud tribe, a Turkic Nestorian people who had been on friendly terms with Chinggis Khan since 1204. The Naiman Khan had tried to urge them to attack Chinggis’ southern flank, which they refused, alerting the Mongol Khan to the scheme.    When Chinggis Khan arrived, the Onggud wisely opened the gates and submitted voluntarily to him: it was a fair assumption he may have forced his way through them had they refused. Rather than conquer the Great Wall, or go around it, we might better say that it was  opened to him. For their part, the Mongols treated the Onggud well, and a daughter of Chinggis Khan married into their ruling family- she would effectively rule the Onggud in her own right, the direct representative of Chinggis Khan. The Mongols spent the summer in Onggud territory, resting, fattening their horses on the local pasture, and taking the few Jin towns in the region- the first to fall was Fu-zhou, stormed after a brief resistance in late August 1211.       The Jin Emperor, Wei Shao Wang, was bolted awake by the news of the Mongol arrival on his doorstep. To his credit, he did not sit idle-  two large armies were mobilized and sent to the most likely route. Dividing the Northern Chinese plain from the steppe was the Yan Mountains, relatively low mountains with numerous towns and villages nestled in its many valleys. The primary defile which provides access from the steppe through the northern side of these mountains is the Yehuling, the Wild Fox Ridge, just south of Fu-zhou.    The army led by Chinggis’ sons was making its way into the Ordos to the west, but Chinggis himself was certainly to try passing through Yehuling (ye-hu-ling), a route which would lead him only a few days away from the Jin’s central capital of Zhongdu. It was here, the Jin leadership rightly supposed, that the determining battle should be fought with as much might as possible; kill the Khan, and the princes would certainly withdraw.  As Chinggis stormed Fu-zhou, a major force of crack Jurchen and Khitan cavalry, supported by Chinese infantry, all under the Jurchen commander Hushahu (hoosh-a-hu), was sent to Yehuling (ye-hu-ling). Hushahu was an unpopular, arrogant individual but influential with the Emperor, and had shown himself a cunning figure during the war against the Song Dynasty. Just a small note here; Hushahu is known by a dozen variations of Heshihlie Jiujun Hushahu (hesh-ee-hlee djioo-jun hoosh-a-hu), with some sources just calling by one of these names. Hushahu is the easiest to say, so we’ll stick with it here.   Supporting Hushahu was a smaller force under Wanyen Ho-Sha, who was sent ahead to repair the fort of Wo-shao-pao, between Fu-zhou and the entrance to the Yehuling. Together, this was a massive mobilization, given in the sources as anywhere from 300,000-500,00 men- though a good many of these were probably labourers, who would be tasked with digging ditches and building defenses along the passage.       Before the Wu-sha-pao fortifications could be completed, Chinggis sent his commander Jebe (Зэв) to surprise this smaller army in August shortly before the fall of Fu-zhou. Ho-sha escaped with much of his army, making his way to Huihebao, a fort south of the Yehuling, all before Hushahu could even reach Yehuling. Once within the defile, Hushahu set up at the narrow point within the Yehuling known as Huanerzui (Huan-er-zui), the Badger’s Mouth Pass. Here,his labourers were put to work, digging ditches and defences. His Khitan scouts informed him of the fall of Fu-zhou, and that the Mongols seemed occupied with looting the city, but Hushahu declined advice to immediately attack them. Wary of Mongol cavalry in the open field, he was hoping to use the narrow Huanerzui to protect his flanks.    A Khitan officer who had previously been sent as embassy to Chinggis Khan, Shimo Ming’an, was sent to speak to the Khan, officially to reprimand him for his actions but intended to gather intelligence and stall for time. Ming’an, a proud Khitan who admired the Mongol Khan, promptly defected and told Chinggis of Hushahu’s battle plans.  Alarmed, Chinggis’ scouts confirmed his statements.    The Jin had sent a great army to crush the invasion in one fell swoop, and Chinggis had only a part of the total Mongol force, his sons still in the west. Ming’an’s information, and Hushahu’s caution was to the Khan’s advantage. As one, the Mongols  moved into Yehuling, approaching the Jin army at Huanerzui. Jin scouts informed Hushahu of Chinggis’ sudden advance, and the Jurchen general ordered his huge army into position- wings of Jurchen and Khitan heavy cavalry and horse archers in the front, supported by a large group of Chinese infantry and the labourers who had started the fortifications. In the narrow defile, Hushahu’s army was tightly packed, unable to maneuver or envelop the smaller Mongol army.       Mongol archers got to work first, sending volleys of deadly arrows into the thick rows of Jin warriors, who had nowhere to move under the hail. One of Chinggis’ commanders, the tireless Mukhali ( Мухулай) saw opportunity, and his lancers led the first charge into the injured enemy- Chinggis followed with the imperial bodyguard, the Keshig. The Jurchen and Khitan horsemen buckled, and fell back, right into the dense rows of Chinese infantry behind them, who were trampled and crushed under the panicking horsemen. Discipline and command broke down, and the army disintegrated in the confusion, the Mongols cutting through them like a hot chainsaw through butter. As they ran, the Mongols pursued: bodies lined the road for kilometres, and the Secret History of the Mongols repeatedly described the fallen ‘heaped like rotten logs.’ Hushahu and Ho-sha met up at Huihebao (hwee-he-bao) fort several kilometres south, and put up another stand, only to be overwhelmed by the end of the day.        Huanerzui was long remembered by the Mongols as their greatest victory. Ten years later, a Taoist monk travelling through the region to meet with Chinggis Khan passed through and found bones still piled high throughout. Perhaps the finest warriors of the Jin fell that day, and the chance to nip the Mongol conquest in the bud had been ripped bloodily from their hands.       Hushahu fled to Zhongdu with nothing but bedraggled, bloody remnants of his great army. Mongol forces were briefly halted by the fortified pass of Juyongguan (joo-yong-guan), which guarded the narrow, 18 kilometre long Guangou Valley, the final barrier before entry into the North China plain, some 53 kilometres north of Zhongdu. During the Ming Dynasty, the famous Badaling section of the Great Wall was built at the north end of this valley. Badaling is the most popular tourist site of the entire wall, due to its preservation and proximity to Beijing. Indeed, it was this proximity to the capital that made it such a strategic pass, the final chokepoint before the open space of the Chinese plains. Therefore, even in the 13th century Juyongguan (joo-yong-guan) was strongly fortified with a large garrison, and the Mongols lacked any weapons to force it. So, Jebe Noyan fled before its impenetrable gate, and the defenders, eager to avenge their fallen comrades, sallied out to pursue. 30 kilometres from Juyongguan, Jebe (Zev) turned about and destroyed them. The mighty Juyongguan surrendered shortly thereafter.       By the end of October 1211, Chinggis Khan was on the North China Plain, and all hell was let loose. Chinggis made a brief effort to besiege Zhongdu itself, but this great city was far too well defended, its walls defiant and unbreachable. Leaving a force to blockade Zhongdu, Chinggis sent his armies to ravage across the plain. One army captured the imperial horse herds, depriving the Jin of much of their cavalry.  From the Jin’s western capital, Xijingto (Shi-jin-to)their eastern capital, Dongjing (dong-jing) in Manchuria, those are modern Datong and Liaoyang respectively, Mongols armies pillaged and raided. Dongjing fell to Jebe Noyan through another expertly executed feigned retreat, while Xijing stood firm against the Mongols.       Mongol armies withdrew back to Onggud territory in February 1212, loot and animals in tow, eager to give horses and riders a well deserved rest. The border passes they had fought so hard for were, somewhat surprisingly, left unoccupied. Why the Mongols chose not to garrison them is unclear- some suggest Chinggis had no ambitions beyond that initial raid, while others note that with the Mongols’ lack of administrative experience, attempting to hold territory at this point was foolish with the Jin still strong. The Jin, meanwhile, were left bloodied but still unbroken. The defeats at Huanerzui (Huan-er-zui) were horrific for the Jin, decimating their prized cavalry, but reinforcement Jurchen were called upon from Manchuria. Wei Shao Wang appointed Hushahu as Deputy Military Commander of the Empire and sent him to reoccupy the border forts, Juyongguan (joo-yong-guan) in particular.    Suspicious that the Khitan population of Manchuria may align themselves with the Mongols, Jurchen colonists were sent amongst them, an act which ironically prompted the large Khitan revolt the Jin so feared. Led by Yelu Liuge (ye-lu liu-ge), within a few months he had not only submitted to Chinggis Khan, but also declared a new Liao dynasty with himself as king. The Tangut began to raid the Jin’s western frontier, the Song ended their tribute payments to the Jin, and famine began to break out in several provinces.  To top it off, the Mongols returned in autumn 1212 after resting their horses for the summer, but this campaign was cut short when Chinggis was injured by an arrow to the leg at Xijing, and forced to withdraw.        Famine, Tangut attacks and insurrection did not abate, and only continued to spread in 1213. In July or August of that year, a healed Chinggis Khan returned to Jin China. In the valleys south of Yehuling, towns and settlements fell or surrendered with alarming speed. On the road towards Juyongguan, at modern Huai-lai, Chinggis was met by a large army under the commander Zhuhu Gaoqi. Supposedly a force of 100,000, in the narrow valley they had no room to maneuver and were crushed by the Mongols. The survivors fled to the refortified Juyongguan, where the ground for almost 50 kilometres was said to be covered by caltrops. For a month, Chinggis waited before the fort, trying to lure the garrison out. Finally he withdrew and wisely, the garrison stayed in the fort. A small Mongol force was left to watch the northern mouth, while Jebe was sent through the hills, finally coming out south below the Juyongguan, where the fortifications had not been improved. Surprising the garrison, its Khitan commander panicked and surrendered, and by the end of October 1213, the road to Zhongdu was once more open.    Things had developed rapidly in Zhongdu in the meantime. Hushahu had been ordered to remain in the city to defend it, though had spent the weeks before the Mongol return in 1213 hunting. When the Mongols returned to Juyongguan in September, a messenger had arrived from Wei Shao Wang to reprimand Hushahu for inactivity, but the panicked general killed the messenger. Now forced to act, he made his way to Zhongdu, overwhelmed the palace guards, captured and executed the emperor. He appointed Wei Shao Wang’s nephew, the 50 year old Wudubu, as Emperor, expecting him to be submissive. Hushahu’s arrogance and disrespect to the new emperor made him no allies in the court. He succeeded in defeating two Mongol raiding parties outside the walls in November, but fell ill. In Hushahu’s absence, Zhuhu Gaoqi was ordered to repulse the Mongols, on pain of death should he fail. Gaoqi failed, and hurried back to the palace before Hushahu could learn of it. Hushahu was captured and decapitated by Gaoqi, who was pardoned by Wudubu and made Vice-Commander of the Empire.    The course of this political upheaval left the Jin leadership paralyzed for two valuable months as the Mongols broke through Juyongguan. With the Mongol army before Zhongdu, the new emperor sent Chinggis a peace offering in December 1213. Recognizing the weakness of the Jin, Chinggis left a small force to blockade the Jin, and then unleashed a massive onslaught across the north China plain, a three pronged assault across the whole of Hebei province, into Shanxi and western Shandong. “Everywhere north of the Yellow River there could be seen dust and smoke and the sound of drums rose to Heaven,” was how one Chinese writer described the offensive. Almost 100 towns fell to the Mongols, farmland was destroyed, and the Mongol reputation for both invincibility, and cruelty, blossomed. The Jin had been hamstrung, unable to retaliate. By February 1214, Mongol forces were converging on Zhongdu.       While the Mongols had shown frightening success in the field and against less fortified settlements, Zhongdu was a different beast altogether. The Jin’s central capital since the early 1150s, now the site of modern Beijing, it had been keenly designed to withstand assaults. Built in a rough square, the city had almost 30 kilometres of stamped earthen walls 12 metres high. Over 900 towers were said to line these walls, lined with various types of defensive siege weapons. Before the city were three lines of moats, as well as four forts outside the main city, each with their own walls, moats, garrisons and supplies, connected to the main city by underground tunnels. The surrounding countryside had been stripped bare of not just food stores, but even stones and ties which could have been for projectiles. Each fort held 4,000 men, with another 20,000 manning the walls of the city itself. Zhongdu was well stocked, well fortified and well prepared for a siege.       The Mongols, with their siege knowledge still in its infancy, were not without their own cards to play.  They had near total freedom of movement outside of the city, and now had begun to have their forces bolstered by desertions, especially among the Chinese and Khitans in the Jin military. Some of these deserters had brought along their own catapults, and captured engineers provided knowledge to construct more. At one point, the Mongols burst through a gate of Zhongdu, or were perhaps allowed in, as they found themselves surrounded, the street behind them set on fire. That party only escaped with heavy losses. Another assault was repulsed by the garrisons of the forts. It seems some sort of disease was spreading among Chinggis’ forces as the siege dragged on, and they must have started to become frustrated. In April 1214, Chinggis sent an embassy under a Tangut officer in his service with terms, entailing the submission of the Jin and the Emperor relinquishing his title. Wudubu refused to be demoted. Since Wudubu had no bargaining position beyond ‘we haven’t starved yet!’ Chinggis sent his envoys again, with the message:     “the whole of Shandong and Hebei are now in my possession, while you retain only  Zhongdu; God has made you so weak, that should I further molest you, I know not what  Heaven would say; I am willing to withdraw my army, but what provisions will you make  to still the demands of my officers?”       Wudubu was finally convinced to come to terms, noting the reality of his situation. In May, 1214, the Jin Emperor capitulated. A daughter of Wei Shao Wang was sent in marriage to Chinggis, with 500 boys and girls for her retinue, and 3,000 horses, 10,000 liang of gold and 10,000 bolts of silk, which would have been a mighty caravan of tribute. For reference, 1 liang is equal to 50 grams. The Jin, who had once held the forefathers of Chinggis Khan in such contempt, were now his vassal, and Chinggis Khan withdrew back to Onggud territory, doubtless proud of his work.        What Chinggis Khan’s plans were from this point we will never know- perhaps he was to turn west, pursue those final few enemies like Kuchlug? Allow his men to grow fat and soft off the tribute from the Jin and enjoy his own retirement? Or perhaps, with his new vassals, march south against the Chinese Song Dynasty. But we’ll never know. For in June 1214, the anxious Wudubu, fearing himself too close to Chinggis Khan, made the ill-fated decision to abandon Zhongdu and flee to his southern capital, Kaifeng, in territory untouched by the Mongols and shielded by the mighty Yellow River. Shortly after his departure, he began to have misgivings over the 2,000 Khitans in his retinue, and tried to take their horses. The Khitans, like the Mongols, were skilled horsemen who prized their mounts. To take their horses was to take their legs, and they abandoned the fleeing Emperor, riding all the way north to Chinggis Khan in inner Mongolia.        When the Khan learned of this, he was incensed. This was the Jin Emperor breaking his word, violating the treaty in an action tantamount to preparation for future hostilies. South of the Yellow River, he would be beyond the authority of Chinggis Khan where he could plan further troubles. Zhongdu was left with a much smaller garrison and would now pay the price for Wudubu’s cowardice. In late summer the general Samukha, with Shimo Ming’an, and the 2,000 Khitans who had abandoned Wudubu marched to Zhongdu with perhaps 50,000 men. The city was reached around September 1214, and placed under siege. The garrison, forlorn but proud, stoutly manned their doomed walls. Even with it defenders reduced, an assault on the city’s mighty fortifications would be costly, so Samukha aimed to starve it out.        Wudubu hadn’t completely abandoned the city, and belatedly in early 1215 sent relief columns bearing foodstuffs and reinforcements to Zhongdu. The Mongols overcame these columns with ease, and sated their own hunger with the supplies meant for the people of Zhongdu. The noose only continued to tighten around the city. Those communities in the region still untaken were reduced: most of the Jurchen homeland in Manchuria had fallen to the Mongols and their vassal Khitan kingdom. One Jurchen commander in Manchuria, upon learning of Wudubu’s flight, deserted and founded his own kingdom in the far east of Manchuria. In the Shandong peninsula, a long simmering local uprising erupted quickly, commonly known as the Red Coats, who proved themselves staunch foes of the Jin government. Whatever Jin forces that remained had either joined the Mongols, or were already destroyed. North of the Yellow River, only a strip along it, and around Xijing in the west, remained under Jin rule.    For Zhongdu, these happenings made the chance of reinforcement grow ever dimmer. Starvation was severe in the city. All possible animals were eaten, and accusations of cannibalism seem unfortunately probable. At one point, thousands of the city’s virgins were said to have thrown themselves from the walls, rather than suffer fate at the hands of the Mongols. The city’s leadership began to fight each other, with one top commander committing suicide, while another made his way through the blockade, arriving in Kaifeng where he was executed for desertion.        In June 1215, Zhongdu finally surrendered. Mongol troops let out their pent up frustration on the poor souls still within the city. Many thousands were slaughtered, every home and shop looted. Parts of the city were said to have burned for a month. So terrible was the slaughter that a Khwarezmian embassy passing the city a few months later was horrified to see piles of human bones surrounding the city, the ground greasy with human fat and disease rampant. Some of their embassy even fell ill and died as a result.        For the Mongols, it is interesting to note what anecdotes they took away from this tragedy. Chinqai, an officer of importance in the decades to come, climbed one of Zhongdu’s towers and sent an arrow in every direction. When Chinggis learned of the feat, he was so tickled by it that he granted Chinqai ownership of everything within the range of arrows. Chinggis Khan always found a particular joy in these sorts of acts. The event most fondly reported by the Mongols was when several officers attempted to bribe Chinggis’ adopted son, Shigi Qutuqu, in splitting the loot of the city between them. He declined, stating he could not take it, as it was all the possessions of the Khan. Such loyalty to the Khan was prized greater than all the treasures of China.       There can be little doubt that the flight of Wudubu and destruction of Zhongdu a year later was an irreverseible blow to the prestige of the Jin Dynasty, alongside the obvious territorial losses. To many, coupled with years of natural disasters, disorders, and poor governance, the Mongol invasion and Wudubu’s abandonment of the north must have looked like the Jin had lost the Mandate of Heaven, the supernatural approval necessary to rule China. When Heaven rescinded its Mandate, it always awarded it elsewhere, and it seemed that Chinggis Khan had received its blessing. It should not be a surprise that the following years saw the desertions to the Mongols turn into a flood, and they were now able to staff their newly taken territory with loyal Chinese, Khitan and even Jurchen officials. Entire armies of Chinese were soon fighting for the Mongols to aid their conquest of China, something we will explore in detail in future.       Zhongdu was left a shell of its former self, and was renamed ‘Yen’ or ‘Yenching’ by the Mongols. It remained an important command centre, but only began to return to real significance again when Chinggis’ grandson Kublai built a capital near the site. But that’s a few decades ahead of us. In the meantime, Chinggis Khan returned to his homeland and found himself distracted by uprisings and the pursuit of old enemies- a path which brought him, unintentionally, into a collision course with the Khwarezmian Empire to west.        In the next episode we will explore the first western movements of the Mongols, so be sure to hit subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!

Rain. The constant, incessant rains of autumn.  A wide brown river, its water swirling and churning, now overflowing its banks due to the rain. A great inconvenience and threat to the local farmer, but to the commander on horseback, his piercing eyes see a weapon. Men are sent with buckets of earth, stones and trees, and a makeshift dyke soon rises. The water is now unable to travel its standard route, and is now diverted, towards the great city and proud defenders who  have dared to resist the Mongols. Lacking tools to take down the city’s walls, Chinggis Khan will now use the very landscape itself to strike his foe.        This was the tactic Chinggis Khan would use in his first conquest of sedentary power, a campaign against the Tangut Kingdom, known also as the Xi Xia Dynasty, in what is now northwestern China. His armies having never even seen walled cities before, this campaign would be the first true test of the army of the newly established Mongol Empire, the prelude to the fearsome conquests which would soon grip Asia. I’m your host David and welcome to Ages of Conquest: a Kings and Generals Podcast.  This is the Mongol Conquests.   Before we get to the first Mongol invasion of the Tangut, we must step back a few  years. When we last left off with Chinggis Khan, he had finally unified the Mongol tribes and proclaimed the Mongol Empire in 1206. A little over 50 years of age, Chinggis had spent his life fighting for every inch of ground. He had known victory as keenly as defeat, and learned from not only every mistake he himself had made, but all that his enemies had made as well. The new Mongol state had been hard won: yet, it was a brittle entity. Tribal confederations were not known for their longevity, and Chinggis Khan had to ensure that the animosity of the tribes would not rear its head and tear his new empire apart.    He developed several strategies to prevent this. First, was breaking down the powers of the traditional chiefs and Khans: loyalties were now to be to the Great Khan. Old leaders who had resisted were removed from power entirely, extinguishing them as possible beacons of resistance. The majority of these tribes were broken up, their families mixed among Chinggis’ own people, which was then cemented by the extension of the army’s decimal system to the entire nation, totally reorganizing Mongol society.    But what was the decimal system that we have now made reference to several times? Organized into units of 10, 100, 1000 and 10,000, or in Mongolian, arban, jaghun, minghaan and tumen, peoples from various tribes were placed into the same minghaan, replacing the tribal social organization with the decimal one. Just as there was the military unit of the minghaan, now families were placed into their own ‘units,’ which were used as basis for taxation. Each military Minghaan was supported by the ‘civilian’ minghaans, which supplied, produced and maintained equipment and utensils used by the warriors, and in the absence of the fighting men, were responsible for managing the various herds of the Mongols. "No longer were they Taychiud, Tatar, Kereyit or Naiman, but Mongols. A few select tribes who had shown themselves loyal were allowed to maintain their integrity and their rulers, but had to recognize the absolute authority of Chinggis Khan himself. There was to be no Khan but the Khan himself.   The individual law codes and customs of each tribe were now overruled by a single code set out by Chinggis- the great yassa. The yassa standardized tribal customs, forbidding acts which would antagonize the spirits and bring misfortune upon the young nation. Acts seemingly as innocuous as washing dirty things in running water, putting a knife into a fire or urinating in ashes were all punishable by death, as they offended the spirits within and could bring calamity.  Such prohibitions mattered when Heaven’s support was crucial for success. Death seems to have been a common punishment in the yassa, and none doubted that the Khan was willing to carry it out. It also ordained the proper way to slaughter animals, via crushing the heart and not spilling any blood. All religions were to be respected, and religious figures exempt from taxation- though how far this religious tolerance went, when the yassa expressly forbid the Islamic method of slaughter which mandated draining the blood, is a part of the strong debate around the code. Was the yassa intended to apply to sedentary peoples?  When it was, how thoroughly was it enforced upon them? The answers to this vary over time and place, and we will discuss these in due course.   To aid in the management of the Mongols,Chinggis Khan needed to establish an administration for his new empire. Now, this should not be conflated with the hulking bureaucracies of China, in comparison to which the Mongol 'administration’ would have been a laughably simple thing. But it was necessary for managing a state of about one million people and the roughly 100,000 strong army. With the defeat of the Naiman, Chinggis had acquired their Uighur scribes. Mongolian at that time had no written form, and Chinggis Khan quickly saw the use of a script. Thus, Mongolian gained its first alphabet, still in use today in Inner Mongolia. One of Chinggis’ adopted sons, a Tatar named Shigi Qutuqu (Koo-too-koo), was appointed yeke jarghuchi,(Yayk-eh jarg-hoochi) the chief judge of the empire, given great power settling legal matters, preserving justice and recording the edicts of Chinggis Khan and judicial decisions in their new alphabet.       To assist the burgeoning administration was the expansion of the keshig to 10,000 men. The keshig had been established only in 1204, essentially as a bodyguard for the Khan. Aside from guarding the Khan, they acted as grooms, preparing his meals, maintaining his ger, his herds, weapons and even musical instruments. Made up of trusted men, sons of commanders or sons of vassal chiefs and Khans, it also served as a sort of military college. It provided first hand learning experience at army leadership and administration, to see who was fit to ‘graduate’ to command armies, govern peoples or in time, territories. Richly rewarded and trusted, when those of keshig who were sons of vassals were sent back to their homelands, they acted as agents for the Khan to ensure the loyalty of their people, and were an important instrument of control for Chinggis Khan and his successors.        These actions helped strengthen what the Mongols valued most in their armies: loyalty, and discipline. Great trust would be placed in the commanders of not just armies, but of each level of the decimal system. In order for their maneuverability in warfare to succeed, where Mongol armies could literally be operating hundreds of kilometres apart, it was absolutely necessary that commanders could trust each other to meet timetables, objectives, stay in contact and meet up to surround enemy armies. It is to the credit of the Mongol military that the Khan could be operating on the far side of Asia, and he could trust his commanders to remain loyal, carry out his duties and expand the empire. By removing possible allegiances that could challenge loyalty to the Khan, rewarding those who showed ability and skill while supporting and protecting the soldiers’ families, the Great Khans were rewarded by a hardy, adaptable and reliable army. Individual soldiers went to great lengths to prove their worth and carry out orders: abandoning their arbans would bring strict punishment, or even death, to their comrades and families. Defections of Mongol soldiers, officers or commanders during the height of Mongol unity was extremely rare, and almost every contemporary foreign author commented on that loyalty, how the average Mongol stoically, even happily, endured the fiercest hardship for the Khan.        The few possible rivals for power who emerged from within the early empire were quickly dealt with. An ambitious shaman, Chinggis’ step-brother Kokochu, also known by the title of Teb-Tenggeri, grew greedy and bold. Already famous for his strong connection with the spirits, and supposed ability to walk naked through even the fiercest of snow storms, it was he, we are told in one source, who gave the title of Chinggis Khan to the warlord Temujin in 1206. Having in his view, appointed the Great Khan, he was  soon bold enough that he assaulted Chinggis’ brothers. When he overstepped, Chinggis allowed his youngest brother to break the shaman’s back and leave him to die. It served as a stark message: the Khan was stronger than even the mightiest of shamans. No religious authority would be able to claim power over the Great Khan of the Mongols.       These methods provided internal control to his new state, but its footing was not entirely stable yet. Various enemy leaders or their sons had survived the wars of unification- Toqto’a Beki of the Merkit and his sons, Buiruk Khan of the Naiman and his nephew Kuchlug, and the son of the late Ong Khan, Senggum Ilkha of the Kereyit. The Naiman and Kereyit sons were a particular concern, as the Jin Dynasty in the south could choose to support them as candidates against Chinggis, a beacon for those extant disaffected elements to gather around. In the years immediately following unification in 1206, it was against these potential sparks that Chinggis Khan had to stamp down. Buiruk was crushed first in the later part of 1206, leading the surviving Naiman under Kuchlug to move west, joining the Merkit under Toqto’a on the Irtysh River, where they were defeated in 1208. Toqto’a was killed in battle, his sons fleeing to the far west to the Qipchaq tribes, and Kuchlug would in time end up in the Qara-Khitai, where he would usurp power in 1211. We’ll pick up with him in a later episode for his final fate.       To the north, a number of the tribes of the Siberian forests around Lake Baikal were forced to submit in 1207. This included the Kirghiz, the Tumed and the Oirat, among others. By 1208, Chinggis had secured his northern and western borders, and with his eastern borders bounded by the Khingan mountains, that left the south, the kingdoms of China.        While these other actions to establish an administration and destroy potential rivals helped secure his power, he knew that without a common enemy to throw the whole of his people against, if left idle, the Mongol would begin to fight each other in due time. Reminiscent of Otto von Bismarck’s ploy to unify the German states against their French foe, Chinggis Khan needed ample loot and warfare to burn off their excess energies and keep them united towards a shared goal. It served other aspects as well- we noted already the danger from the potential of the Jin Dynasty giving support to a rival chief and churning up the internal rivalries of the new empire. The late 12th century seems to have been a drier period with an increase in desertification, accentuating the decrease in herds brought on by years of continuous warfare in Mongolia. Attacking China would replenish their herds, and by providing the Mongols with loot, Chinggis Khan would be undertaking part of his duties as the steppe warchief par excellence.    Ideologically it buttressed his new state as well. Part of Chinggis Khan’s legitimacy was based on his connection to the Khamag Mongol union of the early 12th century. The Khamag was destroyed by the Jurchen Jin, the Khan Ambaghai tortured and murdered by them. By attacking the Jin, Chinggis would also be performing another duty of the Khan, that is, avenging past wrongs. Finally, while in the first years of the 1200s the Jin Dynasty was distracted by internal revolts, flooding and renewed warfare with the Chinese Song Dynasty to their south, they would not sit idly by for long while the steppes to the north were unified under a single power. The Jin considered Chinggis Khan their vassal, and confrontation would be inevitable. It was to the advantage of the Mongols to make the first move.       It should be noted that no evidence suggests at this point that the Mongols believed in dominating the world or any such thing. At the outset, even an actual conquest of China doesn’t seem to have been considered.       In a previous episode, we discussed the states of 13th century China, so we won’t repeat that at length here. The two kingdoms the Mongols faced at the outset was the Jurchen Jin empire, its capital at Zhongdu, modern day Beijing, which controlled a huge stretch of territory from the Ordos loop to the far east of Manchuria. Ruled by the Jurchen, a semi-nomadic people originally from Manchuria, it was certainly the strongest single military force in the world at this point, with a population of about 40 million, mainly Chinese but a notable Jurchen and Khitan minority. Chinggis Khan would have considered them the single greatest foe he faced. To the west of the Jin Dynasty, in the Gansu corridor, was the ‘backdoor’ to north China. The Xi Xia Dynasty, or the Tangut Kingdom. Considerably smaller in both population, geographic size and in its military, it was a stout kingdom ruled by a people of Tibetan heritage, with a mixed population of Turkic nomads, sedentary Chinese and Uighurs. Much of it was covered by desert and mountain, its major cities huddled along the Yellow River west of the Ordos desert. Controlling the Gansu corridor, the narrow strip between the Gobi desert and Mongolia in the north, and the offshoots of the Himalayas to the south, most of the overland trade routes, the Silk routes, were funnelled through here, increasing the wealth of the kingdom substantially.  It was here the hammer would fall first.       The first Mongol raids into the Tangut realm were in 1205, pursuing the fleeing Kereyit prince Senggum Ilka. The Senggum evaded them, as he had been chased out by the Tangut and was then murdered shortly afterwards in the Tarim basin. The Mongols made due with captured animals and goods before withdrawing. In 1207, the Mongols returned to the Tangut, a more serious probe this time, taking advantage of the first coup d’etat in the Xi Xia’s history, and the ascension of the new King Weiming Anquan (an-quan). Tangut garrisons were sent out to meet the raiders, and were destroyed, and the border fort of Wu-la-hai was sacked and occupied until early 1208.       The new Tangut King looked to the Jin, their nominal overlords, for aid, but in the winter of 1208 the Jin emperor had died and was succeeded by his uncle, Wanyan Yongji. History does not look kindly on him. So poor was his reign that his successor posthumously demoted him from Emperor to Prince, and hence, instead of emperor, sources call him the Wei Shao Wang, the Prince of Wei. To give you an idea of his character, his helpful response to the Mongol attacks on the Tangut was allegedly to say “it is to our advantage when our enemies attack one another. Wherein lies the danger to us?” How could a man who tempts fate so willingly have been a poor emperor?       By autumn 1209, Chinggis Khan was ready for more serious actions. His flanks now secured with the defeat of the Naiman-Merkit force on the Irtysh in the west, the submission of the forest tribes to his north, and the voluntary submission of the Uighurs, the neighbours of the Tangut in 1209, the Mongol conquests were to begin. The Mongols marched in spring 1209, when there would be sufficient water and sparse grasses to allow the perhaps 60,000 man army to cross the Gobi desert. The Tangut armies, generally Turkic and Tangut horse archers and lancers, supported by Chinese infantry, fared poorly against Chinggis, who personally led the invasion.    His disciplined army in the open proved itself almost immediately. Made strong by their hard lifes, at a strategic level the army moved swiftly, effectively and without complaint. Honed and sharpened by decades of continuous war, at the tactical level they were a storm, out maneuvering and surrounding their enemies on the field, their arrows flying far, hitting hard and striking true. Thousands of arrows would rise into the sky like a cloud, dropping like rain and suddenly releasing cries of anguish from an army of dying men and horses.  Wings of the Mongol army, separated by kilometres but kept in touch through messengers, signal arrows, flags and drums, seemed to move as one to envelope their foe. Or, in their units of 10, 100 or 1,000, sent to run against the enemy, appearing like an undisciplined horde before suddenly forming into a wall of unyielding cavalry, or swiftly wheeling about, turning in their saddles to send arrows behind them, tempting the foe to pursue. Often, they took the bait, charging the Mongol archers, who parted, the impetus of the enemy charge leading into nothing. Isolated, these horsemen were quickly surrounded, filled with arrows or crushed by the Mongols’ own lancers. The enemy infantry without cavalry support could be then almost contemptuously picked off, like a wolf among a flock of sheep.   Chinggis Khan marched first to Wu-la-hai, where he destroyed a Tangut army sent against him. The fort fell once more shortly afterwards. Marching south along the Yellow River, they had to cross the Helan mountains, which formed a shield from west to north in which the Tangut capital, Zhongxing, modern Yinchuan, lay huddled in its fertile valley. On its eastern approach it was guarded by the Yellow River, which watered the irrigation canals that sustained life and crops in this beating heart of the Tangut realm. The approach through the Helan Shan was marked by the fort of Kei-min, reinforced in the aftermath of Wu-lai-hai’s fall, and led by an imperial prince. The Mongol vanguard was initially repulsed, but with the arrival of the main Mongol army the Tangut garrison remained on the defensive, hiding behind their walls. For two months, the Mongols waited before the fort, lacking the means to force Kei-min and the garrison refusing to sally forth. Frustrated in the summer heat, Chinggis Khan was not outplayed.  Feigning a retreat, the Tangut garrison was tricked into pursuing their fleeing foe- only to find themselves met by the full Mongol army far from the protection of their walls. Kei-min surrendered shortly afterwards.       Descending from the Helan Shan, Chinggis Khan was now before the walls of the Tangut capital, and it was these walls which threatened to halt his invasion. Thick walls of stamped earth, dotted by sturdy towers and well armed defenders and surrounded by irrigation canals, without siege equipment the Mongols could barely advance to the city. They looted the surrounding countryside and villages, but Zhongxing itself stood defiant, unassailable. So Chinggis sat before the walls, wasting away until the autumn of 1209, when a solution seemed to present itself. The rains of the fall swelled the nearby Yellow River, and Chinggis had an idea. His horsemen were sent forth with looted tools, and built an impromptu dyke, diverting the water which now was forced into the city. The stamped earthen walls were undermined, homes were washed away and the standing water threatened disease in Zhongxing, all while the usual rigours of the siege and blockade, starvation and illness, sapped away at Tangut moral. Somewhat embarrassingly, the makeshift dyke broke and flooded the Mongol camp, but by then it could not change the outcome, and finally in January 1210 the Tangut agreed to peace talks.          Humiliated, the Tangut became vassals of the Mongols, providing a princess in marriage for Chinggis and extensive tribute, including falcons, camels and textiles. Chinggis Khan returned to Mongolia in early 1210, vindicated- the Tangut King, Weiming Anquan, died under suspicious circumstances the next year. Thus ended the first Mongol conquest.    Cities and walls had proved an issue, but in the field the Mongols had performed spectacularly, and proved highly adaptable. No reliable method for forcing cities had yet been determined, but garrisons could be tricked out into the field by thoughts of easy victory. Compared to later Mongol conquest, the Tangut got off relatively light in 1210. The tribute was costly, but not prohibitively so, and cost less than the damage which continued Mongol attacks would cause. Neither did the Mongols leave a garrison in the country, and aside from demands for troops and tribute, the Mongols would interfere little in the internal autonomy the Tanguts so dearly prized. The submission was not popular within the Kingdom, and a notable faction in the court would develop urging the Tangut King to break with the Mongols at every opportunity. Despite the fact the Tanguts had survived the Mongol conquest more or less intact, this element in the court would ultimately lead to the destruction of the Tangut Kingdom.        Not long after his return, Chinggis Khan received messengers from the Jin court, informing him of the ascension of Wanyan Yongji and to reaffirm Chinggis’ tribute obligations. You may recall that Chinggis had fought against the Tatar tribes with Jin assistance in 1196. The Jin would have considered him a vassal after that, and he likely sent gifts, or tribute, to the Jin for a few years. It seems around 1206, he had stopped this, and in 1208 Emperor Zhangzong of Jin had sent his uncle Wanyan Yongji as embassy to get Chinggis to supply that tribute and reaffirm his vassalage. Chinggis had found Yongji utterly unthreatening, and had disrespected him. Now in 1210, learning that Yongji was the new emperor, Chinggis could only laugh. According to protocol, he was supposed to kowtow to the news. Instead, he spat on the ground towards the south, the direction of the Jin Emperor, and said, “I thought that the ruler of the Middle Kingdom must be from Heaven. Can he be a person of such weakness as Wei Shao Wang? Why should I kowtow for him?” before riding away. War had been declared, the start of a 20 year struggle that would outlast both Chinggis Khan and Wei Shao Wang.   This has been the start of our discussion on the Mongol conquests, and the next one is going to be even bigger, so be sure to hit subscribe to Ages of Conquest: A Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!  

Surely, you have heard of the phrase ‘rags to riches,’ indicating the rise from abject poverty to untold wealth? You may be interested in its 13th century equivalent, ‘rags to ruler of Eurasia.’ I hope you are interested because this is the story you’re about to hear, of a boy who lost everything but by the end of his life, he conquered an empire larger than Rome. An Empire which continued to expand decades after his death to incorporate most of Eurasia. An Empire which would leave his name etched into the fabric of history. It is time for the rise of Chinggis Khan, founder of the Mongol Empire.       The previous episodes in our series should have provided you with the foundation for this episode, demonstrating Mongolian nomadism, the politics and tribes of mid-12th century Mongolia, and the relationship with China. So cozy up in your ger with a nice cup of airag, and let’s get into it. I’m your host David and welcome to Ages of Conquest: a Kings and Generals Podcast.  This is the Mongol conquests.       It is 1162, Mongolia. The Khamag Mongol Confederation, the brief military alliance of the Mongol tribes of the Borjigon, Taychiud and others, has collapsed under the assaults of the Tatars, supported by their masters, the Jurchen ruled Jin Dynasty in China. In a raid against the Tatar, a young relation of the Khamag Khans named Yesugei Ba’atar captures a Tatar chief, Temujin-Uge. Returning to his own camp, he finds his second wife, Hoelun, recently stolen from her Merkit husband, has just given birth. The boy is born clutching in his tiny fist a blood clot the size of a knucklebone, an omen foretelling of future greatness or bloodshed. To celebrate the birth of the boy, Yesugei sacrifices the Tatar chief Temujin-uge, giving his name to the boy: Temujin, meaning, ‘blacksmith,’ denoting strength and iron. The man who would be known to posterity as Chinggis Khan has just been born.        We can assume Temujin was raised like any other Mongol, learning to ride a horse before he could walk; to make and shoot a bow, the prized weapon of the Mongols; the skills of herding the animals necessary for survival; how to hunt and track prey; and he would have been familizared with the grudges of his people, most notably the Tatars, the sworn enemies of the Khamag Mongols, and the Tatars’ masters, the Jurchen Jin Dynasty. Temujin was the eldest child of Yesugei’s second wife Hoelun, with three brothers and a sister following. Yesugei’s first wife, Suchigel, had two sons, one of whom, Begter, was slightly older than Temujin. The only other detail that comes to us from these early years is that Temujin, the future conqueror of cities and master of war, was afraid of dogs.        Our main source for Temujin’s early life is the Secret History of the Mongols, a Mongolian epic chronicle written sometime after his death in 1227 for the imperial family and records most of the main events of his life. While the broad course of events and general flow is probably accurate, for these early years it is sometimes hard to say what details are based in fact, which are half-truths or which are simply legends.       The first recorded event of young Temujin’s life occurred when he was about 9 years old in the early 1170s. His father Yesugei took the young lad to choose a bride, intending one from the Olqunuut, the tribe of Temujin’s mother, but on the way came into the camp of the Onggirat. The chief of this camp, Dei Sechen, greeted Yesugei, and was impressed by his son. He told Yesugei of a dream he had the night before, wherein a white gerfalcon brought him the sun and the moon in its talons. Obviously, this was a powerful omen, but since the Secret History of the Mongols is full of these, we should wonder if they were added retroactively by the Secret History to demonstrate Heaven’s support for Chinggis Khan. Of course, another option is that Dei Sechen pulled this move on every traveller coming by to marry off his daughters.       Whatever the answer, Yesugei agreed to marry Temujin to Dei Sechen’s daughter, a slightly older girl named Borte. Yesugei left Temujin in Dei Sechen’s camp and returned home, on the way stopping in a camp of the Tatars. Traditionally, guest rights were highly valued on the steppe. A hungry traveller could, if he came unarmed and bearing no ill will, expect to be fed and provided shelter for the night. In an era without photographs, it would be easy for someone to go about unrecognized. Unfortunately,Yesugei was recognized as the captor of Temujin-uge, and poisoned. He survived long enough to make it back to Hoelun and his family, but by the time Temujin arrived, Yesugei was dead.       You may recall from a previous episode our mention of the distinction between the Borjigon and Taychiud lineages of the Mongols. Yesugei was a lead representative of the Borjigon. The Taychiud maintained their grudge from when the leadership of the Khamag Mongol had moved from their representative, Ambaghai, back to the Borjigon. The Taychiud in Yesugei’s camp,  including widows of Ambaghai and the nefarious Targutai conspired against Yesugei’s widows and his young sons. At a feast which soon followed, Hoelun was excluded from taking part in the ceremonial sacrificial meal, signalling their isolation. Despite Hoelun’s impassioned efforts, the Taychiud killed a servant who tried to stop them, and Hoelun, Suchigel, and seven children were left abandoned on the steppe with no herds or supplies. Surely, they would not have been expected to survive the winter.       Yet, survive they did. Hoelun showed that her will was as strong as the mountains. She organized her family, gathering roots, berries, and even fishing, seen as a lowly activity by the Mongols. Through her determination, not one child was lost to hunger, not even her infant daughter Temulun. Hoelun could protect Yesugei’s children from starving, but not however, from each other. Temujin and Suchigel’s eldest son Begter, Temujin’s half-brother, were at odds. Begter stole food from the others, bullied them, making the stress of their situation worse. As Yesugei’s oldest child, Begter had the legal right to inherit Hoelun, his step-mother, as his wife, which would have cemented his authority, meager as it was, over Temujin. Felt pushed to the edge, Temujin made a decision. With his younger brother Khasar, the best archer among them, the two of them ambushed and killed Begter. Before his death, Begter only asked that they not harm his own young brother, Belgutei. Hoelun was furious; after all they had suffered that they still chose to fight amongst each other.        Shortly after Begter’s death,  Targutai of the Taychiud came hunting. Perhaps having heard of Begter’s death through the few families they must have been in contact with, Targutai came and captured Temujin. Placed in a cangue, a sort of wooden neck brace trapping the hands and neck of the prisoner, Temujin was paraded around the Taychiud camp and humiliated. The prisoner was moved to the ger of a different family every night, but some of these families showed him kindness, even removing the cangue at night to allow him to sleep. When he found an opportunity to escape, one of these families, that of Sorqan Shira of the Suldus, even provided Temujin a horse and a bow so he could make it back to his family.  This is often emphasized as a major turning point in the life of the young Temujin. Routinely, he had been showed nothing but cruelty from people who were his relations: the Taychiud under Targutai and Ambaghai’s widows, and his own half-brother Begter. But humble herdsmen, former servants of his father and people of no direct relation to him showed him mercy and kindness.        A few years after the escape, Temujin returned to Dei Sechen to claim Borte, a joyous reunion. Borte’s mother sent a gift of a black sable coat for Hoelun, which Temujin took, travelling south to the court of Toghrul, Khan of the Kereyit. Toghrul, you may recall, had been blood brothers with Temujin’s father Yesugei, who had helped him secure his throne. A powerful and wealthy lord, having him as an ally would make the Taychiud think twice about raiding Temujin. Toghrul was delighted by the fine gift, and happily took Temujin into his retinue.       This was the late 1170s, and things were looking up for Temujin. They had a small but loyal group of comrades building around them, Temujin had his wife and the protection of an overlord. Temujin likely envisaged living out his days as a minor chieftain, perhaps in time leading small raids against the Tatars but with little hope of achieving power comparable to Toghrul. Fate, however, often has little interest in our expectations.       What put Temujin on a collision course with humanity occurred around 1180.  You may remember that Yesugei had stolen Hoelun from her Merkit husband. Well, the Merkits remembered that too. Learning of the marriage of Yesugei’s oldest surviving son, the brothers of that Merkit, the tribe’s leaders, led a raid against Temujin. Temujin and his brothers fled but Borte, Suchigel and their servants were captured and carried off north to Merkit territory. Temujin, seeking refuge on Burkhan Khaldun, was distraught: he had struggled so hard to build himself back up from the death of his father, and again everything was ripped away.    Once he cleared his head, with his brothers in tow he traveled to the court of Toghrul, and demanded his justice. Toghrul, his mouth watering at the thought of loot from Merkit camps, agreed, and reintroduced Temujin to a childhood friend, a fellow Mongol named Jamukha of the Jadaran, now an ambitious warchief in Toghrul’s service. For the first time in his life Temujin was now a part of an army: they took the Merkit by surprise, their forces dissolving before them. Borte was rescued, but pregnant, or had already given birth.        It never will be known if the child Borte carried was Temujin’s or a Merkit’s. For his part, Temujin always treated him as fully legitimate son, but the shadow of doubt hung over the boy his entire life, with huge consequences for the Mongol Empire. He was named Jochi, meaning ‘guest,’ and would become the father of the Khans of the Golden Horde, who would rule Russia for centuries. Temujin and Jamukha renewed their oaths of anda, blood brothers, and enjoyed a blissful year and a half together.     Under Jamukha, Temujin began to be taught the ways of war, something his own father never had the chance to do. But in time, the friendship frayed. Temujin grew unsure of his friend, and Borte warned Temujin that Jamukha was fickle and tired of his friends easily. They may have feared that should they remain in Jamukha’s retinue, he’d spend his life a follower rather than come into his own. And so Temujin and his small group of followers went their own way, but surprisingly, some of Jamukha’s men and their families joined them, supposedly due to a vision of Temujin’s future greatness- though we might wonder if Temujin had not been encouraging some of these defections.        A year or two after this, a steady stream of followers and an emerging reputation for fairness to his men and their families regardless of their status made Temujin the most influential Borjigon. The surviving sons of the Khamag Khans, Temujin’s various uncles and relations, held a quriltai, a tribal meeting, and elected Temujin as Khan of the Borjigon. He sent his emissaries to Toghrul and Jamukha: Toghrul sent his congratulations, whereas Jamukha laid the blame for his separation with Temujin on the sons of the Khamag Khans.    Jamukha’s concerns were realized when he learned that his younger brother Taichar had been killed by Temujin’s men. That Taichar had also been stealing horses from Temujin’s men mattered little. Jamukha saw this as an act of war.  They met in battle around 1186 at Dalan Baljut, or seventy marshes. For the first battle he is known to have commanded, Temujin was soundly defeated. Outnumbered by Jamukha, who had more military experience, Temujin’s army was broken and dispersed: his men taken prisoner by Jamukha were, according to the Secret History of the Mongols, boiled alive in cauldrons, and a leading prince was beheaded, Jamukha then tying his severed head to a horse’s tail.   Now, as I am sure most of us can attest, there is no teacher like failure. One of Temujin’s skills was his ability to learn from both his own failings and those of his enemies. In this case, Jamukha had failed to finish off Temujin, allowing him to escape and to continue to be a threat, a rallying point for his army to gather around. According to the Secret History of the Mongols, Jamukha’s exceptionally harsh treatment of the prisoners encouraged defections from his force, which taught Temujin another lesson: Jamukha’s men were uneasy with the level of cruelty of the punishments, and with Temujin still alive, he served as a beacon for discontents to flock to. A staple of Temujin’s future strategies would be the relentless hounding of enemy leaders, preventing them from becoming such rallying points, weakening the enemy’s ability to resist and discouraging defections.   The next ten years or so of Temujin’s life are not covered in the sources, and he next shows up in 1196. Possibly, he spent that time just rebuilding his forces, essentially repeating the previous ten years and nothing of interest was there to be recorded. We’re also assuming the Secret History is accurate with chronology. However, there is a third option. This theory goes that after his defeat at Dalan Baljut, Temujin fled to the Jin Empire in the south. Fled to his enemies, you might say? How unlikely! But there is both precedent, and evidence for this. Precedent, in that steppe leaders sought shelter with sedentary powers when out on their luck- Toghrul in the same period was pushed from power and went to the Tangut Xi Xia and the Qara-Khitai.    Not having Toghrul to fall back onto, Temujin had few options other than the Jin. When Temujin shows back up on the scene in the Secret History of the Mongols, he is fighting alongside both a Jin army and Toghrul against the Tatars, who were revolting against the Jurchen- an example of Chinese dynasties employing steppe tribes against each other when they got too rowdy. So if Temujin had spent part or all of the previous 10 years in Jin company, looking for a chance to win their support for his entrance back into steppe politics, that would explain why he was fighting beside them in the mid 1190s.     Anyways, the Tatars were defeated, Temujin and Toghrul each got loot, followers, and Chinese titles were awarded to them-  Toghrul earned the title wang, meaning ‘king’ in Chinese. In Mongolian this became ong, and hence, he is often known as the Ong Khan. Both of them were now considered vassals by the Jin. With a boost to their positions, Temujin and Toghrul were very busy over the remainder of the 12th century: they campaigned against the Merkit tribes in the north, the Naiman in the west, and defeated vassal tribes who proved unreliable.    Their reputations and power grew immensely in these years: Temujin in particular showed himself a skilled student of war, and a keen organizer. Defeated tribes were not slaughtered, but absorbed and spread among his people, increasing his numbers. Followers who showed loyalty and ability were amply rewarded and given higher commands. While blood ties were not ignored and a number of these commanders were Temujin’s relations, blood was not the only factor as it often was for his rivals.   Speaking of rivals, Temujin and Toghrul’s actions created a swath of enemies across Mongolia. Merkits, Naimans, Tatars, Taychiud and other minor groupings were now all seeking revenge. In 1201 they elected a military leader to defeat Temujin once and for all, choosing a certain Jamukha. At Koyiten in 1201, the armies met and despite Jamukha’s shamans allegedly summoning a snowstorm, this time Temujin had the better of the engagement, and Jamukha’s coalition fractured. In the collapse, to offset his own losses Jamukha looted the camps of his allies before he fled. Toghrul was sent after him, while Temujin avenged himself against the  Taychiud. The Taychiud did not go quietly: Temujin, not only had a horse shot out from under him but also suffered a grievous neck wound which nearly cost him his life.    Yet he was victorious, and the Taychiud were defeated and absorbed, their vassal tribes also submitting. Sorqan Shira and his family, who had helped Temujin escape as a captive, were welcomed with honours. The man who shot Temujin’s horse came forward, admitting what he had done. He urged Temujin to spare him: if he was allowed into his retinue, he would lead armies for him. So the man was renamed Jebe, meaning ‘arrow,’ and brought into Temujin’s service. He became one of Chinggis Khan’s top commanders, leading armies in China and Qara-Khitai, pursuing the Shah of Khwarezm to his death and, alongside Subutai, marched through the Caucasus Mountains into southern Russia. All for his honesty about shooting the Khan’s horse.       In 1202 he had his revenge against the Tatars, defeating them and killing all of their men taller than the lynchpin of a cart. Before the battle began, he sent an order to his forces that there would be no looting until the enemy was totally defeated. Men breaking rank to pillage allowed the enemy a chance to escape: by forbidding this, not only was the total defeat of the enemy ensured, but it allowed a more organized looting. Loot was even provided for families who lost loved ones, which strengthened the loyalty of Temujin’s followers to him, knowing he would provide for their families. None of his followers would suffer the abandonment he had. Fortifying Mongol discipline was always one of his top priorities, and he considered the laws applicable to everyone. Thus when the Khamag princes who had elected him Khan broke rank to loot early, they were harshly punished and their loot confiscated. The princes felt this was a violation of their rights as nobles and split with Temujin, fleeing to Toghrul Ong Khan.       Toghrul was by now perhaps in his late 60s, and not as decisive as he had once been. The vultures were circling, awaiting to succeed him as Kereyit Khan. Temujin, who had closely worked with Toghrul for years, seemed an obvious choice, and indeed, he proposed a marriage alliance between their families, Toghrul’s daughter to wed his son Jochi, and for his daughter Qojin (Ko-jin) Beki to marry Toghrul’s son, Senggum (seng-gum) Ilkha (Ilk-ha). Senggum Ilkha baulked at this. He wanted his father’s throne and saw Temujin’s proposal as a brazen ploy. On the insistence of Senggum Ilkha, Toghrul declined the offer. With this gap in the Toghrul-Temujin alliance, the vultures flew in. The Khamag princes and Jamukha now whispered into Senggum Ikha’s ears, and in turn, he urged the Ong Khan to betray Temujin. Toghrul gave in, and a plan was made. A message was sent to Temujin informing him that Toghrul had agreed to the marriage proposal, and that Temujin should come at once. When Temujin and his small entourage arrived, the trap would spring on the unsuspecting Mongol.       While Temujin seemed to believe Toghrul had come to his senses and happily agreed, his followers had their doubts, and convinced Temujin to send envoys ahead to learn more. This brief pause gave time for sympathetic herders in the Kereyit camp, Badai and Kishlik, to overhear the plotting and warn Temujin. Alerted to the betrayal, Temujin fled and when Toghrul and the others realized the plot was found, they pursued.     The army caught Temujin and his hastily assembled force at Qalqaljit Sands in eastern Mongolia, and despite a ferocious engagement-  Temujin’s third son Ogedai was wounded in the neck, a top commander was fatally injured, and Toghrul’s son Senggum took an arrow to the cheek- Temujin’s forces were defeated, and he withdrew. But there was infighting in the enemy command- Toghrul showed himself unable to take leadership,and  a frustrated Jamukha sent warnings to Temujin- meant the coalition could not pursue and finish off Temujin.        Temujin and the survivors fled to Lake Baljuna in 1203, and drinking the muddy waters, those who stayed with him swore their loyalty, an event famous among the Mongols as the Baljuna Covenant. Though he had lost once again, Temujin had his allies, and he had those sympathetic to him, such as Central Asian Muslim merchants, come with supplies and sheep  to feed Temujin’s forces as they trickled in. Meanwhile, the enemy coalition disintegrated: the vultures wanted Toghrul’s throne, no one could assert leadership over the various factions, and there were assassination attempts. Temujin encouraged this division by sending messengers to the various leaders, reminding them of past loyalties and promises, or making threats, sowing dissension and mistrust.   As the enemy splintered, Temujin saw his opportunity.  Under cover of night in 1203, Temujin’s army fell upon the Kereyit while they were feasting. Though they put up stiff resistance, Toghrul and his son fled in the chaos. With their leadership gone, the Kereyit surrendered to Temujin Khan. Toghrul fled west to the Naiman, but a patrolman saw the poor wretch and, refusing to believe him to be the mighty Ong Khan, killed him. Thus ended Toghrul, Khan of the Kereyit.    Strengthened by the absorption of the Kereyit, Temujin now controlled eastern and central Mongolia. His enemies flocked together one last time, to the Tayang Khan of the Naiman in the west: Jamukha, the Merkit under Toqto’a Beki who had captured Borte so many years prior, Kereyit and other disaffected remnants of former tribes gathered for the final stand. Even still, as fate was on the knife’s edge, infighting weakened the coalition’s leadership. Tayang Khan’s  brother, Buiruk, refused to supply forces from his branch of the Naiman. Tayang Khan, his son Kuchlug, wife Gurbesu and top commanders fought over strategy. In an effort to outflank Temujin, Tayang sent messengers to the Onggut tribes to Temujin’s south. Wary of the new power on their north, the Onggut warned Temujin of the Tayang’s plans.    Temujin’s preparations were careful: he reorganized the army into its famous decimal composition, units of 10, 100, 1,000 and 10,000, appointing new commanders and strengthening discipline. They would not fight based in their tribes, but in their units, strengthening the chain of command. He set out early in spring 1204, while the horses were still thin from winter- the Naiman would not expect a campaign so early in the year. He allowed a Mongol scout on a particularly lean horse and poor saddle to be captured, causing the Naiman to underestimate the quality of the Mongol forces and their horses. Deeper into Naiman territory, when they knew they would be spotted by Naiman scouts, at night each man lit five fives. The Naiman watchmen returned with over exaggerated reports of the size of the Mongol army, telling Tayang Khan the Mongols were as numerous as the stars.    Tayang Khan panicked, and was unsure of what to make of the Mongols, who seemed to be growing in size each day. His instinct was to withdraw, drawing them deeper into Naiman territory and wearing them down. His son and commanders accused him of cowardice. Tayang Khan was now forced to confront the Mongols to save face.  “A life means to die, a body means to suffer: it is the same destiny for all! That being so,  let us fight!” he said, as he marched to his doom.        At Naqu Cliffs came the final battle. Tayang’s command was weak; Temujin was thoroughly prepared, his battle lines and commanders ready. Naiman forces were pushed back. Jamukha, seeing the battle could only end one way, frightened Tayang with tales of Temujin’s ferocity: “My sworn friend Temujin is indeed drawing near, slavering thus like  a greedy falcon. Have you seen him? You Naiman friends used to say that if you saw the Mongols, you would not leave them even the skin of a kid’s hoof. Behold them now!”   Jamukha then took his men and abandoned the Tayang to his fate. When night fell, many of the Naiman tried to flee, only to fall off the cliffs to their deaths. Whatever resistance remained when morning broke was finished off by Mongol troops, the Tayang killed, and the survivors incorporated into the Mongols. Temujin took the Tayang’s wife as his own, and the Naiman’s Uighur scribes were taken: their writing system became the basis for the first written Mongolian.   1204 sealed Mongolia’s future.  Though there were minor holdouts, none in Mongolia could now defeat Temujin. The son of Tayang fled to the Qara-Khitai, where he would usurp power in 1211, and Mongols came for him in 1217. The surviving sons of the Merkit chief fled to the Qipchaq-Qangli tribes in the far west, but not even that was far enough to protect them from the Mongols. Jamukha himself was betrayed in 1205 by his final five followers: for betraying their master they were killed, and Temujin offered Jamukha a chance to rejoin him. In a famous, emotional scene in the Secret History of the Mongols, Jamukha declined, asking Temujin to provide him a bloodless death, and that his soul would watch over his friend’s family. In Mongolian tradition, Temujin buried his sworn friend with the golden belts they had once given each other. In the account of the Persian Historian Rashid al-Din, writing a century later, Jamukha was instead cut to pieces while shouting his revenge at Chinggis Khan. This less romanticized version is much less often included in retellings of the story."       In 1206, a great quriltai was held, and Temujin was proclaimed as ruler of all the steppe tribes: no longer were they Kereyit, Naimans, or Tatars, but Mongols. Temujin took a new title, Chinggis Khan: fierce or stern ruler. And now the whole of the world would tremble at what he was about to accomplish.         In the next episode we will begin the Mongol Conquests, so be sure to hit subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!  

I’m your host David and welcome to Ages of Conquest: a Kings and Generals Podcast.  This is the Mongol conquests. Before we get into all that material you’re expecting for any good series on the Mongols- the conquests, the smoking ruins and the towers of skulls, we must discuss Chinggis Khan’s long and troubled rise to power. But before we can do that, it will help the humble listener immensely if we take the time to introduce what was going on, and who was who, in 12th century Mongolia. In the previous episode we introduced some aspects of Mongolian culture in this period as groundwork: now we will introduce the various tribes who played a role in the rise of the Mongol Empire.        Our episode on introducing thirteenth century China provides some important context on the general overview of Mongolian-Chinese relations, and details on the power vacuum following the fall of China’s Tang Dynasty in 907 that I won’t repeat at length here. In short though, parts of northern China and Mongolia came under the rule of the Liao Dynasty, ruled by the nomadic Khitans, a people related to the Mongols, beginning in the 900s. Their rule included garrisons and forts stationed throughout Mongolia,  and mainly kept things in order for about two centuries, dealing with sporadic uprisings and resistance. One of the final military victories of the Liao Dynasty was the suppression of an uprising by the Tatar tribes at the beginning of the 1100s.    Just over two decades later though, the Liao Dynasty disintegrated under the onslaught of the Jurchen, a Tungusic semi-nomadic people from Manchuria and ancestors of the Manchu. Their newly declared Jin Dynasty seized control of Manchuria, took control of all of China north of the Huai River from the Song Dynasty, and vassalized the Tangut Xi Xia in northwestern China: but, they did not make an attempt to control Mongolia as the Liao had done. With the Khitan garrisons moving west with the general Yelu Dashi to found the Qara-Khitai empire, Mongolia was basically left in a power vacuum, and the local tribes now rose into their own.        When we describe the Mongol tribes in the 12th century, we are discussing a large, rather disparate group of clans and tribes, some of whom were speakers of Mongolic languages, some were speakers of Turkic languages, and some were in a sort of milieu, described by historians as Turko-Mongols, tribes perhaps ethnically Turkish but speakers of Mongolian, and vice-versa. By convention, we use ‘Mongol tribes,’ to refer to the various nomadic groups north of China but south of the Siberian forests. However, in this period ‘Mongol’ referred to just a rather distinct and smaller grouping in the northeast, in the region of the Onon and Kerulen Rivers, the tribe to which the young Chinggis Khan belonged.    If we were to place a clock face over the whole of Mongolia, they would be situated at about 2 o’clock. The other tribes of the region, who we will be meeting shortly as we go around this clock, such as the Merkit, Kereyit, Tatars and Naiman, did not consider themselves Mongol, and indeed, evidence suggests they would have been rather insulted by it. A recent argument by historian Stephen Pow suggest that ‘Tatar,’ may have been the general endonym used by the steppe tribes. The Liao and Jin Dynasties generally referred to them all as ‘zubu.’ Either way, Mongol was, in the 1100s, a very limited term, and in the following discussion, will refer to the specific tribe and its subclans.       The history of the Mongol tribe before the 12th century is not an easy one to trace, and the mentions prior to this period are often controversial. The most commonly agreed upon, (though not a universal agreement, mind you) is that the Mongols’ ancestors were the Meng-wu, mentioned in histories of the Tang Dynasty as a minor branch of the larger Shih-wei ethnic grouping, a grouping which were vassals of the Gokturk Khaganates until their final collapse in the 740s. At this time, they lived in the area south of the Amur river, which is today the border between Russia and Chinese Manchuria, and would have been semi-nomadic, relying on hunting, fishing, agriculture and raising pigs as much as pastoralism. For a refresher on nomadic pastoralism, check out this seasons 2nd episode, on Mongolian nomadism. During the 900s, the Meng-wu moved west to the Arghun River, on the edge of modern Mongolia,  becoming subjects of their linguistic cousins, the Khitan Liao Dynasty. They gradually continued west and south, and were likely in the region of the Onon-Kerulen Rivers by the 11th century, by then relying on full pastoralism, as pigs and agriculture are unsuited for the steppe.        In the Mongols’ own legendary accounts, preserved in the 13th century Secret History of the Mongols, their people originate from the union of the blue-grey wolf and the fallow deer, Borte Chino and Gua Moral. The entire ancestry from the wolf and deer down to Chinggis Khan is recorded in the Secret History, and we won’t bog you down with it here. A particularly interesting conception occurs at one point, where a ray of light, also translated as yellow man, enters the tent of one of Chinggis’ ancestors, Alan Qo’a and impregnates her, a sort of divine conception. At this section in the Secret History, the most famous Mongolian parable first appears. Alan Qo’a, to prevent her sons from fighting each other, gives them each an arrow, and asks them to break it, which they do easily. Then, tying five arrows together in a bundle, asks them to break it, which they are unable to do. The message was clear: divided and alone, they are easily broken, but united they are unbreakable. It is a famous passage for the Mongols, and for good reason, as its lesson was applicable again and again.        The first of Chinggis Khan’s ancestors commonly agreed to exist was Khaidu, who in the Secret History of the Mongols is a great-great-great-grandson of Alan Qo’a, a figure who brought his branch of the Mongols, the Kiyat Borjigon, to some prominence over the other Mongol branches.  Khaidu’s great-grandson Khabul, with the fall of the Liao in 1125 creating a power vacuum in Mongolia, was able to organize what seems to have been a sort of military confederation, called by modern authors the Khamag Mongol Khanate, and at the time was known as something like Monggyol ulus, or Mongol state.    Little is known about this early Mongol state, or what sort of suzerainty its Khans exercised. What we do have takes the form of anecdotes. For Khabul, the Jin Dynasty took note of his rise to power, and invited him to the imperial court, intending to make him a vassal. At a feast at the imperial court, Khabul became incredibly drunk, went over and pulled on the Jin Emperor’s beard! The Jin Emperor allowed Khabul to leave with his life, but changed his mind and sent officials to kill him- Khabul ambushed them instead. The Jin Dynastic sources do not, unfortunately, provide direct corroboration for the above events, making it unclear if they were the stuff of legend, though they do remark on the Mongols being a nuisance along the frontier in this period.        Khabul was succeeded as Khamag Khan not by any of his sons, but by his cousin Ambaghai, a Mongol of the Taychiud line. Ambaghai, shortly into his reign, was captured by the Tatar tribes of eastern Mongolia, who on our clock of Mongolia, would be located between 2 and 3 o’clock. Turkic tribes, speaking most likely Mongol, the Tatars in this period were  in three main divisions, an unruly control of much of eastern Mongolia. Even though Ambaghai had been en route to organize a marriage alliance with them, the Jin Dynasty had gotten to the Tatars first, the Tatars acting as the Jin Dynasty’s ‘men on the ground,’ disrupting local politics to keep the tribes from unifying. The Tatars handed Ambaghai over to the Jin, who nailed him to a wooden donkey. His dying breaths were allegedly urging the Mongols to avenge him-      “Until the nails of your five fingers     Are ground down,     Until your ten fingers are worn away,     Strive to avenge me!” So began the decades long rivalry between the Mongols and the Tatars, with the Jin Dynasty as the puppet master behind them.        Khabul’s son Qutula (Ku-tu-la) succeeded Ambaghai, and though he was famous among the Mongols for immense physical strength and an appetite to match, over a series of thirteen battles he was unable to defeat the Tatars, and was killed in about 1160, heralding the collapse of the  Khamag Mongol confederation. It must be stressed that the Khamag Mongol was much more of a military alliance than a state in the form of the later Mongol Empire. Though it held influence in the steppe, it did not hold domination over the whole of Mongolia, but simply among those branches of the Mongol tribe- Borjigon (Bor-ji-gon), Taychiud (Tay-chi-ood) and the like, in northeastern Mongolia. To quote Volume 6 of the Cambridge History of China, “none of the available evidence even hints at the emergence at this time of any kind of administrative machinery or lines of authority independent of and in competition with the traditional kinship structure. The experience and memory of this brief unity may have contributed to the consolidation of the Mongolian nation, but it bequeathed nothing in the way of institutional foundations on which the later empire of the Great Mongols could build. The preliminary work would have to be done anew.”    Over the course of these battles, one of Khabul Khan’s grandchildren, Yesugei, captured a Tatar chief, Temujin-Uge. Upon his return to his own encampment, Yesugei found that one of his wives, Hoelun, had given birth to a boy clutching a blood clot in his fist the size of a knucklebone. The Tatar chief was sacrificed, and the boy was given his name- Temujin, the future Chinggis Khan. But you’ll have to wait until the next episode for more on his story.       With this brief history of the Khamag Mongol, we should quickly note  the other clans of the Mongol tribe in this period. The two main to know are the Kiyat Borjigon and the Taychiud. The Kiyat Borjigon are the clan to which Khabul, Qutula, Yesugei and Chinggis Khan belonged. Of the Taychiud lineage, Ambaghai was the most notable leader. The switching of the Khamag leadership between these two lineages sowed the seeds for future divisions- Ambaghai’s family held a grudge when the title of Khan when back to the Borjigon, and this was one of the factors which lead to the famous abandoning of Yesugei’s family, which we will explore next episode. Other clans of the Mongols included the Jadaran, to which Temujin’s blood brother Jamukha belonged, the Jurkin, and the Uriyangqat (Uri-yang-kat), to which the famous Subutai belonged. Subutai’s Uriyangqat are not to be confused with the very similar sounding Uriyangkhai, a northern tribe famous for reindeer herding.        Continuing clockwise on our clock, if the Mongols were 2 o’clock, the Tatars between 2 and 3 o’clock, then at 3 o’clock we would have the Onggirad, a less warlike grouping which in this period was famous for the beauty of its women. Chinggis Khan’s mother Hoelun, his wife Borte, and numerous wives for the rest of his descendants, came from this tribe or its subgroupings. At 5 o’clock we have the Onggut, close to the border of China proper. The Onggut were what the Jin Dynasty called their juyin, the tribes who made up their border guards. The Onggut were among those whose duty was to man the border defences the Jin erected, particularly in the final years of the 12th century- this included forts and an extensive earthen wall and ditch along the frontier. The Onggut were given a chance to join a coalition against Chinggis Khan, but chose to warn him instead, and their ruler was granted a daughter of the Khan in marriage, and soon submitted to him proper. Contrary to the description that Chinggis Khan simply ‘went around the Great Wall of China,’ we might find it more accurate to describe it as being opened to him by those appointed to man it!       At 6 o’clock is the noted Gobi desert, a sparsely populated expanse of gravel and low scrub brush. It was a formidable, but not unpassable, barrier, especially if an army chose to travel during the milder times of year. Connecting to the Alashan desert and the great western loop of the Yellow River, known as the Ordos loop, it served as the divider between the steppe and the Tangut Xi Xia Kingdom.    From 6 o’clock, if one was to move towards the centre of our clock face, they would encounter one of the most powerful tribes of 12th century Mongolia, the Kereyit. Centered on the Black Forest of the Tuul River, the Kereyit may have originated as a branch of the Tatars, asserting their independence in the final years of the Liao Dynasty, emerging as a distinct political body in about 1100. Though the Kereyit were likely of Turkic origin, the sources indicate close contact with the Mongols and little trouble conversing between them, suggesting they were bilingual or spoke Mongolian. Much closer to the main trade routes and China proper, the Kereyit were considerably wealthier than their northern cousins, their population was higher, and, perhaps surprisingly, they were Christians, or at least their ruling class were.    Specifically, they were Nestorian, or Church of the East, a sect which had gradually made its way east after being deemed heretical at the Third Ecumenical Council of Ephesus in 431. Several names associated with the Kereit, such as Marqus and Qurjaqus (Kur-jak-us), were Mongolized forms of Marcus and Cyricaus (syr-i-cus). Indeed, Marqus-Buyruq Khan was the Khanate’s founder in about 1100, and Qurjaqus-Buyruq (kur-jak-us booy-ruk) Khan was his descendant and the father of the Khanate’s final ruler, the famous Toghrul-Ong Khan. When Qurjaqus died around the mid 12th-century, his.. potent manhood, shall we say, left him the issue of numerous children, 40 by one account. Toghrul was able to seize control only after killing a number of his brothers, with the military assistance of the Mongol Yesugei, the father of Temujin. Yesugei and Toghrul swore oaths to be blood-brothers, anda, a relationship which would bring Temujin to seek Toghrul’s assistance in due time.    At 7 o’clock, to the west of the Tangut and far side of the Gobi, we meet the Uighurs. A mainly sedentary Turkic people, we mentioned them in our episode on North China as an empire based in Mongolia until their defeat in 840 by the Kirghiz. After that, a large number of Uighurs migrated south, into the Gansu corridor and the oases of the Tarim Basin, Turfan Depression and into the Dzunghar Basin, in what is now Xinjiang in China, the far northwest of the country where it meets with Kazakhstan, Mongolia and Russia.    The Gansu Uighurs were conquered by the Tangut Kingdom, but the remainder, in their realm sometimes called ‘Uighuristan,’ retained their independence. Qara-Qocho, or in Chinese, Gaochang, in the Turfan Depression, was their major city. During the days of their empire, they had practiced Manicheism, but in their new homeland largely converted to the Buddhism of the locals in the following centuries, or Christianity in lesser numbers. With the establishment of the Qara-Khitai Empire to their west in the 1130s and 40s, by Khitans fleeing the fall of the Liao Dynasty, the Uighurs became their vassals, though they kept a great deal of autonomy and were an important link in the regional trade routes. Uighurs were able to often find employment as merchants or skilled advisers to the Khanates to their north, a role which would only increase when their script became adopted for the Mongolian language with Chinggis Khan’s expanding empire.   Continuing north from the Uighurs, we head to roughly 9 o’clock, where we end up in western Mongolia on the slopes of the Altai Mountains, in the territory of the Naiman. Meaning ‘eight’ in Mongolian, for the number of tribes or lineages making up this turkic Khanate, the Naiman in the 12th century were the most powerful union within Mongolia, nomadic yet relatively centralized, with a distinct ruling dynasty and literacy, making use of the Uighur script and a strong military. A number of the Naiman elite were Nestorian Christians, like the Kereyit, but shamanistic practices are observed multiple times in the sources. Their main competition was with the Kereyit, but were also involved with Central Asia- for several decades they were vassals of the Qara-Khitai. The Naiman maintained their unity until the mid 1190s, with the death of their Khan Inancha-Bilge, when the Khanate was split between his sons, Tayang and Buyruq, weakening it in the face of Mongol aggression. Despite their power, we know very little about the Naiman. Their name, Naiman, is what the Mongols called them. We don’t even know what they called themselves.   With the Naiman at 9 o’clock, we have a selection of smaller tribes on the borders of, or within, the great Siberian forest which take us to 12 o’clock. At 10 o’clock, around Khovsgol Lake, were the Oirat, in this period a relatively minor tribe, but the seed of a later union, the Four Oirat, which would dominate Mongolia in the fifteenth century, from which the Dzunghars and the Kalmyks would spring.  At 11 to 12 o’clock, on the lower Selenge River to the south of Lake Baikal, a massive body of water in Russia which is the deepest lake in the world, we find the Merkit. Speaking likely a Mongolic language, they were a fragmented collection of tribes, of little danger to the Naiman or Kereyit, but could pose a threat when the Mongols were disunified.    On the edge of the steppe, the Merkit practiced a mix of pastoralism, hunting, fishing and even it seems, agriculture. The Merkit would have a long antagonism with the Mongols, dating at least to the late 1150s when Chinggis Khan’s father Yesugei stole Hoelun, Chinggis’ mother, from her Merkit husband. This left a long suffering grudge which led to the capture of Chinggis’ own wife Borte by the Merkit, a captivity which resulted in the birth of Jochi, a child whose uncertain paternity would have major consequences for the Mongol Empire. One chief of the Merkit, Toqto’a Beki, would be a particular thorn in Chinggis Khan’s side, and after his death, his sons fled to the Qipchaq (chip-chak) in the far western steppe, bringing the Mongols eventually into Russia.   Aside from the Merkit, there are the smaller tribes of the Siberian forests the Mongols collectively dubbed the hoi-yin irgen, meaning ‘forest peoples.’ This included the aforementioned Oirat, the Kirghiz in the Yenisei valley, controlling one of the most northerly grain producing regions, and the Qori Tumed to the east of Lake Baikal, among others. All of these mentioned come under the authority of the Mongol Empire, but how far north Mongol control went is unclear. Lake Baikal is often seen as a rough estimate for the northern extent of Mongol rule, but there is suggestion their trade networks extended far among the peoples of what is now Yakutia, the Russian far east.        This has been a very brief introduction to the various peoples inhabiting the Mongolian steppe, or were in close proximity to it. This is not exhaustive: we didn’t mention every single clan and sub clan and lineage among the Mongols, nor did we go into Manchuria, or discuss in much detail the lands and tribes of the Qara-Khitai. Ideally, this should give you, dear listener, a fine basis for understanding the tribes and politics at play for our next discussion: the birth of Temujin, and his rise to become Chinggis Khan, the conqueror of the World. That’s coming soon, so be sure to hit subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!