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Pulse of AI Podcast Season 6 Episode 140 On this podcast, one of the last episodes of season 6, I am joined by Subutai Ahmad, CEO of Numenta. Numenta is in many ways a uniquely Silicon Valley company. It was founded by tech luminaries and has spent the last 17 years doing deep neuroscience research with the goal of better understanding the brain so that those principles could be applied to AI. This work underpins and acts as a platform for their products, the first of which was just recently released. Follow me on x @thepulseofai and go to our website and sign up for our newsletter at www.thepulseofai.com In this podcast, Subutai shares: Shares the story of his journey and discusses: What Numenta has been focusing on for the last 17 years. Why AI needs neuroscience. The challenges companies/Numenta customers are facing. Generative and non-generative AI, and when to use which. Why CPUs are ideally suited for accelerating inference. How Numenta and Intel are shaping the future of AI. Where AI is going. Subutai Ahmad - CEO, Numenta Bio Subutai is passionate about neuroscience, deep learning, and building intelligent systems. An accomplished technologist, he has been instrumental in driving Numenta's research, technology and business since 2005. He previously served as VP Engineering at YesVideo where he helped grow the company from a three-person start-up to a leader in automated digital media authoring. In 1997, Subutai co-founded ePlanet Interactive which developed the IntelPlay Me2Cam, the first computer vision product developed for consumers. Subutai holds a B.S. in Computer Science from Cornell University, and a Ph.D in Computer Science from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.
Show Notes for Crazy Wisdom Podcast Episode with Subutai Ahmad Introduction The episode features Subutai Ahmad, the CEO of Numenta and a pioneering figure in both neuroscience and artificial intelligence (AI). The discussion navigates the complex relationship between the human brain's architecture and contemporary AI models like deep learning systems. Topics range from the historical evolution of these disciplines to the cutting-edge research that could shape their future. Historical Perspective The initial inspiration for artificial neural networks came from our rudimentary understanding of how neurons and connections work, going back to the 1940s. Donald Hebb significantly influenced the back-propagation model developed in the 1980s. Hebb's work, combined with the discoveries of Hubel and Wiesel in the '50s, laid the groundwork for understanding how neurons learn features from the visual world, including edge detectors and higher-level shapes. State of Neural Networks Today Despite advancements, today's neural networks still rely on a simplified model of what a neuron is, and they differ fundamentally from biological systems. One glaring difference is in power consumption; a human brain uses only about 20 watts, while running a deep learning network can require power equivalent to an entire city. Learning Modes and Algorithms Deep learning systems usually operate in two modes: inference and training. In contrast, the human brain doesn't distinguish between these states, learning continuously from environmental stimuli. Algorithms, particularly back propagation, are still part of the problem. They try to minimize error, unlike the brain, which adapts and learns contextually. The Numenta Angle Founded by Jeff Hawkins and Donna Dubinsky, Numenta has been researching to understand the principles underlying brain function. Recently, they have focused on applying this understanding to AI. Their approach comprises three main pillars: Efficiency: Using 'sparsity' to mimic the brain's efficient use of connections. Neuron Model: Incorporating the complex nature of neurons for continuous learning. Cortical Columns: Employing a standardized neural circuitry model to replicate intelligence. The Road Ahead For the future, Subutai discusses the need for AI systems to be autonomous and embodied, suggesting that agency and embodiment are crucial aspects of intelligent systems. He also touches on the importance of including elements like neuromodulators and even explores the potential role of quantum physics in neural processing. Conclusion We are in a transformative era where AI is far from being fully realized. Organizations are still trying to grasp how to incorporate these technologies effectively. However, the future is promising, especially with interdisciplinary approaches like Numenta's that blend neuroscience with AI, focusing on understanding the brain's core principles to improve AI's capabilities.
Follow me to see #HeadsTalk Podcast Audiograms every Monday on LinkedIn. Episode Title:-
This Week in Machine Learning & Artificial Intelligence (AI) Podcast
Today we're joined by Subutai Ahmad, VP of research at Numenta. While we've had numerous conversations about the biological inspirations of deep learning models with folks working at the intersection of deep learning and neuroscience, we dig into uncharted territory with Subutai. We set the stage by digging into some of fundamental ideas behind Numenta's research and the present landscape of neuroscience, before exploring our first big topic of the podcast: the cortical column. Cortical columns are a group of neurons in the cortex of the brain which have nearly identical receptive fields; we discuss the behavior of these columns, why they're a structure worth mimicing computationally, how far along we are in understanding the cortical column, and how these columns relate to neurons. We also discuss what it means for a model to have inherent 3d understanding and for computational models to be inherently sensory motor, and where we are with these lines of research. Finally, we dig into our other big idea, sparsity. We explore the fundamental ideals of sparsity and the differences between sparse and dense networks, and applying sparsity and optimization to drive greater efficiency in current deep learning networks, including transformers and other large language models. The complete show notes for this episode can be found at twimlai.com/go/562
Last week you heard the first part of the interview between our series researcher, Jack Wilson, and Dr. Stephen Pow on his theory regarding the death of the famous Mongol general, Jebe Noyan. Dr. Pow argues that Jebe died in a small skirmish in the days leading up to the Kalka River, and today they discuss some of the reaction to Pow's theory, further expanding upon his evidence as well as the possibility of Jebe's survival. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.
Any experience reading sources from the Mongol Empire will find a frustrating tendency for them to not mention the fates of some of the empire's key figures. A recent theory by Dr. Stephen Pow, a frequent guest on our podcast, has sought to cast a light on the possible last days of one of the top generals of the early Mongol Empire, Jebe Noyan, the associate of Subedei during their pursuit of the Khwarezm-shah Muhammad. In part one of their discussion, our series researcher Jack Wilson talks with Dr. Pow on Jebe's life, the Kalka River battles, and his theory and evidence for Jebe's death, and what this reveals about the use of sources in the Mongol Empire. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.
Perhaps no Khan of the Golden Horde in the thirteenth century has had his reputation so maligned as Töde-Möngke. This younger brother of Möngke-Temür ruled the Jochid ulus from around 1282 until he gave up the throne in 1287. His reign is, at the most charitably, usually described as Töde-Möngke being dedicated to religious pursuits, leaving real power in the hands of the rising prince, Nogai. At worst, as in the sixteenth century Qara-Tawarikh of Öttemish Hajji, Töde-Möngke suffered from a debilitating mental condition that left him hopelessly unable to deal with the strains of governance, or indeed even the world around him. Here, based on the research of our series historian conducted during the process of his Masters thesis, we'll offer a somewhat more nuanced portrayal of Töde-Möngke, who appears to have acted with a little more energy than he has generally been credited with. Along the way, we'll also deal with the Second Mongol Invasion of Hungary, which occurred during his reign. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Töde-Möngke, or Tuda-Mengu as he's known to Turkic speakers, was a younger brother of the previous Khan of the Golden Horde, Möngke-Temür and therefore a grandson of Batu Khan. Like his brother, his life before he became Khan is entirely unknown to us. His older brother died as early as 1280, or as late as 1282, depending on the source. Literature has often placed Töde-Möngke's rise to power as being through the efforts of prince Nogai maneuvering him to the throne, and entering into a power sharing agreement. However, the primary sources do not portray such a manner of succession. Möngke-Temür died of complications following an operation on an abcess in his throat. There is no indication of a preferred successor. He instead left behind nine sons, who in the works of the Mamluk historians Baybars al-Mansuri and al-Nuwayri, immediately squabbled for the throne. His brother Töde-Möngke though, as apparently the oldest surviving descendant of Batu, is described by these sources as essentially fighting off his nephews to take the throne himself. Whether it was open fighting is not particularly clear: the process was probably a mix of threats, bribery and promises over several months, far from unusual in a Chinggisid succession. We might assume that Möngke-Temür died around 1280-1281, and it took until early 1282 for the ascension of Töde-Möngke to be finalized. For anyone claiming Nogai controlled this process, there is simply no mention of his involvement in any of the contemporary sources, nor is there evidence for Professor Vernadsky's claim that, at the time of Töde-Möngke's enthronement, that Nogai was also enthroned as a “Khan of the Manghit tribe.” As far as we can tell, there is no reason to assume Nogai was not among the princes and commanders who simply backed Töde-Möngke at the quriltai. The first years of Töde-Möngke's reign are somewhat hazy, but a few details can be made out by comparing the various sources he's mentioned in. It appears his most notable efforts were related to diplomacy. Though modern writers often by this point give Nogai most control over the Golden Horde's foreign policy, there is little direct evidence for this. In fact, Töde-Möngke seems to have acted with a bit of vigour in this area. A Mamluk embassy sent with gifts to Möngke-Temür in 1282 arrived too late, and found Töde-Möngke on the throne. The gifts were instead given to Töde-Möngke, and friendly relations commenced. There is nothing particularly distinct in the embassy's first description of Töde-Möngke, in comparison to his late brother. This first embassy, as recorded by the Mamluk chroniclers, does not describe Töde-Möngke as a Muslim; this is interesting, as not only is Töde-Möngke's status as the second Muslim khan of the Golden Horde is one of the most notable things of his reign to modern authors, but we would think that the Mamluks would also have been quite interested by such a prospect following Möngke-Temür, who is generally agreed to have been a shamanist-animist. But Töde-Möngke's 1283 letter to the Mamluk Sultan Qalawun was markedly different. In this second letter, Töde-Möngke espouses at length about his conversion to Islam, how he had established sharia law in the Golden Horde, and asked for an Islamic name as well as banners from the Mamluk Sultan and his puppet ‘Abbasid Caliph. If Töde-Möngke was such an intensely devout Muslim, how did the previous embassy fail to note it? Well, Professor Peter Jackson offers an intriguing explanation. First we must look to the year prior to Töde-Möngke's letter. In June of 1282, a new Il-Khan had taken the throne following the death of Abaqa. This was Tegüder Ahmad, the first Muslim Il-Khan, who we have covered in a previous episode. Soon after taking the throne, Tegüder sent envoys to both the Golden Horde and to the Mamluk Sultanate, informing them of his enthronement and conversion to islam. The letter he sent to the Golden Horde does not survive, but his letters to Cairo do. Here these letters serve as a warning; telling the Mamluks that the Mongols were at peace, and that as a Muslim it would be easier for the Mamluks to submit to Tegüder. What Professor Jackson suggests is that Töde-Möngke, upon learning of a Muslim on the throne of Hülegü, worried of rapproachment between the Ilkhanate and the Mamluk Sultanate. While Töde-Möngke maintained the peace with the Il-Khans, there was no advantage to him if Sultan Qalawun submitted to, or made peace with, Tegüder. Recall how the Jochids may have seen the Mamluks as their vassals; this was not to the Jochids' liking to have their vassals submit to another power. But more immediately, there would be economic and potentially military consequences. The Golden Horde's trade ties, especially the sale of slaves, to Cairo would presumably lessen, if not dry up, if there was no Egyptian need for these slaves who made up the heart of the Mamluk army. And if the Ilkhanate no longer needed to worry about its border with the Mamluks, then they may be less willing to maintain peace with the Jochids, and could potentially bring its full might to bear on its shared frontiers with the Golden Horde. For Töde-Möngke, it was much better for war to continue between the Ilkhanate and Mamluks. Hence, his letter in 1283 to Qalawun, loudly proclaiming his conversion to Islam; essentially, a means to “out-Muslim” Tegüder's claim, and discourage Qalawun from feeling he needed to respond too kindly to the Il-Khan's letter. In the end, Töde-Möngke needn't have worried much; Tegüder was overthrown and executed by Arghun in 1284. But Jackson's theory raises the question: did Töde-Möngke convert to Islam just for the sake of diplomatically outmaneuvering Tegüder Il-Khan? Possibly, though doubtful. The fact that non-Mamluk sources, including Rashid al-Din, make no mention of Töde-Möngke's Islam may be telling, though he also casts doubt on Tegüder's Islam too, in an effort to delegitimize pre-Ghazan Khans who were Muslims. It could be that Töde-Möngke happened to convert in a similar time to Tegüder's ascension, or was simply quiet about it during the initial Mamluk embassy. Whatever the case, he may have been initially ambivalent of the Mamluk alliance, but upon learning of Tegüder's conversion via his letter, found it more useful to fully embrace Islam, or at least loudly alert the Mamluks of it. Regardless, by 1283 Töde-Möngke claimed to the Mamluks that he was a Muslim. Generally speaking, Töde-Möngke sought peace on his frontiers with other Mongol Khanates. We've already noted how Tegüder's letter spoke of peace between him and Töde-Möngke. There is no record of fighting between the Golden Horde and the Ilkhanate during Töde-Möngke's reign, and it seems likely that Töde-Möngke maintained the treaty established by Möngke-Temür and Abaqa. The front between the Golden Horde, the Chagatai Khanate and the Ögedeids seems to have likewise remained quiet. Given that Qaidu in 1282 was able to fully assert his authority and place Du'a on the Chagatayid throne, then divert resources to continual attacks on Khubilai's northwestern frontier, it seems that a truce, perhaps uneasily, was kept in Central Asia. Here, this may have been in large part to the efforts of Qonichi, the head of the line of Orda and ruler of the Blue Horde. Qonichi seems to have acted largely as an independent monarch: both Rashid al-Din and Marco Polo portray Qonichi as answering to no one. Modern scholars have often presumed that Qonichi's independence was a result of Nogai weakening the Golden Horde Khan. Yet it is not at all apparent that Töde-Möngke held lesser or greater influence over the Blue Horde khans than either his predecessor or successors. Instead, it may well be that the relationship between Töde-Möngke and Qonichi was much the same as it had been under their predecessors: the occasional consultation, perhaps tribute or troop demands, but no real oversight or interference. Qonichi and his son and successor, Bayan, are known to have sent friendly messages to the Il-Khans, and given their apparent interest in neutrality, and position on the east wing of the Golden Horde bordering Qaidu's dominions, that Qonichi must have sought neutrality with these khans as well. In this region Töde-Möngke carried out one significant diplomatic maneuver: in 1283, after consultation with Nogai, Qonichi, and after years of lobbying by the high ranking lady Kelmish Aqa, Töde-Möngke released Khubilai Khaan's captive sons Nomukhan and Kököchü. After nearly ten years in captivity, the boys were finally allowed to return to the Yuan Dynasty. The effort, clearly enough, was intended on warming relations with the Great Khan. Perhaps Töde-Möngke was a believer in unity between the Mongol Khanates, and did not seek to bring further turmoil between them. Whatever the case, he maintained a non-hostile diplomacy with his cousins, but did not succeed in achieving any empire-wide peace, if that was his intention. The increasingly withdrawn Khubilai hardly showed great interest in the return of Nomukhan, let alone in turning any energy to whatever overtures Töde-Möngke hoped to convey with such an effort. It would take another twenty year for any real strides at peace to be made across the Empire. Non-aggressive diplomacy to other Mongols does not mean Töde-Möngke engaged in peaceful relations with all his neighbours. He may simply have been an adherent to the belief, as espoused by the thirteenth century writer ibn Wasil, that if the Mongols stopped killing each other then they could conquer the world. Regarding the Rus' principalities, Töde-Möngke's policies much resembled Möngke-Temür's, and he continued to assign or rescind yarliqs, or patents, granting a given Rus' prince right to his title. Töde-Möngke did not interfere in the succession of the princes; he respected the Riurikid tradition, and confirmed who was presented to him. In the first years of his reign, Töde-Möngke regularly provided armies to Alexander Nevskii's son Andrei, who was in a protracted dispute with his brother Dmitri for the title of Grand Prince of Vladimir. According to the Nikon Chronicle, Töde-Möngke even sent one of his own sons at the head of an army to assist Andrei. While at point Dmitri Alexandrovich did flee to Nogai, careful readings of the Rus' chroniclers do not make it apparent that Nogai provided either army or yarliq to support Dmitri in opposition to Andrei as Töde-Möngke's candidate. For these campaigns between princes, the troops Töde-Möngke sent always used the opportunity to raid and pillage extensively. As the Chronicle of Novgorod records, “in the winter of [1284], Knyaz Dmitri came to Novgorod with his brother Andrei with an armed force, and with Tartars and with the whole of the Low Country, and they did much harm and burned the districts.” Most of the activity we can unambiguously write of Töde-Möngke taking part in, even as a participant, can be dated from the first years of reign; roughly, 1282-1284. By the middle of the 1280s, though, Töde-Möngke's presence nearly disappears. This is best exemplified in 1285, when Nogai and another prince, Töde-Möngke's nephew Tele-Buqa, attacked the Hungarian Kingdom. The sources make no mention of Töde-Möngke's involvement, in either ordering or organizing the attack in any fashion. What seems to have occurred is that Töde-Möngke, depending on the source, either went insane or began to devout himself entirely to Islam, growing weary or disinterested in governance in favour of his religious pursuits. Rashid al-Din, the Mamluk Chroniclers and Öttemish Hajji's sixteenth century history all portray Töde-Möngke effectively abandoning the duties of the Khan. In Mamluk Egypt, Baybars al-Mansuri described Möngke-Temür's widow, Jijek-Khatun, acting as a regent during part of Töde-Möngke's reign; it could be that, as Töde-Möngke withdrew from the running of the state around late 1284, Jijek-Khatun became the effective leader of the Golden Horde, as she may have done in the final days of her husband's illness. The inception of the 1285 attack on Hungary is difficult to pinpoint. Someone in the Golden Horde certainly picked a good time to take advantage of matters in Hungary. Following the devastating invasion of the 1240s, the Hungarian King Béla IV had invited the Cumans to return to the kingdom, marrying his son István to a Cuman princess to ensure their place as the first line of defense should the Mongols return. In 1272 after the sudden death of István two years into his reign, his son Laszló, or Ladislaus, the product of the union with the Cuman princess, ascended the Árpádian throne. Only a young boy, his first years were spent tossed between powerful barons who jockeyed for power, while his mother was regent-in-name only. Perhaps because of this, Laszló preferred his mother's people, the Cumans, and as he grew older lived among them, wore their clothes and took Cuman mistresses— to the horror of his lawfully wedded Christian wife. Hence, Laszló's epithet, Laszló the Cuman. Laszló's favouring of the Cumans led to Papal and baronal efforts to clamp down on their privileges and assimilate them, the catalyst for a large Cuman revolt in 1280. Laszló was forced to lead the Hungarian army to defeat the Cumans, culminating at Lake Hód in 1282. Many fled to the Golden Horde, pursued by Laszló right into Horde territory, and brought word of upheaval in the Hungarian kingdom. Certainly, this was as good a time as any for a Jochid army to ravage Hungary. Any one in the Horde could see that. But then from whom did the idea for the attack arise? Nogai, whose expanding ordu along the Lower Danube bordered Hungary, is often attributed as the mastermind behind the attack. It would not be out of line given how he had spent his time in the Balkans since 1270, which was a series of raids and threats across southeastern Europe. However, medieval sources which discuss this aspect tend to suggest Tele-Buqa was the impetus. And it seems logical: if Töde-Möngke had delved into his religious fervour, and the Golden Horde was effectively without a head, then all of the princes may have been eyeing the succession. Tele-Buqa, the oldest son of Tartu, the older brother of Möngke-Temür and Töde-Möngke, was perhaps the most promising candidate. Likely the oldest of Batu's great-grandchildren, Tele-Buqa was a combative, ambitious individual, and probably closely affiliated with the court in Sarai. Seeing perhaps first hand his uncle Töde-Möngke's dereliction of duties, the dream of the right to rule inherent to every Chinggisid must have stirred within him. But Tele-Buqa had a problem: perhaps no more than 20 years old in the mid-1280s, there had been no real wars in his lifetime, in which Tele-Buqa could have gained glory for his name, and thus make himself a real candidate at the quriltai. This idea then, is that Tele-Buqa himself organized the Hungarian campaign, as means to build his reputation in order to seize power from his uncle Töde-Möngke. Considering that Baybars al-Mansuri records Tele-Buqa ordering Nogai to take part, this seems quite probable. But it can't be totally ruled out that Töde-Möngke himself had originally taken part in the planning. If we assume his foreign policy had been to seek peace with the other khanates, and resume conflict with non-subjugated peoples, then it would be hardly out of line. Tele-Buqa may have been officially delegated responsibility to lead the attack by Töde-Möngke, prior to any incapacitating attack the latter suffered. Launched in the February of 1285, the so-called Second Mongol Invasion of Hungary led by Tele-Buqa and Nogai, is nowhere near as well understood as the first. It was certainly not on the scale of the former, and likely had no intention of conquering the kingdom but a raid aiming to take advantage of instability. It has no comparable overview to the first invasion's eyewitness accounts of Master Roger or Thomas of Split, but it does appear in a wide range of sources: Rus', Polish, and even Mamluk chronicles; Hungarian and other European letters and charters, and even some archaeologically. Though generally overlooked in favour of its more famous predecessor, when it does appear in popular discussion usually the second invasion is portrayed as a dismal failure, where newly constructed stone castles and well-armoured Hungarian knights, learning the lessons of 1241, overcame the Mongol armies. The most recent reconstructions, building on the works of Tibor Szőcs, Peter Jackson, Michal Holeščák and our own series researcher, Jack Wilson, generally paint a more nuanced picture. In short: the surviving sources describe a series of small engagements with no great clash between Mongol and Hungarian armies. If King Laszló had defeated Nogia and Tele-Buqa in open battle, then that would have been described and glorified somewhere. It's difficult to imagine a King as battered by the nobility and papacy missing the propaganda coup of defeating the Mongols in the field, yet no such battle is recorded. Instead, after entering the Kingdom through what is now Slovakia, Nogai and Tele-Buqa's armies broke into smaller parties and sought to ravage as much of the kingdom as possible. In some regions, particularly the Sáros and Szepés counties, local resistance was stiff. One defender, Master George of the Soós noble house in Sáros county, enjoyed particular success, and a number of Hungarian charters attest to his victories over Mongol parties — and his habit of sending the heads of defeated Mongols to King Laszló. Speaking of Laszló, based on the charters he issued, which record the location of their issue, it seems he stayed as far away from the Mongols as possible, remaining in Buda and Pest until after the Mongol withdrawal, upon which he made a survey of the damaged territory. There is no medieval source describing the King facing the Mongols in any battle. But despite charters playing up victories over Mongol arbans, it seems that Nogai and Tele-Buqa's campaign was rather successful, though specific movements are hard to trace. They pushed as far west as Pest, where two Mongol forces were memorably described converging below the city walls. It does not seem that major cities were assaulted, and given the fact the attack lasted only a few weeks, such hard points were certainly bypassed in favour of speed, overrunning and destroying unfortified towns and villages. When the Mongols began to withdraw around April 1285, they do not seem to have been in retreat, but returning triumphant; described as ladden with a great number of prisoners, it seems they had felt their raid was a success, acquired the booty they could carry and decided to return to the Golden Horde, appearing victorious, and Tele-Buqa doubtless ready to play up the raid as a great victory. Their withdrawal through the Carpathians though, was to permanently stain the memory of the campaign. When Nogai turned south through Transylvania to return to his Danube territory, he faced stiff resistance from local Vlachs, Saxons and Szekély, who freed a number of prisoners. Their success over Nogai has likely been greatly overstated though, given that he had strength enough to campaign in Bulgaria and Thrace later that same year. But it was Tele-Buqa who was to feel the brunt of the misfortune. In the best recorded episode of the campaign, noted in Rus', Polish and Mamluk chronicles, while attempting to cross the Carpathian mountains to return to the Horde a vicious snowstorm caught his army. Losing the trail, pounded by the elements and likely assaulted by local defenders, all in addition to some sort of epidemic, his men starved or died of exposure. Losses were massive, his loot abandoned in the mountains. The Galician-Volhynian Chronicle has Tele-Buqa make his way out of the mountains, on foot, with only a wife and a single mare. While Nogai may have been rather happy with his bounty, Tele-Buqa had suffered a humiliating defeat. His chances of earning his election over Töde-Möngke must now have seemed slim. Envious of Nogai's good fortune while desiring the Jochid throne, it seems a little something in Tele-Buqa snapped that day. Over the next year he made his plan. He enlisted his brother, Könchak, and two sons of Möngke-Temür, Alghui and To'rilcha, and together they schemed and schemed. The conspirators launched their plot in 1287. In the accounts of the Mamluks, Töde-Möngke willingly abdicates, giving the throne to Tele-Buqa in order to spend the rest of his days in religious devotion. This was, presumably, the official version of events sent to the Mamluks, in order to not sour relations between the new Khan and the Sultan. Within the Horde, as recorded by the less favourable Rashid al-Din and the latter Öttemish Hajji, it seems the justification spread by Tele-Buqa and his allies was that Töde-Möngke was insane and totally unfit to rule. Thus, sometime in 1287 Töde-Möngke was pushed from the throne, and Tele-Buqa enthroned as the new Khan of the Golden Horde, splitting power between himself and his allies. The final fate of Töde-Möngke is unknown, but presumably Tele-Buqa did not long allow a potential rival claimant to enjoy his retirement. Töde-Möngke, after his removal, seems to have become a favourite for folk tales in the Golden Horde, predominantly humorous ones reflecting stories of his insanity— and likely reflecting the insanity being the official excuse spread by Tele-Buqa within the Golden Horde. Öttemish Hajji, in the sixteenth century, records a few of these stories, though noted that many more vulgar versions existed that he dared not repeat. The first amusing tale goes as follows. An ambassador came for an audience with Töde-Möngke, but the nobles worried that he would say meaningless things before them. However, knowing that Töde-Möngke would say whatever they told him to, (and indeed, that was what kept him on the throne), they came up with a plan. The nobles tied a rope around Töde-Möngke's hands, and would pull on it to stop him from speaking if necessary. The next morning, the ambassador came before the Khan. After initial pleasantries, Töde-Möngke asked if there were many mice in his country. The ambassador, presumably after a moment of confusion, responded with “a lot.” Next, Töde-Möngke asked if it often rained in his country; once again the ambassador answered in the affirmative. When Töde-Möngke began to ask his next question, the nobles began to pull on the rope, to which Töde-Möngke told the ambassador, “I would ask you more, but they are pulling the rope!” Hurriedly the nobles ushered the ambassador out of the room, giving him a fine fur coat and a horse to distract him. Returning to his country, the ambassador was asked by his sovereign what kind of person Töde-Möngke was. The ambassador said, “I saw the Khan only once, and could not see him again, but he asked me these questions.” The ruler and his advisers pondered over the questions, and came to these conclusions: “It is good that he asked how much rain we receive, for all peoples benefit from rain. And it is good that he asked about the mice, as they harm everything.” But no matter how much they discussed it, they could not comprehend his words, “They are pulling on the rope!” Funny stuff, right? Maybe your sense of humour is a bit different from the sixteenth century Volga steppe. We'll share one more. On another occasion, Töde-Möngke led a campaign, and on his return suffered an attack of insanity. Whenever these fits occurred, he was totally unresponsive, and on this occasion remained so for 15 days. The army, unable to move during this time, faced starvation. With the situation drastic, it was decided to dress up a young man as a woman, and parade him before Töde-Möngke, hopefully causing him to remember his wife and desire to return home. Upon showing him to Töde-Möngke, the Khan immediately jumped up, got on a horse and rode off. When Öttemish Hajji reports at this interval that more obscene versions of the story exist that are unfit to be shared, we'll let you fill in your mind what happened before he got on horseback. Töde-Möngke then, in the company of a few courtiers, rode off like a madman to see his wife, only to suddenly grow angry that a mountain on the horizon wasn't moving. He then promptly got off his horse, laid down on the ground and refused to move until the mountain did. They lay there for hours, until one of the courtiers had a clever idea, telling the Khan that they could outsmart the mountain by moving under the cover of night. We shouldn't rely too much on Öttemish Hajji's humorous anecdotes as genuine reflections of the thirteenth century. But even here, where Töde-Möngke is at his most incompent, he is still portrayed as capable of going on campaign, and suffering not constant illness, but periodic fits. Perhaps he suffered a condition that resulted in him being immobilized temporarily, physically or mentally, which worsened over his reign, causing him to try and seek assistance through religion and prayer, having run out of alternative means to save his body and throne. The process of which forced him to leave the daily running of governance to Jijek-Khatun. Tele-Buqa, unsympathetic to his uncle's plight, chose to portray it entirely as insanity in order to justify his coup. Thus, was Töde-Möngke, Khan of the Golden Horde, grandson of Batu, great-great-grandson of Chinggis Khan, remembered in history. Our next episode deals with the reign of Tele-Buqa Khan and his princely junta, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast. If you enjoyed this and would like to help us continue bringing you great content, then consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals, or liking, sharing and leaving a review of this podcast. 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.
Having taken you, our dear listeners, through the Yuan, Chagatayid and Ilkhanates, we now turn our attention to the northwestern corner of the Mongol Empire: the Jochid ulus, the Golden Horde. Ruled by the line of Chinggis' eldest son Jochi, this single division of the Mongol Empire was larger than the maximum extent of most empires, dominating from the borders of Hungary and the Balkans, briefly taking the submission of Serbia, stretching ever eastwards over what is now Ukraine, Russia, through Kazakhstan before terminating at the Irtysh River. Under its hegemony were many distinct populations; the cities of the Rus' principalities, the fur trading centres of the Volga Bulghars along the Samara Bend, the mercantile outposts of the Crimean peninsula which gave the Jochid Khans access to the Mediterranean Sea, to the Khwarezm delta, giving them a position in the heart of the Central Asian trade. These distant frontiers, hundreds upon hundreds of kilometres apart, were connected by the western half of the great Eurasian steppe, the Qipchaq Desert as it was known to Islamic writers. Thus was the Golden Horde, and over the next few episodes we'll take you through its history, from its establishment under Batu, to the height of its glory under Özbeg, to its lengthy disintegration from the end of the fourteenth century onwards. This first episode will serve as an introduction to the history of the Golden Horde, beginning first with its very name and important historiographical matters, then taking you through its origins, up to the death of Berke and ascension of Möngke-Temür, the first ruler of the Golden Horde as an independent state. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. As good a place to start as any is terminology, and the Golden Horde is known by a host of names. Firstly and most famously, we can note that the Golden Horde is a later appellation, given to the state centuries later in Rus' chronicles. In Russian this is Zolotaya Orda (Золотой Орды), which in Mongolian and Turkish would be Altan Orda. The English word “horde” comes directly from Mongolian ordu, though also used in Turkic languages, and signifies, depending on the case, a command headquarters, the army, tent or palace- quite different from the image of uncontrolled rabble that usually comes to mind with the term. While commonly said that the Rus' chronicles took the term from the golden colour of the Khan's tents, we actually do see the term Golden Horde used among the Mongols before the emergence of the Golden Horde state. For the Mongols and Turks, all the cardinal directions have colour associated with them. Gold is the colour associated with the center; while the divisions of the army would be known by their direction and colour, the overall command or imperial government could be known as the center, the qol, or by its colour, altan. This is further augmented by the association of the colour gold with the Chinggisids themselves, as descent from Chinggis Khan was the altan urugh, the Golden Lineage; and the name of a well-known Mongolian folk band. For example, in 1246 when the Franciscan Friar John de Plano Carpini travelled to Mongolia as an envoy from the Pope, he visited a number of camps of the new Khan, Güyük. Each camp was named, and one of these was, as Carpini notes, called the Golden Horde. In this case, Carpini also describes Güyük's tent as being literally covered in gold, with even the nails holding the wooden beams being gold. So Altan orda, or Golden Horde, may well have been in use within the Golden Horde khanate. However, the term is never used to refer to it in the thirteenth or fourteenth centuries. What we see instead is a collection of other terms. In the Ilkhanate, it was common to refer to the rulers as the Khans of Qipchap, and the state as the Desht-i-Qipchaq, the Qipchaq steppe or desert. Hence in modern writing you will sometimes see it as the Qipchap Khanate. But this seems unlikely to have been a term in use by the Jochid Khans, given that the Qipchaps were the Khan's subjects and seen as Mongol slaves; a rather strange thing for the Mongols to name themselves after them. Given that it was the pre-Mongol term for the region, and the Ilkhanid writers liked to denigrate the Jochid Khans whenever possible, it makes rather good sense that they would continue using it. Many modern historians, and our series researcher, like to refer to it as the Jochid ulus, the patrimony of the house of Jochi, particularly before the actual independence of the Golden Horde following 1260. This term appears closer to what we see in Yuan and Mamluk sources, where the Golden Horde was usually called the ulus of Batu or Berke, or ulus of whoever was currently the reigning Khan. Either designating themselves by the current ruler, or by the more general ulug ulus, meaning “great state or patrimony,” with perhaps just the encampment of the Khan known as the altan ordu, the Golden Horde, among the Jochids themselves. Over the following episodes the term Jochid ulus will be used to refer to the state in general, and Golden Horde will be used specifically for the independent khanate which emerged after the Berke-Hülegü war in the 1260s. There is another matter with terminology worth pointing out before we go further. The Jochid domains were split into two halves; west of the Ural river, ruled by the line of Batu, Jochi's second son. And east of the Ural River, ruled by the line of Orda, Jochi's first son. Now, Batu may have been the general head of the Jochids, or a first amongst equals, or Orda and Batu may have been given totally distinct domains. Perhaps the ulus of Orda simply became more autonomous over the thirteenth century. Opinions differ greatly, and unfortunately little information survives on the exact relationship, but the ulus of Orda was, by 1300, effectively independent and the Batuid Khans Toqta and Özbeg would, through military intervention, bring it under their influence. So essentially, there were two wings of the Jochids with a murky relationship, which is further obfuscated by inconsistent naming of them in the historical sources. Rus' and Timurid sources also refer to the White Horde and the Blue Horde. The Rus' sources follow Turko-Mongolian colour directions and have the White Horde, the lands ruled by the line of Batu, the more westerly, and Orda's ulus being the Blue Horde to the east. Except in Timurid sources, this is reversed, with Batu's line ruling the Blue Horde, and Orda the White. There has been no shortage of scholarly debate over this, and you will see the terms used differently among modern writers. This is not even getting into the matter if the Golden Horde was then itself another division within this, referring to territory belonging directly to the Khan within the Batuid Horde. For the sake of clarity, this podcast will work on the following assumptions, with recognition that other scholars interpretations may differ greatly: that following Jochi's death around 1227, the Jochid lines and lands were divided among Batu and Orda, with Batu acting as the head of the lineage. The western half of this division, under Batu, we will call the White Horde, and Orda's eastern division will be the Blue Horde. Together, these were the Jochid ulus, with the rest of their brothers given allotments within the larger domains. While Batu was the senior in the hierarchy, Orda was largely autonomous, which following the Berke-Hülegü war turned into the Blue Horde becoming effectively independent until the start of the fourteenth century, as apparently suggested by Rashid al-Din and Marco Polo, One final note is that we have effectively no internal sources surviving from the Golden Horde. In the opinion of scholars like Charles Halperin, the Golden Horde simply had no chronicle tradition. Any records they maintained were likely lost in the upheavals of the late fourteenth century that culminated in the great invasion under Tamerlane in the 1390s, where effectively every major city in the steppe region of the Horde was destroyed. The closest we come to Golden Horde point-of-view chronicles appear in the sixteenth century onwards, long after the dissolution of the Horde. The first and most notable was the mid-sixteenth century Qara Tawarikh of Ötemish Hajji, based in Khiva in the service of descendants of Jochi's son, Shiban. Sent to the lower Volga by his masters, there he collected oral folk tales which he compiled into his history. While often bearing intriguing and amusing tales, they reveal little in the way of the internal machinations of the Golden Horde. Luckily we are serviced from more contemporary sources, most notably Ilkhanid and Mamluk sources- once again our friend the Ilkhanid vizier Rashid al-Din is of utmost importance, who provides us an important outline of the Golden Horde's politics up to 1300. The Mamluks and Ilkhanid sources largely collected information from Jochid diplomats or refugees. Most of our understanding of Golden Horde political events, and the details of the following episodes, comes from these sources. Post-Ilkhanid Timurid and Jalayirid authors help somewhat for the later fourteenth century, while the Rus' sources provide information on the Golden Horde almost exclusively in the context of its interactions with the principalities, similar to other European and Byzantine sources. A few details can be gleaned too from travellers like Marco Polo and Ibn Battuta, and even distant Yuan sources from China. Archaeology has provided some interesting details, particularly relating to trade and the extensive coinage circulation of the Jochids. Despite this, the Golden Horde remains, regardless of its fame, arguably one of the poorer understood of the Mongol Khanates. So, with that bit of paperwork out of the way, let's get on with it! The kernel of the immense Golden Horde can be found in the first decades of the thirteenth century. In the first ten years of the Mongol Empire Jochi, Chinggis Khan's first son, was tasked with leading campaigns around Lake Baikal, as well as the first expeditions that brought their armies far to the west of Mongolia. While around Baikal he had been sent to subdue the local peoples, in 1216 Jochi and Sübe'edei pursued fleeing Merkits across Kazakhstan, to the region between the Aral Sea and the Caspian. Here, the Merkits had allied with Qangli-Qipchaps, beginning the long running Mongol animosity to the various Qipchap peoples. While Jochi was the victor here, he was forced into battle with the Khwarezm-Shah Muhammad on his return, as we have previously detailed. But the result seems to have been an association of these western steppes as Jochi's lands, in the eyes of the Mongol leadership. Such an association was strengthened following the campaign against the Khwarezmian Empire. The Mongols saw conquering a region as making it part of the patrimony of a given prince, and such a belief fueled into the interactions between Jochi and his brothers, especially Chagatai. This was most apparent at the siege of the Khwarezmian capital of Gurganj, where Jochi sought to minimize destruction to the city- not out of humanity, but as it would be a jewel in his domains as one of the preeminent trade cities in Central Asia. Chagatai, in a long running competition with his brother, was not nearly so compassionate. The end result was Gurganj being almost totally annihilated, and Jochi and Chagatai's antagonism reaching the frustrated ears of their father. As you may recall, Jochi's mother Börte had been captured by Merkits before he was born, leaving an air of doubt around the true identity of his father. Chinggis, to his credit, always treated Jochi as fully legitimate, and indeed up until 1221, in the opinion of some scholars, appears to have been grooming him as his primary heir. However, the falling out between Jochi and Chagatai over the siege of Gurganj, and Chagatai's apparent refusal to accept Jochi as anything but a “Merkit bastard,” as attributed to him in the Secret History of the Mongols, left Chinggis with the realization that should Jochi become Khan, it would only lead to war between the brothers. And hence, the decision to make Ögedai the designated heir. It has often been speculated that Jochi's massive patrimony was essentially a means to keep him and Chagatai as far apart as possible,and appeasing Jochi once he was excluded from the throne. Following the conquest of Khwarezm, Jochi seems to have taken well to the western steppe being his territory, the grasslands between the Ural and Irtysh Rivers. Juzjani, writing around 1260, writes of Jochi falling in love with these lands, believing them to be the finest in the world. Some later, pro-Toluid sources portray Jochi then spending the last years of his life doing nothing but hunting and drinking in these lands, but this seems to have been aimed at discrediting his fitness. Rather he likely spent this time consolidating and gradually pushing west his new realm, past the Aral Sea towards the Ural River, while his primary camp was along the Irtysh. Though effectively nothing is known of Jochi's administration, we can regard this period as the true founding of what became the Jochid ulus, and eventually the Golden Horde. Though he died between 1225 and 1227, either of illness, a hunting accident or poisoned by his father, Chinggis immediately confirmed upon Jochi's many offspring -at least 14 sons- their rights to their father's lands. And Chinggis, or perhaps Ögedai, made Jochi's second son Batu the head of the lineage. It was then that the division of the Jochid lands into two wings under Orda and Batu may have been first implemented. By the start of Ögedai's reign, the western border of the Mongol Empire extended past the Ural River, and Mongol armies were attacking the Volga Bulghars. While we do not have much information on it, we may presume a level of involvement on the part of Batu and his brothers. Of course, in the second half of the 1230s Ögedai ordered the great invasion that overran the western steppe. Starting from the Ural River, within 5 years the Mongol Empire was extended some 3,000 kilometres westwards to the borders of Hungary. Whereas previously the urban area of the Jochid lands was restricted to the Khwarezm Delta and the scattered steppe settlements, now it included the cities of the Rus' principalities, Volga Bulghars, other Volga communities, and the Crimean peninsula. All in addition to the western half of the great Eurasian steppe, and the now subdued Cuman-Qipchaq peoples. By 1242, Batu was arguably the single most powerful individual in the Mongol Empire. Enjoying the rich grasslands along the Volga between the Black and Caspian Seas, Batu created a permanent capital, Sarai. Much like the imperial capital of Qaraqorum, Sarai served as a base to collect tribute, receive embassies, and house the administration and records, while Batu and the other Jochid princes continued to nomadize. The newly conquered territories were quickly incorporated in the Mongol tax system, and the Rus' principalities began to see Mongol basqaqs and darughachi come to collect the Khan's due. But Batu was an ambitious man. There was clearly an understanding that the Jochids were granted the west of Asia as theirs, and he took this quite literally. As the Mongol Empire incorporated Iran, the Caucasus and Anatolia over the 1230s through 40s, Batu ensured that Jochid land rights were not just respected, but expanded. The administration in these regions was picked either from Batu's men, or from his consultation, such as Baiju Noyan, the commander of the Caucasian tamma forces and who brought the Rumi Seljuqs under Mongol rule. In the turmoil following Ögedai's death, Batu extended his hold over western Asia. Naturally, this put him on a collision course with the Central Government. When Ögedai's widow, Törögene tried to hunt down her political rivals, such as the head of the Central Asia Secretariat Mas'ud Beg, Batu gave shelter to him. When her son Güyük took the throne, Batu did not attend his quriltai in person, putting off any meeting due to, Batu claimed, the severe gout he suffered from preventing his travel. Batu and Güyük had been rivals ever since the great western campaign, where Güyük had insulted Batu's leadership. Güyük hoped to put a cap on the decentralization of power which had occurred during the last years of his father's reign and during his mother's regency, and showed a willingness to execute imperial princes, such as the last of Chinggis Khan's surviving brothers, Temüge. When rumour came to Batu that Güyük was planning a massive new campaign to subdue the west, Batu must have suspected that Güyük planned on bringing him to heel too; either limiting his political freedom, or outright replacing him with Batu's older brother, Orda, with whom Güyük was on good terms with. The news of Güyük's advance came from Sorqaqtani Beki, the widow of Tolui and sister of one of Jochi's most important wives. Sources like William of Rubruck have Batu preemptively poison Güyük in spring 1248, thus avoiding civil war. Batu and Sorqaqtani then promptly had many of Güyük's favourites executed and, in a quriltai in Batu's territory, had her son Möngke declared Khan of Khans in 1250, before an official ceremony in Mongolia the next year. The relationship was an effective one. In being key supporters for Möngke's otherwise illegal election, Jochid land rights were confirmed across the empire. Transoxania was cleared of Chagatayids and handed over the Jochids, Georgia confirmed for Batu's younger brother Berke, and travellers who passed through the empire in these years like William of Rubruck basically have the empire divided between Batu and Möngke. Most of western Asia, both north and south of the Caucasus, was overseen by Batu and his men. When Batu died around 1255, the Jochids enjoyed a preeminence second only to the Great Khan himself. The special place of the Jochid leader was recognized by numerous contemporary sources, and it is notable that while the rest of the empire was divided into the great branch secretariats, that the Jochid lands were not placed into one until late in Möngke's reign, and there is little indication it was ever properly established before Jochid independence. However, despite even Möngke recognizing Batu's power, as a part of his wider centralizing efforts he reminded Batu of the leash on him. Batu's interactions with William of Rubruck indicate that Batu saw his power to conduct foreign diplomacy was limited; the Jochid lands were not exempted from Möngke's empire-wide censuses, and when Möngke demanded Batu provide troops for Hülegü's campaigns against the Nizari Ismailis and Baghdad, Batu duly complied. During Batu's lifetime it was the name of the Great Khan who continued to be minted on coinage in the Jochid lands, and Rus' princes still had to receive yarliqs, or confirmation, not from Batu but from Qaraqorum. And in 1257, Möngke ordered the Jochid lands to be incorporated into a new Secretariat, and thus bring them better under the control of the Central Government. There is no indication from the sources that Batu or his successors resisted Möngke in any capacity in these efforts Following Batu's death, Möngke promptly ratified Batu's son Sartaq as his successor, but as Sartaq returned from Qaraqorum, he died under mysterious circumstances; in a few sources, the blame falls onto his uncles, Berke and Berkechir. Sartaq's son or brother Ilagchi was made Khan under the regency of Batu's widow Boraqchin Khatun, but soon both were dead. Though Ilagchi's cause of death is unmentioned, for Boraqchin the Mamluk sources note that Berke had her tried and executed for treason. Still, for Sartaq and Ilagchi the tendency for Mongol princes to die at inopportune times can't be forgotten, and Berke may have simply reacted to a favourable circumstance. The fact that he stood with the most to gain from their deaths made him the likely scapegoat even to contemporary writers, even if he happened to actually be innocent of the matter. Much like how Batu may or may not have poisoned Güyük, the deaths are a little too convenient for the relevant Jochid princes to be easily dismissed. Between 1257 and 1259, possibly waiting for Möngke to begin his Song campaign and be unable to interfere, Berke became the head of the Jochid ulus. As the aqa of the Jochids, that is, the senior member of the line of Jochi, he did this with the approval of his fellow Jochid princes and military leaders. But there is no indication that Berke ever received support from Qaraqorum for his enthronement. Given that Chinggis Khan had confirmed upon Batu the right to rule, the shift from brother-to-brother, though common in steppe successions, was still an extreme matter. Part of the success of Berke's ascension may have been achieved through an agreement with Batu's family. According to the fourteenth century Mamluk author al-Mufaddal, the childless Berke designated Batu's grandson Möngke-Temür as his heir. Some historians like Roman Pochekaev have suggested that Berke's enthronement may have been leveraged as part of an agreement; that Berke, as the most senior member of the Jochids, could take the throne following the death of Ilagchi Khan. But, the prestige of Batu made his line the designated leaders of the White Horde. Without his own children, on Berke's death the throne would fall back to the line of Batu, under his grandson Möngke-Temür. And so it would remain among Batu's descendants until the 1360s, almost 100 years after Berke's death. As you likely know, Berke was the first Mongol prince known to convert to Islam. The exact time of his conversion varies in the sources, but a convincing argument has been put forward by professor István Vásáry. Essentially, that Berke, likely through a Muslim mid-wife that raised him (and not a Khwarezmian Princess, as sometimes suggested) was either in his youth a convert to Islam, or at least extremely influenced by it. By the time of the 1251 quriltai in Mongolia which confirmed Möngke as Great Khan, Berke is attested in independent sources writing at the same time to have sought to Islamize the event; getting the meat to be slaughtered for the feast to be halal, according to Juvaini, and trying to get Möngke to swear on the Quran, according to Juzjani. On his return from Mongolia, he was contacted by a Sufi shaykh in Bukhara, Sayf ad-Din Bakharzi, who is mentioned in a number of sources in connection with Berke's conversion. Having heard of a prominent Mongol prince's interest in Islam, the Shaykh invited Berke to Bukhara, and there gave him a formal education in the religion, leading to Berke to make a more official declaration of his faith likely around 1252. Berke's conversion was accompanied by the conversion of his wives, a number of other princes, members of his family and his generals, though all evidence suggests there was only limited spread of the faith among the rank and file Mongols at the time. As Khan, Berke sought to ensure Jochid hegemony on frontier regions. His troops crushed a newly independent Ruthenian Kingdom in Galicia, and in 1259 his armies under Burundai Noyan led a devastating raid into Poland. Possibly in this time Bulgaria began paying tribute to the Jochids as well. Berke demanded the submission of the Hungarian King, Béla IV, and offered a marriage alliance between their families. As Hungary was spared any damage in Burundai's 1259 campaign, it has been suggested that Béla undertook a nominal submission to Berke, sending tribute and gifts in order to spare Hungary from another assault. In Khwarezm and the Caucasus Berke continued to exercise influence. But tensions were fraying with his cousin Hülegü, who in 1258 sacked Baghdad and killed the ‘Abbasid Caliph. Obviously, as a Muslim Berke was not keen to learn of the Caliph's death. According to the contemporary author Juzjani, writing from distant Delhi, Berke had been in contact with the Caliph in the years preceding the siege. Much of Berke's anger though, as gleaned from his letters to the Mamluks and the writing of Rashid al-Din, was at Hülegü's failure to consult with Berke as the senior member of the family, and as the master of western Asia. Though Jochid troops partook in the siege, and we have no indication from the sources that Berke tried to prevent them taking part, it seems Hülegü did not reach out to Berke regarding the fate of Baghdad, or in the dispensation of loot. Berke was greatly angered at this, and relations only worsened over the following years, once Hülegü killed the Jochid princes in his retinue on charges of sorcery; it just so happened that these same prince had previously annoyed Hülegü through attempting to enforce Jochid land rights over Iran and Iraq. The final straw came in early 1260 once Hülegü learned of Möngke's death. Hülegü by then had already set up in the pastures of Azerbaijan, land Berke considered his. As he learned of the fighting between his brothers Khubilai and Ariq Böke which broke out later that year, Hülegü decided to use the interregnum to seize the pastures of the Caucasus, as well as all of the land between the Amu Darya and Syria, for himself. Berke's officials in these lands were driven out or killed. With no Great Khan to intercede, Berke felt forced to resort to violence to avenge his fallen kinsmen and retake his lands; in 1262 he went to war with Hülegü, and so did the Mongol Empire in the west split asunder. We've covered the Berke-Hülegü war in detail in a previous episode, so we don't need to repeat ourselves here. The end result was both Berke and Hülegü dead by 1266, and the frontier between them set along the Kura River, where Hülegü's son and successor Abaqa built a wall to keep out the Jochids- though the jury is out on whether he made them pay for it. The conflict set the border between the newly emerged Ilkhanate and the Jochid state for the next century, and the Jochids would not forget the sting of losing this territory to the Ilkhanids for that time either. On Berke's death his coffin was carried back to Sarai. Berke's reign, though much shorter than Batu's, had been a decisive one. For not only did it determine many aspects of the Golden Horde's diplomacy and character, notably antagonism to the Ilkhans, a predatory view to the Chagatayids who in the 1260s retook control of Transoxiana and killed Berke's officials, and a cool, distant view to Khubilai Khaan's legitimacy. He helped begin the alliance with the Mamluk Sultans, which never materialized into any actual military cooperation but uneased the Ilkhans and allowed the Mamluks to continue to purchase Qipchaq slaves from the steppe. This alliance too would survive essentially until the dissolution of the Golden Horde at the start of the fifteenth century. But it also seeded the kernel for eventual islamization of the Khanate, a slow process which would only be fulfilled some sixty years later under Özbeg Khan. While their father was the true founder of the Jochid ulus in the 1200s, both Batu and Berke could argue for this title. Batu posthumously became the Sain Khan, the Good Khan, while to the Mamluks the Golden Horde rulers ascended to the throne of Berke. With his death, it seems at Sarai a quriltai was held to confirm the enthronement of his grand-nephew, Möngke-Temür, the first true independent ruler of what we can call the Golden Horde, and subject of our new episode, so 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, consider supporting us on patreon a www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals, or giving us a like, comment and review on the podcast catcher of your choice, and share with your friends, it helps immensely. 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.
Bestselling author, neuroscientist, and computer engineer Jeff Hawkins joins computational neuroscience researcher and software technologist Subutai Ahmad to discuss the recent book "A Thousand Brains: A New Theory of Intelligence" and how those concepts are being applied to Machine Learning. For all of neuroscience's advances, we've made little progress on its biggest question: How do simple cells in the brain create intelligence? Jeff Hawkins and his team discovered that the brain uses maplike structures to build a model of the world - not just one model, but hundreds of thousands of models of everything we know. This discovery allows Hawkins to answer important questions about how we perceive the world, why we have a sense of self, and the origin of high-level thought. "A Thousand Brains" heralds a revolution in the understanding of intelligence. It is a big-think book, in every sense of the word. Moderated by Peter Norvig. Get the book here: https://goo.gle/3vMY4Ok. Watch the video of this event by visting g.co/TalksAtGoogle/AThousandBrains.
At the start of the twenty-first century, a study was released which brought the thirteenth century starkly into the present. A 2003 study led by Chris Tyler-Smith published in the American Journal of Human Genetics simply titled “The Genetic Legacy of the Mongols,” determined that an alarming number of men across Asia, from China to Uzbekistan, carried the same haplotype on their Y-chromosome, indicating a shared paternal lineage. 8% of the studied group, just over 2100 men from 16 distinct populations in Asia shared this haplotype, which if representative of the total world population, would have come out to about 16 million men. This was far beyond what was to be expected of standard genetic variation over such a vast area. The researchers traced the haplogroup to Mongolia, and with the BATWING program determined that the most recent common ancestor lived approximately 1,000 years ago, plus or minus 300 years in either direction. The study determined that this could only be the result of selective inheritance, and there was only man who fit the profile, who had the opportunity to spread his genes across so much of Asia and have them be continually selected for centuries to come; that was Chinggis Khan, founder of the Mongol Empire. Identifying him with the Y-Chromosome haplogroup, the C3* Star Cluster, the image of Chinggis Khan as the ancestor of 0.5% of the world population has become irrevocably attached to his name, and a common addition in the comment sections on any Mongol related topic on the internet will be the fact that he is related to every 1 in 200 men in Asia today. Yet, recent studies have demonstrated that this may not be the case, and that Chinggis Khan's genetic legacy is not so simple as commonly portrayed. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Inside each human being are the genes we inherit from our parents. Distinct alleles within the thousands of genes of our 23 chromosomes affect the makeup of our bodies, from our physical appearances to blood type. Each allele is inherited from our parents, who inherited from their parents, and so on, leaving in each human being a small marker of every member of their ancestry. Due to interbreeding and mixing over time, people living in a certain region will share alleles, given that various members of their community shared ancestors at some point. A collection of these alleles is a haplotype, and a group of similar haplotypes with shared ancestry is a haplogroup. Tracing specific haplogroups attached to the Y-Chromosome, for instance, allows us to trace paternal ancestry of selected persons. It was the haplogroup dubbed the C3*star cluster that the researchers identified as Chinggis Khan's haplotype, though later research has redefined it to the C2* star cluster. Thus, while you may see it somewhat interchangeably referred to as C3 or C2, depending on how recent the literature you're reading is. Whoever carried the markers on their chromosome associated with this haplogroup, according to the study, was therefore a descendant of Chinggis Khan. The lineage, it should be noted, does not start with Chinggis Khan; it is detectable in the ancestors of the Mongols dating back at least to the fifth century BCE, to the Donghu people in eastern Mongolia and Manchuria. It is found in high frequencies in populations which had close contact with Mongols from Siberia to Central Asia, as as the Buryats, Udeges, Evens, Evenks, Kazakhs, and in lower frequencies in places conquered by the Mongol Empire. As demonstrated by the 2003 study, a map of these haplogroups lines up rather neatly with a map of the Mongol Empire at the time of Chinggis Khan's death. The 2003 study found that 8% of the men sampled had high frequencies of haplotypes from a set of closely related lineages, the C2* star cluster. With the highest numbers of this cluster found in Mongolia, it was the logical origin point for this cluster. Its frequencies in so many populations of the former Mongol Empire seemed to suggest it spread with Mongol imperial expansion. The researchers therefore identified Chinggis Khan and his close male-relatives as the likely progenitors. While the public has understood this as Chinggis Khan and his family raping a massive percentage of the thirteenth century human population, this was not quite what the study implied. Rather, the selective marriage into the Chinggisid royal family, with each son having high numbers of children, and so on for generations due to prestige associated with the lineage, was the cause for the haplogroup's spread. The study decided that, since the haplogroups showed up in high frequencies among the Hazara of Afghanistan and Pakistan, and as they were deemed to be direct descendants of Chinggis Khan, then this must have meant no one else other than the Great Khan himself was the most recent common ancestor for this haplogroup. The high frequencies across Asian populations, an origin point in Mongolia, an estimated common ancestor approximately a thousand years ago, and association with the supposed Chinggisid Hazaras was the extent of the evidence the study had to make Chinggis Khan the progenitor. When released, this study made headlines around the world. You'll find no shortage of articles stating that “Genghis Khan was a prolific article,” with the underlying, thought generally unstated, assumption that these genes were spread by a hitherto unimaginable amount of rape, “backed up” by the medieval sources where Chinggis is described taking his pick of conquered women after the sack of a city. It's a useful addition to the catalogue of descriptions to present the Mongols as mindless barbarians, with this study being essentially the scientific data to back up this presentation. It's now become one of the key aspects of Chinggis Khan's image in popular culture. However, as more recent studies have demonstrated, there are a number of problems with this evidence presented in the 2003 study. Firstly, later researchers have pointed out how indirect the evidence is for the connection of Chinggis Khan to the C2 lineage. The estimates for the most recent common ancestor can vary widely depending on the methods used; while some estimates can place a figure within Chinggis Khan's epoch, other estimates put the most recent common ancestor for the C2* cluster over 2,000 year ago. Even going by the 2003 study, it still gives a 600 year window for the most recent common ancestor, who still could have lived centuries before or after Chinggis Khan. One of the most serious assumptions in the study was that the Hazara of Afghanistan were direct descendants of Chinggis KhanThis is an assumption which rests more on misconception than medieval materials. In fact, the thirteenth and fourteenth century sources indicate that Chinggis Khan spent only a brief time in what is now Afghanistan, only from late 1221 and throughout much of 1222, which he largely spent campaigning, pursuing Jalal al-Din Mingburnu and putting down local revolts before withdrawing. There is no indication that a Mongol garrison was left in the region by Chinggis, and it is not until the 1230s that Mongol forces returned and properly incorporated the region into the empire. Still, it was not until the end of the thirteenth century were Chinggisid princes actually staying in the region, when Chagatayid princes like Du'a's son Qutlugh Khwaja took control over the Negudaris. The sources instead describe waves of Mongol garrisons into Afghanistan which began almost a decade after Chinggis Khan's death, from the initial tamma garrisons under Ögedai Khaan's orders to Jochid troops fleeing Hulegu to Afghanistan in the 1260s. Later, from the late fourteenth century onwards, Afghanistan was the heart of the Timurid realm, and while the Timurids shared some descent from Chinggis through marriage, it's not exactly the process which would have led to high percentages of Chinggisid ancestry.Together, this strongly suggests that the Hazara would not bear Chinggisid ancestry in any considerable quantity. Perhaps most prominently, there is little evidence that connects the C2* star cluster to known descendants of Chinggis Khan. The fact that no tomb of Chinggis Khan or any other known members of his family has been found, means that there is no conclusive means to prove what haplogroups he possessed. Without human remains which undeniably belong to one of his close male relatives or himself, Chinggis Khan's own haplogroup can not ever be reliably identified. Most royal Chinggisid lineages in the western half of the empire, such as that of the Ilkhanate or Chagatais, disappeared long before the advance of genetic sciences. You might think that looking in Mongolia, you'd find a lot of Chinggisids running about, but this is not the case. Even during the empire, many members of the Chinggisid family were spread across Asia, leaving by the end of the fourteenth century largely lines only from his brothers, and of his grandsons Ariq Böke and Khubilai. In the fifteenth century, a massive massacre of the royal family was carried out by the leader of the Oirats and the true master of Mongolia, the non-Chinggisid Esen Taishi. Mongolia was reunified some fifty years later under the Khubilayid prince Dayan Khan, and it was the descendants of his sons who made up the Chinggisid nobility for the next centuries. Then, in the 1930s Soviet supported purges resulted in the near annihilation of the Chinggisid princes, Buddhist clergy and other political enemies. From 1937-1939, over 30,000 Mongolians were killed, and the Dayan Khanid nobility nearly extinguished. While it is true that today in Mongolia, you can find many people who claim the imperial clan name of Borjigin, this is largely because after democratization in Mongolia in 1990, Mongolians were encouraged to take clan names- a fact that, as many commenters have pointed out, historically the Mongols did not do, unless they were actually members of the Chinggisid royal family. While the 1918 census in Mongolia recorded only 5.7% of the population as being Borjigid, during the recent registering of clan names some 50% chose, of course, the most famous and prestigious name for themselves. Therefore, it's rather difficult to find a lot of a Chinggisids today. The 2003 study relied on a random selection of people from across Asia, rather than looking specifically for individuals who claimed Chinggisid descent. Other studies which have sought out people who claim Chinggisid ancestry do not support the C2* Star cluster hypothesis of the 2003 study. A 2012 study by Batbayar and Sabitov in the Russian Journal of Genetic Genealogy of Mongolian individuals who could trace their lineage back to Chinggis Khan's fifteenth century descendant, Dayan Khan, found none of them matched the Star cluster proposed by the 2003 study. To overcome the previously mentioned issues about finding Chinggisids, to quote Batbayar and Sabitov, “In this study, seven patrilineal descendants of [...] Dayan Khan and two of Chinggis Khan's brothers' descendants were chosen for Y-chromosome DNA sequencing. Rather than testing a multitude of subjects, for the sake of accuracy, the most legitimate and proven descendants of Dayan Khan were selected. The DNA donors were selected based upon their official Mongol and Manchu titles and ranks, which were precisely recorded in Mongolian, Manchu, and Soviet documents.” Essentially, as close as you can get to a definite, unbroken paternal line from Chinggis Khan, given the 800 years since his death. When they compared the Dayan Khanid descendants, the descendants of Chinggis' brothers, and those who could reliable claimed ancestry from Chinggis' son Jochi, Batbayar and Sabitov demonstrated that essentially each lineage bore different haplogroups, and none, except for a small branch of the Jochids, bore the C2* star cluster of the 2003 study. Study of the bodies of medieval Mongol burials have likewise yielded contrasting results when their DNA has been examined. One of the most notable burials which has been studied is the Tavan Tolgoi suit, from eastern Mongolia. Essentially it was a burial of an extremely wealthy family, dated to the mid-thirteenth century. Adorned with jewelry and buried in coffins made of Cinnamon, which would have had to be imported from southeastern Asia, the researcher suggested due to such obvious wealth and power that they must have been Chinggisid. Their bodies showed haplogroups associated, interestingly enough, with western Asia populations, with effectively no descendants in modern Mongolian populations, and most definitely, not the C2* star cluster. This led to the 2016 study by Gavaachimed Lkhagvasuren et al., titled “Molecular Genealogy of a Mongol Queen's Family and her Possible kinship with Genghis Khan,” to suggest Chinggis must have borne this haplogroup, and possibly, western Asian ancestry. He also pointed to supposed descriptions of Chinggis Khan having red hair as possible supporting literary evidence. But this is not reliable evidence. Firstly, none of the graves conclusively can be identified as Chinggisid. The Chinggisid's known preference for burials on Burkhan Khaldun seems unlikely to make the Tavan Tolgoi burials a close relation. Further, the “red hair” description of Chinggis Khan comes from a mistranslation of a phrase from Rashid al-Din's Compendium of Chronicles, where Chinggis remarks that young Khubilai lacked his grandfather's ruddy features, indicating not red hair, but a face red in colour; hardly uncommon for a man who spent his lifetime in the harsh winds of the steppe. Therefore, the Tavan Tolgoi burials seem more likely to represent a family, possibly of Qipchaq origin, taken from western Asia, incorporated into the Mongol military and gaining wealth and power- hardly unusual in the Mongol army, but revealing nothing of Chinggis' haplogroups. Other wealthy burials of nobility from the Mongol Empire in Mongolia and northern China have revealed differing chromosomal haplogroups, providing no answer as of yet to the question of the Great Khan's own genetic lineage. Much like the 2003's study erroneous identification of the Hazaras as direct descendants of Chinggis Khan, a more recent study demonstrates the pitfalls of attempting to connect historical figures to genetic data. A 2019 study by Shao-Qing Wen et al. in the Journal of Human Genetics looked at the y-chromosomal profiles of a family from northwestern China's Gansu-Qinghai area, who traced their ancestry back to Kölgen, a son of Chinggis Khan with one of his lesser wives. Importantly, this family also backed up their claims in genealogical records, and had inhabited the same region for centuries. After the expulsion of the Mongols, they had been made local officials [tusi 土司] by the succeeding Ming and Qing dynasties. This family, the Lu, did not match the C2* Star Cluster, but actually showed close affinity to other known descendants of Chinggis Khan, the Töre clan in Kazakhstan. The Töre trace their lineage to Jani Beg Khan (r.1473-1480), one of the founders of the Kazakh Khanate and a tenth generation descendant of Chinggis Khan's first born son Jochi. Jochi, as you may recall, was born after his mother Börte was taken captive by Chinggis Khan's enemies, and was accused, most notably by his brother Chagatai, of not being their father's son. Chinggis, for the record, always treated Jochi as fully legitimate. As the Lu family in China traced themselves to Kölgen, who shared only a father with Jochi, then the fact that the Lu and the Töre belong to the same C2 haplogroup, with a genealogical separation of about 1,000 years, would suggest that if this is in fact the Y-chromosomal lineage of Chinggis Khan, then Jochi's uncertain paternity could be laid to rest, and that he was a true son of Chinggis Khan. This theory is comfortable and convenient, but other scholars have noted that the connection of the Lu to Toghan, the descendant of Kölgen, is very tenuous. The sources connecting the Lu clan to Kölgen's family were not compiled until the late Qing Dynasty, some four to five centuries after Toghan's death. The sources more contemporary to Toghan's life do not match the description of his life described in the histories used by the Lu clan, leading scholars to argue that, while the Lu clan does have Mongolian origin, and likely did have an ancestor with the very common medieval Mongolian name of Toghan, it seems likely that at some point the Lu clan's family compilers decided to associate their own ancestor with the more well known Chinggisid of the same name, and therefore claim for themselves Chinggisid ancestry and prestige- hardly an unknown thing by compilers of Chinese family trees. Therefore, the matter of Jochi's paternity still remains uncertain. Perhaps the final nail in the coffin comes in the 2018 study by Lan Hai-Wei, et al. in the European Journal of Human Genetics. Compiling data from previous studies that found issue with the 2003 hypothesis, they looked at groups with high frequencies of the C2* Star clusters like the Hazara or the Daur, a Mongolic-speaking people from Northeastern China who, based off of historical records, make no claims of Chinggisid descent. Newer estimates also suggest the most recent common ancestor for this lineage was over 2,600 years ago. In the most recent hypothesis then, it seems more likely that the star cluster identified by the 2003 study does not represent the lineage of Chinggis Khan, but was simply an incredibly common paternal lineage among ordinary inhabitants of the Mongolian plateau. Its presence in other peoples across Asia was not evidence of selective breeding into the Golden Lineage, but simply the movement of Mongolian troops into a region, and intermixing with the local population. In the case of the Hazaras, this is the exact scenario demonstrated by the historical sources, with waves of Mongol troops rather than a host of Chinggisids descending into the Hazarajat. The possibility cannot be excluded however, that while C2* was a dominant haplotype in thirteenth century Mongolia, that before 1200 it had already been spread across Central Asia by earlier nomadic expansions of Mongolia-based empires like the Göktürk Khaghanates or the Uighur. The Mongol expansion in the thirteenth century, then, would only be another wave of the spread of C2* across Eurasia. While it is possible that Chinggis Khan and his close male relatives did in fact, carry the C2* star cluster, there is no evidence which directly or conclusively connects him to it. His known descendants through the line of Dayan Khan are of a different Y-chromosomal haplogroup. The descendants of Dayan Khan, himself a descendant of Chinggis Khan's grandson Khubilai, and the Kazakh Töre, descendants of Chinggis Khan's son Jochi, bear haplotypes so distant that their most recent common ancestor is estimated to have lived 4,500 years ago, which does not fair well for the likelihood of Jochi being Chinggis' son. A third known and tested branch, of the Shibanids in Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan, does match the C2* star cluster, but has less than 1,000 known members and again, are descended from Chinggis Khan via Jochi. Chinggis Khan then cannot be said to be the ancestor of 0.5% of the world's population, since his y-chromosomal marking remains unknown. Any attempts at identifying it conclusively can never be more than mere assumptions without finding the bodies of either the Khan or any of his close-male relatives- a prospect highly unlikely, given the Chinggisids' preference for secret graves. Thus, it seems that his haplotypes are but one more secret that Chinggis will keep with him. Our series on the Mongols will continue, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings 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, or sharing this with your friends. 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. -SOURCES- Abilev, Serikabi, et al. “The Y-Chromosome C3* Star-Cluster Attributed to Genghis Khan's Descendants is Present at High Frequency in the Kerey Clan from Kazakhstan.” Human Biology 84 no. 1 (2012): 79-99. Adnan, Atif, et al. “Genetic characterization of Y-chromosomal STRs in Hazara ethnic group of Pakistan and confirmation of DYS448 null allele.” International Journal of Legal Medicine 133 (2019): 789-793. Callaway, Ewen. “Genghis Khan's Genetic Legacy Has Competition.” Scientific American. January 29th, 2015. Derenko, M.V. “Distribution of the Male Lineages of Genghis Khan's Descendants in Northern Eurasian Populations.” Russian Journal of Genetics 43 no. 3 (2007): 3334-337. Dulik, Matthew C. “Y-Chromosome Variation in Altaian Kazakhs Reveals a Common paternal Gene Pool for Kazakhs and the Influence of Mongolian Expansions.” 6 PLoS One no. 3 (2011) Gavaachimed Lkhagvasuren et al. “Molecular Genealogy of a Mongol Queen's Family and her Possible kinship with Genghis Khan.” PLoS ONE 11 no. 9 (2016) Kherlen Batbayar and Zhaxylyk M. Sabitov. “The Genetic Origins of the Turko-Mongols and Review of The Genetic Legacy of the Mongols. Part 1: The Y-chromosomal Lineages of Chinggis Khan.” The Russian Journal of Genetic Genealogy 4 no. 2 (2012): Lan-Hai Wei, et al. “Whole-sequence analysis indicates that the Y chromosome C2*-Star Cluster traces back to ordinary Mongols, rather than Genghis Khan.” European Journal of Human Genetics 26, (2018): 230-237. Lan-Hai Wei et al. “Genetic trail for the early migrations of Aisin Gioro, the imperial house of the Qing Dynasty.” Journal of Human Genetics 62 (2017): 407-411. Shao-Qing Wen et al., “Molecular genealogy of Tusi Lu's family reveals their apternal relationship with Jochi, Genghis Khan's eldest son.” Journal of Human Genetics 64 (2019): 815-820. Ye Zhang et al. “The Y-chromosome haplogroup C3*-F3918, likely attributed to the Mongol Empire, can be traced to a 2500-year-old nomadic group.” Journal of Human Genetics 63 (2018): 231-238. Yi Liu. “A Commentary on molecular genealogy of Tusi Lu's family reveals their paternal relationship with Jochi, Genghis Khan's eldest son.” Journal of Human Genetics 66 no. 5 (2020): 549–550. Zakharov, I.A. “A Search for a “Genghis Khan” Chromosome.” Russian Journal of Genetics 46 no. 9 (2010): 1130-1131. Zerjal, Tatiana, et al. “The Genetic Legacy of the Mongols.” American Journal of Human Genetics 72 (2003): 717-721.
The Mongols were famous for their ultimatums of destruction and submission. No shortage of thirteenth century states received demands for their unconditional surrender to the Great Khan granted divine mandate to rule by Eternal Blue Heaven. Initially, the Mongol imperial ideology was extremely black and white: you could submit to Mongol rule, or face total annihilation. There was no room for other relationships, for the Great Khan had no allies, only subjects. But as the thirteenth century went on and the dream of Chinggisid world hegemony slipped away as the divisions of the Mongol Empire went their separate ways, the Mongol Khans in the west began to seek not the capitulation, but the cooperation of western Europe to aid in their wars against Mamluks. For the Ilkhanate's sixty-year struggle against the Mamluk Sultanate, the Il-Khans sought to bring the Popes and Monarchs of Europe to a new crusade to assist in the defeat of the Mamluks, an ultimately fruitless endeavour, and the topic of today's episode. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. The first Mongol messages to the Kings of Europe came in the late 1230s and 40s, accompanying Batu and Sube'edei's western invasion, asking the Hungarians how they possibly could hope to flee the grasp of the Mongols. We know the Mongols sent a number of envoys to European monarchs and dukes, and employed a variety of peoples in this enterprise, including at least one Englishman. Over the 1240s and 50s, European envoys like John de Plano Carpini or William of Rubrucks to the Mongol Empire returned from Karakorum with orders for the Kings and Popes to come to Mongolia and submit in person.While Rus' and Armenian lords and kings did do so, there is little indication that European rulers even responded to these demands. For the Mongols, who seemed poised to dominate everything under the Eternal Blue Sky, there was little reason to adopt more conciliatory language. From their point of view, the Europeans were only stalling the inevitable: soon Mongol hoofbeats would certainly be heard in Paris and Rome. The Mongols treated the European states as their diplomatic inferiors, subjects basically in a state of rebellion by fact that they had not already submitted. Cruel, threatening and demanding letters were the norm, and it's safe to say any future efforts at alliance were greatly hampered by this opening salvo. The rare diplomatic exception was an embassy sent to King Louis IX of France during his stay in Cyprus in 1248 just before the 7th Crusade. There, messengers came from the Mongol commander in the west, Eljigidei, an ally to the reigning Great Khan, Guyuk. Headed by two Christians in Eljigidei's service, the embassy bore letters from Eljigidei. These letters called Louis ‘son,' and had no demand of submission, but mentioned Mongol favouritism to Christians, urged the French King not to discriminate between Latin and non-Latin Christians as all were equal under Mongol law, and wished him well in his crusade. The two Christian representatives of Eljigidei asserted that he was a Christian and that Guyuk himself had already been baptised. The urged Louis to attack Egypt, and prevent its Ayyubid prince from sending forces to aid the Caliph in Baghdad, who the Mongols were soon to attack. Louis, is should be noted, almost certainly had not been anticipating any cooperation from the Mongols; he had been well aware of their attacks on Hungary only a few years before, learned of Mongol demands and treatment of foreign powers from travellers like Carpini, and apparently received Mongol ultimatums for his submission in 1247. Further, a devout Christian, it is unlikely he would have gone looking for allies among “pagans,” even for fighting against Muslims. Still, he reacted well to Eljigidei's messengers and sent a return embassy with gifts with them back to Eljigidei which were to be sent on to Guyuk, while the initial letter was forwarded back to France and ultimately to King Henry III of England. Ultimately, it was for naught. Guyuk was dead even before Louis received Eljigidei's letter, and Eljigidei himself was soon put to death in the following political turmoil. Little is known of the embassy Louis sent back with Eljigdei's representatives, but from the little heard of it through William of Rubruck a few years later, it seems to have achieved nothing beyond meeting Guyuk's widow and the regent, Oghul Qaimish, who portrayed Louis' gifts as tokens of the French King's submission. Following the meeting on Cypress, Louis IX suffered a humiliating defeat in Egypt at Mansura, captured and was ransomed by the newly emerging Mamluks. By the time he returned to France and received Oghul Qaimish's reply, not only was she dead, but the responding letter was essentially another demand for his surrender. This first non-threatening Mongol embassy succeeded only in making the King of France feel like he had been tricked, especially since the new Great Khan, Mongke, sent a letter back with William of Rubruck that disavowed Eljigidei's embassy. It has been speculated that Eljigidei was using the embassy to spy on Louis, as he was wary of the sudden arrival of Louis' army in Cyprus, and a desire to find out his military intentions, rather than any genuine interest in cooperation at this point. His hope may have been to ensure that this new army attacked Mongol enemies, rather than get in the way of the Mongols. The halting of the Mongol advance at Ayn Jalut by the Mamluks, and fracturing of the Empire into independent Khanates after Great Khan Mongke's death left the new Ilkhanate in a precarious position. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, the only direction they could expand not at the expense of fellow Mongols was against the Mamluks, who fortified their shared border with the Ilkhans. Even a small raid could trigger the arrival of the full Mamluk army, a dangerous prospect against such deadly warriors. Yet the Ilkhans could not bring their full might to bear on the shared border with the Mamluks in Syria, as it would leave their other borders open to attacks from the Golden Horde, Chagatais or Neguderis, in addition to the trouble of provisioning an army in the tough, hot and dry conditions of the Levantine coastline, a route the Mamluks secured and fortified. Opening a new front against the Mamluks was necessary, and there were already convenient beachheads established in the form of the remaining Crusader States. A shadow of their former selves, the Crusader states were represented by a few major coastal holdings like Antioch, Tripoli, and Acre, and inland fortifications like Krak de Chevaliers and Montfort, as well as the Kingdom of Cyprus, whose ruler, Hugh III of Cyprus, took the title King of Jerusalem in 1268. The Crusader States had shown neutrality to the Mongols, or even joined them such as the County of Tripoli did in 1260 after the Mongols entered Syria. In early 1260, the papal legate at Acre sent an embassy to Hulegu, most likely to discourage him from attacking the Crusader holdings. Along with information from the Kings of Armenian Cilicia, their most important regional vassals, the Mongols would have had a vague knowledge of western Europe and their crusading history. The Ilkhanate's founder, Hulegu, sent the first letter to the west in 1262, intended once more for King Louis IX, though this embassy was turned back in Sicily. This letter was friendlier terms than most Mongol missives, but still contained threats, if rather subdued. Pope Urban IV may have learned of the attempt, and the next year sent a letter to Hulegu, apparently having been told that the Il-Khan had become a Christian. Delighted at the idea, the Pope informed Hulegu that if he was baptised, he would receive aid from the west. In reality, Hulegu never converted to Christianity, and died in 1265 without sending any more letters. His son and successor, Abaqa, was the Il-Khan most dedicated to establishing a Franco-Mongol alliance and came the closest to doing so. Due to conflict on his distant borders with the Golden Horde and Chagatayids, as well as the troubles of consolidating power as new monarch in a new realm, for the 1260s he was unable to commit forces to the Mamluk frontier. As a good Mongol, Abaqa was unwilling to allow the enemy total respite, and made it his mission to encourage an attack from the west on the Mamluks. His first embassy was sent in 1266, shortly after becoming Il-Khan, contacting the Byzantines, Pope Clement IV and King James I of Aragon, hoping for a united Christian front to combine efforts with the Mongols against the Mamluks, inquiring which route into Palestine the Christian forces would take. The responses were generally positive, Pope Clement replying that as soon as he knew which route, he would inform Abaqa. Abaqa sent a message again in 1268, inquiring about this progress. James of Aragon found himself the most motivated by the Il-Khans requests, encouraged by the promises of Abaqa's logistical and military support once they reached the mainland. James made his preparations, and launched a fleet in September 1269. An unexpected storm scattered the fleet, and only two of James' bastard children made it to Acre, who stayed only briefly, accomplishing little there. Not long after, King Louis IX set out for Crusade once more, making the inexplicable choice to land in Tunis in 1270. Despite his well planned efforts, the Crusade was an utter disaster, and Louis died of dysentery outside the walls of Tunis in August 1270. Prince Edward of England with his army landed in Tunis shortly before the evacuation of the crusaders, and disgusted by what he saw, set his fleet for the Holy Land, landing at Acre in May 1271, joined by Hugh of Lusignan, King of Cyprus. Edward's timing was good, as Abaqa had returned from a great victory over the Chagatai Khan Baraq at Herat in July 1270, though had suffered a major hunting accident that November. The Mamluk Sultan Baybars was campaigning in Syria in spring 1271, the famous Krak des Chevaliers falling to him that April. Tripoli would have fallen next, had Baybars not retreated back to Damascus hearing of the sudden arrival of a Crusader fleet, and was wary of being caught between European heavy cavalry and Mongol horse archers. Soon after landing Edward made his preparations for an offensive, and reached out to Abaqa. Abaqa was delighted, and sent a reply and orders for Samaghar, the Mongol commander in Anatolia, to head to Syria. Edward did not wait for Abaqa's reply, and there is no indication he ever responded to Abaqa's letter. He set out in mid-July, ensuring his army suffered the most from the summer heat, while missing the Mongols who preferred to campaign in the winter. Suffering high casualties and accomplishing little, he withdrew back to Acre. In mid-October Samaghar arrived with his army, raiding as far as to the west of Aleppo while an elite force of Mongols scouted ahead, routing a large group of Turkmen between Antioch and Harim, but was soon forced to retreat with the advance of the Mamluk army under Baybars. Missing Samagahr by only a few weeks, in November Edward marched south from Acre at the head of a column of men from England, Acre, Cyprus, with Templars, Hospitallers and Teutonic Knights. They ambushed some Turkmen on the Sharon plain, forced the local Mamluk governor to withdraw, but with the arrival of large Mamluk reinforcements the Crusaders fled, losing their prisoners and booty. That was the closest the Mongols and the Franks came to proper coordination. Edward helped oversee a peace treaty between the Mamluks and the Kingdom of Jersualem, but the heat, difficulties campaigning, political infighting and an assassination attempt on his life permanently turned him off of crusading. By September 1272, Edward set sail for England. A few weeks after his departure the Mongols again invaded, besieging al-Bira but were defeated by the Mamluks in December. Edward's brief effort in Syria demonstrated the difficulties prefacing any Mongol-Frankish cooperation. The Mamluks were a cohesive, unified force, well accustomed to the environment and working from a well supplied logistic system and intelligence network, while the Franks and Mongols were unable to ever develop a proper timetable for operations together. The European arrivals generally had unrealistic goals for their campaigns, bringing neither the men, resources or experience to make an impact. Abaqa continued to organize further efforts, and found many willing ears at the Second Council of Lyons in France in 1274, a meeting of the great powers of Christendom intended to settle doctrinal issues, the division of the Catholic and Orthodox Churches, and plan the reconquest of the Holy land. Abaqa's delegation informed the Council that the Il-Khan had secured his borders, that peace had been achieved between all the Mongols Khanates, and he could now bring his full might against the Mamluks, and urged the Christian powers to do likewise. The current Pope, Gregory X, fully supported this and made efforts to set things in motion, but his death in 1276 killed whatever momentum this process had had. Abaqa sent another round of envoys, who reached the King of France and the new King of England, Edward. The envoys brought the Il-khan's apologies for failing to cooperate properly during Edward's crusade, and asked him to return. Edward politely declined. This was the final set of envoys Abaqa sent west. Perhaps frustrated, he finally organized a proper invasion of Syria, only an army under his brother Mongke-Temur to be defeated by the Mamluks at Homs, and Abaqa himself dying soon after in 1282. His successors were to find no more luck that he had. The most interesting envoy to bring the tidings of the Il-Khan to Europe did not originate in the Ilkhanate, but in China: Rabban Bar Sawma, born in 1220 in what is now modern day Beijing, was a Turkic Nestorian priest who had set out on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem before being conscripted to act as a messenger for the Il-Khan, in a journey which is a fascinating contrast to that of his contemporary Marco Polo. Even given him his own dedicated episode in this podcast series, but we'll give here a brief recount of his journey. Writing his accounts down upon his return to Baghdad later in life, he described how he brought messages and gifts to the Byzantine Emperor Andronicos II Palaiologus, marvelled at the Hagia Sophia, then landed in Sicily and made his way to Rome, having just missed the death of Pope Honorius IV. Travelling on to France, he was warmly welcomed by King Phillip IV, and then on to Gascony where he met the campaigning King Edward of England, who again responded kindly to the Il-khan's envoy. On his return journey, he met the new Pope Nicholas IV in 1288 before returning to the Ilkhanate. Despite the generous receptions Rabban Sauma was given by the heads of Europe, and despite the Il-khan's promises to return Jerusalem to Christian hands, the reality was there was no ruler in the west interested, or capable of, going on Crusade. By now, the act of Crusading in the Holy land had lost its lustre, the final crusades almost all disasters, and costly ones at that. With the final Crusader strongholds falling to the Mamluks in the early 1290s, there was no longer even a proper beachhead on the coast for a Crusading army. The sheer distance and cost of going on Crusade, especially with numerous ongoing issues in their own Kingdoms at hand, outweighed whatever perceived benefit there might have been in doing so. Further, while Rabban Sauma personally could be well received, the Mongols themselves remained uncertain allies. From 1285 through to 1288, Golden Horde attacks on eastern Europe had recommenced in force. Even the new Khan of the Golden Horde, Tele-Buqa, had led an army into Poland. For the Europeans, the distinctions between the Mongol Khanates were hard to register; how could messages of peace from some Mongols be matched with the open war other Mongols were undertaking? All evidence seems to suggest that the western Franks did not understand that the Golden Horde and Ilkhanate were separate political entities. Recall earlier the conflicting letters Louis IX had received in the 1240s, where one Mongol general offered friendship, only to be tricked in seemingly submitting to the Mongols and then receive letters in the 1250s telling him to discount the previous envoys. Together these encouraged unease over perceiving the Mongols as allies, and served to further dampen interest to pursue these alliances. In contrast, the Mamluks had somewhat greater success in their own overseas diplomacy: in the 1260s Baybars initiated contact with the Golden Horde, ruled by the Muslim Berke Khan, encouraging him to keep up his warfare with his Ilkhanid cousins. Sultan Baybars also kept good relations with the Byzantine Empire and the Genoese, allowing him to keep the flow of Turkic slave soldiers from the steppes of the Golden Horde open, the keystone of the Mamluk military. There is also evidence they undertook some limited diplomacy with Qaidu Khan during the height of his rule over Central Asia and the Chagatayids. While the Mamluks and Golden Horde never undertook any true military cooperation, the continuation of their talks kept the Ilkhanate wary of enemies on all borders, never truly able to bring the entirety of its considerable might against one foe least another strike the Il-Khan's exposed frontiers. But, did the Golden Horde, in the 1260s, perceive this as an alliance? We only have Mamluk accounts of the relationship, but scholarship often supposes that the Golden Horde Khans perceived this as the submission of the Mamluks, and any cooperation was the cooperation between overlord and subject. As many of the Mamluk ruling class were Qipchaqs, so the Mongols had come to see as their natural slaves, it may well be that Berke saw the submission of the Mamluks as a natural part of their relationship, especially since he already ruled the Qipchaq homeland. This alliance, alongside never resulting in direct cooperation, was also never always amicable. When the Jochid Khans grew annoyed with the Mamluks, they would halt the trade of Qipchaq slaves and threaten to deprive the Mamluks of their greatest source of warriors. During the long reign of Mamluk Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad, a daughter of the Golden Horde Khan Ozbeg was wed to him, in an effort to cement the relationship after a rocky start to the 1300s. Al-Nasir soon accused her of not actually being a Chinggisid, insulting her and infuriating Ozbeg. Yet the relationship survived until the invasions of Emir Temur at the close of the fourteenth century, when the Mamluks and Golden Horde once again took part in a doomed west-Asian effort to ally against Temur. Ilkhanid-European contacts continued into the 14th century, but with somewhat less regularity after Rabban bar Sawma's journey. An archbishopric was even founded in the new Ilkhanid capital of Sultaniyya in 1318, and Papal envoys would travel through the Ilkhanate to the Yuan Dynasty in China until the 1330s. A few envoys came from the Il-Khans still hoping to achieve military cooperation; Ghazan Il-Khan continued to send them before his invasions, including the only one that actually defeated the Mamluk army and led to a brief Mongol advance down the coast, occupying Damascus. News of Ghazan's successes did spread rapidly, for the Spanish Franciscan Ramon Llull learned of it and promptly sailed all the way across the Mediterranean, hoping to be among the first missionaries to land in the newly reclaimed Holy Land. But upon arriving in Cypress, Llull learned of Ghazan's equally quick withdrawal. The combined news of a Mongol victory followed by sudden Mongol withdrawal must have only affirmed the opinion of many of the futility of taking part in any more crusades with the Mongols. Military operations against the Mamluks mostly ceased after Ghazan's death, until a formal peace was achieved between them and the Ilkhanate at the start of the 1320s. Naturally, no further messages for alliances with the powers of Europe were forth coming, and consequently putting an almost total end to European interest and contacts with the Middle East for the next five centuries. European-Mongol relations would continue for some time longer in the territory of the Golden Horde, where the attention of our podcast moves next, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast for more. If you enjoyed this and would like to help us continue 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.
November, 1335. The Khan of the Ilkhanate, Abu Sa'id Bahadur, is dead. Allegedly poisoned by a spurned wife, Baghdad Khatun, his death was the unravelling of the Ilkhanate. Facing an invasion by the mighty Ozbeg of the Golden Horde, and a succession crisis due to Abu Sa'id's failure to produce an heir, the Ilkhanate rapidly, and violently, tore itself to pieces. Today, we look at the disintegration of the Mongol Ilkhanate, the stories of two men named Hasan, and the history of the region up until the arrival of Emir Temur, fearsome Tamerlane, at the end of the fourteenth century. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Abu Sa'id had not been an incompetent monarch by any stretch of the means, and his rule was remembered as a golden age, at least in comparison to the mess that followed. A great-great-grandson of the Ilkhanid founder Hulegu, Abu Sa'id's reign had seen the consolidation of the islamization of the Mongol state, as well as the end of the long war with the Mamluks of Egypt. Il-Khan since 1316, Abu Sa'id had been controlled by the emir Choban, until he nearly eradicated the house of Choban in the late 1320s in an effort to marry Baghdad Khatun, one of Choban's daughters. For a few years Abu Sa'id had enjoyed a comparatively quiet majority, pursuing art, culture, poetry, building and architecture, as well as efforts to produce an heir. Baghdad Khatun, despite her beauty and the violence he had undertaken to acquire her- which included, among others things, killing her father, brothers and forcing her to divorce her husband- simply did not provide him his much desired son. When Abu Sa'id's eyes fell upon her niece, Dilshad Khatun, the Il-Khan basically forgot about his current wife, wed her niece and soon enough got her pregnant. For Baghdad Khatun to be humiliated like this, after suffering through the destruction of her family, this was the last straw. The widespread belief was that she had him poisoned in some manner- in Ibn Battuta's account, this was administered via a handkerchief that she used to clean themselves after sexual intercourse. So did Abu Sa'id die, aged 30 years old, in what is now Azerbaijan while marching north to repel an invasion by the Khan of the Golden Horde, Ozbeg. With Abu Sa'id's death, the line of Hulegu became extinct- or at least, the line through Hulegu's son Abaqa, which had provided most of the Il-Khans. Abu Sa'id uncle, Ghazan, had done much to prune the lineage during his reign, and it seems alcoholism took care of much of the rest. The fact that few Il-Khans lived past 35, with fewer and fewer heirs each generation, has led many to search for underlying causes beyond just alcohol. Scholars such as Charles Melville and Anne F. Broadbridge have pointed to possible consequences of consanguinity among the Il-Khans: that is, essentially inbreeding, given the Il-Khan's preferences for marrying into the same families, like the Oirats, over generations. The combined effects of rampant alcohol abuse among both men and women and the consanguinity may be the answer behind the alarming drop off in fertility of the Ilkhanid elite over the last decades of the thirteenth century. While Hulegu had produced quite the brood of little Chinggisids- at least 25 sons and daughters-, by the end of the century Ghazan had only a daughter survive childhood, while his brother Oljeitu Il-Khan had an alarming amount of children stillborn or died young. From his twelve wives, Oljeitu only had three children ever reach marriageable age; Abu Sa'id and two daughters, Sati Beg and Dawlandi: the last of whom still died before her father. For Abu Sa'id himself, despite considerable efforts, by his death he had only succeeded in getting his widow Dilshad Khatun pregnant. With no surviving brothers, sons or clear male figure to step into the role, the Ilkhanate suddenly faced a new problem; no clear monarch of the line of Hulegu to head the state. The explanation of Abu Sa'id's death without heir directly causing the fall of the Ilkhanate has been, in the opinion of scholars like Charles Melville, somewhat overstated. The image of the Ilkhanate falling without a decline -a counter to the model popularized by Edward Gibbon so long ago- encourages us to overlook problems which had developed. Essentially, Melville notes, a gap had widened between the military elite, the noyad, and the Il-Khan, which accompanied a lack of respect for the Chinggisids. The death of a monarch with no clear heir was hardly a new issue in the Mongol Empire- in fact, the quriltai system wherein a candidate put his name forward and was confirmed by the princes served to supply new khans at need. Additionally, neither were regents unheard of within the empire's history. The 1240s had seen two regencies, with Ogedai's widow Torogene and Guyuk's widow Oghul Qaimish steering the empire in the absence of a Khan- Oghul Qaimish of course, doing this much less successfully than her predecessor. In the form of Baghdad Khatun the Ilkhanate certainly had a powerful woman who could have stepped into the role. Well connected and from a prestigious family, she could have called upon connections established by her late father, Choban. Baghdad Khatun was described as an intimidating, intelligent and proud woman, who openly walked around with a sword strapped to her waist and greatly influenced matters of state. In the opinion of some, Abu Sa'id was bossed around by her. In a more classic Mongolian system, Baghdad Khatun would have guided the state until an heir could have been selected. But as Melville argues, the actions of the Khans from Ghazan onwards had alienated the military elite. More or less, they must have felt disenfranchised from the government and that the old Mongolian way of life was being abandoned. Certainly Islamization was the most obvious demonstration of this. Ghazan and Oljeitu both abandoned the traditional secret burials of Mongol Khans in favour of massive, expensive and very public mausoleums. The quriltai as a means of choosing the next ruler and affecting major decisions was abandoned, and even the end of the war with the Mamluks- not by conquest, but by diplomacy- must have felt like a betrayal of Mongol imperial ideology. Recall how the contemporary Chagatai Khan Tarmashirin was accused of abandoning the yassa as well- specifically by no longer continuing the annual assembles with the noyad in the eastern half of the Chagatai realm, and thus making them feel they no longer had a role, or a stake, in the Khanate's government. Tarmashirin was overthrown by a rebellion in 1334, a year before Abu Sa'id's death, which precipitated the descent of the Chagatai ulus into open war. By removing their stake in government, and not replacing it with a new loyalty to adhere to in the replacement system, the Ilkhans had gradually removed the need of the various noyans to maintain their loyalty to the Chinggisid ideology. When Abu Sa'id came to the throne in 1317, he was but a 12 year old boy. The long period of Choban's regency further reduced the khan's authority and increased that of the military elite. Abu Sa'id largely accepted and seems to have went along with Choban's oversight up until Choban denied him Baghdad Khatun, at that time married to Shaykh Hasan Jalayir. Only from the very end of the 1320s, after Choban's death, did Abu Sa'id really rule in his own right. While he did face minor rebellion, there is indication of resentment as efforts undertaken by the central Ilkhanid government. Abu Sa'id's vizier, Ghiyath al-Din Muhammad, the son of the former vizier Rashid al-Din Hamadani, sought to enforce tax reforms that in effect, would have restrengthened the hand of the central government towards the regional princes and their appanages. As Melville notes, the details are poorly known but it seems to have been an ineffective measure that angered these military princes. Per Melville's theory, the only outcome of such failed measures would only have been widening the gap between the Il-khan and the military elite. On Abu Sa'id's death at the end of November 1335, it fell to the vizier Ghiyath al-Din Muhammad to try and steer the ship in the face of Ozbeg's invasion. Only five days later, on December 5th, Ghiyath al-Din orchestrated the enthronement of a successor, a man named Arpa Ke'un. Arpa was a Chinggisid, and a member of the house of Tolui… but of the line of Ariq Boke, Hulegu's younger brother who had fought their brother Khubilai for the throne in the 1260s. Plucked from obscurity by Ghiyath al-Din, it seems he was chosen for his ability to lead the army, for all indication is that Arpa Khan was a man of military background, a “old school Mongol,” in the words of every secondary source that mentions him. Arpa was given command of the Il-Khanid army, and in the snows of the Caucasus he forced back Ozbeg in winter 1335, who once again retreated to the Golden Horde. Arpa Khan returned triumphant, and Ghiyath al-Din must have had high hopes for his new protege. Arpa was a competent commander who was militarily proven in his defence of the Ilkhanate- a promising figure to rally the Mongols around. Apparently he had little taste for court procedure or niceties, and it is unclear if he was a Muslim. One anonymous Armenian chronicler asserts Arpa was a Christian, and at the very least he was very proud of the “old ways.” At best, he was a Muslim with little care for the specifics of the faith. We might wonder if Ghiyath al-Din was deliberate here too, choosing a man who would be more palatable to the noyad due to his distaste of courtly life. In the opinion of Oleg Grabar and Sheila Blair, it was shortly after Arpa's ascension that Ghiyath al-Din ordered the commission of the Great Mongol Shahnama, a wonderful illustrated version of the Persian national epic, the Shahnama of Firdausi. An undertaking of massive expense, given the large and lovingly detailed artwork, it certainly indicates that the top levels of the Ilkhanid elite did not imagine they were entering into a crisis anytime soon. Arpa Khan was not on solid footing though. The fact that he was not of the line of Hulegu certainly hurt his legitimacy. The fact that Abu Sa'id's widow, Dilshad Khatun, was pregnant and had fled to Abu Sa'id's uncle, ‘Ali-Padshah, the governor of Diyarbakir, was unnerving too. ‘Ali-Padshah's sister, Abu Sa'id's mother Hajji Khatun, also opposed Arpa's enthronement. Thus, his position needed to be shored up. A marriage was arranged to Abu Said's sister, Sati Beg; commanders who had been alienated or jailed by Abu Sa'id were given expensive gifts or freed from prison. And the blame for Abu Sa'id's death was laid squarely on Baghdad Khatun, who had never had the chance to assume the regency. Accused not just of poisoning Abu Sa'id, but of being in correspondence with Ozbeg Khan and inviting him to attack the Ilkhanate, Baghdad Khatun was found guilty and executed, supposedly beaten to death by a Greek slave with a club while she was in the bathhouse. A number of other executions followed of potential rivals. But Arpa Khan looked for enemies in the wrong direction. ‘Ali-Padshah, the Oirat governor of Diyarbakir, was becoming something of a rallying point for those unhappy with Arpa's placement as Khan- or unhappy with an energetic man on the throne who might reduce their privileges. Dilshad Khatun had finally given birth to Abu Sa'id's only child, a girl, but this did not stop ‘Ali-Padshah's maneuvering. At the start of 1336 he raised his own candidate, Musa, as Il-Khan. Supposedly a grandson of Baidu, who had only held the throne for a few months before Ghazan's rise, Musa was, unlike Arpa, entirely a puppet of ‘Ali-Padshah. In alliance with Hajji Khatun and Shaykh Hasan Jalayir, who had once been forced to give up his wife Baghdad Khatun to Abu Sa'id and now knew Arpa killed her, ‘Ali-Padshah in the name Musa Il-Khan armed a revolt against Arpa Il-Khan. In the April of 1336, Arpa's army was defeated in the field. He and Ghiyath al-Din Muhammad fled to Sultaniyya, where they were captured and killed later that month. So ended the reign of Arpa Khan, the final Il-Khan to wield any individual authority. Arpa's death in many ways can be considered the true end of the Ilkhanate, for it seems to have removed any attachment the regional commanders held to the Ilkhanid state. ‘Ali-Padshah's enthronement of Musa Khan gave all of them the realization that each, too, could rule through his own puppet Chinggisid, if he happened to believe hard enough and have one on hand. From 1335 until 1343, no less than 8 Chinggisids were to be declared Il-Khan by these commanders. Little is known of most of them beyond their names and who controlled them. Shortly after Arpa's death Shaykh Hasan Jalayir announced his own puppet khan, a young boy named Muhammad, and attacked ‘Ali-Padshah. By July 1336, ‘Ali-Padshah was dead and Musa Il-Khan sent running. Shaykh Hasan married Abu Sa'id's widow, Dilshad Khatun. At the same time in the far east of the Ilkhanate, the noyans of Khurasan elected their own Il-Khan, Togha-Temur. Togha-Temur was not even a descendant of Chinggis Khan, but his brother Jochi-Qasar! But he came with military backing, and at the end of 1336 Togha-Temur's armies had overrun Iran and pushed into Iraq and Azerbaijan, forcing Shaykh Hasan Jalayir to flee before him. Even the wandering Musa found his way into Togha-Temur's employment, and it seemed that the Ilkhanate's period of disunity would soon be ended… only for Togha-Temur to suddenly withdraw back east in spring 1337. Musa was left with an army to attempt to crush Shaykh Hasan, but Hasan defeated and killed him in July 1337. Though he would threaten Iraq and the Caucasus again on occasion, Togha-Temur mostly contented himself with mastery over Khurasan and Mazandaran for the next 16 years, until his death in 1353 at the hands of the Sarbadars of Sabzavar. With Togha-Temur's withdrawal, Shaykh Hasan now faced a new challenger in the form of a different Shaykh Hasan. Our first Shaykh Hasan was of the Jalayirid lineage, a descendant of one of Hulegu's top generals. Often you'll see him called Hasan-i Buzurg, or “Big Hasan.” Hasan-i Kuchik, or “Little Hasan,” was meanwhile a grandson of Choban, via his son Temur-tash. Temur-tash had been governor of Anatolia and revolted twice against Abu Sa'id, before being killed by the Mamluk Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad when seeking support from him. Yet, Temur-tash's name still carried weight in Anatolia. While the other Ilkhanid claimants fought for power in the Caucasus and northern Mesopotamia, Little Hasan and his brother Malik Ashraf brought his father back to life, so to speak, in the form of a slave who looked a lot like him. Rather young, the boys lacked the experience or prestige to rally an army around themselves, and so required a puppet dead father. The slave, named Qarajari, in Mamluk accounts was the true leader of the uprising, while in Jalayirid and Temurid sources it was Little Hasan and his brother Malik Ashraf. At the very least, it indicates the level of friction in the movement was apparent.With an army composed of urban militias, nomadic cavalry and military slaves, it was a bit of a motley force, but the return of the Chobanids undermined Big Hasan Jalayir. Big Hasan's problem was the fact he just had so many members of Choban's family in his entourage. His new wife, Dilshad Khatun, was a granddaughter of Choban; one of his most important supporters, Oljeitu's daughter Sati Beg, had been married to emir Choban, and had a son by him, Surghan. With their help, and the help of a grandson of Choban named Pir Husayn, Big Hasan had overcome Musa Khan and retaken Tabriz, which had long been the capital of the Ilkhanate. But the rise of new Chobanid claimants made Big Hasan unsure of his own Chobanid supporters. Antagonizing his Chobanid followers, Sati Beg and her son Surghan fled to join Little Hasan, who forced Big Hasan from Tabriz in 1338, forcing him to retreat to Baghdad. In the process, Little Hasan succeeded in killing Big Hasan's puppet Chinggisid, the young Muhammad Khan. But seizing Tabriz weakened the bonds between Little Hasan and his fake father; the Fake Temurtash decided he wanted real power and stabbed Little Hasan, who survived and escaped, then publicized the news that Fake Temurtash was actually, well, a fake. “You're not my real dad!” We may imagine Little Hasan screamed as he ran out of the palace of Tabriz, blood dripping from a wound. Little Hasan fled to Georgia, meeting with Sati Beg and his cousin Surghan, while the isolated fake Temurtash was pushed from Tabriz by Big Hasan, who in turn was pushed out again by Little Hasan. Still, it was felt a non-Chinggisid could not rule yet in his own right, especially since Little Hasan had, in the eyes of most, simply been serving his “resurrected” father. So, Little Hasan made the nearest Chinggisid the new Il-Khan. And the nearest Chinggisid was none other than his grandfather Choban's widow, Sati Beg, daughter of the late Il-Khan Oljeitu, sister of Abu Sa'id and also widow of Arpa Khan. For the first time, late in 1338, a Chinggisid woman became Khan- not regent, not khatun, but Khan. Coins were minted in her name bearing the title, the khutba was read in her name and she was officially the ruler of the Ilkhanate, such as it was. But Sati Beg Khan, the only Chinggisid female Khan, held no real power, and largely was a tool through which Little Hasan maintained his power. A scheming, cruel man, Little Hasan offered Sati Beg to be the bride of a rival, solely in an effort to lure the rival into a trap. He also sought to portray himself as a restorer of the Ilkhanate and its protector by commandeering symbols and persons associated with it, such as appointing descendants of Rashid al-Din and other Ilkhanid viziers to chief posts, while continuing to promote Tabriz as the capital in an effort at continuity with the Ilkhanate. Little Hasan himself, along with Sati Beg's son and two other top figures, took the titles of the ulus emirs, the commanders of the realm, but there could be no question of who was actually in charge… … or could there be? Restoring a Chinggisid monarchy in place of their fake father Temurtash meant, in effect, the demotion of Little Hasan and his brother Malik Ashraf. Making Little Hasan but one of the ulus emirs further divided his power. Coins in the name of Sati Beg Khan are found even outside of territory the Chobanids directly controlled in this period, suggesting Sati Beg's enthronement had wider support. Rumours circulated that Sati Beg was in contact with Big Hasan Jalayir in Baghdad, and plotting to kill Little Hasan. Worse still, Togha-Temur, the “eastern Il-Khan,” returned to western Iran at the very start of 1339, having been invited to take the throne by Big Hasan. Togha-Temur's great army seemed poised to wash away Little Hasan's state. Sati Beg Khan and her soon fled west, leaving Little Hasan alone to face Togha-Temur. But the lil' guy had one last card play. Knowing he faced no chance of overcoming Togha-Temur Khan in battle, instead Little Hasan sent messengers to Togha-Temur offering his submission, and that he would gladly come to submit to Togha-Temur in person, but could not dare leave Tabriz yet due to the danger posed by Big Hasan, at that time in Baghdad. Togha-Temur accepted this gladly, happy to take the former Ilkhanid capital without trouble. He promised to keep Little Hasan in power, and sent a letter describing how he would rid them of Big Hasan… which Little Hasan promptly forwarded to Big Hasan. The latter had already allied with Togha-Temur and was naturally unhappy to find his new overlord so willing to remove him from the scene, so Big Hasan abandoned Togha-Temur Khan. Losing face, his local allies and commanders unsatisfied with the process, Togha-Temur withdrew back east. The entire incident served to strengthen Little Hasan's little hands. A few months later in July 1339, he forced Sati Beg Khan to marry another of Little Hasan's allies, a descendant of Hulegu's son Yoshmut, who took the throne name of Sulayman, and became Sulayman Khan, though the Mamluks suspected his ancestry was fictive. So ended Sati Beg's nine month tenure as Khan, losing whatever little authority she held and subsequently disappearing from the sources, though coinage in her name continued to be minted in Georgia well into the 1340s. Her final fate remains uncertain. In the meantime, Big Hasan down in Baghdad had another ploy to employ. His requests to the Mamluk Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad for miltiary aid in recognition of Mamluk overlordship did not materialize into any actual support, in addition to the failure of the affair with Togha-Temur. Taking matters into his own hands, he appointed a grandson of Geikhatu Il-Khan, Jahan-Temur, as Il-Khan, then marched north to face Little Hasan in battle. In June 1340, the two Hasans, each with their khans, met on the field. Little Hasan had the better of the engagement, forcing Big Hasan to flee back to Baghdad. Angered at the turn of events, Big Hasan deposed his puppet Khan Jahan-Temur, and ruled in his own name- the official start of the independent Jalayir Dynasty. Ruling from Baghdad, the Jalayirids oversaw most of modern Iraq to the border with Syria. The Chobanids kept their puppet Chinggisid only a little longer. Sulayman Khan actually outlasted Little Hasan: the little trickster finally met his end when murdered by his own wife in December 1343. With no heir, he was succeeded by his brother, Malik Ashraf, who soon after deposed Sulayman and appointed another puppet monarch, a non-Chinggisid called Anushirvan, from an epithet for the ancient Sassanian shahanshah, Khosrow I. It was an interesting dabble in movement away from legitimacy associated with the house of Chinggis Khan, harkening even back to pre-Islamic Iran. What sort of lineage he was supposed to represent is unclear, as the Mamluks thought that he had essentially crowned a stable boy and then locked him in a gilded cage. Coins were minted in Anushirvan's name until 1353, the year of Togha-Temur's death. Little Hasan had been unpopular in Tabriz and Azerbaijan, but Malik Ashraf was widely hated. Paranoid, violent men, their oppressive tendencies alienated many supporters: both found it easy to be cruel to their families and vassals on the slightest hints of disloyalty- such cruelty was the certain cause of Little Hasan's wife preemptively murdering him. Mongol allies were angered with the movement away from Chinggisid legitimacy or by the enfranchisement of non-Mongols. The cities of the Caucasus felt exploited as tax sources due to wild expenditure by both Little Hasan and Malik Ashraf, who built large public works in efforts to boost their images and to fund their standing army. The latter of which they struggled to fund, resulting in troops attempting to supply themselves by raiding Chobanid subjects from Azerbaijan, Georgia to eastern Anatolia. At one point at the very start of his reign, Malik Ashraf was locked out of Tabriz, the city barring its gates against him in reaction to his exploitative money grabbing. All of this was worsened by rounds of Plague- as in, Black Plague. The trade cities of the Caucasus which the Chobanids so relied upon were struck repeatedly and made the situation even more unstable, as the economy was disrupted, trade slackened and key demographic centres depopulated. To distract from troubles and bring in some glory- or share the suffering, Malik Ashraf decided to attack Baghdad in 1347, but the Jalayirids repulsed him. Either through order, or because he no longer had control over his troops, the Chobanid army then ravaged much of the Chobanid kingdom. Facing revolts and rebellions across his kingdom, somehow he managed to maintain his post into the 1350s, when faced with an overwhelming, ultimate threat: the new Khan of the Golden Horde, Jani Beg, son of Ozbeg Khan. Just as this episode began with the threat of a Jochid attack by Ozbeg, so this episode ends with his son coming to finish the job. The Jochids never forgot Hulegu's seizure of the Azerbaijani pastures, and repeated attempts to regain were met with failures. Even great and long-reigning Ozbeg Khan had failed to seize them. Jani Beg, in all things, was determined to outdo his father, and in 1357 his messages arrived in Tabriz, bearing a clear ultimatum to Malik Ashraf: “I am coming to take possession of the ulus of Hulegu. You are the son of Choban whose name was in the decree of the four uluses. Today three realms are under my command, and I also wish to appoint you commander of the ulus; get up and come to meet me.” Malik Ashraf put on a brave face, dismissing the messenger and replied that Jani Beg only had claim to rule within the lands of Jochi, while Malik Ashraf was the protector of the lands of Hulegu. Malik Ashraf's sudden claim to support the Toluids, not surprisingly, did not convince Jani Beg, or anyone else. His decision to then imprison Jani Beg's ambassador did not help matters either. But Malik Ashraf's defiance was hollow, and he was well aware of the danger he was in. We are told by the Azerbaijani writer al-Ahri, writing about 1360, that Malik Ashraf in fear turned to his attendants and admitted, “This is the son of Khan Ozbeg. He is of the family of Chinggis Khan and has an overwhelming army of three hundred thousand men. I cannot hold out against him.” Ashraf planned to flee to a fortress and hold out there until Jani Beg withdrew or, failing that, flee to Anatolia. News of his cowardice elicited a loud response from the elite and people of Tabriz, who cried out for resistance and claimed that Jani Beg's only strength was his numbers, and in terms of equipment the Chobanid troops would have the better. Only once it seemed that government was breaking down in the face of the Golden Horde attack, reluctantly Malik Ashraf summoned the troops and rode out to face the approaching Jani Beg Khan. Promptly, his men fled when they caught sight of Jani Beg's host. Years of mistreatment had generated no loyalty to the person of Malik Ashraf or his office, and none were willing to put their lives on the line in a doomed fight. His army disintegrated and looted his own coffers. Finally Malik Ashraf was betrayed, captured, and paraded through the streets of Tabriz and handed over to Jani Beg. Supposedly Jani Beg would have let him live, if the people of Tabriz had not demanded his death- though it should be said, mercy was not a quality Jani Beg ever had in abundance, so we might wonder about this detail. Malik Ashraf, son of Temur-Tash and brother of Little Hasan, grandson of Choban Noyan, was thus put to death on Jani Beg Khan's orders in 1357. The Chobanid state, after a tumultuous two decades, was dismantled, its few surviving representatives scattered to the winds. Jani Beg Khan succeeded where no Jochid Khan had before, in occupying Tabriz and the pastures of Azerbaijan, Arran and the Mughan Plain. Many of the other regional powers, including the Jalayirids recognized Jani Beg's overlordship. Jani Beg left his son Berdi Beg to govern Azerbaijan, then returned to the Qipchaq steppe- only to soon die, of sickness or, as some accuse, of being poisoned by Berdi Beg. This caused a general withdrawal of the Jochid troops as Berdi Beg left to assume the position of Khan, leaving one of Malik Ashraf's former deputies in charge on behalf of the Golden Horde. Finally, it was time for the Jalayirids to return to Tabriz. Big Hasan's son with Dilshad Khatun was Shaykh Uvays, who succeeded his father to the throne in 1356. Having accepted Jani Beg's overlordship, the Jalayirids had managed the storm of the Jochid assault well. With their long time Chobanid enemies annihilated, it was now time to seize the Azerbaijani pastures. In summer 1358 Shaykh Uvays successfully retook Tabriz twenty years after his father had last been pushed from the city. In the historical sources, Jalayirid rule is contrasted heavily with the Chobanids. Where the Chobanids appear as scheming, violent and oppressive men, the Jalayirids in contrast are presented as benevolent, respectful to Islamic and Chinggisid norms, ushering in an era of peace and prosperity after years of upheaval. Ruling from the Caucasus across Iraq, the Jalayirids were mighty, and deserved a new title for it. So did Shaykh Uvays begin to style himself Sultan. It was not an easy task, for many former supporters of the Chobanids had to be hunted down, and indeed, in 1359 Uvays was pushed out of Tabriz by another Ilkhanid successor state, the Muzaffarids, albeit briefly. But by the next year Uvays had retaken Tabriz, killed Malik Ashraf's still resisting son and properly secured Jalayirid control. The Jalayirid Sultanate saw a brief renaissance in art and culture, a restoration of economy and trade following the post-Ilkhanid disruptions. While respect was paid to the house of Chinggis Khan and certain norms associated with the Ilkhanate, this was no Chinggisid state. No Chinggisid puppet was maintained, and neither Uvays nor his sons based their rule on their Chinggisid ancestry, even though they could trace their lineage to a daughter of Arghun Il-Khan. Chinggisid legitimacy as the basis for governance did not long survive Abu Sa'id, and the Ilkhanid successors at most portrayed themselves as protectors of the Il-Khanid dynasty, rather than its continuators. Thus by the end of the fourteenth century, most of the western portion of the former Ilkhanate, that is the Caucasus, northwestern Iran and Iraq, was ruled by the Jalayirid Dynasty. Iran itself was largely divided between regional forces, the most prominent being the Muzaffarids and Injuids and Sarbadars of Sabzavar. None were of Mongol origin, but were rather local Persian dynasties which had emerged out of the Ilkhanid political structure. In rare cases, pre-existing dynasties like the Kartids of Herat simply reasserted themselves. A few Turkic nomadic confederations, of unclear political origins, emerged in the second half of the fourteenth century, most notably the Black Sheep Turkomans, the Qaraqoyunlu. In Anatolia, a number of Turkic beyliks rose out of the splintered ruins of the Ilkhanid government there, including one on the western end of the peninsula founded by a ghazi named Osman. You may know them better as the Ottomans. The Mamluks maintained their hold on Egypt, with al-Nasir Muhammad enjoying a very long third reign until his death in the 1340s, which then saw a rapid succession of his numerous sons and grandsons on the Mamluk throne, preventing any Mamluk expansion at the expense of the weak post-Ilkhanid states. Such was the more situation of the late fourteenth century post-Ilkhanid world, soon to be turned over by the rival of a powerful emir from the western Chagatai Khanate named Temur, or Tamerlane. But that's a story for another day, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast for more. If you enjoyed this and would like to help up continue 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.
“Ket Buqa Noyan kept attacking left and right with all zeal. Some encouraged him to flee, but he refused to listen and said, “Death is inevitable. It is better to die with a good name than to flee in disgrace. In the end, someone from this army, old or young, will reach the court and report that Ket Buqa, not wanting to return in shame, gave his life in battle. The padishah should not grieve over lost Mongol soldiers. Let him imagine that his soldiers' wives have not been pregnant for a year and the mares of their herds have not folded. [...]The life or death of servants like us is irrelevant.” Although the soldiers left him, he continued to struggle in battle like a thousand men. In the end his horse faltered, and he was captured. [...] After that, Ket Buqa was taken before Quduz with his hands bound. “Despicable man,” said Quduz, “you have shed so much blood wrongfully, ended the lives of champions and dignitaries with false assurances, and overthrown ancient dynasties with broken promises. Now you have finally fallen into a snare yourself.”[...] “If I am killed by your hand,” said Ket Buqa, “I consider it to be God's act, not yours. Be not deceived by this event for one moment, for when the news of my death reaches Hülägü Khan, the ocean of his wrath will boil over, and from Azerbaijan to the gates of Egypt will quake with the hooves of Mongol horses. They will take the sands of Egypt from there in their horses' nose bags. Hülägü Khan has three hundred thousand renowned horsemen like Ket Buqa. You may take one of them away.” So the great Ilkhanid vizier and historian Rashid al-Din records the heroic, and certainly greatly dramatized, account of Kitbuqa Noyan's final stand at the battle of Ayn Jalut in September 1260. This was the famous Mongol defeat at the newly established, and rather fragile, Mamluk Sultanate of Egypt. The Mongols however, did not see it as an irreversible cataclysm, but the defeat of a small force which would soon be avenged, for Heaven demanded nothing less. The defeat of the Mongols at Ayn Jalut in 1260 was not the end of the war between the Mongols and the Mamluks, and over the next 50 years Hulegu's successors, the Ilkhans, tried repeatedly to avenge their losses only to be halted by the Mamluks' valiant resistance. Here, we will look at the efforts by the Mongol Ilkhanate to bring their horses to the Nile. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. First, we should note that for anyone wishing to read more about the war between the Mongols and the Mamluks, the most detailed work on the subject can be found in Reuven Amitai-Preiss' Mongols and Mamluks: The Mamluk-Ilkhanid War, released in 1995. No other work details the entire conflict and its sources so fully, and is an absolute must read for anyone desiring the most effective overview on the subject possible. With the death of Grand Khan Mongke in 1259, the Mongol Empire was irrevocably broken: while Hulegu and his successors stayed on good terms with his brother Khubilai, the nominal Great Khan, Hulegu was independent, ruler of vast domain stretching from Anatolia to the Amu Darya, known as the Ilkhanate. Hulegu's cousins in the neighbouring Golden Horde, Chagatai Khanate and the Neguderis were almost immediately antagonistic to the Ilkhans, who found themselves defending their distant frontiers from all three, in addition to internal revolts. For the Ilkhans, the Mamluks were but one frontier amongst several, one they could turn to only when the threat from the other Khanates was low. More often than not, this simple fact prevented any great Ilkhanid invasion of the Mamluk state. For the Mamluks though, their border with the Ilkhanate along the Euphrates river was of utmost importance. In the aftermath of Ayn Jalut, the Mamluk Sultan Qutuz was assassinated by the energetic Baybars, who had fought alongside Qutuz against Kitbuqa. We introduced Baybars back in episode 30 of this podcast. While much credit can be given to Qutuz and the quality of the Mamluk soldiery for the victory at Ayn Jalut, the reason for continued Mamluk successes against the Mongols can be attributed to Baybars. A Qipchaq from the great Eurasian steppe, as a young boy Baybars had been sold into slavery to the Ayybuid Sultan of Egypt. There, Baybars was converted to Islam and received extensive training in all matter of military affairs. An excellent soldier, coupled with immense ambition, endurance and drive, Baybars understood clearly the danger the Mongols posed, and set up his entire kingdom to defend against them. The new Sultan greatly expanded the Mamluk regiments, encouraging good relations with the Golden Horde, Genoese and Byzantine Empire to keep up the flow of Turkic slave soldiers from the Eurasian steppe, over the Mediterranean to the ports of Egypt. He established a sophisticated intelligence network to inform him on the Ilkhanate and spread misinformation within it, supported by a system of signal towers, messenger pigeons, improved roads, bridges and relay stations to rapidly send messages. This was the barid, which served as the Mamluks' answer to the Mongol yam system. Its riders reported directly to the Mamluk Sultan. Frontier fortifications along the Euphrates River like al-Bira and al-Rahba were strengthened, and they served as the first line of defence when the armies of the Ilkhanate advanced. When messengers raced down from Syria to Egypt with news of a Mongol assault, Baybars would immediately march with an army from Cairo to meet them head on. More often than not, the Mongol attack party would return to the Ilkhanate rather than face Baybars head on. His swift reaction kept border officials loyal, feeling their Sultan would soon be there to assist them, or to punish defections. Rather than face the Mongols in battle, garrisons of cities in Syria past the Euphrates border were ordered to withdraw and regrouped at designated locations during invasions, facing the Mongols with united forces or awaiting the Sultan. Baybars would not allow the Mongols to overrun his empire piecemeal, as they had the Khwarezmian Empire some forty years prior. Baybars cultivated relations with bedouin nomads across Syria, who provided valuable auxiliaries, intelligence and also to keep them from allying with the Mongols. Finally, he strengthed his position domestically, controlling the economy and appointing his own Caliphs to legitimize himself, presenting himself as the defender of Islam. Baybars prepared his entire kingdom for Mongol attacks, a highly effective system the Ilkhanate struggled against. For the Ilkhans, the theater with the Mamluks was a sideshow, one to attack only when other frontiers were secured. The Mamluk Sultanate itself had no hope of conquering the Ilkhanate or seriously threatening it, so the various Ilkhans felt no great rush to overwhelm the Mamluks. In contrast, for the Mamluks the Ilkhanid border was of utmost importance: Baybars had to levy almost entirety of the Mamluk army to repel the Mongols, and thus not even a single defeat could be afforded for it would allow the Mongols to overrun Egypt, and the remainder of the Islamic west. Thus did Baybars finetune a system that proved remarkably successful at defending against the house of Hulegu, although it demanded great personal ability on the part of the monarch, and Baybars' successors struggled to compare to his vision. Soon after Ayn Jalut in September 1260, a Mongol force of about 6,000 returned to Syria that December. Commanded by Baydar, an officer of Kitbuqa who had escaped Qutuz and Baybars' great advance earlier that year, it was a serious threat. At that time Sultan Baybars had not tightened his hold over Syria, attacks by the Crusader states had wrought further confusion, and some of Qutuz's loyalists had rebelled against Baybars' rule, one of whom even declared himself sultan. There is implication in the Mamluk sources that the attack was not launched on Hulegu's order, but Baydar's own initiative to avenge Kitbuqa. As his army marched, they found that the garrisons of Syria had retreated before them. Placing a governor in Aleppo and other major cities, as the Mongols neared Homs they found the combined garrisons of Homs, Hama and Aleppo had retreated there and rallied before them. Greatly outnumbering the Syrian forces, perhaps 6,000 troops under Baydar to 1,400 under the Syrians, Baydar was ultimately defeated in battle, the Syrians aided by thick fog and the timely flanking of local Bedouin. Coincidentally, it was fought near the grave of Khalid ibn al-Walid, the great commander of the early Islamic conquests and victor at Yarmouk, which earned it double the symbolic value. This first battle of Homs, as it was to become known, strengthened the feeling that the Mongols were not invincible. The Mongol army outnumbered the Mamluk garrisons, and keenly demonstrated the importance of unified defense rather than each garrison hiding behind city walls. For many Mamluk writers, it was the first battle of Homs that stood as the great victory over the Mongols, rather than Ayn Jalut. It was also the last major Mongol offensive into Syria in the 1260s. Hulegu spent the next years fighting with Berke Khan of the Golden Horde over the valuable territory of Azerbaijan, which Berke believed belonged to the house of Jochi. With Hulegu's death in February 1265, he was succeeded by his son Abaqa, who was distracted by Jochid attacks and the efforts of setting up a new empire. By then, the most entrenched Sultan Baybars could solidify his defences, and turn to the isolated Crusader strongholds. By this time, little remained of the former Crusader Kingdoms, baring some coastal cities like Antioch, Tripoli and Acre and a few inland fortresses like Krak des Chevaliers and Montfort. The Crusader States had shown neutrality to the Mongols, or even joined them such as the County of Tripoli in 1260 after the Mongols entered Syria. Their neutrality or allegiance to the Mongols, in addition to the possibility of them acting as a foothold to further European troops, meant that the Mamluks would unleash bloody vengeance on them whenever the opportunity arose. From February to April 1265 in the immediate aftermath of Hulegu's death, Baybars conquered Caesarea, Haifa, Arsuf, Galilee and raided Cilician Armenia, the vassals of the Ilkhanate. In 1268 Baybars took Antioch, and in 1270-71 when Abaqa was fighting with Chagatayid and Neguderi armies in the far east, Baybars took the fortresses of Krak des Chevaliers and Montfort, and planned to attack Tripoli, another Ilkhanid vassal. Though it remains popular in some circles to portray the Mamluk conquest of the Crusader holdouts as titanic clashes, they were side affairs, undertaken by the Mamluks whenever the Ilkhans were occupied. Such was the slow and humiliating coup de grace which ended the Crusader states. The Mamluks' ending of the Crusader kingdoms certainly served them strategically, for it was the most effective way to prevent any link up between European and Mongol forces. Hulegu and his successors sent letters to the Kings and Popes of Europe, encouraging them to take up crusade against the Mamluks and together defeat them, offering to return Jerusalem and other holy sites back into Christian hands, but this almost always fell on deaf ears or were greeted with empty promises. Louis IX's highly organized crusades had resulted in utter debacles at Mansura in 1250 and Tunis in 1270, which dampened whatever minor enthusiasm for crusade was left in Europe. Few European monarchs ever seriously took up Mongol offers at military alliances, with two exceptions. King James I of Aragon found himself the most motivated by the Il-Khan Abaqa's requests, encouraged by the promises of the Ilkhanate's logistical and military support once they reached the mainland. James made his preparations, and launched a fleet in September 1269. An unexpected storm scattered the fleet, and only two of James' bastard children made it to Acre, who stayed only briefly, accomplishing little there before departing. This was soon followed by the arrival of prince Edward of England, the future King Edward I, at Acre in May 1271 with a small force, and Abaqa sent an army under Samaghar, the Mongol commander in Rum, to assist him: but Samaghar's force withdrew with the arrival of Baybars. Edward's troops performed poorly on their own minor raids, and set sail for England in September 1272. One of the commanders who took part in Samaghar's raid was Mu'in al-Din Sulaiman, better known as the Pervane, from sahib pervana, the keeper of the seals, though it literally means “butterfly.” The Pervane was the dominant figure of the rump state of the Seljuqs of Rum: when the previous Mongol installed Seljuq Sultan, Kilij Arlan IV, had challenged the Pervane, he succeeded in getting Abaqa to execute the Sultan and instate Arslan's young son, a toddler enthroned as Ghiyath al-Din Kaykhusraw III. Thus did the Pervane, in coordination with Samaghar Noyan, act as the master of Anatolia. Essentially co-governors, Samaghar and the Pervane had a stable relationship, enriching themselves along the way. But when Abaqa appointed his younger brother Ejei to oversee the Pervana and Samaghar. The Pervane chafed under the increased financial burden and supervision, and asked Abaqa to recall his brother, claiming Ejei was in cooperation with Baybars. Abaqa promised to recall him, but delayed. In his frustration, the Pervane himself reached out to Baybars. The Sultan's curiosity was piqued, but didn't commit; by the time his response reached the Pervane in 1274, Ejei and Samaghar had been replaced by Toqa Noyan, and the Pervane didn't respond. Under Toqa Noyan, Mongol pressure was even greater in Anatolia, and the Pervane's powers were more limited than ever. What followed was a terrible mess of political machinations. The Pervane got Toqa Noyan removed, Ejei was reinstated, the Pervane's efforts to remove Ejei again frustrated Abaqa, who removed Ejei, killed some of his followers and reinstated the Pervane and Toqa Noyan. In November 1275, the Mongols besieged al-Bira, but Baybars had learned of it in advance allegedly due to contacts with the Pervane. After this, the Pervane was careful to rebuild trust with Abaqa, bringing him the Seljuq Sultan's sister to wed. At the same time, with or without the Pervane's support a group of Rumi amirs met with Baybars in July 1276, urging him to attack. Judging there was enough support in Rum for him he agreed, and Baybars mobilized his army over winter 1276, setting out in February 1277. As Baybars sped up the Levantine coast, the Pervane rapidly lost control of Rum as various Turkmen rebelled and a new Mongol army under Tudawan cracked down on the amirs who had contacted Baybars. In Syria, Baybars sent a diversionary force from Aleppo over the Euphrates, while his main army entered Anatolia in early April. After pushing off a Mongol advance force of 3,000 in the Taurus Mountains, news reaches Baybars that Tudawun was camped close by on a plain near the town of Abulustayn (Elbistan) and set out for them, the armies meeting on the 15th of April 1277. Tudawan's army was about 14,000 Mongols, Turk and heavily armoured Georgian cavalry was joined by an army of Rumi troops similar size under the Pervane, but Tudawan distrusted them, and kept them away from his lines. Tudawan's scouts had failed to judge the size of the Mamluk army, which he believed to be smaller and lacking Baybars. In reality, the Mamluks outnumbered the Mongols by a few thousand. As the Mamluks entered the plain at the narrow end they were unable to properly form up, and their centre was positioned before their left wing. The Mongol left flank began the battle, sending arrows into the Mamluk standard bearers in the centre before charging them. The Mamluk centre buckled under the charge, and the more exposed Mamluk left wing was similarly pounded by the Mongol right. The situation was critical for the Mamluks: likely at this stage, their bedouin irregulars fled. Baybars sent in his reserve, the garrison of Hama, to reinforce his left, and succeeded in forcing back the Mongols. A brief respite allowed the Mamluks to better deploy their lines, and counterattack. The Mongols fought fiercely, but the greater number of the Mamluks made the difference. Gradually forced back over the course of the day, their horses exhausted and unable to access remounts, the Mongols dismounted, signalling they were fighting to the death. With great struggle, the Mamluks defeated them and killed their commanders. The Rumi army took little part in the battle and dispersed, the Pervane escaping, with one of his sons captured by Baybars. The next day the Mamluk Sultan marched for Kayseri, reaching it on April 20th. Baybars ordered the Pervane and the Seljuq Sultan to him, but the Pervane held out in his own castle. Both realized that Baybars would not be able to hold this position, deep in enemy territory, supplies low and the rest of his kingdom unprotected while a furious Abaqa rallied his army. 5 days after entering Kayseri, Baybars was en route back to Syria and though his vanguard deserted to the Mongols, by June he was in Damascus. Abaqa arrived in Rum too late to catch Baybars, and in his fury was only narrowly persuaded out of massacring everything between Kayseri and Erzerum, while the summer heat kept him from invading Syria. He was able to catch the Pervane though, and put him to death: allegedly, his flesh was eaten by Abaqa and the senior Mongols. Thus ended one of Baybars' most skillfully executed campaigns: lightning quick and devastating, creating a terrible mess for the Ilkhanate, though in itself brought no strategic gain or shift in the status quo. It was a great shock when the Lion of Egypt suddenly died at the beginning of July 1277 soon after his return. Baybars had hoped to establish a dynasty: he was seamlessly succeeded by his older son, named al-Sa'id Berke. The new Sultan quickly antagonized the Mamluk emirs through his efforts to limit their powers, and was forced to abdicate in favour of his younger brother, the 7 year old Sulamish. The boy was nothing but a puppet, and his guardian, one of the late Baybars' Mamluks named Qalawun, soon forced the boy out and took power himself in November 1279. Like Berke, Qalawun had been taken from the Qipchap steppe and sold as a Mamluk. He had loyally served Baybars and proven himself an able commander, though something of a schemer. Though Qalawun's line came to dominate the Mamluk Sultanate for essentially the next century, initially Qalawun faced stiff opposition in attempting to assert his authority. This disruption in the Sultanate was a golden opportunity for Abaqa, who decided it was time to press the Mamluk frontier. To this, he decided to put his younger brother Mongke-Temur to the task. Prince Mongke-Temur first raided Syria in November 1280 with King Lewon III of Armenian Cilicia, Bohemond VII of Tripoli and a contingent of Knights Hospitaller. In September 1281, Mongke-Temur returned again, a large force of perhaps 40-50,000 Mongols, Armenians under Lewon III, Georgians, Franks and troops from Seljuq Rum. Abaqa initially followed with another army, but may have been forced to hold due to rumours of an attack by the Golden Horde at Derbent. The Mongol invasion provided a common enemy to unite the Mamluk factions fighting for power, and under Qalawun they advanced, reinforced by Syrian garrisons and bedouins. They reached Homs a few days before the Mongols in late October, giving Qalawun's troops a chance to dig in and rest on the plain north of the city. Their preparations were improved as a Mongol defector informed them of Mongke-Temur's battle plan. Most of the Mongol army was to be placed in the center with the right wing also strong, intending to overpower the Mamluk left and centre where the Sultan's banners would be. Qalawun thus reinforced his left wing, and positioned himself on a hill behind the vanguard to oversee the battle and act as reserve. Marching through the night, the Mongols arrived early on the 29th of October, 1281. It was a massive front, over 24 kilometres in length due to the size of both armies. The wings of both forces, so far apart, had little knowledge of what was occurring on the other side. While tired from the night march, the Mongols were eager: the battle was initiated when the Mongol right under Alinaq charged forth. The Mamluk left and part of their centre crumpled and routed under the onslaught. Alinaq continued his pursuit, and here Mongke-Temur's inexperience and the scale of the battlefield began to tell. Proper communication with the command seemingly absent, Alinaq pursued the fleeing Mamluks off the battlefield, as far as the Lake of Homs where they dismounted to rest, evidently anticipating the rest of the army would soon arrive. A similar charge by the Mongol left wing lacked the numbers of the Mongol right, so the Mamluk right and centre were able to hold and counterattack. Qalawun's actual role in this counterattack isn't clear: some sources have him personally lead the attack, while in others he kept his position hidden, not even raising his banners so as to avoid Mongol arrows. The Mamluks pushed back the Mongol right and the bedouin came around to hit the Mongol flank. The Mongol right fell back to the centre, which under Mongke-Temur was being held in reserve. In the resulting confusion, perhaps thrown by his horse, Mongke-Temur was injured and unable to command. Most of the Mongols then dismounted to make a final stand around the prince, and ultimately routed under the Mamluk assault. The Mamluks chased the fleeing Mongols right to the border with the Ilkhanate, many drowning in the Euphrates or dying in the desert: so deadly was this rout that Mamluk authors said more Mongols were killed in flight than in the actual battle. Qalawun and a small guard remained on the battlefield: they were forced to hide their banners and stay silent when the Mongol right wing finally returned to the battlefield, too late to turn the tide. It seems it was able to take an orderly retreat back into the Ilkhanate. Abaqa was furious at this loss, and intended to return the next year, but died in April 1282. As we have covered in our previous episodes, Abaqa's successors were not blessed with his same longevity or stability, and until 1295 the Ilkhanate saw a succession of short lived monarchs and infighting, internal revolts and renewed attacks by the Golden Horde. Though the succeeding Ilkhans continued to demand Mamluk submission, send threatening letters and continue to attempt an alliance with European powers, nothing materialized beyond border raids and skirmishes in both directions. For the time being, the immediate Mongol threat to the Mamluks had ended, and Sultan Qalawun turned to the remaining Frankish strongholds, all possible beachheads for European armies coming to assist the Ilkhans. Armenian Cilicia was pillaged, remaining inland Crusader strongholds were taken, and in April 1289 the Mongols' vassal Tripoli fell. After the death of Abaqa's son Arghun Il-Khan in March 1291, the Mamluks used the resulting distraction in the Ilkhanate to take the final major Frankish city in the Holy Land, Acre, leaving them with but miniscule holdings which fell in the following years. So ended 200 years of Crusader Kingdoms. Following Qalawun's death in 1290, he was succeeded by his son al-Ashraf Khalil. A fearsome military commander, it was he who led the push to seize Acre and the final Crusader holdings of note. Yet he did not long to enjoy the throne, and was assassinated in the last days of 1293 due to his efforts to curb the power of the existing Mamluk emirs. With his assassination, the Mamluks entered a period of political instability over the Sultanate. Initially his younger brother al-Nasir Muhammad was placed on the throne, still a child and without any real power. After a year as Sultan he was forced out by his guardian and regent, a Mamluk named, of all things, Kitbuqa. Apparently of Mongol origin, he had been taken captive by the Mamluks at the first battle of Homs in 1260, and made in turn a Mamluk, that is, a slave soldier. Kitbuqa's reign as Sultan was not particularly notable, mostly marked by intense political infighting and machinations. There was, however, a large body of Oirats who deserted the Ilkhanate to join the Mamluks Sultanate. Kitbuqa's generous treatment of this body of nomadic troops, with whom it appeared he shared kinship, angered a number of the other Mamluk emirs and undermined his power. He was soon forced to flee as one of al-Ashraf Khalil's assassins, the Emir Lajin, seized power. When Lajin was murdered in 1299, al-Ashraf Khalil's young brother al-Nasir Muhammad was recalled to take the throne. Only 14 years old, al-Nasir Muhammad had no real power and was still a puppet for the emirs competing for power. In comparison, 1295 saw the beginning of the reign of the powerful Ghazan Khan, son of Arghun. Ghazan, as we have covered, was not the first Muslim Ilkhan but by his reign a majority of the Mongols within the Ilkhanate had converted, and made the Ilkhanate an Islamic state. Ghazan consolidated his position early on, executing a number of potential challengers to the throne and restabilizing the Ilkhanid economy, though you can listen to our episode dedicated to Ghazan for more on the internal matters of his reign. While Ghazan was a Muslim, this did not change Ilkhanid policy to the Mamluk. He continued to send letters to western Europe urging them to land an army behind enemy lines. In late 1298, while Mamluk armies ravaged the Ilkhan's vassal Cilician Armenia, the na'ib of Damascus, Sayf al-Din Qibjaq and a few other top Mamluks deserted to the Ilkhanate during a particularly violent stretch within the Sultanate. Fearing for their lives, they inform Ghazan of Sultan Lajin and his vice-Sultan Manketamur's purges and unstable positions. Then in summer 1299 a Mamluk raid into the Ilkhanate sacked Mardin, violating Muslim women and descretating a mosque during Ramadan. Ghazan was thus able to easily obtain a fatwa against the Mamluks for this, presenting himself not as an invader, but a holy warrior coming to avenge atrocities against Islam to encourage dissent among Mamluk ranks. Indeed, the ruler of Hama, a top Mamluk ally, believed the accusations. By December 1299, Ghazan and his army of Mongols, Georgians and Armenians under their King Het'um II, had crossed the Euphrates. By then, Sultan Lajin had been replaced by a al-Nasir Muhammad who was nearly toppled by the Oirat refugees to the Sultanate. Ghazan bypassed Aleppo and Hama, and hunted for the Mamluk army. While encamped on the edge of the Syrian desert, Ghazan learned the Mamluks were gathering at Homs, where they had defeated Mongke-Temur 18 years prior. Rather than fall into their trap, Ghazan chose to outflank them, crossing the Syrian desert and coming out onto a stream some 16 kilometres north of Homs on the 22nd of December. To the Mamluks, it appeared that Ghazan was retreating, and advanced out of their favourable position to pursue. In a reverse of the 2nd Battle of Homs, now the Mamluks were forced to cross the desert, exhausting themselves to reach Ghazan early the next morning, while his own troops rested, quenched their thirst and formed up. Crucially, the Ilkhanid army was under the firm control of Ghazan and his commander Qutlugh-Shah, while the young al-Nasir Muhammad could not control his senior emirs. On the morning of December 23rd, 1299, the Mamluks found Ghazan's army was drawn up. Ghazan commanded the centre, while his general Qutlugh-Shah commanded the right. Qutlugh-Shah's beating of war drums made the Mamluks believe Ghazan to be located there, and to him they charged, forcing the Mongol right back. Ghazan led the counterattack against them, and Qutlugh-Shah rallied what forces he could and rejoined the Il-Khan. From 11 a.m until nightfall, the battle raged, but finally the Mamluks broke and fled. Ghazan pursued them past Homs before encamping, not wishing to be drawn into a false retreat in the dark. Homs surrendered without a fight and Ghazan took the Sultan's treasure, distributing it among his nokod, keeping for himself a sword, the title deeds to the Mamluk Sultanate and the muster roll of its army. Next Ghazan marched onto Damascus, which also surrendered without a fight, though its citadel held out. It seems almost the entire Mamluk garrison of Syria had retreated, perhaps recalled to defend the capital. Mongol raiding parties were making it as far as Gaza, with one source reporting they even entered Jerusalem, and the Sultanate seemed poised to fall. But on February 5th, 1300, Ghazan withdrew from Damascus, returning to the Ilkhanate. Qutlugh-Shah had been left to take the Citadel of Damascus, but he soon followed the Il-Khan. By the end of May, the Mamluks had retaken Syria. Exactly why Ghazan withdrew is unclear: possibly reports of a Neguderi invasion in the east of his realm demanded his attention, or he feared there would not be sufficient pasturage for his large army to make the trip to Egypt: the Mamluks were known to burn grassland and destroy supply depots on the routes they suspected the Mongols to take. Likely he was unaware of how dire the situation really was for the Mamluks, and suspected further armed resistance along the route would make the already treacherous crossing over the Sinai even harder on his army. Whatever the reason, Ghazan had lost the greatest chance to destroy the Mamluks. Ghazan did cross the Euphrates at the end of December 1300, reaching as far as Aleppo, but heavy rains rendered military operations untenable. In 1303 Ghazan ordered Qutlugh-Shah back into Syria, but he was defeated at Marj al-Suffar near Damascus in April. Ghazan's death the next year, only 34 years old, prevented his next assault. His brother and successor, Oljeitu, ordered the final Ilkhanid attack on the Sultanate, an embarrassing effort in winter 1312 which saw the army retreat not from the Royal Mamluks, but the stiff resistance of ordinary townsfolk. Oljeitu's son, Abu Sa'id, ultimately organized peace with the Mamluks in the early 1320s, ending the sixty years of warfare between the Mongols and the Mamluks. The Ilkhanate did not long outlive this treaty. Abu Sa'id death in 1335 without an heir saw the Ilkhanate torn apart by regional commanders -the Jalayirids, Chobanids, Muzaffarids and Injuids, among others- who appointed their own puppet Khans or abandoned the pretense entirely. For the Mamluks, they were unable to take advantage of the Ilkhanate's disintegration as when al-Nasir Muhammad died in 1341, they entered their own period of anarchy: 8 of al-Nasir's children and 4 of his grandsons would in turn become Sultan between 1341 and 1382, a period which culminated in the rise of the Circassian Burji Mamluk Dynasty. Whereas the Sultans from Qutuz, Baybars through Qalawun and his descendants were men of Qipchaq-Cuman or even Mongol origin, over the late thirteenth and first half of the fourteenth century a growing number of the Mamluks were sourced no longer from the Qipchaq steppe, but Circassia, a region along the Black Sea's northeastern coastline. With the end of the Qalawunid Dynasty, Mamluks of Circassian origin took power and established their own dynasty. The Bahri and Burji distinction refers to the parts of Cairo each Mamluk garrison had been based. It was this Mamluk dynasty who would face the wrath of Temur-i-lang at the beginning of the fifteenth century. These post-Ilkhanid events will be the topic for a forthcoming episode, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast to follow for that. 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 one.
One of the most enduring images of the Mongolian Empire is that it was a model of religious tolerance, one where each of the Khan's subjects were free to worship as they pleased. This is not a new belief; in the 18th century, Edward Gibbon presented Chinggis Khan as a forerunner of the enlightenment, and for modern audiences the notion was repopularized with Jack Weatherford's book Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World. Some use the notion to counter the common presentations of Mongol brutality, usually accompanying blanket terms that all religious clergy were exempted from taxation, labour and were respected- or go as far as to present the Mongols as the inspiration for modern liberal religious toleration. While there is an element of truth to be had here, as with so much relating to the Mongols, describing the Chinggisid empire as a state of religious tolerance where all religions east and west lived in harmony fails to capture the reality of the period. Even before the founding of the empire, Chinggis Khan interacted with a variety of religions. During his war to unify Mongolia, Chinggis Khan was supported by men of various religious backgrounds: Mongolian shamanist-animists, Nestorian Christians, Buddhists and Muslims, one of whom, Jafar Khoja, was supposedly a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad, and stood with him at the muddy waters of Lake Baljuna during one of his lowest moments. The most prominent tribes in the Mongolian steppe in the 12th century were Nestorian Christians such as the Kereyid and Naiman, and on the declaration of the Mongol Empire in 1206 Chinggis Khan's army and administration were quite mixed. Chinggis Khan himself was an animist: in Mongolian belief, all things in the world were inhabited by spirits which had to be consulted and placated. It was the job of shamans to intercede with these spirits on the Mongols' behalf. Generally, shamanism is not an exclusive religion; one can consult a shaman and still practice other faiths. The shaman was not like a Christian priest or Islamic imam, but a professional one could consult with regardless of other religious affiliation. The persuasion and power of religion in the Mongol steppe came from the charisma of specific holy men -such as shamans- and their power to convene with spirits and Heaven on the Khan's behalf in order to secure his victory. This seems to have been the guiding principle for how Chinggis Khan, and most of his successors, approached religion. Some Mongols viewed the major religions they encountered -Daoism, Buddhism, Christianity and Islam- as all praying to the same God via different methods. This was more or less the statement that in the 1250s, Chinggis' grandson Mongke Khaan provided to the Franciscan friar William of Rubruck during an interview, stating that “We Mongols believe that there is only one God through whom we have life and through whom we die, and towards him we direct our hearts [...] But just as God has given the hand several fingers, so he has given mankind several paths.” Usually for the Khans, it did not matter who was right, as basically all of the major religions were. What mattered was that these religions should pray to God on behalf of the Chinggisids to ensure divine favour for their rule. Heaven's will was manifested through victories and rulership, while it's displeasure manifested in defeats and anarchy. Much like the concept of the Chinese Mandate of Heaven, the right to rule provided by heaven could be rescinded, and thus the Mongols hoped to continually appease Heaven. But the Mongols' views on religion were not static and took years to develop into their political theology- and nor were they inherently tolerant, and favours were allotted more on a personal basis. For example, in 1214 Chinggis Khan, or one of his sons, had an encounter with a Buddhist monk named Haiyun. Haiyun, with his head shaved bare in accordance with his role as a monk, was told by the Khan to grow his hair out and braid it in Mongolian fashion- for at that time, the Mongols were attempting to order the general population of north China to do so as a sign of their political subordination. Religions in China dictated how one should maintain their hair; Buddhist monks had to shave their heads, Daoist monks could keep their hair long, while the general Chinese population, on Confucian teaching, could not cut their hair in adulthood, as it was a gift from the parents, and thus was kept in topknots. Demanding that the general population adopt the unique, partly shaved Mongolian hairstyle, was therefore a decree against all of China's major religions. The Mongols did not succeed in this policy and soon abandoned it's implementation on its sedentary subjects, though other sources indicate it was enforced on nomadic Turkic tribes who entered Mongol service, indicating their submission to the Great Khan. Notably the Manchu would successfully implement such a policy after their conquest of China 400 years later, forcing the population to adopt the long queues at the back of the head. When the Chinese revolted against Manchu rule, the cutting of the queue was one of the clearest signs of rejecting the Qing Dynasty. Back to the Buddhist monk Haiyun, who Chinggis had ordered to grow out his hair in Mongol fashion. Haiyun told Chinggis that he could not adopt the Mongol hairstyle, as growing his hair out violated his duty as a monk. Learning this, Chinggis Khan allowed Haiyun to maintain his baldness, then in time extended this allowance to all Buddhist and Daoist clergy. Even with this first privilege, Haiyun and his master did not receive coveted tax exempt status until 1219, and then on the recommendation of Chinggis' viceroy in North China, Mukhali. This is the earliest indication of Chinggis Khan granting of such a favour, followed soon by the extensive privileges granted to the Daoist master Qiu Chuji. The Daoist had made the journey from North China to meet Chinggis Khan in Afghanistan on the Khan's urging, ordered to bring Chinggis the secret to eternal life, as the Mongols had been told Qiu Chuji was 300 years old. Master Qiu Chuji told Chinggis that not only did he not have such power, but Chinggis should also abstain from hunting and sexual activity. Not surprisingly, Chinggis Khan did not take this advice, but he did grant the man extensive privileges, tax exempt status and authority over all Daoists in China. Importantly, Chinggis' edict was directed personally at Qiu Chuji and his disciples, rather than Daoism as a whole. The value Qiu Chuji had to Chinggis was on his individual religious charisma and ability to intercede with the heavens on the Khan's behalf, as well as his many followers who could be induced to accept Mongol rule. In Chinggis' view, the fact that Qiu Chuji was a Daoist leader did not entitle him to privileges. Neither did the Mongols initially differentiate between Buddhism and Daoism. In part due to the vaguely worded nature of Chinggis' edicts, Qiu Chuji's Daoist followers used these decrees to exert authority over Buddhists as well, seizing Buddhist temples and forcing Buddhist monks to become Daoists, beginning a Buddhist-Daoist conflict that lasted the rest of the 13th century. The point of these anecdotes is to demonstrate that the conquests did not begin with a specific policy of general religious tolerance or support for local religious institutions. Governmental support and privilege was provided on an ad hoc basis, especially when a group or individual was seen as influential with the almighty. Toleration itself was also advertised as a tool; in the Qara-Khitai Empire, in what is now eastern Kazakhstan and northwestern China, an enemy of Chinggis Khan, prince Kuchlug of the Naiman tribe, had fled to Qara-Khitai and eventually usurped power. Originally an Eastern Christian, that is a Nestorian, in Qara-Khitai Kuchlug converted to a violent strang of Buddhism and began to force the Muslim clerics, particularly in the Tarim Basin, to convert to Chrisitanity or Buddhism on pain of death. When Chinggis Khan's forces under Jebe Noyan arrived in 1217 pursuing the prince, they recognized the general resentment against Kuchlug and, in order to undermine his support, declared that anyone who submitted to the Mongols would be free to practice their religion. The announcement worked well, as the empire was quickly and successfully turned over to the Mongols, and the renegade prince Kuchlug cornered and killed. Notably, this announcement did not come with statements of privileges or tax exemptions at large for the Islamic religious leaders. It was a decree spread to deliberately encourage the dissolution of the Qara-Khitai and ease the Mongol conquest- in this region, it was a comparatively peaceful conquest, by Mongol standards. But it was not coming from any specific high-mindedness for the treatment of religion, but an intention to expand into this territory and defeat the fleeing Kuchlug. By the reign of Chinggis' son Ogedai in the early 1230s, the Mongol stance towards religions became more solidified. A major advancement, on the insistence of advisers like the Buddhist Khitan scholar Yelu Chucai, was that privileges were to be granted on religious communities and institutions rather than based on individual charisma, which made them easier to regulate and manage. Chucai also impressed upon the Mongols that Buddhism and Daoism were distinct beliefs, though the Mongols seem to have often continually erroneously thought both creeds worshipped a supreme deity a la Christianity and Islam. Buddhist and Daoism became, alongside Christianity and Islam, the four main “foreign religions” which the Mongols would issue edicts regarding privileges. It was not an evenly applied thing. With Islam, for instance, it can be said the Mongols often had the greatest difficulties. For one thing, the rapid annihilation of the Khwarezmian empire, the world's single most powerful islamic state at the time, resulted in the deaths of perhaps millions of Muslims as well as the belief that the Mongols were a punishment sent by God- a belief the Mongols encouraged. The reduction of Islam from “the state religion” to “just another religion of the Khan's subjects,” was a difficult one for many an imam and qadi to accept. For a universalist religion like Islam, subjugation to a pagan entity was a difficult pill to swallow, and the destruction of cities, mosques, agriculture and vast swathes of the population would not have been eased by statements of how tolerant the Mongols supposedly were. Further, it is apparent that the Mongols' rule for the first decade or two of their interaction with the Islamic world was not tolerant. Part of this comes to an inherent conflict between the sharia law of Islam, and the yassa of Chinggis Khan. The yassa and yosun of Chinggis Khan were his laws and customs set out to provide a framework for Mongol life, which regulated interactions for the state, individuals, the environment, the spirits and the heavenly. As a part of this, it was decreed that animals had to be slaughtered in the Mongolian fashion; the animal usually knocked unconscious, turned onto its back, an incision made in the chest and its heart crushed. The intention was to prevent the spilling of the animals' blood needlessly upon the earth, which could beget misfortune. Contravening this was forbidden and punishable by death. The problem was that this is inherently conflicting with halal and kosher slaughter, which entailed slitting the throat and draining the blood. At various times over the thirteenth century, this was used as an excuse to punish and lead reprisals against Muslims. A number of Persian language sources assert that Ogedai Khaan's brother Chagatai was a harsh enforcer of the yassa on the empire's Muslim population. In the 1250s ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini asserted that Muslims in Central Asia were unable to make any halal killings due to Chagatai, and were forced to eat carrion from the side of the road. The Khwarezmian refugee Juzjani meanwhile said Chagatai planned a genocide of the Muslims. While these sources like to depict Chagatai as a foil to Ogedai's more ‘friendly to islam' image, it remains clear that for many Muslims, it was felt that the Mongol government had a particular hatred for them. But Chagatai was not the only one to enforce this. Ogedai himself briefly sought to enforce this rule, and the famous Khubilai Khan grew increasingly unfriendly to religion in his old age, and in the 1280s launched anti-muslim policies, banning halal slaughter and circumcision on pain of death. The incident which apparently set him off was a refusal of Muslim merchants in Khubilai's court to eat meat prepared in the Mongolian manner, though it may also have been an attempt to appease some of the Chinese elite by appearing to reduce Islamic and Central Asian influence in his government, particularly after the assassination of Khubilai's corrupt finance minister Ahmad Fanakati. Even Daoism, favoured early by the Mongols thanks to the meeting of Qiu Chuji and Chinggis Khan, suffered stiff reprisals from the Mongol government. As the conflict between the Daoists and Buddhists escalated, in the 1250s on the behest of his brother Mongke Khaan, prince Khubilai headed a debate between representatives of the two orders. Khubilai, inclined to Buddhism on the influence of his wife and personal conversion, chose the Buddhists as the winners. Declaring a number of Daoist texts forgeries, Khubilai ordered many to be destroyed and banned from circulation, while also reducing their privileges. This failed to abate the tensions, and in the 1280s an older, less patient Khubilai responded with the destruction of all but one Daoist text, Lau Zi's Daodejing, and with murder, mutilation and exile for the offending Daoists. Privileges only extended to religions the Mongols saw as useful, or offered evidence that they had support from heaven. Judaism, Zoroastrianism, Manicheism and Hinduism were usually totally ignored by the Mongols and did not receive the same privileges as the Christian, Buddhist, Daoist and Islamic clergy. Judaism may have received tax exemption status in the Ilkhanate for a brief period in the 1280s and 90s due to the influence of a Jewish vizier, Sa'd al-Dawla, while in the Yuan Dynasty it took until 1330 for Judaism to earn such a status. As these religions lacked states which interacted with the Mongols, the Mongols saw these religions as having no power from heaven, and were therefore useless to them. Without any political clout, and of small representation within the Empire, these groups largely escaped the notice of the Khans. The Mongols were also not above ordering the annihilation of a religion or religious groups when they defied them. The most well known case was a Shi'ite sect, the Nizari Ismailis, better known as the Assassins. Due to their resistance against the Mongol advance, the sect was singled out for destruction not just politically, but religiously, as Mongke Khaan had become convinced of this necessity by his more orthodox Islamic advisers. This task fell to his brother Hulegu, who enacted his brother's will thoroughly. Soon after the destruction of the Ismaili fortresses, which was lauded by Hulegu's Sunni Muslim biographer ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini, Hulegu famously sacked Baghdad and killed the Caliph in 1258. Juvaini's chronicle, perhaps coincidentally, cuts off just before the siege of Baghdad. This attack on Baghdad was not religiously motivated; the Caliph had refused to accept Mongol authority. As a seemingly powerful head of a religion, his independence could not be abided. It was not a specifically anti-Islamic sentiment here, but a political one. Had the Mongols marched on Rome and the Pope also refused their mandate, such a fate would have awaited him as well. The presence of Christians in Hulegu's army, many from the Kingdom of Georgia and Cilician Armenia who partook with great enthusiasm in the slaughter of Muslims on Hulegu's request at Baghdad and in his campaign into Syria, as well as the fact that Hulegu's mother and chief wife were Chrisitans, would not have been lost on many Muslims, as well as the fact that Hulegu himself was a Buddhist. Hulegu after the conquest of Baghdad ordered its rebuilding, but placed a Shi'ite Muslim in charge of this task and sponsored the restoration of Christian churches and monasteries, and other minority religions in his majority sunni-islam territories. When the Mongols did convert to the local religions, they were not above carrying out with zeal assaults on other religious communities in their empire. Such was the case for Khans like Ozbeg in the Golden Horde or Ghazan in the Ilkhanate, who converted to Islam and struck against Christian, Buddhist and shamanic elements in their realms. These were as a rule very brief rounds of zealousness, as the economic usage of these groups and the uneven conversion of their followers to Islam made it politically and economically more useful to abandon these measures. This is not to say of course, that there is no basis for the idea of Mongol religious tolerance, especially when compared to some contemporary states: just that when the favours, privileges and state support were granted, they were usually done to the four main religious groups the Mongols designated: again, Muslims, Christians, Daoists and Buddhists. So entrenched did these groups become as the “favoured religions” that in the Yuan Dynasty by the 14th century it was believed these four groups had been singled out by Chinggis Khan for their favours. This is despite the fact that Chinggis Khan had no recorded interactions with any Christian holymen. But not idly should we dismiss the notion of there being a certain level of religious toleration among the Mongols. Not without reason was Ogedai Khaan portrayed as friendly in many Islamic sources, and he regularly gave the most powerful positions in the administration of North China to Muslims. European travellers among the Mongols, such as John De Plano Carpini, Marco Polo and Simon of St. Quentin, along with Persian bureaucrats like ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini and the Syriac Churchman Bar Hebraeus, generally reported Mongol indifference to what religions were practiced by their subjects, as long as said subjects accepted Mongol command. Sorqaqtani Beki, the mother of Mongke and Khubilai, was a Nestorian Christian famous for patronizing and supporting mosques and madrassas. Mongke Khaan held feasts to mark the end of Ramadan where he would distribute alms and at least one such feast held in Qaraqorum, listened to a qadi deliver a sermon. He show respect to his Muslim cousin Berke, and for him had halal meat at one imperial banquet. If the yassa of Chinggis Khan was upheld thoroughly, then the Khans and all princes present would have been executed. In the four level racial hierarchy Khubilai Khan instituted in China, Muslims and Central Asians were second only to Mongols and nomads, and ranked above all Chinese peoples. Religious men visiting the Khans usually left with the belief that the Khan was about to convert to their religion, so favourably had they been received. Khubilai Khan asked Marco Polo's father and uncle to bring him back 100 Catholic priests and holy oil from Jerusalem, and likely sent the Nestorian Rabban bar Sauma to Jerusalem for similar purposes. Marco Polo then goes on to present Khubilai as a good Christian monarch in all but name. Qaraqorum, the Mongol imperial capital, held Daoist and Buddhist temples across the street from Mosques and Churches. In Khubilai's capital of Dadu and the Ilkhanid capital of Sultaniyya were Catholic archbishoprics by the early 14th century. So there certainly was a level of toleration within the Mongol Empire that contemporaries, with wonder or frustration, could remark truthfully that it was quite different from their own homelands. Such religious syncretism survived well into the century, when claimants to the fragmenting successor Khanates in western Asia, in order to define their legitimacy amongst the largely converted Mongol armies and stand out amongst the many Chinggisids, latched onto Islamic identities. Eager to prove their sincerity, they pushed back violently against even traditional Mongol shamanism. Despite it's early difficulties, in the end Islam largely won amongst the Mongols of the western half of the empire and their descendants, overcoming the brief revitalization Nestorian Christianity and Buddhism had enjoyed thanks to Mongol patronage. Such was the final outcome of the Mongols' religious toleration Our series on the Mongols will continue, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings 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, or sharing this with your friends. 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.
It was this Khudhābandah who embraced Islam [...] when he died, there succeeded to the kingdom his son Abū Sa'īd Bahādur Khān. He was an excellent and a generous king. He became king while of tender age, and when I saw him in Baghdād he was still a youth, the most beautiful of God's creatures in features, and without any growth on his cheeks. His vizier at that time was the amīr Ghiyāth al-Dīn Muḥammad, son of Khwāja Rashīd; his father was one of the migrant Jews, and had been appointed vizier by the sultan Muḥammad Khudhābandah, the father of Abū Sa'īd. I saw both [the sultan and his vizier] one day on the Tigris in a launch [...]; in front of him was Dimashq Khwāja, son of the amīr [Choban], who held the mastery over Abū Sa'īd, and to the right and left of him were [...] musicians and dancers. I was witness to one of his acts of generosity on the same day; he was accosted by a company of blind men, who complained to him of their miserable state, and he ordered each one of them to be given a garment, a slave to elad him, and a regular allowance for his maintenance. So the great Moroccan traveller Ibn Battuta describes Abu Sa'id in the early 1330s, the final ruler of the Ilkhanate to preside over the united ulus, and to hold any authority. Succeeding his father Oljeitu as a 12 year old boy in July 1317, Abu Sa'id spent his first years on the Ilkhanid throne in the shadow of the great emir, the Noyan Choban. Today, we take you through the life and reign of Abu Sa'id, the last of the Khan in the line of Hulegu, grandson of Chinggis and conqueror of Baghdad. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Abu Sa'id's early life was spent under the control of Choban. Unlike his contemporary, El-Temur, the Yuan Dynasty chancellor who left the boy-khan Toghon Temur a mistreated and ignored puppet who feared for his life; Choban protected the young Abu Sa'id and ensured he had a proper Islamic education, teaching him to read, write and speak Persian and Arabic, while also versing him in the history and genealogies of the house of Chinggis Khan and the noyans. In the opinion of the great historian of the Ilkhanate, Charles Melville, Choban viewed himself as a servant of the state, a man who combined pride in service to the Chinggisids while observing sharia law. He was, granted, an exceptionally powerful servant. But his Khan, Oljeitu, had put Abu Sa'id in the care of Choban, and Choban was going to provide for the young lad. Needless to say, almost all decrees of the early reign of Abu Sa'id, if not all of them, first had to pass the approval of Choban, if they did not come from his mind originally. A military man, Choban was not always aware of, or cared for, court protocols both in the Ilkhanate or those it engaged in diplomacy with. Yet he was still a pragmatist, who recognized the strengths and weaknesses of the khanate he now oversaw. Initially, Abu Sa'id Il-Khan and Choban had kept Rashid al-Din and Taj al-Din ‘Ali-Shah in place as Ilkhanid viziers. Rashid al-Din had of course served since the last years of Ghazan's reign, and ‘Ali-Shah had been appointed to the position in 1312 by Oljeitu. Neither man much liked the other, and ‘Ali-Shah saw the new khan as an opportunity to oust Rashid. Only two months after Abu Sa'id's enthronement, ‘Ali-Shah's whispers succeeded in getting the young Khan to dismiss Rashid al-Din from service. Rashid's retirement did not last long, as Choban swiftly recalled him, telling Rashid that his service to the state was as necessary as salt to food. Choban seemed to genuinely recognize Rashid al-Din's talents and wanted to keep him on, but had not counted on Taj al-Din ‘Ali Shah conspiring with Rashid al-Din's enemies, who loathed him for his wealth, success and still doubted the authenticity of his conversion to Islam. Rashid al-Din, of course, had been born and raised in a Jewish family. While he had converted to Islam over four decades prior, his Jewish heritage was reason enough for some to despise him. Rashid's rivals, aided with money and whispers, raised new charges: that Rashid al-Din's son Ibrahim had poisoned Oljeitu Il-Khan on Rashid's orders. As Rashid al-Din had been Oljeitu's physician during his final illness, it was a damning charge. Choban, never one skilled in the subtleties and conspiring of government, either believed the rumours or was paid off by ‘Ali-Shah. He informed Abu Sa'id of the accusation, and various bribed commanders affirmed the veracity. It was a tough trial, and Rashid al-Din fought vigorously. But Abu Sa'id wanted revenge for his father. In July 1318, Rashid al-Din watched helplessly as his son Ibrahim was decapitated before him. As the executioner's blade came for him, he yelled his final defiance: “say to ‘Ali Shah, “You have had me killed for no crime. It will not be long before fate will requite you of me, and the only difference between us will be that my grave will be older than yours.” Rashid al-Din was then cut in half at the waist and his head paraded around Tabriz while people chanted “this is the head of the Jew who abused the name of God; may God's curse be upon him!” His quarter built outside the city, the Rab-e Rashidi was looted and burned. So ended the long career of Rashid al-Din Hamadani, vizier and historian, the author of our much relied on Compendium of Chronicles. Taj al-Din ‘Ali-Shah only outlived Rashid by six years, though he would be the only Ilkhanid vizier for sure known to have died a natural death. Following Rashid's death, a more pressing crisis struck the Ilkhanate. The pax Mongolica achieved in 1305 finally unraveled violently in 1318 and 1319. A Chagatai prince in Ilkhanid service revolted and requested aid from his kinsmen in Central Asia, threatening an invasion from the east, while in the north an army under the new Khan of the Golden Horde, Ozbeg, raced over the Caucasus. It was narrowly fought. Husain Noyan was sent to crush the Chagatai uprising, while the young Abu Sa'id, always one to heedlessly dismiss risks, marched to face mighty Ozbeg. Defeated in the first battle, only the timely reinforcement by Choban Noyan saved Abu Sa'id and forced Ozbeg to retreat at the Kur River. The Chagatai and Jochid threat did not dissipate though. Both khanates invaded again over the 1320s, though repeatedly it was Choban's family who proved decisive in repelling them. Ozbeg's second invasion was defeated by Choban around 1325, and in 1326 an attack by the future Chagatai Khan Tarmashirin was overcome by Choban's oldest son, Hasan. While these external foes were faced, internal rebellion also rocked the khanate. Commanders who fled before Ozbeg were severely punished by Choban, and in response they plotted to overthrow Abu Sa'id and replace him for his uncle, Irenjin. The plot was discovered, and Abu Sa'id once more led the army. This time victory was gained: despite even Irinjin's wife, a Chinggisid warrior princess named Konchek, fighting for him on the battlefield, they could not overcome the Il-Khan. Konchek was so notable for her courage, at least, that according to the Persian writer Mustawfi in his Zafarnama, the Mongols recognized Konchek's bravery on the battlefield by posthumously giving her a man's name, Ahmad. She was not the only one recognized for courage in the revolt. The young khan himself showed great bravery in battle, riding into the thick of danger. For this he earned the sobriquet Baatar, “hero, brave, valiant.” Hence, you will often see his name as Abu Sa'd Bahadur Khan, by which he liked to style himself for the rest of his life. Despite their victories Choban was very aware of how stressed Ilkhanid resources were. In addition to natural disasters destabilizing things, the vast fronts they needed to protect against Ozbeg, the Chagatais, the Neguderis and internal rebellions left no extra troops for the frontier with the Mamluks. Having taken part in Ghazan and Oljeitu's campaigns into Syria, Choban was under no illusion of the difficulty in operating there and dealing with the Mamluks in open battle. Not only that, in 1321 Choban's own son Temurtash, the governor of Anatolia since 1316, had revolted and declared himself an independent monarch. Not just a steppe khan, mind you, but as the Islamic messiah who heralded the end of days, the mahdi. He had been in touch with the Mamluks for some time, upon his revolt Temurtash requested they provide him with an army to defend his frontiers. The Mamluk Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad, for his part, did not provide one. It was a great embarrassment for Choban, who dragged his son kicking and screaming back to the Ilkhanate in 1324. Even when not physically fighting, the Mamluks' potential to support rebellion, especially among the constantly seditious Anatolian governors, meant they were an intrinsic threat to order within the khanate. To protect the khanate, Choban needed an end to the fighting with the Mamluks, and he knew it could not be won through an invasion. Once Choban successfully convinced Abu Sa'id to the wisdom of the preposition, in 1321 a secret embassy reached Cairo to speak to Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad: it brought word of peace, an end to the 60 years of war the Mamluks and Ilkhans had fought. The 1321 embassy is the first recorded attempt, though feelers may have been secretly sent in either direction in the previous years. Al-Nasir Muhammad was immediately struck by the idea. Never had he been an effective military leader, and he still recalled with dread his defeat at Ghazan's hands two decades prior. It helped that the Ilkhanid message bore no demands of submission or tribute; only fine gifts, and words of friendship between two equal states. Though there were conditions, such as asking al-Nasir to stop sending assassins after Mamluk defectors in the Ilkhanate like Qara-Sunqor and to end raiding each other's borders, there was not even a hint of the ideology of Chinggisid world domination which had previously permeated all diplomacy between the two. Indeed, this has led some historians like Reuven Amitai to suggest Abu Sa'id abandoned the idea of Chinggisid global hegemony, though he maintained respect for his lineage and ancestry. We may suspect it was simply a recognition of the reality of the situation on the part of Abu Sa'id and Choban. Thus by 1322, the Mamluk Sultanate and Ilkhanate were at peace. Embassies went back and forth at regular intervals for the rest of Abu Sa'id's life. Generally, they went well; the Mamluk ambassador to Abu Sa'id's court was a man named Aytamish, of Mongolian heritage who knew the language and genealogies, as well as being a man of fine Islamic piety. He was absolutely adored by Abu Sa'id. The Il-Khan soon made a surprising suggestion: a marriage alliance linking their houses and solidifying the new order. Now, this was not itself uncommon. It was a regular Mongol ploy to tighten control over vassals with marriages, though a marriage alliance with a non-submitted state was a slightly different matter. Al-Nasir Muhammad himself had already married a princess from the Golden Horde, Tulunbey, in 1320 though it ended in divorce and was a rather embassasing matter all around, as the always paranoid al-Nasir had accused her of not actually being a Chinggisid. What al-Nasir wanted was to marry a Chinggisid princess of absolutely certain lineage in order to elevate his own dynasty. The Ilkhanid response did not fill him with much hope. They wanted a Mamluk princess to marry Abu Sa'id or one of Choban's sons, with the hint being that they preferred the latter. The implication, as far as al-Nasir believed, was clear. The Il-Khan and Choban, despite the peace, did not think al-Nasir as a Qipchaq Mamluk was worthy to marry a Chinggisid. Al-Nasir's reaction was, rather typical of himself, somewhat petulant. He made the bride price too high: demanding the city of Diyar Bakir, and for his own name to be read out in sermons in the Ilkhanate before Abu Sa'id's. He always managed to insist that none of his daughters were of marriageable age. This is despite these talks going on over the entire 1320s, when al-Nasir married off a number of his daughters throughout the decade. No marriage would ever materialize between al-Nasir and the Ilkhanid dynasty. Though fighting came to an end, there was another space in which Abu Sa'id could challenge al-Nasir Muhammad: the religious one. Both Choban and Abu Sa'id were staunch Sunni Muslims, and wanted to press their claims as the heads of a good Muslim empire. One of the best ways to do this was charitable works and patronizing pilgrimages to the two holy cities of Islam, Mecca and Medina. The problem was the Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad considered himself the Guardian of the two Holy Cities, and as an always suspicious man, any effort the Il-Khan undertook in that region looked like an attempt to undermine him. His most direct challenge to al-Nasir came in 1319. That year he had sent a fine new set of kiswa, or black curtains, to be placed on the Kaaba, the square structure at the centre of Mecca which serves as the holiest place in Islam. Placing new curtains on the Kaaba was one of the symbols of sovereignty as the chief Muslim monarch, and was perhaps Abu Sa'id's most overt effort to challenge al-Nasir. For his part, al-Nasir ensured the pilgrim caravan he sponsored entered before Abu Sa'id's, and prevented the curtains the Il-Khan sent from ever being used. Though Abu Sa'id did not try to so directly challenge al-Nasir's hegemony there again, the Il-Khan and Choban continued to throw out suggestions and sponsor projects in the region. At one point Abu Sa'id proposed going on hajj, or pilgrimage, to Mecca himself. Choban meanwhile spent considerable sums to restore a much needed well outside Mecca for pilgrims, and also had a large public bath, school and tomb for himself built in Medina beside the mosque of the Prophet. Whenever news of their efforts came to al-Nasir, he would promptly panic and explode in anger. Personally going on hajj three times, he threw piles of money at the Holy Cities in an effort to remind everyone that he was the greater Muslim and their protector. After their peace in 1322, Abu Sa'id largely accepted al-Nasir's superiority in religion and stewardship over Mecca and Medina, though on occasion surprised the Mamluk Sultan. In 1330 Abu Sa'id sent an elephant, with no immediate explanation, on the pilgrimage. It succeeded in doing little but confusing the locals and costing an inordinate amount of money to feed before dying near Medina. The most effective show of the power of the Chinggisid monarch, it was not. Another embarrassing matter soon surfaced. In a rather poor judgement of character, or perhaps on Choban's urging, Abu Sa'id pardoned and reinstated Choban's son Temurtash, who only in 1321 had declared himself an independent sovereign. The arrogance Temurtash had once he was secure back in Anatolia annoyed Abu Sa'id, as did the haughtiness of another of Choban's sons, Dimashq Khwaja. As viceroy over Azerbaijan, Iraq and Iraq-i ‘ajam, Dimashq wielded extraordinary power, as if he were vizier. Worse still, according to Ibn Battuta, Dimashq had taken it upon himself to sleep with as many wives of the late Oljeitu Il-Khan as possible. One of these women, Dunya Khatun, urged Abu Sa'id to act before she too fell victim to him. Choban had provided his sons and followers valuable positions across the Ilkhanate, and the children walked around as if they were as mighty as Chinggisids. Their father continued to ignore complaints raised against them, as long as they did not declare open defiance of the Khan as Temurtash had done. As Abu Sa'id grew to manhood, he grew more and more impatient of the influence of the Chobani, which he increasingly felt was at his expense. His anger at Dimashq and the other sons of Choban were fanned by his vizer, Rukn al-Din Sa'in. A former protege of Choban, now he plotted against him, and convinced Abu Sa'id that he now ruled as khan in name only. The sentiment is echoed by Ibn Battuta, who wrote that “when the Sultan Abu Sa'id succeeded, being a young boy [...] the chief of the amirs, [Choban], gained control over him and deprived him of all powers of administration, so that nothing of sovereignty remained in his hands but the name. It is related that on the occasion of one of the festivals Abu Sa'id needed ready money to meet some expenses, but having no means of procuring it he sent for one of the merchants, who gave him what money he wished.” Entering adulthood and fed on stories of his mighty ancestors, Abu Sa'id chafed under the constraints placed on him by Choban. The tipping point came when Abu Sa'id set eyes on one of Choban's daughters, the beautiful Baghdad Khatun. A proud woman who held her eye and apparently liked to carry around a sword, Abu Sa'id was instantly in love. This itself was not a problem; Choban himself had married two of Abu Sa'id's sisters, the latest, Sati Beg, as recently as 1319. No, the problem was that Baghdad Khatun was already married to one of the most prominent noyans in the kingdom, Shaykh Hasan-i Buzurg of the Jalayir. Late in the summer of 1325, Abu Sa'id alerted Choban of his interests in his daughter. Choban was aghast; as a good Muslim, he would not allow his daughter to be led into adultery, even for the Il-Khan, and forbid the divorce. Attempting to discourage Abu Sa'id's efforts, Choban quickly tried to move Baghdad Khatun and her husband out of the Khan's sight. His plan was flummoxed when news came in 1326 of an attack by the Chagatai prince, the future Khan Tarmashirin, on the Ilkhanate's eastern territory. Choban and his eldest son Hasan rode out and successfully defeated Tarmashirin, but in their absence Abu Sa'id decided it was time to rid himself of the house of Choban once and for all. Late in 1326, Abu Sa'id made his move. Choban's son Dimashq Khwaja was captured and imprisoned in the citadel at Sultaniyya, where he was killed while trying to escape in summer 1327. Choban was furious, and turned back to avenge his son's death. Abu Sa'id raised his own army and prepared to meet his former guardian. As their armies neared each other, Choban's followers began to desert to the Il-Khan, and Choban was forced to flee. Mirroring the fall of Ghazan's viceroy Nawruz some thirty years prior, Choban made his way to Herat, where in the winter of 1327 he was strangled to death. When Choban's son in Anatolia, Temurtash, learned of his father's death he once again declared his independence, and fled to the Mamluk Sultanate seeking military support. In 1328 he was killed when Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad suspected Temurtash of having designs on the Mamluk throne. Some of Choban's other sons under the leadership of the eldest, Hasan, fled to the Golden Horde, where in time Ozbeg Khan had them killed. By the time the dust settled, Abu Sa'id had forced the divorce of Shaykh Hasan Jalayir and Baghdad Khatun, and married her himself. Abu Sa'id granted her the mercy of allowing Choban to be buried in his splendid tomb in Medina, though Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad had the final laugh over Choban. He denied Choban's burial inside his tomb, forcing him to be buried in a cemetery outside the city, and sent Temurtash's severed head to the Ilkhanid court. By 1328 Abu Sa'id was finally the man in full control of the Ilkhanate. He once again brought up the marriage between his family and al-Nasir Muhammad. Despite his initial receptiveness, once again al-Nasir stalled and no progress was made. In practice, little government changed under Abu Sa'id's sole rule. Restrictions against Christian were reimposed: the jizya had been permanently reinstituted, and in 1334 the order went out that Christians were supposed to bear tattoos to mark them out, in addition to signs sewn into their clothing to make them easy to distinguish. How far these were implemented remains unclear, as Abu Sa'id did not seem to interfere with the archbishopric at Sultaniyya founded in his reign. Abu Sa'id remained infatuated with Baghdad Khatun, whose influence over the Il-Khan grew. In this manner she was able to protect the remainder of her siblings and family, aided by the fact that Abu Sa'id showed a willingness to forgive. Baghdad Khatun's former husband, Shaykh Hasan Jalayir, was accused of attempting to assassinate Abu Sa'id and imprisoned, before being pardoned and given a new position in Anatolia in 1333. Even the memory of Rashid al-Din, once accused of poisoning Abu Sa'id's father Oljeitu, was rehabilitated, as Abu Sa'id made Rashid's son Ghiyath al-Din his new vizier. Able to devote himself to artistic pursuits, Abu Sa'id in his spare time composed poetry in Arabic and Persian to al-Nasir Muhammad in Cairo, comparing and discussing Abu Sa'id's ability. So the early 1330s passed by relatively quietly in the Ilkhanate. Indeed, the reign of Abu Sa'id would be remembered as a Golden Age, the “Good ol' days,” for writers of the succeeding generation. Ibn Battuta passed through the Ilkhanate for the first time in these years, and was amazed at the power and glory of the Il-Khan. Abu Sa'id's only problem facing him was his lack of a male heir. The efforts of Ghazan had greatly pruned the house of Hulegu, and Abu Sa'id had no son or brother to succeed him, though not for lack of trying on his part. When Baghdad Khatun failed to produce an heir for him, it seems Abu Sa'id's interest began to wane. In accounts such as Ibn Battuta's, Abu Sa'id doted upon Baghdad Khatun until he saw Dilshad Khatun. She was Baghdad Khatun's niece, the daughter of her late brother Dimashq who Abu Sa'id had so hated. He apparently found her even more beautiful than he had his current wife. Once the Il-Khan married the girl, he seemingly forgot about Baghdad Khatun. Ignored, her influence dwindling, Baghdad Khatun's fury smoldered over the following months. In the summer of 1335, word came to Abu Sa'id that Ozbeg Khan of the Golden Horde was planning another invasion on the Caucasus. Abu Sa'id called up his armies and advanced to defend his borders, but on the 30th of November, 1335, Abu Sa'id died en route in Azerbaijan, only thirty years old. According to Ibn Battuta, Abu Sa'id had been poisoned by the scorned Baghdad Khatun. With no child except for a pregnant Dilshad Khatun left behind, the Ilkhanate awas about to rip itself apart. Our next episodes deal with the disintegration of the Ilkhanate so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this and would like to help us continue producing great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals, or sharing this with your friends. 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.
Our last episode dealt with the reign of Ghazan Khan, ruler of the Mongol Ilkhanate from 1295 to 1304. A powerful Muslim monarch, Ghazan's reign reinvigorated the Khanate, greatly advancing the already underway islamization of the region's Mongol population. With his death, we enter the final phase of the Ilkhanate's history. First, we will look at the reign of Ghazan's brother and successor, Oljeitu Khudabandah, the penultimate ruler of the united Ilkhanate. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. When Ghazan Khan succumbed to his illness on the 17th of May, 1304, the always thorough Ghazan had been prepared. Leaving no male heirs behind and wishing to avoid having the realm descend into warfare, he had forced the military elite and princes to elect his younger brother Oljeitu as Khan. The 24 year old Oljeitu was duly enthroned that July, under the title of Sultan Ghiyath al-Din. The process was remarkably peaceful, with no resistance or massacres accompanying it- with the exception of Oljeitu preemptively having Prince Ala-Fireng, a son of the former Il-Khan Geikhatu, killed, for he had been seen as a potential rival. As far as Ilkhanid successions went, it was nearly as calm as you could hope for. Granted, Ghazan had killed most potential claimants during his own reign. Oljeitu was a son of Arghun Il-Khan, born in 1280. He and Ghazan were of different mothers: Ghazan was born to one of Arghun's concubines, whereas Oljeitu was born to Arghun's third wife, a Kereit Nestorian Christian named Orug Khatun. If Oljeitu's life could be remarked upon for one thing, even before he became Il-Khan, it was experimentation with religion, usually accompanied by a change of name. Firstly, it seems he was born and raised a Buddhist, much like Ghazan and their father Arghun. The name he was originally given is unclear: in some sources it was Oljeitu or Oljei Buqa, a Mongolian Buddhist name meaning “blessed.” Yet in others, he is confusingly called Kharbandah or Khudabandah. The two names confused even medieval sources. Khudabandah in Persian means “servant of God,” and it seems that Oljeitu often went by this name in his adult life. However, he was also called Kharbandah, which means “donkey driver,” or “servant of the donkey.” No one, medieval or modern, has provided a fully accepted explanation for why he bore such competing names. The Mongols had a custom for a child to be named after the first thing the mother saw after giving birth. Ibn Battuta, travelling through the Ilkhanate in the 1330s, reported that Oljeitu's mother Orug Khatun had first seen a donkey driver. Yet, as none of her other children bore Persian names, it is confusing that she would not have given him the Mongolian equivalent, Qulanchi. Other sources have him first called Kharbandah, and then change it to Khudabandah upon his enthronement, while others have him take Oljeitu at that time, after the reigning Great Khan, Khubilai's grandson Temur Oljeitu. Historian Timothy May suggests the kharbandah/khudabandah matter was a rude pun given to him by Sunni schoalars upon Oljeitu's conversion to Shia Islam. Of course, this is not helped by the fact that the main biography of Oljeitu's life, written by Qashani soon after the Il-Khan's death, has him also called Temuder at some point in his youth too. Regardless if Oljeitu had the name of Oljeitu or Khudabandah at birth, when he was around 10 years old he was given another name and religion: Nicholas, after Pope Nicholas IV. Arghun, during negotiations with said Pope, had Oljeitu baptised and given a Christian name, or rather it's Mongolian form, Nikolya. The young Oljeitu did not stick with Christianity, as he returned to Buddhism in his teenage years. But this was not to be his final conversion, no sir. He soon joined his brother Ghazan in becoming a Muslim, when he took the name Muhammad. This was not enough for him: first he was an adherent to the Hanafi school of Sunni Islam, before choosing the school of Shafi'ism. Disgusted by infighting between these schools, some of the noyans who had less love for Islam convinced Oljeitu to “return to the Old ways.” This meant a brief return to Buddhism, possibly a dabble in traditional Mongol Tengriism, before in 1309 or 1310, settling onto Twelver Shi'a Islam. And if that wasn't enough for you, some authors then have him return to Sunni Islam on his deathbed in 1316, though this may just be a posthumous effort by Sunni authors in the Ilkhanate to rehabilitate him. So, for those of you who had trouble following that, his full name and title was Sultan Ghiyath al-Din Muhammad Khudabandah Oljeitu, and his religious path went Buddhism, Nestorian Christianity, Buddhism, Sunni Islam in two different schools, Buddhism, Shi'a Islam and then a possible return to Sunni Islam. As Oljeitu is the most common name by which he is known, we'll stick with that. When Oljeitu became Khan of the Ilkhanate in 1304, he was in the midst of his Sunni Islam phase. Much of his initial years in power was spent following in the footsteps of his late brother, whose tomb he regularly visited for guidance and solace. He reaffirmed the viziers Rashid al-Din and Sa'd al-Siwaji in their posts, as well as Ghazan's great commander Qutlughshah as the viceroy. Like Ghazan, Oljeitu initially called for the destruction of Christian churches and imposition of the jizya, the poll-tax Christians and Jews had to pay under Islamic law. Also like Ghazan, he quickly rescinded these measures, and by 1305 was writing letters to the Pope and Kings of England and France seeking to orchestrate a military alliance against the Mamluks. Unlike Ghazan, he was greeted soon after his enthronement with messengers from the Great Khan, his namesake Temur Oljeitu, from the Chagatai Khan Du'a and the Ogedeid Khan Chapar. They bore glad tidings: news of the Great Mongol Peace. Du'a and Chapar had already recognized Temur Oljeitu's overlordship, and now Oljeitu Il-khan was invited to reaffirm the Ilkhante's loyalty as well. He promptly agreed, as did the then reigning Khan of the Golden Horde, Toqta. By 1305 the pax Mongolica was properly established, and Oljeitu and his son, Abu Sa'id, born in 1305, sent tribute to Temur Oljeitu's heirs for the remainder of their lives. Of course, the peace did not long last anywhere. Even before Oljeitu's death in 1316, conflict resumed with the Chagatai Khanate, and when a new Khan came to the Golden Horde in 1313, Ozbeg, he immediately eyed the pastures of the Caucasus. With his Mongol borders secured for the time being, Oljeitu could focus on other issues on his mind. One was the building of a new capital, Sultaniyya. Originally begun by his father Arghun, it had lain largely derelict since his death. Some 320 kilometres southeast of the current capital, Tabriz, Oljeitu restored and built upon the site in 1305, naming it Sultaniyya. Laying in excellent hunting grounds, the city became a home for the scholars and artists who Oljeitu richly patronized. It also housed his massive tomb complex, which still partially stands today; in fact, Oljeitu's 49 metre tall tomb, the Dome of Sultaniyya, is one of the few structures remaining of the city, a monument to Oljeitu's love of building. From 1318 onwards, it was also home to an archbishopric. Sultaniyya sits in northwestern Iran, and its location may have been behind one of Oljeitu's next moves, the conquest of the Iranian province of Gilan. This hard to access region lies on the southernmost coast of the Caspian Sea, a mountainous enclave of dense forest and humidity. Since the time of Chormaqun in the 1230s, Gilan had escaped the might of the Mongols, and Oljeitu decided to end its independence, and in May 1307, a four-pronged assault on Gilan was launched. Initial successes met with the submission of a number of local rulers, but were followed with the defeat and death of the great Noyan Qutlughshah in battle. Efforts to avenge Qutlughshah were unsuccessful, and a disappointed Oljeitu ordered a withdrawal, having failed to fully annex the region. The campaign had one great consequence for the Ilkhanate. The death of Qutlughshah left open the route for the rise of another military leader, Choban. Having been high in the noyad since the accession of Geikhatu, Choban's wealth and prestige had only increased. A staunch Muslim and firm supporter of Chinggisid rule, Choban Noyan, or the Emir Choban as he is often known, deftly filled the vacuum left by Qutlughshah's death. We will return to him in a few minutes. It was not long after the return from Gilan that Oljeitu experienced his crisis of faith with Sunni Islam. A judicial dispute over a marriage held before the court in 1308 or ‘09 between representatives of the two main Sunni schools of thought, Hanafi scholars and a Shafi qadi, devolved into mud-slinging between the representatives of the two schools. The Mongols of Oljeitu's court were annoyed by the constant argumentation, and disgusted by the insults levied between the parties involved. The sources indicate that both parties looked the worse afterwards, and the Mongols' frustration with complicated Islamic thought and law is evident. This was compounded when lightning struck and killed some of Oljeitu comrades in his attendance. Worried that this was the displeasure of the almighty, some of Oljeitu's noyans decided that this was a sign that the Mongols needed to return to their own faith. As a first step, it was suggested that Oljeitu should, in classic Turko-Mongolian custom, pass between two fires in order to purify himself, after the misfortune of the lightning strike. The Il-Khan attempted a brief flirtation with his pre-Islamic faiths, but found it either personally or politically untenable, for by then enough of the noyad was Muslim that going too far back could release a violent response. The solution presented itself in the form of Shi'a Islam. Why Oljeitu chose the Shi'a branch of Islam varies widely in the sources, as various sufis, qadis or members of the military elite are credited with converting him. In one account he is touched by a visit to the shrine of ‘Ali in Najaf, while in another account he is convinced of the merits of Shi'a Islam when someone compared the succession to the Prophet Muhammad to the succession of a Chinggisid monarch. The first four caliphs recognized by Sunni Muslims, it was argued, was akin to having a non-Chinggisid succeed a Chinggisid. Regardless of whoever or whatever convinced him, around 1309 Oljeitu became a Twelver Shi'a Muslim, recognizing ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib as the rightful heir to the Prophet. Oljeitu like his late brother Ghazan adored ‘Ali and honoured his lineage. While not seeking to convert the population of the Ilkhanate en masse to the Shi'a faith, Oljeitu had the names of the twelve Shi'a imams on his coinage and the khutba, the Friday sermons, which prompted resistance in cities like Baghdad and Tabriz. If we believe Mamluk accounts, Oljeitu's conversion led to rebellions across Iran. Speaking of the Mamluks, Oljeitu's next military action was directed against this old enemy. Ever since Sultan al-Ashraf Khalil's assassination in 1293, the Mamluk Sultanate had been wrought with political intrigue and instability and a series of short lived usurpers. By 1312, al-Ashraf Khalil's younger brother al-Nasir Muhammad ibn Qalawun had been enthroned three times, deposed once and abdicated once. On his third enthronement in 1310, the 25 year old al-Nasir had effectively spent his entire life a puppet thrown around between rivals, and had little military experience. He had been in nominal command during the humiliating defeat at Wadi al-Khaznadar against Ghazan in 1299. Initially on his own enthronement, Oljeitu had sent rather conciliatory messages to the Mamluks, nearly approaching a temporary ceasefire in tone. But Oljeitu was by no means opposed to an attack on the Mamluks: he simply needed time to recoup from the invasions of Ghazan's final years, while holding out hope that the requested European aid would come to fruition. As he had indicated in his letters in 1305, the Mongol khanates were now at peace: why could the Europeans not see this was a prime time to attack, when the Il-Khan needn't worry over his distant frontiers? But as the years passed with no responses and no signs of any forthcoming alliance, Oljeitu gave up hope on their assistance. Therefore, when another round of Mamluk defectors entered the Ilkhanate with news of Mamluk weakness with the reenthronement of the young al-Nasir Muhammad, Oljeitu must have thought it an auspicious time for an assault. Unlike Ghazan's campaign, Oljeitu's was poorly planned. Launched late in 1312, the Mongols led a halfhearted siege of Rahbat al-Sham along the Euphrates River that December. There, it was not royal Mamluks who were levied against Oljeitu's army, but desperate townsfolk who offered stiff resistance, inflicting heavy casualties on Oljeitu's ill-provisioned force. By the time al-Nasir's army had rallied and advanced, Oljeitu's forces had already crossed back over the river into the Ilkhanate. Though neither side knew it, this abysmal showing was the final full-scale invasion the Mongols launched into Syria. Only minor border raids and diplomatic posturing would follow. Oljeitu continued to welcome and reward Mamluk defectors though, who he used to help build up the Ilkhanate's own version of Mamluk slave soldiers, largely Mongol boys who had been sold into slavery and then later purchased by the Il-Khans. One of the Mamluk defectors, to Oljeitu's glee, was a fellow named Qara-Sunqor, who had played a major role in the assassination of Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad's older brother and predeceassor al-Ashraf Khalil. The housing of Qara-Sunqor remained a sore point in Ilkhanid-Mamluk relations until the end of the 1320s. Oljeitu was not finished with his military exercises, ordering an army to annex parts of Afghanistan in order to clamp down on the raids by the Negudaris. The Chagatai Khan Esen-Buqa not only saw the Negudaris as his subjects, but had feared the Yuan Dynasty and Ilkhanate were planning a two-pronged attack on his central kingdom. In an attempt to strike first, Esen-Buqa and his brother Kebek lead an invasion into Ilkhanid Khurasan in 1315, which despite early successes was called off when they learned that the Yuan Dynasty had actually invaded their eastern territory, as we saw previously in this podcast in episode 48, the second part on the Chagatai Khanate. Afterwards, Oljeitu placed his eight year old son, Abu Sa'id, as governor over Khurasan, the traditional position for Ilkhanid heirs. Oljeitu himself had held it for his brother Ghazan. Ghazan had favoured the vizier, Rashid al-Din, and Oljeitu likewise continued to honour him. Soon after becoming Il-Khan Oljeitu instructed Rashid al-Din to expand his History of Ghazan, turning it into the great Compendium of Chronicles we know it as. In 1312, Oljeitu took the side of Rashid al-Din when he fell out with the other vizier, Sa'd al-Din Savaji. Corrupt and arrogant, he had made many enemies over his tenure, and once he lost the support of Rashid al-Din, Savaji was alone. When Rashid made his report to Oljeitu, which included charges of embezzlement, Oljeitu had Savaji tried and executed in February 1312. His replacement was Taj al-Din ‘Ali-Shah, a former jewel seller who turned out to have all of Savaji's negative traits in spades. ‘Ali-Shah is usually remarked upon for two things, the first being that he would be the only Ilkhanid vizier known to have died of natural causes in his own bed, and the second being his role in the death of Rashid al-Din. Rashid and ‘Ali-Shah did not get along well, and their fighting led to Oljeitu dividing the Ilkhanate into two separate administrative zones to keep them apart. Rashid al-Din's standing with Oljeitu did not falter though, and he nursed Oljeitu when he fell ill in winter 1316. Suffering from severe stomach pain and intense diarrhea, Rashid's attempt to help purge the illness by providing laxatives only weakened Oljeitu's hold over his bowels. On the 17th of December 1316, Oljeitu Il-Khan died in Sultaniyya. He was only 36 years old. Like many Mongol princes, his alcoholism seems to have been the key factor in his premature death. Oljeitu had been adamant that his son Abu Sa'id should succeed him, and luckily had picked a good man to help ensure it was achieved. Choban Noyan, who had only grown in influence over Oljeitu's life and married the Il-Khan's daughter, though as devout Sunni Muslim seems to have not cared for Oljeitu becoming a Shi'ite. Wealthy, powerful, influential and respected among the princes and military elite, Choban also had the strength to boss around whoever failed to listen in the first place. Thus in July of 1317, under Choban's guidance, did Abu Sa'id peacefully succeed his father, without any accompanying assassinations. Oljeitu was the first Il-Khan to be directly succeeded by his son since Abaqa succeeded Hulegu back in 1265. Of course, as a 12 year old boy Abu Sa'id could not do much ruling, and Choban oversaw the actual runnings of government. Until he came of age, Choban protected the boy and ensured he received a proper Islamic education, while also being versed in Chinggisid history. Abu Sa'id was the only Il-Khan to have been a Muslim his entire life, and unlike Ghazan and Oljeitu would show no attachment to Shia Islam. In the meantime, Choban's sons were placed in prominent positions around the empire, and if the Chobanid family happened to enrich themselves even further along the way while leaving Abu Sa'id out of power, then where were the consequences in that? Well, there may have been a few. To see those consequences, be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this and would like to help us continue producing great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals, or sharing this with your friends. 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.
Of all the rulers of the Ilkhanate, perhaps none matched the might or the glory of Ghazan. Of a prestigious lineage: son of Arghun Ilkhan, grandson of Abaqa Ilkhan, great-grandson of Hulegu Ilkhan, great-great-grandson of Tolui and great-great-great-grandson of Chinggis Khan, Ghazan ruled with the self-assured confidence of a proud Chinggisid, who at the same time was veiled in an Islamic legitimacy. For Ghazan, while not the first Muslim monarch of the Ilkhanate, was the one who permanently islamicized the khanate. The Ilkhanate after Ghazan was a very different entity from the time before him, and the course of this we will examine in today's episode. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Ghazan did not come to the throne peacefully. As we covered in our last episode on the Ilkhanate, since the reign of his father Arghun Ghazan had been the top commander on the Ilkhanate's eastern border, defending against Chagatais, Neguderis and the rebelling general Nawruz. Though Ghazan was not happy with his uncle Geikhatu's election as Il-Khan in 1291, he accepted it. Geikhatu was murdered in early 1295 and an invitation soon came to Ghazan for the throne, he happily accepted. But when a cousin, Baidu, was hurriedly elected by a group of rambunctious princes led by Taghachar Noyan, Ghazan was furious. The result was skirmishing and near full out civil war only narrowly averted. In the end, on the urging of his former foe Nawruz, Ghazan converted to Islam, rallied his forces and stole away Baidu's supporters. On Ghazan's order, Baidu was executed, and Ghazan was finally elected as Il-Khan in autumn 1295; taking the title of Sultan Mahmad, as well as padishah-i islam, Emperor of Islam. Twenty-four years old when he stepped onto the throne, Ghazan was already an individual who had made himself known for his military ability and defence of the Ilkhanate's eastern border. Having brought about the submission of the former rebel Nawruz Noyan, Ghazan had made Nawruz his number two man. A staunch and loyal supporter of Ghazan, especially once he had convinced the young prince to convert to Islam, Nawruz became Ghazan's na'ib, viceroy, and acted a sword and shield for Ghazan… as long as Ghazan did as he wished. It seems that at the start of his reign, Ghazan struggled to control Nawruz, and on Nawruz's urging, Ghazan's first decree had been to order the destruction of Christian, Jewish and Buddhist places of worship in Islamic cities in the Ilkhanate, especially in Tabriz and Baghdad, the empire's chief cities. While Ghazan, as a new convert to Islam, may have sought to establish his credentials as a good Muslim monarch, Nawruz seems to have been the more zealous of the two and behind this pogrom. Once Ghazan reached Tabriz in October 1295 and was officially enthroned the following November, his first orders of business were to set out allotments, who would govern where, who was rewarded for their loyalty, and other enthronement celebrations. One of his bodyguard commanders, Mulai, was made the governor of Diyarbakir, and in a decidedly un-islamic ceremony, Ghazan married one of his father's widows, Bulughan Khatun. Already it was clear that Ghazan's conversion to Islam and lofty islamic titles had not replaced his Mongolian identity; while such a marriage, called levirate, was not just encouraged but expected among Mongols, particularly their monarchs, this sort of marriage was expressly forbidden in islam. Ghazan's servants sought to justify it based on the fact that Ghazan's father Arghun had not been a Muslim, and hence the marriage never truly legal. Whether this convinced anyone is debatable, but none could tell Ghazan “no.” But in what was to be a common trend in Ghazan's reign, punishment was also to be violently meted out once celebrations were done. Ghazan had seen the noyans who had proven themselves duplicitous over the previous reigns, jumping from candidate to candidate as fortunes change. Ghazan would have none of it. The noyan Qunchuqbal was put on trial and executed. Qunchuqbal's comrade, Taghachar Noyan, who had betrayed every Il-Khan since Teguder Ahmad, was too powerful with too many friends to be so summarily executed, so he was instead “rewarded” with a cushy appointment in Anatolia, where he was quietly murdered. The murder of Taghachar angered one of his friends, the governor of Anatolia named Baltu Noyan. Baltu rebelled at the start of 1296, and Ghazan responded with a large army led by his loyal commander and brother-in-law, Qutlughshah Noyan. It took until the winter of 1296 for Qutlughshah's forces to defeat and kill Baltu. This was not the only plot Ghazan faced. In the winter of 1295 forces from the Chagatai Khanate attacked Khurasan and Mazandaran. Ghazan sent Nawruz Noyan and two princes, Sögä and Barula, to repulse them, but the princes soon began to plot against Ghazan. Once learning of their plots, Ghazan ordered Nawruz to turn back and kill them. Another Chinggisid prince, a descendant of Chinggis Khan's brother Qasar named Arslan, also revolted and was quickly put down. By the end of 1296, Ghazan had faced rebellion from five imperial princes, who were all killed on his order. By the end of his reign, at least seven Chinggisid princes, 31 noyans and 10 high ranking Persian officials perished by the will of Ghazan. One of the most significant was the former vizier, Jamal al-Din Dastjirdani, who was executed in October 1296 on Ghazan's order, after a trial which would ultimately bring down Nawruz as well. Dastjirdani's great rival was Sadr' al-Din Zanjani, who has popped up repeatedly over our previous episodes, usually seeking the vizierate and generally causing trouble. Having been vizier under Geikhatu Il-Khan, he had lost the position under Geikhatu's successor Baidu, who gave it to Zanjani's rival Jamal al-Din Dastjirdani. During Ghazan's final march on Baidu, Zanjani was one of the first to abandon Baidu for Ghazan, and was rewarded with the position of vizier. However, Ghazan found himself displeased with his viziers; Zanjani was removed after a few months, replaced with Sharaf al-Din Simnani, who was in turn replaced in September 1296 by Zanjani's old foe, Dastjirdani. Dastjirdani was a close ally to Nawruz, and to reclaim the position of vizier Zanjani would need to take down both men. First, he whispered in Ghazan's ear of Dastjirdani's corruption, that he had been embezzling a huge quantity of funds from the treasury. Ghazan quickly had Dastjirdani put on trial and executed, after only a month as vizier. Zanjani was given the position for the third time, and quickly looked to undermine Nawruz. His timing was good, as Nawruz's standing with Ghazan had already fallen. Once Ghazan had sent Nawruz east to push the Chagatais out of Khurasan, Ghazan rescinded the most extreme prosecutions against Christians and Jews, who could reconstruct their churches and synagogues. In fact, Ghazan would punish Muslims who led assaults on Christian and Jewish buildings later in his reign. The same privilege was not extended to Buddhists, who permanently lost their standing in the Ilkhanate and Iran. They were given the choice of conversion, or of leaving the Ilkhanate. Once victory was achieved over the Chagatais, Nawruz returned to Tabriz to visit his very sick wife. As he journeyed west, some of the troops Nawruz left in Khurasan revolted, pillaged territory and joined the Chagatais. Ghazan was furious, insulted Nawruz and ordered him back to his post. Nawruz cooly replied that he would, once he had visited his ill wife. Ghazan's now poor disposition to Nawruz was taken advantage of by his new vizier, Zanjani. When a clerk in service of a Baghdadi merchant who travelled often to Mamluk Egypt was arrested in March 1297, Zanjani struck. Zanjani and his brother fabricated letters from Nawruz to the Mamluk Sultans, which depicted Nawruz as a man conspiring with them. Planting the letter into the clerk's belongings, they watched and waited. When Ghazan personally interrogated the clerk, he swore his innocence and made no mention of the letters. But when Ghazan searched the man's possessions and found the letter ascribed to Nawruz, he was apoplectic with rage. On the spot, Ghazan ordered the clerk beaten to death, then called for the deaths of Nawruz's family and servants, then ordered Nawruz's arrest. Nawruz fled upon learning of this, but was captured at Herat and turned over to Noyan Qutlughshah in August 1297, who had Nawruz cut in half. The late noyan's severed head spent some years adorning one of Baghdad's gates. Nawruz's downfall saw the stars of both Zanjani and Qutlughshah rise. In the meantime, Ghazan continued to advance his image as an almighty Muslim monarch, educating himself on Islamic laws and in 1297, donning a turban. He even experimented with bearing black banners as the ‘Abbasids once did, portraying himself as a sort of replacement ‘Abbasid Caliph, in part to challenge the puppet ‘Abbasid Caliphs the Mamluks kept in Cairo. Zanjani was finally confident in his position as vizier and wielded extreme power. But in the fashion of all Ikhanid viziers, his arrogance bred enemies. In March 1298, news came to Ghazan's ears that Zanjani was stealing funds from the imperial treasury. Fearing for his life, Zanjani decided to shift the blame away from himself. He went before Ghazan and bravely made accusations against one of his deputies and friends, a physician in Ghazan's keshig named Rashid al-Din. Ghazan saw through Zanjani's effort to condemn Rashid, and put a stop to it, though Zanjani maintained his position. The vizier needed a new plot, and to deal with Rashid al-Din. When Qutlughshah Noyan returned from crushing a rebellion in Georgia, the Noyan argued with Zanjani over tribute from the kingdom. Fearing the powerful Qutlughshah's wrath, Zanjani thought of himself a devilish plan to rid himself of both Qutlughshah and Rashid al-Din. He notified Ghazan that Qutlughshah had ruined the economy of Georgia. Ghazan was then mad at Qutlughshah, who openly wondered who had made the accusation to Ghazan. Zanjani told Qutlughshah that it had been Rashid al-Din, and Qutlughshah stormed off to question Rashid over the matter. But Zanjani had not counted on one thing: the friendly relations between Qutlughshah and Rashid al-Din from their time in the keshig together. When Qutlughshah questioned Rashid as to why the physician had denounced him, Rashid convinced Qutlughshah of his innocence in the matter. Returning to Ghazan, they quickly deduced that it was the plotting of Zanjani turning them against each other. In April 1298, Zanjani was put on trial and given over to Qutlughshah for execution, who had Zanjani killed in the same manner as Nawruz; cut in half. So ended the third vizierate of Sadr' al-Din Zanjani. Following Zanjani's bisection, Ghazan lifted two men into the position of vizier in 1298: Sa'd al-Siwaji and Rashid al-Din Hamadani. If the latter name is familiar, it is because Rashid al-Din has been a voice we have commonly consulted in our podcast. Indeed, we could say that Rashid al-Din is one of, if not the, most important single medieval author on the Mongols, for he is the author of the massive Compendium of Chronicles, which he began soon after Zanjani's fall. First we should finally give mr. Rashid al-Din an introduction. He was born in the northwestern Iranian city of Hamadan around 1247 into a Jewish family. Like his father, Rashid was trained as a physician. As Hamadan was an important centre for Iranian Jews, featuring a Rabbinical college, and as evidenced from his knowledge of Jewish customs and Hebrew in the Compendium of Chronicles, we can say that Rashid was educated and raised in Jewish law. Yet for unclear reasons, he converted to Sunni Islam around the age of 30, perhaps in order to benefit his entrance into the majority Muslim bureacracy of the Ilkhanate. Most of his life between these broad strokes before the end of the thirteenth century is unknown. Perhaps as early as the reign of Abaqa Il-Khan did Rashid enter service of the Il-Khans in the role of a physician, and likely served Il-Khan Geikhatu as a steward and prepared his food. According to his own testament, during the failed effort to implement paper money in the midst of economic woes under Geikhatu, Rashid spent his own money to support the vizier's office of Zanjani with food and cooks. By the time of Zanjani's final vizierate during Ghazan's reign, Rashid al-Din appears as a trusted associated respected by Ghazan and Qutlughshah Noyan, though we know nothing of how this relationship came about beyond Rashid's presence in the keshig, the imperial bodyguard, in which he had served as steward. Surprisingly little is known of Rashid al-Din's activities before he became Sa'd al-Siwaji's associate in the vizierate. Rashid al-Din was a highly educated man, well read in the Qur'an, poetry and the great Iranian national epic, the Shahnama of Firdausi, and was a man proud of Persian culture. A trained physician, he also showed interest in science, history and agriculture, all interests he pursued during his long reign at the top of the Mongol bureaucracy. Soon after reaching this lofty position, he was commissioned by Ghazan to begin a history of the Mongol Empire, from Chinggis Khan to Ghazan himself. This work was to be the beginning of the vast Jami' al-Tawarikh, the Compendium of Chronicles, which under Ghazan's successor Oljeitu was expanded to become a universal history covering Chinese, Turkish, Islamic, Indian and, to a lesser extent, Frankish history. Much of the central part of the Compendium of Chronicles is the Ghazanid Chronicle, his history of the Mongol Empire. Named for his patron, this is a history of the Mongol Empire relying on now lost sources, including a Mongolian source on Chinggis Khan's life, the Authentic Chronicle of Chinggis Khan, also called the Veritable Record of Chinggis Khan. Though this source is no longer extant, it was used by Rashid al-Din and two of the most important surviving Chinese sources on Chinggis Khan, the Shengwu Qinzheng lu and the first chapter of the Yuan Shi. The compilers of the Secret History of the Mongols used the same sources the Authentic Chronicle did, and the authors of the Authentic Chronicle made use of the Secret History of the Mongols, which Rashid himself did not have access to. It was, you know, secret, after all. Additionally, Rashid made use of earlier Arabic and Persian sources on the Mongols, such as ibn al-Athir, al-Nasawi and ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini's History of the World Conqueror, who of course had been the older brother of Shams al-Din Juvaini, one of Rashid al-Din's predecessors as Ilkhanid vizier. Further information in Rashid al-Din's Compendium of Chronicles was collected from envoys from other Mongol khanates, a high ranking judge from the Yuan Dynasty named Bolod Chingsang, and apparently from Ghazan himself. Fittingly, Rashid al-Din's history is the main source for Ghazan's reign, to whom he devotes a very lengthy chapter, which concludes with forty stories illustrating Ghazan's character and supreme ability. If we take Rashid's account of Ghazan's life at face value, then Ghazan was fluent in Mongolian, Arabic, Persian, Hindi, Kashmiri, Tibetan, Chinese and a “Frankish” language. As well, he was a master goldsmith, blacksmith, carpenter and painter who also loved history, medicine, astronomy and alchemy. A perfect Muslim monarch who loved and cared for his people, and refused to harm even a fly if it landed in his food. In Rashid al-Din's account, the period before Ghazan is one of almost total anarchy, where inept khans more interested in hunting and feasting allowed their viziers and noyans to run the empire; in contrast, Ghazan took true interest in running the government, and under his guidance numerous reforms were launched to rejuvenate the struggling Ilkhanate. How much of this is true is hard to say; we know, for instance, that Ghazan had to rely on interpreters for dealing with Arabic speaking embassies from Damascus, and it seems doubtful the 30 year old Ghazan had found time to master so many industries during his military career. The fact that most of our Persian sources were written during or after Ghazan's reign makes it hard to check many of Rashid's statements on the earlier period. The glowing nature of Rashid's descriptions of Ghazan is often humorous when compared to other contemporaries, such as the Armenian Het'um of Corycus, who describes Ghazan as exceptionally short and ugly. Regardless, Rashid al-Din's work is incredibly valuable, and few histories on the Mongol Empire will fail to make reference to it. While Rashid played up Ghazan's glory, there can be no doubt that under Ghazan serious reforms were undertaken, though whether Ghazan was the inspiration for them, or they came from Rashid himself is unknown. A major effort was directed to reducing abuses of the empire's agricultural base and farming population. From limiting the numbers of officials and clerks who took advantage of their gereg privileges to collect supplies from the yam routes, to stamping out bandity with more highway patrolmen and new laws. They also tried to prevent the Mongols from harassing the sedentary population. As the Mongols were not provided a salary, many had to support themselves by collecting what they needed through force from the Ilkhan's subjects. Ghazan sought to solve this by granting lands to Mongol minghaans. The income from these allotted farms and villages would be used to support these Mongols, and stop their pillaging. These were accompanied by monetary reforms and new silver currency, bearing not Mongolian inscriptions but the shahada and Ghazan's title of padishah-i islam. Measurements and weights throughout the Ilkhanate were ordered to be standardized largely based on what was used in Tabriz, in order to facilitate trade between regions. Canals and underground waterways were built to provide water for cities and irrigation. He also forbid the practice of enticing young women into prostitution. Under Ghazan, the Ilkhanid treasury was reformed and refilled. The poorly managed treasury had before been subjected to theft from its own guards, and no accounts were made regarding what was contained within or spent. Ghazan and his vizers al-Siwaji and Rashid al-Din remedied this, with a more effective system under better protection. Evidently this was not mere rhetoric on Rashid al-Din's part, as evidenced by Ghazan's massive building projects and army mobilizations which indicate a substantial financial backing. At Tabriz, the Ilkhanid capital, Ghazan spent great sums improving the city. A new wall was built around it, along with entire new districts; one of these Ghazan made “New Tabriz,” and encouraged merchants and travellers to frequent it. Rashid al-Din was allotted funds to build himself an entire suburb in Tabriz, the famed Rab-e Rashidi. Here, Rashid al-Din oversaw a community of scholars, scientists and artists from across Iran to as far away as China and Italy. It became a veritable factory that was, in time, tasked by Rashid in copying and reproducing the Compendium of Chronicles, both its text and artwork. Rashid al-Din hoped for his magnum opus to become a medieval bestseller, and dreamed of a copy in every city of the Ilkhanate. Ghazan was not above a little indulgence in Tabriz, in the form of a massive tomb complex for himself. It was a massive construction that was supposed to be larger than even the mighty mausoleum of the Seljuq Sultan Sanjar. Unfortunately, little of these projects remain. Even Rashid al-Din's suburb is now little more than a dusty mound outside of Tabriz today. The cause of this we will see in our next episode. While these efforts were ongoing, Ghazan turned his eyes to military matters. Initially, these were defensive, as with the Chagatais, or crushing rebellions. After the end of Baltu's revolt in Anatolia, one of the men left in charge of the peninsula, Sulemish, a grandson of Baiju Noyan, began to have his own designs on the region. In contact with the Mamluks, when thick snowfall in winter 1298 cut Anatolia off from the rest of the Ilkhanate, Sulemish revolted. Ghazan of course, would have none of this. When spring came in 1299, an army under Qutlughshah Noyan was sent to bring Sulemish to heel. When his army was defeated, Sulemish fled to the Mamluks, left his brother as a hostage with them and returned to Anatolia with an army. This too was quickly defeated, and Sulemish brought captive to Tabriz, where late in 1299 he was publicly, and very violently, executed. The revolt, brief as it was, brought the Mamluks to Ghazan's full attention. Their now shared religion was no cause for peace between them. Like Teguder Ahmad, Ghazan believed it should have made it easier for the Mamluks to submit to him, but their failure to respond to his declaration of his conversion in 1295 infuriated him. Ghazan had no love for them: intensely proud of his Chinggisid ancestry, to Ghazan the Mamluks - lowly slave soldiers who had become kings and were, even worse, Qipchaqs - were nothing but natural servants of the Mongols. Their submission, either through diplomacy or conquest was necessary and inevitable, and the fact they now shared a God did not change that. In March of 1299, defectors came to the Ilkhanate from the Mamluk Sultanate, and brought Ghazan up to speed on what had been happening in Cairo. The news pleased him. From the highs of the might of Baybars, Qalawun and al-Ashraf Khalil, the position of Sultan had become decidedly vulnerable. A young son of Qalawun, al-Nasir Muhammad, had been enthroned following al-Ashraf Khalil's murder, but his regent, a man of Mongolian origin named, somewhat ironically, Kitbuqa, seized power. al-Nasir Muhammad was deposed and Kitbuqa became Sultan, only to be in turn pushed out by another Mamluk named Lajin. Lajin ruled for three years until his murder at the start of 1299, and the 14 year old al-Nasir Muhammad was recalled to resume the Sultanic title, though real power was in the hands of the emirs. Thus, as Ghazan had stomped down on threats to his throne and strengthened his power by 1299, the Mamluk Sultanate was ruled over by a young boy with no power fought over between squabbling emirs. It was as perfect a time as any to complete the conquest started by Hulegu some 40 years prior. Ghazan, always with an eye to the message, found a perfect pretext for war when during Ramadan in summer 1299, a Mamluk raiding party raped women in a mosque in an Ilkhanid town. With this, Ghazan was able to get a fatwa declared, coming into Syria in the final weeks of 1299 not as a Mongol conqueror, but a jihadi warrior come to preserve the dignity of Muslims. The fact that he brought a significant body of Christian soldiers from Armenia and Georgia was not lost on his Mamluk critics, especially the famous Hanbali jurist ibn Taymiyyah. In terms of execution, Ghazan's 1299 campaign was brilliantly orchestrated. His timing was perfect, and he kept tight discipline over his troops to limit raiding on the population of Syria. On December 22nd, 1299, Ghazan met the army of al-Nasir Muhammad outside of Homs, where his great-uncle Mongke-Temur had been defeated in 1281. Unlike Mongke-Temur, Ghazan was a very experienced captain. He positioned his army at the nearby water source and forced the Mamluks to cross the desert to attack him. The young al-Nasir Muhammad could not overawe the infighting between the emirs, and Ghazan soundly outmaneuvered them. Known as the battle of Wadi al-Khaznadar, Ghazan inflicted a devastating defeat on the Mamluk army- the only major victory enjoyed by the Mongols in all their conflict with the Mamluks. The sultan fled all the way back to Egypt, his army routed, his baggage abandoned and looted by the Mongols. The news of the Mamluk defeat spread rapidly across the region, and Mamluk garrisons from Syria and Palestine melted away or ran to join the sultan in Cairo. In the last days of the thirteenth century, Ghazan took the submission of Damascus. Here, if we believe Rashid al-Din, he took the time to further humiliate the Mamluks. He is supposed to have asked the assembled Damascene delegation who his ancestors were. They explained that he was Ghazan, son of Arghun, son of Abaqa, son of Hulegu, son of Tolui, son of Chinggis Khan. And who, Ghazan asked, was al-Nasir Muhammad's father? They answered that it was Sultan Qalawun. And who, Ghazan asked again, was Qalawun's father? Those assembled could not answer, for Qalawun's father was an unknown Qipchaq slave from the great steppe, from where Qalawun had been taken as a boy. Ghazan's point had been to demonstrate his own exalted lineage, from the grandest of all conquerors, the family given command by heaven to conquer the world. In contrast, the Mamluks were slaves, nobodies, and without right to rule. Whether or not Ghazan really had this interaction, it does play into the skillful propaganda he employed during the campaign. As Damascus he had letters read out in Arabic signalling that he would spare the population and denounced Mamluk rule. These letters are rich with Qor'anic references, and it would have felt they were now the subjects of a Muslim, rather than a Mongol. Not all were drawn in by Ghazan's efforts. A Mamluk scholar in Damascus, ibn Taymiyyah, virulently decried Ghazan as a false Muslim served by a Jew, Rashid al-Din, and accused Ghazan of venerating Chinggis Khan as a prophet. Seeking to encourage resistance against Ghazan, Taymiyyah claimed to have rarely seen the Mongols pray, that they were ignorant of Islam or had Shi'a leanings. The latter is not entirely false; Ghazan had a deep affection for the Caliph ‘Ali and his family, the first legitimate caliph in the eyes of Shi'a Muslims, and like many Mongols was annoyed at infighting between Sunni schools. Damascus was not put to the torch, and Mongol forces advanced down through Palestine. In some reports, they even entered Jerusalem itself. The path seemed open to Egypt. Yet, in February 1300 Ghazan suddenly turned back to the Ilkhanate, leaving a smaller force under Qutlughshah and the King of Cilicia Armenia, Het'um II, to briefly hold the region until they too retreated. By the start of the summer, the Mamluks had retaken their lost territory. Why Ghazan withdrew is unclear; the most common explanation is that he chose to avoid the summer heat, judging that he lacked the resources to supply an army all the way into Egypt once the summer sun beat down. Certainly, it was not because he lacked desire: in the autumn of 1300 he resumed the campaign, entering Syria again only for sudden extreme rainfall to turn the roads into deep mud that trapped men and horses. Unable to advance, he withdrew the army. Letters were sent to Europe following the first invasion seeking to organize an alliance, but brought, as usual, no actual results. He launched another invasion in spring 1303 under Qutlughshah Noyan, while Ghazan hung back. Qutlughshah suffered a great defeat against the Mamluks at Marj al-Suffar, for which Ghazan had him beaten with a rod upon his return. Yet another invasion was ordered in fall 1303, but was halted when Ghazan's health took a downward turn. Ghazan seems to have suffered from routine inflammation of the eyes, mentioned by Rashid al-Din for the first time in 1299. In September 1303, the inflammation returned and quickly became serious. Rashid mentions that Ghazan was cauterized in two places, though unclear where or why. The Il-Khan made a show of moving about on a platform built on the backs of two elephants, an effort to hide the fact he could barely walk and could no longer ride his horse due to the pain. In January 1304, his youngest wife Kärämün Khatun died, which became an emotional blow on top of his physical ailments. The vigorous monarch became depressed, the death of a wife making his own impending mortality seem all the greater. As the weather warmed he recovered some strength, and was able to ride and hunt again. Almost immediately, perhaps as a show of vitality or change of scenery, he set out for Rayy. The decision was foolhardly. On the road his symptoms returned and he lost his appetite. It became clear to all, especially himself, that he was dying. Retaining his mental faculties even as his body failed him, he summoned the noyans to him, and made them swear over and over again to confirm his brother Oljeitu as his successor. Perhaps only once he felt confident their oaths were genuine, did Ghazan allow himself to pass. On the 17th of May, 1304, Ghazan Il-Khan succumbed to his illness. He was 32 years old. His body was returned to Tabriz and entombed in his massive mausoleum, the first Il-Khan to abandon the secret burials of the Mongols. As per his wishes, his brother Oljeitu was enthroned as Khan of the Ilkhanate, setting off the final stage of the Khanate's history. The reign of Oljeitu begins our next episode, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this and would like to help us continue producing great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals, or sharing this with your friends. 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.
The Mongols were known for unleashing a series of unrelenting horrors upon the Islamic world, from the catastrophic destruction of the Khwarezmian Empire under Chinggis Khan, to the sack of Baghdad under his grandson Hulegu, where the Caliph himself was killed on Mongol order. No shortage of Islamic authors over the thirteenth century remarked upon the Mongols as a deathblow to Islam, a punishment sent by God for their sins. Yet, many of the Mongols of the west end of the empire even before the end of the thirteenth century converted to Islam, and in time some of the heirs of Chinggis Khan held the sharia over the yassa. In today's episode, we explore why so many Mongols chose to convert to Islam. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. The Mongolian interaction with Islam began in the twelfth century, as Muslim merchants came to Mongolia with expensive goods such as textiles or metal weapons and tools to exchange for furs and animals to sell in China or Central Asia. Some of these merchants took up valued roles among the up and coming Mongol chiefs; at least two Muslims, Hasan the Sartaq and Ja'far Khoja, were among the warlord Temujin's close allies during his fabled escape to lake Baljuna, where they swore long lasting loyalty to him. Hasan's arrival brought much need flocks of sheep to help feed Temujin's starving men, while Ja'far Khoja was supposedly a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad. Ja'far served Temujin in valued roles for the rest of his life, acting as an embassy to the Jin Emperor and as daruqachi, or overseer, over the Jin capital of Zhongdu and its environs once the Mongols took it in 1215. When Temujin took the title of Chinggis Khan and began to expand the Mongol Empire, initially Muslims found little reason to lament the expansion of the Great Khan. Muslim merchants continued to serve in prominent roles, acting as emissaries and spies on behalf of Chinggis Khan, who rewarded them handsomely: gladly did Chinggis give them gifts and overpay for their wares in order to encourage them to make the difficult journey to Mongolia, as well as bring him useful information of Central Asia. One such Central Asian, Mahmud, served as Chinggis' loyal envoy to the Khwarezm-Shah Muhammad. His actions earned him the title of Yalavach, becoming Mahmud the Messenger. In the Tarim Basin in 1218, the local Muslim population had suffered oppression under the Naiman prince Kuchlug, who had usurped power in the Qara-Khitai Empire. When Chinggis Khan's great general Jebe Noyan entered the region pursuing Kuchlug, he proclaimed that all those who willingly submitted would be free to worship as they chose. The region largely seems to have swiftly thrown out Kuchlug's garrisons and officers and happily accepted Mongol rule, not as conquerors but liberators. This, of course, was not the case for the next stage of Mongol expansion. The highly destructive campaign against the Kwarezmian Empire launched in 1219 resulted in the deaths of perhaps millions of people from what is now Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan through eastern Iran and Afghanistan, a predominatly Muslim region. There are no shortage of accounts of horrendous atrocities suffered throughout the former domains of the Khwarezm-shahs. Though most of what is now modern Iran submitted peacefully to the Mongol commander Chormaqun over the 1230s, with the arrival of Hulegu in the 1250s a new wave of massacres were unleashed, culminating in the infamous sack of Baghdad in 1258 and death of the ‘Abbasid Caliph, an immense blow the psyche of the ummah. At the end of the 1250s it seemed reasonable to anticipate that soon the whole of the remaining Muslim world would become the subject of the Grand Khan. The initial period after the Mongol conquest was, for many Muslims, not easier. Statements by modern writers of Mongol religious toleration have been greatly over-exaggerated. While it is true that the Mongols in the early years of the Empire generally did not persecute on the basis of religion, the Mongols did persecute on the basis on specific beliefs that they felt ran contrary to steppe custom or the laws of Chinggis Khan, the great yassa. For example, for slaughtering animals the Mongols forbid the spilling of blood. This differed greatly from Muslim and Jewish halal and kosher slaughter, that mandated the draining of it. This in particular became a frequent source of conflict over the thirteenth century, with the Mongols feeling the spilling of blood on the earth would bring misfortune. We are told from the Persian writer Juvaini, a member of Hulegu's entourage in the 1250s, that Chinggis Khan' second son Chagatai so thoroughly enforced this prohibition that “for a time no man slaughtered sheep openly in Khorasan, and Muslims were forced to eat carrion.” Essentially, the Mongol viewpoint was that as long as a given religion adherents remained loyal and did not perform the tenets the Mongols forbid, then the worshippers could practice freely. But such freedoms could be revoked: Khubilai Khan in the 1280s, upon feeling insulted when a group of Muslims at his court refused to eat meat he offered them, banned halal slaughter and circumcision, on pain of property loss and death, for almost the entire decade. A Khwarezmian refugee to the Delhi Sultanate writing around 1260, Juzjani, wrote of his sincere belief that Chagatai and other members of the Mongol leadership intended a genocide of the Muslims. Why then, did Islam succeed in converting the Mongols of western Asia, after such a low-point? It was a matter of proximity. The majority of the population in the major centres in the Golden Horde, Ilkhanate and Chagatai Khanate were Muslims, ensuring that not only could sufis and others proselytize to the Mongol leadership, but also their military. Efforts by Buddhists or various Christian representatives, be they Catholic, Syriac or Nestorian, lacked comparable resources or presence, and their efforts were generally restricted to attempting to convert the highest ranking Mongols. While this brought them some influence, in contrast to the image in most historical narrative sources monarchs tended to convert once enough of their followers had done so for it to be a sound decision for their legitimacy. More Mongols simply had closer proximity to Muslims populations than they ever did Christian or Buddhist, leading to a more thorough conversion than any Franciscan friar could ever accomplish. Similar proximity prompted the slow sinicization of the Mongols in Yuan China. While the Mongols disliked certain tenets of Islam, they still found use of it. Islamic craftsmen, administrators and healers were quickly spread across the Mongol Empire, accompanying every Khan and Noyan everywhere from campaigns to their personal camps. In short order they commanded armies, often of their own locally raised forces, to fight for the khans. The various Islamic peoples of Central Asia, be they Turkic or Iranic, could provide a plethora of skills and manpower the Mongols found useful or themselves lacked. Various Mongol armies, particularly the tamma garrison forces, were stationed in close proximity to Islamic centres for extended periods of time. Mongol princes from the highest ranks of the empire, including Chinggis Khan and his own sons, took Muslim wives and concubines. For the lower ranking soldiers forced to leave their families behind in Mongolia, they took Muslim wives and began new Muslim families which replaced their own. By the reign of Chinggis Khan's son and successor Ogedai, Muslims made up many of the highest ranking members of the bureaucracy and administration from eastern Iran to Northern China. Some of these men, such as Mahmud Yalavach, his son Mas'ud Beg, and ‘Abd al-Rahman, served as heads of the Branch Secretariats the Mongols established to govern Asia. These men were answerable only to the Great Khan, and held immensely powerful positions. The proximity of high ranking Muslims throughout the Mongol government and army in significant numbers made them an influential force. The presence of well educated Islamic jurists in the courts of the Khans is very well attested, and a merchant who showed great fiscal ability could find himself richly rewarded in lucrative ortogh arrangements with Mongol princes, where a Mongol prince would provide silver and other currencies, taken via conquest, tribute and taxation, to a merchant as a loan, who would then use it for trade, make money and pay back the prince. Sometimes a well connected merchant could even be rewarded with prominent government position once they won the favour of a prince or khan. The Mongol search for whatever skills they saw as useful particularly rewarded Muslims with aptitude in alchemy and astrology. The Khans of the Ilkhanate spent considerable sums of money on the alchemists who claimed to be able to produce gold or prolong life, much to the chagrin of the Ilkhanid vizier and historian Rashid al-Din. Astrologists who could help determine the future or courses of action also received great reward, for the Mongols put great stock in this, as it was a position similar to the occupation of their own shamans. With the mention of the shamans, we should give a brief account of the Mongols pre-Islamic religion, and in what ways it helped pave the way for their conversions. Though often dubbed “shamanism,” this is a poor description. Shamans occupied only a part of the Mongol folk religion, which was a series of practices relating to the appeasement and interpretation of spirits which inhabited every part of the natural world. It was the fear of offending these spirits which was behind the Mongols' own methods of slaughter, refusing to spill blood on the earth, place dirty things into running water or urinate or place knives into fire and ashes. It was the job of shamans to communicate, appease or harness these spirits, and ensure no misfortune befell the family or, after 1206, the Empire. The duties of shamans strictly fell to influencing events within the current life, rather than with a next level of existence. Thus, for the Mongols it was useful to accumulate other holymen who could interact with the supernatural on their behalf beyond what their own shamans did. It also demonstrates why, once they did convert, the Mongols saw it fit to continue to commune with shamans, and makes it so difficult for many to accept the conversion of the Mongols as sincere. In fact, as historians like Devin DeWeese or Peter Jackson have thoroughly argued, we are in no place to gauge the authenticity of any Mongol's conversion. Our vantage point centuries later, and nature of our sources, leaves us unable to actually determine the conviction of each convert, and makes it inappropriate to reduce the story of a given khan's conversion to simply a matter of political convenience. The Mongols actively selected aspects of sedentary societies which benefitted themselves, and therefore could choose to profess Islam while continuing observe shamanic practices and standard cultural actions, all the while seeing no juxtaposition between this. The earliest conversions of the Mongols or their servants began in the 1230s and 40s. One of the earliest, most prominent figures to convert was not even a Mongol, but a Uyghur named Korguz, Ogedai's appointment to the new Branch Secretariat of Western Asia, covering Iran and the Caucasus, towards the end of his life. Korguz was one of the most powerful civilian officials in the empire, and his conversion to Islam from Buddhism at the start of the 1240s marked the highest profile convert yet in the Mongol government, though he was killed in 1244 on the order of Ogedai's widow, the regent Torogene. Batu, shortly before the climactic battle against the Hungarians at Mohi in 1241, certainly had a number of Muslims in his army. According to Juvaini, while preparing for the confrontation Batu ascended a hill to pray to Eternal Blue Heaven, and asked the Muslims in his army to pray for victory as well. It is unclear if they were Muslim troops raised from Central Asia and the steppe, or Mongol converts to Islam in his army. The exact mechanics of conversion are unknown. Though the historical sources like to portray the people following a prominent prince or khan's conversion, it seems generally that it was the other way around, where the lower ranks converted in enough numbers to make it useful or safe for a prince to convert. For example, one of the primary army units in Mongol expansion and consolidation were the tamma, a sort of garrison force permanently stationed in a region, made up of a mixed body of nomadic and sedentary troops. The Mongols in these troops were usually forbidden to have their wives and families accompany them. Separated from their homeland, families or local shamans, and taking new, local wives who were generally Muslims, these Mongols were largely removed from the infrastructure that would have encouraged the maintenance of their traditional religion and made them more susceptible to conversion. If not themselves, then their children. Perhaps the best example comes from the tamma commander Baiju, stationed in the Caucasus and Anatolia from the early 1240s until the start of the 1260s. Over the twenty or so years of his career, he appears in a variety of historical accounts, which demonstrate not only the presence of a great number of Muslims in his camp, as advisers, administrators and sufis, but also demonstrate the gradual conversion of his men. By the end of his life, according to sources like the Mamluk encyclopedist al-Nuwayri, Baiju himself became a Muslim and asked to be washed and buried in the Muslim fashion on his death. Perhaps the most famous convert though, was Berke. A son of Jochi and grandson of Chinggis Khan, Berke is most well known for his war against his cousin Hulegu over the Caucasus. Conflicting accounts are given for his conversion, with some having him raised a Muslim, while others suggest a conversion in the 1240s, drawn to Islam through the efforts of the sufi Shaykh Sayf al-Din Bakharzi. Certainly by the 1250s Berke was a Muslim, and quite a sincere one: the Franciscan Friar William of Rubruck remarks during his trips through the Jochid territories in 1253 that Berke was a Muslim, and forbid the consumption of pork in his camp. Juvaini reported that meat at Mongke Khaan's enthronement feast in 1251 was slaughtered in halal fashion out of deference to Berke, and Juzjani in distant Delhi had learned of Berke's Islam by 1260. Mamluk accounts present him having a Muslim vizier and showing great respect for qadis and other Muslim holymen. Yet, the Mamluk embassy also remarked that Berke still continued to dress and wear his hair in the distinctive Mongolian style, rather than don Islamic clothing. While Berke's war with Hulegu is often portrayed as his anger over the death of the Caliph, it seems this was a secondary concern to him. His own letter to Sultan Baybars remarks on his anger over Hulegu's infringement of the yassa of Chinggis Khan, by failing to send Berke loot from Baghdad and Iraq or consult with him. The fact that war began three years after Baghdad's fall, and that Hulegu occupied Jochid territory in northern Iran and the Caucasus after Mongke's death, suggests that Berke's immediate concerns were more strategic than spiritual. Islam for the early converts like Berke was not a change of identity, but an acceptance alongside their existing beliefs and incorporated into a Chinggisid world view. Almost certainly Berke, like his Islamic successors, continued to consult with shamans and the yassa, yet never felt disloyal to the sharia. While Berke's conversion was accompanied by some of his brothers and commanders, it did not precipitate the Islamization of the emerging Golden Horde. Following Berke's death around 1266, it took some 14 years for another Islamic Khan to sit on the throne of the Jochids. At the start of the 1280s, both the westernmost khanates of the Mongol Empire saw the enthronement of Muslim rulers: Töde-Möngke taking the throne in the Golden Horde between 1280 and 1282,, and from 1282 to 1284 Tegüder Ahmad in the Ilkhanate. Once more, the sources hint that shaykhs and sufis were behind the conversion of both men, and continued to be held in great esteem in both courts. For the Ilkhan Tegüder, who upon his enthronement went by the name of Sultan Ahmad, we have a variety of sources which describe his commitment to Islam, which vary widely and demonstrate why it remains difficult for many to accept the authenticity of the early conversions. In a letter Tegüder sent to the Mamluk Sultan Qalawun, Tegüder spoke of establishing sharia law in the Ilkhanate, protected pilgrimage routes and built new religious buildings, similar claims to what Töde-Möngke made in his first letter to the Mamluks around similar time. Tegüder argued that based on the fact of their now shared religion it was easier for the Mamluk Sultans to submit to him. Cilician Armenian writers like Het'um of Corycus and Step'annos Orbelian generally portray Tegüder as a prosecutor of Christians. Yet at the same time the Syriac churchman Bar Hebraeus wote of Tegüder as a friend to Christians, an upholder of religious toleration who exempted them from taxation and allowed Hebraeus to build a new church, while the Mamluks were largely skeptical of his conversion. Ghazan, the great reformer of the Ilkhanate, sought to portray himself as a powerful Muslim monarch and an heir to the defunct ‘Abbasid Caliphate, but also as the first true Muslim Ilkhanate. For this reason, his two predeceassers who were attached to Islam, Tegüder and Baidu, were both denigrated in official accounts from his reign. Ghazan was raised a Buddhist, and only came to Islam a few weeks before his enthronement, urged to convert by his commander Nawruz Noyan and the Shaykh Sadr al-Din al-Hamuwayi during his rebellion against Ilkhan Baidu. While his biographer Rashid al-Din desperately sought to portray Ghazan's conversion causing his commanders and soldiers to follow suit, it seems almost certain that it was in fact the opposite, and that by converting Ghazan hoped to gain the wavering support of Baidu's Muslim followers. Ghazan did so successfully, and overthrew Baidu only a few months after he had himself seized the throne. Upon becoming IlKhan, on the instigation of his zealous general Nawruz, Ghazan order the destruction of Christian, Jewish, Buddhist and Zoroastrian centres in Muslim cities in his empire and imposed the jizya. However, these harsh measures were quickly rescinded by 1297 with the downfall of Nawruz, though Buddhists did not return to the prominence they had previously enjoyed. Ghazan before the end of the 1290s donned a turban and even declared jihad against the Mamluks. Though some Mamluk scholars, none more famous than the jurist and scholar Ibn Taymiyya, were not convinced of Ghazan's Islam. Outside of Damascus in 1300, Ibn Taymiyya insulted both Ghazan and his vizier, the Jewish convert to Islam Rashid al-Din, of being false Muslims. Ghazan, he stated, continued to worship Chinggis Khan in place of sharia. The life of Ghazan's brother and successor Oljeitu demonstrates perhaps the most extreme example of a Mongol prince's flexible approach to religion. His father Arghun had the young Oljeitu baptized a Nestorian Christian and given the name of Nicholas, supposedly after the Pope Nicholas IV, with whom Arghun was attempting to ally with against the Mamluks. As a teen, he converted to Buddhism, when he took the Buddhist name of Oljeitu. Under the influnece of a wife, he then converted to Sunni islam, taking the name of Muhammad Khudabanda, servant of God, which became the source of rude puns on his name: kharbunda, donkey driver. First he attached himself to the Sunni school of Hanafism, then to Shafi'ism, before frustration with fighting between the schools turned him back to Buddhism, before in 1309 returning to Islam, but this time abandon the Sunnis for Shi'ism. A number of different sources offer explanations for what drove Oljeitu to become a Shi'a, generally focusing on how a various princes, commanders, scholars and others convinced upon Oljeitu the merits of Shi'a Islam. One particularly detailed account has a Shi'a Scholar describe the succession of the first of the Rashidun Caliphs, those accepted in Sunni Islam, to the Prophet Muhammad instead of 'Ali, remarking to Oljeitu it would be as if a non-Chinggisid general were to succeed Chinggis Khan. According to the Mamluk sources, Oljeitu's conversion to Shi'ism prompted a series of rebellions across Ilkhanid Iraq. In some accounts, Oljeitu converted back to Sunni Islam shortly before his death in 1316. His son, Abu Sa'id, followed him to the throne, a Sunni Muslim who did not waver in his faith as his father. Following Ghazan's reign from 1295 until 1304, the Ilkhanate became an Islamic state, with the majority of its army and upper echelons converted to Islam. The process was slower in the Golden Horde and Chagatai Khanate. After Töde-Möngke's deposition in 1287, the Golden Horde would not have another Muslim monarch until the reign of Özbeg, who took the throne in 1313. It seems he converted shortly after his accession, seemingly to gain the support of influential noyans within the Horde. In legendary accounts Özbeg was converted by a sufi named Baba Tükles, who proved the veracity of his religion when he comfortably survived an oven wearing nothing but chain maille, while the shaman he challenged was burnt to death in his oven. However, Baba Tükles does not enter into accounts of Özbeg's life until centuries after his death. It seems likely that Özbeg was converted by influential sufi and islamic jurists in his entourage, and the increased islamization of members of military and aristocracy making it a viable political choice to convert as well. To cement his reign and his religion, Özbeg ordered the executions of over a hundred Chinggisid princes and noyans. Other prominent converts, such as Ghazan in the Ilkhanate and Tughluq Temur in the eastern Chagatai Khanate, also carried out large scale purges though none matched those of Özbeg. So extensive was Özbeg's purge that within a generation, the line of Batu had died out within the Golden Horde. In the Chagatai Khanate, Islamization proceed in stops and starts. In the western half of the Chagatai realm, centered as it was around the trade cities of Transoxania and closer to the Iranian world, islamization went quicker, more or less winning out by the mid 14th century. It would take another century in the eastern half of the Chagatai realm, Moghulistan, where steppe lifestyle maintained greater influence. Not until the reign of Tughluq Temur's grandson, appropriately named Muhammad Khan, in the fifteenth century did Islam win out most of the remaining holdouts, according to the mid-sixteenth century source of Mirza Haidar Dughlat. For the eastern Chagatais, where the local islamic population was much smaller, there was much less interaction with the faith, and thus it took much longer for the military and the noyans to fully convert, despite the conversion of the Khans themselves. Still, in policy men like Özbeg, Ghazan and Oljeitu largely matched their forebears in providing taxation exemptions, favours and other privileges to Christians, especially Franciscan missionaries, though on a lesser scale than earlier in the thirteenth century. Their successors, Özbeg's son Janibeg and Oljeitu's son Abu Sa'id, proved less welcoming, as even Christians found their privileges revoked. Janibeg ordered his men to dress in the fashion of Muslims, while Abu Sa'id sought to become the protector of the Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina, one year even sending an elephant there for inexplicable reasons. Still, these monarchs showed themselves to continue in their traditions, such as acts of levirate marriage, that is marrying their father's wives, something forbidden by Islam. Islam proved an aspect of these monarch's identities, but it took many generations in Iran for all elements of Mongol culture and Chinggisid ideology to be driven out, and in the steppes the process, it can be argued, never truly fully replaced the memory of the house of Chinggis Khan. Our series on the Mongols will continue, and we will visit in detail the topic of Mongol religious tolerance very soon, which ties closely to this matter, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast. If you'd like to help us continue to bring you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Please also consider leaving us a positive review and rating on the podcast catcher of your choice, and sharing us with your friends; each one helps the podcast out alot. 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.
After the death of the Ilkhan Arghun in 1291 at the end of our last episode, the Ilkhanid throne came to Arghun's brother, Geikhatu, the governor of Anatolia. Geikhatu's ascension set off one of the most unstable periods in the Ilkhanate's history so far, which would ultimately culminate in the rise of perhaps the most significant ruler of the Ilkhanate's later history, Ghazan, who would skillfully weld Chinggisid ideology with Islam. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. On the death of Arghun Ilkhan due to excessive consumption of mercury and sulphur in at the start of 1291, there were three candidates for the throne: Arghun's brother Geikhatu, the governor of Anatolia; Arghun's cousin Baidu, based in Baghdad, and Arghun's son, Ghazan, who was stationed in the east of the Khanate battling the rebelling general Nawruz. While some members of the military elite, particularly the noyans Taghachar and Qunchuqbal, wished for Baidu to take the throne, a number backed Geikhatu. Among those who flocked to Geikhatu were the noyans Qurumshi, son of Alinaq, and Choban, better known as the Emir Choban.This is the first mention of Choban in the sources, though for today's episode he will play on a minor role. On the 23rd of July, 1291 Geikhatu was elected as Khan of the Ilkhanate. Neither Baidu nor Ghazan challenged him, though in accounts such as Marco Polo's, Ghazan was rather quietly furious at the matter. In his early thirties when he took the throne, like his late brother Arghun, Geikhatu was a Buddhist. Arghun had placed Geikhatu as the viceroy of Anatolia, bringing a region considered a distant frontier into closer connection with the rest of the Ilkhanate. Perhaps the greatest distinction from his brother though was his clemency. In part, it seems to have been a mixture of a personally more peaceful nature, and a belief that Arghun's reign was cut short by the many executions he had ordered in his final years. One of Geikhatu's first actions upon taking the throne was personally overseeing an investigation and trials into events surrendering the deaths of Arghun, his vizier Sa'd al-Dawla and other misdeeds undertaken by the noyans in Arghun's final days. The blame for these murders and abuses were, rightfully, laid onto the noyans Taghachar and Qunchuqbal, who had led the efforts. While Arghun would have met their disloyalty with the removal of heads, Geikhatu showed himself of a different ilk. Almost all of the conspirators received simple pardons, while others were subject to a temporary prison sentence. Taghachar, who was making a habit of being a traitorous sot, was given a pardon as well. Once the trials were completed, and Geikhatu hoped everyone could now start off fresh, the new Il-Khan immediately returned to his preferred Anatolia. His Noyan Shiktur was left to oversee almost the entirety of the Ilkhanate east of Anatolia as a supreme deputy. The Ilkhan's sudden removal back to Anatolia left a sort of vacuum behind. It's not clear to us today exactly what Geikhatu was doing in Anatolia, and it certainly wasn't clear to contemporaries as rumours spread that the Ilkhan had been killed in an uprising by local Turkic tribes. In Geikhatu's absence, his clemency paid dividends as the noyans he forgave almost immediately conspired against him. Taghachar Noyan, aided by his deputy Sadr' al-Din Zanjani, started to organize a coup to topple Geikhatu and enthrone one of Geikhatu's cousins, Anbarchi. The plot was discovered and foiled, but again, Geikhatu pardoned most of the conspirators. Taghachar himself was given an army to relieve an Ilkhanid fortress besieged by the Mamluks late in 1292 (something which he was unsuccessful at) and Sadr' al-Din Zanjani, after a brief imprisonment, was even made Geikhatu's vizier before the end of the year. Suffice to say, these men did not learn their lessons. While these plotters continued to plot, most of Geikhatu's reign was spent apparently enjoying the… uh, benefits of being king, if we should say politely. Effectively every medieval source which comments on Geikhatu presents him as a man of utter vice, enjoying constant parties, revelry, and the sons and daughters of the nobility. To quote the continuator of the Syriac churchman Bar Hebraeus, writing not long after Geikhatu's death: Now [Geikhatu] being ruler, [...] occupied himself with nothing except riotous living, and amusement and debauchery. He had no thought for anything else except the things which were necessary for kings, and which they were bound to have, and how he could get possession of the sons and daughters of the nobles and have carnal intercourse with them. And he would wanton with them without shame and without modesty. And very many chaste women among the wives of the nobles fled from him, and others removed their sons and their daughters, and sent them away to remote districts. But they were unable to save themselves from his hands, or to escape from the shameful acts which he committed with them. And when he had led this blameworthy manner of life for nearly four years, more or less, and he had polluted himself with the mire of wanton desire of this kind, and he had amused himself with the lusts of the body which do not bring profit, he was hated with a very great hatred by all those who held the reins of his kingdom. If it was merely Bar Hebraeus' continuator writing these things, we might dismiss them as regular medieval slander by one disgruntled writer. But these sorts of details make up most of Geikhatu's source depictions. Wassaf, a Persian writer in the early 14th century Ilkhanate for instance, describes Geikhatu ignoring all duties of the throne to focus on his own pleasure, at one point writing: “at length sovereign rule in turn presented to him his heart's desire, viz. The backside.” Marco Polo, who passed through the Ilkhanate in the final year of Geikhatu's rule, wrote of Geikhatu that he “enjoyed himself much with the ladies, for he was excessively given to his pleasures.” The Ilkhanid vizier Rashid al-Din is, as per usual, too respectable to comment on such indecency directly. It was in the reign of Geikhatu that Rashid al-Din became attached to the Ilkhanid court, and besides that, Geikhatu had been the uncle of his patrons Ghazan and Oljeitu. Still, Rashid speaks of the wild spending habits of Geikhatu, politely describing it as incredibly generous gift giving. Wassaf and other writers instead describe wasteful extravagance by Geikhatu, encouraged by vizier Sadr' al-Din Zanjani, which compounded some sort of troubles facing Mongol herds at the time, resulting in widespread reverberations on the Ilkhanate's economy. Of course, no talk of Geikhatu and the Ilkhanate's fiscal status can be complete without mentioning his most famous disaster: an attempt to impose Chinese style paper money, or ch'ao, in the Ilkhanate. This is the first known example of an effort to implement Chinese block printing for currency outside of China, and every source describes it as an unmitigated disaster, though modern retellings of the incident have certainly exaggerated it. The inspiration for the idea came from Geikhatu's vizier, Sadr' al-Din Zanjani, who had been interested in it for some time. In May 1294 Sadr' al-Din finally broached it to Geikhatu Khan, who was interested and spoke on the matter further with Bolod Chingsang, a representative from the Yuan Dynasty at the Ilkhan's court. Zanjani successfully convinced Geikhatu of its advantages, such as being much more difficult to forge or tamper with. Despite the opposition of some members of Geikhatu's court, especially Shiktur Noyan, Geikhatu gave the order to proceed with a trial run in the Ilkhanate's chief city, Tabriz, one of the major merchant hubs of western Asia. Printing started in the summer of 1294, and circulation began that September. Orders were put out that anyone who refused to accept it would be put to death. The result was not great. People did not understand how the paper was worth anything compared to metal coinage, and very quickly merchants were fleeing Tabriz altogether. The humid climate resulted in the Ilkhanid paper apparently nearly falling to pieces. Food and goods became scarce, and when Zanjani himself went to the streets he was threatened and insulted to his face. As Tabriz neared a tipping point of theft, starvation and anarchy, finally the paper money was withdrawn and the regular coinage made the tender again. The effort lasted hardly two months, and was not tried elsewhere. Claims that this episode had long lasting repercussions on the Ilkhanate's economy are likely overstated due to the limited reach of the experiment. Rather, they encouraged ongoing economic woes in Geikhatu's reign and did nothing to help the Ilkhan's already struggling reputation. The failed episode with the ch'ao is routinely mentioned alongside Geikhatu's massive expenditure, gift giving and debauchery in the sources on his reign, and it is no surprise that not long after the end of the fling with paper money, Geikhatu found himself next on the chopping block. In the summer of 1294, Geikhatu's cousin Baidu visited the Ilkhan's camp. Though he appeared reluctant to claim the throne in 1291, Baidu must have still felt some resentment at losing his chance, in addition to his distaste in how Geikhatu ran the kingdom. It would explain how, when Baidu got quite drunk one evening, he lashed out and insulted Geikhatu to his face. The normally easy going Geikhatu responded furiously and probably drunkenly, ordering Baidu beaten. Once they had sobered up Geikhatu regretted his action and sought to make amends, which Baidu made a show of accepting. Once out of the Khan's camp, Baidu returned to his own territory and began to organize a rebellion over the winter of 1294. When Geikhatu learned of it, he sent an army against Baidu commanded by the always loyal [sarcasm] Taghachar. Whatever was behind Geikhatu's choice is unknown. Perhaps he was a large fan of multiple chances, or thought this was an opportunity for Taghachar to display his loyalty. Geikhatu was sorely mistaken. Taghachar immediately sided with Baidu and brought his army to Baidu's service. A panicked Geikhatu tried to flee to Anatolia, but was overtaken and captured. His captors were men he had imprisoned for earlier crimes, but who Geikhatu had later released on the urging of Taghachar. In late March 1295, Geikhatu's captors had him strangled to death with a bow string, apparently without the knowledge or approval of Baidu. So ended the reign of the fifth Ilkhan, Geikhatu, only in his mid-30s and having reigned hardly four years. A few weeks after Geikhatu's death, Baidu was enthroned as the new Ilkhan in April 1295. A grandson of Hulegu via his son Taraqai, Baidu appears to have been raised a Chritian but converted to Islam. Bar Hebraeus' continuator remarks that Baidu's conversion to Islam was a half hearted one aimed to bring him support for the throne; an indication of the growth of Islam among the Mongols of the Ilkhanate. Marco Polo meanwhile was under the impression that Baidu was a Christian throughout his reign. We may suspect he simply was an exponent of Mongol religious tolerance, and did not favour any of these religions but instead tried to appear a friend to each, though it is difficult to tell due to the nature of his reign. Unlike his predecessors, Baidu appears as a much quieter figure, one who seemed lacking in vision for the position of Khan, and was overshadowed by his powerful noyans like Taghachar. Taghachar was given immense power, and Taghachar's allies, the murderers of Geikhatu, were granted governorships and other positions throughout the empire. Baidu's reign had a major obstacle in the form of Geikhatu's nephew and Arghun's son, Ghazan. The oldest son of Arghun, Ghazan had since his father's reign taken a prominent position in the eastern part of the Ilkhanate, Khurasan, where he had acted as chief military governor. Almost yearly he fought off raids by the Qara'una Mongols and from 1289 onwards, fought the rebelling general Nawruz. These conflicts kept him too preoccupied to act after the death of Arghun, and from playing any role in the politics that led to Geikhatu's overthrow. Nonetheless, Ghazan had been primed for leadership. Well educated, able to read and write the Uighur script for Mongolian and seemingly proficient in Persian as well as athletic and a skilled warrior, the powerful position Ghazan had been granted by Arghun as military commander of the east gave Ghazan useful contacts and backing. Having both military experience and reputation was always a useful boon for claiming leadership among the Mongols. If we are to believe Rashid al-Din, Ghazan's energetic biographer, then even Abaqa Il-Khan, Ghazan's grandfather, had recognized the boy's talent and loved him dearly, though we can suspect this is reminiscent of Qaidu's claims as a boy that Ogedai Khan had loved him and wanted to make him his successor. More of a useful claim for legitimacy, rather than a necessarily true representation of their relationship, though perhaps Ghazan remembered it fondly. Certainly Ghazan was seen as a prime candidate for the throne; before his untimely death, the Jewish vizier of Arghun, Sa'd al-Dawla, had tried to contact Ghazan to bring him to his father's death bed to make his stake for the throne. Following Geikhatu's murder, Ghazan was also a favourite to succeed his uncle, and had apparently received letters from Baidu asking him to assume the throne- another indication that Baidu was personally reluctant to take the position. Ghazan seemed to not anticipate trickery. He had recently taken the submission of the former rebel, Nawruz, taking control of his army on top of his own. Feeling strong and secure, he began to travel west to the Ilkhanate's Caucausian territory with only a small guard. Hearing of Ghazan's movement seems to have sparked Baidu's followers to hold a snap quriltai and quickly declared Baidu the Il-Khan. As Ghazan advanced across northern Iran, emissaries from Baidu arrived politely but firmly telling Ghazan to turn back, that he would not be granted safe passage. Evidently, Baidu and his allies recognized that Ghazan expected to have the throne, and wished to dissuade him rather than have to fight off another contender. Baidu's position as Khan after overseeing the murder of his predeceassor left him with shaky legitimacy. Finally, it was told to Ghazan that Baidu would consider it rebellion if Ghazan advanced any further. Ghazan could not back down now; he quickly summoned Nawruz and his army, which prompted Baidu to rally his own army; by the 19th of May, 1295, the two sides faced off at a site called Qurban Shire in northwestern Iran. After a round of skirmishing, apparently on Baidu's urging a truce was called and negotiations held. The meeting was cordial and respectful, and progress was made. Baidu did not wish to fight, but now that he was declared Il-Khan he could not step down. His solution was to essentially divide the Ilkhanate between them, granting Ghazan all of the eastern half of the empire. Ghazan was amenable to the idea, but tensions did not abate. It seems, to Baidu's frustration, that he continued to be reinforced. As the negotiations went on, more and more of Baidu's forces trickled in. Seeing Baidu's army grow, Ghazan feared a trap and slid away, leaving Nawruz, now his lieutenant, to continue the talks. This infuriated Baidu, who felt Ghazan was acting in bad faith. He sent some forces to pursue Ghazan and promptly took Nawruz prisoner. Some called for Nawruz's execution, but others persuaded Baidu against it. Chief of them was Sadr' al-Din Zanjani. Though Baidu had not reappointed Zanjani to the position of vizier -instead giving it to one of Zanjani's rivals, Jamal al-Din Dastjirdani- Sadr' al-Din did not go far from the court lest the position open up again. He encouraged Baidu and those of the noyans whose ears he had access to -chiefly Taghachar- to spare Nawruz and offer him a deal. If Nawruz would hunt down Ghazan and bring his head in a bag to Baidu, then Nawruz would be greatly rewarded. In the meantime, Sadr' al-Din Zanjani and Taghachar made their own agreements with Nawruz. On the 31st of May 1295, Nawruz departed Baidu's camp to hunt down Ghazan. It took only a few days to find him. Not long after, a rider came to Baidu's camp, carrying a bag sent by Nawruz. Somewhat reluctantly, Baidu Il-Khan must have ordered an officer forward to open the bag and reveal the dreaded proof of his kinsman's death. To their surprise, a large cauldron fell out. It was a bit of word play on the part of Nawruz and Ghazan. Qazan in Turkic languages refers to a large pot, cauldron or brass kettle. So Nawruz had brought Ghazan in a bag to Baidu; just not the Ghazan he was hoping for. Nawruz could claim to have kept his word to Baidu, while once more affirming his loyalty to Ghazan. In the words of Rashid al-Din, Nawruz and Ghazan's pun sparked quite the reaction among Baidu and his men. To quote Rashid's Compendium of Chronicles, as per the Thackston translation: Baidu and his amirs were amazed by this subtle word play and rare joke, but there was nothing they could do about it. To Baidu the amirs said, “The lion you caught in a trap you let go, and you were made ridiculous.” He regretted having let Nawroz go, but there was nothing to be done—as has been said, anyone who overcomes his foe but allows the advantage to slip away will never again have power over him, and regret and remorse profit nothing. Baidu likely did not have immense respect among the noyans in the first place, given that he had largely been placed on the throne by their efforts entirely. To have lost both Ghazan and Nawroz, after they had been in his hands, and then to be so humiliated by them, further undermined him. In essence, he had snatched defeat from the jaws of victory, and his prestige among the military elite crumbled accordingly. While Baidu's standing worsened, Ghazan undertook a rather momentous decision. On the urging of Nawruz and other influential advisers in his camp, shortly after Nawruz's return to him Ghazan converted to Islam. Ghazan had been raised and educated as a Buddhist, a religion which his father Arghun and grandfather Hulegu had both been attached to. Even during his tenure in Khurasan, Ghazan had sponsored the construction of Buddhist temples. If we are to believe Rashid al-Din though, Ghazan had always had a questioning mind and found himself skeptical of some aspects of Buddhism. It is possible, though we may suspect it was also a matter of Mongol religious indifference. In the accounts of Ghazan's chroniclers, when Nawruz impressed upon him the need to convert to Islam, all of Ghazan's generals, and indeed, the Mongols in Iran, followed suit, a fairly regular aspect of stories of Mongol khans converting to Islam. Generally, historians are of the opinion that Ghazan's conversion reflects the fact that a great many Mongols, both among the regular soldiers and the military aristocracy, had already become Muslims. While Nawruz may have urged Ghazan to convert out of concern for his soul, for Nawruz was a very sincere and ardent Muslim, it is not difficult to imagine that Nawruz also pointed out the political advantage it could provide Ghazan; by demonstrating that he was a true and devout Muslim, Ghazan could claim the loyalty of all the Mongols who were Muslims, as well as Persian and Arabic members of the bureaucracy. Hence, why post-Ghazan chroniclers tend to cast doubt on Baidu's claim to be a Muslim as well. Ghazan certainly showed some fervour early after his conversion, though in the coming years it cooled whenever he did not have an urgent political usage for it. Immediately after Ghazan and his noyans began to proclaim the shahada, they observed the Ramadan of summer 1295 then advanced onto Baidu. As Ghazan and his army moved west once again, Baidu's camp was still in shambles. Baidu seemed frozen in place, unable to take decisive action. His foundation built on sand, it washed away with the rising tide of Ghazan, now reinforced by his brother Oljeitu. When Baidu sent emissaries to Ghazan, they told Ghazan of the sympathy he had among Baidu's followers, and then promptly joined him. The former vizier for the late Geikahtu, Sadr' al-Din Zanjani, was among the first to openly desert Baidu for Ghazan. Choban Noyan and Quremshi Noyan joined with their troops and joined Nawroz in the vanguard. The duplicitous Taghachar, as usual, jumped for the winning side. He who had once abandoned Geikhatu to join Baidu, now left Baidu to back Ghazan. As the summer of 1295 drew to a close Baidu tried to flee, but was swiftly captured and taken back to Tabriz. There, he sent word that he wished for an interview with Ghazan, but Ghazan refused. He ordered Baidu executed, which was carried out on the 4th of October 1295, ending Baidu's seven month reign as Il-Khan. Only once the deed was done, did Ghazan finally enter Tabriz later that day. He was swiftly enthroned; not as Il-Khan, but with the title of padishah-i-islam, Emperor of Islam, and took the name of Mahmud. So began the reign of Ghazan Il-Khan, or Padishah Ghazan Mahmud, the 7th ruler of the Ilkhanate and a great-great-great-grandson of Chinggis Khan. The Ilkhanate was about to be permanently transformed. Our next episode focuses on the reign of Ghazan, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast to follow. If you'd like to help us continue bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Please also consider leaving us a positive review and rating on the podcast catcher of your choice, and sharing us with your friends; each one helps the podcast out alot. 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.
After the long reign of Abaqa Il-Khan, as covered in our previous episode, the Ilkhanate entered it's somewhat messy “middle period.” These are the years between the death of Abaqa, in 1282, and the ascension of Ghazan in 1295. In these 13 years, four men came to the Ilkhanid throne: Teguder Ahmad, Arghun, Geikhatu and Baidu. Their reigns, if we believe the historians writing under Ghazan and his successors, constituted a period of disorder and anarchy before the stabilizing and centralizing rule of Ghazan. Usually glossed over in favour of Abaqa or Ghazan, today we take you through one of the lesser known periods of the Ilkhanate, beginning with the ilkhans Teguder and Arghun. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Our last episode ended with the death of Abaqa, son of Hulegu and a great-grandson of Chinggis Khan. A capable enough monarch, Abaqa had ruled the Ilkhanate stably from the mid 1260s until his death in April 1282. His death left three primary candidates: two of his brothers, Mongke-Temur and Teguder, and Abaqa's eldest son Arghun. The death of Mongke-Temur only a few weeks after Abaqa's death removed him from the running, and the more senior, powerful and well connected Teguder was able to claim the throne over the young Arghun. Prince Arghun was very bitter of the loss, and nursed his resentment though accepted Teguder's election. In June 1282 Teguder was installed as the third Ilkhan. In many ways he sought continuity with late brother. The beleaguered vizier Shams al-Din Juvaini and his brother ‘Ala al-Din ‘Ata-Malik Juvaini, the historian and governor of Baghdad, were retained in their posts, as were many other officials in the upper echelons of the bureaucracy. The new Ilkhan's reign differed from his late brother's in one significant respect though: Teguder was a Muslim, who on his enthronement took the name of Ahmad and the title of Sultan. For this reason he is often known, somewhat interchangeably, as Teguder Ahmad or Ahmad Teguder in modern writing, and usually just as Sultan Ahmad in the 13th and 14th century sources. As with so many Mongol converts to Islam, it is unclear when he converted; according to the contemporary Armenian writer Het'um Patmich', known also as Het'um of Corycus, Teguder had been a Christian in his youth with the baptismal name of Nicholas, but had converted sometime before taking the throne in 1282. It seems he was converted by sufis, as a number of dervishes were attached to his court and inner circle. One sufi in particular, Shaykh Kemal al-Din ‘Abd al-Rahman held such great influence over Teguder that he continually consulted with him and referred to him as father. Teguder's Islam has been a tricky thing to define, as his commitment to islam varies depending on the source. In a letter Teguder sent to the Mamluk Sultan Qalawun, Teguder spoke of how he has established sharia law in the Ilkhanate, protected pilgrimage routes and built new religious buildings. Indeed, Teguder argued, based on their shared religion it should have been now easier for the Mamluk Sultanate to submit to him. Armenian writers from Cilicia like Het'um of Corycus generally portray Teguder as a great prosecutor of Christians who also destroyed churches, while his countryman Step'annos Orbelian believed Teguder wanted to exterminate Christianity. Yet at the exact same time, the Syriac churchman Bar Hebraeus wote of Teguder as a friend to Christians, an upholder of religious toleration who exempted churches and Christians from taxation and allowed Hebraeus to build a new church. 14th century writers from both the Mamluk Sultanate and the Ilkhanate write of Teguder's Islam in doubting terms. The Mamluks seem to have been largely skeptical of his conversion, while the great Ilkhanid vizier and historian Rashid al-Din, writing at the start of the 1300s under the aegis of the mighty Muslim monarch Ghazan and his brother Oljeitu, remarked Teguder only “claimed to be a Muslim.” Teguder's conversion to Islam was not the start of Islamization of the Mongols; it instead reflects the gradual trend for conversion among some of the younger generation, but at the same time it does not seem to have been an issue for the acceptance of the new Ilkhan, with the exception of the opinion of the his nephew Arghun. Arghun, as Abaqa's oldest son, felt the throne was his by right. Teguder Ahmad's extended generosity on his enthronement, including many gifts for Arghun, did not ease Arghun's hard feelings. The always suspicious Teguder must have taken note of it, but Teguder had an empire to run and wanted to avoid civil strife so showed Arghun his due respect. In our last episode, we left of with the Juvaini brothers, the vizier Shams al-Din and the historian ‘Ala al-Din, placed in a bind due to the efforts of their enemy, Shams al-Din's former protege Majd al-Mulk. Majd al-Mulk had found a willing ear in Prince Arghun, who in Abaqa's final years managed to imprison, fine, and generally harass the powerful Juvainis. On Teguder's ascension in summer 1282, the new Ilkhan had ‘Ala al-Din released from prison and restored to favour, bestowing on him gifts to make up for his expenses. Likewise was ‘Ala al-Din's younger brother Shams al-Din maintained in his role as vizier. Majd al-Mulk was also summoned to speak before Teguder, and worried for his future. As Shams al-Din Juvaini spoke to Teguder Ilkhan of Majd al-Mulk's misdeeds, Majd al-Mulk reached once again to his associate Prince Arghun, and convinced him that the Juvainis had poisoned his father Abaqa. This time Majd al-Mulk could not outmaneuver the Juvainis. A dried piece of lion skin was found in Majd al-Mulk's belongings covered in unintelligible script of red and yellow ink. The shamans and buddhist monks in Teguder's court- another indication he was not the most devout of Muslims- confirmed that the item was one used in sorcery. Majd al-Mulk knew his game was up. The Mongols saw sorcery as one of the most heinous of charges. Despite efforts by Shams al-Din Juvaini to argue for a pardon, Teguder Ilkhan ordered Majd al-Mulk's death. In August 1282 he was tossed to an angry mob in Tabriz, and torn to pieces. It can be imagined that Arghun only saw this as proof of the Juvaini's scheming, though he felt he could not at the moment go after vizier Shams al-Din. That winter Arghun moved to Baghdad with a body of Qara'unas troops. ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini had been reinstated as governor of Baghdad, but had not returned to the city. This was lucky for him, as while in Baghdad Arghun demanded that ‘Ala al-Din pay up the rest of the money he owed from the fines Majd al-Mulk and Arghun had levied against him, fines that Teguder had dismissed. In the process of making noise around the city, Arghun ordered one of ‘Ala al-Din's recently deceased officers to be disinterred and his body thrown onto the street and descrecrated. Arghun's actions were insulting and were met with great concern by the Ilkhan's court. Teguder positioned an army near Dayirbakir in the event that Arghun decided to strike northwards towards Tabriz, and poor ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini was so distressed by the event that he died in March of 1283. On his return to Khurasan in spring 1283, Arghun stopped in Rayy, modern Teheran, and had Teguder's governor there beaten, placed in bonds and sent on the road to Tabriz on a donkey, as clear an insult as any. He sent envoy after envoy to the Ilkhan, demanding that he hand over Shams al-Din Juvaini for his role in poisoning Abaqa. Teguder's patience grew thin with his nephew. Prince Arghun's actions looked like sedition, aimed to undermine the reigning Ilkhan. Teguder grew more suspicious; when word came to him that his brother Qongqurtai, who he had placed in command of Anatolia, had been in contact with Arghun, Teguder ordered his brother executed. The murder of an imperial prince antagonized some members of the artstiocracy, who then fled to Arghun. Among them were Arghun's brother Geikhatu, his cousin Baidu, and the Noyans Taghachar and Nawruz, all names to know in this episode and the following. The death of Qongqurtai was not the only cause for some of these princes and commanders to side with Arghun; some had wanted Arghun to succeed his father Abaqa in the first place, others had been frustrated with Teguder's haughty and often insulting behaviour to them, and still others were simply annoyed at having a Muslim in the throne of Hulegu Khan. As tensions rose, at the start of 1284 Teguder finally sent an army under his brother-in-law, Alinaq, to bring Arghun to heel. Over May 1284, Alinaq's army skirmished with Arghun's forces, forcing him to retreat. Arghun simply lacked the strength to battle the forces of the Ilkhan in a direct encounter, and ignoring requests by some of his followers to flee the Ilkhanate altogether, in the summer of 1284 Arghun surrendered to Alinaq. Teguder was very pleased with Arghun's capture, and went to visit his captive nephew. Teguder resisted calls to have Arghun executed- perhaps judging, from the reaction to Qongqurtai's death, executing another imperial prince would not do him any favours. He did order the execution of a number of Arghun's followers, but considering the matter done with, in July 1284 Teguder was content to leave Arghun under guard in Alinaq's camp while the Ilkhan took a small force to visit his new wife. The move ultimately cost Teguder his throne. In Teguder's absence, Buqa Noyan moved to free Arghun. Buqa had already sympathized with Arghun, and Teguder had further antagonized Buqa by insulting and idly threatening him; according to the Mamluk historian ibn ‘abd al-Zahir, Teguder had a habit of reminding Buqa and his comrades that he could have their heads cut off at anytime. While Teguder Ahmad rode off to his wife's camp, Buqa got Alinaq drunk and with a small party broke Arghun free, armed him, then rode into Alinaq's tent and decapitated the noyan. Tossing his severed head to the officers and killing those who refused to submit, by the morning Arghun commanded the army. In the words of Rashid al-Din: “Arghun, who had been a prisoner when night fell, woke up in the morning as the emperor of the face of the earth.” Ilkhan Teguder learned of the revolt and tried to flee with his small party but was overtaken. After a quick trial he was charged with the murder of his Qongqurtai and punished to be killed in the same manner: kicked to death, according to the chronicler ibn ‘abd al-Zahir, in August of 1284. So ended the reign of Ilkhan Teguder Ahmad, after only two years on the throne. The day after Teguder's execution, Arghun was declared Ilkhan, after threats were made to those who considered other candidates. Arghun heaped rewards upon those who had helped him to the throne; Buqa Noyan was given so much gold that he was briefly buried in it. The new Ilkhan was in many respects similar to his father Abaqa and grandfather Hulegu. He was a devout Buddhist, one who regularly sought wisdom from Buddhist monks and was gifted Buddhist relics from other prominent Chinggisids in neighbouring Khanates. Like Hulegu, Arghun loved to build; he constructed a series of new palaces in Tabriz and began construction of a new city near Rayy, which under his son Oljeitu would become Sultaniyya. Also like his grandfather, he was enchanted by alchemy, an attraction which ultimately cost him his life. One of the most associated traits of Arghun's reign is an anti-Islamic sentiment. Hulegu tolerated Muslims and Islam; Abaqa had shown respect to Muslims in his empire and was remembered as a just ruler; Teguder of course had been a Muslim. However, Arghun became associated, somewhat undeservedly, as a militant hater of Islam. While the Juvainis and other Muslims had occupied the top positions of civilian government in the twenty years since Hulegu's death, under Arghun the top positions came into the hands of non-Muslims, Mongols and even a Jewish physician. His aggressive letters to the Mamluks differed greatly from Teguder's more polite suggestions of submission, but despite his rhetoric Arghun never led an invasion into the Mamluk Sultanate. He showed friendship to Christians in his empire, particularly with the Nestorians Mar Yahballaha and Rabban bar Sauma; it was on Arghun's order that Rabban bar Sauma took his lengthy trip to Europe in an effort to organize a Frankish-Mongol alliance against the Mamluks, a trip we dedicated a special episode to already. Such was his favour to Christianity that Arghun's son newborn son was baptized and named after the current pope, Nicholas IV. That son in time became the Ilkhan Oljeitu. While Arghun may have played to anti-Islamic rhetoric at times, perhaps to galvanize the support of “traditional Mongols,” against the converted Teguder, Arghun did not unleash a swath of anti-Islamic policies. During his rebellion against Teguder, Arghun prayed at the shrine of a Muslim saint, Bayazid of Bistam, for victory. While he was Ilkhan, he attended and sponsored festivals marking the end of Ramadan, demonstrating his largesse as a ruler. It seems that rather than really undergoing an anti-Islamic policy, Arghun favoured minorities in his empire, notably Christians and Buddhists. In a Muslim-majority empire, it was a rather deliberate snub, particularly when he overthrew a Muslim monarch, but hardly unusual for a Mongol ruler. Arghun began his reign by executing some of Teguder's loyalists, among them Shams al-Din Juvaini. Having retained the vizierate through Teguder's reign, when Arghun's rebellion toppled Teguder, Shams al-Din fled. Knowing that Arghun hated him and blamed him for poisoning Abaqa, it was a logical move to get out of Arghun's sight. But guilt overcame him, knowing his sons were still within Arghun's reach. Supposedly remarking that only a foolish man left his son in the hands of the Mongols, he returned upon learning that Arghun was apparently offering clemency. Shams al-Din also hoped his old friend Buqa would intercede on his behalf. After a warm reunion with Buqa, and an icy meeting with Arghun, Shams al-Din anxiously awaited his fate. When news came that he was to be fined 20,000,000 gold dinars, money he did not have, Shams al-Din knew his time was up. He urged Buqa to stop the plot, warning him that if the Mongols began to kill their viziers, they would not stop. Buqa did nothing. Shams al-Din consigned himself to his fate, writing his will as the guards came for him. In it, he forbid his younger sons from entering imperial service for the Mongols. On October 16th 1284, Shams al-Din Juvaini was executed on the order of Ilkhan Arghun, thus ending the career of a man who had served as vizier for twenty years, the last in a line of Juvainis who had served as administers for the Khwarezmshahs, the Seljuqs, and according to family legend, all the way back to ‘Abbasid Caliph Harun al-Rashid. Shams al-Din's lands were confiscated and one of his younger sons killed as well. He proved to be the longest lasting Ilkhanid vizier, as his warning to Buqa Noyan of the Mongols beginning to kill their viziers was accurate. Only one Ilkhanid vizier, Taj al-Din ‘Ali Shah, is known for certain to have died of natural causes in 1324. Every other vizier found their careers end bloodily, though sometimes only murdered after their dismissal. Few viziers between Shams al-Din's death in 1284 and the appointment of Rashid al-Din in 1298 held the position even for a few years. Following Shams al-Din Juvaini's death, Buqa dominated his late friend's position. A proud Mongol, Buqa proved to have a taste for power. Arghun, after appointing Buqa to the position of na'ib and sahib-diwan, that is, viceroy and vizier, essentially left the running of the Ilkhanate to him. Once Buqa was in his place, and Arghun had made other regional governor appointments, such as his brother Geikhatu to Anatolia, his cousin Baidu to Mesopotamia, and his son Ghazan to Khurasan, Arghun mainly concerned himself with hunting, feasting, his many wives, and building programs, as well as diplomacy with the Mamluks and European powers. Government was largely left to Buqa, who grew in stature and placed his family in key positions. His brother Aruq, for example, became master of Baghdad, still one of the chief cities of the empire and the Eurasian trade routes even after Hulegu's sack in 1258. This was the way things continued from 1284 until 1288. For four years, Buqa held almost total authority in the empire, over the military, the imperial family, economic affairs and the court. No document was valid without his signature. This seemed to suit Arghun fine, and it was a relationship recognized as far as the Yuan Dynasty. When a yarliq came from Khubilai Khan in 1286 investing Arghun as Ilkhan, it came with a title to grant to Buqa, chingsang, denoting chancellor. Yet Buqa's growing arrogance from his might and immense wealth disgruntled other members of the military aristocracy. When Buqa began freely insulting them to their faces while court was in session, it pushed many of his former allies against him. In Baghdad Buqa's brother Aruq acted like a king, ignoring Arghun's messengers and failing to send tax revenue from the city to the imperial treasury. The annoyed generals began to whisper to Arghun of the brothers' actions. First they succeeded in getting Arghun to remove Aruq from Baghdad, replacing him with a skillful Jewish physician named Sa'd al-Dawla, who quickly turned Baghdad's finances around, discovering over 5 million dinars in unpaid taxes that were promptly shipped off to the treasury. The Noyan Taghachar, once an ally of Buqa who had deserted early to Arghun during the revolt, commissioned his deputy and a future vizier, Sadr al-Din Zanjani to undermine Buqa before Arghun - a ploy which gave Taghachar plausible deniability depending on the response of Buqa or Arghun. To the Ilkhan, Sadr al-Din Zanjani told him of Buqa's ambition, how there were those who spoke of Buqa as the true emperor, that even yarliqs and paiza commissioned by the Ilkhan were not considered valid unless they bore Buqa's red seal. These reports finally irritated Arghun to the scale of Buqa's power, but he did not wish to throw out so dear an ally. When Buqa fell so ill he had to be briefly removed from his duties, Arghun did not remove his office, but did permanently shift a number of his responsibilities to others, including Noyan Taghachar. When Buqa resumed his office, his influence had been greatly reduced, and it did not take him long to discover what had happened. Feeling insulted, Buqa began to spend less time at court with Arghun, to the point he began to fake illnesses to avoid seeing the Ilkhan. When he learned of this disrespect, Arghun had Buqa's men removed from prominent office. Feeling himself out of favour and perhaps soon to be directly in the Ilkhan's ire, Buqa moved to treachery, and spent huge sums to organize a coup. Arghun only caught wind of it when prince Jushkeb, another grandson of Hulegu, betrayed the conspirators and informed the Ilkhan. A furious Arghun rounded up Buqa and his associates late in 1288, including Buqa's brother Aruq and their sons. Jushkeb himself delivered Buqa's sentence, which involved a very sharp blade and the side of Buqa's neck. The rest of Buqa's family was killed, but Arghun's suspicions did not end there, and it seems Buqa's betrayal unhinged Arghun. Even Jushkeb was put to death a few months later, a death which prompted the revolt of Nawruz, son of the late Arghun Aqa, the former head of the Mongolian Imperial Secretariat of Western Asia. When Nawruz revolted in Khurasan, Ilkhan Arghun commissioned his son Ghazan to rein him in. Other princes and officers accused of being in contact with Nawruz, such as Hulachu and Qara Nogai, a son and grandson of Hulegu respectively, were executed on Arghun's order. If you feel that Arghun had suddenly become rather execution happy, you're not the only one. By the end of his reign, Arghun executed, just in Rashid al-Din's chapter on him, 41 named men. 16 were members of the Turko-Mongolian aristocracy. Mostly these occurred in Arghun's final years after 1288. The fourteenth century Ilkhanid writer Wassaf remarked that Arghun had initially been adverse to blood letting, until the rise of his Jewish vizier, Sa'd al-Dawla. Of course, this comes from the Muslim writer Wassaf's distaste for a Jewish man to have become overseer of the Ilkhanate's Muslim population, and Sa'd al-Dawla did not become sahib-diwan until after Arghun started removing heads. Sa'd al-Dawla was a good choice for the position of vizier. Chosen to replace Buqa, Sa'd al-Dawla was an excellent fiscal mind. He had shown his skill in Baghdad, and when placed at the top of the Ilkhanate's economy he quickly recouped losses for the imperial treasury and gained Arghun's full backing. Some Muslim voices in the government were outraged with the appointment of a Jewish man in such a prominent position, but when Arghun had the chief complainer executed, Sa'd al-Dawla was able to comfortably go about his business without inordinate resistance, and was able to put his brother as well as Jamal al-Din Dastjirdani, a future vizier, in charge of Baghdad. This favouring of a Jewish man probably did much to cement Arghun, to writers like Bar Hebraeus and Wassaf, as a bitterly anti-Muslim man. Sa'd al-Dawla was not in total control, however. When he tried to provide lands to support the destitute sons of the late Shams al-Din Juvaini, Arghun had those lands confiscated and Shams al-Din's sons killed. By 1290 Arghun was feeling comfortable and secure in his empire. Sa'd al-Dawla restored the Ilkhanate economy after mismanagement by Buqa. His son prince Ghazan fought Nawruz in Khurasan. The noyan Taghachar repulsed a Golden Horde attack on the Caucasus in 1290, and Arghun waited for news of the expected arrival of Christian forces from Europe to aid in an attack on Mamluk Egypt. Arghun was planning for the future, and needed to be around for it, for he anticipated great things. So in order to maintain a longer life, in 1290, on the advice of an Indian mystic, Arghun began taking a concoction of mercury and sulphur. For 8 months he took this mixture, topped off by a 40 day retreat to the fortress in Tabriz where he cut himself off from the world. Not surprisingly, he fell seriously ill. Once Sa'd al-Dawla, a well trained physician, had Arghun removed from the mystics, his health improved dramatically, but during a lapse in guard, or on Arghun's approval, they were let back into his presence and gave him another concoction, supposedly of wine. Almost immediately Arghun relapsed, and in the closing days of 1290 it was clear that Arghun was dying. Certain high ranking noyans used this opportunity to get their retaliation in first. The noyans Taghachar and Qunchuqbal began rounding up their enemies and killing them. When vizier Sa'd al-Dawla contacted Arghun's son Ghazan to return and put a stop to this, and likely to assume rulership, they had him killed as well. On the 10th of March, 1291, Arghun, son of Abaqa, grandson of Hulegu, great-grandson of Tolui and great-great-grandson of Chinggis Khan, died. He was 30 years old. Such was the effort at prolonging his life. Immediately the various noyans supported different candidates; Taghachar and Qunchuqbal supported Arghun's cousin Baidu, another grandson of Hulegu, though Baidu himself seems to have been a reluctant candidate. However, the noyans Choban and Qurumshi backed Arghun's brother Geikhatu, the governor of Rum', a very wealthy man who controlled the Anatolian silver mines. Arghun's son Ghazan was an obvious contender, but was still occupied battling the rebelling Nawruz in the far east. Geikhatu, at a quriltai, won the day, and on July 23rd, 1291, was enthroned as the fifth Khan of the Ilkhanate. It is his reign we begin with in our next episode, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast to follow. If you'd like to help us continue bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Please also consider leaving us a positive review and rating on the podcast catcher of your choice, and sharing us with your friends; each one helps the podcast out alot. 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.
Now that we have gone through the Yuan Dynasty, Ogedeid Khanate and Chagatai Khanate, our attention comes to the other Mongol Khanate ruled by the descendants of Tolui; the Ilkhanate. Ruling Iran, Iraq, the Caucasus and the Anatolian peninsula to the borders of the Byzantine Empire, the Ilkhanate was among the most powerful, and also perhaps the best understood of the Khanates, due to a wonderful surviving library of historical works, best exemplified by the mammoth universal history the Ilkhanate's vizier, Rashid al-Din. For our first episode on the Ilkhanate, we look at its establishment by Hulegu and his son Abaqa, the first twenty years of the Ilkhanate's history which did much to define the final fifty years. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. As a brief aside, you can revisit a two part discussion between our series historian, Jack Wilson, with professor Michael Hope, a specialist on the Ilkhanate, which we have uploaded on all sites that host our podcast. We last left off with the Ilkhanate in episode 33 of our main series, on the Berke-Hulegu war, where Hulegu fought with his cousin Berke of the Golden Horde over the Caucasus in the early 1260s. Hulegu was the younger brother of Great Khan Mongke and of Khubilai. The third son of Tolui, they were grandsons of Chinggis Khan and thus of prestigious lineage. As we saw in episodes 28 and 29, Hulegu had been ordered by his brother Mongke in the 1250s to complete the conquest of southwestern Asia. Despite the claims of some Ilkhanid writers, or of modern historians who write of Khubilai and Hulegu being made viceroys of China and western Asia, respectively, it is highly unlikely Mongke had commissioned Hulegu to found a new Khanate. Rather, his role was almost certainly just a limited military one, assigned by his brother to complete the conquest so that the Middle East could be properly incorporated into the Central Governmental structure, or even territory that belonged directly to the Khan. Given Mongke's crackdown on the independence of the Ogedeids, Chagatayids and to a lesser extent, the Jochids, it seems unlikely he was setting up a vast area to become personal fief to another member of the family, even if it was his younger brother. Certainly, we can also ignore statements that this was land Chinggis Khan had granted specifically to the Toluids, or that the Ilkhanate emerged from a division of the empire following Chinggis' death in 1227. The conquest of Iran proper did not begin until after Chinggis' death, and it took until Hulegu in the 1250s for the Middle East to become territory of the house of Tolui. Infact, it seems much of this territory was considered, up until 1260 or so, as belonging to the house of Jochi. At least, the Jochids considered this to be the case. Whatever Mongke's intentions, as with so much, his plans were upset by his death on campaign in 1259. Hulegu was an important commander during Mongke's lifetime, but not necessarily one about to be appointed a long term governor. Though he had greatly expanded the Mongol Empire westwards and taken Baghdad, the territory that later became the Ilkhanate was divided between Jochids in the north, especially in the Caucasus and northern Iran but also scattered throughout the region; some Chagatayid territory in the east, namely in parts of Khurasan; and territory that belonged directly to the Great Khan, for whom it seemed Hulegu's conquests would all go to. Following Mongke's death, Hulegu essentially seized all these lands. Whether Hulegu had done this in order to declare his independence, or to take advantage of a primary lapse in imperial authority and then force Mongke's successor to recognize his gains, over 1260 Hulegu seized control of territory claimed by the Jochids and other branches of the family. The Jochid Khan, Berke, was particularly angered at the loss of the pastures and trade cities of the Caucasus, which Mongke had only shortly before re-confirmed for him. Hulegu did not return east to take part in the election of Mongke's successor or observe matters there, but thought of himself first, using the lull to enrich himself. It was this which precipitated war between the Jochids under Berke in 1262 over the Caucasus. As we addressed briefly in episode 30, it seems that following the sack of Baghdad in 1258, Hulegu began using the title of il-khan. While popularly translated as viceroy or subject khan, more recent scholarship has demonstrated that the title bore no such connotations of submission or subservience. Rather, it simply designated a sovereign in his own right. Most of the uses of the term il-khan reflect this usage in the historical sources, with rulers from Chinggis Khan himself to the Khans of the Golden Horde referred to as il-khan. By the start of the 1260s we can speak in earnest of Hulegu and his successors as the Ilkhans. We should expect that to contemporaries, Hulegu was understood as his own monarch in truth, whatever nominal allegiance he and his successors paid to Khubilai Khan and his heirs. From 1262 until his death of epilepsy in 1265, Hulegu was largely concerned with battling Berke Khan in Azerbaijan and Georgia in three years of on and off warfare. He made excuses to avoid traveling east to confirm Khubilai's enthronement as Great Khan after Ariq Boke's death. Between fighting the Jochids, Hulegu also had to clamp down on revolts and build a new administration. A number of local leaders in northern Iraq and western Iran who had already submitted to the Mongols revolted after the sack of Baghdad or the defeat at Ayn Jalut. All those who revolted were subjected to horrific punishments. The ruler of Mosul, Badruddin Lu'lu, died in 1261 aged 96, and his son Malik Shah revolted. Hulegu sent an army which brought the city to slaughter and rape the following year, and Maik Shah was tied to a post and covered in sheep's fat, which soon attracted flies. The resulting maggots born from their eggs then ate the poor man alive while he died of exposure in the Iraqi sun. Malik Shah's three year old son was cut in half and left hanging as a warning. Another revolting ruler in Mayyafariqan, upon being caught by the Mongols had pieces of his flesh cut off and stuffed into his mouth until he died. In Fars, the Salghurid Atabeg's actions brought the response of a Mongol army: it took until 1264 for the Atabeg to be caught and killed, and a cousin of his married to one of Hulegu's sons. Hulegu also began the building of his own imperial government. He did not merely co opt the existing Mongol bureaucracy. Much of Hulegu's territory had been previously overseen by the Mongol bureaucrat Arghun Aqa, the head of the Secretariat for Iran and Western Asia since the 1240s, first appointed to the post by Torogene Khatun. While most of Arghun Aqa's territorial jurisdiction was brought into Hulegu's new state, and Arghun Aqa continued to serve the Ilkhans until his death in 1275, Hulegu had to incorporate territory he himself had only recently conquered. He was strongly influenced by traditional Persian forms of government, due in part to the advice of prominent Persians in his retinue, Nasir al-Din Tusi and the Juvaini brothers. The older, Shams al-Din Juvaini, was made Hulegu's vizier, a position he would hold for the next twenty or so years. The younger Juvaini brother we have met often over the course of this series. ‘Ala al-Din ‘Ata-Malik Juvaini served in Hulegu's court during his campaigns against the Nizari Ismailis and Baghdad, and in turn ‘Ala al-Din was appointed to oversee Baghdad's reconstruction. We of course know him best as the author of the History of the World Conqueror, one of the single most important surviving historical sources on the Mongol Empire, and used as a source by other medieval authors like Rashid al-Din. Both Juvaini brothers were tasked with much of the rebuilding of the Iranian, Iraqi, Caucasian and Anatolian cities and their economies, which they approached diligently. It was not without Mongol custom though, for Hulegu's various sons, wives and lords were allotted territories to oversee in order to support themselves, the appanage system which so often stymied efforts by the central government to exert its powers. In addition, Hulegu established Maragha in northwestern Iran as his capital, and under the supervision of the brilliant scholar Nasir al-Din Tusi, began to make it a centre of learning and science. On Hulegu's order, Tusi built a great observatory there, and Hulegu provided pensions to artists and scholars in order to enhance his reputation; though Hulegu tended to show greater interest in alchemists who sought to turn things into gold for him. Additionally, Hulegu ordered the construction of palaces and temples and a number of other public works projects, for according to Rashid al-Din, Hulegu loved to build. In Rashid's time some forty years later, a number of Hulegu's projects still stood. Hulegu did not abandon nomadism, and instead, in a model followed by his successors, established a primary capital to house his treasury and governmental apparatus, a place on occasion visited by Hulegu, while Hulegu would spend most of his time with his herds and families in his pastures: generally in the rich, cooler pastures of Azerbaijan and northwestern Iran in the summer, and then to eastern Anatolia, northern Iraq or even Baghdad itself during the winters. Of course, there is also the matter of the Mamluks. The Mamluk Sultanate famously defeated a Mongol army under Ketbuqa Noyan at Ayn Jalut in September 1260. Hulegu did not see the matter as finished; before even the end of 1260, another small Mongol army invaded Syria, though it too was quickly defeated. This proved to be the final Mongol incursion into Syria for the 1260s. The borders with the Golden Horde in the Caucasus, the Qara'una and the Chagatai Khanate in Khurasan proved of greater concern. Only once other matters were settled would the Ilkhans be able to bring their attention to Syria and the Mamluks, but that long war we will cover in a following episode. Hulegu died in February 1265, a complication from the epilepsy he seemed to suffer from. He was buried on an island in the Caspian Sea with considerable treasure and apparently, human sacrifices. He was followed to the grave soon after by his chief wife, Dokuz Khatun. Aside from an aborted attempt by one son, Yoshmut, to throw his name in for the throne, apparently it was unanimously agreed by the notables of the Ilkhanate to elect Hulegu's oldest son, Abaqa. Abaqa may not have been born of Hulegu's chief wives, but he was the most senior of Hulegu's children in the Ilkhanate, since most of Hulegu's sons and wives were still in Mongolia at the time of his death. Abaqa had risen as his father's right hand, and had overseen the Ilkhanate's eastern Iranian and Khurasani territory. During the initial rounds of fighting against Berke Khan in the Caucasus, Abaqa had a key command role, though led his own forces into a humiliating defeat. For the nearly 17 years that Abaqa ruled over the Ilkhanate, he proved to be a steady and stabilizing, if unimaginative, monarch. Like his father, he was a capable enough manager though often had little care for the details of running the state. He shared his father's personal affection for Buddhism, but also continued his policy of general religious tolerance. While Buddhists temples were constructed, Abaqa showed himself a friend to all religions. To Chrisitans, Abaqa courted alliances with Catholic Europe and Eastern Christian, that is Nestorian, churches and representatives such as Rabban bar Sauma and Mar Yahballaha were patronized. One of Abaqa's wives was a daughter of the Byzantine Emperor Michael VIII, named Maria but called Despina Khatun by the Mongols. The Christian kingdom of Cilician Armenia was a favoured ally, and the churches in Greater Armenia, Georgia and the few Crusader holdouts on the coast were treated respectfully enough. The Armenians and Georgian sources treated Hulegu's wife, the Christian Dokuz Khatun, as a saintly figure who protected and patronized their churches, a second coming of Constantine I and his mother Helene. To Mongols, he ensured the respect of the yassa of Chinggis Khan and still favoured the Mongol elite and military. For Muslims, Abaqa relied on traditional Persian governmental institutions and his top members of the bureaucracy, especially the Juvaini brothers, were Muslims. Dokuz Khatun, despite her Christianity, had also showed patronage to Buddhist and Muslim public sites and places of worship. The prominence of the minority Christians and Buddhists in the Ilkhanate's administration and privileges were, however, a matter of contention for an empire with a Muslim-majority population, already unhappy to be ruled over by infidels. Abaqa's initial steps on his enthronement were to reconfirm the laws passed by his father and to keep most of his appointees in their offices. Shams al-Din Juvaini was maintained as vizier and sahib-diwan, while his brother ‘Ala al-Din ‘Ata-Malik was retained in Baghdad. Perhaps the greatest change in Abaqa's early days was moving the capital from Maragha to Tabriz, and appointing his brothers to the frontiers. Abaqa's early reign was caught up with the matter of dealing with his Mongolian kinsmen. Only weeks after his enthronement, Berke Khan and his commander Nogai unleashed another invasion on the Caucasus. You can revisit that war in more detail in episode 33, but after some inconclusive fighting Berke Khan died of illness en route to Tbilisi in 1266. The forces of the Jochids withdrew to select Berke's successor, and Abaqa in turn built a wall and deep ditch along the Kura River, the frontier between them in the Ilkhanate. Manned by Mongols and Muslims, we are told it allowed merchants to travel between the Ilkhanate and Golden Horde, but stood strong enough to dissuade any serious Jochid re-offensives for many years. At the end of the 1260s Abaqa then had to deal with the Chagatais. As looked at in episode 47 on the Chagatai Khanate, a peace agreement was reached around 1268 between the Chagatai Khan Baraq, the Ogedeid prince Qaidu, and the new Khan of the Golden Horde, Mongke-Temur. They agreed to a joint invasion of the Ilkhanate. Baraq encouraged the revolt of a Chagatai prince in the Ilkhanate, then followed up with an invasion in 1270. As we covered in detail in episode 47, Abaqa successfully had the revolting Chagatai prince captured and defeated Baraq at the battle of Herat in July 1270. Baraq was broken and fled back to the Chagatai Khanate, where he died in 1271, which precipitated Qaidu's rise to prominence over the Chagatais. Two years later, in 1273, Abaqa sent a large army to devastate one of the Chagatai Khanate's chief cities, Bukhara, a rather clear message. Qaidu recognized the display of Abaqa's power, and despite occasional border raids, the Chagatais would not threaten serious invasion of the Ilkhanate until the early fourteenth century during the reign of Esen Buqa Khan, seen in our second episode on the Chagatai Khanate. So clear was Abaqa's victory over Baraq that shortly afterwards, Mongke-Temur Khan of the Golden Horde sent gifts and peace offerings to Abaqa. Despite raids by the Neguderis, or Qara'unas, Mongol troops stationed in Afghanistan who had gone renegade, Abaqa for the rest of his reign had relatively calm relations with the Golden Horde and Chagatais. Following the battle of Herat, envoys came from Khubilai Khan bearing a yarligh, a decree which confirmed Abaqa as Khan. With this confirmation, Abaqa was enthroned a second time, and according to Rashid al-Din only then began to sit in thrones and wear his crown. So began a particular custom of the Ilkhans, in that they would have two enthronements. The first upon their initial election as Khan of the Ilkhanate, and the second following the arrival of an official decree from the Great Khan in China which confirmed the decision. This in many respects was the extent of the Ilkhans' submission to the Great Khans. While maintaining trade and diplomatic ties, the Great Khan could only confirm an election made in the Ilkhanate, and had no power to remove him from his office. Still, it remained a source of legitimacy and of adherence to the idea of a unified Mongol Empire, even if such a thing no longer existed. After a busy late 1260s, Abaqa slowed down in his operations in the 1270s. Much of his time was spent drinking or hunting, something he particularly loved, even if his timing and luck during hunting trips was not always great. Shortly after his first enthronement in 1265, his brother Yoshmut misfired an arrow that grazed Abaqa's neck. After his second enthronement in November 1270, Abaqa received a grievous wound to his hand from a bison. Though the bleeding was halted with an impromptu tourniquet from a bow string, the wound developed an abscess and became infected. In immense pain, Abaqa's physicians were reluctant to open up the abscess until convinced by Nasir al-Din Tusi that the procedure could be done. Under his supervision, Abaqa's wound was opened and cleaned, and the Il-Khan's pain immediately subsided. This was, by the way, Nasir al-Din's final known action. He is mentioned as dying only a few years later in 1274. Even if Abaqa spent more time hunting and drinking than with day to day governance, it did not mean the Ilkhanate was rudderless. Abaqa had the luxury to spend time how he wanted, due to the governorship of his vizier, Shams al-Din Juvaini. Shams al-Din and his brother ‘Ala al-Din ‘Ata-Malik were from a family of administrators, with both their father and grandfather officials of the Seljuq Sultans and the Khwarezm-shahs. ‘Ala al-Din had served in the administration of Arghun Aqa, the Mongol governor for most of western Asia from the 1240s until Hulegu's western advance, and been held in quite some esteem by the great bureaucrat. ‘Ala al-Din's own historical account, the History of the World Conqueror, features a lengthy and glowing biography of Arghun Aqa. Arghun Aqa continued in a post as the primary tax-collector of the Ilkhanate throughout Abaqa's reign, as well as governor of Khurasan, thereby remaining an important ally to the Juvainis. Attached to Hulegu's camp with the start of the prince's campaign, both Juvaini brothers rose in prominence under his eye. With the establishment of the Ilkhanate, Shams al-Din was made the chief minister of the state, the vizier, and the head of the diwan and chief financial officer, sahib-diwan, while ‘Ala al-Din ‘Ata-Malik was made governor of Baghdad to oversee its reconstruction. The sahib-diwan was the head of the Ilkhanate's civilian administration which was, to paraphrase Michael Hope's discussion on the matter in his Power, Politics and Tradition in the Mongol Empire and Ilkhanate Iran, responsible for provisioning the army, foreign relations, the post system, royal and public treasuries and collection of revenues. The sahib-diwan led a group of regional assistants who coordinated these activities through the provinces of the empire, based on the traditional Persian administration, the diwan. The Mongol addition was a sort of dual administration, wherein the regional operatives of the sahib-diwan were under the supervision of Mongol governors who held supreme authority. So, under Abaqa's reign ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini, the governor of Baghdad, acted as a sort of assistant or deputy to the Mongol governor of Arab Iraq, Khuzistan and Fars, Suqunjaq Aqa, or in Anatolia Mu'in al-Din Sulaiman worked alongside and under the Mongol governor, Samaghar Noyan. The military elite, the noyad, that is the heads of the family and military leaders, generally served as intermediaries between the diwan and the Ilkhan. The success of a given sahib-diwan rested on his ability to maneuver and work with the noyad. As such, the power and influence of the head of the Ilkhanate's civilian administration fluctuated widely, often relying on connections more often than ability. Shams al-din Juvaini was capable enough at this handling of the noyad, though over the late 1270s found himself increasingly undermined by the noyad and other officials. As usual, money brought a great deal of the trouble. The Juvainis became very wealthy over their tenure. It was not simply a case of needlessly enriching themselves, as they were expected to cover many of the costs of their operations themselves, from patronizing other officials, gift giving to bribes needed to keep things running smoothly, or supporting public projects and donations for the sake of the popular image of the empire and government. Shams al-Din Juvaini, it must be said, did seem to pay artists and poets great sums to spread good words about himself and speak of his magnificence. As with any administrator we've met in our overview of the Mongol Empire, these men made enemies - often by men who felt excluded from power- and had to appoint their own trusted men and family members to high positions in order to keep these areas out of the hands of enemies, or ensure they worked in agreement with the sahib-diwan. It had the side-effect though, of being nepotism and an easy charge for anyone to rally against. Sahib Shams al-Din found that his diwan was quite subservient to the needs of the military, and in many respects simply served as a means to provide for the noyad and their troops. As long as the money kept coming in for military needs, such as for Abaqa to move and supply troops from frontier to frontier to face Jochids, Chagatayids, Qara'unas and Mamluks, then Abaqa was usually fine to allow Shams al-Din to act autonomously. Though both Juvaini brothers had developed a kitchen cabinet of rivals and faced accusations, their positions rested secure until 1277. 1277 proved a hallmark year for Abaqa, the Juvainis, and the Ilkhanate itself. That year, the Mamluk Sultan Baybars led a devastating invasion into Mongol ruled Anatolia, defeating a large Mongol army at Elbistan, advancing as far west as Kayseri before withdrawing back to Syria, where died that summer. The Mamluk and Ilkhanid frontier in Syria had not moved much since the immediate aftermath of Ayn Jalut in 1260, but Baybars had gradually been pushing up along the coastline, attacking, harassing and conquering the Il-Khan's allies, the Crusader states and the Kingdom of Cilician Armenia. In 1265 following Hulegu's death, Baybars conquered Caesarea, Haifa, Arsuf, and Galilee; in 1268, Baybars took Antioch; in 1271, he took Krak des Chaveliers and almost took Tripoli. When Abaqa's attention was elsewhere, the Mamluk raided Cilician Armenia. In Anatolia, the Mongols ruled over the shattered remnants of the Seljuq Sultanate of Rum, in an administration headed by Mu'in al-Din Sulaiman, better known as the Pervane. The Pervane was the dominant figure of the rump state of the Seljuqs of Rum: the Seljuq Sultan, Ghiyath al-Din Kaykhusraw III, was a young boy, so the Pervane acted as co-governor with Samaghar Noyan, his Mongolian counterpart. The two had a stable relationship, but when Abaqa appointed his younger brother Ejei to replace Samaghar, the Pervane chafed under the increased financial burden and supervision, and asked Abaqa to recall his brother, claiming Ejei was in cooperation with Baybars. Abaqa promised to recall him, but delayed. In his frustration, the Pervane reached out to Baybars. The Sultan's curiosity was piqued, but didn't commit; by the time his response reached the Pervane in 1274, Ejei and Samaghar had been replaced by Toqa Noyan, and the Pervane didn't respond. Under Toqa Noyan, Mongol pressure was even greater in Anatolia, and the Pervane's powers were limited. What follows is a terrible mess of political machinations. The Pervane got Toqa Noyan removed, Ejei was reinstated, the Pervane's efforts to remove Ejei again frustrated Abaqa, who removed Ejei, killed some of his followers and reinstated the Pervane and Toqa Noyan. In November 1275, the Mongols besieged al-Bira, a major Mamluk fort on the Euphrates River in Syria, but Baybars had learned of it in advance allegedly due to the Pervane. After this, the Pervane was careful to rebuild trust with Abaqa, bringing him the Seljuq Sultan's sister to wed. At the same time, with or without the Pervane's support a group of Rumi amirs met with Baybars in July 1276, urging him to attack. Judging there was enough support in Rum for him, Baybars agreed, mobilized his army over winter 1276 and set out in February 1277. The result was Baybars' devastating raid into Anatolia. Though the Pervane refused to meet with Baybars, staying instead in his fortress at Tokat, this did nothing to ease Abaqa's fury. Abaqa arrived in Anatolia swiftly with an army but missed Baybars, and in his wrath demanded every living thing between Kayseri and Erzurum be massacred. Only with difficulty did Shams al-Din Juvaini talk the Il-Khan out of such horror, and was convinced to sate himself with only sacking the nearby city of Siwas executing leaders of local Turkoman tribes. When Abaqa's threatened invasion of Syria could not materialize due to the summer heat, he returned to his Azerbaijani pastures and summoned the Pervane to him. Only reluctantly did the Pervane arrive on his master's bidding, where he was charged and put to death. Allegedly, his flesh was eaten by Abaqa and the senior Mongols. Though Shams al-Din Juvaini was moved to Anatolia to oversee reconstruction there, Abaqa's trust in his civilian officials was greatly broken. Now was the time for the enemies of the Juvainis to strike. Majd al-Mulk Yazdi, a former protege of Shams al-Din who felt wronged by him, reported that the Juvainis had been in cooperation with the Mamluks and had assisted Baybars in invading Anatolia, based on words from one of Shams al-Din's deputies. Abaqa had the deputy interrogated and beaten, but the man refused to condemn Shams al-Din, saving the vizier from charges. Majd al-Mulk fell out of favour and into destitution, and in an attempt to win him over Shams al-Din donated a considerable sum of money to him. When Abaqa was in Khurasan in 1280 dealing with a Qara'una attack, Majd al-Mulk moved again. This time he met with Abaqa's son, Arghun, and reporting that not only were the Juvainis still in correspondence with the Mamluks, but they were also embezzling huge amounts from the royal treasury. Claiming that Shams al-Din's donation was actually hush money to keep him quiet, Majd al-Mulk convinced Prince Arghun of the treachery of the Juvainis. Arghun told Abaqa of it on his return from campaign, but it took until the spring of 1281 when Majd al-Mulk met with Abaqa in person and reported it, for Abaqa to react. An angered Abaqa finally moved, arresting the Juvainis and ordering their accounts investigated. Luckily for Shams al-Din, he was able to petition one of Abaqa's wives, Oljei Khatun, to convince Abaqa of their innocence. Though Majd al-Mulk did not succeed in this attempt, he was not out of favour, and Abaqa appointed him as an official check with Shams al-Din in a sort of co-vizier role. From this position, Majd al-Mulk focused his plots against Shams al-Din's brother, the governor of Baghdad ‘Ala al-Din ‘Ata-Malik Juvaini, the historian. The same charges were employed; accusations of embezzlement, treachery, etc. Majd al-Mulk's timing was good, for it caught Abaqa in a particularly foul mood. Late in 1281, Abaqa's younger brother Mongke-Temur had been sent with an army into Syria against the Mamluks. Abaqa had been supposed to join him, but had instead wasted time hunting. While he was hunting, the inexperienced Mongke-Temur suffered a humiliating defeat at Homs against the Mamluk Sultan Qalawun. Abaqa was, as you might expect, rather furious. He spent winter 1281 in Baghdad making plans to invade Syria himself. While there, Majd al-Mulk convinced upon Abaqa of ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini's crimes. ‘Ala al-Din was arrested, then freed by Abaqa, then fined millions of gold pieces. Unable to pay the fines upon an audit, Majd al-Mulk had ‘Ala al-Din beaten and dragged through the streets of Baghdad. Only Abaqa's death saved him. Abaqa left Baghdad at the start of 1282 and travelled to Hamadan, where he partook in that favourite Mongol princely tradition, a night of binge drinking. The following morning he was dead, having been struck in his final moments, according to Rashid al-Din, with a vision of black bird perched in a tree. Ordering an archer to shoot at it, no bird could be found, but upon the realization Abaqa was dead. Abaqa's nearly twenty year rule had a significant effect on the Ilkhanate, a period of consolidation and continuation from the years of his father, Hulegu. Abaqa managed to keep the military and civilian government largely balanced, oversaw reconstruction after the conquests and secured his border from powerful neighbours. Recognizing the nominal supremacy of the Great Khan, Abaqa proved a formidable presence in western Asia, and with only brief exceptions, the longevity of his reign would ensure that his family would dominate the Ilkhanate until its dissolution. Yet Abaqa overlooked problems facing his kingdom, leaving his successors to deal with a proud military element that would only grow to seek more influence at the expense of the Ilkhan and the civilian administration. We will be exploring these topics and the period following Abaqa's death in the next episodes, so 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, 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.
Genghis Khan declares "Mission Accomplished" in the Middle East and sends two of his greatest generals, Subutai and Jebe, off to Europe to introduce themselves. They accidentally almost conquer it, before they remember they're not supposed to. It's a cracking yarn, stay a while and listen.
Back in our 15th episode of this series, we looked at Khwarezmian prince Jalal al-Din Mingburnu's exploits in India in the early 1220s. Having fled there after Chinggis Khan's devastating invasion of the Khwarezmian Empire, Jalal al-Din's flight brought India to the attention of the Mongols. While Chinggis Khan did not invade the subcontinent, this was not the last that India would see of the Mongols. In today's episode, we return to northern India, dominated by the Sultanate of Delhi, and look at its interactions with the Mongols who repeatedly raided its borders. Why the Delhi Sultans, from Iltutmish, Balban to Alauddin Khalji were able to largely successfully resist the Mongols will be examined, over nearly the century of Mongol-Delhi interactions. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. The Delhi Sultanate arose from the ruins of the Ghurid Empire which had stretched from Afghanistan to Bengal. The Ghurids, or Shansabanids, had been a regional power in central Afghanistan emerging in the ninth century but were subdued by the Ghaznavids, also known as the Yamanids, a persianised Turkic dynasty which dominated much of the Iranian world up to the borders of India from the tenth to the twelfth centuries. The Ghaznavids under their great expander, the mighty Mahmud of Ghazna, reduced the Ghurids to a subject state early in the eleventh century, though in turn the Ghaznavids were pushed from Iran by the Seljuqs with the famous battle of Dandanaqan in 1040, and became tributary to the Seljuqs under their Sultan Sanjar at the start of the twelfth century. In this time, the Ghurid elite converted from Buddhism to Islam, and could be said to have bided their time. The Seljuqs weakened over the twelfth century with the arrival of the Qara-Khitai, the Ghuzz Turk invasions and independence of the Khwarezmian Empire in the north. In turn, the weakness of the Seljuqs advanced the weakness of the Ghaznavids, which provided an opportunity for the Ghurids to rise in the second half of the twelfth century. Under the brilliant leadership of Mu'izz al-Din Muhammad Ghuri, better known simply as Muhammad of Ghor, and his brother Ghiyath al-Din, the Ghurids conquered the remnants of the Ghaznavids. Repulsing invasions by the Ghuzz Turks and proving a staunch foe to the Qara-Khitai and Khwarezm-Shahs, Muhammad of Ghor received backing from the Caliph and expanded across the region. By the end of his life, he had forged an empire stretching from eastern Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan across Northern India to Bengal. Muhammad of Ghor's military might rested in large part on his loyal ghulams, Turkic slave soldiers, though over the thirteenth century the term gave way to mamluk. A similar institution existed in the form of the Ottoman janissaries. While it was common for any good regional warlord to employ nomadic Turkic tribes due to their military prowess, they often proved unreliable and self-interested. For the conquest-minded Muhammad of Ghor, he could not put much stock on nomad chiefs who may value their own advancement over Muhammad's glory. Instead, Muhammad looked to the classic islamic institution of slave soldiers. Ghulams and Mamluks were young boys, generally sold by enemy Turkic tribes, that were brought into the Islamic world and raised from birth to be elite soldiers. Generally having already some horse and archery skills from their youth, these boys were converted to Islam and given the finest training in military matters, with top of the line equipment, weapons and horses, in addition to receiving education and even salaries. The result was a core of fierce warriors loyal not to any tribal or family ties, but to their fellow ghulams and their master, who sheltered and provided for them. No shortage of Islamic princes lamented on how their ghulams tended to be more loyal than their own sons; the sons awaited only the death of the father, while the ghulams wanted only his glory. Famously, the child-less Muhammad of Ghor is supposed to have remarked that, while other monarchs could have a few sons, he had thousands in the form of his ghulams. The source of many of Muhammad of Ghor's ghulams were various Qipchap Turkic tribes from the great steppe. As in late Ayyubid and early Mamluk Egypt, and indeed much of the islamic world, the Cuman-Qipchaqs were prized as warriors. His ghulams proved themselves in combat repeatedly. Though supported by local tribes, both Turkic and Pashtun, Muhammad of Ghor over his life increasingly relied on his ghulams, and in time they commanded his armies and acted as his governors. Attacking the Hindu kingdoms of northern India at the close of the twelfth century, Muhammad of Ghor had to return to Afghanistan to face the Khwarezm-Shah Tekish, and Tekish's son Muhammad. Muhammad bin Tekish, of course, we know best as the gentleman who antagonized Chinggis Khan some two decades later. In Muhammad of Ghor's absence fighting the Khwarezmians, his ghulams like Qutb ad-Din Aybeg were left to command his troops and govern his territories in India. And these same loyal ghulams, upon the childless Muhammad of Ghor's assassination in 1206, then quite loyally tore the Ghurid empire to pieces, each one declaring himself master of his own domain. Qutb ad-Din Aybeg claimed Delhi, and though he tried to establish a dynasty, his early death in 1210 in a polo accident resulted in his young son pushed out by one of his own ghulams, his son-in-law Shams-ud-Din Iltutmish. Iltutmish, a Qipchaq like Aybeg, consolidated the Delhi Sultanate as one of the chief powers of northern India. So began the first of five separate Turko-Afghan dynasties that would rule the Delhi Sultanate over the next three centuries. Because of the ghulam, or mamluk origin of the first dynasty, the first dynasty of the Delhi Sultanate is sometimes known as the Mamluk Sultanate of Delhi, sometimes to mirror the contemporary Qipchaq founded Mamluk Sultanate of Egypt. For the next two hundred years, their foreign policy on their northern border was defined by the Mongol Empire and its successor states. Relations between the Delhi Sultanate and Mongols began in the 1220s, in the middle of Iltutmish's reign, when Chinggis Khan himself rode to their borders chasing the Khwarezmian Prince Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, son of the late Khwarezm-Shah Muhammad II. Chinggis did not invade India, though he sent some forces to pursue Jalal al-Din in India. According to the Persian writer Juvaini, Chinggis actually did advance some days into the Punjab, having hoped to find a route that would allow him to march around the Himalayas and attack the Jin Dynasty from the south, but could not find such a road. Other medieval sources and modern historians offer alternative explanations for Chinggis' refusal to spend more time in India, with reasons ranging from respect for Delhi's neutrality, the heat of northern India, bad omens, Delhi's diplomacy appeasing the Khan through token submission, to the simple fact that Chinggis may not have had interest expanding into a new, unknown territory while already dealing with much of Iran, Central Asia and China, with Chinggis intending all along to return to China and deal with the Jin and Tangut. We discussed the matter more in episodes 9 and 15. As it was, Chinggis returned to the east, and died while on campaign against the Tangut in 1227. As we saw in episode 15, Jalal al-Din spent a few years in India making a mess of things, nearly attacking Delhi before withdrawing to Iran after a massive coalition of the post-Ghurid and Hindu forces threatened him. The great consequences of Mingburnu's time in India was that he and the Mongols sent to pursue him greatly undermined Iltutmish of Delhi's other Ghurid rivals in the northwest and the Punjab. Thanks to wars between the Khwarezmian and Mongol forces, Iltutmish over the late 1220s and 1230s gradually absorbed the other post-Ghurid powers up to the Indus River. In addition, he became overlord of a number of regional Hindu kingdoms; some have for this region compared the Delhi Sultanate to a collection of subkingdoms. By Iltutmish's death in 1236, the Delhi Sultanate was the great power of northern India and the Gangetic plain, from the Indus to Bengal, with recognition from the Caliph as the only Muslim sovereign in India, and indeed, one of the mightiest Muslim rulers in the world. However, in Iltutmish's final years the Mongol presence on his border increased. When Chormaqun Noyan and his army entered Iran at the start of the 1230s to complete the conquest of the region and finish off Jalal al-Din -something we discussed in detail in episode 15- a portion of his force was sent into southeastern Iran and Khurasan, which included modern Afghanistan. The remnants of the empire Jalal al-Din Mingburnu had left in Afghanistan and India submitted to the Mongols, and the Mongol Empire now directly bordered the Delhi Sultanate. A tamma force under Dayir was stationed in Afghanistan, and part of the duty of the tamma was to disrupt the states along the borders of the Mongol Empire. As such, Mongol raids into the Punjab and Sind began with increasing regularity in the late 1230 and 40s, which proved difficult for Iltutmish's troubled successors. Iltutmish's eldest son and heir had been groomed for the throne, but his premature death in Bengal was a severe blow to the Sultan. A younger son, Rukn ud-Din Firoz Shah, ultimately succeeded Iltutmish, but the youth enjoyed alcohol and good times more than the complicated court machinations and governance. The boy's mother acted as the true governor, using her power to take out her grievances. It was not a winning combination. Within months a rebellion removed Firoz Shah and his mother from the scene, which placed Iltutmish's daughter Raziyya on the throne. Famous as the only female Muslim monarchs in India's history, and popularly known as Raziyya Sultana, her ascension owed much to the strong Turkic force in the government, many of whom were only recent converts to Islam. Some are known to have been denizens of the former Qara-Khitai empire, which had influential women empresses, and therefore the prospect of a woman ruling in her own name was not as dreadful to them. Apparently Raziyya had been expected to act as a figurehead, though proved herself, in the vein of all good Qipchap women, to be very assertive and insisted on a prominent, public role. Enjoying horseback archery and riding elephants in public, she supposedly even dressed as a man. Seeking to expand her powerbase, she sought to create additional sources of support in competition to the Turkic ghulams. Her appointees to power included Ghuris, Tajiks, Hindus and even Africans. The ghulams did not appreciate it, and by 1240 Raziyya was deposed and, after a brief attempt to restore her to the throne, killed in favour of her brother, Bahram Shah. So ended the brief reign of perhaps the most well known female Muslim monarch. Her brother and successor Bahram Shah did not long enjoy the throne. A brave and often blood thirsty individual, his effort to totally remove the powerful Turkic aristocracy, increasingly showing itself a rival to power to the Sultan, resulted in his commanders storming Delhi and killing him only two years into his reign. Bahram Shah's most notable act was appointing Juzjani, a refugee from Khwarezm, as grand qadi of Delhi. Minhaj-i-SIraj Juzjani is one of the most important sources for the period, writing a mammoth history in the 1250s. We've visited it often in the course of this series to generally remark on his well known hatred of the Mongols but it is a key for the early history of the Delhi Sultanate. His great history, the Tabaqat-i-nasiri, was translated into English in the late nineteenth century by Major Raverty, and can be found in two volumes free to download by archive.org. After Sultan Bahram Shah's death, he was succeeded by Rukn ud-Din Firoz's son, ‘Ala al-Din Mas'ud Shah. Despite having gained the throne with the support of the Turkic aristocracy, like his predecessors Mas'ud shah sought to weaken them. His four year reign ended with his death at the hands of the youngest surviving son of Iltutmish, Mahmud Shah. From 1246 until 1266, Mahmud proved the longest reigning of Iltutmish' sons. He was though, the most ineffective, and gradually found himself reduced to puppet by his na'ib, Balban, who we will return to shortly. While these political upheavals rocked the capital, the Mongols pressed on the northwestern border. In 1241 a Mongol force under Bahadur Tair took Lahore, and Multan was captured in 1245, and by the 1250s, Sind and the Punjab were largely under Mongol control and Mongol raids were a nearly annual occurrence. By the reign of Mahmud Shah, the authority of the Delhi monarch, both within his court and northern India, had declined dramatically. Fortunately for the Delhi Sultan, no full Mongol invasion yet threatened, but the stream of refugees from Iran and Central Asia must have brought constant news of the Mongol terror. Juzjani certainly reported seemingly every rumour he heard, and was certainly under the impression that at least some of the Mongol leadership, particularly Chagatai, favoured the extermination of Islam. The learned and informed in Delhi must have feared greatly what would happen if the Mongols pushed the advantage while Delhi was in the midst of another coup. Sultan Mahmud Shah bin Iltutmish was overshadowed by his wazir and eventual successor Balban, who changed Delhi policy to the Mongols. An Ölberli Qipchaq and ghulam, Balban had risen in influence over the 1240s, and finally between 1246 and 1249 was raised to the viceroyalty, his might beneath only the Sultan himself. Often, you will see him referred to as a member of the “Forty,” or the “Forty Chiefs.” These were, if you believe some modern writers, forty ghulams of Sultan Iltutmish who acted as kingmakers in Delhi since Iltutmish's death. However, as pointed out by historians like Peter Jackson, the “Forty” are only mentioned by Ziya' al-Din Barani, an official writing in Persian in the Delhi Sultanate in the mid-fourteenth century. No other source on Delhi from the thirteenth or fourteenth centuries, especially the more contemporary Juzjani, mention such a distinct coalition. It seems likely that “Forty” refers to the fact that these men commanded corps of forty elite men; such groups are mentioned in other contemporary sources, and the same organization was present in the Mamluk Sultanate of Egypt at the same time. The “Forty” was not some provisional governmental body composed of forty men who tried to exert their power over the Sultans, but rather Barani's way to refer to the influential members of the aristocracy and elite- many of whom were Qipchaq Turks, but including Ghuris, Tajiks and even Hindus- who were associated with the military elite and had a vested interest in remaining influential, and were no monolithic body. Balban was a part of this elite, a man experienced with command and the court. From 1249 through to 1266, with only a brief break, Balban was the #2 man in the Delhi Sultanate, the na'ib, who handled government himself, styled himself Ulugh Khan and married his daughter to the Sultan. Sultan Mahmud Shah turned into a shadowy figure behind Balban's power. In 1266, Mahmud Shah and his children died in unclear, but almost certainly not natural, circumstances, and Balban took the throne himself. So ended the line of Iltutmish. After many years in the viceroyalty, Balban had moved his allies and friends into prominent positions of power, and thus held the throne securely. He was therefore able to finally act more aggressively towards the Mongols. Initially, diplomacy under Mahmud Shah and Balban had sought to appease the Mongols, and envoys from Hulegu in the 1250s had been honoured and respected, friendly relations urged. Considering the size and might of Hulegu's army, it was a wise decision. But following Hulegu's death in 1265, the outbreak of civil war between the Mongols and Balban's direct seizure of the throne in 1266, Balban went on the offensive. On his order, the Sultanate retook Multan and Lahore by force. Balban worked to fortify India's rugged border through building forts garrisoned by the various mountain tribes. Further, Balban welcomed Mongols, Persian and Central Asian refugees fleeing the Mongol civil wars in the 1260s, and gave many of them military positions which provided the Delhi Sultans' with knowledge of Mongolian military tactics. Similar to the Mamluks of Egypt, Mongol refugees were valuable immigrants and their flight was welcomed. Supposedly entire neighbourhoods in Delhi were formed from the Mongols who fled there. Some of these men of Mongol background came to positions of great prominence, after their conversion to Islam of course. Under Balban and his successors, these neo-Muslims, as they were called by Barani, were given command of armies and powerful positions close to the Sultan. One of these men was a member of the Khalaj tribes, named Jalal al-Din. Beginning in the 1260s, the source of the Mongol incursions into India changed. Rather than an imperial effort, it became led by the Neguderis based in southern Afghanistan, known also as the Qaraunas. With the outbreak of war between the Ilkhanate and Golden Horde, the Ilkhan Hulagu had attacked the Jochid forces who had been a part of his army. Many fled to southern Afghanistan under their general Neguder, becoming a local and unruly power the Ilkhan and Chagatai princes sought to control. From then on, the Neguderis undertook nearly annual raids into India's northwestern frontier. Over Balban's long reign he often still relied on diplomacy to keep the Mongols at bay in between periods of fighting. While he consolidated Delhi's hold on northern India, Balban expanded southwards and restored the Delhi Sultante's hegemony after a nadir in the 1240s. While often successful and gaining valuable experience with Mongol tactics, Balban received a great shock in 1285 when his favourite son and heir, Muhammad Shah, governor of Lahore, Multan and Dipalpur, was killed in a vicious Mongol attack on Multan. The once vigorous Balban lived the rest of his life quietly, and largely retired from governance, dying in 1287, succeeded by an inept grandson named Kayqubad. Of the eight sultans who reigned between 1236 and 1296, Sultan Balban was the only one known to have died of natural causes. Sultan Kayqubad's reign ended quickly, and following his murder in 1290, Jalal al-Din Khalji established the second dynasty of the Delhi Sultanate, the Khalji dynasty. The name Khalji refers to their background, for their family came from Khalaj tribesmen of what is now Afghanistan.While generally later medieval and modern biographers have seen the Khalaj as a Turkic people, the indication from contemporary sources is that they were seen as a group distinct from the Turks- perhaps due to not being associated with horsemanship or ghulams. The Khalaj were originally Turkic speakers, but over centuries had mingled with the various Pashtun peoples of Afghanistan. The Pashtun are a branch of the Iranian peoples, speaking a language from the Eastern Iranic language family. While associated with the Pashtun, the Khalaj were distinct from them; Juzjani, during his writing in the 1250s, always distinguished the Khalaj from Turks, Persians and Pashtuns. As such, you will often find the Khalji remarked as a Turko-Afghan dynasty. Individuals of Khalaj stock were certainly raised to prominent positions under the Khalji Sultans, but contrary to some statements, it was not a replacement of the existing multi-ethnic, but still largely Turkic nobility, but a mere another addition to it, just one group among Turks, Mongols, Hindus, Persians and more. Around 70 years old when he became Sultan in 1290, Jalal al-Din Khalji first appeared in Mongol service. According to the fourteenth century Ilkhanate historian Wassaf, Jalal al-Din had held command over the Khalaj on behalf of the Mongol appointed governor of Binban, west of the Indus River. A fifteenth century source identifies Jalal al-Din's father as Yughrush, the name of the Khalaj Amir who is known to have taken part in a Mongol embassy to Delhi in 1260. In the ebb and flow of frontier fortunes, perhaps falling out with the Mongols or too ambitious for the existing climate, at some point in the 1260s Jalal al-Din and a body of his men fled to the Delhi Sultanate to offer their services to Sultan Balban, who rewarded them a position on the frontier against the Mongols. This was part of a growing trend in the second half of the thirteenth century. Whereas Iltutmish and the early Sultans had given command of the borders to men trained as ghulams or mamluks, under Balban and the Khaljis the border with the Mongols was increasingly defended by Turkic tribal leaders, who came with their own retinues and forces. Many had even been in Mongol service and therefore had intimate experience with them. It was a position for any ambitious general to develop a reputation, experience and a sizable military following. Jalal al-Din's prominence grew over the reign of Balban as he built his reputation against the Mongols. In the reign of Balban's grandson Kayqubad, Jalal al-Din Khalji was invited to Delhi to assist against Kayqubad's court rivals. Despite becoming Kayqubad's regent, it did little good for the young sultan who was soon murdered, and Jalal al-Din seized power in the aftermath, though faced stiff court resistance throughout his reign. Sultan Jalal al-Din Khalji is generally portrayed as downright mild-mannered. A devout and forgiving Muslim, often shown to be extraordinarily benevolent and generous to his subjects, he was also very capable miltiarily, personally leading armies against independent Hindu kingdoms and Mongols invaders, a great contrast to Sultan Balban who only rarely headed armies during his long dominance. One of his most notable victories came at Bar-Ram in 1292, where when a ceasefire was declared, some 4,000 of the Mongols under their Prince decided to stay in India after converting to Islam. Sultan Jalal al-Din also cultivated good relations with the Ilkhans. A notable exception to the Sultan's demeanor, an outright moral failing in the view of his medieval biographers like Barani, was the brutal murder of a famous sufi whose hospice was found to be attached to a conspiracy against him. Jalal al-Din Khalji's violent reaction was rather unusual for him, given his general clemency to others who plotted against him. The general kindness, almost certainly overstated, made him appear weak to his ambitious nephew, Alauddin. In 1296 Alauddin Khalji killed his uncle, and arrested and blinded his sons and their allies, and thus usurped power in the Sultanate. So began the reign of the most famous Delhi Sultan. You may know him best as the primary antagonist in the recent Bollywood film, Padmavat, where he is portrayed by Indian actor Ranveer Singh. Alauddin Khalji was not noted for any benevolence, but for his cunning, ruthlessness, and paranoia alongside an iron will and exceptional military ability. Cruel but highly capable, his reign began with a large Neguderi incursion, attacking Multan, Sind and Lahore. Alauddin's commanders Ulugh Khan and Zafar Khan were mobilized with a larger army than the Mongols, and at Jaran-Manjur defeated them, capturing many men, women and children and executing them. Alauddin Khalji initiated a number of reforms to strengthen his control and prepare against Mongol invasions. Most of these were directed to enlarging the Delhi military and making it more effective, and building new fortifications. His army and officers were paid in cash and the Sultan had personal control over the army, rather than leaving it in the hands of his amirs. Economic reforms were undertaken as well, with high taxes, up to 50% of each crop, and efforts to prevent hoarding to keep prices low, making it cheaper to feed his men. His position was strengthened by a strong spy network and his loyal eunuch and possible lover, Malik Kefar, who secured him from court intrigues. Alauddin Khalji showed exceptional cruelty as he waged war against Mongol and Hindu alike. His wars in Gujarat were accompanied by the destruction of hundreds of Hindu temples and the massacres of men, women and children. The only extant history written in the reign of Sultan Alauddin, that of Amir Khusrau, speaks of the sultan killing some 30,000 Hindus in a single day during his 1303 campaign in Chittoor. In the words of Khusrau, he cut them down as if they were nothing but dry grass. Alauddin's conquest of the independent Hindu kingdom of Ranthambore in Rajasthan in 1301, a state which had long held out against the Delhi Sultans, was an event which has since held significance in Indian memory. A number of later poems were written on the fall of Ranthambore which have done much to cement Alauddin's legacy for Indians as a cruel tyrant with a near genocidal hatred for Hindus. Whether Alauddin actually carried such hatred for Hindus, or this was a consequence of a violent imitation of the cruelty associated with the very successful Mongols, is of little consolation for the many thousands killed on his order. While these developments were occurring within the Sultanate, to the north was a major shift in the Mongol territory, largely covered in our second episode on the Chagatai Khanate and on Qaidu Khan. With Qaidu's influence, Du'a was appointed as Khan over the Chagatai Khanate. Splitting rule of central Asia between them, Du'a and his oldest and favourite son, Qutlugh Khwaja, were able to finally bring the fearsome Neguderis, or Qara'unas, under their power in the 1290s. Qutlugh Khwaja was given command over them. While Qaidu and Du'a focused on the border with Khubilai Khan in the northeast, Qutlugh Khwaja from his southern base turned the Chagatayid-Neguderi attention to India in the closing years of the thirteenth century. The reasons for this are unclear: we lack sources from the Chagatai perspective, but Ilkhanid and Indian sources give Du'a an intense interest in India. India was famously wealthy and barring raids into the Punjab, was largely untouched by the Mongols. Further, the defeats suffered in the previous incursions into India needed to be avenged, much like Khubilai and his wrath towards Japan or the Ilkhans towards the Mamluk Sultanate. While the Chagatayids could feel they lacked the ability to make great gains against the Ilkhanate or the Yuan, they could have felt a haughtiness to the Turkic and Hindu forces that awaited them in India, and therefore anticipated easy successes. While generally the Mongol attacks on India are termed as raids, intended for plunder and undertaken on the direction of individual Neguderi chiefs, the most serious invasions which threatened the Delhi Sultanate occurred on Du'a's order. The 1296 attack was already noted, and two years later another Mongol force was sent into India. Alauddin Khalji's army under Ulugh Khan was campaigning in Gujarat when the Mongols attacked in 1298. The commander left in Delhi, Zafar Khan, was able to raise a large army and defeat the Mongols, once more driving them back across the border. The residents of the Sultanate, despite having repulsed attacks before, were not unaware of the destruction caused by the Mongols: many of the new inhabitants of Delhi over the previous decades had been refugees fleeing Mongol terror. Each Mongol attack was therefore a cause for panic and fear. Thus, Zafar Khan was very popular after his victory, which may have given the always suspicious Sultan Alauddin concern over his loyalty. It was not unfounded that a prominent general with enough reputation could make a claim for the throne: Alauddin's own uncle Jalal al-Din had done just that. In late 1298 or 1299 began the most serious Mongol invasion of India. On the orders of Du'a Khan, his sons Qutlugh Khwaja and Temur Buqa marched with 50-60,000 Neguderi and Chagatai horsemen over the border. According to sources like Barani, the purpose of this assault was expressly for conquest, and even if we cannot corroborate it from the Chagatai perspective it is evident that this was a serious undertaking compared to earlier attacks. With the arrival of Qutlugh Khwaja's army, greater than any preceding it, the Sultanate erupted into panic. Qutlugh Khwaja intended to make his mark as the next great Mongol conqueror. The sources have Qutlugh Khwaja bypassing villages to maximize speed, intending to strike directly at the city of Delhi itself while the Sultan's army was once again on campaign in Gujarat. At the River Jumna, Zafar Khan confronted Qutlugh but was defeated and forced to retreat to Delhi. News of the defeat of the heroic Zafar Khan caused thousands to abandon their homes in fear, and the capital was soon flooded with refugees flying before the oncoming army. Famine, overcrowding and fear now gripped Delhi as the swarm drained its resources, all while Qutlugh Khwaja closed in. Alauddin held a council with his generals in the city, where he was advised to abandon the capital: the Mongols were too numerous, too powerful and too close for them to stand a chance. Alauddin trusted his sword however, and raised what forces he could. Some 24 kilometres north of Delhi, Alauddin Khalji met Qutlugh Khwaja at a site called Kili. While the sources give Alauddin a force of some 300,000 men with 2,700 war elephants, it is nigh impossible Alauddin suddenly put together and supplied an army of such a size on short notice. Modern estimates give a more feasible number at around 70,000 with 700 elephants, still a huge army that likely outnumbered the Mongols. Both forces deployed in the standard formation for steppe armies, a center and two wings. The Sultan took the Delhi center, while Zafar Khan commanded the right wing and Ulugh Khan the left, with elephants dispersed among the three groups. Like the Mongols, the Delhi forces relied on Turkic horse archers, light and heavy cavalry, with much of their army experienced in the same style of warfare as the Mongols. Zafar Khan, looking to avenge his defeat on the Jumna, led the first charge, attacking the Mongol left flank, which broke before him. Zafar gave chase to drive them from the field, but as he was led further away from the rest of the army, he soon found that he had fallen for a feigned retreat. Zafar was encircled, the Noyan Taraghai leading the ambush. Zafar realized that he had been left to die: the Sultan made no effort to rescue the clearly doomed force, his mistrust of his subordinate's growing popularity being too great. Abandoned and surrounded, Zafar gave his best until he was captured. Qutlugh Khwaja was impressed by Zafar's courage, and offered to let him join the Mongols, where surely his bravery would be appreciated, even offering to make him Sultan of Delhi. Zafar Khan was to the end loyal to his Sultan, and refused, and Qutlugh Khwaja ordered the execution of him and all his men and elephants. With this victory, Qutlugh Khwaja was poised to defeat Alauddin and conquer the Sultanate. At this point however, the Mongol forces retreated. It seems that at some point over the course of the battle, perhaps in a final struggle during the execution of Zafar Khan's troops, Qutlugh Khwaja was seriously injured, causing his army to retreat. Before he could make it back home, Qutlugh died of his injuries. The Chagatais had lost their prince and another invasion, and Du'a Khan his eldest son, with little to show for it. This defeat did not end the Mongol invasions of India though, as Noyan Taraghai attacked in 1303 while Alauddin was returning from campaigning in Chittoor where his forces suffered heavy losses. Much of his army was still occupied besieging a major Hindu stronghold. Isolated and besieged near Delhi, inconclusive fighting continued for two months as Sultan Alauddin led a grim resistance. The approaching summer heat and the stalemate tested Taraghai's patience, and he too retreated, almost certainly unaware how tenuous Alauddin's position had been. From 1304 until 1308 invasions were annual, but victories over major Mongol armies had broken down much of the aura of Mongol terror, Alauddin appearing divinely protected. Mongol armies were defeated in battle, their commanders trampled to death by elephants in Delhi and pillars constructed of Mongol skulls outside the city, and Alauddin undertook a massacre of the Mongols living in Delhi. The question remains: why were the Mongols so ineffective in India? Delhi familiarity with Mongol tactics was a major factor, both from combat experience, similar army models and the presence of Mongol defectors. Alauddin's military and economic reforms allowed him to afford and quickly raise large armies, while his strong, centralized government kept his state from collapsing under the pressures of these invasions. India's hot summers were hard on the Mongols and their horses, impacting pasturage and limiting when the Mongols attacked. Finally, Alauddin and his generals were simply skilled commanders and a match for the Mongol captains, with luck on their side more often than not. Indian sources however, generally ascribed victory to divine intervention rather than skill, which may be why these Mongol defeats are not remembered like Ayn Jalut. After Qaidu's death, Du'a helped organize a general peace between the Mongol Khanates, even suggesting they put aside their differences and launch a joint attack on India. However, the death of Du'a in 1307 and reemergence of tension with the neighbouring Khanates brought the attention of the Chagatais away from India. In 1328-1329 Du'a's son Tarmashirin undertook the final major Mongol offensive into India, with similar results desultory. Tarmashirin was briefly the Chagatai Khan from 1331-1334, but his death, as well as the collapse of the Ilkhanate, put Central Asia into chaos. Mongol forces were now focused on internal conflict rather than external assault. Much of this we covered in our third episode on the Chagatai khanate, which created the opportunity for a certain Barlas tribesman named Temur to take power in 1370. Alauddin Khalji continued to rule with an iron hand and expanded the Sultanate. He fell ill in his final years and grew ever more paranoid and disinterested in government, giving more power to his viceroy, Malik Kafur. On Alauddin's death in 1316, he was succeeded by a young son with Malik Kafur acting as regent. Kafur was quickly murdered and Alauddin's son deposed by a brother, Mubarak Shah. Mubarak Shah ruled for only four years before he was murdered by his vizier in 1320, ending Delhi's Khalji Dynasty. The usurper was quickly overthrown by one of Alauddin Khalji's generals, Ghiyath al-Din Tughluq, and so began the Delhi Tughluq Dynasty, the third dynasty of the Sultanate Like Jalal al-Din Khalji, Ghiyath al-Din Tughluq had rose to prominence as a frontier commander against the Mongols, particularly from his post at Depalpur during the reign of Alauddin. Sources of the period, including the Moroccan traveller Ibn Battuta who visited his court, indicate Ghiyath al-Din was of nomadic background, possibly Mongol or Neguderi, who had entered the Sultanate during the reign of Alauddin Khalji's uncle, working as a horse keeper for a merchant. The long reigns of Ghiyath al-Din's successors, Muhammad Tughluq and Firuz Shah were stable, but saw the slow decline of Delhi's power and permanent losses of Bengal and of the Deccan. Hindu and other smaller Muslim empires expanded at the expense of the Delhi Sultante. As the Tughluq Dynasty stagnated in the closing years of the fourteenth century, the great conqueror Temur cast his eye towards the jewel of northern India. In late 1398 Delhi was sacked and looted by Temur, but limped on until the 16th century when it was finally destroyed by a descendant of both Temur and Chinggis Khan, Babur. The later interaction of the Delhi Sultanate with the heirs of the Mongols is a topic for future discussions, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this, then consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals to help keep bringing you great content. 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.
Our previous two episodes have taken you through an overview of the history of the Chagatai Khanate, the middle ulus of the Mongol Empire. From its establishment following Chinggis Khan's western campaign in the 1220s, through rebuilding efforts by Mahmud Yalavach and Mas'ud Beg, to the turmoil of the 1260s and 70s with the Mongol civil wars and then consoldiation under Qaidu and Du'a, then the many successions of Du'a's sons to the throne in the first three decades of the fourteenth century. At the end of the last episode, the sixth and last of Du'a's sons to rule the Chagatais, Tarmashirin Khan, was murdered in the early 1330s, killed in a rebellion led by his nephew Buzan, supported by emirs from the eastern half of the Chagatayids. Over the period we saw the slow spread of Islam among the Mongols and their khans, as well as a widening gap between the western half of the Khanate, in Transoxania, and the Eastern half, Moghulistan. Today, both of trends continue as the Chagatai Khanate descends into anarchy following Tarmashirin's murder, finally culminating in Emir Temur seizing control of the western half of the ulus Chagatay in 1370, and forever changing the face of western Asia. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Tarmashirin Khan's murder in 1334 had a significant impact on the Chagatai Khanate. The last in the long lateral succession of Du'a Khan's sons, his death essentially opened up the throne to any willing claimant. His antagonizing of the Mongols of the eastern half of the khanate, particularly through his Islamic policies, supposedly abandoning of the laws of Chinggis Khan and leaving them out of government, ensured his reign ended bloodily. The Mongol chiefs of the eastern half of the Khanate rose up behind Buzan, Tarmashirin's nephew, who had allied with other grandsons of Du'a. They invaded Transoxania hunting down and killing Tarmashirin and causing a flight of pro-Tarmshirin, Islamic Mongol chiefs to the Ilkhanate and Delhi Sultanate in India. Buzan, according to most sources, was not a Muslim, though ibn Battuta wrote of him as a ‘tainted Muslim.' Most sources accuse him of being anti-Muslim and strongly pro-Christian, though it seems more likely he was just religiously tolerant, simply allowing Jews and Christians to rebuild their religious structures. It seems he wanted to rule in a more traditional, steppe based fashion, a strong counter reaction to Tarmashirin's rule.. At least he would have, if Buzan wasn't murdered only a few months into his reign by a cousin, Changshi, another grandson of Du'a. If we believe ibn Battuta, Buzan was strangled by a bowstring. The thing about violently overthrowing your predecessor, is that it does not leave a lot of the legitimacy that is needed to prevent you being overthrown in turn by the next power-hungry individual. What we start to see in this period is princes refusing to recognize the legitimacy of these new Khans, and deciding to remedy this by replacing these new Khans with themselves. So begins an exceptionally chaotic period in the Chagatai realm. The new Khan of the Chagatais, Changshi, did not take the throne because he was a supporter of Tarmashirin. Like Buzan, Changshi sought to bring the center of power back to the steppe and Almaliq, the traditional capital of the Chagatais, rather than having it based in the more sedentarized, Islamic Transoxania as Tarmashirin had sought to do. He was apparently a devout Buddhist, ordering the construction of many Buddhist and temples and supposedly, ordering sculptures of the Buddha painted in mosques throughout the Khanate. Yet he also showed great favour to Christians, especially Catholic Franciscans. He was apparently cured of a cancer through the prayers of one Franciscan, and in response heaped rewards on them. Changshi had at least one of his sons baptized, taking the name of Johannes, and placed the Franciscan in charge of their education. A bishopric was established at Almaliq in the 1320s and flourished under Changshi. At Almaliq, Changshi also met with Nicholas, the newly appointed Archbishop of Khanbaliq, who was on his way to China. Changshi gave Archbishop Nicholas authorization to preach freely throughout the Chagatai lands, to repair and build churches and provided him lands on which to build a friary. News of Changshi's friendship to the Christians reached Pope Benedict XII, who sent a letter to Changshi in 1338. This was not the first letter between the popes and the Khans of Central Asia. In 1289 Pope Nicholas IV sent letters to Qaidu Khan; in 1329 Pope John XXII sent a letter to Eljigidei Khan in response to a message of friendship Eiljigidei had sent prior; and Benedict XII's letter in 1338 urged Khan Changshi to build stronger relations with Christianity and sponser the growth of the faith in his kingdom. Changshi never received the letter, for in 1337 he and his four sons were killed by his brother, Yesun-Temur. Many islamic sources portray Yesun-Temur Khan as fanatically anti-Muslim and an absolute madman. Not just murdering his own brother, he was accused of cutting the breasts off his mother, among other unsavoury actions. Whether any of this is warranted is difficult to tell, as he may have been so strongly pro-Buddhist and continued Changshi's policy of sponsoring Christian missionaries that it left Islamic chronclers little good to say about him. There is circumstantial evidence of a somewhat capable administrator, demonstrated by survival of government documents from his reign from Turfan and an apparent increase in money circulation under him as well. He was challenged though by rounds of epidemics, particularly in the Issyk Kul region. Things took another shift again when Yesun-Temur was deposed in 1339 by ‘Ali Sultan bin Uruk Temur. ‘Ali Sultan differed from his predecessors in two important ways: he was a fanatic Muslim, and was not a Chagatayid, but a descendant of Ogedai. The fact that an Ogedeid was even able to take the throne of the Chagatayids demonstrates the extent to which access to the succession had been opened up. ‘Ali Sultan's reign was brief, less than a year. In that time, the most notable action he did, other than usurp the throne, was unleash violent programs against the Christians in his empire. Those who refused to convert to Islam, be they Nestorian or Catholic, were to be killed. The Nestorian Christian community in the Issyk Kul region was almost totally exterminated by ‘Ali Sultan's effort, either by forced conversion or by the sword. The bishopric of Almaliq was destroyed, its clergy put to death on ‘Ali Sultan's order. The martyred Bishop, Richard of Burgundy, had only taken the post a year prior. The brief introduction of Cathololicism died out in the region by the end of the fourteenth century. ‘Ali Sultan Khan's Ogedeid usurpation greatly undermined the integrity of the Khanate. In 1340 the Khan of the Golden Horde, Ozbeg, invaded the Chagatai Khanate, an invasion which only halted due to Ozbeg's death in 1341 but did nothing to unite the conflicting tension within the Khanate. Even before ‘Ali Sultan's death in 1340, it seems in the southern part of the western half of the Chagatai Khanate a great-grandson, or great-great-grandson of Du'a Khan, Muhammad bin Bolad, or Muhammad Bolad, declared himself Khan. Around 1342 Muhammad Bolad Khan briefly reigned in Almaliq, while in the western half of Chagatai power was taken by Khalil Sultan bin Yasawur, who may be the same figure as Qazan Khan, who may have also been Khalil Sultan's brother and co-ruled with him. By1343-1344, Qazan was the sole ruler of the Chagatai khanate, though whether he exerted much power in the eastern half of the realm is uncertain. Qazan Khan, if you don't mind a minor spoiler, often appears as a “bad last ruler,” in sources of the Timurids, a despot who preempted a final period of anarchy. Whatever the truth, he did usher in some stablization, and increased the power of the Chagatais over Khurasan, taking advantage of the collapse of the Ilkhanate into rival powers. He likely did little less in his reign except fight off rivals, with a particularly tough opponent in the form of Qazaghan, the chief of the Qara'unas. The Qara'unas were descendents of Mongols stationed in Afghanistan or who had fled there following the outbreak of war between Berke and Hulegu in 1262. They had remained a largely independent, rebellious force resisting efforts by the Ilkhanate and the Chagatai Khanate to bring them under control. Not until the 1290s did the Chagatais succeed in doing so, and the Qara'unas became a useful arm of the Chagatayid miltiary. Often, prominent heirs or brothers, especially under the reigns of Du'a and his sons, were placed in command over the Qara'unas. They were a major military element in the western half of the Chagatai Khanate, and once their chief, the ambitious Qazaghan, began challenging Qazan Khan, it was no easy task for the precariously perched Qazan. After some considerable effort, in 1347 Qazaghan finally killed Qazan, the final effective Khan in the Western Chagatai Khanate. The Emir Qazaghan then became the true power in Transoxania, though as he was not a descendant of Chinggis Khan, he could not rule in his own right. Wisely, he continued to appoint puppet Khans who ruled in name only. These Khans were total figureheads, some not even of the line of Chagatai, but of Ogedai. Doing so was absolutely necessary. While there could be argument over the legitimacy of a particular Khan, if he was a good candidate or from the right lineage, among the Turko-Mongolian military elite it was still undebatable that the only legitimate ruler had to be descended from Chinggis Khan; it was to the house of Chinggis that the right to rule the world had been given, and no Qara'unas chief, no matter how powerful, could claim that throne if he had not even a drop of Chinggisid blood in him. While Qazaghan seized power in Transoxania and ushered in a brief period of stability, an important event happened concurrently in the eastern half of the Khanate. In 1347, as Qazaghan killed Qazan Khan, a descendant of Chagatai and grandson of Du'a named Tughluq Temur was also declared Khan. With now two major rival claimants for power, 1347 becomes the usual date in scholarship for the division of the Chagatai Khanate into two realms: Transoxania in the west, sometime still called the Chagatai Khanate, and Moghulistan east of the Syr Darya River. Tughluq Temur was raised to the throne by a coalition of the powerful Mongol chiefs of the eastern half of the Khanate. Mentioned briefly in the last episode, these were the chiefs who felt out of power by the Khans more interested in sedentarized and Islamic culture, while at the same time finding themselves under less and less direct influence of the Khan. The result was the chiefs who became more powerful and more dissatisfied with the ruler in the west. The usurption of power by the non-Chinggisid Qazaghan and his appointment of puppet Khans was the final straw for these chiefs. Of the tribes in the eastern Chagatai realm, the mightiest were the Dughlats. A proud Mongol tribe, the Dughlat leaders made themselves rich through control of the altı shahr, the six cities in Turkish. These were the rich trade cities along the silk routes through the western Tarim Basin and eastern Turkestan; Kashgar, Yangi Hisar, Yarkand, Khotan, Ush-Turfan, Aksu. The heads of these tribes, including the Dughlats, were qarachu, ‘blackboned,' or commoners. That is, they were not of the altan urag, not descendants of Chinggis Khan and like Qazaghan of the Qara'unas they could not claim the throne themselves. The head of the Dughlats, called the ulusbegi or beylerbey as the most powerful of the eastern chiefs, acted as a sort of spokesperson for them. The Dughlat, while the single most powerful tribe, were not strong enough to totally overpower the others and had to act in concert with them. Thus, in 1347 in cooperation with the other tribal heads, the ulusbegi Bulaji Dughlat, enthroned the 18 year old Tughluq Temur as Chagatai Khan, a blatant refusal to recognize Qazaghan or his puppet khans. Both halves of the Chagatai khanate considered themselves the true heirs of Chagatai, and referred to the other with disparaging terms. To the easterners in Moghulistan, the westerners were qara'unas, a term which had connotations to the Mongols of half-breed, according to Marco Polo when he learned of them. They saw the westerners as corrupted by sedentary culture ruled by a petty non-Chinggisid. To the western half in Transoxania, the easterners were jatah, a term at its kindest reffering to ne'er-do-wells and rascals, and at its worst robbers and thieves. The westerners saw the east as little more than raiders, for such was their interaction with them. Tughluq Temur Khan is often considered the first Khan of Moghulistan. Moghul, being the Persian word for Mongol, is generally what the scholarship uses to refer to Moghulistan's nomadic inhabitants to distinguish them from true Mongols, a reflection of the primary source usage where the eastern Chagatayids and their lands are the Moghuls of Moghulistan. While there is evidence for use of the Mongolian language in the chancellery of Moghulistan until the end of the 1360s, various forms of Turkic had replaced Mongolian in day-to-day life. Largely still nomadic, many still adhering to the old religion and seeing themselves as true Mongols, Islam had begun to spread among them. Thus it was not surprising that in 1354, Tughluq Temur converted to Islam. Islam was a source of legitimacy for him; there is some indication that Tughluq Temur was of some uncertain paternity, due to conflicting reports on the identity of his father, so converting to Islam was an additional means to shore up his position. Unlike ‘Ali Sultan, Tughluq Temur was no fanatic; he is still recorded asking for Buddhist Lamas from Tibet as teachers for him and his sons. He did promote Islam though and his conversion was an important stage for the spread of Islam east of the Syr Darya. Statements that everyone in the area became Muslim under him are overplayed, as it took many decades still for Islam to drive out the local religious beliefs, be they Nestorian Christianity, Buddhism or Mongolian shamanism. Tughluq Temur's 16 year reign saw the most consolidation of power under a Chagatai Khan in years. He was aided in part by the death of the ulusbegi Bulaji soon after Tughluq's enthronement. Had Bulaji lived longer, he may have played more of a kingmaker role and controlled more of Tughluq Temur's actions. But Bulaji's death, and tensions within the Dughlat tribe, led to Bulaji's 7 year old son Khudaidad becoming the ulusbegi. Bulaji's brother, Qamar al-Din Dughlat, petitioned Tughluq Temur for the position as he had no support from other members of the Dughlats. Qamar al-Din was a man of violent temperament, and many of the emirs of the Dughlat seem to have desired greater freedom than they had been allowed under Bulaji. Tughluq Temur was of similar opinion; why place an ambitious man like Qamar al-Din as ulusbegi, who would certainly prove a hindrance to Tughluq Temur's power, when Tughluq Temur could instead have a malleable child in the position? And so Tughluq Temur ignored Qamar al-Din's petition and confirmed the enthronement of young Khudaidad, a matter which Tughluq Temur's heirs would rue dearly. Khan Tughluq Temur continued to strengthen his position in Moghulistan, weakening the hegemony of the Dughlats and bringing other tribal heads to heel. He apparently killed a number of them, both those who refused to convert to Islam or resisted his efforts. By 1360, Tughluq Temur was the single most powerful Chinggisid in the entire former Mongol Empire, which placed him in a very good position to take advantage of misfortune in Transoxania. The Emir Qazaghan had paid tribute to Tughluq Temur, in large part to pay him off against attacking Transoxania. Qazaghan was a capable enough figure, keeping control, if at times tenuously, on the various disparate elements of the region, until he was murdered in 1358. Qazaghan's son ‘Abd Allah took his position, but lacked his father's capability. As tensions from warlords in Transoxania and Khurasan bubbled up, among other poor decisions, ‘Abd Allah chose to halt the payment of tribute to Tughluq Temur. For the Khan in Moghulistan, this was all the excuse he needed. In 1360 and 1361, Tughluq Temur invaded Transoxania twice in order to oust ‘Abd Allah and reunite the Chagatai Khanate. ‘Abd Allah fled and was killed, and Tughluq Temur installed his son Ilyas as the regional governor. Many tribal leaders joined Tughluq Temur, while others fled, including Hajji Beg, the chief of the Barlas, a Turkified Mongolian tribe near Samarkand. One member of the upper echelons of the Barlas did not flee, and he was able to convince the conquering Tughluq Temur Khan to appoint him as head of the Barlas in Hajji Beg's absence. This was the first appearance of Temur, though you may perhaps know him better by the nicknames given to him later in life to refer to his limp: Aksak Temur, in Turkish, Temur-i-lang in Persian, which in English became Temur the Lame: Tamerlane. Temur was at this point 30 years old and given his first position of relative importance, one he soon surpassed. Tughluq Temur Khan did not long enjoy his conquest, for like all good Chinggisid monarchs, he suddenly died in his early 30s in 1363. So powerful had he been though, that his descendants would continue to rule in parts of Moghulistan until the 17th century. Without his father's backing, Ilyas was driven out of Transoxania in 1365 by a coalition of forces under Qazaghan's grandson, Amir Husayn, and Temur of the Barlas. Back in Moghulistan, Ilyas was soon killed, perhaps by Qamar al-Din Dughlat. Either before or after Ilyas' death, Qamar al-Din had his revenge for Tughluq Temur's denial to make him ulusbegi. He launched a revolt, killed some 18 Chagatai princes and declared himself Khan. No puppet khans, no indirect rule, Qamar al-Din was the first non-Chinggisid to try and claim the title of Khan, and rule in his own right, since the Mongol conquests. If Qamar had thought he would find support for this action, he was sorely mistaken. Not even the Dughlat tribe themselves were willing to recognize Qamar's usurption, and few of the other tribes in Moghulistan did either. Qamar al-Din faced stiff resistance as warfare broke out across Moghulistan. For the next 25 years, Qamar al-Din fought enemies within Moghulistan and from Transoxania. The other sons of Tughluq Temur were sent into hiding to keep them out of Qamar al-Din's hands, and never did he enjoy a moment of stability until his disappearance in the 1380s. Only then would Tughluq Temur's son, Khidr Khwaja, be enthroned in 1389 as the Chagatai khan after a nearly 30 year interregnum. The great consequence of Qamar al-Din's usurption is that it facilitated the rise of Tamerlane. After Ilyas was ousted around 1365, Qazaghan's grandson Amir Husayn had resumed power over the region, but was undermined by the power hungry Barlas leader, Temur. Despite having married Husayn's sister, Temur began conspiring with other regional powers, and when Husayn moved his capital to Balkh and fortified it, Temur convinced them that Husayn was their enemy, having moved his capital out of the traditional region and preparing to defend it against them. So, Transxonia revolted against Husayn, eventually resulting in Husayn's death. Now the figure of real power in Transoxania, Temur had carefully observed the failures of Qazaghan, ‘Abd Allah, Husayn and of Qamar al-Din. At a quriltai in April 1370, Temur oversaw the enthronement of a Khan of the Chagatayids, a descendant of Ogedai named Soyurghatmish. Temur himself only took the title of emir, and officially was a guardian and adviser to the Khan. Marrying a Chinggisid princess, Emir Temur also took the title of güregen, a son-in-law to the house of Chinggis Khan. However, Temur was the real power, and from 1370 he began to campaign against his local enemies. One of his first campaigns was against Qamar al-Din of Moghulistan. Though never able to catch Qamar al-Din, Temur repeatedly invaded Moghulistan, wreaking great destruction, taking thousands of prisoners and further undermining the fragile powerbase Qamar had. If there had been an actual reigning Khan in Moghulistan, perhaps a figure could have rallied the tribes to resist and defeat Temur early in his career. But Qamar's illegal rule ensured there could be no rallying behind his name, and Emir Temur only grew in might. Under him, the last vestiges of Chagatai rule in Transoxania were washed away. Though a Chagatai Khan was appointed in Moghulistan in the last years of the fourteenth century, the Temurids never recognized them as such. Tughluq Temur and his successors were always the ulus-i-Moghul or ulus-i-Jatah, as far as Temurid historians were concerned. The fifteenth century became a century of Temurid rule, and it would not be until the 1500s that Chinggisids would again rule in Transoxania; but these were descendants of Jochi, not of Chagatai. The career of Temur and later history of Moghulistan is a topic for a later series, so 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 one.
While the Chagatai Khanate, the division of the Mongol Empire encompassing much of Central Asia and Northwestern China, has a reputation as the Mongol Khannate to fragment into infighting first, this would not have been the view for an observer on the ground in the early fourteenth century. Following the death of Qaidu, the Ogedeid master of Central Asia in the last decades of the thirteenth century, his former ally Du’a, Khan of the Chagatais, stood dominant, particularly with the Great Peace he achieved between the Khanates in 1304. Picking up from our previous episode, we take you through the history of the Chagatai Khanate in the early fourteenth century, from Du’a’s singular rule in 1301 through the reigns of the six of his sons who became Khan, ending with Tarmashirin in 1334. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. At the close of the previous episode, Qaidu Khan was dead. Qaidu was a descendant of Great Khan Ogedai, and as we covered thoroughly in episode 41, had from 1271 until 1300 been the most influential figure in Central Asia. Over the 1270s he came to dominate the Chagatai Khanate, finally consolidating his hold over them in 1282 when he appointed Du’a, a grandson of Chagatai, as their Khan. Du’a and Qaidu worked well together, ushering in a period of rebuilding for the Chagatai Khanate after the tumultuous 1260s and 70s. Qaidu was definitely the senior partner in the relationship, and led their wars against Khan Khubilai in northwestern China and western Mongolia. But with Qaidu’s death in 1301, Du’a had had enough of the fighting. Du’a had been injured and forced to retreat before the Yuan armies. Only the year before, his eldest son Qutlugh Khwaja was killed fighting in India, and the Khan of the Blue Horde, the eastern wing of the Golden Horde, was attempting to rally the other Khanates into making a joint attack on the Ogedeids and Chagatayids. For the Central Asian Khanates, such a coalition would be absolutely disastrous. A combined Golden Horde, Ilkhanate and Yuan assault from all directions would be unstoppable. Du’a wanted to rest, recoup his strength and throw Mongol energies away from each other, and against unconquered lands like India. Interfering with the Ogedeid succession after Qaidu’s death, Du’a ensured Qaidu’s less compentent son Chapar was on the throne, then sent an embassy to the Great Khan Temur Oljeitu offering to recognize his authority. Temur Oljeitu was delighted, immediately accepted and over 1304 and 1305 messengers were sent across the Mongol Empire, inviting the Golden Horde and Ilkhanate to once more recognize the Great Khan. The Great Rapproachment saw the resumption of tribute and revenues back and forth across the empire, reconstruction and expansion of postal stations, the travelling of envoys and merchants, and the true start of a pax Mongolica. Against the Delhi Sultanate of India Du’a sent more armies, though no joint-Mongol campaign against India ever materialized. Du’a made good use of the partnership with the Yuan, for he was soon skirmishing, and then at war with, the Ogedeids. Many of the Ogedeid princes had not taken kindly to Du’a efforts to divide them, and had begun to oppose him. In 1306 Du’a, in conjunction with a Yuan army under the future Khaghan Qaishan, defeated a Ogedeid army under Qaidu’s sons Chapar and Orus. Chapar surrendered, and the Ogedeis were left splintered. Chagatai horsemen were unleashed to hunt down those princes who still resisted; it is in these raids that Qaidu’s famous daughter Qutulun was likely killed. Du’a would have wiped out the last of the Ogedeids, had he not died the next year in 1307. So ended the life of the longest reigning Chagatai Khan, who had overseen a recovery of the weakened ulus. Realigning their diplomatic position with their Mongol kinsmen, the Chagatais seemed poised to enter a new period of strength. Du’a was succeeded by his son Konchek, who continued his father’s policies until his sudden death in 1308. Power was then seized by a distant cousin, Naliqo’a. Naliqo’a was the brother of a man who had briefly been Khan in the 1270s before Du’a took the throne, and was a great-grandson of Chagatai via his son Buri. Naliqo’a’s reign as Khan was a shock to the Khanate. Firstly was the fact that he was not of the line of Du’a Khan. Du’a had been Khan for many years, and had many sons desiring the throne. Many within the Chagatai Khanate, especially those same sons, felt the throne belonged to the line of Du’a, and that Naliqo’a was thus a usurper despite his Chagatai heritage. Additionally, he was a Muslim, and sought to impose islamisizing policies upon the Chagatais. While the Chagatai Khanate is often dismissed as one of the Khanates which immediately converted to Islam, the conversion of the Chagatai realm was a slower and more difficult process than in either the Golden Horde or Ilkhanate. Mubarak Shah, during the few months he had been Khan in the previous episode, may have been a Muslim, but had not reigned long enough for that to matter. Baraq Khan allegedly converted to Islam just before his death in 1271, but this had no impact on his reign. No Chagatai Khan since had been a Muslim, and for many in the Khanate, particularly in the eastern half where there was little contact with Muslims, the strong pro-Islam stanch of Naliqo’a Khan was seen as inherently conflicting to the yassa of Chinggis Khan. Khan Naliqo’a thus received stiff resistance. By 1309 he was murdered at banquet in a coup led by one of Du’a’s son, Kebek. Kebek was a clever man but did not want to be Khan, inviting his brother Esen-Buqa to take the throne. This upheaval in the Chagatai Khanate prompted a last ditch attempt by the Ogedeid princes to rebel against the Chagatais, which Kebek and Esen-Buqa, with difficulty, crushed by 1310. With the last of the Ogedeid princes fleeing to the Yuan Dynasty, the Khanate of the house of Ogedei was finally dissolved, its territory split between the Chagatai and the Yuan. The popular image of the Mongol Empire dividing into four Khanates -the Golden Horde, the Ilkhanate, Yuan Dynasty, and Chagatai Khanate- only truly existed from 1310 onwards with the dissolution of the Ogedeids, domination of the Blue Horde by the Golden Horde, and the Qara’unas in Afghanistan largely coming under Chagatai control. Later authors, both medieval and modern, would anachronistically throw this back to the time of Mongke’s death, or even Chinggis’ division of the empire amongst his sons, but it was a gradual evolution in no-way planned. The “four successor khanates” of the Mongol Empire did not exist in their popularly imagined way until the first decade of the fourteenth century. Without the Ogedeis as a common enemy, the Chagatai and Yuan were soon squabbling over the border. In the process of dividing up the Ogedeid territory, in which the Yuan took the land east of the Altai mountains and the Chagatai the west, some of the Chagatayid pasture lands came under Yuan control. Khan Esen-Buqa sought to get the Yuan border garrisons to redraw the border, but they would not budge. The Yuan garrison commander refused to recognize the legitimacy of Esen-Buqa’s status as a Khan. Esen-Buqa began to fear that the Yuan and the Ilkhanate were planning a joint attack on the Chagatayids, and began to make his own plots. He tried to ally with the new Khan of the Golden Horde, Ozbeg, and in 1312 sent his nephew to attack Ilkhanid Khurasan, where he was repusled. Tensions mounted, and in 1313 Esen-Buqa detained Yuan envoys to the Ilkhanate, and finally in 1314 he assaulted the Yuan border outposts. The garrison commander was a veteran though, who had warnings of the plot. Moving the families of his men back, Esen-Buqa’s forces were met only by a crack tumen of troops who forced the Chagatais back. Esen-Buqa tried to offset his losses in the northeast by launching an attack on the Ilkhanate with his brother Kebek in 1315. The campaign was cut short when they learned that the Great Khan Ayurburwada, furious at Esen-Buqa’s provacations, had ordered an all out invasion of the Chagatai Khanate. Esen-Buqa had, in his fear, created the situation he had so dreaded. The armies of the Yuan advanced as far as Lake Issyk Kul and Talas before withdrawing, and strengthened their border positions. The situation remained strained; after the invasion one of the Chagatai princes in Transoxania, a Muslim named Yasawur, defected with 30-40,000 troops to the Ilkhanate, while the Yuan prince Qoshila, son of Qaishan, fled to the Chagatais. Sporadic border fighting continued, and threat of an open resumption of hostilities remained until both Esen-Buqa and Great Khan Ayurburwada were dead by 1320. Their successors, Esen-Buqa’s brother Kebek and Ayurburwada’s son Shidebala, proved more amenable to peace, and by 1323, after being convinced that there was no plot to overrun inner Asia, Kebek Khan recognized the supremacy of Great Khan Shidebala, though as you’ll recall from episode 44, Shidebala did not have long to remark on the triumph. Sending two princesses for Kebek Khan to marry and resuming trade and tribute, the Yuan and Chagatai relationship remained amicable for the remainder of Yuan rule in China. Kebek Khan was a competent and able ruler. Almost immediately after becoming Khan, the new Ilkhan Abu Sa’id invited Kebek Khan to attack the rebel Chagatai prince Yasawur, who had since revolted against the Ilkhans. The campaign was successful and Yasawur was killed, but Kebek was then assured of his military strength and the weakness of the Ilkhans. In 1321 he ordered attacks on the Delhi Sultanate in India, and in 1322 invaded the Ilkhanate in a joint effort with the Golden Horde Khan Ozbeg, who was in the midst of repeated rounds of conflict with the young Ilkhan Abu Sa’id. The campaigns were failures. Both Ozbeg and Kebek found themselves hampered by weather and a skillful defence by the teenage Abu Sa’id and his amir, Choban. When Kebek moved his brother Tarmashirin into Ghazna in Afghanistan in 1326, the Ilkhan’s suspected another attack, and Choban’s son was sent to deliver a crushing defeat onto Tarmashirin and occupied Ghazna. Despite the fact Tarmashirin recaptured Ghazna later that year, it did little to offset the frustration at the setbacks. While Kebek’s military ventures were never really successful, in internal matters he proved himself a capable administrator. Unlike the previous Chagatai Khans who ruled from the steppes and based themselves around Almaliq, Kebek moved himself into Transoxania, or Mawarannahr. At Qarshi he built a new capital, and oversaw efforts to revitalize and improve agriculture and trade. Minting new denominations of coins, he also consistently minted these coins in his name unlike previous Chagatai Khans. The coins were, due to this, known as kebeks, and became a widely used currency in Central Asia. Arguments have been made that these are the origin of the Russian word for a certain denomination of the ruble, the kopek. Khan Kebek sought to limit the power of regional princes, dividing the realm into new administrative units, tumens. Essentially, districts which could support the raising of 10,000 men for war. His reforms and control of power garnered him a reputation and legacy as a just, respectable ruler, even among Muslims. The famous Moroccan traveller Ibn Battuta, who passed through the Chagatai Khanate in the early 1330s, recorded anecdotes of Kebek’s just nature and friendliness to Islam. The reign of Kebek had other, unforeseen consequences for the Chagatai Khanate though. Kebek spent his reign in the western half of the Khanate, Transoxania. This was the more densely populated half of the Chagatai Khanate between the Amu Darya and Syr Darya, the heart of the former Khwarezmian Empire. The great cities of Bukhara and Samarkand sat here, and the influence of both Islam and Persian culture were great. There were nomads living here of course, but in close proximity to the sedentary population. The nomads here also owned mills, gardens, villages and benefitted from agriculture. Many of the Mongol noyans and princes who settled here converted to Islam first. Culturally, this was a region very distinct from the eastern half of the Khanate. This was a diverse range of territory, stretching east of the Syr Darya and Ferghana Valley, the Chagatais controlled up to the Tarim Basin and at times, the Uighur lands in Turfan. Some of this was rugged mountain, the northern stretches of the Pamirs and the Tienshan mountains; some was inhospitable desert, as in the Tarim Basin and the frightful Taklamakan desert. The region north of the Tienshan was home to open steppe, the lakes Balkhash and Issyk Kul and lower reaches of the Irtysh River, rolling hills, and low mountains that lay west and south of the Altai Mountains, bordering on the western edge of Mongolia. Today it forms parts of northern Xinjiang, eastern Kazakhstan and western Mongolia. Often, it is called Dzungaria or the Dzungar Basin, after the Oirat kingdom based in the region in the 17th century famous for their wars against the Qing Dynasty. Before the Mongol conquests, this was the realm of the Qara-Khitai. From the 14th century until the Dzungar conquests though, this broad expanse of land was Moghulistan; land of the Mongols. In these steppe lands, a great many Mongols had migrated during the conquest period. The existing agricultural settlements in the steppe here had largely been destroyed and turned over to pasture for Mongol imperial usage in the mid-thirteenth century. Settlements were few and far between; even in the Tarim Basin, famed trade cities like Kashgar, Yarkand and Khotan hugged the borders of the fearsome Taklamakan, and were under the thumb of Mongol chiefs. The sedentary world held no mastery over the Mongols here, who remained true to their ways. Islam only slowly came to the region. To be the ruler here, a man needed to be a mighty steppe warlord. If not living there, the Chagatai Khan had to make yearly trips to hold council with the local Mongol chiefs to make sure they felt included. Kebek’s decision to move his government into the heart of Transoxania began a rift between the Khan and the Mongols in Moghulistan. Feeling left out of power by Khans more interested in sedentarized and Islamic culture, while also under less and less direct influence of the Khan, the chiefs of the eastern half of the Khanate became more powerful. Of these, the mightiest would be the Dughlats. A proud Mongol tribe that made themselves wealthy by controlling many of the trade cities of the Tarim Basin, the Dughlats were to become a dominant player in Chagatai politics after the end of Du’a’s sons, The might of the Dughlats will be something we will return to next episode, though they were observers to the events we describe today. Kebek’s reign saw the division into Transoxania and Moghulistan begin, but it took decades to widen. He died in 1327, succeeded by his brother Eljigidei, a more typical steppe Khan who returned the court to the traditional capital around Almaliq. A devout Buddhist, he was a proponent of religious toleration and was friendly to Christian missionaries in his lands. The most notable action of his reign was his support for the Yuan prince Qoshila. As you may recall from episode 44 when Eljigidei had his brief cameo, whe the Yuan Emperor Yesun-Temur died, a coup by the Qipchaq officer El Temur resulted in the disappearance of Yesun-Temur’s young son and successor. El Temur and Qoshila’s brother, Tuq Temur, invited Qoshila to return and take the throne, and the Chagatai Khan Eljigidei accompanied Qoshila into Mongolia proper. Eljigidei was present at Qoshila’s enthronement north of Karakorum in February 1329, the first Chagatai Khan to return to Mongolia in decades. Eljigidei then returned to the Chagatai Khanate, where he was understandibly quite annoyed to learn of Qoshila’s murder later that year, but did nothing about it, due to his death in 1330. Eljigidei was succeeded by another brother, Dore-Temur, who reigned less than a year before being succeeded by his brother, Tarmashirin, one of the most famous Chagatai Khans. In 1331, Tarmashirin became the sixth and last of Du’a’s sons to be Khan. An experienced soldier from fighting the Ilkhanate and Delhi Sultanate, Tarmashirin moved the court back to Transoxania and continued to promote trade and agriculture as Kebek had done. Unlike Kebek, Tarmashirin was a Muslim, the first Muslim Khan since the brief reign of Naliqo’a over twenty years prior. Like Naliqo’a, he enacted a number of pro-Muslim policies. So well known was his Islam that even in the Mamluk Sultanate he was reported as a devout adherent to sharia. It’s unclear when he converted to Islam. His name, Tarmashirin, is Buddhist, suggesting that he was probably, like many of his brothers, raised in a Buddhist environment. Professor Michal Biran suggested that Tarmashirin may have converted to Islam as late as 1329. Only the year before, Tarmashirin had led an attack on India, and a letter from the Delhi Sultan Muhammad bin Tughluq survives from this time asking the Ilkhan Abu Sa’id to ally with him against the enemies of Islam coming from the Chagatai khanate. Tarmashirin may have converted in order to preempt an alliance between the Ilkhanate and Delhi and open his own friendly relations with the Delhi Sultante, and to make himself stand out among candidates to the Chagatai throne. There certainly had been a growth in Islam among the Mongols of the Chagatai ulus since Naliqo’a’s reign, largely in the western half of the Khanate. Among the Turkified Mongolian tribe of Barlas, situated near Samarkand and the ancestors of Amir Temur, by the 1330s, 50-70% of the Barlas commanders listed in the sources bore Islamic names of Arab origin. Tarmashirin, who certainly favoured Transoxania, may have hoped to appeal to these Mongols for support, particularly since there is some indication he may have seized the throne from his brother Dore-Temur. An embassy from Tarmashirin arrived in the Yuan Dynasty in 1331 announcing his enthronement, and only four months later an embassy alleging to be from Dore-Temur is recorded as arriving in the Yuan realm. Tarmashirin was in a rocky position where, for many of the military elite, adherence to the yassa of Chinggis Khan mattered a great deal more than adherence to sharia. Ibn Battuta met Tarmashirin in 1333 during his trek from the Golden Horde to India, and his brief interaction with this famous author is probably in large part why Tarmashirin is more well known than his brothers. Battuta thought highly of the Khan, writing of him: “He is the exalted sultan ‘Ala al-Din Tarmashirin, a man of great distinction, possessed of numerous troops and regiments of cavalry, a vast kingdom and immense power, and just in his government. His territories lie between four of the great kings of the earth, namely the king of China, the king of India, the king of al-’Iraq and the [Khan Ozbeg], all of whom send him gifts and hold him in high respect and honour. He succeeded to the kingdom after brother [Eljigidei]. This [Eljigidei] was an infidel and succeeded his elder brother Kabak, who was an infidel also, but was just in government, showing equity to the oppressed and favour and respect to the Muslims.” Ibn Battuta then writes of his interactions with Tarmashirin, depicting him as a pious man who never missed prayer, listened intently to the complaints of his subjects and was generous: on Battuta’s departure from Tarmashirin after 54 days, the Khan gave Battuta some 700 silver dinars, a sable coat worth another 100 as well as horses and camels. This generosity was evidently not extended to the chiefs of the eastern half of the ulus, who felt betrayed by the shift of power to the sedentary and Islamic western half. It was not just a betrayal of themselves, but of the yassa of Chinggis Khan. Ibn Battuta describes Tarmashirin violating certain aspects of the yassa, with the most notable violation coming from never visiting the eastern half of the Khanate, and never convening toi, or feasts, annual meetings with the chiefs there. The Mamluk historian al-Safadi goes further, writing that Tarmashirin entirely abolished the yassa and insulted it. For Mongol chiefs who held their identity as Mongols dear (despite the fact they largely spoke Turkic by now) it was an unforgivable crime. His favouring of Islam and apparent refusal to allow Christians and Jews within his empire rebuild their churches suggests he did not adopt the much espoused Mongol religious pluralism, implying another disavowment of the yassa. Accusations from some sources that Tarmashirin even tried to have Mongols practice agriculture and abandon nomadism would have pushed these tensions even further. There is another factor at play, emphasized by Michal Biran. As you may have noticed throughout our series, succession among the Mongols, though generally restricted to a specific lineage, could be a free-for-all within that lineage. In this case, the lineage was that of Tarmashirin’s father Du’a. Succession in many Turkic and Mongolian states could be linear, that is, father-to-son, or laterally, that is, brother-to-brother. Often, succession would not be linear until the lateral line of succession had been exhausted. Only once all surviving brothers had died, could the succession pass to the next generation. Tarmashirin, as the last son of Du’a, was therefore the last khan before all the sons of his brothers could throw their names in for the khanate. Tarmashirin may have pushed his brother from the throne, alienated the militarized half of the khanate by ignoring them, becaming Muslim and favouring sedentary society, and was the last obstacle before many of these annoyed princes could make their own claims for the Khanate. Tarmashirin essentially set himself up to be violently overthrown. In summer 1334, a few months after ibn Battuta’s departure from Tarmashirn and only three years into his reign, rebellion arose in the eastern half of the Khanate, led by Tarmashirin’s nephews. A number of chiefs and princes declared Tarmashirin’s nephew Buzan the new Khan. Buzan was a son of Dore-Temur, the brother who Tarmashirin may have pushed from the throne, and was supported by other grandsons of Du’a. They invaded the western Chagatai realm with a large force, and a frightened Tarmashirin fled south, seemingly to Ghazna, where he had previously been stationed and may have had allies. However, Tarmashirin was captured and brought to Buzan, who had Tarmashirin executed near Samarkand sometime in fall 1334. So ended the reign of Tarmashirin Khan, last of the sons of Du’a. … or was it? Ibn Battuta records that a man claiming to be Tarmashirin later appeared in India. A number of former retainers of Tarmashirin, including a physician, had also fled to the Delhi Sultante following the rebellion of Buzan. These retainers, when sent to identify this Tarmashirin, vouched for his identity. The physician claimed this man even bore the same scar from a boil the physician had removed from the back of Tarmashirin’s knee. However, Tarmashirin’s son and daughter had fled to the Delhi Sultanate, and it was decided that, based on their account of their father’s death, that this man had to be a fraud. So, the faux-Tarmashirin was exiled from India, finally making his way to Shiraz in Iran. Ibn Battuta passed through Shiraz some time later and tried to meet this Tarmashirin for himself, but was blocked from doing so, and could therefore not confirm the identity of the so-called Tarmashirin. Though Tarmashirin has been often remarked upon for his conversion to Islam, his religion did not usher in a transformation of the Ilkhanate into an Islamic state. Indeed, his religion likely played a large role in his ultimate dismissal. Tarmashirin could not be the Ilkhanate’s version of Ghazan of the Ilkhanate or Ozbeg of the Golden Horde. Rather, Tarmashirin’s conversion was an indication of the gradual conversion of the western half of the Chagatai Khanate, where he spent much of his life and his entire reign. The Khanate, that is some of the Mongols, was marginally more Muslim than it had been during the reign of Naliqo’a, for instance, but it the most dangerous element, the nomadic military elite and Mongol chiefs in the east, Moghulistan, were not Muslims. It was this elite that any man hoping to rule would need to placate, but no Chagatai Khan after Tarmashirin could rule comfortably now. The rebellion, as we will cover in our next episode, had dramatic consequences for the Chagatai Khanate, and brought about a period of anarchy which ultimately contributed to the rise of Amir Temur, or Tamerlane, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast to follow. If you’d like to help us continue 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.
Having now taken you to the end of Mongol rule in China, we move westwards in our histories of the Mongol Khanates. Our next stop is the middle Khanate: the ulus of Chagatai. Encompassing much of Central Asia, the Khanate ruled by the descendants of Chinggis Khan’s second son Chagatai is perhaps the most poorly known. In our first episode on the Chagatais, we’ll take you through their history in the 13th century, touched on often in previous episodes but now recieving its own focus. From efforts at reconstruction by Mahmud Yalavach and his son Mas’ud Beg, to stability under the regeny of the widow Orghina Khatun, to disasters in battle at Herat to domination under Qaidu and the rise of Du’a Khan. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. The territory which became the Ulus of Chagatai was conquered by the Mongols in two stages. The eastern half of the ulus, in what is now southeastern Kazakhstan and northwest Xinjiang, was taken largely peacefully when Jebe Noyan overran the empire of Qara-Khitai in 1218-1219. As covered back in episode 8, the fleeing Naiman prince Kuchlug had fled to Qara-Khitai and usurped power there. When Jebe invaded, Kuchlug ran for his life, leaving the cities of his new empire defenseless. The lack of defense was ironically beneficial, as they largely submitted peacefully, and the former Qara-Khitai troops joined their new Mongol overlords. The more densely populated western half of the empire was not so lucky. This region, including Transoxania and the Ferghana valley in modern southern Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan down to Turkmenistan, was controlled by the Khwarezmian Empire, and was violently crushed by Chinggis Khan in the first years of the 1220s, as we saw in episode 9. Each site that put up resistance fell victim to the Khan’s wrath. The destruction not just of cities, but of agriculture and irrigation canals. The toll on the population was horrific. Perhaps millions were killed in the course of the conquest. Perhaps as many died from the ensuing starvation, spread of disease and banditry. Thousands upon thousands were displaced from their homes, or transported elsewhere on Mongol order. The initial governors set over the region and cities did little to help, simply bringing more taxation and material demands onto the population. Chinggis Khan’s second son, Chagatai, stayed in the region after the conquest. Contrary to popular belief, Chinggis did not divide his empire among his sons in order for them to become distinct states. Rather, they were each allotted territory within the empire in order to support themselves. Chagatai was granted much of the former Khwarezmian and Qara-Khitai realms, becoming the basis of the ulus of Chagatai. Stern and demanding, Chagatai had little care for city life or the cultures of the people he ruled over. He was a man of the steppe, and his reign was spent in the steppe. Though he maintained a quasi-capital at Almaliq, near modern Kulja, northwestern Xinjiang on the Ili River, Chagatai resided in his summer and winter pastures. Almaliq served to collect tribute and house his treasures, his officials and received messengers from the court. Reconstruction of the conquered territories was not his concern. His engineers were used to build large pools for water fowl to flock to for Chagatai to hunt. This is not to say Chagatai had no interaction with his subjects. Chagatai was a strict upholder of the yassa and the yosun, the laws and customs of his father Chinggis Khan. We have mentioned in previous episodes that there was conflict on who these laws should apply to; that is, just nomads, or to the sedentarized populations of the empire as well. Well, Chagatai was of the opinion that everyone was subject to the laws, which were to be enforced as strictly as possible. Laws against theft were violently enforced. The Persian historian Juvaini, writing in the mid 1250s, who worked for the Mongols and spent quite some time in the Chagatai realm, wrote this famous passage you may have heard variations of: “For fear of his yasa and punishment his followers were so well disciplined that during his reign no traveller, so long as he was near his army, had need of guard or patrol on any stretch of road; and, as is said by way of hyperbole, a woman with a golden vessel on her head might walk alone without fear or dread.” The presence of Chagatai was enough to discourage thievery, although the quote has often been taken out of context to suggest a woman could walk across all of Asia under Mongol rule and not face any danger. While a strict enforcer of the yassa’s promulgations against theft, Chagatai was more infamous in the Muslim world for the anti-Islamic aspects of the yassa. Though the Mongols have a popular image as a beacon of religious liberty, this has been overstated. Though often tolerant in the most literal sense, as in they just tolerated certain religions seen as useful, the Mongols were less accommodating when they found that a religion conflicted with their own customs. The yassa, for instance, mandated the method in which an animal must be slaughtered: crushing the heart, and not letting any blood spill. Needlessly spilling blood on the ground was a great offense to the spirits. The halal method of slaughter perscribed by Islam though, requires cutting the throat and draining the blood. The two methods were inherently contradictory, and conflicts often arose from Mongols attempting to ban halal slaughter. Immediately after describing how Chagatai’s army dissuaded theft, Juvaini wrote the following: “And he enacted minute yasa that were an intolerable imposition upon such as the Taziks, [so] that none might slaughter meat in the Moslem fashion nor sit by day in running water, and so on. The yasa forbidding the slaughter of sheep in the lawful manner he sent to every land; and for a time no man slaughtered sheep openly in Khorasan, and Moslems were forced to eat carrion.” Chagatai may not have specifically hated Muslims or been a man of constantly boling rage, as he is often portrayed by modern authors. He certainly employed Muslims in the top ranks of his bureacracy. We should probably imagine him better as an uncomprosiming figure seeking to stringently enforce his father’s laws; it just so happened that this enforcement was quite harmful to Muslims caught in the crosshairs. From the Mongol point of view, you could still be a Muslim as long as you did not practice these certain customs the Mongols disliked, such as spilling blood or washing dirty things in running water. The nuance made little difference to the Muslims of Central Asia, to whom Chagatai consistently appears as a tormenter in the sources. Juzjani, a Khwarezmian refugee to the Delhi Sultanate in India, wrote in the 1250s and describes Chagatai as a demonic figure who wanted to exterminate the Muslims. Often, Chagatai is used in these sources as a contrast to Ogedai, usually depicted as generous and a friend to Islam. Ogedai’s enthronement as Khan of Khans in 1229 certainly was a benefit to the Muslims of the empire. At the start of his reign Ogedai created another governmental layer, the Secretariat system- check out episode 13 for more on this. While the North China Branch Secretariat has received greater attention in our series, at the same time a Branch Secretariat for Turkestan, or Central Asia, was established to oversee the populations under Chagatai’s rule, and strengthen the Great Khan’s authority there. The man chosen to head the department was a good choice, a native of Khwarezm called Mahmud Yalavach. Mahmud Yalavach, and his son Mas’ud Beg, were perhaps the two longest serving ministers of the Mongols, and the two have often weaved their way in and out of our series. Mahmud Yalavach’s early life is unknown, other than that he hailed from Khwarezm. The great Russian orientalist Vasili Bartold suggested that Mahmud Yalavach is identical to Mahmud Bey, the vizier of the final Gur-Khan of the Qara-Khitai. Yalavach first reliably appears as a part of Chinggis Khan’s 1218 embassy to the Khwarezmian Empire, where he is identified as Mahmud Khwarezmi. Taken aside by the Khwarezm-Shah Muhammad II, Mahmud deftly handled their interaction, and for the mission he earned the title of Yalavach, Turkic for messenger or ambassador. Staying in Mongol service, in 1229 Ogedai appointed him manager of the Branch Secretariat for Central Asia. Yalavach, assisted by his son Mas’ud Beg, proved a very capable man, and under him the first genuine reconstruction efforts after the Mongol conquest were implemented. At his direction with the backing of Great Khan Ogedai, cities and irrigation systems were rebuilt, agriculture encouraged and revitalized, a new tax system implemented and efforts to clamp down on extra-ordinary levies on the part of Chagatai and his sons were enacted. His efforts were successful. Several contemporary sources agree to the restoration of prosperity to the region, corroborated by numismatic evidence. Yalavach’s first decade in charge of the Central Asian Branch Secretariat was a much needed salve for the region, though he faced competition from Chagatai, who did not take kindly to his brother’s officer’s interference. At the first opportunity he would get, Chagatai would undermine Yalavach. In 1238, an unexpected crisis emerged from one of the chief cities of Transoxania, Bukhara. There, a sieve-maker named Mahmud Tarabi became a popular figure on account of his supposed magical capabilities and ability to communicate with djinn. Juvaini says that, according to reputable individuals with whom he spoke with in Bukhara, one of Tarabi’s spells included making a medicine from dog feces and blowing it into the eyes of the blind, which restored their sight. Juvaini did not have a high opinion of him, also remarking that in regards to his stupidity and ignorance Tarabi had no equal. Tarabi developed quite a reputation for magic and miracles, encouraged by a local notable named Shams-ad-Din Mahbubi, who through his personal vendetta against Bukhara’s leadership and the Mongols, encouraged Tarabi’s pretensions. How the very planets were aligning in his favour! Mahbubi told him, even going as far, Juvaini says, speaking of a prophecy that a man from Tarabi’s home village of Tarab would conquer the world. Unfortunately for Tarabi, there was some very stiff competition for such a claim. Mahmud Yalavach was alerted to the bubbling unrest in Bukhara gathering around Tarabi, and sought to lure the man out and kill him. Tarabi saw through the trap and evaded it, which escalated his troublemaking. His inflammatory speeches to the people of Bukhara riled them up, and his claims of support from the invisible hosts of heaven seemed to have been given some merit when a merchant with a shipment of swords had his wares fall into Tarabi’s hands. With his followers now armed, Tarabi, as all good prophets do, collected around himself riches and women. Convinced of their power, they killed or drove out the Bukharan government and Mongolian representatives. A response force was rallied- likely local militia under the command of regional darughachi. Mahbubi and Tarabi marched out of Bukhara at the head of their army, convinced of their divine protection. Neither wore armour or weapon, and spread rumours that whoever rose a hand against them would be struck down parrarlyed. The response force was worried, and only set off a volley of arrows when the wind picked up a dust storm. Frightened that this was some trick of Tarabi, the response force fled, and Tarabi’s army doggedly pursued. They caught up to the response force and killed a great many. Upon returning to Bukhara, they were unable to find either Tarabi or Mahbubi. Juvaini asserts that both were struck by arrows in the volley set off by the government forces and killed, though it went unnoticed by both the Bukharan and the government forces. Regardless, under new local leadership, Tarabi’s army turned to looting and pillaging the countryside. So they remained occupied for a week until a proper Mongol army arrived, either imperial troops or sent by Chagatai. The Bukharan forces went up confident towards them, believing defeating local militia was the same as defeating the horsemen of the Great Khan. The first volley of arrows killed the leadership of the Bukharan forces, and within hours 20,000 of the late-Tarabi’s followers had joined them. The following day, the Mongols were leading the citizens of Bukhara onto the plain before the city, preparing to unleash a horrific massacre as punishment. Only at the intervention of Mahmud Yalavach, with approval of Great Khan Ogedai, was this averted, and the population spared, probably to the displeasure of Chagatai. The Tarabi revolt however had undermined Yalavach’s credibility. Later in 1239 when Chagatai sought to transfer territory under Yalavach’s supervision to another official -something which under the secretariat system, Chagatai lacked the power to do- Yalavach complained to Ogedai. Ogedai agreed with Yalavach’s complaint, but to smooth things over with his brother, removed Yalavach from his office. But to demonstrate that he was not doing this to allow imperial perogative to slip, Ogedai immediaely appointed Yalavach’s son Mas’ud Beg to his father’s position at head of the Central Asian Secretariat, while Yalavach would, in the final months of Ogedai’s life in 1241, be appointed to head the Secretariat in North China after Yelu Chucai’s [choots-eye’s] demotion. Mas’ud Beg was just as capable as his father, and dedicated himself to the reconstruction of Central Asia, but with little progress over the 1240s. Ogedai had little energy for governance in his final years, and when he died in December 1241, Chagatai was the chief figure of the empire, the senior Chinggisid. Chagatai’s support for the regency of Ogedai’s widow Torogene helped ensure her position, but the last son of Chinggis Khan soon died of illness in 1242. Chagatai’s favourite son, Motugen, had died during the Khwarezmian campaign. He moved his choice of heir to another young son, but he too died early. Finally, Chagatai decided on a son of Motugen, Qara-Hulegu to be his heir. Qara-Hulegu was quickly confirmed into his father’s position in 1242, and largely cooperated in both financial policy and personnel with the regent Torogene Khatun. Therefore, Mas’ud Beg had to flee to Batu, chief of the Jochids, as Torogene threatened both him and his father Yalavach, men she saw as her enemies. This period we covered back in episode 20. Torogene’s son Guyuk became Great Khan in 1246, welcoming Mas’ud Beg and Mahmud Yalavach back to their positions, but deposing Qara-Hulegu. Instead, Guyuk Khan appointed his friend, a son of Chagatai named Yesu-Mongke, as the new Khan of the Chagatais. Yesu-Mongke was good at exactly one thing, the sources agree: drinking. After Guyuk’s death in 1248, the former Khan Qara-Hulegu and his clever wife Orghina wisely backed the new contender for the throne, Tolui’s son Mongke. When Mongke became the Khan of Khans in 1251, he undertook a massacre of princes of the line of Ogedai and Chagatai who had opposed him and plotted against him. As we saw in episode 21, Mongke essentially dissolved the ulus of Ogedai, and while the territory of the Chagatais remained intact, their ranks were thinned. Guyuk’s appointed Chagatai Khan Yesu-Mongke was deposed and eventually killed on Mongke’s order, and Qara-Hulegu was rewarded for his loyalty with the khanate again. Mas’ud beg and Mahmud Yalavach were reconfirmed in their positions in Central Asia and China. Everyone set out from Karakorum to return to their posts, except for Qara-Hulegu, who died en route. His young son Mubarak-Shah was duly enthroned as Khan of the Chagatais, with his mother, Qara-Hulegu’s widow Orghina Khatun, as regent. She was a good choice, an intelligent and shrewd woman who understood the dynamics of the Chagatai realm well. She was well respected, as she had been held in esteem by Chagatai himself, and as a granddaughter of Chinggis Khan via his daughter Checheyigen and a prince of the Oirats, she was of distinguished lineage. Over the 1250s, Orghina Khatun in cooperation with Mas’ud Beg furthered the reconstruction of Central Asia. According to Juvaini in the 1250s Transoxania finally reached the level of prosperity it had before the Mongol conquest. Fully backed by Mongke Khan, who also married her aunt, strengthening their connection, Orghina may as well have been the Chagatai Khan herself. The Mongol Empire saw a number of female regents over the 1240s and 50s, and Orghina may well have been the most capable. She gave Mas’ud Beg full support and materials to restore the economic power of the region. Both became quite wealthy through their efforts, as they had enough money to persoally endow madrassas. When Mongke Khaan’s brother Hulegu passed through the region in 1253 en route to his Iran campaign, Orghina Khatun hosted lavish banquets for Hulegu and his wives, who happened to be Orghina’s sister and half-sister. The height of the Chagatai Khanate was probably this decade under Orghina Khatun and Mas’ud Beg’s governance. The Chagatayids enjoyed their best relationship with the imperial government, having the full backing of Grand Khan Mongke, the trade routes prospered, cities were rebuilt, their economies restored and the region had a period of relative peace, and the horrors of the conquest began to slip into the past. There is some indication that the realm may have been, in this time, called something like the ulus of Oghina. The Franciscan Friar William of Rubruck, who passed through the region in the early 1250s, reported that he heard it called Organum. The term is of uncertain origin. Rubruck himself didn’t know where it came from, and there is debate in the scholarship if it actually refers to Orghina, with a number of alternative suggestions made, such as it coming from the name of Urgench, the capital of Khwarezm. But it is terribly coincidental though, that Rubruck would use such a rare term with more than a passing similarity to the name of the lady ruling the area skillfully at the exact same time. As with so many things, this came to a crash with Mongke Khan’s death on campaign in 1259. Orghina Khatun and her kinsmen supported Mongke’s brother, Ariq Boke, in his declaration as Khan of Khans, which put them at odds with Mongke’s other brother, Khubilai. Khubilai in 1260 sought to place a more amenable figure on the Chagatayid throne in order to deny Ariq an ally, and sent a great-grandson of Chagatai named Abishqa to depose or marry Orghina Khatun. Ariq Boke arrested and executed Khubilai’s Chagatai prince, but soon decided he needed his own man leading the Chagatayids. Orghina was a skilled administrator, but no miltiary leader, and she may not have been willing to allow Ariq to use her realm as a supply depot for war against Khubilai, who had access to all the materials of north China. In 1261 Ariq had Orghina removed and placed Alghu, another grandson of Chagatai, onto the throne. Orghina came to Ariq’s court and basically spent the next two years criticizing him for the action. As you undoubtedly know by now, as we covered it in episode 32, the war between Ariq Boke and Khubilai did not go well for Ariq. Alghu turned out to be unreliable, denying Ariq his supplies and backing Khubilai. Soon after, Orghina Khatun left Ariq Boke, returning to the Chagatai Khanate where Alghu forced her into marriage. Orghina was very popular among the Chagatayids, and it seems Alghu struggled for legitimacy. Marrying the influential Orghina was Alghu’s best solution. To seal the agreement, Alghu made her young son Mubarak-Shah his designated heir and once more confirmed the great administrator Mas’ud Beg over Transoxania. Ariq Boke was furious at Alghu’s betrayal, and in his frustration invaded the Chagatai Khanate, attacking Almaliq, but was soon, due to famine and desertion, forced to surrender to Khubilai. His victory complete, Khubilai confirmed Alghu and Orghina as the masters of the Chagatayids. With the war between the Toluids settled but the Great Khan’s influence severely curtailed in Central Asia, Alghu was free to strengthen himself as an independent monarch. He had to deal with an upstart Ogedeid prince on his northern border, however, a young man named Qaidu. Qaidu managed to defeat Alghu’s forces in a first battle, but Alghu regrouped and defeated Qaidu late in 1265. Poised to invade Qaidu’s small dominion, matters seemed bleak for Qaidu until Alghu suddenly died at the start of 1266. This much needed reprieve for Qaidu would define the Chagatais for the rest of the 13th century. As per their agreement, on Alghu’s death Orghina Khatun finally placed her son Mubarak-Shah on the Chagatayid throne in March 1266. This is the last known event of Orghina Khatun’s life, and it seems she died soon after enthroning her son. Apparently this was done without the approval of Khubilai Khan, as when Khubilai learned of this he sent another grandson of Chagatai from his court, Baraq. Only months into his reign, and some 15 years since his father’s death, Mubarak-Shah Khan was captured by Baraq and made his prisoner. The new Chagatai Khan, Baraq, won his first victory over Qaidu, but when Qaidu returned backed with troops from the Golden Horde sent by the Jochid Khan Mongke-Temur, Baraq was sent onto the backfoot. He pillaged Bukhara and Samarkand to fund a new army, starting the first round of undoing Mahmud Yalavach and Mas’ud Beg’s work. Even worse, it was for naught; Qaidu and Mongke-Temur sent emissaries for a truce. And so, either in 1267 on the Qatwan Steppe, or in 1269 at Talas, Chagatai Khan Baraq, the Ogedeid Prince Qaidu and representatives of the Jochid Khan Mongke-Temur made peace. They divivded the revenue of Transoxania between them, with ⅔ going to Baraq and ⅓ to be split between Qaidu and Mongke-Temur. Pastures were divided between them, princes and troops were forbidden to enter cities, Mas’ud Beg was to be placed in control of administering the sedentary population and Baraq and Qaidu became anda, blood brothers. Promising to support Baraq in an invasion of the Ilkhanate, they apparently also sent a joint letter to Khubilai criticizing his sinicization. The peace of Talas can be considered a definitive end to Mongol imperial unity, for now the princes ignored divided the empire between themselves. Though a peace, it was an uneasy one, and one dependent on turning their energies against other Mongols. Late in 1269 in preparation for his invasion of the Ilkhanate, Baraq encouraged a Chagatayid prince who served the Ilkhans to desert. Ilkhan Abaqa, son of Hulegu, swiftly crushed the prince’s attempt near Derband. In 1270 Baraq entered Ilkhanid territory in Khurasan, in what is now northeastern Iran and Afghanistan. Accompanying him were a large body of soldiers from Qaidu. Baraq’s army devastated much of Khurasan, overruning Badakhshan, Shaburghan, Taliqan, Merv and Nishapur in the first months of 1270, undoing much of the recovery these places had had since the invasion of Chinggis fifty years prior. Baraq won a victory over Abaqa Ilkhan’s brother Tubshin and the long serving governor of the region, Arghun Aqa, causing them to flee to Abaqa and warn him of the danger. But Qaidu had given explicit orders to his own men; after the victory over Tubshin, a disagreement between Qaidu’s commanders and Baraq’s was used as pretext for Qaidu’s men to abandon Baraq. Baraq was incensed and sent some men to pursue, all the while giving valuable time for Abaqa Ilkhan to mobilize his forces. Baraq then turned his attention on Herat in northern Aghanista in July of 1270. But Abaqa, was already on the march, and the Georgian forces in Abaqa’s vanguard surprised and destroyed Baraq’s advance force. Baraq pulled his men back after the brief clash, with Abaqa keeping his large army mostly hidden. Abaqa then sent a peace embassy to Baraq, and Baraq seems to have momentarily considered; then promptly sent a small group of spies to find and track Abaqa’s army. Abaqa captured the spies, executing all but one when he had a terribly clever idea. Absolutely devious, in fact. Leaving one spy tied up but near feasting troops, Abaqa had his troops in a panic abandon their camp and make much noise that an army of the Golden Horde had crossed the Caucasus and Abaqa needed to pull back to deal with it. The spy was allowed to escape and report his news back to Baraq, who was positively delighted. He quickly advanced, crossing the Herat river and plundered Abaqa’s deserted camp then moved leisurely onto a nearby plain… where he found Abaqa’s larger army drawn up for battle. Baraq had fallen into the trap, but he was not going to roll over for Abaqa. Baraq’s Chagatayid horsemen led the first charge, unleashing a volley of arrows into the Ilkhanid forces. Devastating cycle charges of a thousand horse archers ravaged the Ilkhanid lines, the apparently lighter equipped Chagatais too mobile for the heavier Ilkhanid cavalry. One of Baraq’s chief commanders was struck down by an arrow, but they resumed the attack and their repeated charges pushed back the Ilkhan’s centre and left. Abaqa considered retreating, but was encouraged by his generals to stick to the field. Redeploying his forces, gradually the Ilkhan encircled Baraq’s army. In a last attempt, Baraq personally led charges against the Ilkhan, until knocked from his horse. According to Rashid al-din, the grounded Baraq shouted at his men, “I am Baraq, give me a horse!” until finally acquiring a horse and riding off the field, pursued by the Ilkhanid troops for two days. One of Baraq’s commanders continued to fight, holding off the Ilkhans long enough to allow a number of Chagatayid troops to escape as well. So ended the battle of Herat, July 1270, ensuring Ilkhanid dominaion of Khurasan. Abaqa’s preoccupation with Baraq allowed the Mamluks to take Tripoli, and the defeat of Baraq ended up allowing Qaidu to dominate Central Asia for the next 30 years. Baraq reached Bukhara, where he soon fell deadly ill. Qaidu sent troops to capture Baraq, but in August 1271 found that Baraq had succumbed to his illness. The captive Mubarak-Shah used this opprounity to plunder Baraq’s camp and steal his possessions, even the jewelry of his widows, before fleeing to the Ilkhanate with his sister. Qaidu was now the dominant power in the Chagatai Khanate, a period we largely covered in episode 41. Only a month after Baraq’s death, Qaidu was declared Khan of the Ogedeids, and appointed his first Chagatai Khan. His initiall efforts to instill control were difficult, as sons of Alghu, Baraq and the puppet Chagatai khan himself rebelled. It would not be until 1282 when Qaidu was able to impose his authority, placing Du’a, a son of Baraq, onto the throne of Chagatai. Du’a and Qaidu had a very effective partnership, and channeled the energies of their combined khanates against the Yuan Dynasty, Ilkhanate and even India. It brought much needed peace to the region internally, even if the overland trade routes, the famed silk roads, were disrupted by their warfare. The aging Mas’ud Beg was heart broken when Abaqa Ilkhan preemptively attacked and sacked Bukhara in 1273, and the city was sacked again in 1276 by the rebellious sons of Alghu and Baraq. Mas’ud Beg must have been pleased for some sense of stability with Du’a and Qaidu’s partnership, and continued to do what he could to rebuild until his death in 1289. So honoured was he that Qaidu and Du’a had Mas’ud’s son immediately take his stead. Du’a and Qaidu certainly did what they could to encourage trade and growth, and even constructed cities, though they did not live in them. Their direction of the energies of their warriors against their foes must have helped keep rapacious nomads away from the fragile economic centres within the khanates. It certainly allowed for expansion of their influence. In the 1290s Du’a with Qaidu’s support exerted his authority over Ghazna in Afghanistan, and the fearsome Neguderis there. His eldest son Qutlugh Khwaja was appointed to head them, and from that base conducted raids on northern India at the same time as Du’a and Qaidu led their armies into Yuan territory in northwestern China. Chagatai raids on the Ilkhanate in the 1290s reached as far as Mazandaran, Fars and Kirman, and they even tried to put their own claimant on the throne of the Blue Horde, between the Caspian and Aral Seas. The final years of this effective partnership, as we covered in quite some detail in episode 41, ended in 1301 with Qaidu’s death against Yuan forces. At the start of the 14th century, Du’a was master of Central Asia and the Chagatai Khanate. Our next episode picks up with Du’a’s reign and the long shadow he cast over the Chagatais, namely in the form of all of his sons who basically each took a turn being Khan. So 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 and researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one!
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.
After Khuiblai Khan’s death in 1294, his successors ruled over the most powerful kingdom on earth, the Yuan Dynasty, controlling all of China and Mongolia. Yet not even one hundred years after the declaration of the Yuan in 1271, the Dynasty was pushed from China, their rulers a shadow of the men Chinggis Khan and Khubilai had been. In our first episode on the Yuan Dynasty, we take you through the first 40 years of their rule after Khubilai, and introduce you to ten Khans, from Temur Oljeitu to Toghon Temur, and the manner in which they lurched from crisis to crisis in the fourteenth century. It was an age of political chaos and bloodthirsty brothers, scheming bureacrats, overbearing mothers and misplaced Khans, and a century where every other person was seemingly named a variation of Temur. It was a period to have strangled even the greatest of rulers and most robust of dynasties; and these were not the greatest of rulers. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Our first of ten Khans for today is Temur Oljeitu, Khubilai’s grandson and first successor. Khubilai, as we demonstrated rather thoroughly, had outlived his chosen heir, Jinggim, as well as a plethora of other sons and grandsons. After Jinggim’s death, Khubilai had vacillated on who should succeed him. It was much more traditional Chinese custom for chosen heirs and the like, as opposed to the Mongolian method of ‘to the strongest,’ and declarations of quriltais. Seemingly reluctantly, only in the very twilight years of his life almost a decade after Jinggim’s death, did Khubilai move to make Temur Oljeitu, one of the late Jinggim’s younger sons, his heir. In 1293 Khubilai gave Temur Oljeitu the jade seal of the heir apparent, but had not provided him the full titles and honorifics that Jinggim had held. Thus, when the old Khubilai finally did die in February 1294, Temur Oljeitu was the favourite candidate, but not the only one. He was challenged by his older brother, another son of Jinggim named Kammala. It came to the quriltai in April 1294, where both made their speeches, each demonstrating their knowledge of the maxims of Chinggis Khan, aiming to convince the elite and each other of their fitness for the Grand Khanate. Of course, it wasn’t really just a matter of speeches which determined the outcome. Being the selected heir of Great Khan Khubilai was obviously a powerful boost, but Temur Oljeitu had a number of powerful allies backing him. His mother, Kokejin, was well respected and beloved by Khubilai; military leaders, especially Bayan of the Baarin, the great conqueror of the Song Dynasty, backed Temur Oljeitu; and prominent members of the bureaucracy, such as the Chancellor of the Right, Oljei. This was to be a heralding of the future of the succession Yuan Khans, where the bureaucracy and military elite became the decision makers. Kammala was convinced to accept Temur Oljeitu, who on April 15th, 1295, was duly enthroned as Khan of Khans and Emperor of the Yuan Dynasty. Temur Oljeitu was a respectable choice. Conservative minded, both he and Chancellor Oljei, as well as Oljei’s successor Harghasun, aimed to consoldiate and stabilize the Yuan Dynasty after the struggles of Khubilai’s final years. Open minded regarding Chinese culture, respecting Confucianism but not enmeshed in it, while also having connections to the military elite in the Mongolian steppe, Temur Oljeitu was very much a Khan in the mold of his grandfather Khubilai, though lacking his physical and intellectual vigour, while also keeping one of Khubilai’s worst vices, a penchant for alcoholism. In order to stabilize the government and economy, reconciliation of various branches of the family was favoured and great invasions abandoned. Lavish gifts to princes on his accession helped affirm their loyalty and quiet some of the Mongols in Manchuria who had been so problematic in Khubilai’s last years. Plans to invade Annam and Japan were cancelled; the only foreign ventures were to be brief excursions into Burma and northern Thailand which, though largely failures, were not on the scales of any of Khubilai’s efforts. Tax debts from Khubilai’s reign were cancelled, and Temur Oljeitu sought to reduce the tax burden on the people, forbidding the collection of anything beyond established quotas. Diplomatically, Temur enjoyed a significant triumph over his father. In 1301 his armies under his nephew Qaishan finally defeated Qaidu Khan, the master of central Asia. When Qaidu died of his wounds in September 1301, Qaidu’s puppet Chagatai Khan Du’a decided he had enough of fighting the Yuan. With Qaidu’s son Chapar, Du’a contacted Temur Oljeitu indicating his willingness to recognize Temur Oljeitu’s overlordship. Temur Oljeitu was delighted and immediately accepted. Their representatives were sent to the Khan of the Ilkhanate, also called Oljeitu, and the Khan of the Golden Horde, Toqta. By 1304, peace had reached between the Khanates. For the first time since 1259, there was a recognized Great Khan, something Khubilai had never achieved. Though Temur Oljeitu wielded no authority over them, he sent patents to affirm each Khan, and in turn received gifts and tribute from them, a process largely carried out by his successors. And in 1306, when Du’a went to war with the heirs of Qaidu, Temur Oljeitu provided him with an army. For a few years at the start of the fourteenth century, we can finally speak of a proper pax Mongolica, when there was peace between all of the Khanates across Eurasia. It would not last very long. In internal matters, Temur Oljeitu did not quite have the same success. For one thing, the Yuan Dynasty permanently hemorrhaged money. In 1295, less than a year after his enthronment, the imperial treasury was reporting to him that nearly all of the wealth Khubilai had accumulated over his reign had been spent in gifts to the princes. The financial policies of Temur Oljeitu and the Chancellors Oljei and Harghasun had brought stability after the “Three Bad ministers,” but was not bringing in new revenue. Temur Oljeitu had to cover government costs by paying out from the silver reserve. This was the silver needed to back the paper currency, and with less silver reserve, inflation would rise and rise, a problem we will keep coming back to. Government corruption was intense. The set quota for the number of court and capital officials was set at 2,600 persons. In the first year of Temur Oljeitu’s reign, it was found to be over 10,000. In 1303, a corruption trial revealed bribery going to the very highest levels of Temur Oljeitu’s government. A furious Khan pushed for further investigation, resulting in over 18,000 convictions of officials and clerks on bribery and other corruption charges. Rather typical of Temur Oljeitu though, was that he lacked the energy to carry out these charges and sweeping changes implied by such convictions. Most officials were let off with hardly as much as a warning, and many simply returned to their posts within the following years. While it has been common to attest the Yuan Dynasty’s economic failings to corruption and lavish gift giving- which to be sure, there was no shortage of- recent research has highlighted a significant problem overlooked in such a presentation. The fourteenth century was the start of the Little Ice Age, a global climatic shift towards generally cooler and wetter temperatures, not counting for regional variations. Some variations in temperature and weather of the thirteenth century can be attributed to the massive eruption of the Indonesian volcano of Samalas in the late 1250s, with the Little Ice Age entailing more long term shifts. Cooler temperatures in general strongly affect the Asian monsoon season, which in the 14th century manifested into a general trend of intense colds and snowfall in Mongolia and the steppe, droughts in North China and unending rains and typhoons in southern China. These began to be felt in the very first years of Temur Oljeitu’s reign. In 1295, the year after he became Khan of Khans, typhoons struck the Yangzi River delta, his empire’s most densely populated region; the Yellow River broke its banks in multiple places and caused repeated flooding, and a dry spell from the previous years resulted in plagues of locusts that eradicated crops. Flooding, typhoons and locust plagues were annual problems for most of the 1290s. In Mongolia and the steppes, the winters turned harsh, and unexpected and high volumes of snow fell even in spring and summer, starving entire herds and forcing many to flee south to seek support for the Khan. So intense were these problems that in 1297 Temur Oljeitu changed his reign title from Yuanzhen, “Primary allegiance” to Dade, “great virtue.” Usually reign titles were held for decades, so to change it after two years was a last-ditch attempt to appease the heavens. It was not just an ecological problem though. Khubilai Khan had continued the policy of huang zheng from the Song Dynasty. This was government-provided disaster relief, in the form of cash, food, normally grain or rice, farm tools, animals and other supplies to help the given stricken population through this period. It was a duty of the ruler of China, and fit well into Khubilai’s policy of reconstruction after the Mongol conquest and relieving the burdens of the lower classes. None of Khubilai’s heirs dared repeal such a law, for it became a basis of Yuan legitimacy. However, in a century that was to prove one of unprecedented, and worsening, climatic terrors over a vast geographic area, from the forests of Siberia, mountains of Tibet, Korea, Manchuria across all of China and its southern coast, this was to prove an impossible burden to meet. The detailed Chinese records reveal a dynasty facing a crisis every year. From 1272 until 1357, there was a major famine somewhere in China on average once every two years; over 56 earthquakes were recorded; super typhoons on the southern coast coincided with supersnowstorms in the steppe. Exceptionally cold winters and unexpected frosts meant certain crops could no longer be reliably grown in the north. The densely populated Yangzi River Delta, home to one of the most economically and agriculturally vital areas of the empire, was almost yearly suffering droughts, flooding, epidemics, starvation and typhoons which wiped away entire towns. For more than a third of the Yuan era, the empire experienced at least seven distinct natural calamanities within the same year! People died in the disasters by the thousands, and survivors died in the hundreds of thousands in the ensuing famines and destruction of farmland. Survivors needed to be brought onto government relief. Grain and rice shortages caused the Yuan to try and cover costs only with cash, and to provide more cash, more had to be printed, to the point it outstripped government revenues. Inflation was the result, and Yuan paper money became ever more worthless over the 1300s. Further, waves of natural calamanities always appear to symbolize the given dynasty had lost the support of heaven, and that the time was come for them to be overthrown. Temur Oljeitu’s reign saw the beginning of these problems. In 1301, a spring drought in the Yangzi Delta was followed by a massive typhoon; arable farmland was destroyed for 50 kilometres along the coast line, and a 30-40 metre high wave pushed 280 kilometres inland! 17,000 were killed by storm by the storm itself, and 100,000 by the ensuing starvation. Only a month later, there was flooding displacing people in Manchuria, a freak August snowstorm in Mongolia, flooding around the imperial capital of Dadu, and a locust plague in Hebei province. From this year onwards, flooding somewhere in the Empire became an almost annual problem: in 1302, 50 days of torrential rain caused flooding in 14 prefectures in southern China, and in 1303 and 1305 severe earthquakes rocked the Central regions. And these problems would only become worse over the rest of the dynasty’s history. The Khan was simply not equipped to handle this. The conservative-minded Temur Oljeitu and his chief ministers, Oljei and Harghasun, could not invigorate the dynasty for such an immense task as this. After the death of chief and favourite wife in 1299 and mother in 1300, and onset of illnesses from his years of heavy drinking, Temur Oljeitu lost much of his energy for governance, allowing another wife, the empress Buluqan, to overpower him. She sought to ensure the succession of their son, Deshou, a process in which she made many enemies, though even her hostile biography in the Yuan Shi recognized her as a just and able minister. Exiling and removing possible challengers to Deshou’s accession, she was able to have Temur Oljeitu confirm him as heir in 1305… only for Deshou to die unexpectedly early in 1306. When Temur Oljeitu died in February 1307, he had no heirs and no surviving children, and was given the posthumous temple name of Chengzong. One Khan down, nine to go. Temur Oljeitu’s death saw factions form immediately. Empress Buluqan had her allies, and sought to make Temur Oljeitu’s cousin, Ananda, the next Great Khan. A Muslim and prince ruling over the former Tangut territories, Ananda had a powerful army and seemed a likely candidate.. Until Ayurburwada, a son of Temur Oljeitu’s older brother Darmabala, led a coup in Dadu, arresting Ananda and Empress Buluqan and their allies. They died in prison soon after. Ayurburwada wanted to be Khan, but faced a challenge from his older brother Qaishan and his powerful and experienced army. A veteran of wars against Qaidu and their enemeis in the steppe, Qaishan was a fearsome foe, and war was only averted with the intervention of their mother, Targi. Agreement was reached, making Qaishan the Khan of Khans, and Ayurburwada his heir. So we have our second Khan of the episode, Qaishan, known also as Külüg Khan and by his posthumous temple name, Wuzong. Unlike Khubilai and Temur Oljeitu, Qaishan was a man of the steppe with no love or understanding for Chinese culture. He immediately changed course with Temur Oljeitu. Where his predecessor sought continuation of Khubilai’s policies and maintained ministers, Qaishan removed most of Temur Oljeitu’s adherents. Instead of seeking to rule through the Secretariats, Qaishan wanted to rule like a steppe nomad in the vein of Chinggis Khan, via his personal retainers and keshig. Lavish gifts were spent on his friends and allies, even building a palace for them. Princely titles were handed out like candy. And for this, only four months into his reign, Qaishan found he effectively spent well over a year’s worth of government revenue: he found himself able to pay less than half of what he had promised in gifts to the aristocracy. In a panic, he spent the rest of the reign trying to address this. The price on salt licenses, one of the most important industries in the Yuan realm, was raised by 35%; prohibition on liquor production was lifted in order to collect taxes there. The tax debts that Temur Oljeitu had cancelled were now to be collected again. Most famously was Qaishan and his allies’ currency program. New copper coins were minted, golder and silver were demonetarized and new paper bills put into circulation. The new currency was based on an exchange of 1:5 with the old, and the volume of currency printed in 1310 was 7 times higher than the three previous years! Qaishan’s efforts did little good other than expand the bureaucracy needlessly and grow inflation. His sudden death in April 1311 after only a 4 year reign brings us to our third Khan, Qaishan’s younger brother Ayurburwada Buyantu, posthumous temple name Renzong. This was the first fully peaceful transition of power in the Yuan Dynasty’s history. It went according to their agreement, and once comfortably in power, Ayurburwada violently purged the government of Qaishan’s allies and appointees. Unlike the steppe raised Qaishan, Ayurburwada was a man with a good Confucian education, could read and write Chinese and appreciated Chinese art and culture. Most of Qaishan’s policies were immediately reversed, the new currency abolished, the building projects halted, and good Confucian scholar-officials placed into power. Ayurburwada wanted a more traditionally Chinese-Confucian government, and reinstated the civil service examination system to choose officials, for instance, with a distinct Neo-Confucianism curriculum which stayed for the Ming and Qing dynasties. He promoted the translation of Chinese classics in Mongolian, and began the codification of the Yuan legal system, a process that took until 1323. But he could not address the real problems facing the dynasty. The environmental crisis only grew worse, with more severe snow storms in Mongolia increasing the northern refugees crisis, while the flooding problem grew exponentially worse in 1319 onwards, all in addition to the varied economic troubles associated with this, from destruction of farmland to government support of refugees. Ayurburwada could reverse Qaishan’s disastrous currency but could not find new revenue sources to alleviate the problems that Qaishan had tried to fix, and government expenditure was not trimmed. After a brief effort, Ayurburwada found he could not change the privileges of the aristocracy or interfere in the administration of their appanages, though he tried to lesson the number of new princes made and reduce the level of annual gifts. He needed the support of the Mongol and military elite, and reducing their gifts was not a good way to do this. His greatest political challenges came from his own mother, Dowager Empress Targi, and her favourite, the Chancellor of the Right Temuder. Both were ntrenched supporters of the status quo- that is, enriching themselves and their followers at the expense of the Chinese. Ayurburwada found himself continually harassed, always combating them and their allies who resisted his reform efforts. Temuder bullied and fought with Ayurburwada’s ministers and was openly corrupt. The Khan could not even arrest him. The most he could do was remove Temuder from office, only for Dowager Empress Targi to make Temuder the Grand Preceptor to the Heir apparent, Ayurburwada’s son Shidebala. Unable to stand up to his mother, the reform minded Ayurburwada died in March 1320, aged only 35, without having really made any true reforms to the Yuan state or government, other than add a coat of Confucian-coloured paint to the dynasty for a brief period. He was peacefully succeeded by his 18 year old son Shidebala, known also as Gegeen Khan or by his posthumous temple name of Yingzong. So starts the reign of our fourth Khan of the episode. Only three days after Ayurburwada’s death, Dowager Empress Targi reinstated Temuder as the Grand Chancellor of the Right, and began a veritable reign of terror. The officials who stood up to them during Ayurburwada’s life were severely punished, exiled or executed. Appointing his own allies and family members, Temuder ran roughshod over the young Khan. But well educated, sinicized and with a strong spirit, Shidebala Khan did not long sit idle. He appointed a fine choice to the second government position, Chancellor of the Left, in Baiju, a grandson of Antung, a popular chancellor under Khubilai, and a descendant of the heroic Mukhali, great general and viceroy of Chinggis Khan. A friend to Confucians and of proud Mongol heritage, Baiju was an excellent choice for any enemy of Targi and Temuder to flock to. Together, Baiju and Shidebala Khan became staunch allies, and the Empress Dowager is said to have complained of the young Khan, “we should not have raised this boy!” Only two months into his reign, a conspiracy was discovered to replace Shidebala with his younger brother. Baiju urged Shidebala to act quickly, and they unravelled the conspiracy, discovering it was associates of Targi and Temuder behind the plot. Weakening their support network, the Khan and his Chancellor gradually began to repulse the Dowager and her Chancellor. The aging pair were only overcome when they died of old age in the fall of 1322. After that, Shidebala and Baiju could finally carry out their reforms, pushing out more of Temuder’s associates from government and continuing policies of the late Ayurburwada. Shidebala supported Confucians, but he loved Buddhism. An ardent and devout Buddhist, Shidebala ordered a Buddhist temple honouring the ‘Phags-pa lama to be constructed in every prefecture in the empire, with the stipulation that they all had to be larger than their Confucian counterparts. The Khan did not apparently see the hypocrisy in such an expensive program when he was supposed to be dealing with the financial crisis. He also showed open disdain for Islam, having the mosque in Shangdu, the summer capital, destroyed in order to make room for the ‘Phags-Pa temple there. If Shidebala would have strengthened or weakened the Khanate without the presence of his grandmother or Temuder, it will never be known. In September 1323, a conspiracy made up of a number of princes, allies of the late Temuder and part of the Imperial Asud Guard killed Shidebala and Baiju at Nanpo. Immediately they reached out to prince Yesun Temur, a son of Temur Oljeitu’s older brother Kammala. A month after Shidebala’s murder, Yesun Temur was declared Khan on the Kerulen River, the very birthplace of Chinggis Khan, and became our fifth Khan of the episode. Yesun Temur was almost certainly involved in the plot against Shidebala, and moved quickly to secure himself against charges of illegitmacy. First rewarding the conspirators, once he was firmly entrenched in the two Yuan capitals, he had the conspirators violently purged, the princes involved exiled to far corners of the empire. Yesun Temur worked hard to distance himself from the means of his enthronement. The official version of events became that he had learned of the plot only days before it happened, and had tried to warn Shidebala Khan. He just happened to be very convientenly placed to immediately become Khan. The new Khan had spent many years in the steppe and had a powerful military backing, and in some respects was a proponent of returning things to “the old ways.” Only a single Chinese minister was carried over into the new adminsitration, and was routinely ignored. Muslims gained their most prominent status in the Yuan under Yesun Temur. His chancellor of the Left, Dawlat Shah, was a Muslim and a firm ally throughout his reign. However, he understood that the means of his ascension left a bad taste in some mouths, and therefore reached out to accomodate them. Supporters of Ayurburwada and Shidebala who had been wronged by Temuder were posthumously pardoned or restored to their posts; Baiju’s son was given his father’s old military position. Two sons of Qaishan who had been exiled by Shidebala, including one Tuq Temur, were allowed to return. More princely titles and appanages were granted, gifts were made- another addition to the expenditure, but arguably necessary given the means by which he had ascended the throne. Despite his origins, Yesun Temur showed respect to Confucians, refused to scrap the state exam system and encouraged the further translation of Confucian classics and teaching to Mongols, though these had little effect on government. Like Shidebala, Yesun Temur was a Buddhist, and spent great sums on Buddhist temples throughout the empire. The environmental crisis only worsened though. The flight of Mongols and other peoples of the north and northwest grew so bad that in the first year of his reign, 39% of the money printed that year was spent on trying to send the refugees back and put them onto their feet. This was so ineffective that he then ordered any Mongol trying to migrate south without express permission was to be executed, and in 1326 forbid steppe princes from sending their wives to the court to complain about famine in Mongolia. Intense flooding every year of the 1320s annihilated cropland and worsened the problem, and inflation only continued to rise. These troubles showed no signs of abating when Yesun Temur died of illness in August 1328, aged 35. Our fifth Khan of the episode was succeeded by his 8 year old son Ragibagh at Shangdu in Inner Mongolia. Dawlat Shah and the party enthroning the new Khan were taken aback when news reached them of a coup already underway in Dadu. Dadu, the imperial capital, had been seized by a Qipchap officer named El Temur. A compatriot of the late Qaishan, who had fought beside him in the wars against Qaidu, El Temur seized the capital in order to restore it to the line of Qaishan. Inviting both Qaishan’s sons Tuq Temur and Qoshila to Dadu to take the throne, El Temur deftly outmanuevered the supporters of young Ragibagh Khan. El Temur’s ally Bayan of the Merkit brought Tuq Temur to Dadu and in October 1328, made him the seventh Khan of the episode- with a promise to abdicate once his older brother, Qoshila, arrived from his exile in the Chagatai Khanate. This was the so-called “War of the Two Capitals,” with the two factions based in each of the capitals founded by Khubilai Khan, Dadu, where sits modern Beijing, and Shangdu, in the steppes in what is now Inner Mongolia. The two sides fought across the border, but El Temur and Tuq Temur’s armies had the better of the encounters. They advanced on Shangdu which surrendered in November 1328. Dawlat Shah and his allies were captured and executed; the young Ragibagh, the sixth Khan of the episode, was never found. Qoshila was excited at the news, and with the Chagatai Khan Eljigidei, declared himself Khan at a quriltai north of the old imperial capital of Karakorum, declaring Tuq Temur to be his heir. The Chagatai Khan returned to his Khanate, and Qoshila marched southeast.The eighth khan of the episode met the seventh at a palace built by their father, Qaishan, in August 1329. The reunion of Qoshila and Tuq Temur was warm. Four days later, Qoshila Khan was found dead, and Tuq Temur was enthroned once more as Khan of Khans. Despite being enthroned twice and having killed his brother for the throne, Tuq Temur was a puppet. He sat on the whim of the real powermakers, El Temur and Bayan of the Merkit. They were the ultimate bureaucratic kingmakers, having built their own wealth and support networks independent of the Khan. Unlike Temuder who was loyal to Targi Khatun, or civil servants like Oljei or Harghasun, El Temur and Bayan were their own dynamic duo controlling government, granting themselves titles, imperial wives, honorifics and fiefdoms. Tuq Temur Khan contented himself with his studies of the Chinese classics and Confucianism, which he adored, practicing his calligraphy, collected art and was haunted with guilt over murdering his older brother. The khan founded an Academy to help instill Confucian morals on the Mongols and government. El Temur, who had no care for Confucians, took over this Academy to restrict access of its members to the Khan. The nakedly illegal reign did no favours for a Dynasty struck with financial and ecological chaos. In the three years Tuq Temur was Khan of Khan, 21 rebellions broke out requiring great resources to be crushed. It would not be until 1332 that the final holdouts of Yesun Temur loyalists would be militarily crushed. No new revenues could be found while the costs of relief, war, the court and corruption continued to soar alongside inflation. In 1328, 343,420 ding of paper money was printed. The next year, 1.232 million was printed, which almost covered the 1.35 million in cash and nearly 1 million tonnes of grain spent on famine relief, a full 20-30% of government revenue in that year. Tuq Temur Khan obsessed with legitimacy: other claimants were exiled, including the sons of Qoshila. One, the 13 year old Toghon Temur, was sent to Korea. Tuq Temur and his empress had their eldest son Aratnadara declared heir in 1331… one month before Aratnadara died. Beset with grief and guilt, Tuq Temur changed the name of his eldest son, entrusted him to the care of El Temur, and died in September 1332 with the succession undecided. On his deathbed, overcome with shame, he apparently declared that a son of Qoshila was to succeed him in order to make amends. And so, El Temur carried out Tuq Temur’s will, installing the late Qoshila’s six year old son Rinchinbal as the ninth Khan of the episode. El Temur envisioned many happy years watching over this malleable child ruler, only for the lad to die of illness a full 53 days into his reign. El Temur desired to place Tuq Temur’s young son on the throne, but court resistance was led by Tuq Temur’s widow, the empress Budashiri, who wanted to hold to her husband’s final will. And so, El Temur invited Qoshila’s older surviving son, the thirteen year old Toghon Temur, to come take the throne, our tenth and last Khan of the episode- and the last Chinggisid Khan to rule the Yuan Dynasty in China. The long reign of Toghon Temur will be the subject of our next episode, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast in order to follow. To help us keep bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals, and providing us a kind review on a podcast site of your choice, or sharing with your friends. All are appreciated. This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I’m your host David, and we will catch you on the next one.
The history of the Mongol Empire is not just a history of the Mongols, but the people they interacted with. In today’s interview, our series historian, Jack Wilson, talks with Dr. John Latham-Sprinkle on one of those peoples affected by the Mongol Conquests, the Alans of the North Caucasus. Dr. John Latham-Sprinkle is a historian based at Ghent University in Belgium, whose work focuses on the history of the North Caucasus region, which today is part of the Russian Federation. He researches the Medieval kingdom of Alania, the formation of political power in imperial borderlands, and the history of slavery
“There was a certain man who was a believer, and he was a nobleman and a fearer of God. He was rich in the things of this world, and he was well endowed with the qualities of nature; he belonged to a famous family and a well-known tribe. His name was SHIBAN the Sa'ora. He dwelt in the city which is called [...] KHAN BALIK , [...] the royal city in the country of the East. He married according to the law a woman whose name was KEYAMTA. And when they had lived together for a long time, and they had no heir, they prayed to God continually and besought Him with frequent supplications not to deprive them of a son who would continue [their] race. And He who giveth comfort in His gracious mercy received their petition, and He showed them compassion. For it is His wont to receive the entreaty of those who are broken of heart, and-to hearken unto the groaning of those who make supplications and petitions [to Him]. [....] Now God made the spirit of conception to breathe upon the woman Keyamta, and she brought forth a son, and they called his name " SAWMA.” And they rejoiced [with] a great joy, neighbours of his family and his relations rejoiced at his birth.’ So begins the history of Rabban bar Sauma, as translated by E. Wallis Budge. There were a number of travellers, missionaries, diplomats and merchants who made journey from Europe to China during the height of the Mongol Empire. While Marco Polo is the most famous of these, we have also covered a few other travellers in previous episodes. Yet, there were also those who made the harrowing journey from China to the west. Of these, none are more famous than Rabban bar Sauma, the first known individual born in China who made the journey to Europe. Rabban bar Sauma was a Turkic Christian monk who travelled from Khanbaliq, modern-day Beijing, across Central Asia, the Ilkhanate, the Byzantine Empire, Italy, all the way to the western edge of France, visiting Khans, Emperors, Kings and Popes. Our episode today will introduce you to Rabban Sauma and his incredible journey across late 13th century Mongol Eurasia. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Sauma was born around 1225 in the city of Yenching, on which Beijing now sits. Yenching of course, we have visited before, when it was known as Zhongdu, the capital of the Jurchen Jin Dynasty. The Mongols took the city after a bloody siege in 1215, which we covered back in episode 7 of this season. Sauma was born to Turkic parents, either Onggud or Uighur, two groups which had long since recognized the supremacy of Chinggis Khan. Sauma’s parents were Christians of the Church of the East, often called, rather disparagingly, Nestorians. Nestorius was a 5th century archbishop of Constantinople who had argued, among other things, the distinction between Christ’s humanity and his divinity, and that Mary was mother of Jesus the man, but not of Jesus the God. For if God had always existed, then he could not have had a mother. For this Nestorius was excommunicated at the Council of Ephesus in 431 and his followers scattered across the east. From the Sassanid Empire they spread across Central Asia, reaching China during the Tang Dynasty. By the 12th century, the adaptable Nestorian priests converted several of the tribes of Mongolia, from the Naiman, the Kereyit to the Onggud, to which Sauma likely belonged. These Eastern Christian priests stayed influential among the Mongols for the remainder of the 13th century, with a number of prominent Mongols adhering to their faith. Sorqaqtani Beki, the mother of Great Khans Mongke and Khubilai, was perhaps the best known of these. The young Sauma took his Christian faith seriously; so seriously, his parents sought to dissuade him, fretting the end of their family line if their son became a monk. Refusing fine meats and alcohol, Sauma instead hungered for ecclestical knowledge and purity. Accepted into the Nestorian clergy of Yenching in 1248, at age 25 he donned the tonsure and garb of the monk. Developing a reputation for asceticism beyond even his fellow monks, he largely secluded himself in his own cell for 7 years before leaving the monastery for the mountains. His devotion to Christ made him famous among the Nestorians of North China and Mongolia, attracting the attention of a young Onggud Turk named Markos. From the Onggud capital of Koshang in modern Inner Mongolia, Markos was mesmerized by the stories of the holiness of Sauma. The 15 year old Markos marched by himself to Sauma in 1260. Impressed by the youth’s tenacity even as he attempted to dissuade him from joining the monastery, Sauma eventually took Markos under his wing. Markos proved himself an excellent student, and within three years was accepted into the Nestorian monastic life. Sauma and Markos became fast friends and pillars of the Nestorian community around Yenching, which by then was the capital of the new Great Khan, Khubilai, and renamed to Dadu, “Great City,” or Khanbaliq, “The Khan’s City,” to Turkic and Mongolian speakers. Khanbaliq is the origins of Marco Polo’s somewhat distorted version of Cambulac. While Sauma was happy to spend his life in the mountains near Dadu, Markos was much more energetic, and sought to convince his friend to partake in the most difficult of journeys; to the holy city of Jerusalem to be absolved of their sins. Sauma tried to scare Markos off this goal, and it was not until around 1275 that Sauma was convinced to accompany his friend. They went to Khanbaliq for an escort and supplies, and here news of their mission came to the most powerful monarch on the planet, Khuiblai Khan. Several sources, such as the Syriac Catholicos Bar Hebraeus, attest that Sauma and Markos were sent west by Kublai to worship in Jerusalem or baptize clothes in the River Jordan. Such a task is similar to the orders Kublai gave to Marco Polo’s father and uncle, instructed to bring back Catholic priests and sacred oil from Jerusalem for Yuan China. Khubilai often tried to appear a friend to all religions within his realm, and may have felt the need to honour his own mother’s memory, as she had been a Christian. That Sauma and Markos went with the blessings of the Great Khan holding his passport (paiza) would explain the favoured treatment they received over their voyage. Interestingly though, the main source for Bar Sauma’s journey, a Syriac language manuscript compiled shortly after his death from notes and an account he had made in his life, makes no mention of Khubilai’s involvment. Historian Pier Giorgio Borbone suggests it was deliberately left out, instead playing of the religious aspect of the pilgrimage as emerging from Markos and Sauma themselves, rather than imply they only made the journey on the order of Khubilai. Setting out around 1275, Sauma, Markos and an escort began their journey to the west. Through the Yuan Empire they were met by ecstatic crowds of Nestorians coming out to see the holymen, showering them with gifts and supplies. Two Onggud nobles, sons-in-laws to the Great Khan, provided more animals and guides for them, though they warned of the dangers now that the Mongol Khanates were at war. They followed one of the primary routes of the Silk Road, via the former territory of the Tangut Kingdom, the Gansu Corridor, to the Tarim Basin, cutting south along the desolate Taklamakan desert, the harshest stretch of their journey. After staying in Khotan, they moved onto Kashgar, shocked to find it recently depopulated and plundered, a victim of Qaidu Khan. Passing through the Tien Shan mountains to Talas, they found the encampment of that same Khan. Here they minimized any connections they had to Khubilai, instead portraying themselves on a mission of personal religious conviction and prayed for the life of Qaidu and his well being, asking that he provid supplies to assist in their journey. Qaidu let them through, and Sauma and Markos continued on a seemingly uneventful, but strenuous trip through Qaidu’s realm, the Chagatai Khanate and into the Ilkhanate. Sauma and Markos’ journey to Jerusalem halted in Maragha, chief city of the Ilkhanate. There, the head of the Nestorian Church, Patriarch Mar Denha, found use for these well-spoken travellers affiliated with the Khan of Khans. Mar Denha had not made himself many friends within the Ilkhanate, in part for his hand in the violent murder of a Nestorian who had converted to Islam. As a result the Il-Khan, Hulegu’s son Abaqa, had not provided letters patent to confirm Denha in his position, wary of alienating the Muslims of his kingdom. Mar Denha believed monks sent from Abaqa’s uncle Khubilai would be most persuasive. Abaqa Il-Khan treated Sauma and Markos generously, and perhaps influenced by his Christian Byzantine wife, on their urging he agreed to send Mar Denha his confirmation. In exchange, Mar Denha was to provide an escort for Sauma and Markos to reach Jerusalem, but the roads were closed due to war between the Ilkhanate and the Mamluk Sultanate. When Markos and Sauma returned to Mar Denha, he told them visiting his own Patriarchate was just as good as visiting Jerusalem, and gave them new titles. Both were made Rabban, the Syriac form of Rabbi. Markos was made Metropolitan of the Nestorians of Eastern Asia, essentially a bishop, and given a new name: Yabhallaha, by which he is more often known, while Rabban bar Sauma became his Visitor-General. Suddenly promoted but unable to return east due to a breakout of war between the Central Asian Khanates, Rabban Sauma and Mar Yabhallaha stayed in a monastery near Arbil until the sudden death of Mar Denha in 1281. His experience with the Mongols and knowledge of their language made Yabhallaha a prime candidate to succeed Mar Denha, and the other Metropolitans anointed him Patriarch of the Nestorians. Wisely, Rabban Sauma encouraged Yabhallaha to immediately seek confirmation from Abaqa Il-Khan, who appreciated the move and rewarded Yabhallaha and the Nestorians of the Ilkhanate with gifts, such as a throne and parasol, as well as tax privileges. Abaqa soon died in 1282, and Yabhallaha and Sauma faced scrutiny under Abaqa’s successor, his Muslim brother Teguder Ahmad. Accusations were made that the Nestorians were defaming Teguder Il-Khan in letters to Khubilai. Placed on trial before the Il-Khan, the two friends fought for their innocence and outlasted him. In 1284 Teguder was ousted and killed by Abaqa’s son Arghun. Mar Yabhallaha immediately paid homage to Arghun, in him finding a firm supporter. With Arghun’s backing, Yabhallaha removed his enemies from within the Nestorian church and strengthened his power. Desiring to complete the war with the Mamluk Sultanate, under Arghun efforts to organize an alliance with Christian Europe against the Mamluks reached new heights. Since the days of Arghun’s grandfather Hulegu, the Il-Khans had sent envoys to Europe in an effort to organize a Crusader-Mongolian alliance against the Mamluk Sultans of Egypt. Despite some close attempts, there had not yet been successful cooperation. Arghun was determined to change this and organize the coalition which would finally overcome the Mamluks. Desiring the most effective envoy possible, Arghun turned to Mar Yabhallaha to suggest an influential, well travelled and respectable Christian to send to spur Crusading fervour, aided by promises that Arghun would restore Jerusalem to Christian hands. Yabhallaha had just the man. Turning to his longtime friend, Yabhallaha asked Rabban bar Sauma to carry the Il-Khan’s messages westwards. Provided letters for the Kings and Popes, as well as paizas, gold, animals and provisions, in the first days of 1287, after a tearful goodbye with Mar Yabhallaha, the 62 year old Rabban Sauma set out, accompanied by at least two interpreters from Italy in his escort. The first steps of his route are unclear, likely taking the caravan routes from northern Iraq to somewhere along the southeastern Black Sea coast. From there they took a ship to Constantinople and met the Byzantine Emperor Andronikos II. As recorded in the Syriac history of Rabban Sauma, quote: “And after [some] days he arrived at the great city of CONSTANTINOPLE, and before they went into it he sent two young men to the Royal gate to make known there that an ambassador of [Khan] Arghon had come. Then the [Emperor] commanded certain people to go forth to meet them, and to bring them in with pomp and honour. And when RABBAN SAWMA went intothe city, the [Emperor] allotted to him a house, that is to say, a mansion in which to dwell. And after RABBAN SAWMA had rested himself, he went to visit the [Emperor, Andronikos II] and after he had saluted him, the [Emperor] asked him, "How art thou after the workings of the sea and the fatigue of the road?" And RABBAN SAWMA replied, "With the sight of the Christian king fatigue hath vanished and exhaustion hath departed, for I was exceedingly anxious to see your kingdom, the which may our Lord establish!" Emperor Andronikos II politely welcomed the embassy, dining them and providing a house for their stay. Giving the gifts and letters from Arghun, Rabban Sauma met his first frustration as efforts to broach military aid led nowhere. The Emperor Andronikos provided gifts, excuses, and promised exactly no military aid for the Il-Khan. Whatever disappointment Rabban Sauma felt was offset with a tour of the sites of Constantinople, especially the great church of Hagia Sophia. In his homeland churches were small buildings or even mobiles tents; in Ani, in Armenia, he saw a city famous for its many churches. But nothing could compare to the majesty of the Hagia Sophia, the quality and colour of its marble, its 360 columns, the great space and seemingly floating roof. The mosaics, the shrines and relics alleged to date to the earliest days of Christianity, all captured Sauma’s heart. Of the church’s famous dome, Sauma wrote: “As for the dome of the altar it is impossible for a man to describe it [adequately] to one who hath not seen it, and to say how high and how spacious it is.” In his often laconic account of his travels, it is these icons of Christianity which earn the greatest description, and stood out to him more than his usually unsuccessful diplomatic efforts. Departing Constantinople, by sea he set out for Rome. The voyage was rough, and on 18th June 1287 he was greeted by a terrifying spectacle, the eruption of Mt. Etna where fire and smoke ascended day and night. Passing Sicily he landed at Naples, where he was graciously welcomed by Charles Martel, the son of the Napolese King Charles II, then imprisoned in Aragon. From the roof of the mansion Sauma stayed at, on June 24th he watched Charles’ forces be defeated by the Aragonese fleet in the Bay of Sorrento. Sauma remarked with surprise that the Aragonese forces, unlike the Mongols, did not attack the noncombatants they came across. European chroniclers attest that later in June, after Sauma had moved onto Rome, the Aragonese began ravaging the countryside anyways. In Rome later in 1287, Sauma’s hopes to meet the Pope were dashed as Pope Honourius IV had died in April that year. Finding the Cardinals in the midst of a long conclave to choose his successor, Sauma was welcomed before them as the envoy of the Il-Khan. Unwilling to commit to any alliance without a Pope, the Cardinals instead asked where Sauma came from, who the Patriarch of the East was and where he was located. Avoiding Sauma’s attempts to get back to his diplomatic purpose, the Cardinals then shifted to theological matters, grilling Sauma on his beliefs. The Nestorian impressed them with his knowledge of the early church, and managed to deftly slide past the disputes which had caused the excommunication of Nestorius some 860 years prior. Finding no progress on the diplomatic mission, Sauma engaged in a more personal interest, exploring the ancient relics and monuments to Christendom. The account of Sauma’s journey indicates he visited “all the churches and monasteries that were in Great Rome.” At times, he misunderstood the strange customs of the locals, believing the Pope enthroned the Holy Roman Emperor by using his own feet to lift the crown onto his head. With no progress to be made in Rome until the new Pope was elected, Sauma searched for Kings of the Franks most known for Crusading. After a brief tour of Tuscany, by the end of September 1287 Sauma was in Paris, there greeted with a lavish reception by King Phillip IV, who hosted a feast for this illustrious envoy. In Rabban Sauma’s account, he wrote” “And the king of France assigned to Rabban Sawma a place wherein to dwell, and three days later sent one of his Amirs to him and summoned him to his presence. And when he had come the king stood up before him and paid him honour, and said unto him, "Why hast thou come? And who sent thee?" And RABBAN SAWMA said unto him, "[Khan] ARGHON and the Catholicus of the East have sent me concerning the matter of JERUSALEM." And he showed him all the matters which he knew, and he gave him the letters which he had with him, and the gifts, that is to say, presents which he had brought. And the king of FRANCE answered him, saying, "If it be indeed so that the MONGOLS, though they are not Christians, are going to fight against the Arabs for the capture of JERUSALEM, it is meet especially for us that we should fight [with them], and if our Lord willeth, go forth in full strength.” Moved by the willingness of the Mongols to restore Jerusalem to Christian hands, Phillip promised to send a nobleman alongside Rabban Sauma to bring his answer to Arghun. With at least one king seemingly onboard, Sauma spent the next month touring Paris, visiting churches and impressed by the great volume of students within the city. Phillip showed Sauma the private relics of the French Kings, including what Phillip claimed was the Crown of Thorns, sold to his grandfather by the Emperor of Constantinople in 1238. Around mid-October 1287, Rabban Sauma had moved across France to Gascony, where the King of England Edward I, old Longhsanks himself, was staying at Bordeaux. Edward was known to the Mongols, having gone on an inconclusive Crusade to Syria in 1271. Abaqa Il-Khan had attempted to coordinate movements with Edward during his campaign, but neither side had been able to line up their forces. Edward, then just the crown prince of England, had succeeded in doing little more than carry out small raids, assist in organizing a treaty between the Kingdom of Jerusalem and Mamuk Sultan Baybars. and survive an assassination attempt. Abaqa had sent envoys in 1277 apologizing to Edward for being able to provide sufficient aid and asked for him to return, but to no avail. Edward, by then the King of England, was by then rather more concerned with France and the conquest of Wales. Ten years in early 1287, Edward had promised to take up the Cross again, and was excited by the arrival of Rabban Sauma late that year. Promising assistance, he invited Rabban Sauma to partake in the Eucharist with him, gave him leave to visit the local churches, and provided gifts and assistance when Sauma went back on the road to Rome. Feeling himself successful, by the time he returned to Rome in early 1288 a new Pope had been elected, Nicholas IV. The first Pope from the Franciscan Order, Nicholas was a man keenly interested in missionary efforts and the restoration of the Holy Land to Christian hands. It was under his aegis that John de Monte Corvino would travel to Dadu to establish a Catholic archbishopric there. Having interacted with each other during Sauma’s first visit to the Cardinals, Sauma and the new Pope got on splendidly. Kissing the hands and feet of Pope Nicholas, Sauma was provided a mansion for his stay in Rome and invited to partake in the feasts and festivities around Easter. Sauma on occasion led in the Eucharist beside the Pope, drawing crowds from across Rome eager to see how this foreign Christian undertook Mass. Though the language differed, the crowds were ecstatic that the rites themselves seemed the same. Despite their friendship, no promises of organizing a crusade against the Mamluks were forthcoming. The Pope lacked the influence to send a large body of armed men on yet another disatrous journey. The crusades of the 13th century to the Holy Land had been catastrophes. The most thoroughly organized crusades of the century were those organized by King Louis IX of France. The first had ended in his capture by the Mamluks in Egypt in 1250, while the second had resulted in his death outside of Tunis in 1270. If even this saintly, highly prepared king had been met with failures, then what chance would any other force have? Nicholas wanted to convert Muslims and retake Jersualem, yes, but was very aware of the practicalities involved by this point. And so, Rabban Sauma decided to return to the Ilkhanate. Nicholas asked Sauma to stay in Rome with him, but Sauma insisted he was only there as a diplomat, and it was his duty to return east. The Nestorian did convince the Head of the Catholic Church to give him, somewhat reluctantly, holy relics: a piece of Jesus’ cape, the kerchief of the Virgin Mary, and fragments from the bodies of several saints. Along with those were several letters for the Il-Khan, Mar Yabhallaha and Rabban Sauma. Copies of these letters survive in the Vatican archives, and though the letter to Yabhallaha confirms him as head of the Christians of the East, it is surprisingly condescending, explaining basic tenets of Christianity. Embracing Rabban Sauma one final time, he was dismissed and by ship, returned to the Ilkhanate. On his return, he was warmly welcomed by his longtime friend Mar Yabhallaha and the Il-Khan Arghun. Arghun hosted a feast for them, personally serving them and richly rewarding the old man for his great efforts. Yet his efforts came to naught. The Pope had provided no assurances, and despite continued correspondence neither Phillip nor Edward committed men to the Holy Land, too preoccupied with their own conflicts. Arghun sent an embassy in 1289 telling the two monarchs that he would march on Damascus in January 1291 and meet them there. Distracted by turmoil on his borders, Arghun instead died of illness in March 1291. Acre, the final major Crusader stronghold, was taken by the Mamluks two months later, ending the Crusader Kingdoms and the possibilities of European-Mongol cooperation. Despite some outrage in connected circles in Europe, the fall of Acre merited no revival of any Crusader spirit for the region. Rabban Sauma largely retired to his own church for his last years, but along with Mar Yabhallaha continued to visit the court of the Il-Khans, particularly Geikhatu who continued to patronize minority religions of the Ilkhanate. Perhaps in 1293 they met another international traveller; Marco Polo, who spent much of that year in the Ilkhanate during his return from China. We have no way of confirming this, though we can imagine Geikhatu Il-Khan introducing two men who had both travelled across the continent, humoured by the individuals brought together by Mongol rule. Polo had arrived in China around the same time that Rabban Sauma and Markos had begun their own western journey. As Marco had spent much of his time in China in Bar Sauma’s city of birth, perhaps Polo told him of the things he had missed in the last twenty years, what had changed in Dadu and what had stayed the same, stirring memories in Rabban Sauma of land and family that he never saw again. Rabban Sauma died in January 1294, leaving his friend Mar Yabhallaha alone in an Ilkhanate that, after the death of Geikhatu and conversion of the Ilkhans to Islam, grew increasingly mistrustful and hostile to non-Muslims. By the time of Mar Yabhallaha’s death in 1317, the brief flourishing of the Nestorian church under Ilkhanid patronage was over, and their influence across Central Asia dissipated with the continued conversion of Mongols across the region. The journey of Rabban Sauma was forgotten. His persian diary on his voyages was translated into Syriac not long after his death but was lost until its rediscovery in the 19th century. Translated now into several languages, Sauma’s journey shines another light on the integration of East and West under the Mongols, when for the first time a Christian Turk from China could travel to the Pope and Kings of Europe. Our series on the Mongol Empire in the late thirteenth century and fourteenth century will continue, so be sure to subscribe to our podcast. If you’d like to help us keep bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals, or consider leaving us a review on the podcast catcher of your choice, or sharing this with your friends. All your efforts help immensely. 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.
The weight of years will bear down on each of us heavily, from the humblest farmer to the most august monarch. And Khubilai Khan, mighty even among the mighty, over his nearly forty year reign found even his immense energies sapped by this burden. Age, grief, the rigours of government, and military defeats ground down the vision of Khubilai, and in reaction he directed his energies to drink and food. In the vacuum left behind, corruption grew like mold on the young Yuan Dynasty, sowing problems neither Khubilai nor his successors would be able to solve. Today, we look at the last years of Khubilai Khan, the end of an era in the Mongol Empire: I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals, Ages of Conquest. For the past few episodes, we have dealt with Khubilai’s long reign. First, we dealt with his conflict with his brother Ariq-Boke for the Mongol imperial throne. Khubilai was victorious by 1264, but in his victory was left with hardly even a nominal mastery over the western Khanates of the empire: the Golden Horde, Chagatai Khanate, Ilkhanate and Ogedeid Khanate under Qaidu were all effectively independent powers by the time of Khubilai’s victory. As a result, Khubilai focused his attention on China. Over three episodes we detailed Khubilai’s renewed effort to end the long war with the Song Dynasty, a victory finalized by 1279 which marked the conquest of China, almost 60 years since Chinggis Khan had first attacked the Jin Dynasty. Then, we looked at Khubilai’s efforts to build his administration from 1264-1279, the period of his greatest energy and vision. By all standards, Khubilai was an impressive monarch, merging Mongolian and Chinese imperial traditions into a carefully balanced new system which, in many areas, seems to have genuinely sought to reduce the burdens upon Khubilai’s subject population. Our following episodes dealt with the beginning of the end of Khubilai’s good fortune. In Japan, Vietnam, Myanmar and Java, Khubilai’s military forces met with either inconclusive, or outright diastrous results. A stunning expenditure of resources and lives for little in the way of strategic gains, the efforts to meet these costs required imaginative efforts on the part of Khubilai’s finance ministers- the topic of our previous episode, looking at the so-called Three Villianous ministers, Ahmad, Lu Shih-jung and Sangha, and the animosity they inspired from the top levels of Khubilai’s government to the subject population. For Khubilai, the successive defeats were not just a shock in comparison to the overwhelming victories over the previous decades, but were more alarming in a personal manner. In both the Mongolian and Chinese imperial traditions, the right to rule rested on the support of Heaven. Heaven’s support always manifested itself in bountiful harvests, good climates, good governance and military victories. For the Mongols, the many amazing conquests of the thirteenth century had demonstrated Eternal Blue Heaven’s desire for the Mongols to rule the whole of the world. Khubilai had firmly believed that the ultimate destiny of the Mongols, and his destiny, was that his rule would include everything beneath the blue sky. There simply could not have been an alternative to this. So to be met with the alternative; that is, successive rounds of wasteful defeats in foreign countries from the late 1270s through the 1290s, must have come not just as an immense shock, but a blow to Khubilai’s own psyche. Coupled with the knowledge of his loss of control over the Khanates in the west of the empire, and the rebellion he faced within and along his borders, Khubilai would have struggled with a sense of failure; his failure to complete the mission begun by his grandfather, great Chinggis Khan. Aside from defeats and failure in his foreign policy, the internal matters of Khubilai’s realm also saw the failure of many of his efforts to actually run his empire, and failures in his personal life. After 1276, the seizure of the Song Dynasty’s capital at Hangzhou, and especially after 1279, with the final defeat of the Song holdouts on the island of Yaishan, Khubilai Khan began to steadily reduce his role in the governance of his empire. By the end of the 1270s, Khubilai was already in his sixties. His efforts over the 1260s and 70s had been physically draining on him, having thrown himself in military campaigns, restructuring government and administration. By the end of the 1270s, a largely successful decade marred only by the failure of the first invasion of Japan, Khubilai was in essence high on his accomplishments, but burned out from the pressures of ruling. From the turn of 1280 onwards marked a significant change in Khubilai’s method of rulership. The hands-on monarch in weekly and daily discussions with his advisers on the running of the empire making sweeping plans turned into a man steadily withdrawing and becoming disinterested with the actual running of the government. The causes of this were multi-faceted, and we shall address them in turn. First will be Khubilai’s personal losses, and then the rigours of government causing his disillusionment, which only exacerbated the problems the Yuan realm faced. Over the 1270s and 80s, Khubilai suffered rounds of losses among his family and in his closest advisers. Perhaps the greatest of these was the deaths of wife Chabi and his favourite son and heir Jinggim by the mid-1280s. Chabi was not Khubilai’s first wife; she had alreadydied some years prior. But Chabi had been the one with whom he placed the greatest trust and love into, setting her opinion above nearly all others. Of all his wives, it is her that we know the greatest detail of, and her official portrait is the only one of Khubilai’s wives to survive. Her counsel had been an important pillar of support throughout their marriage; it was likely on her urging that Khubilai made the decision to challenge his brother Ariq Boke, the apparent favourite, for the throne. She pushed Khubilai towards Buddhism, her own religion, and brought Khubilai’s attention to individuals who became key members of his government, such as a certain Ahmad Fanakati. Not coincidentally, it was their son Jinggim who was groomed to succeed Khubilai, recieving an education from the finest minds of Khubilai’s advisers. Indicative of the influence of his Chinese advisers and in an attempt to prevent the succession crisis like those which followed the deaths of the previous Great Khans, in 1273 Khubilai made Jinggim his heir apparent, the crown prince. Having been groomed for the role since a young age, Jinggim played a major role in the government over these years, heading the Ministry of War and granted jurisdiction over other Secretariats. Indeed, Jinggim’s favour was necessary in the 1280s for anyone wishing to maintain their power in the Yuan government; both Ahmad Fanakati and Lu Shih-Jung fell afoul of him before their ultimate demise. Chabi and Jinggim were in many respects the cornerstones of Khubilai’s personal life. Chabi’s death in 1281 struck Khubilai particularly hard and did much to advance his withdrawal from politics. In the first half of the 1280s, Khubilai seems to have left Jinggim in the role of arbitrator; it is here that we see his major actions against both Ahmad and Lu Shih-Jung. It was directly with his instigation that Lu Shih-Jung was removed from office, and likely his permission had been granted, perhaps indirectly, for the powerful Ahmad to be murdered. So great was this process that some courtiers were advising that the ever-more distant Khubilai should abdicate in favour of the more energetic Jinggim. It seemed to anger Khubilai, but the confrontation between father and son was avoided when Jinggim suddenly died in 1285, aged only 43. Not only did this upend his plans for his dynasty, not only was it an emotional blow to lose his favoured child, but it left him with no other son prepared as Jinggim had been to step up to the position. Khubilai could not abdicate now even if he wanted to, forcing the Yuan realm to be anchored to the distraught Khubilai. Neither were Chabi and Jinggim the only members of his family to predecease him; a number of his sons such as Dorji, Manggala, Hugechi and Qutluq-Temur, as well as grandsons, died before Khubilai as well. His brothers had all died in the 1260s. Despite a great number of wives and children, Khubilai must have been feeling a deep loss and loneliness throughout his final years, something which manifested his focus on drinking and eating his pain away. Khubilai had over the 1250s and 60s cultivated, to paraphrase his modern biographer Morris Rossabi, a veritable kitchen cabinent of advisors to help him deal with the grand effort to rule China. These were Confucian, Taoist and Buddhist scholars and monks who knew the problems the Chinese population faced well, and were able to press upon Khubilai the need for moral government. They were able to demonstrate Khubilai the necessary steps to help legitimize his rule to the Chinese and therefore ease the acceptance of Mongol overlordship. Under their encouragement Khubilai had declared the Yuan Dynasty and adopted many of the trappings of a Chinese dynasty, portaying himself as a successor to the Song and heir to the great Tang Dynasty. Reliable companions and advisers for years, many of these men had also educated Khubilai’s children, and helped restrain some of Khubilai’s worst impulses. So it was to Khubilai’s rulership a great losses when his chief advisers died with a shocking consistency over the 1270s; Liu Ping-Chung in 1274, Shih Tienzi in 1275, Chao Pi in 1276, Yao Shu in 1279, and Tou Mo and the ‘Phags-Pa Lama in 1280. The effect was two fold. These men had been the best source of advice for dealing with the Chinese and balancing the religions of his empire. Without them, Khubilai’s handling of the relationship with the Chinese population and religious matters became noticably clumsier over the 1280s. The other consequence of their losses was an ever greater reliance on non-Chinese and Central Asians in the government. With less connection to the Chinese, they became the faces of stiffer treatment to the Chinese of the Yuan realm and further widened the gap between the Mongol rulers and the majority of the subject population- a matter best personified by the so-called “three villainous ministers,” who we addressed in our previous episode. In addition to these personal losses, by the 1280s Khubilai good luck in governance and wars was coming to an end. As our previous episodes have dealt with, after 1279 Khubilai’s military ventures were generally inconclusive or outright disasters. One of the most significant consequences of this was the cost. The war against the Song Dynasty had entailed an immense mobilization of men and resources and a construction of a massive fleet of river ships. The costs of the Song war were offset from the victory and massive growth of the taxpayer base and access to the southeast Asia trade. The other military efforts did not see such a balance. The invasions of Japan in 1274 and 1281 for instance were catastrophic failures. Huge warships, vast numbers of men, horses and supplies were simply lost to the waves. The Korean peninsula had provided much of the ships, men and grain for the fleets, and particularly after the long and destructive Mongol war to capture the peninsula, the result was an economic disaster and starvation throughout the peninsula. Korea required yearly grain shipments well into the 1280s to avoid the collapse of the fragile Korean monarchy, which had spent most of the last century as puppets for military dictators. Even for the Mongols, war had to be paid for. The wars launched by Khubilai over his reign were far cries far from nomads and their herds travelling across the Eurasian grasslands. An attempt to cover this was made by employing that one trick economists ‘love:’ printing more money. Khubilai used paper money his entire reign, and careful management had kept the value up. But the extraordinary demands of the military efforts, court, government upkeep, construction of his capitals at Dadu and Shangdu, and general corruption kept the government’s costs only ever increasing, and over the 1270s the issuance of paper money increased in an attempt to accommodate this. The result of this, as any basic economics class will tell you, is inflation. Printing increased in 1276 to cover the cost of the Song War and failure of the first invasion of Japan, and in the 1280s inflation became a real problem. The pressure became ever-greater on the finance ministers like Ahmad Fanakati to solve or abate this, but their efforts resulted in anger from a population feeling over-taxed and taken advantage of. Facing stiff opposition from other members of the government, Ahmad and the other men tasked with solving the issue of inflation, such as Lu Shih-Jung and Sangha, had a thankless job which only ended in their early and very bloody retirements- you can revisit our previous episode on them to learn more about their troubles attempting to carry out the will of Khubilai. While the Three Ministers may not have actually been dastardly, villianous men, their court conflicts, and immense influence, speak to Khubilai’s ever increasing dissociation with the task of governance over the 1280s. Khubilai by then was simply assigning demands and leaving it up to these ministers to deal with them. Without guidance or oversight on his part, he usually only involved himselfonce it came time for these men to be arrested and executed on whatever pretence was necessary. Khubilai was more preoccupied with hunting- or rather, lounging from his palanquin built on the back of four elephants, while hundreds of riders ran before him. The main area in which Khubilai still showed the greatest interest was foreign policy. He continued to demand invasions and retaliatory raids. As we saw over the previous episodes, over the late 1280s and early 1290s he sent attacks and fleets against Vietnam, Burma and Java. Even Sakhalin Island, the large island off Russia’s east coast and north of Japan in the Sea of Okhtosk, saw attacks by Yuan troops almost every year in the 1280s. Yet none resulted in the great victories he wanted to assauge his ego and sense of failings. While Khubilai was dealing with foreign ventures, he had a more serious problem in the form of uprisings and rebellions in his territories. From 1279 until 1284, the province of Fujian on the southern Chinese coast saw rebellions which were only put down with difficulty. By 1289, it was to the point that for most of the population southeast of the Yangzi River, it was forbidden for them to own bows and arrows. A rebellion in Tibet in 1280 was swiftly put down by Sangha, but turmoil broke out again in 1285 and was not crushed until 1290; and then, only with a great loss of life. Commanded by one of Khubilai’s grandsons, Temur Buqa, the Yuan army killed at least 10,000 and burned the temples of leaders of the revolt. Most frustrating was problems to be found among his own family and in Mongolia. His border on the western edge of Mongolia along the Altai mountains, brought him into contact with the Chagatayids and Qaidu, the Ogedeid master of Central Asia. Their long resistance to Khubilai greatly disrupted his attempts to control the Central Asian trade lines, and though they never posed a true danger to Khubilai’s empire, they could threaten the security of Karakorum, the original Mongol imperial capital. For this reason Khubilai stationed many of his Mongolian troops there along the border, from 1271 onwards under the command of his son Nomukhan. Nomukhan’s post was disrupted when a number of his commanders- sons of Khubilai’s late brothers, the Grand Khan Mongke and Ariq Boke- revolted in 1276, captured Nomukhan and handed him over to the Golden Horde, where he would be detained until 1284. The rebellious princes occupied Karakorum, and could not be ousted until 1282, though they failed to coordinate with Qaidu. The most serious uprisings among his family occurred in Manchuria. Here, many of the descendants of Chinggis Khan’s brothers and half-brothers had been granted territory early in the 13th century, where they were usually overlooked by the Great Khans. They had gotten used to ruling with great autonomy, and Khubilai’s efforts in the 1280s to increase his authority there -coinciding with expansion towards Sakhalin island- prompted dissent and finally revolt among a number of commanders. The most well known and powerful of these was Nayan, a Nestorian Christian and descendant of Chinggis Khan’s youngest brother Temuge. Khubilai’s star general of the conquest of the Song, Bayan of the Ba’arin, was sent to investigate the rumours of Nayan’s dissent, and only narrowly escaped a trap for him Nayan set at a banquet. By early 1287, Nayan was in open revolt against Khubilai Khan, and worry came of cooperation between him and Qaidu; together, it was feared, they could coordinate and cut Khubilai off from Mongolia entirely. In what we might consider Khubilai’s final hurrah, the 72 year old obese, gout and rheumatism riddled Khan of Khans mounted his horse one last time- or might we say, his elephants. Commanding from a tower built on the backs of four elephants, Khubilai and his army set out with surprising speed. Nayan had openly revolted at the start of 1287; by July of that year, Khubilai’s army had fallen upon him, routing his forces, capturing Nayan and killing him. As per custom, Nayan was bound in a carpet and beaten to death. So swiftly had Khubilai moved, that Qaidu, as far as we can tell, never had the opportunity to cooperate with Nayan, though for more on the rest of Qaidu’s history with Khubilai, you’ll have to see our episode dedicated to him. This was the last campaign Khubilai took part in. Khubilai had never been in the best shape, and his descent into food and drink and old age in the 1280s took a harsh toll on his body. Hardly able to walk due to gout and rheaumatism, obese and in chronic poor health, Khubilai sought doctors from as far as southern India to bring him relief. None could aid him. Frustrated, alone and depressed, despite being the most powerful monarch on earth he was powerless to fix the problems that plagued him. He had become the Khan of Khans, but had lost authority over the rest of the Mongol Empire. He had conquered China, but struggled to manage with the task of governing it as well. He had lived long enough to ensure his sons would inherit a strong realm and would not face serious challenges from another branch of the family; but he had now outlived his designated heir and allowed corruption to set in in his idleness. Seeking solace in drink and food, Khubilai withdrew from government for the last years of his life. Outliving his friends, closest wife, the morose Khubilai’s health worsened steadily. Few of his old comrades still lived, and their visits to him in the 1290s,such as Bayan of the Ba’arin, brought no pleasure. Falling ill over winter 1293, his courtiers prepared for the final days. On February 18th, 1294, aged 83, Khubilai Khan, son of Tolui, grandson of Chinggis Khan, died in his imperial capital of Dadu. His body was carried north for the customary secret burial on Mt. Burkhan Khaldun, joining his brothers, uncles and illustrious grandfather. The last Great Khan to have ever met Chinggis, Khubilai must have faced his final days with a sense of doubt and failure for his memory, having failed to complete the conquest of the world and overseen the break-up of their empire. A man of vision and energy, Khubilai had outlived his usefulness. Had he died in 1280, he may have left his dynasty with more vigour with the ascension of his talented and educated son Jinggim. But with the death of his designated heir, Khubilai had chosen Jinggim’s son Temur Oljeitu to succeed him. At a quriltai, the late Khubilai’s choice was confirmed, and in May 1294 Temur Oljeitu was duly enthroned as Khan of Khans, ruler of an empire transformed from the one his grandfather had seized 44 years prior- one we might say, had already slipped past its prime. Little over 70 years after Khubilai’s death, his successors would be pushed from China. Our story of the fate of the Mongol Khanates will continue, so please subscribe to our podcast to continue. To help us keep bringing you great content, 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.
"You must know that, as we shall tell you later on, the Great Kaan has entrusted to twelve men the task of attending, as seems best to them, to all territories, governments, and everything else. Among these twelve men, there was a Saracen, [Ahmad] by name, a shrewd and capable man, who above all others enjoyed great power and influence with the Great [Khan], who loved him so much that he gave him every liberty, for, as was found after his death, this [Ahmad] laid such a spell over the Kaan with his sorceries that the latter placed absolute faith in his words, paying them the closest attention. Thus he was able to do all that he wished. He it was who distributed all governments and offices, and punished all offenders. And every time he wished to encompass the death of someone he hated, whether justly or unjustly, he would go to the [Khan], and say, “Sire, such a man is worthy of death, for he has offended your Majesty in such a way.” Then the [Khan] would say, “Do what thou thinkest most fitting.” And straightway he would have the man put to death. Hence, seeing the complete liberty he enjoyed, and that the Lord placed absolute trust in his words, no one dared cross [Ahmad] in anything whatsoever.” So the Venetian traveller Marco Polo, in the Benedetto translation, introduces Ahmad Fanakati, the famous “evil finance minister” of Khubilai Khan. Ahmad, the first of Khubilai’s “Three Villianous Ministers,” as they’re termed in the Chinese sources, is often used to symbolize the decay and corruption of Khubilai Khan’s final years. Where Khubilai had once been a vigourous monarch attending to every detail of state, by the 1280s his interest and energy for governing declined with every year. Having taken you through the inconclusive, expensive and disastrous foreign miltiary expeditions of Khubilai’s last years, we shall now take you to the political and personal failings of Khubilai’s twilight, beginning with the Three Villianous ministers- Ahmad Fanakati, Lu Shih-Jing and Sangha. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals, Ages of Conquest. Ahmad, the first of the “Three Villianous Ministers,” was a Muslim from Central Asia who had been a favourite of Khubilai’s wife Chabi. Appointed to Khubilai’s Central Secretariat in 1262, Ahmad’s power and influence rapidly rose through his canny ability. For a refresher on the secretariats and government structure of Khubilai, you can check back to episode 37, “Kublai Khan’s Reign.” By 1264, Ahmad was Vice-Chancellor of the Central Secretariat, and in 1271 was even briefly appointed as head of the newly made Supreme Secretariat. His primary responsibility in Khubilai’s service was as a finance minister, tasked with providing the Great Khan more and more revenues. In this position he promoted trade, particularly with Central Asia and sought to increase the number of taxable households in the empire- usually by tracking down those who had escaped prior registration. Ahmad also oversaw further progress on implemention of regular land taxation, one of those ever-present problems of the Mongol administration in China, as well as new taxes on merchants. One of his most noteworthy efforts was the expansion of government monopolies; iron producing regions would have to provide yearly quotas of iron to the government, which would be turned into tools and farm implements to be sold back to farmers. After 1276 Ahmad forbade the private production of copper tools, making it a privilege of the government to produce and sell these, usually in exchange for grain. The yearly revenue from the strictly enforced salt monopoly increased dramatically over the 1270s and early 1280s, and monopolies on tea, liquor, vinegar, gold, silver - all traditional monopolies of the Chinese state- were enforced under Ahmad’s supervision. None of Ahmad’s financial policies in and of themselves indicated an expectional cruelty on his part or hatred towards the Chinese. Rather, he was enacting the will of Khubilai, who was making ever increasing demands for income. Ahmad had to choose between more state revenues or looking to fail the Great Khan, and judged, rather wisely, it was better to come up with more revenue. Ahmad carried out his mandate thoroughly, and for this earned as much love as any thorough tax collector will- i.e, not very much. If we are to believe the sources, the Chinese at large hated and cursed him for his policies, and the fact that he was a foreignor. Khubilai, as Ahmad’s backer, thus found his own standing harmed in their eyes. However, whatever “public opinion” was regarding Ahmad does not particularly matter: the Mongols never showed themselves really concerned with how the masses viewed their ministers. The fact that Ahmad was bringing in the revenue streams and trying to handle the tricky task of incorporating the former Song territories into the Yuan Empire mattered more to Khubilai than the cursings of merchants. The reason that Ahmad has become so infamous comes not from his taxation policy and treatment of the lower classes, but his treatment of the elite and other members of government: the ones who wrote the sources we use for learning of Ahmad’s career. Khubilai over the 1270s seems to have given minimal oversight to Ahmad, trusting him to get results and engaging less and less often in meetings. Left to run things how he desired, Ahmad sought to secure his position, placing his friends, allies and family in government positions. One of his sons was placed into the lucrative position as darughachi of Hangzhou, the capital of the late Song Dynasty. He also sought to run his political foes out of the bureaucracy; in at least one case, a political enemy was hounded into execution. Often he butted heads with Khubilai’s other advisers, especially Confucians and Buddhists. The Chancellor of the Right, Antung, blocked an attempt by Ahmad to place a son in prominent position in Khubilai’s capital of Dadu; respected advisers like Shi Tienzi fought Ahmad’s tax policies. Their resistance brought the dissolution of Ahmad’s brief post as Administer of the Supreme Secretariat, and their collective complaints about a lack of oversight over Ahmad forced Khubilai to grant his son Jinggim authority over Ahmad’s actions. But as many of these most stalwart adivsers died off in the 1270s, Ahmad’s power increased, and fewer voices were there to whisper against him. His influence grew so great that Rashid al-Din, a contemporary who served as vizier of the Ilkhanate, described Ahmad as the vizier of Khubilai’s Yuan Dynasty. . Ahmad accused his remaining foes of embezzlement, adultery and “unbecoming personal conduct,” which succeeded in driving a number from office. Similar accusations were hurled back at Ahmad himself, pointing to cronyism, personal enrichment, taking bribes and manipulating gold and silver rates for his own gain. Detractors accused him of allowing and even promoting abuses in the system, and that his continued issuing of paper money was causing inflation and therefore encouraging the subjects to hoard their own gold and silver. The most famous accusation against Ahmad, repeated in the Yuan Shi, by Marco Polo and Rashid al-Din, is that he was a lechourous pervert, stealing wives, daughters and mothers for his insatiable sexual desires. To quote Marco Polo, “There was no fair lady whom if [Ahmad] wanted her, he did not have at his will, taking her for wife if she was not married, or otherwise making her consent. And when he knew that anyone had some pretty daughter, he had his ruffians who went to the father of the girl saying to him, What wilt thou do? Thou hast this daughter of thine. Give her for wife to [Ahmad] and we will make him give thee such a governorship or such an office for three years.” Rashid al-Din for his part, is hardly more subdued in his description of Ahmad’s “female interests,” stating simply that Ahmad had some forty-one wives and four hundred concubines. There was likely a bit of truth in these accusations: it seems Ahmad was engaging in cronyism, personal enrichment and a bit of adultery on the side, but the scale of the issue was almost certainly overstated by his unsympathetic chroniclers. Further, none of these would be vices unique to Ahmad’s service in government. Regardless, it’s clear that there was a lengthy conflict going on in the upper uchelons of the Yuan bureaucracy over the 1270s and 1280s, one which Khubilai seemed content to turn his gaze away from. Notably, Ahmad had an openly poor relationship with the crown prince, Khubilai’s son Jinggim. According to Rashid al-Din, Jinggim’s dislike was so open for the finance minister that one day Jinggim struck Ahmad on the head with his bow, causing him to bleed profusely. Ahmad went before Khubilai, who inquired as to what had happened. Attempting to be diplomatic, Ahmad answered that he had been kicked by a horse, to which Jinggim, standing nearby, shouted “art thou ashamed to say that Jinggim hit thee?”, and then proceeded to punch Ahmad a number of times, right infront of Khubilai. Rashid al-Din and Marco Polo both agree that Ahmad lived in fear of Jinggim, which seems rather reasonable. Interesting for this anecdote, Rashid al-Din is silent on Khubilai’s response to Jinggim’s assault, surprising given his usually pro-Khubilai stance. Rashid may have been uninterested in commenting on Khubilai allowing mistreatment of a long serving Muslim servant, or it may have been that Khubilai, characteristic of this period, offered no response. Khubilai was either ignoring the open disputes rocking the top levels of his government, or completely oblivious to them, and remained content to focus on the revenue Ahmad was bringing in. Either option speaks to Khubilai’s growing disinterest in governance and dereliciton of his duties. Marco Polo, who adored Khubilai, sought to explain away his hero’s inaction by stating that Ahmad had bewitched the Khaan. The tension with Ahmad and his foes reached a breaking point in April 1282. Every year, Khubilai and most of the royal court, including Jinggim, made the trek to the steppe to spend the summer in his secondary capital, Shangdu, the famous Xanadu of Marco Polo. It’s likely the Venetian accompanied them on the trip this year. While the Khan and crown prince were absent from the imperial capital of Dadu, Ahmad’s foes made their move- possibly with the tacit approval of Crown Prince Jinggim. The conspiracy was led by a Chinese fellow named Wang Zhu, who, if we are to believe Polo, had his mother, wife and daughter all fall prey to Ahmad’s urgings. One night the conspirators sent a messenger to Ahmad, telling him that Jinggim had returned unexpectedly and demanded to see him. The worried Ahmad came forth at once to the palace, where he found the conspirators sitting in a dark room lit by sparse candlelight. Bowing before whom he assumed to be Jinggim, the conspirators swung their swords and removed Ahmad’s head. The guards were quick to the scene and killed the perpators, sending a message at once to Khubilai of what had happened. A furious Khubilai returned quickly to Dadu and unleashed hell upon the conspirators still alive and buried Ahmad with full honours. But the survivors in time finally convinced the Khan of Ahmad’s digressions and lechery, though it seems the defining moment came when one of the “lost” jewels from one of Khubilai’s crowns miraculously turned up in the late Ahmad’s private residence. Marco Polo, who writes that he was at Khubilai’s attendance on his return to Dadu, vividly describes the Khan’s reaction. Roaring with anger, Khubilai had Ahmad’s sons and wives rounded up; those found guilty were flayed alive and their fortune confiscated. Ahmad’s body was exhumed and placed on display, it’s head removed and crushed by a cart; and the rest fed to Khubilai’s dogs. So ended Ahmad’s tenure as finance minister and a purging of a number of his associates. Ahmad’s actions seem to have furthered an anti-Muslim policy Khubilai had been developing since 1279. The original incident which brought this on, according to Rashid al-Din, was a refusal of Muslim merchants to eat non-halal meat offered to them in Khubilai’s court, an offense which Khubilai took personally. Khubilai ordered that whosoever slaughtered animals in the Muslim fashion would in turn be killed and their family and property given over to whoever informed on them. Circumcisions were likewise forbidden, on pain of death. It also may have been an effort by Khubilai to placate some of the Chinese or even Mongols by making an appearance to restrict the privileges of Muslims in the government, and further encouraged by his anger at Ahmad Fanakati. Regardless of the cause, it resulted in a number of greedy individuals using Khubilai’s decree to kill Muslims and seize their property. Rashid al-Din indicates that a number of powerful and wealthy Muslim merchants in the 1280s chose to flee the Yuan realm, or refused to travel there in the first place, rather than face the Khan’s scruple-less enforcers. This reflects Khubilai’s inability to handle any religious matters carefully in these years. The man who had once headed a famed Buddhist-Taoist debate in the 1250s, now responded to perceived abuses by Taoists in the 1270s and 80s with violence. A conflict between Taoists and Buddhists turned bloody in the streets of the imperial capital, and a group of Taoists attempted to frame Buddhists for a fire attack on a Taoist temple in Dadu. When the plot was discovered, Khubilai had the Taoists involved variously executed, their noses and ears chopped off, and others exiled. Continued circulation of certain Taoist texts banned after the earlier debate resulted, in 1281, with Khubilai ordering all Taoists texts other than Lao Tzu’s Tao Teo Ching to be burned and their printing blocks destroyed. Restrictions were imposed on Taoist charms, incantations, and magic, while some Taoist monks were forcibly converted to Buddhism. After Ahmad’s death in 1282, Khubilai promoted one of his associates, a Chinese named Lu Shih-Jung, to the post of Chancellor of the Left. In this position, he took over many of Ahmad’s former financial responsibilities, and subsequently earned himself the place as the Second of the Three Villianous Ministers. One may have assumed placing a Chinese in this position was intended to placate some of the anger felt at the Yuan financial system, though it did little good. While vitriol could be hurled at Ahmad for his actions, Ahmad himself was not the source of the problems. The immense revenue demands of Khubilai and the Yuan government were not abating as more military expeditions were launched; the second invasion of Japan was undertaken in 1281, in 1282 Sogetu’s army landed in Champa and in 1283 an attack was launched on the kingdom of Pagan, in addition to the expenses of the court, the government and public works. It was a thankless task to try and cover this, and Lu Shih-Jung found himself no better off than Ahmad. More monopolies were enforced, salt licenses were made more expensive, and rich households that were avoiding monopolies were cracked down on. He increased the issuance of paper money and tried to increase government control of the copper coinage and silver, which only contributed to the inflation. In an attempt to secure his position and actually carry out his policies, Lu Shih-jung sought to place his allies in power and run his enemies out of office. All this succeeded in doing was stiffening resistance against him, until finally Jinggim himself grew frustrated with him. Khubilai was finally forced to interact, having likewise turned a blind eye to the minister and court conflicts as long as the money kept coming in. On Jinggim’s urging, in early 1285 Khubilai dismissed Lu Shih-jung from office, had him arrested and by the end of the year, executed. The last of the so-called Three Villianous Ministers was a Buddhist named Sangha, either a Uighur or Tibetan. Having supported Lu Shih-Jung and been in the staff of the ‘Phags-Pa Lama, Khubilai had long taken a liking to the experienced and capable Sangha. By 1275 he was placed in charge of the Office of Buddhist and Tibetan Affairs, and in 1280 successfully crushed a revolt in Tibet. After the deaths of Ahmad and Lu Shih-Jung his importance increased dramatically, culminating in his appointment as Chancellor of the Right in 1287 and expansion of his influence across the entire government. Like Ahmad and Lu Shih-Jung, Sangha also had the undesirable task of paying for Khubilai’s expenses, and likewise enforced monopolies and new taxes, to the ire of many. He tried to tackle the matter of inflation head on via currency reform instead of just printing more money. In 1287 he persuaded Khubilai to replace the existing paper money with a new unit, which the subjects were to exchange their current paper money for on a five-to-one basis. To put another way, Sangha was seeking to reduce the amount of money in circulation, and thereby reduce inflation. No matter how well meaning it was, it succeeded in angering many who felt they were devaluing themselves for notes of lesser value. Perhaps the most notable project Sangha oversaw was the expansion of the Grand Canal to the capital of Dadu. Canals had long been a part of Chinese trade networks; as China’s many rivers generally flow west to east, speedier movement could be attained by digging north-south canals to connect them. Under the Sui and Tang Dynasties, when most of China’s north and south were unified, came the first great connections of these canals, tying the Yellow and Yangzi Rivers- China’s two great arteries- together in what came to be called the Grand Canal. After the fall of the Tang, the division of China between Liao, Song and Jin had left little reason for the maintenance of these north-south canals, and the route was largely left to silt up. With unification under the Mongols, there was once again an impetus to restore it. While Khubilai had been quite forward thinking in many respects to the requirements of his great capital of Dadu, he found that supplying it with its necessary grain was proving difficult. Khubilai wanted to use the great production regions of southern China and the former Song territory to supply Dadu, and initially hoped to rely on the coastal route, with ships making the long journey bearing the foodstuffs. While there was some successes here, the route was perilous. Shallow waters and storms off the Shandong Peninsula and Gulf of Bohai brought many of these shipments to the bottom of the sea. Such was the fate of over a quarter of the fleet bearing the grain in 1286. With the sea route too unreliable, it was decided to dig a proper canal to connect north and south- not only better supplying Khubilai’s capital, but tying his empire closer together as well. Some canal projects had started as early as 1283, but it was Sangha who suggested a massive, 217 kilometre, or 135 mile, expansion of a vast Canal to bring supplies right into Dadu. By February 1289 the bulk of the work was completed, with expansions over the 1290s which allowed ships to sail from Hangzhou right into the heart of Dadu. The Canal was an impressive structure- much of the Yuan canal system, with upgrades and expansion, remained in use until the 1850s when flooding irreparably damaged much of it. But it was a massive expense; some three million labourers had to be mobilized for the construction, and it required even further expenditure for basic maintenance to prevent it from silting up. Though it served its purpose in providing for the supply of Dadu, it was another cost that men like Sangha had to try and cover. Another area Sangha found to help bring in further resources was to try to revitalize the Central Asia trade and increase taxes on merchants. In order to do this, Sangha needed to encourage the travel of Muslims to China, something hamphered by Khubilai’s anti-islamic promulgations. It took until 1287 for Sangha to succeed in getting Khubilai to rescind his bans on halal slaughter and the like- convincing Khubilai not on the basis of compassion, but on the revenues they would provide. In the following years Sangha did receive Khubilai’s support for schools for educating on Muslim languages and scripts to assist in trade contacts. This was rather typical of Sangha, who on a whole favoured many of the men from the ‘western regions,’ of China, what we today would deem ‘non-Han’ peoples. Muslims, Tibetans, Uighurs, all found protection and patronage from Sangha. All of his major-apointees to positions of power came from these non-Chinese groups, which of course did little to endear him to his Chinese enemies. Like his predeceassors, he forced his enemies from their offices and appointed his friends and allies. In the increasingly faction divided Yuan government, with little direct interference from an ever-more out-of-touch Khubilai, removing enemy voices and appointing friendly ones was one of the best means to not just stay in office, but actually enact some policies before they became bound up in intrigues and infighting. Of course, Sangha therefore suffered from the standard accusations of cronyism, enriching himself as well as intense sexual perversions. A particular offence which Sangha was said to have given support to, was when a Buddhist monk in his service descrecated and looted tombs of the former Song Emperors, and turned former Song palaces into Buddhist temples. Here was an issue which angered former Song subjects and literati combined and did little to endear the new Yuan masters in south China. With mounting pressure building against him, Sangha’s enemies conveniently “found” stolen pearls in his private residence. Khubilai had him removed from office, stripped of rank and title and executed over the course of 1291. So ended the period of the “Three Villianous Ministers.” As the histories of these men were largely written by parties antagonistic to them, we should take many of the accusations with a grain of salt. Ahmad, Lu Shih-Jung and Sangha certainly had a little issue making the same accusations towards their political foes. What these episodes highlight is the ever widening divide between Khubilai Khan had the demands of government and the start of issues which would plague all of Khubilai’s Yuan successors: the seemingly impossible task to govern China while dealing with the costs of a top heavy court and military expenditure. None of them would be up to the task, and it is no wonder that Ahmad, Lu Shih-Jung and Sangha could not find the balance between meeting Khubilai’s demands and placating court opinions, particularly when Khubilai refused to intervene. The Three ministers became scape-goats for the issues of Khubilai’s government and served to illustrate the failures of the last years of Khubilai Khan. Our final episode on Khubilai looks at these years, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast to follow. If you’d like to help us continue bringing you great content, pelase cosnider supporting us on Patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsangenerals. 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.
Qaidu was raised in Chinggis Khan’s camp, and after Ogedai Khaan he served in Mongke Khaan’s retinue. After him, he was with Ariq Boke, conspiring and amking efforts to elevate him to the khanate. When Ariq Boke went before Kublai Khaan and submitted to him, Qaidu was wary of Kublai Khaan because it was the law that no creature should change the Khaan’s command or decree, and any who did would be branded as criminals. He had transgressed the law and rebelled, and from that time until present, ona account of his rebellion, many Mongols and Tajiks have been annhilated, and flourishing land has been devastated.” So our oft-cited friend Rashid al-Din describes, rather negatively, his contemporary Qaidu, Khan of the house of Ogedai and master of Central Asia in the late thirteenth century. Qaidu is best known for his daughter Qutulun, the wrestler-princess, his long resistance against his cousin Kublai, Great Khan of the Yuan Dynasty, and enjoys a popular image as a spirited defender of traditional Mongolian culture- or, for writers like Rashid al-Din, an image of little more than a brigand harassing settled regions. To explore Kublai’s failed attempts to exert power over the western half of the Mongol Empire, we will look at the long life of Qaidu, master of the uluses of Ogedai and Chagatai. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. While Kublai Khan overcame his brother Ariq Boke to become Khan of Khans in 1264, that was not the end of his troubles from his Mongolian kinsmen. Many refused to recognize Kublai’s authority, or actively took up arms against him, most famously Qaidu, a grandson of Ogedai Khan who led a 40 year campaign of resistance against Kublai Khan. While most famous for stories of his warrior daughter Qutulun and for his own personal sternness and military ability, Qaidu’s reign has often been misportrayed as an effort to seize the title of the Great Khan. His main focus however, was securing the position of the descendants of Ogedai within a fragmenting Mongol Empire. Chinggis Khan had granted parts of eastern Kazakhstan, Xinjiang and western Mongolia as personal ulus, or territory, to his son Ogedai, serving as a base for Ogedai’s family until the 1250s. The Toluid Revolution, which by now you should know very well, saw the seizure of the throne by the sons of Tolui, away from the line of Ogedai following the death of the final Ogedeid Great Khan, Guyuk, in 1248. After Tolui’s eldest son Mongke became Khan in 1251, he discovered an alleged conspiracy against him by Ogedai’s family. This served as pretext for a purge of the Ogedaids, killing many and confiscating their lands and armies, effectively dissolving the Ogedaid ulus, as explained back in episode 21 of this series. Those few who survived, such as the young Qaidu, were granted distant lands to appease them but which were too poor to serve as a base for resistance. Born only around 1235 or 6, Qaidu was only just entering manhood when Mongke carried out his purges, deemed too young to be a threat. In proper Ogedeid fashion Qaidu’s father, Ogedai’s fifth son Qashi, drank himself to an early death shortly before Qaidu’s birth, leaving Qaidu’s early years to quietly rule over what little people, herds, pastures and towns Mongke Khaan had allotted him around Qayaliq, in what is now southern Kazakhstan. We can only imagine Qaidu’s frustration and anger, a sense that everything that was his by right had been taken from him, anger at the theft by the house of Tolui- not of the Great Khanate, which Qaidu was unlikely to have ever inherited, but of the ulus of Ogedai itself, the personal territory Chinggis Khan had granted that line of the family. One tradition from Qaidu’s earliest youth that survives, recorded by Jamal al-Qarshi, is that Ogedai Khaan once held the young boy and was so impressed with the 5 year old, that he stated Qaidu would one day succeed him and ordered his every need to be provided for. Even if the story were true, it must be remembered that Ogedai indicated about half of his sons and grandsons should have succeeded him at various points, and anyways, Qaidu was no mroe than six years old at the time of Ogedai’s death. No, the young Qaidu was not ever destined, nor likely ever considered himself to be, for the throne of the Great Khan. Qayaliq was too poor to offer a base of resistance on its own, but it did not stop Qaidu from pushing his boundaries. In 1256, Mongke Khaan sent a judge to Qaidu’s territory as an official imperial representative- the exact mission unclear in the sources- and the 20 year old Qaidu promptly captured him, holding him captive for the next two decades. No reaction is recorded from Mongke, who may have been preoccupied with his forthcoming assault on the Song Dynasty to divert attention to an annoying Ogedeid boy. Perhaps Mongke had been planning to deal with him upon his return from campaign, but as we know, he never got the opprotunity: Mongke died on campaign in August 1259, precipitating the conflict between two of his brothers, Ariq Boke and Kublai, for the imperial throne. Qaidu was initially neutral in the war between Ariq Boke and Kublai, supporting Ariq only when his appointed ruler to the Chagatai Khanate, Alghu, revolted and attacked Qaidu’s territory. It seems Alghu attacked Qaidu for supporting Ariq Boke, which forms the only real evidence for Qaidu’s actual support of Ariq. With Ariq’s surrender to Kublai in 1264, Qaidu turned to the Khan of the Golden Horde, Berke, for support against Alghu. Supposedly Berke found Qaidu’s horoscope favourable, and provided him an army and resources, and a promise for rule over the ulus of Chagatai if he was successful. Winning his first encounter against Alghu, Qaidu suffered a serious defeat in the second and seemed to be placed on the backfoot. But Heaven showed Qaidu its favour when Alghu, Berke, and the Il-Khan Hulegu all died over 1265-1267 and Kublai was focused on the Song Dynasty. This created a sudden power vacuum all across Central Asia; while his neighbours sorted out matters of succession, Qaidu expanded his territory from Almaliq to Taraz to Beshbaliq; in rapid succession, Qaidu successfully reclaimed much of the former territory of Ogedai’s ulus. Many of Ariq Boke and Alghu’s former supporters joined Qaidu, including the brilliant finance minister Ma’sud Beg, whose skills helped with the economic rejuvenation of Qaidu’s ulus. Many of these men were dispossed by the changes in power over these years, and were happy to throw their lot in with a bright-eyed, up and coming warlord showing he had some favour from Heaven. When Kublai summoned Qaidu to him in order to affirm his vassalage, Qaidu refused, claiming the distance was too great to travel. Though Kublai tried to encourage him by sending him revenues from conquered Chinese territory, Qaidu was intent on preserving his independence and fragile ulus. Kublai’s capital was moved from Karakorum in central Mongolia to Shangdu on the border with China, and then into China proper at Khanbaliq, greatly limited his ability to control his kinsmen deep in the steppe. In the next years, Qaidu’s pretensions would increased dramatically. In the Chagatai Khanate power was taken by Baraq, who ruled with Kublai’s approval and was almost immediately at war with Qaidu. With the aid of the new Khan of the Golden Horde, Mongke-Temur, Qaidu defeated Baraq near Khojand in 1267, after which Qaidu proposed a joint peace between the Central Asian Khanates. Likely on the Qatwan Steppe, just south of Samarkand, in 1267 or 69, Qaidu, Baraq, and Mongke-Temur’s representatives made agreements to divide the territory of Transoxania between them, Qaidu and Baraq became anda (blood brothers) and agreed to a joint-attack the Ilkhanate in Khurasan. Notable about this meeting was a total disregard for Kublai’s authority. Though Kublai was nominally Great Khan, by the end of the 1260s each Khanate was now an independent state, the Khans all now meeting without his consultation. Recorded in the Yuan shi, the assembled Khans apparently sent a jointly written letter, of questionable veracity, to Kublai decrying his sinicization and ‘adoption of Han laws.’ As mentioned by historian Michal Biran, this is the only direct textual evidence of Mongolian, and specifically Qaidu’s, opposition to Kublai’s adoption of Chinese policy and custom. While often presented as a “defender of the old ways,” Qaidu’s agreements on the Qatwan Steppe and actions over his life were always directed at his own power and independence in the Ogedeid ulus, rather than whatever laws the fat Khan in Khanbaliq tried to pass. Qaidu did provide forces for Baraq’s assault on the Ilkhanate, but they were instructed to abandon Baraq before battle was met. Baraq’s army was crushed by the Il-Khan Abaqa at Herat in 1270, and his death shortly afterwards was Qaidu’s most important opportunity. Many of Baraq’s commanders and armies fled to Qaidu, and only a month after Baraq’s death Qaidu was declared Khan of the Ogedeid ulus. We must emphasize this: he was declared Khan of the territory belonging to the House of Ogedai. He was never declared Great Khan of the Mongol Empire, or Khan of the Chagatayid ulus. He never made pretensiosn to claim either of those thrones, and his conflict with Kublai was not over who should be the Great Khan, but over Qaidu’s personal autonomy- and his right to appoint the Chagatai Khan after Baraq’s demise. When Qaidu’s first appointee rebelled alongside the sons of Alghu and Baraq, Qaidu overcame them and chose Baraq’s son Du’a as Chagatai Khan in 1282. Du’a would be Qaidu’s right hand man for the next twenty years, and as co-rulers they dominated Central Asia from the Yenisei River to the borders of India, and from Transoxania to the Mongolian Altai, a border keeping Kublai’s control confined to the east. Kublai’s campaign against the Song Dynasty kept him from interfering with Qaidu’s domination of the Chagatai Khanate, instead relying on defence. As early as the mid 1260s, Qaidu was raiding Kublai’s frontier: in 1268 Kublai’s armies had to push Qaidu’s forces from Beshbaliq and the Uighur lands. By the end of the 1260s, Kublai was posting a large garrison in Mongolia under his son Nomukhan. Nomukhan was not terribly successful: he was betrayed by his subordinates and sent over to the Golden Horde in 1276, and Karakorum fell into the hands of these rebellious princes. Qaidu played no role in this, distracted as he was at that time by trying to exert control over the ulus of Chagatai. In an effort to make the local garrisons self sufficient, Kublai spent considerable amounts attempting to expand agriculture and set up military colonies in the Tarim Basin, Gansu corridor and Mongolia, but only in Mongolia did he see limited success. Qaidu’s raids were too successful and the regions too arid, and Kublai only succeeded in throwing away huge sums of money and resources. By the 1280s, Qaidu had a firm hold on Central Asia and loyal ally in his appointed Chagatai Khan, Du’a. Finally, they could take advantage of rebellions across Kublai’s frontier, such as that in Tibet in 1285 and of Nayan in Manchuria in 1287, with whom Qaidu tried to coordinate with. Kublai, realizing Mongolia itself was now threatened, took to the field himself. Sending an army west to counter Qaidu and an army into southern Manchuria to distract the other local Mongol dissident, Khadan, the aging Kublai led the third army from a platform mounted on the backs of four elephants. Nayan was swiftly caught and executed. Qaidu had advanced on the old Mongol capital of Qaraqorum as per the suggestion of Ariq Boke’s sons, but the threat of facing Kublai himself led to Qaidu’s withdrawal. This was the closest the two ever came to fighting one another in person. While Karakorum may have held symbolic value, strategically it would be nearly impossible for Qaidu to hold it, and as he was making no claim to the title of Great Khan, its symbolism was useless to him. Karakorum was but a brief flirtation for him, egged on by his allies to take advantage of Kublai’s perceived weakenss, rather than a long awaited goal. The aging Kublai had shown he still had teeth, and Qaidu would not make such an attempt again for the remainder of Kublai’s life. Qaidu does not seem to have taken advantage of Kublai’s death in 1294, and Kublai’s successor, Temur Oljeitu, abandoned his grandfather’s foreign adventures, focusing greater resources on combating Qaidu along the northwestern frontier. In winter 1298, Qaidu’s Chagatai Khan Du’a attacked the Yuan frontier and captured Temur Oljeitu Khan’s brother-in-law Korguz, who died before he could be rescued. This was an embarrassment and insult for the new Khan of Khans, and Temur Oljeitu sprung into action, ordering his nephew Qaishan to Mongolia, where he assembled a great army and marched west to crush Qaidu in 1300. In spring 1300, east of the Altai mountains at Kuobielie, Qaishan’s army overtook Qaidu. In a furious assault, they forced Qaidu to retreat west into the Altai mountains in western Mongolia. Qaishan was a cautious commander, only proceeding once he acquired sufficient provisions, which gave Qaidu time to call to Du’a for aid. Du’a initially refused, but did send two armies later that summer, a first to reinforce Qaidu while Du’a himself led a second. The onset of winter halted the campaign, and for most of 1301 Qaishan struggled to locate Qaidu’s smaller, highly mobile force in the Altai. Qaidu needed to hold out for the arrival of Du’a reinforcements, but couldn’t retreat lest he allow Qaishan to overrun his hard won ulus. Finally in August 1301, Qaishan’s scouts informed him that Qaidu’s army was encamped at Mount Tiejiangu, and that Du’a’s reinforcements were close at hand. On the 3rd of September the Yuan army attacked. The Yuan assault was devastating: Qaidu’s smaller force was overrun, Qaidu himself wounded in the battle. Only nightfall forced the two armies apart, and Qaidu employed a tool of his great-grandfather. He ordered his men to each light several fires, and to the Yuan forces, it appeared that Du’a’s enforcements had suddenly arrived and lit their own campfires. Their enemy refusing to advance, Qaidu used this distraction to pull his forces back. When morning revealed the truth, Qaishan was hesitant to immediately pursue, fearing Qaidu would employ a feigned retreat. This provided Qaidu time to meet with forces sent by Du’a two days later at Qara Qada, along the Irtysh River. Learning of Du’a’s reinforcements, Qaishan split his force: one section would intercept Du’a and his army, while Qaishan took the rest of the Yuan forces to catch Qaidu. When Qaishan arrived at Qara Qada, Qaidu was prepared. This time, the Yuan army was not as successful, though Qaishan himself broke through Qaidu’s lines, seizing his military supplies, rescuing captive princes and turning about to lead a rear assault on a section of Qaidu’s line. But Qaidu held firm, and his horse archers kept the Yuan back until nightfall once again split them apart. Not far away at an unidentified location called Wuertu, Yuan forces defeated and wounded Du’a, who then seems to have retreated back to his own territory. The following day was the final confrontation. Qaidu, now approaching 70 years old, held his vetetan forces together against the Yuan’s superior numbers. Arrows filled the air, and the Yuan army was in an inconclusive engagement. An effort to pull the Yuan forces back and redeploy was foiled by a full charge by Qaidu, and the Yuan retreat now threatened to turn into a rout. Qaishan fought bravely as rearguard, and once more broke through Qaidu’s line, forcing them back and allowing the Yuan army to undertake an orderly retreat back to Qaraqorum, Qaishan burning the steppe behind them to hamper Qaidu’s pursuit. But Qaidu did not follow, instead falling back, given pause by his losses and his own injuries sustained, which were likely his cause of death a few weeks after the battle. The Ogedeid ulus did not long survive Qaidu’s death. Qaidu’s lifetime of carving out a restored Ogedeid state within the Mongol Empire was undermined by his own longtime ally. Almost immediately, Du’a sabotaged Qaidu’s successors. Du’a, it seems, had had enough of war with the Yuan Dynasty, and desired peace in order to resume the Central Asian trade, as well as focus resources on the border with India. To do this though, he would need to break the ability of the house of Ogedai to control the Chagatayids. Qaidu had wanted his youngest son Orus to succeed him, but Du’a maneuvered Qaidu’s ineffective and unhealthy older son Chapar to become Khan, forming rifts within the ulus. Du’a furthered the division of the Ogedeid ulus into appanages, and infighting broke out among Qaidu’s heirs. A brief attempt to unite the Ogedeyid princes against Du’a was crushed in 1306 by Chagatayid troops with Yuan backing, and many of the top princes and generals of the Ogedeyid ulus surrendered to Du’a or to the Yuan. Du’a unleashed his horsemen to track down those Ogedeyids who remained independent, and one such Chagatayid raid even resulted in the death of Qaidu’s famed daughter Qutulun. Ah yes, Qutulun! She is worth a short digression, as she is most famous among Mongolian princesses of this period, and many of you have likely wondered why we have not yet mentioned her role in her father’s battles. Qutulun is usually most well known as the famed ‘wrestler-princess.’ In the version popularized in Marco Polo’s account, wherein she is called Ay Yaruq, moonshine in Turkic, she refused to marry any man who couldn’t best her in a wrestling match. In fact, she claimed the herds of every man she was able to throw to the ground. She was such a good wrestler that, according to Polo, she had a herd of 10,000 animals she had claimed over her career. To carry on the fable-like nature of his version, Polo has an unnamed prince of quite some wealth attempt to win her hand. Qaidu, having agreed to let Qutulun marry who she wanted but recognizing it was a powerful match, encouraged his daughter to let the man win. Qutulun instead threw the prince to the ground and claimed his horses. Polo also asserts that she would fight beside her father, riding into enemy formations to grab and steal men. It’s a bebrudging respect for evidently a highly skilled and dangeorus woman! What’s more, it’s a depiction of a woman of physical prowess and military capability which is actually backed up by some contemporary writers, such as the Ilkhanid author Rashid al-Din and ‘Abd Allah Qashani. The Ilkhanid vizer Rashid al-Din was less impressed than Marco Polo regarding Qutulun, writing the following: “Qaidu had a daughter named Qutulun… he loved her the most of all his children. She went around like a boy and often went on military campaigns, where she performed valiant deeds. She was listened to by her father, and she handled the administration for him. Her father refused to marry her off, and people accused him of having relations with her… a few years ago, because of shame and the accusations people were making, he was forced to marry her off to a man named Aitqun of the Qorolas clan.” Rashid al-Din, as we said at the start of the episode, had no fondness for Qaidu. Rashid’s employers, the Toluid Ilkhans, were often at war with him after all. Rashid al-din is too refined to openly say he agreed with such horrendous rumours about father and daughter, but was not above mentioning the fact people were spreading them. Qutulun in the end, but likely of her own choice, married a member of his father’s keshig, one of his royal cooks. That the fellow’s name and lineage differs in the accounts, and Qutulun is still described leading her minghaans, units of a thousand, indicates that her new husband did little to overawe her military ability. After Qaidu’s death, Qutulun staunchly supported her father’s chosen heir, Orus. She recognized early Du’a effort to undermine the Ogedeyid ulus and spoke out against him at an assembly. Du’a dismissed her concerns thus, saying “Women’s opinions and talk should be about the spindle and spinning wheel, not on the crown and the khanate’s throne. What do you have to do with rulership and government?” The frustrated Qutulun found no support from her brothers and withdrew with her family and followers to the Tien Shan mountains, in what is now Kyrgyzstan, where she guarded her father’s tomb. Though she largely removed herself from the affairs of the Ogedeyid Khanate, when her brothers sought to make a stand against Du’a in 1306, the contemporary author Qashani mentions that Qutulun showed up to assist them, leading her 1,000 men beside them. Even with her assistance, a combined Chagatayid-Yuan army under Du’a defeated the Ogedeyid army. Generals and even her brothers began deserting to the Chagatayids or to the Yuan realm, and as mentioned Du’a sent raiding parties to track down those who escaped. Qutulun returned to her encampment near her father’s tomb, where she held out until 1307. That year, Qashani records, Chagatayid forces found them, drowning her husband and two sons.Qutulun’s final fate is unmentioned, but it is presumed she was killed sometime around then. The Ogedeyid Khanate did not long outlive her. By 1310 when Chapar submitted to the new Yuan Emperor, Qaishan, the Ogedeyid ulus ceased to exist, only some 60 years after Qaidu had restored it. Du’a died in 1307, but his sons continued to dominate the Chagatayid ulus for the next 30 years, incorporating much of the former Ogedeid territory. After the death of the last of Du’a’s sons, the Chagatai Khanate entered a period of great instability, gradually breaking into two halves, a western based in Transoxania, and another east of the Syr Darya River, which came to be known as Moghulistan. In the western half, the authority of the Chagatai Khan weakened sooner, a power vacuum which led to the eventual rise of Amir Temur in Transoxania, better known in the west as Tamerlane. But that’s a topic for another day, so please consider subscribing to our podcast to follow for future episodes. If you’d like to help us continue bringign you great content, please consider supporting 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.
The Mongols were far from the only nomadic peoples to interact with Europe, even in the thirteenth century. Of these, the Cumans are perhaps the most well-known and have left us a considerable legacy in the archaeological record. Today, our series researcher Jack Wilson talks with Dr. Michal Holeščák regarding the archaeological presence of the Cumans and Mongols in 12th and 13th century Eastern Europe. Michal Holeščák is an archaeologist dealing with the material culture of late nomadic peoples, namely the Mongols and Cumans, from Mongolia to the westernmost fringes of the Great Eurasian Steppe in Hungary.
Everyone makes mistakes. For most of us though, the consequences of our actions fall to ourselves and sometimes to those with whom we associate, but seldom extends beyond. The residue of our missteps tend to erode away with time, until they are eventually forgotten. Scars can remain, but over time, we tend to forget how we got them. Occasionally though a mistake can change the course of history and even distort the face of the earth. When the Khwarazmian Shaw humiliated and killed a couple of Mongolian trade emissaries, he arguably made one of the most consequential mistakes in all of human history. This mistake would lead to the deaths of millions. Borders would be redrawn. Family lines would end. Entire cities and cultures would disappear, and the Khwarazmian Empire would fall. On this episode, we will be discussing the the pursuit of the Khwarazmian Shah by Chinggis Khan’s most reliable general, and one of planet Earth's all-time deadliest men, Subutai. Artwork for this episode was provided by Kevin "from Groveport" Edwards. Thanks Kevin! Check out more of his artwork on Instagram @ https://www.instagram.com/blackmoth7g
The Mongols were far from the only nomadic peoples to interact with Europe, even in the thirteenth century. Of these, the Cumans are perhaps the most well-known and have left us a considerable legacy in the archaeological record. Today, our series researcher Jack Wilson talks with Dr. Michal Holeščák regarding the archaeological presence of the Cumans and Mongols in 12th and 13th century Eastern Europe. Michal Holeščák is an archaeologist dealing with the material culture of late nomadic peoples, namely the Mongols and Cumans, from Mongolia to the westernmost fringes of the Great Eurasian Steppe in Hungary.
Around 40 episodes ago, we discussed Chinggis Khan fighting for control of the Mongolian steppe. Now, some 90 years later in our chronology, we will discuss his grandson sending Mongol armies across the sea to lands beyond Chinggis’ imagination. While Japan, Vietnam and Burma were all subjects of invasions towards the end of Kublai Khan’s life, all of these were regions relatively close to Yuan China, directly bordering its subject territories. Our discussion today focuses on a much less obvious target: the island of Java in modern Indonesia. The expedition against Java was one of the last military campaigns ordered by Kublai in his long life, and like many of these later invasions, cost the Yuan heavily in men and resources for little gain. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. In the 13th century, Eastern Java and parts of the neighbouring islands of Sumatra and Borneo came under the influence of the Kingdom of Tumapel, named for the city of the same name on the island of Java- or atleast it was the same name until the reign of King Jaya Wisnuhardhana, who changed it to Singhasari. You’ll find this state therefore referred either as the Kingdom of Tumapel, or Singahsari.The Tumapel kings were not absolute rulers, with much of their kingdom made up of loosely controlled vassal kings and chiefs. Rather, their significance for our purposes came from their place on a lucrative position along the maritime trade routes going through Indonesia and across the southern coastline of the Eurasian landmass. By the 12th century, the island of Java was one of China’s chief suppliers of pepper and safflower dye, along with Bali. The island exported rice, and held trade contacts from China to India. In turn, they imported gold, silver, lacquerware, iron goods and ceramics from China. The southeast Asian sea trade was a valuable market which had been expanding considerably since the ninth century- and one which now attracted the attention of a man hungry for conquest and with less and less patience for, well, patience. By the 1280s, Kublai Khan had completed his conquest of China proper, but good, overwhelming victories were frustraingly eluding him in Central Asia, Japan, Vietnam and Myanmar, and as he advanced in years, the knowledge that he was failing to bring the world under Mongol authority must have weighed heavily on him. Now in his seventies, with his poor health, depression, deaths of his friends and family, increasing removal from affairs of state and awareness of his own impending mortality, Kublai must have been desperate for victories to console his aching spirit. In addition, the economic aspects must not be overlooked -though they were not separate, from Kublai’s point of view, but merely a component of universal rule. Kublai’s Yuan dynasty, while obviously influenced by China’s Confucian norms and traditions, felt no need to bind themselves to it, and kept for instance, the Mongolian practicality regarding merchants. Rather than treat them as inherently lower class, they were invited and rewarded, and trade as a whole encouraged. This took a notable form on the recent completion of the conquest of the southern Chinese coastline. Soon after the imposition of Mongol rule at the end of the 1270s, a new Bureau of Maritime Trade was established as the major port of Quanzhou. The Bureau not only oversaw and taxed the trade in and out of Quanzhou, but sought to actively encourage it as well as the settlement of foreign traders there. Contacts were made across the region- the Southeast Asian coastline of course, but also the Phillipines, Indonesia including Java and Sumatra and to India and Iran’s southern coastline. We, have for instance, south Indian style Hindu temples with Tamil transcriptions in Quanzhou from this period, and knowledge of a significant Muslim population and resettled Persian. To the Islamic world Quanzhou was known as Zayton, by which Marco Polo recorded the name. The Yuan Dynasty had a keen interest in trade, and sought to extend their control over it throughout the region- at the same time extending the Mongols’ heavenly Mandate to rule the whole of the world. On these considerations, Kublai Khan increased diplomatic missions across the seas of southern Asia, from Malabar to Sri Lanka, ordering the monarchs and peoples across the sea to submit to the Great Khan, as per the wish of Eternal Blue Heaven- something it should be noted, many of these states did do. In fact, for the privilege of trading with China, most regional states already undertook a sort of yearly tribute to whichever Chinese dynasty ruled the requisite ports they wanted access to. The Chinese dynasties were generally content to accept the trade and maintain the image of themselves as the Sons of Heavens, the centre of the world in name even if it wasn’t quite so in practice, and the Son of Heaven did not exercise actual authority in these states. The Mongols, as many a state in eastern Asia rudely learned, generally did not share the same view; to be a vassal to the Great Khan was a complete submission, which required making your resources and peoples available to the Khan’s desires, measured through censuses to catalogue them and make the necessary demands. When Kublai sent his diplomatic missions over the seas, they often were sent to not just reaffirm or increase the tribute, but increase the extent to which these overseas monarchs needed to comply to the will of the house of Chinggis Khan. One such mission, led by one Meng Qi, arrived in the court of the king of Tumapel, Kertanagara, sometime in the 1280s. Kertanagara had been the King of Tumapel since the 1260s, and had shown himself a haughty individual and firm convert to Tantric Buddhism. Since his ascension he had expanded his kingdom, over the 1270s subduring parts of eastern Sumatra and by the 1280s, most of the island of Java itslf. By all accounts, Kertanagara was quite keen to solidify his control of the local trade and spice routes, and very, very keen on not having to share it with the distant ruler of China. In the various sources, after feeling insulted by the envoy Meng Qi or his demands, Kertanagara’s either insulted him, branded his face with a hot iron, cut his nose off or outright killed him. In either case, he had committed a grievous insult on an envoy of the Great Khan, which you may remember, was not something the Mongols took lightly. Kertanagara’s calculation was likely a simple one. He did not want to increase the share of tribute sent to China for the privilege of trading. However, in order to maintain that wealth he very much needed to keep trading with China, and it's unclear to what extent trade may have been disrupted during the long war between the Mongols and the late Song Dynasty. It was a reasonable assumption that the island of Java was well outside the range of an actual attack from China, leaving him physically secure from a Chinese repercussion. Once tensions had cooled, Kertanagara could send an apology mission and resume trade, without having provided a greater portion of it to China. These were reasonable assumptions, but rather incorrect, as they relied on an assumption of reasonable retaliation by the opposing party. By the later 1280s, the deaths of Kublai’s closest confidant, his wife Chabi, chosen heir Jingim and his most important advisers, as well as alcoholism and depression had clouded his judgement, and he was quite beyond being reasonable. Kublai’s earliest campaigns against the Dali Kingdom and Song Dynasty were marked by thorough preparation and intelligence gathering, taking advantage of weaknesses within the enemy to bring the final victory. Now isolated and depressed, surrendered by yes-men who lacked the ability to stand up to him and desperate for victory after the continuous news of defeat across his frontiers, Kublai had come to rely on throwing manpower at a problem, hoping now tactical successes would automatically lead to strategic victories. Kublai’s knowledge of Java must have been minimal, but he was well past the point of caring. The ruler of a puny island somewhere in the sea had no right to insult the Master of the World. And so, Kublai ordered an attack upon the island of Java and Kingdom of Tumapel, to bring its king Kertanagara to heel and resume the tribute payments. Briefly, we can comment on the rather different version of events which appears in the Javanese sources. In the medieval Javanese and Balinese sources, the incident with Meng Qi the envoy is unmentioned. Instead, Kublai was a friend of the minister Madura Wiraraja, who requested Kublai come provide military assistance to the royal family of Tumapel. In this verison, the throne was usurped by Jayakatwang, whom we shall meet shortly, and Kublai’s forces quite respectfully came, defeated the usurper, placed the rightful heir, Kertanagara’s son-in-law Raden Vijaya, on the throne and took in exchange only a beautiful princess for Kublai to marry. Generally speaking, most reconstructions rely on the Chinese sources instead, though the Javanese sources are interesting for how they justify and depict the Yuan presence. Regardless of the cause, an invasion fleet and army were prepared in 1292. 20,000 men, mainly from southern China, were mobilizied aboard 1,000 vessels. The army was led by the former Song commander Gao Xing, the navy by the Uighur Yiqmis, and all were under the overall command of the Mongol Shi Bi. Having learned from the disastrous naval assaults on Japan and Dai Viet, onboard they had a year’s supply of grain and 40,000 ounces of silver to purchase more supplies. The commanders met with Kublai himself before their departure: the Khan told Shi Bi to leave naval matters to Yiqmis’ expertise, and that they must proclaim on their arrival they were not an invasion force, but merely there to punish Kertanagara for harming a Yuan envoy. Whether Kublai was serious, or hoping this ruse would allow his forces to snatch victory, we cannot say. Departing in winter 1292-93, they made a short stopover in Champa, now paying tribute and at peace with the Mongols. There, officers were dispatched on diplomatic missions to Lamuri, Samudra, Perlak and Mulayu in Sumatra, seeking tribute and submission. By March 1293 the fleet was off the coast of Java, and preparing to make landfall. It was decided to send a diplomatic force ahead of the main fleet, as by now the Yuan commanders were under no pretensions their army was inherently invincible, particularly as it had only a minor Mongolian component. It was hoped that by diplomacy, and with a good threat of violence, they would convince Kertanagara to submit and avoid having to make landfall in an foreign country with little gathered intelligence. If there was no progress on the diplomatic front in a week, the fleet was to follow up as a show of force. The diplomatic mission found no success, for matters had changed considerably in Java by the time of their arrival. The haughty king of Tumapel, Kertanagara, was dead. He had been killed by his vassal, Jayakatong of Gelang, based in Kediri. Kertanagara’s son-in-law, Raden Vijaya, based in Majapahit, was resisting him, and the Yuan fleet had arrived in the midst of a civil war. A week after the envoys were sent, the armada landed at Tuban, where part of the army under Gao Xing and Yiqmis disembarked and began to march to Pachekan. The rest of the army was to follow aboard the ships under the command of Tuqudege, sailing through the Straits of Madura to meet the land force in March. At Pachekan, Jayakatong’s navy blocked the Brantas River, but made no move against the Yuan. There, the Yuan commanders landed and set up a banquet, inviting the Javanese to come over and discuss terms. No response was made by the Javanese, and after a while the Yuan fleet and army advanced. Jayakatong’s navy retreated before them and after garrisoning Pachekan, the Yuan forces made their way inland along the Brantas. As they moved inland, they were greeted by envoys of Raden Vijaya, begging Yuan help: the young prince had only a small force, and Jayakatong’s army was now on its way to attack Vijaya’s base at Majapahit. In exchange, Vijaya would submit happily to the Great Khan. Seeing that this could be the key to gaining the submission of Java by supporting Vijaya, Yiqmis ordered Gao Xing to take a part of the army and intercept Jayakatong, while Yiqmis took the rest of the force to reinforce Majapahit. Jayakatong managed to evade Gao Xing, reaching Majapahit. There, Yiqmis had already assembled his forces to meet the tired forces of Jayakatong. Standing off for the night, when Gao Xing arrived the next day with the rest of the Yuan troops, together they drove off Jayakatong’s army. Raden Vijaya once again promised his total submission to the Great Khan if the Yuan forces helped him secure Java against Jayakatong, and after providing them maps, a week later they set off for Jayakatong’s capital of Kediri. The Yuan moved in three columns: the fleet on the Brantas River under Tuqudege, with Gao Xing and Yiqmis taking their forces up either bank, while behind them traveled a large force from Majapahit under Raden Vijaya. The army made good time, and only a few days later had reached Kediri, where Jayakatong had a large army prepared for them. The next day, from the morning until early afternoon, Jayakatong’s force advanced three times, and three times they were repulsed with heavy losses by the arms of the Yuan Dynasty and Majapahit. By the end of the day, Jayakatong’s army broke, fleeing across the river or into Kediri itself, where Jayakatong too retreated. The Yuan immediately assaulted the city, and by nightfall Jayakatong had come forward to surrender. For the next week, the Yuan were the masters of Java. Raden Vijaya’s promised submission now had to come: for this, he desired to return to Majapahit with a small, unarmed Yuan escort to properly witness his formal submission. While that force departed for Majapahit, Shi Bi sent most of the army back to Pachekan, while he stayed in Kediri with a small force, thinking he had handily conquered Java for his Khan. Unfortunately for Shi Bi, he was not so lucky. Once he saw that the Yuan troops had let their guard down, at the end of the day Raden Vijaya killed the Yuan escorts who followed him back to Majapahit, rallied his armies and urged the people of Java to repel the foreign invaders. Only narrowly did Shi Bi escape the trap for him at Kediri. He fought his way back to Pachekan, losing in one account up to 3,000 men. Back aboard the ships the commanders argued over whether to counter attack Raden, or to retreat, ultimately choosing the latter. Not knowing the country, outnumbered and unlikely to find local support, realistically they choose the best option to secure the lives of the rest of their men. While they did bring back some trophies, maps of Java, population registers, spices, gold, silver, rhino horn and prisoners, this did little to offset the costs of the campaign. Not as disastrous as the invasions of Japan or Vietnam, the Yuan had been unable to turn a tactically well executed campaign into a strategic victory, and paid for it with a humiliating retreat. Kublai was furious, punishing Shi Bi, Yiqmis and Gao Xing, stripping them of a third of their property and rewarding them with 50 blows from the rod. Once Kublai Khan died in early 1294, there was no stomach to avenge that defeat, or those others suffered in Southeast Asia. By contrast, Raden Vijaya was able to found a new empire based in Majapahit, which would come to dominate much of modern Indonesia and Malaysia and was perhaps the most powerful empire to ever be based in the region, a Golden Age founded in large part due to Mongol assistance. By the end of the 1290s, after Kublai’s death, Vijaya sent missions to the Yuan Dynasty to resume the valuable trade contacts. Despite their reputation for destruction across much of Eurasia, in the Javanese chronicle there is but a single reference to the Mongols destroying towns and sending people running in flight- perhaps due to the mainly Chinese origin of the army. Consider how the memory of the invasion was that of Kublai coming to assist his friends in exchange for a beautiful princess; to excuse, perhaps, their attack on their erstwhile allies or Kertanagara’s murder of the envoy, always a heinous act, the Yuan troops turned into a helpful, legitimizing force, in a way. A rather different view than their forces earned in many other places. The Java campaign marked the end of the Yuan Dynasty’s overseas expansion, capping off Kublai’s life with one last failed campaign. The campaigns of the 1280s and 90s served as stark reminders for Kublai’s successors, whose attention would mostly turn inwards with rare exceptions. The huge costs of all these campaigns served to burden the Yuan economy, filling its offices with corruption and mismanagement that would never be shed. Further, these campaigns did little to endear the recently taken former Song territories, who provided much of the manpower for these invasions, to their new masters, laying seeds for later troubles for the Yuan, to be discussed in future episode, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals 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 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.
On a thickly humid day, flanked by dense forest of a deep green, rows of archers astride skittish horses struggle to control their mounts. Their local allies, armed with bows and tightly clutched spears, have their eyes focusing on a mass of men surging forward towards them. Infront comes a vanguard of the beast terrifying the Mongol horses; elephants, adorned in gold, armour and broacde, their tusks spiked and decorated, tall towers on their backs housing archers and spear throwers. The Mongol commander is afraid but refuses to show it; it would do no good to show fear before the men and the vassal troops. As calm as he can, he orders the cavalry to retreat to the treeline and dismount; they would stand before the oncoming host of the King of Pagan, modern Myanmar onfoot, armed with nothing but their bows and the will of Eternal Blue Heaven. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Of all the foreign ventures ordered by Kublai Khan in his later years, it was the invasions of Burma, or rather,, Myanmar, which are among the most poorly known in the west. While not as overtly disastrous as the more famous campaigns against Japan or Vietnam, which we have previously covered, the fighting in Myanmar still showcased the limits of the Mongol military, where tactical victories could not always translate into strategic success. By the 13th Century, the Kingdom of Pagan [pronounced somewhere between Bagan, Pakam, Pokam] had dominated Myanmar since the mid 9th century. Considered a golden age, from its strategic position on the Irrawadday River, the city of Pagan was the capital of a multi-ethnic, multi-religious and multi-linguistic kingdom straddling both upper and lower Myanmar. Military conquests backed by expanding infrastructure, irrigation and administrative systems laid the groundwork for a stable and regionally dominating empire. Population growth and infrastructure led to the increased development of Lower Myanmar, coupled with the expansion of arable lands to support it. To legitimize themselves, the Kings of Pagans patronized Thereavdic Buddhism and built monumental architecture to celebrate themselves. Huge donations of arable land to the Buddhist monasteries gradually put more and more of the kingdom’s wealth and resources in the hands of the monks; by the thirteenth century, the Pagan kings found themselves in a more and more desperate economic situation, struggling to reclaim lands from the entrenched powers but continually needing to build monuments to legitimize themselves and maintain Buddhist support for their power. Skillful kings like Kalancacsa, reigning 1084-1111 were able to balance all the elements of the Pagan kingdom, its various ethnic groups and traditions and the Buddhist clergy, but the kings of the thirteenth century lacked this ability- particularly Narathihapade, who took the throne in 1254. By then, long held tensions were bubbling beneath the surface, and the once un-developed Lower Myanmar was becoming a major population and political centre that the king in Pagan struggled to control. And with so many kingdoms of the thirteenth century, this crockpot of troubles was aggravated by the addition of an extremely potent ingredient; the Mongol Empire. Pagan, separated from China and the Song Dynasty by the Kingdom of Dali in Yunnan and Dai Viet in Northern Vietnam, had escaped the attention of the Mongols during their first forays into these kingdoms in the 1250s, as we have covered in previous episodes. With the initial submission of these regions in that decade, the Mongol Empire now shared a border uncomfortably close to Pagan’s northeastern-most outposts. It was in 1271 that the Great Khan Kublai’s first envoys reached the Kingdom of Pagan, requesting the submission of its monarch, King Narathihapade, as well as the necessary trade and tribute demanded upon all subjects of the Mongol Emperor. History has not been kind to Narathihpate, often presented as a vain and greedy ruler. Usually, you’ll be pointed to this incrisiption he place on the Mingalar Zedi Pagoda in 1274, “King Narathiha Pati, supreme commander of 36 million soldiers and who is the consumer of 300 dishes of curry daily, enshrined fifty-one gold and silver figurines of kings, queens, nobles and maids of honour, and over these a solid silver image of Lord Buddha Gautama one cubic high, on Thursday the Full Moon of Kason of the year 636.” Of course, Narathihapade did not command 36 million soldiers, though his ability to consume curry in prodigious amounts is outside the realm of our discussion today. This is however an example of the earlier mentioned needed for Narathihapade and the Burmese kings to legitimize themselves through large monuments and inscriptions. His kingdom facing an economic problem undermining the very power of its monarchy and his own ancestry and position on shaky ground, Narathihapade had to shore up his position with boasts and monuments, wasting valuable resources but lacking options. The political system he inherited demanded he put on a show of nearly supernatural power regardless of the reality- a problem hardly unique to the Pagan kingdom, mind you- but one which contributed to the spurning of Kublai’s envoys. The next year Narathihapade followed this up by attacking one of Kublai’s vassal tribes in Yunnan, the Jin Chi, who Marco Polo calls the Cardanan, meaning ‘gold teeth.’ In 1273, Narathihapade completed his trifecta of antagonizing the single most powerful man on earth by killing Kublai’s envoys sent to demand recomponense. By doing so, Narathihapade ensured Kublai, in order to maintain the requisite show of supernatural power and invincibility around the Chinggisid monarchy, would need to react with miltiary force. Kublai’s miltiary response was delayed by the final push against the Song Dynasty and the first invasion of Japan in 1274. Troops could not be deployed to the frontier with Myanmar for some time, and perhaps in recognition of, Narathihapade struck first. The King of Pagan sent an army into Yunnan in early 1277, though this was probably more of a raid than a full scale invasion. The local Mongol garrison was relatively small, as low as 700 or as many as 12,000, depending on the source. Under their commander, a fellow named Qutuq, the garrison was enlarged by rallying a number of local Achang and Jin Chi tribesmen. It should be noted in general when we discuss the conflicts with the Mongol-Yuan troops and regional powers in this period, we are mainly talking about forces like this: a small Turkic and Mongolian core around a commander, sometimes a Mongolian, sometimes a Central Asian Muslim or Turk, and the majority of the forces between locally raised troops or perhaps even southern Chinese. The reasons for this were manifest. Firstly, truly Mongolian troops were rarely assigned for garrison duty, being at their greatest use on actual campaign or protecting Kublai’s steppe frontiers. The climate, generally hot and humid, was extremely difficult on both the Mongols and their horses, and the often rugged, densely forested or riverine terrain itself made the preferred wide-ranging horseback warfare less effective, while also minimizing available pasturelands to feed the horses in the first place. A small Mongolian garrison would be maintained in Yunnan’s highlands and small pasture for the remainder of Mongol rule in China, and indeed, there are people of Yunnan today who claim descent from the Mongols- the Khatso, who in the last decades have sought to make contact with Mongolians to “reclaim” some of their “ancient customs.” Anyways, it was a small body of Mongols and many more locally raised troops under the command of Qutuq who set out to repel the army of Narathihapade in 1277. One of the main descriptions of the ensuing engaement comes from that famous Venetian traveller, Marco Polo, who at the time of the battle was a new arrival in Kublai’s distant court at Khanbaliq. In Polo’s account, command of the Yuan forces is given to the general Nasir al-Din, the son of Yunnan’s governor, a Central Asian Muslim named Sayyid Ajall Shams ad-Din. Polo’s mis-attribution to Nasir al-Din is an easy enough mistake to understand; it’s likely Polo never had in his notes or memory the name of a minor commander like Qutuq, but did recall an association between the well known Nasir al-Din and an exciting battle again the King of Mien, as Polo refers to Narathihapade. For our reconstruction today, we will agree with the scholarship and place Qutuq in command of the Mongol troops. The site where Qutuq and the Pagan King met is contradicted in the sources, either in the Vochang Valley in Baoshan, or at a site the called by the Burmese Nga-caung-khyam [Ngasaynggyan- sorry David] in modern Yingjiang. The two sites are approximately 100 kilometres apart, though Nga-caung-khyam is the more commonly given location. It seems that Narathihapate led the invasion force himself, a mixed force of infantry and cavalry spearheaded by a contingent of elephants: on their wide backs were towers built to house archers. Qutuq was worried and outnumbered, but chose the site of battle carefully. Entering on a level plain early in the morning, he ensured the Yuan flanks and rear were protected by trees, while the ground before them was bare. Qutuq likely arranged his forces in a standard formation for steppe armies, a center and two wings, while Narathihapade’s force advanced in two large, extended wings of cavalry and infantry, staggered behind the line of elephants in the vanguard- 2,000 of them, if we blindly accept Polo’s numbers, along with 60,000 men on foot and horse. It would be shocking if Narathihapade brought even half as many as this. According to Marco Polo, the Yuan commander rallied his seemingly outnumbered men through a short speech: “And calling to him all his hrosemen, he exhorted them with most eloquent words that they would not be of less might than they had been in the past, and that strength did not consist in numbers but in the valour of brave and tried horsemen; and that the people of Mien were inexperienced and not practised in war, in which they had not been engaged as they themselves had been so many times. And therefore they must not fear the multitude of the enemy but trust in their own skill which had already been long tried in many place in so many enterprises that their name was feared and dreaded -not only by the enemy but by all the world; so that they must be of that same valour as they had been. And he promised them certain and undoubted victory.” After loudly playing their instruments, Narathihapde’s army advanced. The Mongols tried to hold firm, but the scent and sight of the elephants frightened their horses. Once he saw this, Qutuq acted quickly. He ordered his men into the forest beind them, dismounting and tying the horses’ reins to trees, then advancing on foot back onto the plain. Once in the open, the Mongols- and their local allies- began firing volley after volley of arrows into the elephants. The Burmese archers shot back, but clumped as they were in their towers they could not compete with the powerful Mongol bows. Though the elephants’ thick hides could not be penetrated, they panicked under the concentrated barrage of arrows. Before the elephants could meet the Yuan line, they became uncontrollable, and tried to escape: either through the trees, destroying the towers on their backs, or through the Burmese lines. With this break in Narathihapade’s advance, sections of the Mongols began remounting their horses while the remainder provided covering fire, until the whole force was once more on horseback. Further details of troops movements are scarcer, but the lines finally met and fighting continued until noon. King Narathihapade worked his way up and down his lines encouraging his men, ordering fresh forces from his reserve, but, as per Marco Polo’s account, they were frustrated by the superior armour of the Mongols and their skills with the bow. Finally, Narathihapade and his men began to withdraw, but the Mongols pushed the advantage and it turned into a rout. Losses on both sides were heavy, but the smaller Yuan force had had the better of the day. The sudden attack and flight of its King made Pagan a more pressing matter to the Yuan court, which finally ordered Nasir al-Din bin Sayyid Ajall against the kingdom in winter 1277. Provided a force of 3,800 Mongols, Cuan and Musuo peoples, Nasir al-Din reached the important fort of Kaung Sin along the Irrawaddy River. Nasir’s force was however too small to progress far into the country, and the onset of hotter weather encouraged him to withdraw back to Yunnan early in 1278. Before he did so, a seemingly humbled Narathihapade agreed to pay tribute to the Great Khan and allowed 100,000 households along the Yunnanese-Burmese border to be placed under Yuan control. When Narathihpate was slow providing tribute, Nasir al-Din returned later in 1278 to enforce the treaty terms. Little is revealed about this expedition, but in July 1279 Nasir returned to the Yuan capital of Dadu with captured Burmese elephants in tow. By 1279 the Song Dynasty had been destroyed, yet Kublai Khan’s appetite for conquest was not sated, and his attention was increasingly drawn to the kingdoms across southeast Asia where Song loyalists could flee: Dai Viet, Champa, and Pagan. Once Narathihapade again lapsed on the treaty terms, Kublai had little difficulty ordering a proper invasion of Pagan while an invasion of Vietnam was already under way. The Great Khan must have imagined his rule would soon extend right into the Indian ocean. In December 1283, a full invasion of Pagan was launched, with 10,000 soldiers from Sichuan and Miao tribal auxiliaries under the command of Mongol prince Sang’udar. Sang’udar’s army travelled jointly by land and on vessels on the Irrawaddy, taking Kaung Sin, Biao-dian and even the ancient Burmese capital of Tagaung in 1284, before withdrawing around May before the onset of the summer heat. So quick was the Mongol movements that Narathihpate fled the capital of Pagan in a panic: it was for this flight that he earned the epithet Taruppye [also written Tarukpliy], “he who fled from the Chinese.” Tarup is the Burmese term for the Chinese, but was at this time used to refer to the Mongols- as such, some have argued it’s possibly a corruption of tujue, or Turk, in reference to Turks among the Mongol army, although the etymology is too difficult to pin down precrisely. Narathihapade sent one of his top ministers to Khanbaliq to talk terms, and discuss making Pagan into a Mongol protectorate, but these were protracted and went nowhere- or atleast, nowhere fast enough to improve Narathihapade’s position. His flight from the Mongols following his earlier defeat and the sudden overrunning of much of Upper Myanmar greatly diminished his authority, augmenting the existing crises his kingdom was facing- particularly a revolt among the Mon in Lower Myanmar, ongoing since 1273. Perhaps realizing the opportunity provided by the erosion in Narathihpate’s power, the Yuan rapidly ordered another march into Burma, this time under Kublai’s grandson and the Prince of Yunnan, Esen-Temur- not to be confused with another of Kublai’s grandsons, Yesun-Temur, who reigned as Great khan from 1323-1328. With 6,000 Yuan troops and 1,000 Jin Chi auxiliaries, Esen-Temur forced his way through Burma in late 1286, taking Taguang again and Mong-Nai-Dian before possibly reaching the city of Pagan itself in spring 1287- it should be noted that some historians like Michael Aung-Thwin are not convinced the Mongols ever reached Pagan itself. Compounding the chaos, the broken and humiliated Narathihapade was murdered by his own son in 1287. In this breakdown, the Yuan seemed poised to finally bring Pagan under Chinggisid authority. Yet for all the Mongols’ military might, there was little they could do to stop disease from ravaging many of their troops and summer heat punishing the rest. Kublai’s grandson Prince Esen-Temur was forced to abandon Myanmar by 1289 with considerable losses. For troops used to less tropical climates, the rigours of campaign in Myanmar’s hot, humid summers and the quick spread of disease made them particularly deadly. Diplomacy was sought as alternative; in the aftermath of the fighting after King Narathihapade’s death, one of his sons, the 16 year old Klawcwa, managed to claim the throne with the aid of the famous “Three Shan Brothers.” These brothers were members of the Pagan elite with military backgrounds, rising in stature for valiant efforts against the Mongols. It should be noted that, despite the popular description of the brothers as members of the Shan people, a Thai-speaking people in the region, there is no evidence whatsoever for what their background was; as noted by Michael Aung-Thwin, the description of them as Shans does not appear until the first English language comprehensive history of Burma, written by Sir Arthur Phayrie in 1883! The contemporary sources simply describe them as princes and a part of Pagan’s elite. Yet this single, perhaps accidental, description of them as Shans in a single secondary source from the nineteenth century has become part of their image in the literature ever since- an interesting example of why we should not blindly keep citing and reciting secondary literature, but revisit the primary sources as much as possible, and how modern boundaries of ethnicity are not useful or applicable when discussing events centuries in the past. What is more significant for our purposes today than their ethnic origins is that by the time of Klawcwa’s ascension, they were among the most powerful men in the kingdom. King Klawcwa managed sought to reverse the disastrous policy of his father with diplomatic appeasement of the Yuan. In order to regain control over the lower reaches of Pagan and increasingly powerful vassals like the Three Brothers, Klawcwa needed to not fear another disruptive Mongol attack. In 1297 he sent his son-in-law, Kumārakassapa to Khanbaliq, a clear sign of submission- one wasted as the Three Brothers revolted the next year, killed Klawcwa and placed his 13 year old son Sawnit on the throne as a puppet. This was the casus belli for the final Mongol attack on Pagan. On the order of the new Great Khan, Kublai’s grandson Temur Oljeitu Khan, Klawcwa’s son-in-law Prince Kumārakassapa was sent with a Mongol army to avenge the fallen king. Over winter 1300-1301, the Yuan army besieged the heavily fortified Myin-saing, defended by the Three Royal Brothers, which held out and ultimately bribed the Mongols into withdrawing, taking Prince Kumārakassapa with them- an anti-climactic end to the final attempt to extend Mongol authority over Myanmar. For the Three Brothers, their prestige after another successful repulsing of the Yuan was immense. The King in Pagan was a puppet as the three brothers essentially divided the old kingdom among themselves, each ruling as a de facto monarch in their own rite, until the last surviving brother, Sihasura, declared himself the King of Pagan in 1309. The descendants of one of Sihasura’s brothers would found the Ava Dynasty in 1364. While the Mongols failed to conquer Pagan, they did for a few years collect tribute from its monarchs; while they did not destroy the kingdom themselves, their attacks ruined irrigations systems and paddyfields, undermined the power of the Pagan kings and helped bring about the dissolution of the kingdom by the fourteenth century. Despite winning most of the field engagements, climate forced Mongol withdrawals and tactical successes could not be turned into strategic victories. With the retreat of the army in 1301, Myanmar essentially left the attention of the Yuan, though many of its princes would continue to pay tribute to the Great Khans for decades to come. Our next episode will take us to one of the least known of all Kublai’s failed expeditions, the attacks on Java, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast to follow. If you’d like to help us continue 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 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.
Late in the 12th century a young nomadic tribeswoman goes into labor under on the Mongolian Steppe. Some claim that this woman’s child came into our world gripping in his fist a ball of coagulated blood, foreshadowing the millions of deaths that would soon follow. Upon his birth, the child was given the name, Timujin. If that name seems unfamiliar to you, it is probably because this child would eventually come to have a different name, a name rivaled maybe only by Jesus of Nazareth in terms of its attributed misery and murder. This child would come to be known as Genghis Khan and his birth marks the beginning of an era that, that by its end, would bring about the violent death of more than 10% of the Earth's population. On this episode, our focus is not on Genghis Khan himself. Instead, we’ll be talking about the man who served as the Khan's right hand. A general in the Mongolian army who was unnaturally gifted in the arenas of war and wartime subterfuge. A man who, when unleashed, would chase his marks to the ends of the earth pillaging everything along the way and leaving mountains of the dead behind him. Like a ghost or a killer from a late 80s horror movie, this man’s targets would often flee terror, only to run directly into his blade. All those upon whom this man was set came to learn the hard way, that much like the Wu-Tang clan of our own time, Subutai ain’t nuth’n to fuck with. Artwork for this episode was provided by Kevin "from Groveport" Edwards. Thanks Kevin! Check out more of his artwork on Instagram @ https://www.instagram.com/blackmoth7g
“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.
Series researcher Jack Wilson and historian Stephen Pow discuss Pow's explanation for one of the most vexxing issues of Mongolian studies: what is the relation between the terms Mongol and Tatar, and why do so many people across Eurasia consistently use Tatar over Mongol?
Today we'll be talking about another Mongol, this time he's not a biker though, he's a proper Mongolian ass kicker. Subutai pretty much terrified every single person who saw him coming their way, and with good reason. Dude tore a bloody swathe through so many countries that I'm pretty sure his descendants are still getting royalties from the tribute payments. Also if any of our listeners know how to draw, I super want to see fat Subutai riding around in his glorious, triumphant chariot of murder.
“In the world there is the spirit of righteousness, taking many forms, bestowed on the ever-changing things. Below they are the rivers and mountains; above they are the sun and stars, With people it is called the spirit of honour and fearlessness, so vast it fills the universe. When the empire is tranquil one pours forth harmony in the splendid court. When times are extreme true fidelity is seen, and goes down in history case after case.” So goes a poem written by one of the last defenders of the Song Dynasty, Wen Tienxiang, as translated by Feng Xin-ming. Held prisoner by Kublai Khan after the fall of the Song Dynasty, Wen Tienxiang wrote this poem as a part of his refusal to accept to Mongol rule before his ultimate execution. Such defiance was a surprising hallmark of the final years of the fugitive Song court, reduced to a collection of hardliners and loyalists unwilling to peacefully surrender the Mandate of Heaven to the house of Chinggis Khan. Today, we look at the flight of the fugitive Song court after the fall of their capital of Hangzhou in 1276. We will follow brave men like Wen Tienxiang, Zhang Shijie and Lu Xiufu in the final days of the Song Dynasty, a hopeless struggle culminating in the bloody waters of Yaishan in 1279. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Our previous episode brought us to the early months of 1276 with the surrender of the Song capital city of Linan, modern day Hangzhou. The child emperor, Gong of Song, and the elderly Empress Dowager, were brought into the hands of Mongol general Bayan, who escorted them north to bow before Kublai Khan. Organized Song resistance seemed broken, and while the Mongols would need to ensure the official submission of the southernmost regions of Song China, such actions were a mere formality compared to the effort needed to seize the Yangzi River cities. Most of the Mongolian army returned northwards soon after, intent on sparing Mongols and their horses from the worst of the south’s summer heat and humidity. There was but one issue: two of the Song Emperor’s young half-brothers had been smuggled out of Hangzhou under a small guard of soldiers. Bayan had sent riders to pursue them, but the fugitives escaped them in the mountains south of Hangzhou. Fleeing to southern Zhejiang province, they made it to Wenzhou, a city on the coast. From there, they took ships to Fuzhou, just across the straits from Taiwan, where they were joined by other loyalists who had abandoned Hangzhou in the days leading up to Bayan’s arrival. These included the general Zhang Shijie, who had repeatedly fought with the Mongol fleet on the Yangzi in the last episode; Chen Yizhong, the former Song chancellor who had succeeded Jia Sidao; Wen Tienxiang, Yizhong’s brief successor who was temporarily held captive by the Mongols before escaping; and other courtiers and generals, like Li Xiufu and Xia Gui. News of the gathering at Fuzhou spread across the south and brought other hiding loyalists to come out of the shadows in early summer 1276, encouraged by the Mongol withdrawal back over the Yangzi River. By June 1276, the older of the two half brothers, the five year old Zhao Shih, was declared the 17th emperor of the Song Dynasty, temple name Duanzong of Song. The enthronement prompted a wave of loyalist uprisings in the south and over the summer, growing into an actual offensive against the Mongols. Citizen armies retook cities in Guangdong and Jiangxi provinces. Most of the south and southwest of the Song realm were still outside of Mongol control, and in Sichuan those still resisting found new heart. At Fuzhou, the court built a new navy from those ships which had escaped destruction on the Yangzi, some provided by patriotic ship owners in the south, and some which were forcibly seized from private hands. For a few weeks, there was actual momentum against Mongol rule. By the fall of 1276, this momentum had largely burnt itself out. The infighting which had been endemic to the Song court reared its head in this fugitive court. Chen Yizhong, who had only come out of hiding after the royal boys had arrived in Fuzhou, had again been made Chancellor, despite the fact his performance as Chancellor in Hangzhou was generally ineffective. Once more the Song Chancellor, Yizhong immediately fought with the others for influence over the young emperor, a stupendously stupid act when all of their energies should have gone against the Mongols. His conflict with Wen Tienxiang forced the latter to abandon the court to fight on his own in his home region of Jiangxi, raising troops there to resist the Mongols. From his base in Jiangxi, Wen Tienxiang led hit and run attacks against the Mongols as far as Lake Poyang. With Tienxiang out of the way, Yizhong butted heads with the most important and capable military leaders left in the fugitive court, Zhang Shijie and Xia Gui. Xia Gui grew so frustrated that he defected to the Mongols, bringing with him a number of districts in Huainan. The infighting predictably hamstrung the already limited capabilities of the Song court. With a mere boy as emperor, there was no one to mediate over Yizhong’s actions, causing them to hemorrhage much needed men they couldn't afford to lose. And of course, the Mongols were not keen to allow these fugitives to claim legitimacy or strike at such newly taken territory; though they held by now no hope of truly overthrowing Mongol rule. News came of the fall of the Yangzi cities of Yangzhou and Chenzhou after prolonged resistance to the Mongols, soon followed in the autumn with a Mongol invasion of the south. More accurately, we should describe this as a Yuan invasion. While serving the Mongol Khaghan, often commanded by Mongols and Central Asians and with a core Mongol cavalry, the main body of these troops were Chinese, largely northerners but a great number of former Song soldiers and levied southerners. In large part, this was due to the conditions and environment; the climate of the south was difficult on those used to the drier and cooler north, and much of the geography was simply unsuited to large scale cavalry warfare, though Mongol horsemen were employed when appropriate. Under the command of the Uighur, Ariq Khaya, the armies of Kublai’s Yuan Dynasty came in a great pincer movement towards Fuzhou late in 1276. By the end of the year, the boy emperor and his court took to the sea to escape Fuzhou, which soon fell to the Yuan armies. The young emperor and court had begun what was to be a dreadful pattern. Their ships would find some coastal city to make their new sanctuary, only to be forced to flee in a matter of days, weeks or months as Yuan armies or ships converged on their position. From the last days of 1276 to until 1278, this was the wretched life the court lived, a constant fear for when the banners of the Yuan would arrive on the horizon. From Fuzhou they stayed in Quanzhou, perhaps the wealthiest port in the world and a gateway to the seatrade of southeast Asia. Here, the court sought to ally with their former subject, Quanzhou’s Superintendent of Maritime Trade, the immensely wealthy Fu Shougeng. A highly talented fellow, Fu Shougeng was a descendant of Arab traders, his wealth, influence and veritable armada of ships making him a powerful ally for anyone seeking to control the southern Chinese coast. Both Kublai and the Song court sought to gain his support, but the Song had little patience for carefully cultivating a relationship. The Song general Zhang Shijie attempted to sidestep Fu Shougeng and just commandeer ships and resources for their purposes. Alienated, Fu Shougeng tried to trick the boy emperor into following him in order to capture him for the Mongols, but the ruse was spotted and the court escaped. With their flight, Fu Shougeng officially declared for Kublai, who rewarded him by making him the military governor of much of Fujian and Guangdong provinces. As revenge, Zhang Shijie blockaded Quanzhou’s port late into 1277 until Yuan ships drove him off. Fu provided his ships and resources to the Yuan, enlarging their growing presence on the South China sea, while Fu encouraged other holdouts in the region to submit to the Khan. As the Song court moved from port to port along the southern coast over 1277, the Yuan continued to strengthen their hold on the mainland. Ariq Khaya focused on holdouts in the south in a methodical campaign; not a great tidal wave of destruction like Chinggis Khan had unleashed upon Khwarezm nearly 60 years prior, but a thorough effort which instituted civilian administration as he went. The area Ariq Khaya took was immediately brought into the Yuan Empire, rather than left a ruinous buffer. Another general, Sogetu, meanwhile pursued the Song along the coast, mirroring their movements from the land and falling upon any city which gave shelter to the emperor. The Mongol advance even encouraged local uprisings against the Song; one fellow leading such an uprising in the interior of Fujian was caught and executed by the loyalist Wen Tienxiang, but it was a minor success as the Yuan hold on the south grew. Wen Tienxiang and his army was forced to the coast, and over 1277 and 1278 Song territory along the southeast was reduced to a few well fortified but isolated coastal holdouts. In the first month of 1278, while in the midst of once again sailing to a new port, the Song fleet was caught in a storm, sinking several ships. The young emperor was among those who fell into the cold waters. Though he was rescued, the poor lad fell ill. The stress of the flight coupled with illness rapidly eroded his strength. In May of 1278, Zhao Shih, temple name Duanzong of Song, succumbed, not even 9 years old by the European reckoning. The fact the disillusioned Song court did not immediately dissipate is due to Zhang Shijie and Lu Xiufu, who rallied them around the late-emperor’s even younger half brother, the 6 year old Zhao Bing, who they quickly enthroned. It was not enough for some, and no one was happy to fight for the third child-emperor in a row, when most of China was now in Mongol hands. Chancellor Yizhong suggested the court could find refuge in Dai Viet in northern Vietnam, the kingdom known to the Chinese as Annam. Yizhong offered to go himself as an envoy, but the reception among the court was cool. He left for Vietnam anyways; judging by summons by the Song for him to return, this may have just been him abandoning the cause. Yizhong never returned to the fugitive Song court, spending a few years in Dai Viet before fleeing to the Kingdom of Sukhothai in Thailand for the last years of his life. In June 1278, the Song imperial fleet, now largely under the thumb of Zhang Shijie, settled on Yaishan, some 120 kilometres west of modern Hong Kong. Yaishan was a difficult to reach island nestled in the Chinese coast; surrounded by rivers, mud flats sides and mountains. The island has access to the sea via a narrow waterway, a lagoon on its south side which cuts between two steep cliffs, from which the area’s name is derived. It was a defensible base and large enough to hold the considerable population they brought with them. The sources speak of 200,000 aboard over 1,000 ships: soldiers, ships crews, families, court officials. Zhang Shijie ordered them onto the island, where they immediately built a small city, cutting down trees for palaces and barracks. The river systems around Yaishan led deeper into Guangdong province and to the city of Guangzhou, from which the Song court was supplied. Zhang Shijie had had enough of running, and was intent on making Yaishan the location from which they would retake the Song realm, or make their final stand. As the Song settled on Yaishan, the remnants of their empire fell to the Mongols. The western end of the Yangzi River in Sichuan was, after decades of effort, finally subdued over 1278. New offensives into Yunnan, Guangxi and Guangdong strengthened the Yuan hold over China’s southwest, bringing them dangerously close to Yaishan. Just as Bayan had been placed in supreme command in 1274, Kublai wanted a supreme commander to control the Yuan forces operating in the south and bring them all to bear on wherever the Song court was hiding. In June of 1278, the same month that the fugitive court took shelter on Yaishan, Kublai appointed Zhang Hongfan to be this commander. Zhang Hongfan was a man of northern China who had never served the Song; yet, in one of those twists of fate, he was related to the Song’s great general, Zhang Shijie. Zhang Hongfan had led in the river warfare along the Yangzi, and now Kublai wanted him to personally supervise the Yuan’s new ocean fleet as well. This also highlights the nature of the Mongol Empire of Kublai Khan: an ethnic northern Chinese was, for the first time, being placed in supreme authority over Mongol, Central Asian and Chinese forces in order to destroy the remnants of a Chinese dynasty. A diligent and loyal subject of the Great Khan, Zhang Hongfan worked with great speed. The offensive he led at the end of 1278 swallowed up what was left of the Song Dynasty. In an arc from east to west, Zhang Hongfan led his ships along the southern coast, collecting men and ships as he went and turning over every stone for the Song emperor. Assisting them were many former Song commanders and their ships who had thrown their lot in with the Mongols, eager to demonstrate their loyalty to their new masters. Zhang Hongfan’s second-in-command, a Tangut named Li Heng, led the second prong of the assault on land, linking up with Zhang Hongfan’s fleet for those coastal sites still holding out. In the first weeks of 1279, Li Heng surprised and captured the brave Song captain, Wen Tienxiang, handing him over to Zhang Hongfan as prisoner at the start of February. From there they advanced west, making their way to perhaps the most significant city still resisting Mongol rule, Guangzhou. The Yuan commanders did not know it yet, but Guangzhou was only a few kilometres north of where the Song court was hiding at Yaishan. Guangzhou had thrown off a few Yuan assaults before finally falling to a combined effort by Li Heng and Zhang Hongfan. Twice, ships came up the Xi River in an attempt to relieve Guangzhou. On the second attempt, ships under the command of Omar, grandson of the Yuan governor of Yunnan Sayyid Ajall, followed them, tracking the Song ships right back to Yaishan. Quickly, Omar confirmed it was the Song hideout and sent messengers back to Zhang Hongfan. It was time to prepare the final battle against the Song. At the end of February 1279, Yuan ships began to join Omar outside the sea entrance to Yaishan, a 1.5 kilometre wide lagoon protected by steep cliffs on either side. Over the following days, the rest of the Yuan fleet joined them. The news prompted panic on Yaishan, and many demanded Zhang Shijie organize another escape. But Shijie was done running. “Lo these many years we have voyaged on the seas. Now we must decide between us and them the victor and the vanquished.” Setting fire to the palaces and buildings of Yaishan, he ordered everyone aboard the ships. The plan was simple. From reports his scouts had gathered, his fleet outnumbered the Yuan greatly, perhaps 1100 Song vessels to 300 for the Yuan. Shijie also considered his men the superior fighters at sea. But morale was low, and in open water the men could find it more persuasive to flee rather than fight. Figuring the Mongols would gamble on an immediate assault to put an end to the campaign, Zhang Shijie needed to make best use of both his greater numbers but worse morale. He settled on chaining his ships together in a great, fortified line. Not at the entrance of the lagoon, where some ships might be able to slip away, but situated deeper down the waterway, where their flanks were securely protected by the steep cliffs. Anchors were dropped, and ramparts and towers were built on the ships, a massive, immobile floating wall. The young emperor, Zhao Bing, was placed in the largest ship at the centre under a secure guard. To protect against incendiaries, the ships were coated with mud and provided long poles to push away fire ships. Finally, catapults were set up to send projectiles at any approaching vessel. Set up, Zhang Shijie prepared for the expected attack. Shijie’s Yuan counterpart, Zhang Hongfan was no fool and recognized a frontal attack against this entrenched position was very risky. He sent first a small ship with negotiators, among them the captive Wen Tienxiang, who Hongfan hoped would convince Shijie to step down. Tienxiang refused however, and negotiations went nowhere. An effort to send fire ships into the Song line was likewise repulsed, the poles of the defenders keeping the fireships at bay until they burned themselves out. Zhang Hongfan then did the unexpected. He waited. In doing so, he had the one tool which Shijie had no defence against. Locking the Song ships into place as he had done gave all the mobility, and the initiative, to the Yuan fleet. With so many men and families aboard the Song ships, they quickly used up the food and freshwater that they had brought aboard. Destroying their island buildings and pulling all troops onto the ships meant they had no land forces to scavenge for them or fall back to. Quickly, Yuan scouts found a small creek the Song had considered impassable for ocean vessels. The Yuan instead sent smaller craft up this creek, coming out behind the Song line and surrounding them. Zhang Shijie sent out small sorties to attempt to get through the Yuan lines and acquire supplies, but each time these were pushed back. Unintentionally, Zhang Shijie had settled on the plan that left the remnants of the Song trapped in place. The two fleets sat in place for two weeks. Running out of freshwater and firewood, the Song soldiers resorted to drinking seawater and eating uncooked meals. Dysentery, sickness and starvation ravaged them. Zhang Hongfan sent one final letter to Zhang Shijie, imploring his kinsman to surrender. Three times letters were sent to Shijie, carried by Shijie’s nephew Han, who alongside Hongfan served the Mongols. The letters carried by Han told Shijie of the rewards that awaited him if he surrendered, but warned of the destruction that awaited him if he refused. Zhang Shijie’s reply, as recorded by Yuan Dynasty sources, ran thus: “I know that if I surrender I would have life, and also noble titles and riches, but my ruler lives and I cannot desert him. If you wish me to surrender, lift your blockade and permit me to sail out.” But Zhang Hongfan knew he could not trust this. For the next five days, Hongfan and his officers made the final plans and moved ships into place. At dawn on the 19th of March, 1279, anchors were weighed and the Yuan fleet advanced onto the Song from both north and south. Zhang Hongfan led his flagship against the most dangerous section of the Song line. The Yuan ships crashed into the larger Song vessels, the Yuan soldiers climbing aboard to fight on the Song decks, Mongol archers picking off Song defenders. The decks ran red with blood, men locked in combat fell into the churning waters and were crushed between ships. Spears pushed climbing Yuan soldiers back into their ships; grasping hands pulled Song defenders off the decks. Zhang Shijie’s catapult crews fired until they ran out of projectiles. The Song fought with courage, battling for every metre. It was a full day of fighting, but the sickness and hunger of the Song troops was a knife in their backs. Dropping from exhaustion, the Yuan soldiers stepped over their bodies as they steadily advanced along Zhang Shijie’s makeshift wall. Unexpectedly, one Song ship dropped its colours, the signal to surrender. Then another, and another. Such an order had not been given, but in the confusion of battle it could not be undone. The Song began to surrender en masse. Zhang Shijie desperately ordered troops to withdraw to the centre ship housing the emperor, but it was clear the day was lost. As fog rolled in that evening, Zhang Shijie ordered some ships to be cut loose to break out. 16 out of the 1100 Song ships escaped Yaishan with Zhang Shijie, evading the Yuan pursuers in the fog and the confusion. The Emperor, Zhao Bing, was not among them, the imperial barge too large and too slow to break free. The courtier Lu Xiufu stayed close to the boy emperor, but there was now no escape left on those bloody decks. The last emperor of the house of Zhao would not fall into these barbarian hands, Xiufu decided. Tearfully, Xiufu forced his own wife and children to jump into the sea. With Zhao Bing still in his royal robes and clutching the imperial seals, Lu Xiufu took the 7 year old Son of Heaven into his arms, and carried him beneath the waves. Yuan sources assert 100,000 distraught Song loyalists followed in a mass suicide, the lagoon red and filled with bodies. Whoever still lived surrendered along with some 800 ships. The Song Dynasty’s 300 year rule was over. Zhang Shijie did not flee far: not long after the battle, while sailing to seek shelter in Vietnam his small fleet was caught in a storm and sunk, and he joined his emperor beneath the waves. Zhang Hongfan commemorated the battle with a simple stone inscription at Yaishan, stating “here the great Yuan general Zhang Hongfan destroyed the Song,” and was richly rewarded by Kublai Khan for his victory. He could not long enjoy his spoils. He died the next year, an ailment brought on by the heat and humidity of the south. Later nativist Chinese historians ravaged Hongfan’s reputation as a Chinese “betraying” the Song to serve northern barbarians. But Zhang Hongfan and his family had never been Song subjects. Their native area had been controlled by the Khitan Liao Dynasty since 939, before the Song Dynasty had even been founded. In fact, Zhang Shijie had briefly served the Mongols, making him the traitor to his emperor. Wen Tienxiang outlived both Zhang Shijie and Zhang Hongfan, offered a respectable position in Kublai’s empire. But Tienxiang refused again and again, unwilling to betray the memory of the Song. Spending his last years imprisoned, he wrote poetry and proudly denied Mongol offers, until finally executed in the early 1280s, the last patriot of Song. Yaishan was perhaps the largest naval battle in Chinese history after Lake Poyang in 1368, if the sources are accurate with their numbers. It was a major and decisive victory. While some regions in the south still needed to be fully incorporated into the Yuan Empire, and there would be local uprisings, organized resistance against Mongol rule was broken. The Song Emperors were dead, the loyalist infrastructure crushed. Kublai Khan had unified China for the first time since the fall of the Tang Dynasty almost 400 years prior, and was the first non-Chinese to do so. Kublai was now the ruler of All Under Heaven, master of China and the single most powerful man on earth. Those Song loyalists who had escaped to the Vietnamese kingdoms of Dai Viet and Champa would need to be pursued, and Kublai was not a man to believe China was the limits of his empire. Even as the last Song Emperor disappeared beneath the waves at Yaishan, Kublai’s eyes darted to those kingdoms on his horizon, revenge against Japan plotted and his relatives in Central Asia punished. More battles were planned beyond the waters of Yaishan; but not many of them would be victories. Before we discuss Kublai’s further military ventures though, we must discuss Kublai the man, and the actual empire he built in China, so be sure to subscribe to our podcast. If you’d like to help us continue to produce great 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!
To coincide with the release of the Kings and Generals Biography video of the Mongol general Subutai, for our podcast we’ll present for your listening an extended version of that script, courtesy of our series historian writer. While Subutai is the most well known of all medieval Mongolian generals, the full extent of his career is rarely presented in a single document. With this episode, we’ll hopefully do just that for you; providing an idea of the vast scope of Subutai’s campaigns and his service to three generations of Chinggisids, providing along the way an idea of what made up this man’s personality, and some historiography on him. This version of the script will be accessible to read with full footnotes and sources on the academia.edu page of our series writer, Jack Wilson. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Of all the generals of the Mongol Empire, none stand taller than Subutai, who led armies from China, across Iran, the Caucasus, Russia and into Eastern Europe. Yet, Subutai remains a murky figure, with difficult to access primary sources providing fertile ground for all manner of myths to grow instead. Utilizing the latest scholarship and medieval materials, we will paint for you a more accurate biography of one of history’s fiercest generals. Perhaps the best place to start would be his name. Subutai, the most common form of his name on the internet, comes from the Chinese rendering of his name( 速不台 ). Numerous transliterations of his name exist, but perhaps the best approximation of the Mongolian is Sübe’etei. The common epithet attached to his name, Ba’atar, signifies bravery and is often translated as hero or knight. Sübe’etei was born in northwestern Mongolia in 1175-1176, to the Uriyangqat Mongols. There has been modern confusion of the Uriyngqat Mongols, nomadic pastoralists in the Mongolian steppe, with the Turkic Uriyangqai of the forests north of Mongolia, reindeer herders who did not raise the vast herds sheep, goat or horses. This confusion has resulted in the common misconception today that Sübe’etei was a Tuvan. However, the 13th and 14th century sources clearly identify Sübe’etei as a man of the steppe, whose father herded sheep and their family having been in close contact with that of Chinggis Khan’s for five generations, a sublineage of the Mongol tribe to which Chinggis Khan belonged. Stephen Pow in his article with Jingjing Liao on Sübe’etei suggests part of the appeal to this belief of Sübe’etei as a ‘reindeer herder,’ is the irony in one of history’s greatest cavalry commanders being a man who did not learn to ride a horse until well into his adulthood. Though specific details of Sübe’etei’s early life are lost to us, we can assume it mirrored that of other Mongolian children. He would have learned to ride a horse, shoot a bow, hunt and herd animals from a young age, the basic skills necessary for warfare on the steppe. In the politically chaotic period of late 12th century Mongolia, Sübe’etei and his family likely suffered from raids and predatory marauders. As a young boy, he found a role model in the form of a fellow Mongol named Temujin. Since the time of Sübe’etei’s great-great-grandfather Nerbi, their families had been close allies, and perhaps from Sübe’etei’s earliest days Temujin had appeared as the centre of Sübe’etei’s world. In the Secret History of the Mongols, around 1185 Temujin was elected as Khan of his Mongol lineage, the Borjigon. Per the Secret History’s account, Sübe’etei, perhaps little more than 10 years old, attended, accompanied by his older brother Ca’urqan and their older cousin, Jelme. In Sübe’etei’s most formative years, he attached himself to this rising warlord, whose family he would stay in loyal service to for the next six decades. Sübe’etei’s role, if any, in the many trials of Temujin’s rise to power are unmentioned. At 14 years old he would have been enrolled into military service as a lightly armoured horse archer. It is not until 1203, when Sübe’etei was about 27, that we have the first described event of his life. That year, Temujin suffered a devastating setback, betrayed by his ally Toghrul, the Ong Khan of the Kereyit. Defeated in battle by Toghrul and Jamukha, another ally turned enemy, Temujin’s army was scattered and with a small force he fled to Lake Baljuna in eastern Mongolia. Slowly, his allies trickled in, one of whom was Sübe’etei’s father Qaban, driving a flock of sheep to Baljuna to feed Temujin’s hungry men. As described in the Yuan shi, Qaban was ambushed and captured by robbers. Sübe’etei and his brother Ca’urqan, not far beyond with the rest of the animals, followed the tracks of the robbers and ambushed them. Bringing down several robbers, the rest panicked and fled. Their father was rescued, and they brought the much-needed sheep to Temujin at Baljuna. Heartened by their loyalty and courage, he rewarded them; Ca’urqan was made a commander of 100, and Sübe’etei was enrolled into the keshig, the imperial bodyguard, as was common for younger brothers of unit commanders. Alongside physically protecting the Khan, the keshig also served as his closest servants, preparing his meals, protecting his herds and maintaining his belongings. The keshig also served as a training school for commanders, where the skills of leading armies, logistical needs and battle were advanced. It is here that Sübe’etei began his education as a general. By 1206, Temujin had unified the tribes of Mongolia, taking the title of Chinggis Khan and declaring the Mongol Empire. Sübe’etei was among those rewarded for his service. It was not without sacrifice, as his older brother had died in the fighting against the Naiman in western Mongolia. With 95 others, in 1206 Sübe’etei was appointed to command a minggan, 1,000 men. His reputation as a ferocious warrior in the name of the Khan had already begun to be established, for at the sametime he was noted among Chinggis Khan’s Four Dogs of War: Jebe, Qubilai Noyan and Jelme Uha. Unlike Chinggis’s four Horses -Bo’orchu, Muqali, Boroqul, Cila’un Ba’atar- who were Chinggis Khan’s personal friends from his youth, the Four Dogs were among the deadliest men of the Khan’s arsenal. To paraphrase the Secret History of the Mongols, the Four Horses were the men at Chinggis’ side, while the Four Dogs were those charging wherever the Khan pointed. Brutal, daring, often cruel yet utterly loyal, the Four Dogs were Chinggis’ swords to wield against Asia. It was in this service that Sübe’etei would excel. In the first Mongol invasions, against the Tangut Kingdom in 1209 and the Jin Dynasty in 1211, Sübe’etei’s mentions are sparse. In 1212 Sübe’etei was the first onto the walls of Huanzhou. He was richly rewarded for his role in taking the city, and for his courage he earned the title of Ba’atar. Jebe Noyan, with whom Sübe’etei was often partnered with, went on a long ranging campaign across the Jin Empire in 1213, through Manchuria and taking one of the Jin capitals, Tung-ching. It’s possible Sübe’etei accompanied him on their series of long marches, feigned retreats and sacked cities, but such is only speculation. By 1216 Chinggis Khan was back in Mongolia, his armies having taken the Jin supreme capital of Zhongdu and left them on the backfoot. In Mongolia Chinggis had to deal with rebellions and foes who had survived the unification. One army under Boroqul was sent to subdue the forest peoples around Lake Baikal, who were in open revolt against Mongol rule; Jebe was sent to capture a fugitive Naiman prince who had usurped power in the Central Asian realm of the Qara-Khitai; Muqali was to command the armies fighting the Jin; and Sübe’etei was to accompany Chinggis’ eldest son Jochi far across the western steppes, in pursuit of Merkit tribes who had fled Mongolia and sought shelter with the Qipchap-Qangli east of the Caspian Sea. This was the Mongol Empire’s first great expansion west of the Altai Mountains. The precise dating and presence of Jochi on this western campaign has been debated by scholars, but we will follow the likeliest chronology proposed by historian Christopher Atwood. Before they set out on the long journey, the Secret History of the Mongols has Chinggis provide Sübe’etei an iron reinforced cart for the journey. This statement may perhaps be the partial origin for the myth that Sübe’etei was immensely overweight, and that no single horse could carry him, requiring instead specially made carts! No medieval source describes Sübe’etei’s weight in any capacity, but Stephen Pow noted that Rashid al-Din mentions of an elderly Uriyangqat who needed to be carried everywhere in a cart, as well as a grandson of Orda bin Jochi who was immensely obese and also required a cart to travel, for no horse could bear him. Possibly, such descriptions were confused with Sübe’etei, encouraged, Pow suggests, again by the “irony of a man [unable to] ride a horse becoming the nomadic cavalry’s greatest general.” In two battles over late 1218 and early 1219, Sübe’etei and Jochi defeated the Merkit and their Qangli allies in what is now western Kazakhstan. On the long trek back across the steppe to Mongolia they made an unexpected meeting. The ruler of the vast Khwarezmian Empire, Muhammad II, intercepted the Mongols somewhere in central Kazakhstan. Jochi and Sübe’etei informed Shah Muhammad they had no quarrel with him, that their task had been simply to deal with the Merkits. But Muhammad had come north looking for a fight, and the Mongols would have to do. Outnumbered, the Mongols made a good show of themselves, the right wings of both armies pushing back the opposing left. Both armies fought until darkness forced them apart. Lighting many fires to make it appear they were setting up camp, the Mongols slid away into the night. The Khwarezmians awoke the next morning to see the mysterious enemy had vanished. Horrified by the destruction wrought by this encounter in the field, Muhammad Khwarezm-shah seems to have developed a phobia of facing the Mongols in open battle. Jochi and Sübe’etei returned to Chinggis late in summer 1219, in similar time to the arrival of news of the infamous Otrar Massacre. The Khwarezmian governor of Otrar, Shah Muhammad’s uncle, murdered a trade caravan sent by Chinggis Khan. It is unclear if the massacre took place with or without Muhammad’s support, but when Chinggis’ envoys arrived demanding punishment for the butchery, Muhammad had them executed. As Jebe had by then conquered the Qara-Khitai, the aggressive Khwarezmians were now direct neighbours of the Mongol Empire. Scarcely had Jebe, Jochi and Sübe’etei returned to Mongolia when they set out to invade the Khwarezmian Empire at the end of 1219. The story of the Mongol invasion of Khwarezm is well told and does not require our attention here. Muhammad, seeking to avoid field battles relied on garrisons within city walls, believing the Mongols, as nomads, lackes sige capabilities. He was sorely mistaken. By spring 1220 the northern frontier of Khwarezm had collapsed. Muhammad fled deeper into his empire, and in pursuit Chinggis Khan unleashed his dogs of war: Jebe Noyan and Sübe’etei Ba’atar, supported by a third tumen under Chinggis’ son-in-law Toquchar.Across Khurasan and northern Iran sped Shah Muhammad. Jebe and Sübe’etei followed. While Muhammad was their primary goal, as they went they took the submission of cities- those which resisted were marked for Toquchar to secure as he followed behind them until his death outside of Nishapur in November 1220. After Nishapur, Jebe and Sübe’etei split up to cover more ground. In Radkan, Sübe’etei was so pleased by the pleasant climate that he apparently avoided any bloodshed, appointed a Mongol governor and moved on. In Quchan, the Mongols committed great slaughter. In Mazandaran, Jebe captured Shah Muhammad’s mother and his harem, sending them back to Chinggis Khan. Jebe and Sübe’etei reunited at Rayy, tracking Shah Muhammad to Hamadan. Sources differ on what exactly happened at Hamadan. Nasawi describes a battle near the city, ibn al-Athir has the Shah escape before they arrive and Juvaini wrote that the Mongols caught him on the road, wounding him with arrows before he escaped. No matter what occurred, after Hamadan Jebe and Sübe’etei lost his trail. Muhammad died a few weeks later, succumbing to pneumonia on an island in the Caspian Sea in December 1220. Spending that winter in Azerbaijan’s Mughan Plain, Jebe and Sübe’etei spent the next two years pinballing across the Caucasus and northwestern Iran. Inflicting a devastating defeat on the Georgian King Giorgi Lasha in February 1221, by the summer they cut back to Persian ‘Iraq where cities they had previously taken were revolting. The Eldeguzid Atabegs of Azerbaijan wisely refused Georgian requests for an alliance and instead submitted to Jebe and Sübe’etei. By mid-1222, messengers had returned from Chinggis Khan, informing them that they could continue the conquest against the Qipchap tribes north of the Caucasus. Striking the enemy from unexpected directions was always a favourite ploy of Chinggis Khan, and the Qipchaq had already shown themselves to be enemies by allying with the Merkit and fighting for the Khwarezm-shah. While passing north, Jebe and Sübe’etei took the city of Shamakhi, employing a particularly gruesome tactic. To mount the walls, corpses of locals and livestock were piled into a platform. For three days, the Mongols fought from it until it decomposed and collapsed. Such tactics had a use far greater than the individual siege, for they contributed to a dread reputation designed to discourage resistance. Upon exiting the Caucasus, Jebe and Sübe’etei were confronted by a much larger force of Alans and Qipchaqs, perhaps alerted to the Mongol approach by the Shah of Derbend. After a difficult journey through the mountains, Jebe and Sübe’etei were reluctant to fight against such odds. Sending messengers to the Qipchaq, they bribed them into abandoning the Alans. After overcoming the now isolated Alans, the Mongols then fell upon the unsuspecting Qipchaq, killing their most powerful leaders. Under their leader Kotjen, the Qipchaq survivors fled west to the Rus’ Principalities. There, Kotjen organized an alliance between his son-in-law, Prince Mstislav the Bold of Galicia, and several other leading Rus’ princes. Modern retelling has often presented what follows, the famous Kalka River Battle, as Sübe’etei’s master stroke, perfectly drawing the Rus’ and Qipchap into a long distance feigned retreat. However, as historian Stephen Pow has recently argued, the primary sources suggest a much closer run thing. Often overlooked has been a small engagement in the lead up to the battle, where the Rus’ chronicles described a Mongol general Hamabek being caught and killed by the Rus’s Qipchaq allies. Pow argues that Hamabek is actually how the 13th century Rus’ interpreted Yama Beg, the Turkic form of Jebe’s name and that by which the Qipchaq knew him by. Bold and often leading from the front, Jebe’s recklessness evidently cost him his life, caught hiding in a kurgan and perhaps, embarrassingly, cut in half. Jebe had been the commanding officer and something of a mentor to Sübe’etei. To suddenly lose him, thousands of kilometres away from any reinforcements and deep in enemy territory, meant Sübe’etei was thrust for the first time into independent command. The famous nine day feigned retreat which followed may have therefore been an actual retreat. The Qipchap and Rus’ hotly pursued them, until Sübe’etei noticed the enemy had strung themselves out. At the Kalka River in May 1223, Sübe’etei turned about and brought the full weight of his army against the Qipchaps, who broke. Fleeing Qipchaps collided with the oncoming Rus’, breaking their formation as Mongol arrows rained upon them. The result was a massacre. Survivors held up on a nearby hill resisted briefly before being convinced to surrender by Sübe’etei. With guard and weapons let down, the Rus’ were slaughtered, their leaders captured and smothered under boards upon which the Mongols feasted and celebrated. Sübe’etei had won a great victory, but was in no position for further conquest. While often presented as the great, undefeated conqueror, the Kalka Campaign had been only narrowly won. On the return journey, sometime in late 1223 or early 1224, Sübe’etei’s forces passed through the territory of the Volga Bulghars along the Volga and Kama Rivers. Laying ambushes for the Mongols had several places, the Bulghars drew the Mongols into feigned retreats, surrounding and killing many. Some modern writers of popular biographies, such as Frank McLynn and James Chambers, have Sübe’etei regroup his forces and inflict a defeat in turn upon the Bulghars. Such statements have no basis in the historical sources. The most detailed description of the encounter with the Bulghars is in the chronicle of ibn al-Athir, who describes the Mongols suffering heavy losses against the Bulghars, before moving on to campaign farther south along the Volga, attacking the Qipchaq settlement of Saqsin. Some authors may have conflated Saqsin as a location in Bulghar territory, or been misled by outdated works like those of Abraham d’Ohsson and Rene Grousset, who presented the encounter much more favourably for Sübe’etei. The need to dismiss Sübe’etei’s defeat is necessary in order to uphold his popular image as the undefeated champion of Chinggis Khan. The most heavily utilized sources such as Juvaini and the Secret History of the Mongols provide no specific comments on, or outright ignore, the encounter with the Bulghars. In comparison, those who actually provide evidence for the encounter, such as ibn al-Athir and Friar Julian, remain much more difficult to access, allowing the exaggerated version of Sübe’etei’s record to often go about unchallenged. We can also note another popular rumour relating to this campaign. It is sometimes claimed that Sübe’etei, while venturing into the Crimean peninsula in 1223, formed an alliance with local Ventian merchants there. The Mongols would attack representatives of Venice’s other Italian rival, Genoa, present in Crimea at the port of Sudaq, and provide exclusive trade privileges to the Venetians. In exchange, the Venetians would provide intelligence and maps for the Mongols in Europe, as well as spreading rumours of Mongol ferocity to sow dissent and fear. James Chamber’s The Devil's Horsemen forwards this, among many other false claims on Sübe’etei’s life. As historian Peter Jacskon has noted in his review of Chambers’ book, “Chambers has borrowed the whole idea from Bréhier’s L’église et l’Orient au moyen âge: it is derived ultimately from Cahun’s Introduction à l’histoire de l’Asie (1896), which has all the authority of a historical novel.” The actual Italian presence in Crimea in the early 13th century was minimal. The Mongol sack of Sudaq had nothing to do with Genoa, the major source describing the incursion, ibn al-Athir, signifies the city as a place where the Qipchaq came to sell their wares and slaves, making no mention of any Italians. Historian Denis Sinor describes Suqaq as an outpost of the empire of Trebizond, home to a mixed population of Greeks and Armenians. Meanwhile A.C.S Peacock has argued that there is evidence that Sudaq, also known as Soldaia, at the time of the Mongol arrival to the Crimean peninsula was actually in the hands of the Seljuqs of Rum. Beyond the story of the Venetians bribing the Mongols into sacking Genoan rivals at Sudaq being false, there is simply no medieval evidence supporting any alliance between Venice and the Mongol Empire, and appears to be in part a conflation of later Italian contacts among the Mongols, most notable in the form of Marco Polo. This was however, the acts of individual merchants, rather than the Venetian state. While this campaign from Shah Muhammad’s death until Sübe’etei’s return to Mongolia is often termed the Great Raid, and described as if it was intended to just gain information on the west, this is a modern extrapolation. The contemporary sources describe it in terms no different than any other stage of the conquests. If a reconnaissance-in-force, then it was a great success; but if intended to seize the western steppe and subdue the Qipchap, it was a poorer showing, marred by the humiliating death of Jebe, heavy losses, a military defeat and no conquered land. The Secret History of the Mongols describes the entire campaign in a laconic line: “Sübe’etei Ba’atur had been put in a difficult situation by these peoples.” It would take well over a decade before the region saw a permanent Mongol presence, and Sübe’etei knew that in order to avenge Jebe and his own defeat, he would need to return in overwhelming force. Upon his return to Chinggis Khan, Sübe’etei was in an imminent position. Despite his great trial in the west, he faithfully returned with loot for the Khan. Chinggis was preparing for the final campaign against the Tangut, but told Sübe’etei to visit his parents, who he had not seen in a decade. Sübe’etei simply responded, “If the emperor will be busy working and the vassal will be at rest, my heart will be in deep uneasiness.” The Khan’s loyal hound, Sübe’etei led in the conquest of the Tangut in 1226, cutting off the western half of the Tangut Kingdom, skirting along the south to subdue Uyghurs and other local tribes before striking the Tangut’s western border. There, he sacked numerous counties along the Tangut-Jin frontier in Gansu, ensuring no aid would come from that direction. 5,000 captured mares he sent to Chinggis Khan, and it was here that he learned of his master’s death in August 1227. Chinggis Khan was the single most influential figure on Sübe’etei’s life, and in his memory he would continue to loyally serve his family. Attending the coronation of Chinggis’ son Ogedai as Khan in 1229, Sübe’etei was rewarded with an imperial princess as a wife. Soon after his enthronement, Ogedai resumed the war with the Jin Dynasty. A Mongol army commanded by Doqulqu was shockingly defeated at Dachangyuan in the first weeks of 1230 by the Jin general Pu’a and his “Loyal and Filial Army,” made up of captives and deserters from the Mongols. Ogedai lacked the authority of his father and the confidence of many of the generals, who thought his younger brother Tolui was the better captain. Such military defeats uneased the new Khan and undermined his position. To offset this, in the last days of 1230 Ogedai led an army against the Jin accompanied by Tolui and Sübe’etei. With the Jin Dynasty’s northern border protected by the Yellow River and its southern by the neutral Song Dynasty, access to Jin territory was through the mountains guarding Henan province’s west, a route blocked by the formidable Tongguan fort. Thre, the garrison wisely refused to be lured into a feigned retreat. Frustrated and not desiring to be stuck in a long and costly siege, Ogedai sent Sübe’etei to find a route through the hills south of the fort. Sübe’etei managed to force a smaller pass, cutting through and ransacking towns in western Henan. Through the hilly terrain his forces became spread out, and the Jin general Chenheshang with 1,000 men of the Loyal and Filial Army cornered and defeated Sübe’etei at Daohuigu 倒回谷. Suffering heavy losses of both men and horses, Sübe’etei was forced to retreat back to a furious Ogedai. So enraged was Ogedai that he removed Sübe’etei from command, and nearly did Sübe’etei disappear from history if Ogedai’s brother, Tolui, did not step in and vouch for him. A new strategy was decided on, a triple pronged assault on all the Jin frontiers. Ogedai with the main army was to cross the Yellow River along its central stretch, another army would probe the eastern end while Tolui and Sübe’etei were to bypass Tongguan entirely, cutting south through Song territory to come behind Jin lines. Unable to diplomatically gain military access through Song lands, Tolui and Sübe’etei had to rush through potentially hostile territory. The result was unexpectedly successful. In the last weeks of 1231 they penetrated the Song frontiers, feeding men and horses in country untouched by the Mongol-Jin war. After a few weeks of plundering they cut north into the Jin lands. The main Jin generals, Pu’a and Hada, pulled back troops from Tongguan to catch Tolui and Sübe’etei, skirmishing over January 1232 until the Mongols were surrounded on Sanfeng Mountain that February. Pu’a sent a threat boasting that he would rape the Mongols’ women once he was done with them. When a snowstorm blew over the armies, Sübe’etei told Tolui to wait it out, telling him the Jin forces were weak people from cities who could not handle the elements, while the hardy Mongols would endure. After three days, deeming the Jin were suitably weakened, the Mongols charged down the hill and routed them. As punishment for Pu’a’s boast, the Mongols sodomized the Jin prisoners. The captured general Hada asked for death, with his final wish to lay eyes on Sübe’etei. Perplexed when he heard of this, Sübe’etei came to see the captive Hada, telling him, “You will die momentarily. Why do you want to see me?” To which Hada replied, “Each of us vassals work for our respective masters. You are braver than other generals, and by nature you are a hero. Could that all really just be random chance? I have met you and now I shall die in peace.” One they linked up with Ogedai’s army, Tolui and Ogedai returned north, leaving Sübe’etei as supreme commander against the Jin. With Jin offensive ability shattered, Sübe’etei invested their capital, Kaifeng. It took a year for the city to fall, in which time the Jin Emperor escaped and many losses were inflicted on the Mongols. When Sübe’etei alerted Ogedai to the city’s final surrender in early 1233, he was prepared to carry out the standard practice of massacre for the city’s prolonged resistance. In Sübe’etei’s mind, it was a well deserved punishment and one he was eager to carry out. But Ogedai was convinced by his Khitan adviser, Yelu Chucai, to spare the inhabitants. What followed is perhaps the most illustrative example of Sübe’etei’s worldview, as far as we can understand it. Sübe’etei was to limit killing to just members of the Jin imperial family, the Wanyan clan 完顏氏, and not harm the inhabitants. Having gone from being prepared to kill them all, Sübe’etei, whatever his personal thoughts on the matter, now carried out the Khan’s will to the greatest detail. Halting depredations of Kaifeng and its population, Sübe’etei allowed them to travel unhindered in search of food. Travel was permitted north of the Yellow River to organize food shipments for the beleaguered population, and Sübe’etei’s biographer in the Yuan shi goes as far as to say the people appreciated him for his efforts. Sübe’etei led the final push against the Jin, ending their dynasty in early 1234. Back in Mongolia by 1235, Sübe’etei took part in the organization of his most well known endeavour: the Great Western Campaign. Sübe’etei reached his apogee, the senior commander alongside the leading princes of the third generations of Chinggisids under Batu bin Jochi. With a great army, over 1236 they swallowed up the western steppe. The only organized Qipchaq resistance under their leader Bachman was swiftly crushed; the Volga Bulghars who had once ambushed Sübe’etei could do little as the great wave washed over them and destroyed their cities. One of the Mordvin principalities wisely submitted to Sübe’etei; the other foolishly offered a brief resistance. The divided Rus’ principalities were quickly picked off. The Mongols rested men and horses in the summer before resuming attacks in the winter when the frozen rivers were easily traversable. In this way, from 1237 to 1240 the Rus’ cities were burned. Few cities lasted as long as two weeks, though Mongol losses were incurred and part of the army under Guyuk and Mongke returned to Mongolia late in 1239. By the start of 1241, Sübe’etei and Batu had brought the Mongol Empire to the edge of Europe, splitting their forces to take multiple routes through Poland, Hungary and Transylvania. Sübe’etei wanted to draw the Hungarian royal army onto ground of his choosing, forcing them to cross an exposed bridge over the Sajo River where on the far bank the treeline would hide flanking Mongol forces. King Bela IV foiled this by not crossing the bridge. The new plan was for Batu to force the bridge while Sübe’etei tried to cross downriver and outflank the Hungarians. Either impatient or Sübe’etei was behind schedule, Batu charged the bridge too early, resulting in heavy losses and the Mongols being repulsed. Angered with Sübe’etei’s failure to cross the river, a new plan was used; early on April 11th, the bridge guard was overcome by Mongol catapults. Crossing over the River, near the village of Mohi the Mongols encircled and destroyed the Hungarian royal army. Despite the success, some Mongol princes were apprehensive of pressing on after the costly fighting. But Sübe’etei shamed them for their cowardice, telling them, “If my lord wishes to retreat, then retreat by yourself. Until I reach Bacha city on the Danube River, I will never return.” The loyal Dog of Chinggis Khan now had to whip his grandchildren into shape. So they pressed onwards, pushing as far as Austria until the Mongols began to withdraw at the end of March 1242. Finding their catapults and siege techniques ineffective against stout stone fortifications, Batu and Sübe’etei desired to step back and restrategize. The withdrawal from Hungary was methodical, campaigning as they went to reduce whoever survived the first pass. Sübe’etei stayed with Batu up to the Volga River, where in late 1243 or 1244 Batu set up his permanent encampment. Sübe’etei scolded Batu for refusing to attend the quriltai in Mongolia to elect Ogedai’s successor, but before departing, Sübe’etei and Batu came to peace regarding the losses at the battle of Mohi. In time, Batu gave thanks to Sübe’etei, attributing to him the reason for their successes. Sübe’etei was back in Mongolia by 1246 to meet the new Khan of Khans, Ogedai’s son Guyuk. Now aged 71, Sübe’etei was one of the few remaining individuals left who had personally known Chinggis Khan. The Franciscan Friar John de Plano Carpini, during his journey to Guyuk’s enthronement in 1246, mentions the elderly Sübe’etei, a figure of immense respect among the Mongols “known among them as ‘the knight.” Later that year, the venerable Sübe’etei went on his final campaign, a brief incursion against the Song Dynasty, as described by the Ilkhanid vizier Rashid al-Din. Yet, this campaign goes unmentioned in Chinese sources. Possibly, the elderly Sübe’etei was forced by age or illness to step back from the campaign before it could achieve anything. Perhaps Guyuk’s death in early 1248 ended this campaign prematurely. Either way, we know Sübe’etei was back in Mongolia by 1248, for he died there later that year, somewhere along the Tula River, aged 73. Sübe’etei, most famous of all Mongolian generals, was one of the few to die of old age. Sübe’etei’s sons continued to serve as commanders, the most well known being Uriyangqadai, who accompanied them on the great western campaign, served with Kublai Khan against the Dali Kingdom, occupied Thang-long, modern Hanoi in Vietnam, and fought against the southern Song Dynasty. Uriyangqadai’s son Aju was another of Kublai Khan’s lead generals, who served alongside his father in Yunnan and northern Vietnam. After leading in the siege of the Song fortress-city of Xiangyang, Aju, longside Bayan of the Barrin, was the top Mongol commander in the final campaigns against the Song Dynasty. After the ferocity of Uriyangqadai and Aju, their descendants picked up the pen instead of the bow. Aju’s son Bolianjidai was an administrator well known for his leniency, while his own son Tongtong was a scholar and academic, and from then the lineage of Sübe’etei disappears from us. Utterly loyal to Chinggis Khan, perhaps no other commander in history could be said to have travelled so many kilometres. Depending on how one counts, Sübe’etei fought in over 50 battles and sieges against almost every major power of the thirteenth century, though despite some claims was not undefeated. Neither was he the sole strategist of the Mongols, and often his most effective campaigns were those where the planning had been in the hands of Chinggis Khan or Tolui. Sübe’etei had no care for administration, only in carrying out the Khan’s will against his enemies. Frustrated by Chinggis’ descendants, Sübe’etei still carried out their mandate with thoroughness and ferocity. To quote Stephen Pow in his email correspondence with this author, Sübe’etei “emerges from the surviving writings as very loyal to emperors, sardonic toward enemies, and ultimately loyal to Chinggis Khan’s yasa or vision in terms of carrying out missions, following orders even if they went against his own preference. A bit of Cardinal Richelieu can perhaps be found in him – his only enemies were those of the state... and the state was the khan”. We hope you’ve enjoyed our extended look at Sübe’etei’s life; you can find the written version of this script, featuring all the various sources and footnotes, on the academia.edu page of our series writer, Jack Wilson. If you’d like to help us continue bringing you great 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.
This episode details the Mongol-Song war from the fall of Xiangyang to the capture of Hangzhou in 1276, and the final stand of the infamous Song Chancellor Jia Sidao, and the failures of the Song court to avert disaster.
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.
As Kublai Khan and Ariq Boke fought for the Grand Khanate in the east, in the western half of the Mongol Empire another dramatic war broke out. This was the Berke-Hulegu war, the concurrent civil war which permanently fragmented Mongol unity. Though influenced by the war for the throne, the battles between Berke and Hulegu emerged from long simmering tensions, brought violently to the surface with the absence of a central imperial authority, and set the stage for an antagonism which defined the Golden Horde and Ilkhanate for the next sixty years. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. To understand the conflict which broke out in 1262, we must step back to the mid 1220s. Around 1225 or 1227, Jochi, the eldest son of Chinggis Khan and Borte, died. Though there had been tension between Jochi and his father, Chinggis did not extend this to Jochi’s many, many children. In fact, they continued to hold suzerainty over the ever-growing Mongol dominated western Eurasian steppe, led by Jochi’s two oldest sons, Orda and Batu. While Orda was the older, Batu was the more ambitious, maneuvering himself into leadership of the Jochid lineage. By the start of the great western campaign in 1235, Batu held not just a preeminent place on the campaign, but in the Chinggisid hierarchy. Only Ogedai Khan and Chagatai, Chinggis’ two surviving sons with Borte, ranked higher. Batu led Mongol armies to seize the remainder of the western steppe, the Rus’ principalities and into Hungary. When he departed from Hungary in 1242, Batu’s influence grew with the deaths of Ogedai and Chagatai, leaving Batu as the aqa, the senior prince of the family. Insteading of returning to Mongolia or his Jochi’s ordu along the Irtysh River, Batu set up on the rich grasslands of the lower Volga, where he built a capital, Sarai. As we have covered in previous episodes, Batu butted heads with Ogedai’s successors, the regent Torogene and her son Guyuk, before finally taking a lead role in the election of Mongke Khan in the 1250s. Outside of political machinations, Batu strengthened the Jochid ulus. He oversaw the rebuilding of overland trade routes and cities, established administrative ties to the Rus’ cities and sought to enforce Jochid hegemony over the Caucasus, Anatolia, Mazandaran, Khurasan and Khwarezm. In the initial dispensation of lands, Chinggis Khan had granted Jochi and his heirs everything as far west as the hooves of their horses would carry them, something Batu took very seriously. Mongke Khaan largely confirmed these holdings, and Batu was essentially the Grand Khan’s viceroy of western Eurasia. Though immensely powerful, Batu still had to accept Mongke’s tax collectors, census takers and provide troops when demanded, as he did when Hulegu set out on his campaign against the Ismaili Assassins and Baghdad. By the time of his death in early 1256, Batu created a fine foundation for his successors. So influential was his reign that the citizens of his realm remembered him as Sain Khan, the “good Khan.” We should briefly touch on a somewhat confusing matter. You will recall we mentioned Batu’s older brother Orda. See, Orda, as with the rest of Jochi’s children, got his own territory, with Orda’s number 2 only to Batu’s. Orda and his descendants ruled over the steppe east of the Ural River, the left wing of the Jochid ulus bordering on the Chagatayid ulus and towards Mongolia. This was called the Blue Horde… or maybe the White Horde. See, Persian and Rus’ sources give conflicting descriptions: that Orda ruled the Blue Horde and Batu the White, or Orda ruled the White Horde, and Batu the Blue. Further confusion comes from a tendency to refer to the section ruled by the Batu as the Golden Horde. For our purposes, we’ll assume Orda ruled the Blue Horde, for that also corresponds with the Turko-Mongolian colour designations for the directions; Blue for east, White for west, and yellow or gold for the centre. Black by the way, is the colour for the north, and red for the south. The specific relationship of the Blue Horde to Batu’s territory is unclear. Was it fully independent, as the Chagatayid ulus was? Was it subject to the line of Batu? Or was Batu and his descendants, the “Jochid Khans,” merely first among equals within the lines of Jochi’s children? The answer is unfortunately vague, and shifts depending on the specific period we’re talking about. On Batu’s death in 1256, it seems he had a clear successor in the form of his son, Sartaq. A Nestorian Christian and firm ally of the Grand Khan, Sartaq was duly confirmed by Mongke in Karakorum and returned to the Jochid ulus. Sartaq was a more pleasing choice to Mongke than Batu’s brother Berke. Berke, the third son of Jochi, was ambitious, overbearing, and something of a black sheep, for he was an early convert to Islam. Precisely how and when Berke converted is contradicted in the sources. He was Muslim at least by 1250, and some sources state he had been since his youth. At the time, it was very uncommon- few Chinggisids, especially of the third generation, converted. It’s possible Berke did it to make his rule more acceptable to Muslims across the Jochid ulus, but it may have been genuine devotion. Jean Richard has argued that Berke’s mother was a captured daughter of Muhammad Khwarezm-shah, thus making it possible Berke was raised a Muslim, though the evidence for his mother’s identity is not conclusive. In most nomadic steppe societies, succession was not restricted to sons, but could go brother to brother, and it seems Berke wanted it to do just that. Sartaq’s reign was cut suddenly short before the year was even out. Armenian sources directly accuse Berke of poisoning Sartaq, and frankly it’s pretty likely. In 1257 Mongke placed Ulagchi, a young boy who was either Sartaq’s son or brother, onto the Jochid throne, with Batu’s widow Boraqchin as regent. Late in 1257 or 1258, with Mongke occupied with the beginning of his campaign on the Song Dynasty, Berke made his move. Ulagchi suddenly “disappeared,” Boraqchin was accused of treason and executed, and Berke stepped up to become the Jochid Khan. By the time he learned of this, Mongke was deep into Song territory, and could do little but turn to the west and shake his fist in frustration. Though Mongke spent the rest of his life distracted by fortresses in Sichuan, Berke had a more immediate Toluid presence to deal with; Hulegu and his massive army rolling over the Islamic world. Hulegu, as you’ll recall, spent February 1258 sacking Baghdad and killing the Caliph, the oft-cited great psychological blow to Islam. Sometimes, you’ll see it said that Berke, as a good Muslim, took it upon himself to wave the black banner of jihad against Hulegu. Some statements from the medieval sources support this interpretation, but frankly it does not reflect Berke’s immediate actions. Baghdad was sacked early in 1258; Hulegu and Berke were not at war until 1262. At the outset of his reign, Berke had no apparent goal to unravel the Mongol Empire- in fact, his interests seemed more so securing his own power on the Jochid throne, and maintaining Jochid claims from Anatolia, the Transcaucasus across Iran and into Khurasan. Before his death, Batu supplied soldiers for Hulegu’s expedition; perhaps three tumens under his relatives Quli, Balaghai and Tutar. Over the march through Khurasan and Iran, the three Jochid princes had sought to reaffirm Jochid privileges at various cities on the route. Some of these, such as the Kartid dynasty in Herat, went to Hulegu, asking him to intercede between them and the Jochid princes. Hulegu sided with the local dynasties as a means to encourage them to send the tribute to him instead. Further, the Jochid princes and Hulegu argued over the conduct of the campaign itself. Local commanders affiliated with the Jochids, such as Baiju in Azerbaijan, were bossed around and ordered out of territory they had garrisoned for over two decades. After sacking Baghdad, Hulegu chose not to send the loot allocated for Berke, another thorn in the side, if the city’s destruction wasn’t already enough of an affront to Berke’s religious sensibilities. Both Hulegu and Berke learned of Mongke’s death early in 1260. Notably, there was no immediate outbreak of hostilities. Though tensions were mounting, the cause for war can be found in events over 1260 and 1261. In an era of massive princely egos, it must be noted from the state that Berke and Hulegu did not like each other. Back in 1251, Batu had sent his brother Berke to Karakorum for Mongke’s enthronement. Berke was in attendance on Mongke, and in this position sent constant demands to Hulegu to carry out Mongke’s whims for the coronation. As the senior prince, Berke thought he could boss Hulegu around; Hulegu found Berke burdensome and overbearing. During his campaign against the Assassins and Baghdad, Batu and Berke’s representative princes -the aforementioned Quli, Balaghai and Tutar- had continued to berate Hulegu, challenging him and seeking to exert Jochid privileges across the region. Given a limited military command by Mongke, Hulegu had no authority to punish members of the royal family. But upon learning of Mongke’s death, Hulegu saw a chance to take out his frustrations. The sources differ on the why, when and how, but the result is the same. Quli, Balaghai and Tutar were all dead before the end of 1261. At least two of them were accused of sorcery- a serious condemnation for the Mongols- and Hulegu asked Berke if he could punish them for it. Expecting perhaps a slap on the wrist, Berke had given Hulegu permission to punish them- and was angered to find Hulegu went ahead and executed his kinsmen. Hulegu did not stop there.With the immobilization of the central government due to Kublai and Ariq Boke’s fighting, Hulegu sought to strengthen his hand in the area west of the Amu Darya. We’ve mentioned repeatedly how the Jochids had claims on territory in Anatolia, the Caucasus, northern Iran and Khurasan. These consisted of cities and regions taken by members of Jochi’s lineage in past conquests, which then owed yearly tribute to the Jochids. Many of these were prime estates, especially the fine pastures and trade cities of Azerbaijan, the plains of Arran and Mughan. When Mongke was alive, Hulegu had already bossed around Jochid representatives in these areas, most notably Baiju and his tamma forces in Azerbaijan. With Mongke dead, Hulegu seized these regions for himself, incorporating them into a new ulus ruled by him. Berke was aghast; this Toluid upstart was taking his lands, solely without the Khan’s authority! Combined with the murder of the Jochids princes, Hulegu was acting aggressively. The Jochid troops under Hulegu’s command were given leave by Berke to flee. Some made it back to the Jochid ulus and a major contingent fled under their commander, Neguder, to what is now Afghanistan. Enraged by Hulegu’s occupation of territory that belonged to the house of Jochi, the execution of Jochid princes, harassment of Jochid merchants, officers, and representatives in Iran, Berke decided it was time to pay Hulegu back with more than just words. With Kublai and Ariq locked in conflict, there was no one to mediate between them. Early in 1262, Berke began mobilizing his troops to seize Jochid claims in Azerbaijan by force. Setting out in spring of 1262, Berke marched south with some 30,000 men, alongside his commander-in-chief, friend and grand-nephew, Nogai. Nogai was a Muslim, and perhaps had converted at similar time to Berke. The appointment of Nogai was hardly coincidental, for he was also the son of Tutar, one of the Jochid princes executed by Hulegu. For Nogai, this was to be a deeply personal conflict. Early in summer 1262, Berke and Nogai took the great fortress of Derbent, guarding one of the primary passes through the Caucasus mountains and encamping outside of Shirvan. Hulegu’s response was quick, though he had not anticipated the attack. He sent word to his dispersed forces, rapidly mobilizing and setting out with his main army in August, while multiple smaller armies, consisting of Mongol garrisons from Anatolia to western Iran, followed. Berke responded quickly, splitting his force between himself and Nogai to meet the oncoming enemy. In the pastures of Azerbaijan Berke defeated Hulegu’s vanguard in mid-October, but Nogai was forced to retreat in another engagement. Learning of Nogai’s flight, Hulegu pressed the advance and in late November met Berke’s reconstituted army outside Shemakhi, and forced the Jochids to withdraw. In the first days of December 1262 Berke and Nogai sped past Derbent, leaving a token garrison there in an effort to slow Hulegu down. The fortress fell by December 7th. On the 15th, Nogai took part of the army to try and slow down Hulegu’s vanguard, commanded by his son Abaqa. Nogai was defeated and continued to flee, now in the lowlands north of the Caucasus and at the edge of the Volga steppe. The more experienced commanders in Abaqa’s force, Shiremun Noyan and Abatai, told prince Abaqa it was time to return to Hulegu and the main army, fearing they would be drawn into a feigned retreat. The haughty Abaqa dismissed their concerns and instead ordered reinforcements from his father, then followed the Jochids’ trail. After several days, by 10 January 1263 they came across the camp of Berke’s army on the north bank of the frozen Terek River, where tents, herds, treasures and families were abandoned and Berke’s army was nowhere to be seen. Presumably, in their cowardice they had disappeared deep into the steppe. Abaqa rewarded his men with three days of drinking and celebrating on Berke’s captured goods, “reveling and carousing with lovely girls” Rashid al-Din says euphemistically. On the 13th of January 1263, Berke and Nogai returned. They had allowed Abaqa’s men three days to get drunk and drop their guard, and when the Jochids returned it was a massacre. Abaqa ordered a retreat and his bewildered, panic stricken army sped across the frozen Terek river. The weight of the fleeing men and horses proved too much. The ice broke and the cold waters swallowed up men and horses. Abaqa, with his tail between his legs, returned to Hulegu with what was left of force. Hulegu led an orderly withdrawal from the frontier, and Berke retook Derbent, and for a time the cousins were at a stalemate. According to the contemporary Mamluk author ibn Wasil, Berke surveyed the carnage and cursed Hulegu, stating “Mongols are killed by Mongol swords. If we were united, then we would have conquered all of the world.” Sometime in late 1262, Berke received a surprising letter; from Baybars, the Mamluk Sultan of Egypt. News of hostilities between Berke and Hulegu had filtered down to Baybars over 1262, with greater detail coming in that November when 200 Mongol refugees, survivors from Hulegu’s attack on the Jochids in his army, came to Cairo seeking shelter. They had been unable to return north due to the outbreak of war. Now properly illuminated on Berke’s conversion to Islam, the cunning Baybars stumbled across an idea. Though his forces won at Ayn Jalut in September 1260, he doubted he had the strength to withstand a full Mongol invasion. Without a large army, Baybars had to win every battle- Hulegu only needed to win one, and he would overwhelm the newly established, and still quite fragile, Mamluk Sultanate. Without any local allies to provide reinforcements, Baybars needed to look further afield for assistance. The Jochid antagonism with Hulegu would do the trick, the enemy of my enemy being my friend and all that. Sometime late in 1262 Baybars sent a message to Berke, playing on the co-religiosity of the two men, encouraging Berke to adhere to the jihad against the non-Muslim Hulegu, even if Hulegu was Berke’s cousin. Another embassy was sent by Baybars in the winter of 1262, again encouraging Berke to battle Hulegu, and telling him that the 200 Mongol refugees were being well treated in Cairo. It spoke of the strength of the Mamluk Sultanate, but expressed admiration and affection for Berke. Berke was delighted, and organized a prompt response Berke’s response was encouraging. Hulegu, the letter states, had broken the yassa of Chinggis Khan, -likely reffering to the murder of the Jochid princes, the seizure of Jochid territories and refusal to send tribute to Berke. Berke reaffirmed his conversion to Islam, and his willingness to take vengeance for the death of the Caliph in Baghdad. So began the Jochid-Mamluk alliance against Hulegu. For the first time the Chinggisids had shown willingness to ally with a non-Mongolian, independent power against fellow Mongols. While the alliance would never result in tangible military cooperation between them, it did mean that Hulegu and his heirs were stuck between two antagonistic powers on their north and south; leaving one border alone too long would allow either the Jochids or Mamluks to attack. Our understanding of this alliance comes largely from Mamluk authors, who sought to stress what good Muslims their allies were. It is difficult to gauge how Berke and his successors saw it, and it has been argued that to Berke it was not cooperation between equals, but the submission of the Mamluk Sultanate to the house of Jochi. Since the Mamluk elite were largely Qipchaps, who made up much of the population of the Jochid territory, it was only natural that they bowed to the Chinggisids- the right Chinggisids, that is. Despite his willingness to combat Hulegu, Berke had not forgotten the purpose of the empire; if the quote by ibn Wasil has any basis in fact, Berke may have rued this distraction from the continued subjugation of the world. A diplomatic submission of the Mamluks was as good as conquering them, as far as Berke was concerned. The war between Hulegu and Berke was quieter over 1263 and 1264. Nogai made threatening moves from Derbend, while Hulegu stayed in Maragha, now his capital. Local forces, such as the Georgians, newly humbled after a brief rebellion, were forced to man border defences against attacks by Berke. In the meantime, Hulegu engaged in his other passions. Hulegu always showed an interest in sciences and astrology, constructing centres for these men and filling his court with the learned of the region. Most famous of these men was Nasir al-Din Tusi, for whom an observatory was built in Maragha. Hulegu spent considerable money on alchemists and efforts at transforming raw materials into gold. Rashid al-Din some 40 years later wrote with scorn that “in transmutation they had no luck, but they were miracles in cheating and fraud, squandering and wasting the stores of lordly power.” Hulegu took steps to organize his emerging empire, such as widening his administration. Reconstructive efforts were overseen through the appointment of the new sahib divan, Shams al-Din Juvaini. Shams al-Din’s brother, the historian ‘Ata-Malik Juvaini, was appointed governor of Baghdad and the restoration process there. Members of what had been the imperial Secretariat for Iran and western Asia like Arghun Aqa were now taken into Hulegu’s new government. His sons were allotted appanages and territories to oversee: Abaqa was given most of the eastern half of the state to act as viceroy over, valuable experience for the man who would be his father’s heir. With the surrender of Ariq Boke late in 1264, Hulegu and Berke soon learned of Kublai Khan’s victory. Kublai’s messengers demanded Berke, Hulegu and the Chagatai Khan Alghu come to confirm Kublai’s enthronement and decide Ariq Boke’s fate. All declined- Hulegu may have had little choice, as he fell ill in January 1265, and died the following February, about 50 years old. His respected wife, Doquz Khatun followed him four months later, and in June Hulegu’s eldest son Abaqa ascended the throne of the Ilkhanate. Humbled since his humiliating defeat over the ice on the Terek River, Abaqa sought to secure his rule before taking any actions against Berke. Abaqa sent armies under his brothers to guard the frontiers with the Jochids and the Chagatais; he redistributed lands to loyal emirs; political appointments like Shams al-Din Juvaini and Arghun Aqa, were maintained. Moving the capital from Maragha to Tabriz, Abaqa soon received an official investiture from his uncle Kublai Khan, a nice bit of legitimacy and homage to the Mongol Empire, but an act with little actual power. For Berke, it seemed primetime to seize the Caucasus with the ascension of Abaqa. In July 1265, only a month after Abaqa’s enthronement, Nogai was sent with a large army from Derbent. Abaqa had reinforced the region with an army under his brother Yoshmut, who met Nogai on the Akshu River in what is now Azerbaijan. The fighting was fierce; during the battle an arrow took Nogai’s eye, and his army was defeated with heavy losses, withdrawing to Shirvan. Both Abaqa and Berke collected large forces to prevent the other from seizing the advantage. Sometime in 1266, both armies formed up on opposite sides of the Kura River. For fourteen days, the two armies shot arrows over the river at each other, but were unable to cross. Frustrated, Berke marched westwards towards the Georgian capital of Tbilisi to find a crossing there. En route, Berke fell ill and succumbed, leaving his army and empire without a Khan. Nogai, who in just a few years had lost his father, several battles, his eye and his Khan, led a general retreat back to the Jochid capital of Sarai. Having learned his lesson, Abaqa did not pursue; later in 1266 he had a wall and trench built along the Kura River to guard against Jochid attacks, then withdrew back south. So ended the Berke-Hulegu war. This was not the end of the fighting between the Ilkhanate and the Jochid realm- what later historians call the Golden Horde, though the term was not used at the time. Fighting picked up every few years, usually taking advantage of the Il-Khan being distracted by conflict with the Mamluks, the Chagatais, or the Neguderis of Afghanistan, who began to make a name for themselves as raiders. But for decades, Berke’s efforts were the most serious attempts by the Golden Horde to take control of the Caucasus, to no success. The region remained under the hands of Hulegu’s successors until the last days of the Ilkhanate. Berke was succeeded by Batu’s grandson Mongke-Temur, who was the first fully independent Khan of the Jochid state, minting coins in his own name. It is under Mongke-Temur that we can really speak of the Golden Horde as an independent Khanate. The one-eyed Nogai continued to grow in influence, transferred to the western half of the Golden Horde where he became the prime intermediary between the Jochids and Europe. Though kept in check by Mongke-Temur, his successors would not have the same control over him. Abaqa began a nearly 20 year reign, during which time he undertook wide ranging diplomacy with Europe in an effort to open a second front against the Mamluks. Dealing with rebellions and invasions, Abaqa spent most of his years jumping from frontier to frontier of the massive Ilkhanate, using the odd break to order unsuccessful invasions of Syria. Though both the Ikhanate and the Golden Horde had immense military power, the days of successful foreign conquests in western Eurasia were at an end, squandering it against each other. But we will pick up with the later history of the Il-Khans and the Golden Horde in future episodes. By the end of the Berke-Hulegu war, both were fully independent of Kublai Khan. It is back to Kublai that we head to next, to see how he undertook the final push to conquer the Song Dynasty, and complete the reunification of China- all under Mongol auspices, of course. So be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast. To help us keep bringing you great content, please support us on Patron at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one.
Mongke Khaan was dead. Over his 8 year reign, he had ruled the Mongol Empire firmly, strengthening government and renewing the conquests. Yet had not solved the tensions and problems which had been simmering below the surface since the death of Ogedai. Having not designated a successor, Mongke’s brothers Kublai and Ariq Böke would stand in to fill the void, with disastrous results for the empire. In the aftermath of Mongke’s death, the Mongol Empire was irrevocably torn apart, ending the dreams of Chinggis Khan for Mongolian unity. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Before we carry on with our narrative, we must note that following events are highly coloured by who won- quite literally a case of history being written by the victors seeking to justify their victory. Based on recent scholarship and recognition of these biases, we will try to offer a slight reinterpretation of the events, though the outcome remains the same. Mongke died in August 1259 while on campaign in China, fighting the Song Dynasty in Sichuan. His plan to overwhelm the Song came to a crashing halt, bogged down in sieges and mud, before his demise caused his army to fall back. Perhaps the sole safe guard left in place in event of his death was his youngest brother, Ariq Böke, left as regent in the imperial capital, Karakorum, while Mongke marched on China. Intended to keep the empire running smoothly in Mongke’s absence, it’s possible Mongke, as with so much of his reign, had tailored this as reaction to the regencies after the deaths of Ogedai and Guyuk. Rather than repeat the chaotic periods of control by Torogene and Oghul Qaimish, Mongke may have wanted Ariq to seamlessly step up and guide the empire to an organized quriltai, rather than rely on conniving mothers to do it themselves. Thus was Ariq brought to the forefront of the world stage. So who was Ariq Böke? The youngest son of Tolui and Sorhaktani Beki, he was born sometime in the early 1220s, putting him in his early forties at Mongke’s death. Unlike his older brother Kublai, Ariq never showed any affinity to Chinese culture, despite being provided Confucian advisers. Instead, he is generally portrayed as a proud supporter of Mongolian culture, priding himself as a nomad uncorrupted by the sedentary world. The second part of his name, Böke, is an epithet, which means variously ‘bull, strong/unbreakable, wrestler.’ Evidently, he was a man of quite some physical prowess, perhaps a star in that favourite Mongol pastime of wrestling. He seems to have had an affinity to Christianity: the Franciscan Friar, William of Rubruck, during his visit to Mongke’s court in 1254 interacted with Ariq and noted that he listened to Christian oratory several time, made the sign of the cross and stated that he knew the Messiah is God. Considering that Rubruck remarked on Mongke’s own refusal to convert to Christianity or Islam and his personal failures to convert anyone, there’s no reason to think he lied on Ariq’s interest in the religion. Ariq’s mother Sorhaktani and at least one of his sons, Mingliq-Temur, were Christians. His chief wife was an Oirat princess, Elchiqmish (el-chiq-mish), described as very tall and as a granddaughter of Chinggis Khan via his daughter Chechiyegen (Chech-ee-yeg-en), she was also Ariq’s cousin. They had no children, but Ariq is said to have loved her very much. One of Mongke’s sons who accompanied him on the campaign into China, Asutai, brought his father’s body to Mongolia in autumn 1259. Immediately, Ariq Böke stepped into his duties as regent. Messages were sent across the empire to alert princes and notables of the Great Khan’s demise: Kublai, Mongke’s brother closest in age and also campaigning in China, learned of his death in September. Their third brother, Hulegu, learned of it in spring 1260. Representatives of the family were told to come to Mongolia in order for Ariq to arrange a quriltai and decide who would succeed Mongke. But trouble came from a perhaps expected direction: Kublai, their brother who had often butted heads with Mongke, now refused to return to Karakorum. Over Mongke’s reign, Kublai had been a repeated problem for both the Khan and his chief officials. After his return from the Dali campaign in 1254, Kublai began administering a large swath of northern China. There he showed what some modern authors interpret as inclinations to independence; or at the very least, pretensions to greater autonomy. The first sign was Kublai butting heads with the head of the Secretariat for China, the long-time servant of the Central Government, Mahmud Yalavach. Yalavach was reappointed to the position in 1251, and nominally in charge of tax assessment and collection, but found his efforts challenged by Kublai and his Chinese advisers who desired a more ‘Confucian,’ and local method of taxation and governance. Yalavach was never on good terms with the Chinese, and found many enemies among Kublai’s faction. Accused of malfeasance by Kublai’s followers, around 1254 Yalavach was removed from his post and soon died, though the exact details are murky. So ended the long career of a man who had once served as Chinggis Khan’s envoy to the Khwarezmshah. Without Yalavach’s meddling, Kublai could strengthen his local influence and position. Most apparent was in the building of a city in 1256 in what is modern Inner Mongolia, on the very edge of the steppe and north China. Called Kaiping, it was built in Chinese style and looked rather suspiciously like a capital city, a rival to Karakorum. The next year, some of Mongke’s ministers under Alandar led an investigation into Kublai’s administration, finding numerous infractions. Kublai’s authority was curtailed, his powers of tax collection rescinded, and some of his men executed. But there were further concerns, most identifiable in Kublai’s affinity for Chinese culture. Filling his staff with Buddhist and Confucians, Kublai’s administration looked a little too Chinese for Mongke’s tastes. The Mongol Empire needed to be ruled by Mongols, afterall, and placing more power into the hands of the Chinese simply would not do. Kublai remained in Mongke’s bad graces until 1258, when Mongke needed him for the oncoming campaign against the Song Dynasty. Provided one of the main armies, Kublai led his force through Central China to O-chou, modern Wuhan, where he learned of Mongke’s death in September 1259. Ariq Böke’s officials were there to get Kublai to move north for the quriltai, only for Kublai to spurn them. While Kublai’s official excuse was that he could not depart with his task unfinished, an alternative explanation is often provided by modern authors. That is, that Kublai saw this as his chance to take the throne, but needed to beef up his military credentials with victories- so far unearned in that campaign. Ariq Böke, to our knowledge, had not led any armies, making this perhaps the one area Kublai could one-up his brother in the eyes of the Mongol aristocracy. Keep in mind how Ariq’s epithet stressed his strength and ability as a wrestler. In comparison, Kublai suffered from gout and may have already been overweight. Already seen as soft for his interest in Chinese culture and known for having lost Mongke’s trust as an administrator, Kublai needed every advantage he could get in an election against Ariq. If he could paint himself as the better, more experienced military commander, that could be all the edge he needed. Since elections took a while to be called to allow for the appropriate princes and representatives to return to Mongolia, Kublai e predicted he had plenty of time to take a few cities and score some victories of his own. Kublai spent the next two month crossing the Yangzi River and taking O-chou, linking up with another commander, Uriyangqadai, the son of the illustrious Subutai. The news of Kublai’s continued campaigning was not well met back in Karakorum. Two members of Mongke’s keshig were particularly displeased by this: Alandar, the official who investigated Kublai’s administration, and most importantly, Bulghai, the chief judge of the empire, a Nestorian Christian and Mongke’s #2. Neither was friendly with Kublai. As brother closest in age to the late Khan, Kublai was a prime candidate for the throne, albeit one too interested in Chinese culture and a threat to the current top men of the empire. Therefore, Bulghai and Alandar began to organize the election of Ariq as the next Khan of Khans, if Ariq had not already begun to encourage this himself. With the burial of Mongke, his son Asutai and his generals returned and presented Mongke’s jade seal to Ariq. Part of organizing a quriltai was getting the appropriate bribes -again, sorry, gift giving- out in time to ensure the princes voted for the right candidate. It had taken Torogene a matter of years to organize the proper support for Guyuk’s coronation, and this was not a process done in secret. That Ariq was left as regent in Karakorum suggests he had a good relationship with those top officials of the Central Secretariat. Having these men and their government institutions on his side made for a powerful campaigning apparatus. Quickly, it seems Ariq gathered widespread support, particularly from the imperial administration and Mongke’s family, especially his sons Asutai and Urungtash who, for reasons we cannot discern, do not seem to have ever been considered as candidates. In November 1259, messages reached Kublai from his wife, Chabi, at that time in Kaiping. Kublai highly valued Chabi’s advice, and when she sent word that Ariq looked to be moving to claim the Khanate, Kublai was forced to give up his advance to China. That this exchange occurred suggests Kublai’s primary interest was not carrying out the expansion, but securing his own claim for the throne. Withdrawing north to Kaiping, he left only a token force behind to guard his conquests, which was soon crushed when an army was sent by the Song chancellor, Jia Sidao. Sidao portrayed it as a great victory, playing it up to secure his newly taken place at the head of the Song court. Kublai could only send envoys seeking a diplomatic settlement, who were imprisoned by the chancellor, an anticlimactic end to Kublai’s effort at military glory in time for the election. Returning to Kaiping in Inner Mongolia in the first days of 1260, Kublai watched the support for Ariq’s election continually grow. Having been forced to give up his military conquests in the south, and therefore not creating a reputation as a great conqueror, Kublai may have felt he lost the chance to win an election on Ariq’s term. Perhaps fearful that Ariq may try to arrest him if he approached Karakorum with a small entourage, yet knowing approaching with a larger escort would look like he was attacking the city, Kublai felt he had only one choice: declare himself Khan first, on ground of his choosing. In April or May 1260, at his own city of Kaiping, did Kubla Khan a stately reign decree, and in doing so signed the death warrant for Mongol imperial unity. By all standards, it was illegal: Kublai had neither the support of the four branches of the family and the election was not in the Onon-Kerulen region, the homeland of Chinggis Khan, but in his Chinese-style city. Kublai Khan had just usurped the throne. He had one small feather in his cap; Kublai could boast he was already recognized by a foreign power. When moving northwards, Kublai met the travelling Crown Prince of Korea, Wang Chon. Having been sent as a royal hostage to Mongke’s court, his timing was poor: while on the road, both Mongke and Wang Chon’s father, King Kojong, died. Korean sources assert that upon learning of Mongke’s death, like a good loyal subject Wang Chon sped to recognize Kublai as the rightful Khan. The idea that Wang Chon had any choice of the matter is generally dismissed by modern scholars. As part of Kublai’s entourage, he witnessed Kublai’s election and was soon sent back to Korea to be installed as the new King, Wonjong. A powerful opening move, it was the beginning of a decades-long close relationship between Kublai, Wonjong and their descendants. Kublai followed up his election with official messages to the Song and official proclamations; that his goals were to feed the hungry, reduce taxes and burdens on the people. Within days of becoming Great Khan, Kublai took a Chinese era name. In Chinese imperial tradition, emperors denoted sections of their reign as eras, which was used for year identification. It’s the kind of thing one does if they want to be associated with Chinese customs of leadership. From the start, Kublai Khan did not just hold an illegal election, but a shockingly Chinese one as well. For Ariq’s faction in Karakorum, this was a shocking demonstration against the legacy of Chinggis Khan. More immediately, it was a dangerous grab for power. In reaction, in July of 1260 Ariq Böke finally held his election and was declared Khan in an appropriately placed, decidedly non-Chinese process. Ariq held a better claim to legitimacy, for it seems he actually had the support of the branches of the family. The regent of the Chagatai Khanate was the popular Orghina Khatun, sister of Ariq’s beloved wife Elchiqmish, who gave her support. The Jochid Khan, Berke, sent his support, as did some Ogedeid princes, and it seems so did Kublai and Ariq’s brother, Hulegu, whose son Jumqhur attended. Mongke’s sons Asutai and Urungtash, his widows, his keshig and the Central Secretariat led by Bulghai and Alandar, sided strongly with Ariq, and so did the venerable Shigi Qutuqu, an adopted son of Chinggis Khan now well into his 70s. Over summer 1260, as tensions heightened, messengers sped between the two brothers. Each wanted the other to submit and recognize their rule. Neither yielded. While Ariq had the official support, Kublai was decidedly in the advantage in terms of position. Kublai could exert his hold across northern China, ousting officials who had declared for Ariq and allying with Qadan, a son of Ogedai and the prince holding the Uighur territories around Beshbaliq. Between them, they sought to close off access to north China to Ariq. For Ariq in Karakorum, this placed him in an unsustainable position. Karakorum could not support itself, requiring hundreds of cartloads of supplies daily, largely from northern China. With his army stationed there, this was even more imperative. In a contest of resources, Kublai’s hold of north China was a trump card. To further starve out Karakorum, Kublai sought to install a new Chagatai Khan loyal to him, a great-grandson of Chagatai named Abishgha. With a small party, Abishgha was sent to oust Orghina Khatun and take power there, denying the Chagatai ulus’ resources and men to Ariq. Abishgha and his small party were captured and brought to Ariq. Tensions boiled. It was a diplomatic impasse. By autumn, it was war. Kublai began to occupy Mongolia, while Ariq sent an army under Alandar to seize the former Tangut territory, the Gansu corridor, the conduit which links north China to Central Asia. In October, Alandar was killed and his army defeated by Kadan and Kublai’s loyalists. Kublai could now exert control across the northern Chinese right to Kadan in Uighuria. At a similar time, part of Ariq’s army was also defeated by Kublai’s troops at an unknown site called Baski. A panicked Ariq had Ahishgha executed, then moved his army from the untenable position at Karakorum, falling back to the Yenisei River valley. Northwest of Mongolia proper, the Yenisei is a valuable region producing wheat, millet, barley and craftsmen, but no place to conquer China from. Sending messages of peace to Kublai, Ariq managed to diplomatically hold off Kublai, stopping him from seizing Karakorum and providing Ariq time to think of new plans. With the start of 1261, Ariq implemented his new schemes. While popular in the Chagatai ulus, Orghina Khatun, regent for her young son Mubarak Shah, was not a war leader. Ariq had her replaced by Alghu, a grandson of Chagatai who could hopefully rally the ample resources of the Middle ulus for Ariq’s needs with loss of access to resources of China. In the summer, Ariq sought to wrest control of Mongolia from Kublai’s men. Ariq won the first engagement, but Kublai merely sent another army against his brother. In November 1261, at Shimu’ultu Lake in southeastern Mongolia, Ariq Böke Khan’s army was defeated and forced to retreat. Ariq had to abandon Mongolia for good, falling back to the Yenisei River. Ariq could never come back from the defeat at Shimu’ultu. He lacked the manpower to engage in any attrition with Kublai, and over 1262 the chance of victory was wrenched from his grasp. That year Kublai’s forces entered Karakorum, though his direct actions against Ariq were limited due to an uprising within his Chinese territory. In the west, Ariq’s ally Berke was unable to provide support with the opening of war between him and Hulegu over the Caucasus. Alghu, Ariq’s appointee in the Chagatai realm, started to attack Jochid possessions in Khwarezm and Tranosxiana, ousting Berke’s representatives. Killing Ariq’s envoys, by the end of the year Alghu declared for Kublai. Ariq’s only chance at securing anything depended on the resources of the Chagatais, and in 1263 from his base on the Yenisei he attacked Alghu. Alghu won in the first two engagements, but Ariq had the better of the third, forcing Alghu to flee to Kashgar. Ariq took the Chagatai capital of Almaliq, in modern Xinjiang close to the border with Kazakhstan. It was here that Ariq spent the final days of his reign. An incredibly harsh winter in 1263 brought famine to men and horses on the steppe. A frustrated Ariq Böke took his anger out on captured Chagatai prisoners. Harsh treatment of fellow Mongols alienated Ariq’s supporters and coupled with the conditions, led to desertion. Hulegu’s son Jumghur left, as did Mongke’s son Urungtash, who brought his father’s seal to Kublai. The omens were bad: harsh winds tore Ariq’s tent right from its pegs, causing it to crash about and injure many. At its end and with an ever decreasing circle of supporters, Ariq knew the gig was up. In August of 1264, he came in person before Kublai at Kaiping, now renamed to Shangdu. Per the account of the Ilkhanid historian and vizier Rashid al-Din, Ariq waited in front of Kublai’s ger for permission to enter, and upon coming face to face with his brother burst into tears. An emotional Kublai asked, “my dear brother, during this strife and contention, were we right or were you?” To which, as written by Rashid al-Din, Ariq Böke replies “we were then. But you are today.” Blame was placed onto Ariq’s generals, who were accused of instigating Ariq’s “revolt.” 10, including Bulghai, were executed. Ariq was to be put on trial before the other heads of the family, but all of them- Berke, Hulegu and Alghu, refused to come. Yet Kublai’s generals demanded punishment. The problem was fixed when illness very conveniently struck down the erstwhile healthy Ariq Böke. The timing was certainly handy, and accusations fall on Kublai. Yet it’s possible that a depressed Ariq, brought down by a difficult and fruitless civil war, drunk himself to an early grave. So it was that Kublai was the sole claimant as Khan of Khans. Having won the war, Kublai lost the empire. Only Hulegu provided his nominal support, but neither he nor Berke or Alghu ever made an attempt to submit in person. Over 1265 and 1266, the three of them died. Hulegu’s successor, his son Abaqa, received an official investiture from Kublai, but Kublai had no power to depose or appoint him or his successors. Kublai sent another descendant of Chagatai, Baraq, to take Alghu’s place, but Baraq soon operated independent of the Great Khan, and fought with the rising prince of the Ogedeids, Qaidu. By 1269, a brief peace was organized between Baraq, Qaidu and the new Jochid Khan, Mongke-Temur. The Peace of Qatwan as it’s known, saw territorial distribution and allotment totally without Kublai’s consideration, circumventing utterly the Great Khan’s authority. Kublai’s rule as Great Khan was nominal in the western half of Mongol territory, a spectre of illegitimacy hanging over him. By 1271, we can speak in earnest of the divisions of the Empire as independent entities, khanates: the Golden Horde, the Chagatai Khanate, the Ilkhanate and the Yuan Dynasty, the latter being the Chinese dynastic name Kublai gave to his reduced empire. As well, there is the matter of the Ogedeid Khanate under Qaidu, the Neguderis and the Blue and White Horde, but we will illuminate these in future episodes. Most of our sources from within the Mongol Empire come from areas ruled by the descendants of Kublai and Hulegu, the Yuan Dynasty and the Ilkhanate. In the Yuan Dynasty, the need to justify Kublai’s election as legitimate is obvious. The most influential of Ilkhanid authors was the vizier Rashid al-Din, whose Compendium of Chronicles is among the most valuable of all medieval sources on the Mongols. Writing around 1300, Rashid was personally informed of the events of the 1260s from Bolad Chingsang, one of Kublai’s judges who took part in the trials against Ariq and his generals. This pro-Kublai bias strongly affected Rashid al-Din’s work, who dubbed the war as “Ariq’s revolt.” Like so many other figures of the Mongol Empire, only by carefully sifting through the surviving sources can we hope to see through the biases of the winning side. Doubtless, had Ariq had won, Kublai’s name would have been the one tarnished. But Kublai secured his empire, and now the long reign of Kublai Khan was to begin. The Mongol Empire as a united entity ceased to exist by Kublai Khan’s victory in 1264, but it’s history does not end there. Our future episodes will discuss the other great breakup of the empire, the Berke-Hulegu war, and the continued histories of the successor Khanates, so be sure to subscribe to our podcast. If you’d like to help us continue bringing you great content, consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one!
Everyone knows Genghis Khan: conquerer, killer, and maker of like a million babies but what of the genius war general behind it all? Enter: Subutai. Born in 1175 he rose up the ranks to become the most vicious and brilliant battle master the world has ever known, and when he commanded his horde west, the world trembled. This is his story --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/fawzicave-podcast/message
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.
“From the King of Kings of East and West, the supreme Khan: In your name, O God, who stretched out the earth and lifted up the heavens; Qutuz is of the race of those Mamluks, who fled to this region to escape our swords... Let Qutuz know, as well as all his emirs, and the peoples of his empire who inhabit Egypt and the neighboring countries, that we are the soldiers of God on earth; that he created us in his anger, and delivered into our hands all those who are the object of his wrath; what has happened in other lands should be a matter for you to think about, and distract you from making war on us. Learn from the example of others and commit your fate to us before the veil is torn, and, delivered to repentance, you see the penalty for your sins fall upon you: for we will not allow ourselves to be touched by crying and we will be insensitive to complaints. You have heard that we have conquered a vast expanse of land; that we have purified the earth of the disorders which defiled it; and that we have slaughtered most of the inhabitants. It’s up to you to flee, and it’s up to us to pursue you; and what land will offer you a refuge? Which road can save you?... You have no way of escaping our swords, of escaping the slaying of our weapons… Hurry to give us an answer, before the war ignites its fires and launches its sparks on you: then you will no longer find asylum, strength, protection, support. You would experience the most terrible catastrophes on our part, and you would soon leave your lands deserted. In sending you this message, we have acted nobly towards you; we have sought [...] to wake you from your slumber. Now you are the only enemies we must march against. May salvation be upon us, upon you, and upon all [...] who submit to the orders of the Supreme Khan. " So reads the ultimatum delivered to Cairo in early summer 1260, as recorded by al-Maqrizi. Qutuz, the newly declared ruler of the Mamluk Sultanate of Egypt, faced the awesome might of an army unsurpassed, invincibile and merciless. Qutuz, in a fragile alliance with his erstwhile enemy Baybars, made the frightful decision to kill Hulegu Khan’s envoys, and roll the dice to challenge the Mongol hosts, ultimately facing them at the Battle of Ayn Jalut. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquests. Our previous episode detailed Hulegu’s sack of Baghdad in February 1258, and the death of the last ‘Abbasid Caliph, al-Musta'sim. Hulegu soon moved north to Maragha to rest and prepare for the next leg of his journey; reducing the remaining independent powers along the Levantine Coast. For Hulegu and his massive army, it seemed nothing would stand in the way of the subjugation of the remainder of the Muslim world. Spending the summer of 1258 moving between Maragha and Tabriz, many throughout the region reaffirmed their submission. Sons and representatives came from the atabeg of Fars, various lords of the Caucasus and the Ayyubid Sultan of Aleppo and Damascus al-Nasir Yusuf. In person came the 90 year old Badr al-Din Lu’lu of Mosul and the two Seljuq Sultans of Rum, ‘Izz al-Din Kaykaus II and his half-brother, Rukn al-Din Kilich Arslan IV. The fall of the Caliph sent shockwaves, and most were eager to reaffirm their vassalage lest they share his fate. ‘Izz al-Din Kaykaus, knowing Hulegu was already displeased with him for his brief rebellion in 1256, made Hulegu a pair of fine boots with his portrait on the soles, and kneeling before Hulegu told him “your slave hopes the padishah will elevate this slave’s head with his royal foot.” Hulegu was pleased with himself; the conquests were coming easily and it seemed he would complete his older brother’s will in good time. It’s possible that at this time Hulegu adopted for himself a new title, il-khan, which he began to include on coinage he minted the following year. Generally il-khan is translated as ‘viceroy,’ or ‘subject khan,’ il in Mongolian having connotations of submission. However, there is argument that it’s a Mongolian form of an older Turkic title, ileg khan, meaning ‘sovereign.’ Some sources from the Ilkhanate use it in this sense; one writer refers to Chinggis Khan as Il-khan,when such connotations of submission were quite inappropriate. Hulegu spent the remainder of 1258 in Azerbaijan, wintering in Arran and the Mughan plain, where the cool temperatures and fine pastures pleased the Mongols. Maragha emerged as Hulegu’s de facto capital, and that region became the administrative centre and summer retreat of the Ilkhanate for the next 70 years. From here, Hulegu plotted. Intelligence came in of the fractured politics of the statelets from Syria to Egypt. The ruler of Mayyafariqin in the Jazira had previously submitted to the Mongols, but had revolted as the Mongol army surrounded Baghdad. Hulegu sent his son Yoshmut to deal with them. The Ayyubid sultan of Syria, al-Nasir Yusuf, had been a Mongol tributary since the early 1240s, but had failed to provide troops against Baghdad or to appear before Hulegu in person. So, Hulegu would appear before him in person, along with 100,000 of his closest friends and at least 300,000 of their favourite horses. The only power of any note other than the small Ayyubid princes and Crusader holdouts on the coast, was the newly established Mamluk Sultanate in Egypt. Sending Yoshmut and Kitbuqa as his vanguard in spring 1259, in September Hulegu led the main army to Syria, anticipating a swift and glorious conquest of the region. Some 80 years prior, Egypt to eastern Turkey had been unified by an-Nasir Salah ad-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub, who you may know better as Saladin. On his death in 1193 Saladin intended for three of his sons to rule in a sort of confederacy, one in Cairo, Egypt; one in Aleppo in Syria, and one in Damascus, also in Syria, to be the senior over the others. Within 3 years, his plan went awry. Saladin’s brother al-Adil bin Ayyub took control of Damascus and Egypt and forced Aleppo to recognize his authority. al-Adil placed his own sons as governors, and allowed the jihad to fall to the wayside, enjoying a fruitful 20 year truce with the Crusader states. The trade they brought was valuable and al-Adil found his Seljuq and Zengid neighbours of much greater concern. It was not until 1218 when his system cracked; that year the fifth Crusade landed in Egypt and soon took Damietta; the Anatolian Seljuqs backed Saladin’s ousted son al-Afdal in attempting to take Aleppo; and al-Adil died of illness is August 1218. On his death, the Ayyubids never regained their unity. al-Adil’s son al-Kamil took power in Egypt, but continually butted heads with the Ayyubid princes of Syria, especially his brother controlling Damascus, al-Muazzam. It was in the face of war with al-Muazzam that in 1229 al-Kamil agreed to a truce with the oncoming Holy Roman Emperor, Frederick II Hohenstaufen, bloodlessly returning Jerusalem to Christian hands for the first time since Saladin took the city in 1187. Al-Kamil died in 1238, his family vying for control of Egypt. It took two years for his oldest son, al-Salih Ayyub, to seize power there. By then, the Ayyubids of Syria and Egypt were totally independent of each other; al-Nasir Yusuf, the prince of Aleppo, became tributary to the Mongols in 1243. In Egypt, al-Salih Ayyub showed himself a powerful and militaristic ruler- the last effective Ayyubid Sultan, exerting his power against his cousins in Syria. The first means to do this was to invite the bands of Khwarezmian mercenaries in Syria to him. These were the remnants of Jalal al-Din Mingburnu’s army, who, since Mingburnu’s demise in 1231, had acted as mercenaries and pillagers, raiding for the highest bidder. In 1244, al-Salih Ayyub invited them to Egypt, intent on employing them, or at least, keeping them from being employed against him by the Syrian Ayyubids. The Khwarezmians under Husam al-Din Berke Khan took up the call, en route sacking Jerusalem in early summer 1244, the Crusaders losing Jerusalem for good. The panicking Franks organized an alliance against the Khwarezmians- a grand army of Frankish troops, knights of the Military Orders, and the Ayyubid princes of Damascus and Homs, eager to keep the Khwarezmians out of al-Salih Ayyub’s hands. Their largest field army since the Third Crusade, some 13,000 men, was resoundingly crushed by the Khwarezmians at La Forbie in October 1244. It was a massacre, the offensive ability of the Crusader States permanently broken. Representatives from Acre reached Europe and called for aid- only the penitent King Louis IX of France would answer. Al-Salih Ayyub took the Khwarezmians north, and after assisting him in taking control of Damascus, gave them the boot, and they were overwhelmed and dispersed by Syrian forces in 1246. So ended the last remnant of the Khwarezmian Empire, some 20 years after Chinggis Khan’s invasion. Giving up on unreliable Khwarezmians, al-Salih Ayyub turned to slave soldiers. Military slavery was hardly a new institution, used from the ‘Abbasids to the Fatimids to the Ayyubids under Saladin himself. Generally, the Islamic institutions of military slavery differed greatly from the chattel slavery we associate the term with. In the words of historian Bart Hacker, “although his owner might buy or sell him and otherwise dictate certain life choices, the relationship of owner to soldier more nearly resembled that of patron to client than master to slave in the western sense. These are complex issues, but Muslim military slavery clearly did not define the soldier’s occupation, wealth, social standing or power.” Depending on the dynasty, military slavery actually increased a man’s access to wealth and social standing. Prior to the 12th century, these slave soldiers were generally called ghulams, but by 1200 mamluk had replaced it. While a ghulam or mamluk could come from anywhere, Turkic steppe nomads were preferred. Bought as children between 8 and 12, from their upbringing on the steppe they already had valuable experience in archery and horseback riding. The most physically skilled were sold as mamluks, upon which they were converted to Islam and received further training in weapons and tactics, provided armour, horses and the support of the state. Often they were taught languages, administrative skills and how to read and write. They were expected to be absolutely loyal to their master, who heaped rewards on them. They combined all the military skill of the Turkic nomads, but with greater discipline and reliability.
In the dusty flood plain, 100,000 men and many times that in horses surround the walls of Baghdad. Catapults lob stones relentlessly into the city walls, hauled from great distance. Here, towers collapse under the barrage; there, ladders bring Mongol and subject peoples onto the fortifications, seizing them from the disorganized and panicking garrison. Arrows, some bearing messages, bring both confusion and injury where they land. The mighty Tigris River, the city’s lifeblood, is now part of the trap; pontoon bridges, from them dangling nets embedded with iron hooks, rest both north and south of the city to catch those trying to flee. The final ‘Abbasid Caliph sits frightened and overwhelmed in his palace, as the grasp of Hulegu Khan closes around him. Today, we discuss the fall of Baghdad, 1258. But first, we’d like to remind you that for those of you who enjoy the podcast, your support would be highly appreciated and would help us keep going. We have a patreon available for monthly or even one-time donations or, if you aren’t able to support us financially, positive reviews on Apple Podcasts or other review sites really helps us out. And now, I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. We left our previous episode off with Hulegu destroying the Nizari Ismaili state, better known at the Order of Assassins, who had controlled a series of fortresses across eastern and northern Iran. By the end of 1256, Hulegu had reduced them to but a few holdouts, and he could begin to look to his next target. Considered heretics of the worst variety by most Sunni Muslims, the Persian writer Juvaini, a member of Hulegu’s retinue, described his victory over the Nizaris in glowing terms, Hulegu as a sword of Islam carrying out God’s will. Juvaini presents Hulegu’s war as a more ‘civilized’ form of conquest compared to that of his grandfather, Chinggis Khan. Destruction was limited to Ismaili territories and the towns and fortresses that failed to submit, as opposed to the veritable tsunami of bloodshed Chinggis Khan wrought on the Khwarezmian empire over thirty years prior. What Hulegu was soon to do in Baghdad and to the titular head of Sunni Islam would not be so praised, and it is perhaps no coincidence that Juvaini’s own chronicle ends with the fall of the Ismailis. As Hulegu left Ismaili territory in the final month of 1256, his eye was drawn to the ‘Abbasid Caliph in Baghdad. In Islam, the spiritual leader of the religion was whoever was considered the successor to the Prophet Muhammad. For Shi’a Muslims, this was the imam- for Nizari Ismailis, the Imam was the ruler of Alamut, who had just been put to death on Mongol orders. For the majority of Muslims, known as Sunnis, the head of their faith was the Caliph, literally meaning ‘successor.’The first four Caliphs to succeed the Prophet were the “Rightly Guided,” the Rashidun, whose legitimacy is generally unquestioned by most Muslims. The Rashidun were succeeded by the Umayyads, who greatly extended Muslim rule east and west, across North Africa into Spain and across Eastern Iran into Central Asia. In 750, the Umayyad Caliphs were overthrown in the ‘Abbasid revolution. Claiming descent from the Prophet’s uncle ‘Abbas, it was under the early ‘Abbasids that the Caliphal capital was moved from Damascus to the newly established Baghdad along the Tigris River. Never comparable to the power of the Umayyads at their height, from the 9th century onwards the still vast ‘Abbasid empire fragmented with threat from all directions: the Fatimids in Egypt, the Samanids, Buyids and Saffarids of Iran and finally from the steppes, the Great Seljuqs, all of which ground the ‘Abbasids down until their state hardly stretched past the walls of Baghdad. The weakening of the Seljuqs after Sultan Malik-Shah’s death in 1092 allowed the ‘Abbasids to gradually reclaim independence and some authority, even repulsing a Seljuq army attacking Baghdad in 1157. The long reigns of Caliph al-Nasir and al-Mustansir, from 1180 until 1242, saw the ‘Abbasids reclaim much of central and southern Iraq. A far cry from the sweeping power they had held in the 8th century, by the 13th century they still remained influential and held prestige. For 500 years they had been the heads of Islam, and had long cultivated an useful image as invioable and holy, above temporal affairs though they were more often than not mired in them. For instance, in the late 12th century Caliph al-Nasir was in conflict with the Seljuqs who continued to rule in Iran. He allied with the rising power northeast of the Iranian Seljuqs, the Khwarezmian Empire. Once vassals of the Great Seljuqs, the Khwarezm-shahs now butted heads with them as they expanded southwards, and the reigning Khwarezm-Shah, Tekesh bin Il-Arslan, was happy to ally himself with the Caliph. In 1194 at Rayy, modern Tehran, Tekesh defeated and killed the last Seljuq Sultan in Iran, Toghrul III, ending the dynasty and sending the Sultan’s severed head to al-Nasir in Baghdad. Rather than provide freedom for the Caliphate, Tekesh now wanted to step into the place of Seljuqs. The Seljuqs’ territory in Iran was largely annexed by Tekesh Khwarezm-shah, who soon began making aggressive motions to the Caliph. Al-Nasir encouraged the Khwarezmians’ eastern neighbours, the Ghurids, in their war with Tekesh. Tekesh died in 1200, succeeded by his son Muhammad II as Khwarezm-shah who, through luck, timely assassinations and military victories, overcame the Ghurids, consolidated power over Iran and in 1217 tried to march on Baghdad itself. Muhammad’s march on Baghdad was halted by a vicious snowstorm as he crossed the Zagros mountains, forcing him back. Returning to the northeast of his empire, Muhammad would there make the poor decisions which led to the Mongol Invasion of Khwarezm, covered way back in episode 9 of this podcast. Now, some authors of the period assert that Caliph al-Nasir actually invited Chinggis Khan to attack Muhammad of Khwarezm- when placed in the context of the Caliph switching to support whoever was on the eastern side of his current foe, there is definitely a logic to it. However, as we described in detail in episode 8 of the podcast, the cause of the Mongol invasion can be found in the foolery of Muhammad Khwarezm-shah alone. Had the Mongols come on the invitation of the Caliph, then surely they would have publicized that to justify the attack and sow further confusion among the Khwarezmians. In fact, in 1221 when detachments of Jebe and Subutai’s army penetrated into northern Iraq, Caliph al-Nasir was hardly welcoming. Along with the rulers of northern Iraq’s most important cities, Muzaffar ad-Din of Irbil and Badr al-Din Lu’lu’, the de facto ruler of Mosul, the Caliph organized a short lived military coalition, which proved unnecessary as the Mongols soon withdrew. Evidently, the ‘Abbasids spread a rumour that their army was absolutely gargantuan, their power unassailable and heavenly protected, and the Mongols were hesitant to commit. Had they paid close attention in the following years, they might have called the Caliph’s bluff. In 1225 that favoured Khwarezmian rapscallion, Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, defeated a Caliphal army after the ‘Abbasids failed to provide him assistance. Jalal al-Din chased the survivors right to the suburbs of Baghdad, then went north, defeated an army from Irbil sent to assist the Caliph and captured Irbil’s ruler, Muzaffar ad-Din. Caliph al-Nasir, by then elderly, paralyzed and blind for three years, died soon after Jalal al-Din’s attack, and was succeeded by his son, az-Zahir, as the 35th Caliph… for nine months. On Caliph az-Zahir’s death in 1226, he was succeeded by his own son, al-Mustansir, the 36th and penultimate ‘Abbasid Caliph of Baghdad. As Caliph, al-Mustanir continued to try to strengthen ‘Abbasid control in Iraq and expand the army, but Mongol rule steadily spread over the region. By the start of the 1230s, Chormaqun Noyan and his lieutenants brought the submission of most of Iran and cast Mongol authority over the Caucasus. For Caliph al-Mustansir, the Mongol empire was a vast crescent to his north and east, where it stretched seemingly indefinitely. By 1235, Mongol forces mainly under Chagatai Noyan, “the Lesser,” were probing northern Iraq and directly, but hesitantly, testing ‘Abbasid hegemony in the region. In June 1237, Chagatai Noyan captured Irbil in what is now Iraqi Kurdistan, though the Citadel held out and in August Caliphal forces relieved the city. In February of 1238, an attack was launched on Baghdad, and a panicked Caliph al-Mustansir sent messages to the remaining independent Muslim powers from the Jazira and Syria down to Egypt for aid. Only 2,000 troops from the Ayyubid Sultan of Egypt, al-Kamil, reached Baghdad, and in June 1238 a caliphal army was defeated near the city. However, the defences of Baghdad itself remained formidable and the city stood defiant while the Mongols turned back from the walls, unprepared for both a long siege and or the fearsome Iraqi summer. Possibly, the Mongols suffered some sort of reverse while attacking Baghdad; some sixty years later, when the Persian historian Wassaf [vassaf] visited Baghdad, he recorded a Mongol defeat outside the walls, though this goes unmentioned by the other sources. While Baghdad remained independent, the Mongols continued to take cities in the region. Chormaqun’s successor Baiju brought the submission of the Seljuqs of Anatolia in 1243; in 1244, the Mongol general Yasa’ur rode into Syria, dislodging the remnants of Jalal al-Din’s Khwarezmians. The Ayyubids of Syria, the successors of the once mighty empire of Saladin Ayyubi, largely submitted over 1244-5, and even Antioch, one of the last of the Crusader Kingdoms, offered its submission. In late 1245 another attack on Baghdad was launched but soon aborted. The new Caliph since 1242, al-Mustasim ibn al-Mustansir, was lucky the attack was called off, for he was rather rapidly running out of allies. It seem that the new Caliph managed to avoid further attacks with a token submission: the Franscisan Friar John de Plano Carpini, present at the coronation of Guyuk Khaan in 1246, noted ‘Abbasid envoys were present in Karakorum and believed they paid a regular tribute. The 38th and final ‘Abbasid Caliph of Baghdad, al-Mustasim, was not the equal of his father or great-grandfather. While al-Nasir and al-Mustansir sought to strengthen the Caliphate, al-Mustasim was more interested in the luxury of Baghdad, and was nearly universally condemned for decadence. A great lover of music, he sponsored an entire neighbourhood in Baghdad to house musicians, including the most famous of the age, Saif al-Din Urmawi. A lover of pigeon racing, art, calligraphy and treasures, al-Mustasim was also indecisive and easily swayed by factions in his court, some of whom, such as the vizier, sought accomodation with the Mongols, while others urged to meet them in battle. As we will see shortly, the result was al-Mustasim vacillating in policy, wavering between antagonizing the Mongols and sending them gifts. Essentially, the worst sort of man to have in power when Hulegu marched on him with upwards of 100,000 men. Neither was weak leadership the only problem. Corruption and decadence of Baghdad’s elite alienated the lower classes. A weak currency and high food prices contributed to revolts; many of Baghdad’s soldiers increasingly found themselves unpaid and resorted to bandity or desertion. Topping off years of natural disasters- heavy rain, storms, annual flooding, in 1256, the Tigris, the river which runs through Baghdad, flooded for over a month, washing away much of Baghdad’s lower city. Attributed to divine displeasure at the decadent al-Mustasim, for decades afterwards this flood was remembered as the “Mustasimid flood.” As Mongol armies approached the city, pestilence killed many hundreds, if not thousands. The Caliph stood in a precarious position. Likely in late 1255, Hulegu sent a message to Caliph al-Mustasim demanding, as Hulegu had done with other rulers across the region, that Baghdad supply troops to help in the attack on the Nizari Isamilis. Al-Mustasim refused. As the ‘Abbasids had been sending tribute in the previous years and were considered vassals, such a refusal was a declaration of independence. Hulegu, having been sent in part to find how sincere the Caliph’s submission was, now had his casus belli, for to the Mongols, the Caliph of Baghdad was now in open revolt. War with the Caliph was not intended to punish Islam specifically; had the Mongols caught the Pope and considered him a rebel, certainly he would have shared a similar fate. What mattered to the Mongols was submission to their divinely mandated rule; refusal to submit was blasphemy of the highest order. After the fall of Alamut in December 1256, and spending some time near the still-resisting Nizari fortress of Lammasar, Hulegu stayed in Qazwin, just south of Alamut, until March 1257. From Qazwin he undertook a somewhat repetitive journey: from Qazwin he went to Hamadan, then to Dinavar, then Tabriz, then back to Hamadan, then back to Tabriz, then back to Hamadan in September 1257, from whence he would finally march on Baghdad. The reasons for this were multiple, and not just because Hulegu really liked northwestern Iran, though it did give him good time to evaluate the region. Firstly, Hulegu did not want to besiege Baghdad in the summer months, and instead needed to time the march so he arrived outside the city in the winter. Secondly, it provided time for his lieutenants to secure the neighbouring theaters: Kitbuqa Noyan secured through force and diplomacy Luristan and the passes through the Zagros mountains, ensuring Hulegu’s main army could march unimpeded when the time came. In Anatolia, Baiju Noyan had needed to put down a Seljuq revolt, culminating in the battle of Aksaray in October 1256. Baiju then needed to move back east, in order to march on Baghdad from the west when the time came. Thirdly, Hulegu and the Caliph engaged in an entertaining round of diplomatic fisti-cuffs. Hulegu offered the Caliph another chance to surrender, repudiating him for his failure to send troops against the Nizaris. Hulegu’s threat, as recorded by the Ilkhanid vizier Rashid al-Din, went as follows: “Previously we have given you advice, but now we say you should avoid our wrath and vengeance. Do not try to overreach yourself or accomplish the impossible, for you will only succeed in harming yourself. The past is over. Destroy your ramparts, fill in your moats, turn the kingdom over to your son, and come to us. If you do not wish to come, send all three, the vizier [al-Alqami], Sulaymanshah, and the Dawatdar, that they may convey our message word for word. If our command is obeyed, it will not be necessary for us to wreak vengeance, and you may retain your lands, army, and subjects. If you do not heed our advice and dispute with us, line up your soldiers and get ready for the field of battle, for we have our loins girded for battle with you and are standing at the ready. When I lead my troops in wrath against Baghdad, even if you hide in the sky or in the earth, ‘I shall bring you down from the turning celestial sphere; I shall pull you up like a lion. I shall not leave one person alive in your realm, and I shall put your city and country to the torch.’ “If you desire to have mercy on your ancient family’s heads, heed my advice. If you do not, let us see what God’s will is.” The Caliph refused Hulegu’s demands, and when he sent back Hulegu’s envoys, they were harassed by the people of Baghdad; the Caliph’s vizier, ibn al-Alqami, had to send soldiers to protect the envoys to ensure they weren’t killed. When Hulegu learned of the incident, he derided the Caliph as a total incompetent, and then flew into a rage when he heard the official response, which called Hulegu a young and inexperienced man: somewhat humorous, considering al-Mustasim was only four years older than Hulegu. Hulegu’s response was about as subtle as you’d expect. Again, as per the account of Rashid al-Din, quote: “God the eternal elevated [Chinggis] Khan and his progeny and gave us all the face of the earth, from east to west. Anyone whose heart and tongue are straight with us in submission retains his kingdom, property, women, children, and life. He who contemplates otherwise will not live to enjoy them. Love of status and property, conceit, and pride in transitory fortune have so seduced you that even the words of your well-wishers have no effect on you. Your ear cannot hear the advice of the compassionate, and you have deviated from the path of your fathers and forebears. You must get ready for battle, for I am coming to Baghdad with an army as numerous as ants and locusts. Be the turning of the celestial sphere how it may, the power to command is God’s.” Upon hearing this message, al-Mustasim’s vizier ibn al-Alqami understood the colossal danger they were in, and fervently argued for the Caliph to appease the Mongols. Al-Alqami has something of a bisecting reputation in the Islamic world. For some, reading the Mamluk sources, the Shia Muslim ibn al-Alqami was a conspirator, plotting with Hulegu to topple the head of Sunni Islam for his own gain. For those reading from Persian and Ilkhanid sources, ibn al-Alqami was earnestly trying to steer the Caliph away from annihilation and save as many lives as he could. On this last response from Hulegu, al-Alqami was able to convince al-Mustasim to send gifts, only for the Caliph to be talked out of it by the dawatdar, Mugahid al-Din Aybek, the Caliphate’s top military man and a staunch supporter of resistance against Hulegu. Convincing the Caliph to abandon the expensive gifts, al-Mustasim sent the following message to vizier al-Alqami to assuage his worries: “Do not fear the future, and do not talk fables, for there is friendship and unity, not enmity and hostility, between me and Hülägü and [Mongke Khaan]. Since I am their friend, they are of course friendly and benevolent toward me. The envoys’ message is false. Even if these brothers contemplate opposition to or treachery against me, what has the Abbasid dynasty to fear, when the monarchs of the face of the earth stand as our army and obey our every command? If I request an army from every country and mount to repulse the foe, I can incite Iran and Turan against these brothers. Be of stout heart, and do not fear the threats of the Mongols, for although they are powerful upstarts, they pose nothing but an empty threat to the House of Abbas.” If Rashid al-Din is accurate in recording this message, then it goes some way to demonstrate just how greatly al-Mustasim misunderstood the situation. al-Mustasim’s next letter to Hulegu spoke of monarchs who had attacked the ‘Abbasids and suffered divine retribution for it, noting specifically Muahmmad Khwarezm-shah, who for his attack on Baghdad in 1217 suffered the power of Hulegu’s grandfather. Hulegu sent another threat, promising to bring the Caliph “down miserably into the jaws of a lion,” and had enough of parlay. Hulegu had only to check with the astrologers and diviners of his retinue in order to ensure the assault had good fortune. Variously they warned of failure, catastrophe, and death for harming the Caliph. Finally, Hulegu turned to the famed Iranian scholar rescued from the Nizari fortresses, Nasir al-Din Tusi, and asked what he thought of the matter. After thinking for a moment, Tusi told Hulegu that none of these things would happen. Hulegu asked what would. Tusi replied, “Hulegu Khan will take the Caliph’s place.” And that was enough for Hulegu. The border passes were now secured, and the march on Baghdad could begin. As Hulegu marched through Kermanshah, massacres followed him. His army approached Baghdad in three directions. Kitbuqa took a route through Luristan, and would march on Baghdad from the south. Baiju Noyan came through northern Iraq, crossing the Tigris near Irbil and closing in on Baghdad’s west and north. Hulegu took the main army through the Hulwan pass and would close off Baghdad from the east, thus encircling the city. As the armies entered Iraq, cities and towns across Mesopotamia surrendered to them. In January 1258 as the Mongols closed in on the city, the Caliphal army under the Dawatdar tried to repulse Baiju’s army. They were lured into a feigned retreat; a dyke was broken and their camp flooded. Few survivors escaped back to Baghdad. By January 22ned, the Mongol armies had linked up around the city. Not just Mongols, but subject Iranians, Turks, Georgians and Armenians made up this force, with a thousand Chinese siege engineers. The defenders of Baghdad were outnumbered and without hope. For a week, the Mongols prepared their siege lines. Pontoon bridges were built across the Tigris, nets and iron hooks hanging from them to ensure none could escape either up or downriver. No stones for the catapults were within the area, so they needed to be hauled in from elsewhere. A ditch was dug around the city, the earth from the ditch used to build a rampart with gates set in it. Protective coverings were built for the siege engines. With the typical thoroughness of the early Toluids, Baghdad was closed off, its fate sealed. The assault began on January 29th. An incessant barrage of stones and arrows brought the defenders to their knees. The artillery upon the walls of Baghdad was poorly maintained and outranged by that of the Mongols, useless in the words of one source. Under mobile wooden shelters, the Mongols advanced on the walls, sending arrows deeper into the city. One of the Caliph’s daughters was killed when an arrow passed through a window in his palace. Messages were tied to arrows, proclaiming that all those who did not resist would be spared. By the start of February, towers and bastions along the walls were collapsing. By February 3rd, Mongol forces were capturing the walls. When one of Hulegu’s commanders was killed by an arrow sent from the city, he angrily forced his army on at greater speed. Realizing just how monumentally he had erred, al-Mustasim sent envoys, among them the once bellicose Dawatdar, to discuss terms with Hulegu. They were quickly put to death. Nothing but the unconditional surrender of the Caliph himself was good enough. Finally, on February 10th, al-Mustasim and his family came out from Baghdad, and put his life in the hands of Hulegu. Initially, the Caliph was treated respectfully. Other notables came out to submit to Hulegu, and many others fled out of the city to escape the pestilence which had already claimed thousands within. These who came out were trapped between the walls of Baghdad and the Mongol palisade. Once the garrison and its weapons were collected, on the 13th of February, the sack of Baghdad began. In popular culture, the sack of Baghdad is uncontrolled, disorganized, horrifically violent and results in the city’s utter destruction and death of a million people. In reality it was controlled, organized, horrifically violent and resulted in only most of the city’s destruction and deaths of thousands. Rather than wiping Baghdad from the map, it was more of an organized dismemberment. Evidence comes from multiple accounts, but we’ll focus on that of the musician, Urmawi. In contrast to the image of the mob running wild over Baghdad, Urmawi’s account, recorded by the Mamluk historian Shihab al-Din al-’Umari, records the Mongols meticulously planned the sacking. Depending on rank, commanders were given 1 to 3 days to collect loot from sections of the city allotted to them. In Urmawi’s case, his neighbourhood was allotted to Baiju Noyan and his retinue- notably just men Baiju picked to bring into the city with him, rather than a whole portion of his army. Urmawi greeted Baiju with gifts and hosted a feast for him, entertaining him with music and ingratiating himself to the Noyan. Baiju was so pleased he urged Urmawi to come with him to play before Hulegu. Hulegu enjoyed a concert before the walls of Baghdad, ordered Urmawi’s neighbourhood spared and protected with picked men, and even granted Urmawi gardens which had belonged to the Caliph. Likewise, various sources note that a number of segments of the populations were spared and their property protected: Christians, notably Nestorian priests; Shi’ites and Alids; Khurasani merchants, Qadis, scholars, shaykhs and in one source, Jews. Individuals are mentioned petitioning Hulegu to spare their homes- likely for a hefty payment, of course- but in order to follow these orders, the forces looting the city had to be disciplined enough to actually take note of addresses. Even the oft-repeated statement that the Tigris River ran black with ink of the books of Baghdad’s library must be re-examined, for Nasir al-Din Tusi took many with him to Maragha, where he built his famous observatory. A number of sources indicate the city’s looting lasted only a week, rather than a full month. Clemency was extended to multiple groups… but for the majority of the city’s population who did not fall into these categories, it appears no quarter was given. For all the gated neighbourhoods like Urmawi’s which were protected, many more were gutted and looted. Treasures collected over the city’s 500 years were stolen, the finest architecture of the ‘Abbasids ruined and torn down. Hulegu entered the city on February 15th, visiting the Caliph’s palace, where al-Mustasim was forced to reveal where he had hidden his wealth. 12,000 severed ears were brought before Hulegu to mark the slain citizenry. The dead littered the street; after a few days, the heat and stench of the rotting bodies led Hulegu to end the looting by February 20th. Notably, the city was not to be left to brigandage: a governor and Mongol officials were appointed, ibn al-Alqami kept his position as vizier, to clean up the bodies and restore the city. On the 20th of February, Hulegu moved to the village of Waqaf to avoid the foul air of Baghdad, from which he apparently fell sick. At Waqaf, Hulegu had al-Mustasim put to death, most likely rolled into a carpet and stomped upon to avoid spilling his blood on the earth. His family soon followed him. In European accounts, the popular version was that Hulegu locked Mustasim in his treasury, where he starved to death in an ironic punishment to mark the Caliph’s failures to pay for troops and defences. So ended the 500 year old ‘Abbasid Caliphate. The impact on Islam is hard to understate. Since the death of the Prophet Muhammad in 632, there had been a widely recognized successor to him in the form of the Caliphs -Rashidun, Umayyad and ‘Abbasid. Most Muslims saw him as the spiritual, if not the actual political, head of Islam. For the Caliphate, seemingly inviolable and permanent, to come to such a violent and sudden end sent shockwaves throughout the Islamic world. Caliphates had been overthrown before; previous dynasties like the Buyids and Seljuqs had held the Caliphs as puppets and militarily defeated them, while the Nizari Assassins had claimed the lives of at least two; but never before had the Caliphate actually been erased from existence by a power claiming universal sovereignty in its place. Distant relations of al-Mustasim were eventually set up in Mamluk Cairo as new Caliphs, but were never widely recognized. The Ottoman Sultans would also claim the title of Caliph in time, but none have ever been able to step into the position held by the ‘Abbasids. It’s no surprise that many Muslims throughout the following centuries have referred to the sack of Baghdad as a scar of the psyche of the ummah, one which it has not recovered from today. With the fall of Baghdad, Hulegu could now cast his eyes onto Syria, down the Levantine coast to the newly established Mamluk Sultanate of Egypt. The sense was real that Hulegu was about to bring the whole of Islam under the authority of the house of Chinggis. Our next episode takes us to the Mongol drive to the Meditteranean- and the famous clash of ‘Ayn Jalut, an episode you won’t want to miss. Be sure to subscribe to our podcast, and to help up continue bringing you great content, consider supporting us on Patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one.
Before we get into this week's episode, I want to give a shout out to another podcast that we’ve recently discovered here at Ages of Conquest! Pax Britannica is a narrative history podcast on the British Empire. Season 1 covered the start of English colonisation in North America and the Caribbean, the first decades of the East India Company, and the ruthless politics of the British Isles. Season 2 has just begun on the Wars of the Three Kingdoms. Civil war and revolution erupt in England, Ireland, and Scotland, pitting the forces of Charles I against his own subjects. By the end, the king will be dead, the monarchy abolished, and Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell will be at the head of a militarised and expansionist Commonwealth. If any of this sounds even remotely appealing, go give Pax Britannica a listen; available where all fine podcasts are downloaded. And now, on with OUR show! “You are to go with a large army and innumerable force from the borders of Turan to the country of Iran. Observe Chinggis Khan’s customs and yosun and yasa in all matters large and small. From the River Oxus to the farthest reaches of the land of Egypt, treat kindly and affectionately and reward sufficiently whoever obeys and submits to your orders. Grind beneath the feet of your wrath those who resist, along with their wives, children, and kith and kin. Begin with Quhistan and Khurasan, and destroy the fortresses and castles. Rip up GirdKoh and [Lammasar] fortress and turn them upside down! Neither let any bastion remain in the world nor leave a pile of dust standing! When you are finished there, head for Persia and eliminate the Lurs and Kurds who constantly practice brigandage along the highways. If the Caliph of Baghdad comes out to pay homage, harass him in no way whatsoever. If he is prideful and his heart and tongue are not one, let him join the others. In all cases make your clear-sighted intelligence and golden mind your guide and leader, and be awake and sober in all situations. Let the subjects be free of excessive taxes and impositions. Return devastated lands to a flourishing state. Conquer the realm of the rebellious through the might of the great god so that your summer and winter pastures may be many. Consult Doquz Khatun on all matters.” So were the orders Mongke Khaan, Great Khan of the Mongol Empire, gave to his brother Hulegu on the outset of his campaign in 1253, according to the Ilkhanid vizier Rashid al-Din. Among the most famous of the Mongol campaigns, Hulegu led Mongol armies to destroys the Ismaili Assassins in Iran, the ‘Abbasid Caliph in Baghdad and into Syria, the prelude to the famous clash at Ayn Jalut. As this is perhaps the Mongol campaign with the greatest surviving detail, and one of the most well known, we’re going to take you on a thorough look at Hulegu’s western march, beginning with the destruction of the so-called “Order of Assassin.” I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Hulegu, the famed sacker of Baghdad, was the younger brother of Great Khan Mongke and Kublai, the third son of Tolui with Sorqaqtani. As mentioned back in episode 23, Mongke Khaan took the throne in 1251 with a renewed drive to complete the Mongol conquest of the world. He organized administrative reforms, censuses, and new taxes to levy the forces of the empire for this goal. In 1252, he held a meeting in Mongolia to put this next round of conquest in motion, placing his brothers at the head of two great armies. Kublai was sent against the Kingdom of Dali, in China’s modern Yunnan province, as the opening move in the conquest of Song Dynasty. Hulegu meanwhile was to march west and subdue the few independent powers of the Islamic world: specifically, the Nizari Ismailis, popularly known as the Assassins; the Kurds and Lurs of western Iran, who annoyed the Great Khan through their brigandage, and the ‘Abbasid Caliph of Baghdad. There is discrepancy in the sources as to what precisely Hulegu’s mandate was. A number of later authors of the Ilkhanate- the state which emerged from Hulegu’s conquests- assert that Mongke intended for the area from the Amu Darya River to the Meditteranean to be ruled by Hulegu as another ulus, or Khanate of the empire, a counterbalance to those of Jochi and Chagatai, a sort of Toluid axis across Asia sandwiching the Chagatayids. This is hardly agreed upon however. Other sources present Hulegu’s command as a temporary military one. The Ilkhanid vizier and historian Rashid al-Din wrote that Mongke told Hulegu to return to Mongolia once he had achieved his tasks; Hulegu had to confer with his commanders on all strategic decisions, which included representatives from the houses of Jochi, Chagatai and even Ogedai, a first amongst equals rather than an almighty prince; and when Hulegu began to seize Jochid possessions in Iran, Khurasan and the Caucasus after Mongke’s death, it seems to have taken them quite by surprise, for in the early 1250s Mongke confirmed grants of Caucasian territory to the house of Jochi. It’s likely that Mongke had intended for Iran and much of the Middle East to be dominated by the Central Imperial Government, but did not intend to remove land rights the other branches of the family enjoyed in the region. So, who was Hulegu? Born in 1217, he was two years younger than Kublai, almost ten years younger than Mongke, and a few years older than their youngest brother, Ariq Boke. His life before the ascension of Mongke is almost totally unknown to us, but he presumably received similar education in both governing and warfare to his brothers. While Mongke was groomed for the possibility of stepping into the imperial throne, Hulegu, to our knowledge, was not provided any such pretensions. He was well exposed to other religions and cultures; his mother, Sorqaqtani was a Nestorian Christian, as was his most influential wife, Doquz Khatun, who had been a widow of his father Tolui. Despite this, he showed more personal interest in Buddhism, though he took part in shamanistic practices throughout his recorded life. He was interesedt in science, especially astronomy, though for Hulegu this was more so in the form of astrology, which he often consulted for major decisions. He was a heavy drinker, with the lovely combination of often flying into horrific rages. Even reading pro-Ilkhanid sources like Rashid al-Din, who long served the descendants of Hulegu, one is shocked by the regularity in which Hulegu fell into a towering rage, which tended to be quite dangerous for whomever it was targeted at. His final years were marked by ill health, brought on excessive drinking, and at least one source indicates he suffered from epilepsy. With the quriltai of 1252, the plan to finalize the conquest of western Asia was set, and Hulegu put in motion. A member of Mongke’s keshig was provided for Hulegu’s command, Kitbuqa of the Naiman tribe, also a Nestorian Christian. Kitbuqa departed as Hulegu’s vanguard in August 1252 with 12,000 men, beginning operations against the Ismailis in eastern Iran. Various sources give Hulegu’s own departure from Mongolia as Autumn 1253 or 1254. By the 1250s, the Mongols had an absolutely massive army: some estimates put the nomadic soldiers at their disposal upwards of one million men, and many more among the sedentary peoples across Eurasia to be called upon. Mongke provided Hulegu with a relatively small contingent of Mongols at the outset: perhaps as low as a tumen, 10,000 men, for Hulegu in addition to the 12,000 Kitbuqa had already set out with. As Hulegu moved west, his army snowballed, as contingents from across the empire met with him. 1,000 Chinese siege engineers and crossbowmen were provided for him. Most of the former warriors of the house of Ogedai were conscripted for Hulegu’s army. He was joined by a contingent of Oirats under Buqa Temur, the brother of Hulegu’s first senior wife, named somewhat amusingly, Guyuk. A grandson of Chagatai, Teguder, headed the perhaps 10,000 Chagatayid troops provided for Hulegu as he marched through their ulus. As many as 30,000 troops under the Jochid princes Balaghai, Quli and Tutar were provided by Batu. Tamma forces stationed in Kashmir and in the Caucasus, under Baiju Noyan, would also link up with Hulegu, and forces were supplied by all the client sultans, maliks, and atabegs of Iran, the Caucasus and Anatolia. By the time Hulegu’s army converged on Baghdad at the start of 1258, he commanded perhaps 150,000 men if not more. Extensive preparation was necessary for this army’s movement. We are told that roads were cleared of obstructions, bridges built and boats readied to cross rivers. All the pastures and meadows on Hulegu’s route were reserved for the feeding of his army’s horses and livestock. Flour and skins of wine were levied from across the subject populations and stored at depot stations along the way. Thanks to the census launched at the start of Mongke’s reign, the imperial government had a good idea of what could be called upon to provide for Hulegu’s army. By Autumn 1255 Hulegu was near Samarkand, where he rested for 40 days, feasting with the head of the Secretariat for Central Asia, Mas’ud Beg. Another month was spent at Kish, about 80 kilometres south of Samarkand and the later birthplace of amir Temur, or Tamerlane. There, Hulegu feasted with the head of the Secretariat for Iran and Western Asia, Arghun Aqa. These were not just engagements for drinking (though there certainly was that) but to confer with the regional administrators and line up further provisions, troops and intelligence. At Kish, messengers were sent to vassals across Iran calling upon them to provide troops and assistance against the Ismaili assassins, whose territory Hulegu entered in the spring of 1256. This takes us to Hulegu’s first target, the Assassins, which we’ll introduce and address some popular myths. Though popularly known as the Order of the Assassins, this is quite the misnomer; more accurately called the Nizari Ismaili state, they controlled a number of fortresses and settlements in three general regions; in Syria, centered around Masyaf; in the rugged eastern Iranian region called Quhistan; and in northwestern Iran’s Alburz mountain, where their leadership was based across several mountain fortresses, most famously Alamut. Leadership of the branches in Quhistan and Masyaf was generally appointed by Alamut, but were autonomous otherwise. Shi’a Muslims, specifically Ismailis, in the late 1080s and 1090s the Ismaili Fatimid Caliphate in Egypt suffered a succession dispute as to who would succeed the Imam, the rather distant successor to the Prophet Muhammad and ehad of Shi’a Islam. The supporters of one candidate, Nizar, were known as Nizaris, and hence, Nizari Ismailis. For the majority of Muslims, who were Sunnis, the Nizaris were seen as a sect within a sect, and heretics par excellence. At the same time as this succession dispute an Ismaili revolt broke out in Seljuq ruled Iran. In 1090, Hassan-i Sabbah captured the fortress of Alamut, while other adherents seized territory in Quhistan and elsewhere. The last of the Great Seljuqs, Sultan Malik-Shah I, attempted to crush them, but his untimely death, and the ensuing succession risis which splintered the vast Seljuq Empire, allowed the Ismailis to consolidate. Geographically spread out and lacking great economic or military power, they had to rely on other means to protect themselves and convince their neighbours to not attack them. One tool was assassinations, making a big splash with the murder of the Great Seljuq Vizier Nizam al-Mulk in 1092. Alongside well defended and inaccessible fortresses, it was a useful deterrent for any would-be conqueror. The assassinations were often public and dramatic to make the message as loud as possible. One method was for Ismailis to infiltrate the households of powerful figures as servants: they could then kill the man when he became too great a danger, or leave a warning, such as a knife, on the sleeping man’s pillow. The threat of assassination was as effective as an actual assassination, and soon anyone could be worried he had a secret Nizari Ismaili hiding in his entourage. Because of this, popular myths that the Ismaili imbued copious amounts of hashish before going on assassinations can be ignored. There is no evidence for this, and it’s unlikely considering the patience and planning that went into these missions. However, the appellation of them as heavy users of hashish stuck, hashishiyya, which became “assassin.” So the Nizaris carried on for over a century. Hassan-i Sabbah and his successors, without any clear imam after Nizar’s death in 1095, basically stepped into the role themselves. The Ismaili leaders -popularly known in the West as ‘the Old Man of the Mountain,’- were generally long reigning without succession disputes, withstanding outside pressures while they mulled over doctrine, all the while being decried as just the worst sort of heretic by Sunni Muslims. In 1210, the ascension of the new imam and Ismaili leader, Hassan III, brought something of a rapprochement. Generally, the Ismailis had poor relations with the head of Sunni Islam, the ‘Abbasid Caliphs in Baghdad. They had after all claimed responsibility for the murders of two Caliphs in the 1130s. Yet Hassan III dramatically declared he followed the Sunni Sharia and fostered better relations with both the Caliph and other neighbouring Sunni rulers, such as Ozebg, the Eldeguzid Atabeg of Azerbaijan, and Muhammad II Khwarezm-shah. According to ‘Ata-Mailk Juvaini, a member of Hulegu’s entourage, Hassan III was also the first monarch west of the Amu Darya to submit to Chinggis Khan. Despite his state being largely surrounded by the Khwarezmian Empire, Ismaili fortresses in the Elburz Mountains and Quhistan were spared Mongol attacks. Indeed, Quhistan was a veritable island of security as the Mongols overran the Khwarezmian Empire. Juzjani, a Sunni Khwarezmian refugee who fled to Quhistan before later finding refuge in Delhi, describes the Ismailis in glowing terms. Hassan III’s successor, ‘Ala al-Din Muhammad III, abandoned the overtures to the ‘Abbasid Caliph, but maintained the ties with the Mongols. When Jalal al-Din Mingburnu returned to western Iran in the mid 1220s, the Ismailis had no love for him and assassinated at least one of his lieutenants. When major Mongol forces returned to the region under Chormaqun Noyan at the start of the 1230s, the Ismailis provided valuable information on the whereabouts and weaknesses of Jalal al-Din, and within a year the Khwarezmian Prince was driven to his death. The details of the Mongol relationship with the Ismails for the next decade is difficult to discern. In 1246 Ismaili representatives came to the coronation of Guyuk Khaan in Mongolia, where they were insulted and sent off. Precisely what occurred is unclear. A possible reconstruction is offered by historian Timothy May in his article on the “Mongol-Ismaili Alliance.” He suggests the positive Mongol-Ismaili relationship was a case of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” No record is made of Mongol demands for troops or tribute from the Ismailis, and it may have been that while powerful Khwarezmian elements were still extant, relative Ismaili independence was permitted as they were useful allies. After Mingburnu’s death in 1231, and especially after the death of Chormaqun in 1241, Mongol demands on the Ismailis may have increased, and in the early 1230s the Mongols annexed Ismaili controlled Damghan. The Ismailis were so concerned that in 1238, the English Monk Matthew Paris recorded that representatives of “the Old Man of the Mountain,” had come to England and France trying to organize a Christian-Muslim alliance against the Mongols, warning the King of England that “if they themselves could not withstand the attacks of such people, nothing remained to prevent their devastating the countries of the west.” Three years later, Mongol armies under Subutai and Batu crossed the Carpathian Mountains into Hungary. Back in the Middle East, one Mongol commander, Chagatai Noyan “the Lesser,” may have moved to enforce demands on the Ismailis, and was assassinated at some point in the early 1240s. Perhaps intended as just a warning, the Ismailis realised this was a mistake and sent representatives to Guyuk’s coronation in 1246. The Mongols were never forgiving of such things, and the destruction of the Ismailis was added to the agenda. An opportunity to actually do this didn’t present itself until the reign of Mongke Khan. The qadi of Qazwin, a city south of Alamut and quite antagonist to the Ismailis, came to Mongke’s court and revealed, in quite the breach of etiquette, that he had a suit of maille worn underneath his robes, claiming that his fear of the Ismailis was so great even in the Mongol court he needed this protection. When the Franciscan Friar William of Rubruck came to Mongke’s court in 1253, he heard rumours that 400 assassins had been dispatched to kill Mongke, and the Mongols were concerned enough that they were checking and interrogating everyone entering Karakorum. The threat of the assassins was taken seriously, and on Mongke’s directive Hulegu would treat the assassins very seriously By then, the only independent power within proximity to Alamut was, somewhat ironically, the Caliph in Baghdad. The Ismailis stood alone against the incoming might of Hulegu. In the winter of 1255, as Hulegu stood at the border of Ismaili Quhistan, the imam ‘Ala al-Din Muhammad was murdered, quite likely on the instigation of his young and inexperienced son, Rukn al-Din Khwurshah, who then ascended to the imamate. ‘Ala al-Din was long on bad terms with his son, and seems to have suffered some sort of mental decline as news of Hulegu’s overwhelming force approached. Rukn al-Din may have thought himself capable of maneuvering them out of the impending disaster, but would have no success in the matter. In the spring of 1256, Hulegu and his ever growing army entered Quhistan. Kitbuqa had been campaigning throughout the region since 1253, but had had no success in holding settlements like Tun, Ismaili Quhistan’s chief city, taking them only to lose them once he moved on. The Ismaili fortresses, built on imposing mountains and hard to access sites, proved beyond his means to siege. On Hulegu’s arrival, the dynamic was quickly changed. Vague ‘incidents’ mentioned by Juvaini and Rashid al-Din as Hulegu entered the region may refer to Ismaili attacks in some form, but Hulegu’s army was beyond compare. The chief cities of Quhistan fell within days, and by the summer Kitbuqa led the vanguard to Mazandaran and raiding parties probed towards Alamut. Once Quhistan was subdued, Hulegu moved west, skirting around the edge of Iran’s uninhabitable Great Salt Desert, the Dasht-e Kevir, to arrive at the eastern endof the Alburz mountains. Near Damghan stood the Ismaili fortress of Girdkuh; Kitbuqa had first attempted to attack it in May of 1253. Hulegu committed more troops for it, then moved on. The castle, receiving only minor reinforcement from Alamut, held out until 1271. Such was the design of these fortresses when properly defended. Rukn al-Din Khwurshah was within the fortress of Maymundiz, downstream of Alamut towards the western end of the Alburz mountains. As Hulegu moved westwards along the Alburz, he sent messengers to Rukn al-Din, demanding his submission. He was nervous, and as Hulegu’s second set of messengers arrived at the beginning of September 1256, Rukn al-Din was convinced to offer submission by the captive scholar, polymath, mathematician, astronomer and theologian, Nasir al-Din Tusi. Tusi was a much, much smarter man than Rukn al-Din Khwurshah and well respected. Having lived through Chinggis Khan’s destruction of Khwarezm, Tusi calculated that a lengthy Mongol siege wouldn’t be very healthy for anyone left inside the citadel. Therefore, on Tusi’s urging, Rukn al-Din sent his brother to Hulegu, offering the submission of the Ismailis. Hulegu thought this was nice, and treated Rukn al-Din’s brother well. He then sent another embassy with demands that Rukn al-Din tear down the Ismaili forts. Rukn al-Din was slow to respond; Hulegu was quick to advance. The token attempt by the Ismaili leader to abate Hulegu by abandoning 5 lesser castles and demolishing a few towers on Alamut, Maymundiz and Lammasar did not succeed. Unwittingly, Rukn al-Din was caught in a nerge, a Mongol hunting circle, as multiple armies converged on him from several directions and trapped him. As the armies neared Maymundiz, taking castles and settlements as they went, Rukn al-Din frantically sent a son and another brother to Hulegu, to no avail, hoping to at least stall until the cold of winter set in. By the 7th of November 1256, the three armies had Maymundiz surrounded. Hulegu needed a quick victory. So many troops and horses needed a vast quantity of feed, the local environment was depleted and winter was forthcoming. Hulegu demanded provisions from across Iran and the Caucasus be delivered and, as if the seasons themselves adhered to the bidding of the Great Khan, the winter was mild and refused to hampher the Mongols as they approached Maymundiz. Once the armies were arrayed outside of the fortresses, Hulegu surveyed the site. Like so many Ismaili fortresses, Maymundiz was perched on a mountaintop, and hard to access. But Hulegu had his plan. Fighting began on November 12th, 1256. The first weapons Hulegu brought forth were the kaman-i-gav, as they were known in Persian sources, generally taken to refer to the ox-bow, a Chinese siege machine which was essentially a large, mounted crossbow. These were not for destroying walls, but for picking off defenders. The writer ‘Ata-Malik Juvaini, who accompanied Hulegu on his sieges of the Ismaili cities describes “meteoric shafts,” from these weapons “burning up” the “devil-like heretics” of Maymundiz, in constrast to stones cast by the defenders which could only hurt single persons. Historian Stephen Haw postulates that this is a reference to gunpowder weapons being used by the Mongols, in the form of explosives tied to the shafts fired from the oxbow, perhaps propelling it as an early rocket. A common critique of this argument is that such poetic language is rather typical of Juviani’s writing, and nowhere else in Hulegu’s campaign does he appear to use such dramatic weapons. By November 17th, Hulegu’s teams had constructed their catapults and hauled them to a nearby hilltop. It’s possible that these were not just traction style Chinese catapults, but those of the counterweight variety- trebuchets. It’s not specified in written sources that Hulegu used them, but we know they were used by the Mongols by the 1270s, in addition to artwork from later in the century depicting them. Some modern authors like Michael S. Fulton believe the speed at which the major fortresses and cities of the region fell to Hulegu, even those of stone as opposed to stamped earth or mud brick, indicate the usage of counterweighted artillery. Far more powerful with greater range than man-powered traction catapults, instead of teams of men hauling on ropes, the counterweight catapult relied on, well, a counterweight instead, using gravity to propel the projectile with much greater force. Some authors also assert that the Chinese had their own counterweight catapult which the Mongols also used, but the matter is contentious, our sources providing no illumination. The Mongols differed in their usage of artillery by relying on constant barrages. Their access to a large number of knowledgeable engineers, teams of specialists and overseers allowed them to keep up an unceasing rate of fire day and night, often from dozens of machines at once. For the defenders huddled behind the walls, psychologically it was exhausting. Aside from stones, naphtha, a petroleum-based weapon, was hurled into the city to start fires. Gunpowder bombs may have been lobbed as well. Unused to such weapons, especially in the form of the noise and smell they made, the impact must have seemed unearthly. After less than a week of bombardment, Rukn al-Din Khwurshah surrendered, and the Mongols soon demolished Maymundiz. Hulegu received the Khwurshah kindly, for he needed him. Through his mediation, Rukn al-Din convinced some 40 odd Ismaili strongholds to surrender to Hulegu and tear down their walls. Alamut and Lammasar held out, and both were put under siege. Rukn al-Din was able to get Alamut’s garrison to come to terms, and it surrendered by December 15th. Briefly, Hulegu went sight-seeing around the castle after it surrendered, amazed by the size of the mountain, the many storerooms and indomitable defenses. It certainly saved him some time to not have to storm it! ‘Ata-Malik Juvaini was able to get permission to take some of the rare and useful tomes from Alamut’s library before the fortress was destroyed and its books burnt. Lammasar took a year to fall, but fall it did. Hulegu kept Rukn al-Din with him until the great majority of the Ismaili fortresses in Iran had submitted or been torn down. He humoured Rukn al-Din, granting him a Mongol wife and watching Rukn al-Din’s favourite sport of camel fighting. Helping the Mongols avoid many lengthy, difficult sieges on the well defended Ismaili strongholds saved Hulegu considerable effort, but personally Hulegu found him repellent. Once his usefulness was over, in early 1257 Hulegu shipped him off to Mongke Khaan to deal with. According to Rashid al-Din, when Mongke learned the Khwurshah was in Karakorum, he was annoyed and said, “why are they bringing him and tiring a horse uselessly?” then ordered Rukn al-Din’s death. Upon learning of this, Hulegu ordered the deaths of the rest of Rukn al-Din’s captive family, sparing only a young son. Some Ismaili traditions attest another son was snuck away and kept safe, raised as the next imam in secret, but such beliefs never found widespread acceptance. As far as we are concerned, the Nizari Ismaili state ceased to exist by the end of 1256, sparing a few holdouts in Iran and their castles in Syria, as yet untouched by the Mongols. Hulegu had completed the first of his tasks. After wintering near Lammasar and then Qazwin, in the early months of 1257 he set out west for the greatest target of the campaign: Baghdad, and the 500-year-old Abbasid Caliphate. So be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast to pick up with that next week. To help us continue bringing you great content, consider supporting us on Patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. I’m your host David, and we will catch you on the next one.
Most popular discussions of the Mongol invasions of Japan simply end with the typhoon of 1281 wiping out the Yuan fleet off the coast of Kyushu. This was not the end of Kublai Khan’s dreams to conquer Japan though, nor do such retellings present the long term consequences of the invasion. Today, we will do just that, describing what happened in the years after the events of the new video game, Ghost of Tsushima. Our previous two episodes have discussed the first invasion in 1274, the story of Takezaki Suenaga, a samurai who fought in both invasions, and went over in brief the invasion of 1281. If you’re following Kings and Generals on Youtube, then you’ve also seen one of our newest videos, focusing on the battles on Tsushima and Iki islands. Now, we’re going to tie together everything we’ve talked about, and how this huge expenditure of men and resources affected both Japan, and Kublai Khan’s Yuan Empire. I’m your host David, but just before we get to today's content, we here at Ages of Conquest would like to say thank you to you, our listeners who download the podcast every week. Your support is greatly appreciated and the reason we do this. You could help us even more by donating through our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals or by leaving a five star review in your podcast app of choice! And now, this is,Ages of Conquest. We’ll start off with the impact on Japan and then go into the consequences for Kublai later on in the episode. In Japan, the impact was significant but not immediate. In the days after the typhoon in August 1281, the Japanese killed the Mongol and Korean survivors they found. The Chinese were spared the sword, instead enslaved with few returning. Though a victory, the Japanese government, the shogunate ruling from Kamakura city, was wary. It was impossible for them to judge the full might of the Yuan, and Mongol envoys continued to arrive over the next few years demanding Japanese submission. In preparation for a third invasion, defences continued to be manned, the long sea wall built around Hakata Bay maintained, and garrisons stationed for the next 50 years. The Bakufu -the Japanese term for the shogunate- again considered launching an attack against Korea, the departing point for Mongol fleets in both invasions. Korean naval experience and ships were an important part of Mongol naval capabilities. It’s difficult to gauge how far these talks actually went, but they never materialized into anything concrete. The shikken, Japan’s de facto ruler, Hojo Tokimune, kept Japan on a war footing, a process which consolidated the power of the Bakufu, especially on Kyushu island where the fighting had happened. This was valuable, due to the rather… wonky nature of Japanese government. The shikken was officially regent for the shogun, who was ruling in the name of the emperor, who still had his own court, but the actual power in the court was the peculiar Japanese position of the retired emperor, or emperor emeritus. Sometimes called ‘cloistered rule,’ an emperor would retire after a short reign, and then allow a son to become emperor, who dealt with court protocol and ceremony while the retired emperor made the actual decisions. During this period, the shogun was also the grandson of the late emperor Go-Daigo. Of course, this isn’t mentioning the layers of regional and local lords and vassals the government worked through. Officially the shikken could only boss around vassals of the shogun, and was in theory only in charge of military matters. The crisis brought on by the Mongol threat was a great opportunity to expand the power of the bakufu, placing allies and members of the Hojo clan into prominent military governor positions, bringing these into the direct hold of the bakufu. The only troops the bakufu could raise were the gokenin, or‘housemen,’ the vassals of the shogun. But in the danger of the oncoming second invasion, non-gokenin forces in western Japan were mobilized, making the precedent for increased military reach of the bakufu. In 1281 Hojo Tokimune was still young with foresight and great energy, and intended to further strengthen his family’s hold on Japan. What more would he get away with using the justification of another Mongol attack! The position of the shogun and the emperor were totally compliant to Tokimune, and factions within his own clan were kept tightly in check. What might have been, had Tokimune not suddenly died in April 1284, only 34 years old. He was succeeded by his son, Hojo Sadatoki, too young to rule in earnest. The young Sadatoki was dominated by two advisors, Adachi Yasumori and Taira Yoristuna. The two had been at odds for years, but Tokimune had kept the peace. Without his presence, their cooperation could only be temporary. In late 1285, Taira Yoristuna and his faction suddenly attacked and killed Adachi Yasumori, leaving Yoristuna to control the young Sadatoki. From 1285 until 1293, Japan was ruled by the regent of the regent acting for the shogun acting for the emperor, who was also sidelined by the retired emperor. The murder of Adachi Yasumori sent shockwaves across the bakufu. A popular man who had been energetic in promoting judicial reforms, his death prompted murders and suicides of Adachi loyalists and family, as well as armed revolts in Kyushu. The loss of many prominent officers was a first blow to the bakufu’s governing ability. Taira Yoritsuna also had to deal with the growing discontent of the samurai clamouring for rewards after the 1281 invasion. As we discussed in our previous episode, it was the custom for samurai to be rewarded for bravery in battle, generally with land confiscated from the defeated enemy. After the Genpei War, which saw the rise of the Shogunate in the 1190s, a whole class of land owning samurai was created, the gokenin, rewarding loyal samurai who fought for the Minamoto clan with inhabited lands. They’d collect the revenues, send part to the shogun and use the remainder to support themselves; the lands could then be inherited by their children. By the 1280s, these lands had been parcelled up and divided, and then divided again, leaving many of the gokenin facing destitution. Enough gokenin were forced to sell or pawn their lands that by the late 1260s the bakufu was issuing laws forbidding this and ordering lands to be returned. For many, the rewards they expected to receive from fighting the Mongols was the difference between maintaining the status quo and impoverishment. The Kamakura Bakufu proved slow to doll out the rewards: under Taira Yoristuna, the rewards largely went to important Hojo and Bakufu supporters, leaving out the poorer gokenin who actually needed it. A large group of well armed men with little stake in the status quo was gradually being formed. In 1293, the shikken Hojo Sadatoki had Taira Yoristuna and his supporters assassinated, ushering in an era of attempted centralization. Sadatoki was only 24 years old in 1293 and wanted to consolidate the power of the bakufu like his father, largely through force and largely unsuccessfully. He struggled to reduce factionalism within the bakufu, and tried to employ the gokenin in suppressing bandity and piracy. Too late was it realized that in many cases the bandits were the gokenin, and such suppression efforts proved futile. All while dealing with the expenditure of continuing to prepare for a Mongol return. When Sadatoki died in 1311, he was remembered as a tired politician who had decreed innumerable death sentences. Sadatoki was succeeded by a nine year old son, Takatoki, dominated by his advisers. Largely ignoring political matters, even when he came of age he was unable, and unwilling, to exert a redirection on the ailing Bakufu. Takatoki was a poor figure to match another growing threat facing the bakufu. Back in 1221 the retired emperor Go-Toba attempted to throw off the rule of the Hojo, only to be quickly defeated and Hojo rule secured. In the aftermath, the Hojo asserted greater power over the emperors, including the mandate to decide the imperial succession as needed, though generally left this to the retired emperor. Since the 11th century, the retired emperors held authority and influence over the sitting emperors, just to add that extra layer of confusion to medieval Japanese politics. The Bakufu had a particularly good relationship with the emperor Go-Saga, who reigned as Japan’s 88th emperor, ruling from 1242 to 1246 but acting as retired emperor until his death in 1272. Go-Saga’s son Prince Munetaka became Shogun in 1251, his next son was the 89th Emperor, Gofukakusa and a third son was the 90th emperor, Kameyama, reigning until his retirement in 1274. Go-Saga had never declared whether Gofukakusa or Kameyama would control the succession, anticipating that the Bakufu would simply decide. In theory Gofukakusa, as the senior retired-emperor on Go-Saga’s death in 1272, had control over the succession. The Bakufu sought the opinion of Go-Saga’s widow, who told them to instead choose Kameyama. For the first time in 200 years the sitting emperor, Kameyama, was dominant over the retired emperor, Gofukakusa. It was a step towards the empowerment of the emperors which led to the downfall of the Bakufu. A consequence of this was both Gofukakusa and Kameyama each thought his own children should sit on the Chrysanthemum Throne. When Kameyama retired in 1274 he declared his son to succeed him as the 91st Emperor, Go-Uda. When it was apparent that Gofukakusa was angry at this, the Bakufu made an unusual decision: they declared that the throne would alternate between the two lines, with Go-Uda to make his heir Gofukakusa’s son, the future 92nd Emperor, Fushimi. The motive isn’t exactly clear: historian Ishii Susuma has suggested this was a means of control. Facing the threat of the Mongol invasion, the first in 1274 and a second sure to follow, the Bakufu may have believed tightly controlling the imperial succession was another way to secure their power in the crisis of the Mongol threat. Whatever the case, the Bakufu now interfered with the succession at will, demanding the resignation of an emperor whenever rumour reached them of anti-Bakufu sentiment. By the early 1300s the alternating succession was formalized, and the antagonism between the lines of Gofukakusa and Kameyama institutionalized. By the time the two brothers died in 1304 and 1305, the competition between their families had gone on for some 30 years. By 1318 the Bakufu enforced further guidelines, limiting each emperor to a maximum ten year reign and forbidding the offspring of the new monarch, the 96th emperor Go-Daigo, a grandson of Kameyama, from ever taking the throne. For Go-Daigo, who dreamed of overthrowing the shogunate, this was infuriating. Luckily for Go-Daigo the time was ripe to topple the Kamakura Bakufu. The current shogun was Go-Daigo’s cousin, a grandson of Gofukakusa and an absolute non-entity. The shikken until 1326 was the distracted Takatoki, who retired that year and brought further crisis to the leadership of the bakufu. His successor resigned after only a month, due to an assassination attempt by Takatoki’s mother, who then installed Takatoki’s brother as the final shikken of the Kamakura Bakufu, Hojo Moritoki. The political leadership of the shogunate was hamstrung. The unrest among the gokenin and earlier banditry turned into rebellion, small armies emerging across Japan challenging the shogunate’s rule. Go-Daigo shopped for allies and didn’t have far to look. In 1333 Go-Daigo’s star general, the masterful tactician Kusunoki Misahige, defeated a Bakufu army. With their military might broken, or at least the longstanding belief in it, the key underpinning of Bakufu rule was removed. Bakufu commanders such as Ashikaga Takauji and Nitta Yoshisada joined the imperial cause.Yoshisada attacked the Bakufu’s capital of Kamakura. The leadership of the Hojo committed suicide and the Shogunate was dismantled. The Emperor was now back in real power for the first time in generations… for about three years. The aforementioned Ashikaga Takauji hadn’t fought for the restoration of imperial power, but rather, to make himself shogun: essentially, replace the Kamakura Bakufu with one led by his own family. Emperor Go-Daigo’s failure to reward his new military supporters with confiscated Kamakura lands alienated his fragile base of support. In 1335 some Hojo survivors briefly recaptured Kamakura, and this was the spark for Ashikaga Takauji’s own putsch. Retaking the city, Takauji acted as shogun, ordering lands of his political foes confiscated and redistributed. In 1336 Takauji marched on the imperial capital of Kyoto. Go-Daigo fled before him and when Takauji set up a puppet emperor in Kyoto from the line of Gofukakusa, Go-Daigo set up a rival court in the mountains south the city. So began the 60 year period in Japanese history known as the Northern and Southern Courts, with the Northern Court, based in Kyoto, puppets to legitimize the Ashikaga Shogunate, and a southern court officially challenging them. Not until 1392 was this settled and the long running conflict between the lines of Gofukakusa and Kameyama brought to an end. The Ashikaga Shogunate nominally ruled Japan until 1588, but never matched the strength of the Kamakura Bakufu. Though the Ashikaga Shoguns held high pretensions- the third Shogun called himself the King of Japan in official correspondence- over the 15th century their hold weakened precipitously, and by the 1490s Japan’s famous Sengoku Jidai period began, the warring states period which eventually yielded to the control of the Tokugawa Shoguns. The Mongol invasion on Japan undermined the Kamakura Bakufu, both causing and compounding fractures within the shogunate. Other than this, the impact of the invasion was much more limited, and not until recently was it seen as a ‘national’ event for the Japanese. On Kyushu, where the fighting had been and home of most of the actual defenders, the Mongol invasion held a high place in memory, shaping the identity of many warrior families. The island’s administration and judicial system were greatly affected, both by increasing Bakufu control and decades of preparing for Mongol returns. For the majority of Japanese though, other than the government shifts and conflicts, they saw little influence of the invasion on their lives. Claims that it prompted a shift in Japanese perceptions of the “foreign” have little basis in the 13th or 14th centuries. Samurai like Takezaki Suenaga saw it as just another battle for which to claim reward, rather than a national emergency: his own account simply calls the Mongols ‘pirates,’ or ‘rebels.’ The invasion did not prompt a national consciousness for Japan. Outside of Kyushu, after the 13th century wider Japanese interest in the invasions did not pick up until Takezaki Suenaga’s scrolls depicting the invasion began to be copied and distributed at the end of 1700s. Since the Samurai no longer had an actual military role by then, they were eager to celebrate the heroic combat of their ancestors -not because of victory over foreigners or civil wars, but that they had done brave deeds. If the slow distribution of the scrolls promoted knowledge of the invasions, it was the forced opening of Japan and interaction with western imperial pressure in the mid-1800s in which, retroactively, the Mongol invasions became the “first round” of ‘Japan vs the world.’ The Mongol invasion was a popular medium to depict the Americans and Europeans as invaders coming to Japan. The last of the Tokugawa Shoguns was ousted in 1868, and the 122nd emperor, Meiji, was the first to hold real power since the defeat of Go-Daigo some 500 years prior. Under Meiji, a national historiography was promoted to catch on to this new-fangled European idea of ‘nation-states.’ The Mongol Invasions were especially prominent in the new history textbooks, appearing on the currency and in popular art. With the boom in Japanese nationalism at the turn of the century and military victories over China and the Russian Empire, the Japanese government made the Mongol invasion a useful propaganda tool, presenting Japan as a divinely protected, and superior, nation to its foes. It’s roughly this time that the term kamikaze specifically came to be associated with the storms which marked the end of both invasion attempts. As we mentioned in previous episodes, the 13th and 14th century Japanese sources make little mention of the storms; divine support was seen in the fact that the Japanese won, rather than a specific manifestation via the storms. In the late 19th century, as both knowledge and popularity of the invasions grew, the storms became the sign of Japan’s divine favour, an idea which is now irrevocably tied to the invasions. The connotations of divine rescue in Japan’s hour of need reached their ultimate evolution with the kamikaze pilots of 1944, a last ditch effort to slow the American approach on the Japanese home islands. The consequences of the invasion on the Mongol Empire were not as significant. Kublai Khan’s immediate reaction to the defeat in August 1281 was to demand a third invasion. Envoys were again sent to Japan demanding its submission, and orders were sent across his realm for ships and rice for another attack. Only by 1286 were Kublai’s advisers able to dissuade him against another attack. Thought for invading Japan did not totally go away though: in 1280, the “Mobile Bureau for the Subjugation of Japan,” was established in Korea which was officially to prepare for further incursions. Dissolved and reformed several times, it became the highest arm of Mongol authority in Korea until the end of Yuan rule in the late 14th century. We will explore Kublai’s career in greater detail in future episodes, but by the mid-1280s his most trusted advisers, his chief and most beloved wife and his favourite son and heir were dead. Losing the only voices that could rein Kublai in, he became depressed, seeking solace in food and alcohol, suffering from gout and obesity. Japan was not his only failed foreign venture; he also ordered inconclusive invasions against Vietnam, Burma, Java and fought rebellions in Central Asia, Mongolia, Manchuria and Tibet. Having lost direct rule over the rest of the empire, the destruction of the fleets against Japan must have felt to Kublai like a failure to complete the Mongol conquest of the world. The defeats only deepened the morose of Kublai’s final years, but the invasion of Japan did not singularly cause this. More immediate effects were economic. The expenditure of men, ships and resources against Japan, and other overseas ventures, were enormous for no gain. To try to make up the difference, Kublai demanded his finance ministers bring in ever greater tribute and taxation. In Chinese sources, these men are called the “three Villainous Ministers,” or some variation thereof- Ahmad Fanakati, Lu Shirong and Sangha, who, in their attempts to meet the demands of the aging Khan, with some personal enrichment along the way, were accused of heinous crimes and greed, from stealing women to looting tombs of the Song Emperors. While some accusations are likely exaggerations, the impression gained by the Chinese was one of mistreatment, and undid much of the goodwill Kublai earned from his other reconstruction efforts. The 1280s up until Kublai’s death at the start of 1294 saw mismanagement and corruption set in which Kublai’s less able successors never shook off. The attacks did not end Japanese trade with China; it continued after Kublai’s death, but with increasing restriction and regulation ordered by the Yuan government. To protect themselves, Japanese ships coming to China came with armed men, which gave way easily to piracy. Hence, wako pirates once again threatened the Korean and Chinese coastlines from the 14th century on. To the Chinese and Mongols, they were left with an impression of the Japanese as tough warriors, but at that time little else was learned of them. Marco Polo, who arrived in China after the first invasion, provides the first European mention of Japan -Zipangu, he calls it- and a garbled version of the invasion. Describing the Japanese as incredibly wealthy, he describes the storm sinking the fleet, but with the addition that shipwrecked survivors were able to sneak into the Japanese capital city and take it, a paltry attempt to preserve the image of Mongol invincibility. It is from Polo’s account that Japan would first appear on European maps, some 200 years before Europeans first physically set foot on Japan in the 1540s. Our final note is a brief one; The sword used by the samurai at the time of the Mongol invasion was the tachi, a long, single-edged blade with a pronounced curvature. It seems to some extent the Japanese found the swords ill suited to the task, that the sword was deemed too fragile against either the Mongol armours, particularly full iron lamellar, or Mongol and Chinese swords which were shorter, thicker and sturdier made than the Japanese equivalents. As the Japanese did not use shields, attempts to block sword blows with the tachi may have resulted in significant chipping of the blade. According to the theory this spawned a need to redesign the tachi, making it stronger, shorter and somewhat straighter. The centralization of the Kamakura Bakufu and large mobilization of warriors resulted in hundreds, if not thousands, of men making the trips across Japan and to the capital and beyond. This provided a means to pass on technical knowledge of changing sword designs, and by the late 14th century spawned the emergence of a new weapon for the samurai: the katana. In that respect at least, the expansion of the Mongol Empire was an irregular road to providing a classic weapon for thousands of anime characters. Such is the nature of history! This ends our series on Mongol Invasions of Japan; hopefully you’ve listened to this, the previous episodes and our newest video while you’ve been playing Ghost of Tsushima, and perhaps learned something along the way. Our next episode will go back to our regular series, picking up with the western expansion of Hulegu against the ‘Abbasid Caliph in the 1250s. If you’d like to help us continue bringing you great content, consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon/kingsandgenerals. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one.
For most who experienced the Mongol invasions first hand, it was a sight of untold horror, an unstoppable enemy bringing fire and ruin. For Takezaki Suenaga, a samurai who fought against the Mongols in both of their failed invasions of Japan, it was a chance for the highest glory, and none could restrain him from taking the field against them. For the second episode in our Ghost of Tsushima -themed week, we present the story of a historical samurai who fought the Mongols, one who provided us with a set of illustrated scrolls which described his exploits. Today, we’re going to go through the account of Takezaki Suenaga, a rare opportunity to see how one man experienced the Mongol invasions first hand. Perhaps you’ll be able to compare his experiences with those of the player character, Jin, in Ghost of Tsushima. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Very little is known of Takezaki Suenaga prior to the invasions. He was a gokenin, a ‘houseman,’ a minor samurai from Higo province of Kyushu island, the southernmost of the main five of the Japanese home islands. He was part of the Takezaki clan, owned lands, could provide himself a horse, armour and bring 5 retainers to battle- about average for warriors from Kyushu, but slightly more than what the common samurai of Honshu, the largest Japanese island, could muster. 29 years old on the eve of the first Mongol invasion in 1274, Suenaga was known to have been involved in a land dispute which had put his personal finances in great jeopardy. Beyond such broad strokes, his early life is lost to us. Higo Province, located in western Kyushu, was comparatively close to the strategic Hakata Bay, the large, natural harbour which any invasion fleet departing southern Korea would certainly strike for. Suenaga, living in Higo Province, was probably put on warning from 1268 onwards, when the Japanese government, the Kamakura Bakufu, began to prepare for a possible Mongol invasion. The details of this buildup of tension between Japan and Kublai Khan was explained in our previous episode, and we won’t reiterate that here. The Mongol invasion fleet departed Korea early in November 1274, swiftly taking the islands of Tsushima and Iki. As the fleet neared Hakata Bay, the warriors of Kyushu were mobilized, Suenaga among them. In theory, the warrior would fight together with families of shared lineage, but were under no obligation to do so. Suenaga was part of the Takezaki clan, but operated nearly totally independently of them. By the time he and his men, all on horseback, arrived near the area of Hakata Bay, the Mongols had already broken through the defensive line. Suenaga had trained since childhood in archery, swordsmanship and riding; he had his own colourful set of yoroi armour, rows of iron lamellar and lacquered leather laced together. His principal weapon was the long, asymmetrical yumi, the Japanese warbow, a heavier bow than that utilized by the Mongols. In his small party was a bannerman to mark Suenaga’s location on the battlefield. The sword- not yet the famous katana,which developed in the 14th century- was the dignified sidearm, though the longer, spear-like naginata was more commonly used once the enemy was too close for bow-work. When Suenaga arrived, the Mongols had already established a temporary camp at Akasaka, some kilometres inland. The commander in charge of the gathering samurai was Shoni Kagesuke. He ordered those samurai who were already approaching Akasaka, Suenaga among them, to fall back and await reinforcements. As it was poor terrain, they hoped to encourage the Mongols to come to them, lose their formation and then allow Japanese archery to tear at them. Suenaga followed the order, and once the various warriors were recalled and far from the enemy, Suenaga spurred his horse onwards, saying, “Waiting for the general will cause us to be late to battle. Of all the warriors of the clan, I Suenaga will be the first to fight from Higo!” In Japanese warfare of the period, men were rewarded for valour in combat, being the first to enter battle, taking enemy heads or losing men of their own. Rewards included fine garments, horses, even lands. For a relatively poor samurai like Suenaga who could quite possibly lose his expensive armour, weapons and horse in the battle, not to mention faced dispossession of his lands, such rewards made all the difference. The prestige itself from heroic acts in combat could not be dismissed, either. The problem was that these were powerful incentives against patiently waiting for orders. As Suenaga rode on, one of commander Kagesuke’s retainers called on Suenaga to dismount and wait, to which he replied, “We five are going to fight before you. We won’t limit ourselves to merely shooting down the enemy! I have no purpose in life but to advance and be known!” Kagesuke recognized that he’d be unable to hold Suenaga back, and told him that he would be witness to him. This was an important aspect to this reward system: unless someone could bring severed heads of the enemy, he needed witnesses, preferably multiple, who could vouch for the samurai’s actions. If the multiple witnesses provided contrasting details, then the Bakufu could dismiss the account. On his ride to Akasaka, Suenaga encountered some Samurai returning, carrying severed heads of the enemy. Learning that the Mongols had abandoned Akasaka and were retreating to the beach in two main bodies, Suenaga drove his horse onwards ever faster. Pursuing the smaller of the two retreating Mongol forces, Suenaga was frustrated when he rode his horse right into mud flats. By the time he freed his horse, the Mongols had stopped at Sohara. Here he was finally about to close with his enemy, when one of his own retainers stopped him, urging him to wait for the oncoming Japanese reinforcements: better chances of victory, and witnesses, for his actions. In typical fashion, Suenaga dismissed his concerns, shouting: “The way of the bow and arrow is to do what is worthy of reward. Charge!” By then the Mongols had pressed on, reaching the beach and open ground. To Suenaga’s credit, he mentions his bannerman was the first one out. The small party of samurai were met with a hail of Mongol arrows. The bannerman’s horse was shot out from under him and he was thrown; Suenaga and three other retainers were injured by arrows, and finally his own horse was struck, throwing him into the sand. This is the most famous scene in the illustrated scrolls, which shows Suenaga being thrown forward off his horse while blood spills copiously from the wound. In the illustration, a bomb is being set off nearby. The presence of this bomb is generally taken to be a later addition to the art, drawn in a different style. Had the Mongols thrown explosives at Suenaga, doubtless he would have mentioned surviving such a terrifying weapon. The likely archaeological remains of such bombs have been found; this specific party of Mongols is just unlikely to have lobbed them at Suenaga. Thrown from his horse, Mongol arrows raking his small party, Suenaga admits in his narrative that he would have died there, had it not been for a timely charge of a formidable unit of samurai cavalry from Hizen province. It’s commander, Shiroishi Rokuro Michiyasu (shi-roy-shi Ro-ko-ru Mich-i-yasu), rode right through the Mongol line, rider and horse miraculously emerging unscathed. Suenaga was evidently impressed by this, and acted as witness for him. Another gokenin was not so lucky: Suenaga watched the man bestruck in the neck by an arrow. After brief fighting, the Mongol party they had been chasing fled, evidently reached their ships, and thus ended Suenaga’s part in the first Mongol invasion of Japan. The fleet soon departed, pushed back to Korea by strong winds, as we covered previously. Suenaga, by the way, never mentions anything regarding divine winds or storms, presenting a victory entirely through Japanese force of arms. The next event in the narrative presented in Suenaga’s scrolls is the most detailed, wherein he travels to Kamakura city to try and get his rewards in 1275. To pay for the journey, Suenaga had to sell horse and saddle, and took the trip from Kyushu to Kamakura. There he met with little luck. The officials of the court ignored his requests, deeming him a minor, insignificant warrior. Here, Suenaga gives the most attribution to divinely inspired favour. Visiting a nearby shrine of Hachiman, the war god, and praying fervently, he returned and was in time to speak with the Office of Appeals. There he met with its administer, Adachi Yasumori, military governor of Suenaga’s home Higo province, one of the most powerful men in Japan and father-in-law to the shikken and Japan’s de facto ruler, Hojo Tokimune. Suenaga told his story to Yasumori, and learned that Kagesuke’s brother, Tsunesuke, the military governor of Chikuzen province, had not mentioned Suenaga’s exploits in his report on the battle. Lacking this evidence, with neither dead retainers or enemy heads to show for it, Suenaga emphatically declared that if Kagesuke said under oath that Suenaga was lying, then they could take his head. Finally, Yasumori decided to take Suenaga’s deeds straight to the highest authority, the shikken Hojo Tokimune. Suenaga was recognized, rewarded with a fine horse and saddle, and had his land dispute settled in his favour. Of the 120 samurai rewarded for the 1274 invasion, Suenaga was also the only one who received commendation from the shogun. Yasumori’s actions evidently touched Suenaga, who commemorates him in the scrolls and in his will, urged his descendants to serve loyally the house of Adachi. The Bakufu was generally reluctant to pay out these rewards. Normally as fighting was between the Japanese, confiscated lands and goods from the losing side were made the rewards for valourous samurai. But, fighting against a foreign enemy who retreated back over the sea, meant such rewards essentially had to be paid out of pocket by the Bakufu. A temporary measure to this was to forbid samurai like Suenaga from leaving Kyushu to make the trip to Kamakura to demand rewards, citing reasons of military defence. For the Kamakura Bakufu, this was to become a rather dangerous matter for them in coming years, and our next episode. Hojo Tokimune and the Bakufu readily realized the victory in 1274 was not an end to the war. The Mongols would return, and in greater force. For this, an even greater effort was thrown into the defences. For over 20 kilometres around Hakata Bay a sea wall was built at likely beachheads, in places 3 metres high and 3 metres wide. Warriors from the provinces of Kyushu were to serve 3 months guard duty along the coast. The shugo positions, the military governors, came under more direct rule of the Hojo clan to strengthen its coordination abilities. Temples were ordered to pray for the nation, and in the final months of 1275 there was even discussion of a retaliatory attack against Korea, though it is difficult to judge if these preparations ever went past discussion. With the conquest of the Song Dynasty in 1279, Kublai Khan now had ample men and resources for side projects, such as punishing the insolent Japanese archipelago. It was by all accounts a massive undertaking: 40,000 Northern Chinese, Mongolian and Korea troops departing from Korea aboard 900 ships, and as many as 100,000 men from the territories of the former Song Dynasty departing southern China aboard 3,500 ships. It was immense, likely the largest seaborne invasion before D-Day in 1944, and only barely lurched from the gate. Many of the vessels were repurposed ships designed for rivers in southern China, not open ocean. Others were hastily constructed, built to hurriedly meet the deadline of an impatient Great Khan. The northern fleet, manned by experienced Korean sailors aboard sturdier ships, was ready to go, with a timetable to link up with the southern fleet at Iki island. The southern fleet was held up by the death of a commander, while its provisions spoiled in the warmth of south China. Frustrated, the northern fleet set out on its own; by the 10th June 1281, Iki island was occupied, and again the fleet set out for Kyushu’s Hakata Bay. The Japanese sea-wall did its work. The Yuan Dynasty armada could not force a landing, well-protected Japanese archers repulsing efforts to land. For two months the fleet was essentially held in standstill, occupying Shiga island and unable to take advantage of the southern fleet’s arrival and disembarking on Kyushu. With the enemy at sea, when the 35 year old Takezaki Suenaga arrived at Hakata Bay, he had a problem. He didn’t have a boat. Since the Mongols were not coming to them, and hungry for glory, the samurai were taking their small vessels out to sea, boarding the Yuan ships and fighting there. Suenaga and his retainers ran along the beach, looking for ships to take them but none had room. When hope seemed lost, the flag of Adachi Yasumori was spotted on a ship. Boarding a messenger skiff unsuited to the deeper waters where the Mongol fleet was, Suenaga and his retainers reached Yasomuri’s vessel. To the great displeasure of Yasumori’s retainers, Suenaga jumped aboard their ship. He told them he was ordered there by the military governor, and had to be on the ship- which Yasumori’s men saw right through, and ordered him to be thrown off. Suenaga cried that if they just gave him a small boat of his own, he’d leave on his own accord, but somehow that didn’t convince them. Suenaga tried this same trick on the boat of another lord, Tsumori, where he annoyed them enough that they let him on board. There was no space for Suenaga’s retainers, who complained but could only watch him sail away. Such is the way of the bow and arrow, Suenaga simply wrote on that. In the process Suenaga forgot to grab his helmet, and fashioned an impromptu defence out of two shinguards he tied to his head. Finally they neared an enemy ship, and in the process of trying to board Suenaga was injured. Frustrated, Suenaga threw his bow away, grabbed a naginata and roared at the rowers to bring them closer to the enemy ship- only by then the rowers were trying to push them away, fearing for their life. Switching ships again, Suenaga finally got his boarding action later that afternoon, in which he suffered another wound. To his pleasure, his name was the first from the province to be entered into the report for the battle. His final engagement with the Mongols was taking part in driving them from Shiga island. One of Suenaga’s retainers and a relative were injured in that battle, and two of their horses killed. The Yuan fleet had it worse. Bickering between the Mongolian, Chinese and Korean commanders hampered them, while the soldiers from South China fought poorly, seeing little incentive to die for foreign masters in a foreign land. The lack of progress raised tensions, provisions ran low, and the fleet was on the verge of retreat when on the 15th of August, 1281, the sea began to churn. With a storm oncoming, the men loaded onto the ships and tried to set out for deeper waters. A typhoon, rising unseasonably early, punished the fleet design. The riverine Chinese ships of the southern fleet were annihilated, brought to the depths or tossed onto the rocks. The archaeological remnants found on the sea floor by Takashima island mark their deep graves. The larger Korean vessels designed for open waters fared better; whereas half of the southern fleet was estimated to have been destroyed, only a third of the northern shared the same fate. Survivors who made it to shore, on Kyushu and the neighbouring islands, were hunted down and killed, though some mercy was shown to Southern Chinese- their fate was to be slaves to the Japanese. So ended the second Mongol attempt to invade Japan. Kublai Khaan was furious and demanded a third attack, but we will discuss this in our next episode. Suenaga, in typical fashion, mentions none of this once his part in the fighting was done. Suenaga’s scrolls were compiled between 1293-1324, and were concerned with his personal exploits and commemorating Adachi Yasumori, murdered in 1285, rather than an overall view of the campaign. The existence of the scrolls themselves is quite unusual for someone living well outside the capital, and were an expensive undertaking. Extensive battle scenes are portrayed, highly detailed armours, horses and dozens of warriors. While his position in 1274 had been humble, he earned himself a pretty penny after the second invasion, primarily through donations people made to a shrine he controlled, and lending seeds at usurious rates. When the farmers failed to pay back the loan, Suenaga seized their lands. For Suenaga, the scrolls were an expensive endeavour, requiring foresight generally uncommon to the samurai of the period. The fact the scrolls survived for us is remarkable: the Takezaki clan lost them in the late fourteenth century when fighting spread through their lands and the scrolls, among other possessions, were seized. They traded between families; at one point, their owners died during the Japanese invasion of Korea in the 1500s. Not until the 1700s did they begin to be copied, and in 1890 they were handed over to Emperor Meiji: today, they sit in Japan’s Museum of the Imperial Collections. If you have seen medieval artwork of the Mongol invasion of Japan, you are looking at one of the illustrations from the scrolls. A full translation by Thomas Conlan can be found in his work, In Little Need of Divine Intervention: Takezaki Suenaga’s Scrolls of the Mongol Invasion of Japan, and provide a fascinating look at a man who perhaps best embodied the ideals of 13th century samurai culture. If you’re eager for more from us on the Mongol invasions of Japan, please check out the previous episode in our series, and the latest video on our Youtube Channel, Kings and Generals. Our next podcast episode, will wrap up our short series on Japan, detailing the consequences of the invasion on both the Japanese and the Mongol Empire, and its longer historical legacy. Once that is complete, we will return to our original narrative timeline! To help us keep bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on Patreon at www.patreon/kingsandgenerals. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one
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.
From Anatolia to Central China; from northern Korea to the eastern edge of Europe; from the forests of Siberia to the borders of India. This was the empire of Grand Khan Mongke, perhaps the single most powerful monarch in history. No other king, sultan or emperor could compare to the sheer swath of humanity that Mongke ruled over, a man who reformed, centralized and expanded the empire even further. Yet, he was to be the last as uncontested Khan of the Empire, and on his death, the dream of Mongol unity was to be shattered. Today’s episode will present the reign of Mongke Khaan and his efforts to strengthen the Mongol Empire in the 1250s, while our following episodes will take us through the conquests launched and completed under his orders. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Mongke, as we covered in episode 21, came to the throne in what historians call “the Toluid Revolution.” On Chinggis Khan’s death back in 1227, it seemed the throne was to remain in the line of his third son, Ogedai. After the death of Ogedai’s son, Guyuk Khaan in 1248, the next Khan was the son of Ogedai’s brother Tolui, supported by the descendants of Jochi. Mongke, the oldest son of Tolui and his wife Sorqaqtani Beki, was enthroned in 1251 in Mongolia. A failed attempt to oust Mongke resulted in a great purge against the line of Ogedai, seizing most of their territory. Several figures of the Chagatai lineage were killed and the Chagatai Khan replaced, while top officials were forced into a very bloody retirement. The new line of the Great Khans held the throne with the permanent animosity of many of the surviving Ogedaids and Chagatayids. But with the full support of the Toluids and the Jochids under Batu Khan, Mongke had the strength to keep everyone in line. A Toluid Khan without that support would find it very difficult to extend his authority westwards, but that’s getting ahead of ourselves… Enthroned as the fourth Great Khan in summer 1251, Mongke immediately set out reorganizing government. Mongke came to the throne with a view of ‘getting things back on track,’ since the death of Ogedai. The empowerment of the ortoq merchants as tax collectors, the strengthening of regional Mongol princes at the expense of the central government and infighting was a distraction to the Empire’s true purpose: bringing everything under Heaven under Mongol rule. That this had not yet been accomplished was an embarrassment as far as Mongke was concerned. Everything Mongke did was for this goal, this destiny, and none would stand in his way. The house of Ogedai had shown resistance, and for this had been crushed. Though raised to the throne by the efforts of Batu and Sorqaqtani, Mongke was no puppet. Sorqaqtani died soon after her son became Khaan, and Batu and Mongke reached an agreement, wherein Batu was essentially viceroy of the west. Given great autonomy and little imperial interference in his affairs with the integrity of the Jochid realm confirmed, Batu, until his death in 1255, was a staunch supporter of the new Khaan. Mongke presented himself as the ideal Mongol ruler in the mould of Chinggis Khan. With his brother closest in age, Kublai, the two had a proudly shared experience with their famous grandfather. On a hunting trip with the old Chinggis, the young boys had fat from the kill spread on their fingers by the Great Khan himself. Considering how many grandchildren Chinggis had in his final years, to be singled out in any manner was a proud thing. Mongke’s father Tolui was often on campaign, leaving Mongke to be raised under the auspices of Sorqaqtani. Alongside the necessary riding, hunting and warfare abilities ingrained into all Mongol children, Mongke and his brothers were also taught leadership skills, administration, how to read and write Mongolian and were introduced to foreign cultures. Mongke was groomed to be a ruler. Taking part in the great western campaign, Mongke made it as far as Kiev, and led in various theaters, battles and sieges, forging a reputation as a skilled general. By Guyuk’s death in 1248, Mongke was a well respected and leading figure among the third generation of Chinggisids. Intelligent, brave, and ambitious, he stepped into the mantle of leadership easily. Vengeful, domineering and merciless to those he deemed as standing in his way, he was a dangerous foe. Mongke’s reign from 1251 to the beginning of 1258 was largely focused on political and administrative needs in order to support large military campaigns across Asia. In contrast to the campaigns of his grandfather Chinggis, the conquests of the 1250s come across almost as an institutionalized form. For Chinggis Khan, government was somewhat of an accidental creation out of military-tribal structures and conquests: necessary, but minimal. For Mongke, the government served as a tool of organizing conquest, an arm of the Khan with which to pursue his will. Mongke’s control was not totalitarian by any modern sense, but it dominated the system in its most influential levels. Not constrained by any pesky constitutions or parliaments to pass laws through, Mongke wielded a level of power that perhaps no other figure in history could truly compare to. To complete the conquest of the world, Mongke needed a stable and efficient government to take stock of the resources and materials necessary for expansion at an enormous scale. For this project, Mongke had a fine group of men to fall upon. The top officials of the empire came from each Khan’s keshig, the imperial bodyguard. Part guard, part retinue, part administration, the men in Mongke’s keshig were a varied lot, a number of whom had served in the keshig of Tolui, and even Chinggis Khan. Intensely loyal, they had eaten, drank, lived and fought alongside one another for years. They had also prepared for the possibility of stepping into the lead roles of state. It’s no surprise than that Mongke’s #1 and #2 were both from his keshig. The first was Menggeser Qorchi, a Jalayir Mongol who was inquisitor, judge, and executor in Mongke’s purges. He served as chief judge of the empire, head of the imperial guard and head of the Central Secretariat; essentially, Mongke’s Chancellor, replacing the late Chinqai. #2 was Bulghai of the Kereyit, a Nestorian Christian in charge of the many, many scribes and chamberlains of the Central Secretariat and the capital. An entire third of Karakorum was set aside for them. A good many were translators. Every edict of the Great Khan was translated into the main languages of the empire- Mongolian, Uighur, Persian, Chinese, Tangut and Tibetan, in order for them to be distributed properly. Upon Menggeser’s death in 1253, Bulghai was promoted to his position as well. From Mongke’s keshig, the holes made by the destruction of Ogedaid officials were filled. In the words of historian Thomas Allsen, describing Mongke’s keshig: “These people, recruited from his own household staff, were the only individuals with whom Mongke ever willingly shared power.” With the Central Secretariat in reliable hands, Mongke looked to the regional Secretariats. Here Mongke kept some continuity with Guyuk. Mahmud Yalavach was reinstated as the head of the Secretariat for North China, and his son Mas’ud Beg back to the Central Asian Secretariat. Under Guyuk, a Secretariat for Iran, the Caucasus and Anatolia was created, headed by the Oirat Mongol Arghun Aqa, who Mongke confirmed in this position. Another secretariat was ordered for the Rus’ territory in 1257, headed by a man called Kitai. All were competent enough and not too closely associated with the Ogedeids to have survived the purges. Mongke envisioned a return to the regular taxation system under the early years of Ogedai proposed by Yelu Chucai. The tax farming of ‘Abd al-Rahman could not do; not out of a sense of empathy to the civilian populations of Asia, but because it was terribly inefficient. Beggaring the taxbase in a single year reduced revenues for years to come, simply unacceptable when armies needed to be supported for long campaigns. Yalavach, Mas’ud Beg and Arghun Aqa were able bureaucrats associated with economic rebuilding and reliable taxation, rather than personal enrichment. But to tax efficiently, the government needed to know what resources and how many people lived in each region, to ensure the most efficient demands could be made. For this end, Mongke ordered an empire wide census. This was not unusual: the Mongols had employed censuses for decades. Guyuk had made such an order shortly before his untimely demise. The new Khan did not just want a population count though. He wanted to know the resources of the empire, numbers and locations of skilled craftsmen, who could provide what and what could be mobilized. Knowing the local population, their economic status and quality of local resources allowed the government to set taxes at appropriate levels- and made it harder for government intermediaries to skim off the top, when the Central Secretariat had its own registers to compare to. At the same time, if the population was found to be too low or too poor to pay their current rate, it could be adjusted to fit the location. This also affected recruitment, allowing the government to allocate skilled craftsmen and engineers to each army as needed. The census moved relatively quickly given the scale of the operation: beginning in north China and Central Asia in late 1252, by 1259 Novgorod, the northernmost Rus’ principality and furthest outpost of the empire, was registered. After being surveyed, supplementary censuses were launched to catch the floating population or accommodate newly conquered territories, ensuring the Central Secretariat had reasonably up-to-date information for setting their demands. Registers were carried out by imperial agents alongside representatives of the regional Mongol prince and local rulers, for assistance and protection. In Novgorod, the famed prince Alexander Nevsky had to provide military protection for the census takers against an agitated Rus’ populace. Under Mongke, three main categories of taxation existed, varying if the given population was nomadic, agricultural or urban. The first was the qubchir, a head tax. For nomads, 1 in every 100 head in a herd was paid in tax. Less than 100 animals, and no tax was paid. In most of the Muslim territories, this was imposed on all adult males and paid in silver dinars; in China, this was assessed on household, and could be paid in silver or precious goods like silk. For populations without coinage like the Rus’, furs and other valued commodities were accepted tender. Khalan was an agricultural tax, paid in kind in rural areas based on local tradition, while tamgha was basically a sales tax, collected in urban markets and customs stations. This tax was placed on services and products manufactured, including artisans, fisherman and prostitutes! In general the Mongols encouraged payment in coinage, and local mints were established throughout Iran, the Caucasus and Central Asia to produce large volumes of coins. In 1253, they even began circulating paper money in China, each stamped with the seal of Mongke Khaan. No effort was made to collect unpaid taxes from before Mongke’s enthronement, setting everyone on a clean slate. Tax exemptions for clergy continued, but many who had gained exemption under Guyuk, such as a fair number of merchants, had their exemptions rescinded. Mongke was not going to disregard the merchants though; he paid the outstanding debts of Guyuk and the regents, despite the resistance of some top ministers, leading to the Persian writer Rashid al-Din to remark “in what history has it ever been read that a king paid another king’s debt?” Also rescinded were numerous paizas and gerege, that is, the passports allowing an individual use of the yam system, the vast continental messenger stations. The gerege, depending on the material it was made from, granted an individual use of the horses and resources of a given station to allow them swift passage over the empire, changing horses and getting provisions at each station to continue at speed. Intended for members of the dynasty, envoys and messengers of the Khan, under Guyuk and the regents many a merchant had been given a gereg, and thus saw fit to travel the yam leisurely, enriching himself as he went. On Mongke’s order, all gerege were handed back to the Central Secretariat and redistributed on a more limited basis, greatly reducing the pressure on the local populations who supplied the resources for the stations. The yam itself was improved and routes set up by regional Khans were tied into the main imperial system. For these regional Mongol princes, new restrictions were forced on them, forbidding them to intervene on fiscal matters or set new taxes without approval from the Central Secretariat. These measures helped reduce the power of local forces who could compete with Mongke’s interests. The rebuilding of devastated regions was ordered and destruction while on campaign was to be limited. How successful these initiatives were is hard to measure, but a few Mongol officers were punished for transgressions in these areas. Mongke placed agents who reported directly back to him across the Secretariats to keep him informed of such matters and enforce his will. This was not an innovation of government, but a domination of it. The Central Secretariat wielded greater authority than ever, supported by a highly energetic and motivated emperor. Mongke, certainly more than his predecessor, understood the value of image. Knowing that the movement from the line of Ogedai to Tolui brought shade upon his legitimacy, Mongke strived to portray himself as the very embodiment of the words and laws of Chinggis Khan. Guyuk, Torogene and Oghul Qaimish were portrayed in as negative a light as possible, while Mongke and his father Tolui were elevated. Posthumously, Tolui was promoted to Great Khan, a position he had never held in life. In 1252, Mongke established an official Cult of Chinggis Khan and his worship. An entire department of government was made responsible for dealing with sacrifices, shamans, fortune tellers and more, suggested by Thomas Allsen to have been the ‘managers’ of the Chinggis cult. We might say these propaganda efforts were successful: almost all of our written sources from the empire come from regions ruled by the Toluids, and as such Mongke seems ever the greater and his predecessors all the more inept. Per the suggestion of historian Christopher Atwood, the famed Secret History of the Mongols may have been a result of this program, written at a quriltai in 1252. As our only surviving Mongolian language history from the 13th century, the Secret History of the Mongols was a chronicle intended for the royal family, and is hugely influential on how we view the early Mongol empire. Further, it influenced several of the later histories we also rely upon. In the Secret History, several embarrassing stories are told of Jochi, Chagatai, Ogedai, and Guyuk, the last appearing as a peutlent, whiny brat. Tolui and Mongke are treated much more reverently in the Secret History, which has Chinggis Khan give allowance for another branch of the family to take over should the line of Ogedai prove incapable. A rather useful clause to suddenly uncover; one, we may note, not found in other sources. In this vein, he also understood the importance of maintaining the Mongol policy of religious toleration. Mongke was quite effective at it, as there were both Christians and Muslims at the time convinced Mongke had converted to their religion. Mongol religious toleration was not the same as our modern liberal sense of toleration, but more in the sense it was literally tolerated, as long as the given religion did not oppose the Mongols. The Mongols generally wanted to ensure religious figures were on their side: their prayers, and those of their followers, were useful for ensuring divine favour for the Khaan. Having religious leaders and priests persuade and preach about how important it was to be a loyal subject of the Mongol Khaan also served as a useful means of maintaining order. Our previous episode briefly detailed the encounter of the European Franciscan Friar, William of Rubruck, with Mongke, and that probably best encapsulates Mongke’s own view on religion. Just as there are five fingers leading to the palm, Heaven had provided multiple means to the same end. To Mongke, no religion was more true than another, but all were equally useful for his goals. While Mongke’s armies would destroy the ‘Abbasid Caliphate, this was not done out of a need to spite Islam, but because the Caliph had failed to submit to the Khaan. As Mongke firmly believed Heaven had decreed the world to belong to the Chinggisids, resistance against the Chinggisids was therefore resistance against Heaven’s decree. Everything Mongke did was through this worldview and the belief in the eventuality of Mongol dominion. With internal matters set and the resources of the empire being recorded, Mongke could plan for outward expansion- the topics of the next episodes in our series. In early summer 1252, a quriltai was held to plan for the subjugation of the rest of the world. It is this quriltai that Dr. Atwood suggests the Secret History was composed at, where Mongke made his plans for the future. His brothers were to lead armies both to the south and the west. To the south lay the Song Dynasty, controlling southern China. Warfare with the Song had begun in the 1230s, but progress was slow and the fighting inconclusive. Mongke’s brother Kuublai was granted much of north China under his princely jurisdiction, and then was to lead the opening move of the new round of warfare with the Song. Kublai was not to move directly against them, but against the smaller Kingdom of Dali, in what is now China’s Yunnan province. On the Song Dynasty’s southwesten border, the conquest of Dali would open a second front against the Song. In the west, their younger brother Hulegu was to lead a massive army against the remaining independent Muslim powers, first the Order of the Assassins, and then the Caliph in Baghdad. From there, presumably Hulegu would drive right to the Meditteranean. Both brothers set out in later 1253, and we will pick up with their campaigns in following episodes. Armies were also sent to complete the conquests of Tibet and Korea. By the mid 1250s, Tibet was mostly subjugated, though Korea was a bit more complicated. Our next episode will cover the Mongol-Korean wars from start to finish, and look at how this peninsula managed to prove such a thorn in Mongol efforts for decades. Kublai was to be the prince overseeing most of China, and Hulegu most of the Muslim world west of the Chagatai Khanate. It was hardly a coincidence that Mongke’s two closest brothers were being situated to command two of the most valuable economic regions of the continent. Mongke envisioned a sort of Toluid axis across Asia, keeping tight imperial control across distant regions through brotherly ties. But if they overstepped their bounds, Mongke was not above reproaching them. After Kublai completed the conquest of Dali by the early months of 1254, he returned to oversee matters in North China, promoting government reform and reconstruction efforts. Lil’ Kublai started to get a bit too big for his britches however. In 1256 Kublai began building a summer residence in what is now Inner Mongolia- in time it would be called Shangdu, the Xanadu of Marco Polo. It suspiciously looked a bit too much like a capital, though. Rumours of Kublai’s ambitions reached Mongke, and on pretexts of irregularities in Kublai’s revenue collection, Mongke sent investigators into his brother's domains. Administrative records were seized, Kublai’s officials harshly tortured and numerous infractions found. Some of Kublai’s officials were executed, others dismissed, extraordinary levies placed on his domains and Kublai himself saw his administrative power reduced. We are told Kublai had to be convinced out of a hasty retaliation by his advisers, and was not able to get Mongke’s forgiveness until the start of 1258. While the Chinese sources depict it as an act of brotherly attachment, the two weeping in each others’ arms, the reality is that Mongke had need of Kublai again. The Khaan was about to launch an invasion of the Song Dynasty, and needed to secure loose ends. One such loose end was well suited to Kublai and his inclination to Chinese culture: a rather violent, ongoing conflict between Buddhists and Taoists in Northern China threatening to undermine local stability. Kublai was ordered to bring this matter to a close, which he largely accomplished at a famous debate between leading members of both creeds in later 1258. The Buddhists had the better of the debate, no doubt aided by Kublai’s own Buddhist leanings and support of his ardent Buddhist wife, Chabi. The result was an end to the ascendency of the Taoists, begun, somewhat accidentally, by Chinggis Khan and his support of the Taoist Master Qiu Chuji back in the 1220s. Taoist texts deemed forgeries were destroyed, they were forced to return occupied Buddhist temples and other privileges were lost. In turn, Buddhism saw an ascendence in influence among the Mongols, not for the last time. Mongke also needed Kublai to lead one of the armies in the multi-pronged assault on the Song, in what was to be a massive operation. Planning for the Song campaign was thorough, intending to completely overwhelm the Dynasty from multiple points. The census efforts came to full fruition: Mongke had an enormous, well prepared army drawn from across Asia. Contingents from as far west as the Alans of the Northern Caucasus were mobilized for this assault. Setting out in 1258, nothing would quite go as expected, putting true the old adage that no battle plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. One area Mongke’s foresight proved remarkably poor was his failure to nominate an heir to succeed him. Not that we’re foreshadowing anything in that regard… But, we’ll return to Mongke’s war with the Song in a few episodes time. Prior to that, we will be exploring the other campaigns launched during his reign, first in Korea and then his brother Hulegu’s western campaign, 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
Especially in modern textbooks and broad historical surveys, the Mongol withdrawal from Europe in 1242 is presented as the Mongols ‘disappearing into the mists of the east,’ as far as the Europeans were concerned. But in the immediate wake of the 1242 withdrawal, Europeans needed to know more about this new foe. Rather than a ‘Mongol disappearance’ from the European mind, European diplomats and representatives made the trip to the Mongol Empire on behalf of Kings and Popes- even to distant Mongolia. A number of these travellers wrote down accounts of their journeys, providing us yet another viewpoint to events within the Mongol Empire. In this episode, we will discuss three of these accounts from the 1240s and 1250s- that of John de Plano Carpini, Simon of St. Quentin and William of Rubruck. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Our first journey is that of John of Plano Carpini, or Giovanni da Pian del Carpine. Like today’s other accounts, Plano Carpini was a member of a religious order, in this case the Franciscans, an influential group of Christian mendicants founded in the early 13th century by St. Francis of Assisi. Known for their rejections of wealth, simple brown habits, or robes, and often going about barefoot, since the lifetime of St. Francis they had worked closely with the Catholic Church in Rome. John of Plano Carpini was a leading figure among the Franciscans, having been at the forefront of their expansion into Germany. The impetus for Plano Carpini’s journey could not have come from a higher authority, that of Pope Innocent IV. This Pope had in 1245 organized the First Council of Lyons, one of those great ecclesiatical gatherings held every few years in the High Middle Ages to determine church doctrine and how to react to temporal matters. At Lyons in 1245, the biggest topics on the menu were two great foes of the Pope: Frederick II Hohenstaufen, the Holy Roman Emperor and the Mongols. While Innocent’s main concern was the Kaiser, there was great worry over the mysterious horsemen. On the initiative to learn more about them and establish diplomatic ties to avert a repeat of the horrors in Hungary, Pope Innocent sent the 65 year old John of Plano Carpini on the long road east in late 1245. Aided along the way by the King of Bohemia and the High Duke of Poland, Carpini soon reached the Prince of Volhynia, Vasilko. Vasilko and his brother, Daniel of Galicia, were the westernmost princes of Rus’, and who escaped most of the destruction suffered by the other Rus’ principalities. With Vasilko, Carpini was provided the most up-to-date information on the Mongols one could have in Europe. Passing the ruins of Kiev and an emptied countryside, only at Kaniv did Carpini reach territory under direct Mongol rule. As official envoys of the monarch the Mongols dubbed “the great Pope,” Carpini and his small company were provided escorts and use of the yam system, the great continental messenger route. Once on the yam, Carpini’s route picked up speed. They rode day and night over the steppe, changing horses three or four times a day as they reached yam stations. By April 4th 1246, they were in the camp of Batu. Batu did not return to Mongolia after the invasion of Europe, instead setting up his camp in the great swath of grassland along the Volga River which made up the middle of his territory, where he held immense power. Carpini saw that Batu used King Bela IV’s linen tents as his own, taken as booty after the victory at Mohi. At Batu’s camp their letters from the Pope were translated into Russian, Persian and Mongolian, and then they were sent on their way. This stage of the journey is one Carpini had little love for. They rode their horses day and night, sometimes eating nothing except millet with water and salt, or only drinking snow melted in kettles. They passed the ruins of the cities of the Khwarezmian Empire, the names of which Carpini had no chance to learn before they had moved on. By July 1246, they were in Mongolia. The hard ride had a purpose, for Carpini arrived in in time for the election of the new Great Khan, Guyuk. As messengers of the Pope they were treated well, provided their own tent and provisions. Carpini gives a fantastic description of Guyuk’s enthronement and the accompanying ceremonies- one detail is a sudden hailstorm postponing Guyuk’s official enthronement until August 24th. He noticed representatives of powers from across Asia: the Rus’ Prince Yaroslav of Suzdal’, Chinese and Korean representatives, princes from the Kingdom of Georgia and the ambassador of the Caliph of Baghdad, among many others. Carpini’s embassy spent little time with the new Great Khan, offering only a brief description of him: quote, “The present Emperor may be forty or forty-five years old or more; he is of medium height, very intelligent and extremely shrewd, and most serious and grave in his manner. He is never seen to laugh for a slight cause nor to indulge in any frivolity, so we were told by the Christians who are constantly with him.” On the matter of Chrisitianity, Carpini shares rumours that Guyuk was on the verge of converting. Guyuk did have affinity for the religion, as some of his closest advisers were Christians of the Nestorian flavour. No such baptism for Guyuk was forthcoming, however. As for Carpini’s actual mission to Guyuk, it proved less successful. Guyuk explained that the slaughter wrought in Hungary and Poland was due to the failure of the Europeans to submit to Heaven’s will and Mongol authority. Further, more would come, and when Carpini departed Guyuk’s camp for Europe in November 1246, he left utterly convinced that Guyuk was intent on marching on Europe. With this fear in mind, Carpini tailored his work as a manual to prepare for the Mongol return. He wrote a very accurate description of the appearance of the Mongols, their culture and society, to detailed descriptions of their armour, tactics, and strategy. He follows this with recommendations on how they should be countered. His solution is that European armies needed to copy the organization of the Mongols and their discipline: literally, they should adopt the decimal organization system and instil the same punishment for desertion or failure to advance. The importance of crossbows were emphasized; the need to not allow themselves to be flanked and to watch for feigned retreats; maintain reserve units to assist the line and always have the army covered by scouts to alert to Mongol movements. If relying on fortifications, they needed to be built in places inaccessible to siege weapons. Care should be shown to captured prisoners: using the descriptions he provides, he argues that Europeans needed to learn to identify the Mongols from those subject peoples forced to fight for the Khan. These peoples, Carpini says, would fight against the Mongols if provided the chance. When Carpini is describing things he did not directly observe, he falls easily into accepting myths and rumours. In his account Jesus Christ and the scriptures are honoured in China (which he never visited), there are literal monsters under Mongol control, and the Mongols were repulsed from Greater India by its Christian King, Prester John. However, he provides a keen eye at Mongol politics at the start of Guyuk’s reign, listing the top chiefs and mentions Mongke and his mother Sorqaqtani, who he says “among the Tartars this lady is the most renowned, with the exception of the Emperor’s mother [Torogene], and more powerful than anyone else except Batu.” On his return journey, Carpini remet with Vasilko of Volhynia and Daniel of Galicia, who sent with Carpini letters and envoys to Pope Innocent for cooperation, leading to Pope Innocent crowning Daniel King of Ruthenia, or Galicia-Volhynia, a brief flirtation of Orthodox and Catholic unity. Innocent provided no support for the newly independent monarch beyond this, and Daniel saw his autonomy crushed at the end of the 1250s with a major Mongol attack. Carpini’s account, written on his return to Europe, was hugely disseminated through Carpini’s own efforts and its inclusion in one of the most popular medieval encyclopedias, Vincent of Beauvais’ Speculum Historiale. It's clear, detailed descriptions of the Mongols, based entirely on observation, was hugely influential on the writings of other travellers. Some have even argued it spurned the beginnings to more analytic, scientific descriptions of the world, in part as it brought a detailed presentation on a world outside of Europe. It was not exactly a friendly world, mind you. Carpini returned with a letter from Guyuk demanding the submission of the Pope and all the monarchs of Europe, immediately, and in person- with the direct threat of horrific consequences if they failed to do so. As Carpini returned from the Mongol Empire in 1247, another embassy reached the Mongols in what is now Armenia. Pope Innocent ordered a party of Dominican friars from the Crusader states to bear a letter to the Mongols, opening a second diplomatic front in the event Plano Carpini did not return. The Dominicans were another mendicant order founded in the 13th century, famous both as preachers and inquisitors, and visually distinctive in their black cloaks over white habits. This group of Dominicans was led by a Friar Ascelin, but the account was written by another member of the embassy, Friar Simon of St. Quentin. An online translation has been made accessible online by our friend of the podcast Dr. Stephen Pow- check out www.simonofstquentin.org to read the full account, with maps! The Dominican embassy arrived in the camp of the Mongol commander of the Caucasus- Baiju Noyan, on the 24th May, 1247. Learning of their arrival, Baiju sent a representative to enquire as to their purpose, and things immediately got off to a poor start. Upon being asked who they were the representatives of, Friar Ascelin replied, “I am the envoy of the Lord Pope, who among Christians is considered superior in dignity to all men and to whom they show reverence as to their father and lord.” To which Baiju’s representative became immediately annoyed and responded, “How, speaking with such proud words, do you say that your lord pope is the greatest of all men? Does he not know that Khan is the son of God and that Baiju Noyan and Batu are his princes and thus their names are made known and exalted everywhere?” To which Friar Ascelin replied that the Pope knew none of these names, and that they were simply instructed to find the nearest Mongol army -wherever that might be- and to present a letter from the Pope urging a cessation to the slaughter of Christians. From here, the meeting devolved. The representative returned to Baiju with the message, and returning in a new set of clothes, asked what gifts the Pope had sent for Baiju. The embassy had failed to provide any, stating that in fact, people sent gifts to the Pope! When he returned from Baiju, again in a new set of clothes, he scolded them for failing to show up with gifts- then inquired if they were at the head of any European armies being sent into Syria. Before allowing the embassy to meet Baiju, they were then ordered to genuflect before him- which the Friars refused to do, fearing it was idolatry. One in their party who had some experience with Mongol customs informed them it wasn’t idolatry they were asking for- just a sign of the submission of the Pope and Catholic Church to the Khan. On this, the Friars proudly stated they’d rather be decapitated than imply the submission of the Church. They would genuflect and even kiss the soles of Baiju’s feet on the condition that he became a Christian. The response was… not ideal. “You advise us that we become Christians and be dogs like you. Isn’t your pope a dog and aren’t all you Christians dogs?” the Mongols shouted at the party, and upon learning of this insolence Baiju ordered them all to be killed. Baiju’s advisers urged mercy- don’t kill all four of the friars, only two! Another suggested it would be better to skin the lead friar and send him back to Rome stuffed with straw. Or, have two of them beaten by sticks by the whole Mongol army! Another voice said the wisest course was to place them at the front of the army during a siege, and allow them to be killed by enemy missiles. Murder was only abandoned when one of Baiju’s wives talked him down from it- reminding him quite rightly it was poor conduct to kill envoys, and it would bring him into trouble with the imperial court. Brought back from the brink- and this was still only the first day, mind you- Baiju’s representative inquired what would be an appropriate way for them to worship Baiju. No solution could be reached. The Mongols could not understand the stubbornness of the Christians in this regard: from their point of view, the Christians worshipped wood crosses and stone churches, and could not comprehend why the same respect could not be shown to Baiju, chosen by the Great Khan who was chosen by Heaven itself! The Friars’ explanations turned to theology, how St. Peter granted the keys to the Pope and so on. Lost in translation, the arguments went nowhere, until it was decided that Acelin would hand over the Pope’s letters but not appear before Baiju. The letter then needed to be translated for Baiju, which required Friar Ascelin explaining it word by word to Greek and Turk translators, who then explained it to Persian translators, who then translated it into Mongol, who then read it out for Baiju. Annoyed by the initial proceedings, Baiju showed them disrespect after that. Left waiting in the hot sun, they were initially told they would be allowed to leave on the 12th of June, 1247, but this was rescinded when Baiju learned of the approach of Eljigidei to be his new superior. Eljigidei was a close ally of Great Khan Guyuk, sent west to resume military operations in the region. Given only minimal bread and water, they could only wait. And wait. And wait. With no sign of Eljigidei and Ascelin fretting over continued delay, he finally got a councillor to plead on their behalf with promises of gifts. Baiju prepared a letter to send to the Pope, and things looked just about ready for the Dominicans to depart… when Eljigidei finally arrived. Then followed 7 straight days of feasting, drinking and celebrating before finally, some nine weeks after their initial arrival, on the 25th of July 1247 the Friars left Baiju’s camp. Like Plano Carpini, Ascelin returned with a letter from the Mongols, this time from Baiju, and within it were only the strictest of demands. The Pope was to come himself, in person, and submit to the Mongols. Failure to do so meant he was an enemy to the Great Khan, and only one fate awaited the enemies of the Great Khan. By the end of the 1240s Pope Innocent IV had at least two letters from top Mongol leaders- one of them the Great Khan, Guyuk- demanding his immediate submission. That’s a fairly strong indication that the Mongol high command was intent on the subjugation of Europe. Much like Carpini, Ascelin’s colleague Simon recorded considerable detail on the customs, habits and warfare of the Mongols, with information on the strategies and tactics they used in their expansion over Iran, the Caucasus and Anatolia- much of it from first hand sources. As much as they were failed conversion and diplomatic efforts, they were valuable sources of intelligence on a foe they had frustratingly little information on. The impression garnered over the 1240s was of an immensely antagonistic power interested in nothing less than mastery of the world. Our final traveller for today is William of Rubruck, a Franciscan friar who also made the long trip to Mongolia carrying a letter from the King of France Louis IX- though insisting the entire time he was not a diplomat, merely holding the letter for a friend. Rubruck’s mission both in structure and situation differed from his predecessors. There is no indication he ever met John de Plano Carpini: he was familiar with his work, but not enough that he could get Carpini’s name correct in his own account, referring to him as John of Policarpo. Rubruck provides one detail about himself in his own account: that he was rather on the large side. Stationed in the Holy Land, he joined the crusading King Louis IX in Cyprus in winter 1248, and went with him on his disastrous Egyptian campaign of 1250- the Seventh Crusade. This campaign was a catalyst to the usurpation of the Mamluks in Egypt over the Ayyubids, something to have major consequences for the Mongols in a few years. Rubruck’s accounts do not indicate he was among them during the debacles further down the Nile in 1250, during which Louis was captured by the Mamluks, held for ransom and released. The following years the French King spent restoring local fortifications in Palestine, humbled and penitent. It seems in this period Rubruck spent quite some time with the King and Queen. Louis had already been in contact with the Mongols, having sent the Dominican friar Andrew of Longjumeau to the Great Khan’s court in the 1240s, and received envoys from Eljigidei in early 1249. This led to nothing: Guyuk was dead before the Dominican reached his court, and Eljigidei, as a close ally of Guyuk, was soon to follow him on Mongke’s orders. Rubruck, as a good Fransciscan, was keen to spread the word of God among the heathens and had learned from Andrew of Longjumeau’s report of German miners carried east as slaves by the Chagatai prince Buri during the invasion of Hungary. Keen to bring salvation to the Mongols, and peace to these slaves, it was Rubruck’s own initiative to travel to the Mongol Empire in 1253. Before he left King Louis provided Rubruck a letter to the Khan, as a sort of “while you’re going that way,” rather than an official embassy.. Learning that a Jochid prince, Sartaq son of Batu, was a Christian, Rubruck decided to make a stop at his court first, perhaps hoping to seek his assistance for the long trek. Taking his leave of King Louis likely at Jaffa, Rubruck set out north and reached Constantinople in April 1253, there getting a chance to preach in St. Sophia, the modern Hagia Sofia; he spoke with other men who had gone as envoys to the Mongols; and there picked up a companion, another Franciscan named Bartholomew of Cremona. Sailing across the Black Sea to Crimea, he travelled north into the steppes to the camp of Sartaq. Sartaq was the first of many disappointments for Rubruck. His Chrisitanity Rubruck found lacking, and his secretaries admonished Rubruck for calling him a Christian, telling him “Do not say that our master is a Christian. He is not a Christian; he is a Mongol.” The customary gift giving resulted in much of his possessions being taken or outright stolen. In the four days they were there, they were not even provided food, only airag, fermented mare’s milk, though Rubruck took a liking to it. Rubruck stressed he was not an envoy, merely carrying a letter of friendly intent from King Louis. This made a real mess. This was not an area in Mongol diplomacy their world view accounted for. To quote historian Peter Jackson in his translation of Rubruck’s account, “the Mongols were in fact unable to comprehend why representatives of independent peoples should trouble to visit the imperial court if not to bring submission.” Sartaq, not understanding the purpose of Rubruck’s letter, decided this was a matter for his father Batu to settle. So Rubruck, at this time in his mid forties and trying to travel barefoot as in Franciscan tradition, was forced to follow Plano Carpini’s route over the Volga Steppe to the court of Batu. He was amazed at the size of Batu’s camp, comparing it to a large city. Taken before the tent of Batu, he gazed upon the second most powerful man in Asia. Sitting upon a golden throne with a wife at his side, Rubruck provides us our only physical description of Batu Khan: “He regarded us with a keen gaze, as we did him. He struck me as being of the same build as the lord John of Beaumont, and his face was covered at this time with reddish blotches.” As numerous commentators have stated, it is a deep shame that we do not know what build John of Beaumont was. Through his interpreter, Rubruck spoke to Batu and the audience, in which he urged Batu to be baptized. Batu gave a slight smile, and the audience began laughing at Rubruck. Batu interrogated Rubruck, having learned through spies of King Louis’ military expedition to Egypt. Telling the Khan that the purpose was to recapture Jerusalem, Rubruck was given airag and sent to the side. Batu decided it was best to send this representative of the French King right to the highest authority: Mongke Khaan, quite without Rubruck’s consent and with no choice in the matter. “There is no counting the times we were famished, thirsty, frozen and exhausted,” Rubruck says of the lengthy voyage in winter 1253 over Central Asia to Mongolia. Rubruck’s account, unlike that of Carpini, is full of personal opinions on matters: mainly in the form of how much he hated everything. Their hygiene and personal habits, such as relieving themselves in the middle of the open steppe right beside him he found ‘excessively tiresome.’ By the end of December 1253 William of Rubruck was in the camp of Mongke Khaan, some ten days journey from Karakorum. Unlike with Ascelin and Baiju, Rubruck was asked how he would like to make his obeisance to the Khan, per European custom or Mongolian. Rubruck would sing praises to God, then do as Mongke wished. Inside a tent Rubruck describes as covered in gold, the friar provides a brief description of Mongke. The Khan was seated on a golden couch with a wife, dressed in spotted fur, snub nosed, of medium build and about 45 years old. One of Mongke’s daughters was seated on the steps before him: Rubruck says she was very ugly. The initial meeting did not go very far. Alcohol was offered, and Rubruck’s interpreter helped himself. After Mongke’s first statement, “Just as the sun spreads its rays in all directions, so my power and that of Batu are spread to every quarter,” Rubruck’s interpreter was too drunk to translate, and the friar was quickly pushed to the side. Rubruck did not have a good time in the Mongol court. Provided lodging and food, he found himself interrogated and often mistreated. The Mongols sought information on Europe, on what and how many goods and animals the French possessed, and if the Pope was really 500 years old. Rubruck had gone to convert the heathens and bring salvation to the captured German miners: he succeeded in converting only six people during his stay and learned the Germans were beyond his reach in Central Asia. Rubruck was stuck with Nestorian and Greek Orthodox Christians which he did not take a great liking too, there only to enrich themselves. The priests, among many others, were convinced Mongke was on the verge of converting to their creed. Rubruck saw that the Khan didn’t care for any of them, content to utilize all their prayers. Spending several months in Mongke’s camp and Karakorum, the imperial capital, Rubruck met persons from all over Asia. From ambassadors from the Nicaean Empire, the Delhi Sultanate, Baghdad and China to Europeans brought as captives to Mongolia. He met Hungarians, Germans, Russians and French. One was William Buchier of Paris, a goldsmith highly prized by the Mongols. He designed and built the famous silver tree of Karakorum: literally, a tree made from silver with conduits running through it, at the base through four silver lions and higher up coming down as spouts shaped as snakes. From the lions came airag, fermented mare’s milk; from the gilded mouths of four snakes poured grape wine; qaraqumiss, refined mare’s milk; bal, a honey drink, and a rice wine. At the top of the tree was a silver angel with a trumpet. On command, a man inside the tree would sound the trumpet, alerting stewards in another room to feed the alcoholic beverages through their respectives conduits. Below each animal was a vessel to collect the drinks, and when filled they were carried to the cheery guests, applauding at the show. Aside from this and the Khan’s palace in Karakorum, Rubruck found the city terribly unimpressive, likening it to a small town in France but with a very diverse population. Rubruck endured a number of almost sitcom-like vignettes during his time there. On one occasion he joined with a Nestorian priest to ‘save’ one of Mongke’s sickly wives through a decoction of rhubarb and holy water. Most notable was a religious debate he took part in, sparked by a conflict between Rubruck and the Buddhist priests at Karakorum. While Rubruck gives a detailed and accurate description of the Buddhist customs he saw, he had little care for the Buddhists themselves. This spat turned into the Mongols hosting a religious debate- on one side, Rubruck representing the Catholic Church, with Nestorian Christians, Greek Orthodox Christians and Muslims, and on the other Buddhists lamas. Three umpires - a Buddhist, Christian and Muslim- judged. Mongke, in typical fashion, called for a respectful debate forbidding insulting remarks to opponents, on pain of death. Rubruck’s version is that he was the star player, deftly disarming the arguments of the Buddhists while his own teammates proved incompetent. We lack any other accounts of this debate, so we should perhaps take it with a grain of salt. He does remark that even though his arguments were like, totally 100% awesome and really effective, no one was convinced to become a Christian because of it, and the debate ended with everyone drinking heavily with half his team singing loudly and presumably, off-key. The most interesting portion of Rubruck’s narrative is his brief interview with Mongke Khaan, albeit through an interpreter. In this discussion, Mongke provides a fascinating explanation for his religious view: “We Mongols believe that there is only one God, through whom we have life and through whom we die, and towards him we direct our hearts. But just as God has given the hand several fingers, so he has given mankind several paths. To you God has given the Scriptures and you Christians do not observe them. You do not find in the scriptures, that one man ought to abuse another, do you? And likewise you do not find that a man ought to deviate from the path of justice for financial gain. So, then, God has given you the Scriptures, and you do not observe them; whereas to us he has given soothsayers, and we do as they tell us and live in peace.” After this, Rubruck was instructed to return to the west with a letter for King Louis, upon which he lamented he had no chance to attempt to convert the Khan. Mongke’s letter to Louis is preserved in Rubruck’s account, and it’s somewhat more cordial compared to the demands of Guyuk. I mean, it still has demands that the Kings of Europe come and submit to him, and that it would be foolish to trust in distance and mountains to protect them. But it offered something of an apology- well, not quite an apology- for inconsistent messaging by the envoys of Eljigidei, and for Andrew of Longjumeau’s journey which met not Guyuk Khan, but his widow Oghul Qaimish. On Oghul Qaimish, Mongke stated his opinion on her rather bluntly in his letter: “But as for knowing the business of war and the affairs of peace, subduing the wide world and discerning how to act for the best- what could that worthless woman, lower than a bitch, have known of this?” That he would so openly write this in an official channel- a letter to another monarch- is indicative of the malice he felt to her, and partially explains some of the violence Mongke ordered against the house of Ogedai. Alas for William of Rubruck, but well for us, was that he was unable to return to King Louis to deliver the message in person. Believing Louis had remained in the Crusader States, after reaching the court of Batu in the Volga steppe, Rubruck cut south through the Caucasus- briefly staying in Baiju Noyan’s camp, where he heard of the approach of Hulegu, Mongke’s younger brother, and a massive army marching through Iran. Learning that Louis had returned to France, Rubruck’s Franciscan superiors ordered him to remain in Acre, forced to send Mongke’s letters alongside a written account of his journey, which luckily for us survives. Unlike Carpini’s account, Rubruck writes little on the warfare of the Mongols, spending more time on their customs and character, with remarkably astute, though not compassionate, descriptions of the cultures and religions he saw throughout his journey. It’s also a detailed geographical and observational survey, challenging views set out by ancient writers. For instance, noting that the Caspian Sea was not an ocean but a lake; noting the proper courses of the Don and Volga Rivers; connecting the Chinese to the Seres mentioned in antiquity; noted linguistic connections between various groups and, upon finding no evidence for popular medieval monsters like the dog-headed people, argued against their existence. One of the few people to read Rubruck’s account in the 13th century was the English Franciscan Roger Bacon, who met Rubruck in Paris in 1257. Bacon was the first European to record the mixture for gunpowder in 1267. It’s sometimes suggested that Rubruck provided it to Bacon, but as Rubruck mentions nothing of the sort in his account, this is unlikely. And that is a brief overview of three early European journeys to the Mongol Empire. Not as famous as the slightly later journey of one Messer Marco Polo, but fascinating nonetheless. Our next episode will be an overview of the reign of Great Khan Mongke, 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!
Subutai was a Mongolian general and the primary military strategist of Genghis Khan and Ögedei Khan. He directed more than 20 campaigns and won 65 pitched battles, during which he conquered or overran more territory than any other commander in history as part of the expansion of the Mongol Empire.
You could be forgiven for not knowing the name of Guyuk Khan. Guyuk, as Great Khan of the Mongol Empire since 1246, makes a poor figure compared to the likes of his grandfather, Chinggis Khan, his father Ogedai, or cousins Mongke and Kublai. Few medieval writers had much good to say about him, and his successor, Mongke, ensured Guyuk’s legacy was tarnished. Yet, the reign of Guyuk was a turning point in the history of the Mongol Empire, the transition of the Khanate from the line of Ogedai to the descendants of Tolui. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. Guyuk was about 40 years old when he became Great Khan of the Mongol Empire in summer 1246. The oldest son of Ogedai Khaan and his wife, Torogene, not much is known of him prior to his ascension. He seems to have had little administrative experience, and only in the great western campaign does Guyuk come to notice. There, he performed well though friction developed between him and the senior prince of the campaign, Jochi’s son Batu. Guyuk and his cousin Mongke left with their troops before the campaign reached Hungary, but did not reach Mongolia before Ogedai’s death in December 1241. After Ogedai’s death, his widow Torogene began orchestrating support for Guyuk’s election to succeed his father. While Ogedai at various points -and various states of sobriety- had named several of his sons and a grandson as heirs, he never seems to have made such an explicit statement in regards to Guyuk. The Mongols did not practice primogeniture, so it was hardly a sure matter that, as the eldest, Guyuk had any right to succeed Ogedai. Neither did Guyuk seem to exert much effort for the nomination; the historical sources depict this as the efforts of Torogene, Guyuk almost a bystander to the matter. Despite this, Torogene succeeded, at quite some financial and personal cost, falling out with another son, Koten, and a grandson, Shiremun, who also wanted the throne. So what was the character of the new monarch? Raised under the close supervision of the atabeg Qadaq, the atabeg being a Turkic institution to train young men in the art of war, the fact that Qadaq was a Christian seems to have instilled an affinity for the religion in Guyuk though he never converted. As we will explain later, Guyuk’s reputation was ripped apart by his successors. In the official accounts, he is generally depicted as suffering from some chronic, unidentified illness, engaging in daily drinking binges like his father, and generally shown as a poor monarch more interested in debauchery than ruling. Sources outside the empire, as stressed by historian Hodong Kim, provide a more balanced view. An important account is that of John de Plano Carpini, a European Friar sent as an envoy from the Pope to the Mongol Empire who attended Guyuk’s coronation in 1246. His account, uncoloured by the intrigues which emerged between the later Chinggisids, shows a strict, stern man who did not engage in frivolity, interested more so in continuing his father’s legacy, centralizing and expanding the empire. Guyuk, as we will see, probably was an alcoholic and suffering from illness, though neither was a trait unique to him among the Mongol princes. Yet, that he was also trying to restabilize the empire after Torogene’s regency and reign in local princes used to less imperial oversight, better explains the actions of his reign. Keeping that in mind, let us see what our boy Guyuk got up to. Torogene had bitterly campaigned to place her son on the throne, in the process making several enemies, granting positions to favourites and in many respects, unintentionally weakening the central government of the empire. With her close confidant, the Shia Central Asian Fatima, she attempted to arrest Ogedai’s chancellor, the Nestorian Christian Chinqai, the head of the secretariat for China Mahmud Yalavach, Yalavach’s son and the head of the Central Asian secretariat Mas’ud Beg, and other appointees who stood against tax farming and exploitation. Chinqai and Mahmud Yalavach fled to Koten, Torogene’s son who also desired the throne, while Mas’ud Beg fled to the court of Batu in the western steppe. Others less fortunate were caught and killed. To raise the necessary funds for the bribes and gifts to secure Guyuk’s nomination, Torogene needed rapacious tax farmers, and thus appointed ‘Abd al-Rahman to the head of the China secretariat. ‘Abd al-Rahman, as we covered in the previous episode, had essentially put all of Mongol occupied north China in debt, and there is no reason to doubt that his efforts under Torogene were any less greedy. Other favours and positions were awarded to secure loyalties and remove figures who stood in Torogene’s path. The picture is of a destabilization of the empire’s bureaucracy, a general weakening of the central government over the corners of the empire. Batu, situated in what is now modern Russia and Kazakhstan, began to emerge in this period as an immensely powerful figure. With the death of Chagatai in 1242, Batu was considered the aqa, the senior prince of the Chinggisid lineage, and well outside Torogene’s influence. The cracks in the Mongol Empire were starting to form. On his ascension in 1246 Guyuk’s main goal was reversing these trends. Just before his official enthronement, Guyuk had a reconciliation with his brother Koten, who had fallen deathly ill. Koten was convinced that Fatima, their mother’s confidant, was a witch and had cursed him, and was the cause of the strife under Torogene- or at least, a useful scapegoat. Getting Guyuk to promise to avenge him, Koten soon died. As he had given shelter to Chinqai and Mahmud Yalavach, these experienced figures entered Guyuk’s camp and were reinstated to their old positions, and were a major influence on Guyuk’s drive to centralization. Guyuk moved quickly on Chinqai’s urging. After Guyuk’s election, Torogene fell ill, and within 2-3 months had passed away. Before she did though, Guyuk made sure to dismantle her entire support network. ‘Abd al-Rahman, the money-hungry tax collector of China, was captured and executed. Offices and privileges granted since Ogdeai’s death- yarlighs, in Mongolian- were declared void. The greatest strike to Torogene was against Fatima. The sources depict them as dear friends, and some modern online commentators have suspected the relationship was even romantic, but nothing can be proven in that regard. When Guyuk’s envoys came demanding Torogene hand over Fatima, Torogene refused. In response, Guyuk sent an armed escort with orders not to leave without her. Under armed guard, Fatima was taken captive, bound, starved, humiliated and under torture forced to admit to charges of witchcraft, a crime punishable by death. Her family and supporters were killed, but witchcraft itself needed a more severe punishment. All of Fatima’s orifices were sewn shut, then she was rolled up in felt and, still living, thrown into a river. Torogene was heartbroken, mortified at what she had created, and soon died. Fatima, on Guyuk’s orders, took the blame for the mismanagement of the previous years, sparing any official condemnations of his own mother. The executions did not stop there. You’ll recall in the previous episode how we mentioned Temuge, the youngest brother of Chinggis Khan, and his only surviving full-brother, had attempted to seize power during Torogene’s regency. Though he abandoned this, it was not forgotten. An official investigation was launched, headed by Orda, Batu’s older brother, and Mongke, the oldest of Tolui’s children, and thus senior members of their respective branches. Found guilty of treason, Temuge Otchigin was executed. Few details of the matter are known, and we can suppose information was suppressed. Also tried was Al Altan, Chinggis Khan’s favourite daughter who was married into the Uighur royal family. At Ogedai’s final feast, Al Altan had been present and argued with her brother regarding imperial encroachment on her territory. Ogedai was dead by the next morning. Al Altan was accused of poisoning Ogedai and executed by Guyuk’s right hand man, Eljigidei (el-ji-gi-de). Guyuk also intervened elsewhere. On Chagatai’s death in 1242 he was succeeded by his grandson Qara-Hulegu. Guyuk had Qara-Hulegu removed and appointed his friend and drinking buddy Yesu-Mongke to replace him, putting a more pliant individual in charge of the Chagatai territories. He meddled even further afield. After the victory at Kose-Dagh in 1243, the Seljuqs of Anatolia were Mongol vassals, and a dispute had emerged over who should hold the sultanate after the death of Kaykhusraw II (kay-huus-raw the second): his sons Qilich Arslan IV or Kaykaus II. As Qilich Arslan made the journey to Mongolia to attend Guyuk’s coronation, Guyuk appointed him the Seljuq Sultan. In the Kingdom of Georgia, there was a dispute as to who would succeed the late Queen Rusudan. Batu wanted Rusudan’s son, David, to succeed her, while the local commander, Baiju, wanted Rusudan’s nephew, also named David, on the Georgian throne. Guyuk’s solution was to divide the Kingdom between the two of them. Militarily, Guyuk wanted to resume the conquests after their general hiatus under Torogene. Venerable Subutai was sent on his final campaign alongside Chaghan Noyan against the Song Dynasty, though this was a brief affair. Eljigidei was sent to the Middle East with an army, and threatening letters were sent to the Caliph in Baghdad. Guyuk wanted to finally subjugate Europe, in what was effectively a massive pincer movement against the remaining independent powers on the western end of the continent. A demand for submission was sent with John de Plano Carpini to take back to the Pope and in Autumn 1247, Guyuk and his army set out. This was something of a two birds, one stone situation. While Guyuk’s overall plan was to attack Europe, this brought him close to the territory of Batu. Batu would either have to assist the army, thus demonstrating his submission to the Khan, or he would be destroyed. This was not an attack on the Jochids, though. Guyuk got on fine with Batu’s older brother, Orda, and Guyuk may have intended to replace Batu with Orda as he had done in the Chagatai Khanate with Qara-Hulegu and Yesu-Mongke. Batu was forewarned of the possibility from an unlikely source: Tolui’s widow, Sorqaqtani Beki. Alerted to the danger Batu prepared an army and moved eastwards, sending his brother Shiban ahead to determine Guyuk’s intentions. It seemed the Mongol Empire was veering dangerously close to civil war. This was averted as in April 1248, Guyuk Khan suddenly died, a week’s march west of Beshbaliq. The timing is convenient, and medieval sources share rumours of Guyuk being poisoned by Batu via his brother Shiban. But, as we noted earlier, the sources also mention Guyuk in chronically poor health worsened by his heavy drinking. If true, Guyuk was hardly the first, nor the last, Mongol prince undone from alcoholism and its associated risks. But the timing was rather convenient for Batu, who seems to have been a little too prepared to jump on the opportunity. Batu immediately sent messengers to Guyuk’s widow, Oghul-Qaimish, urging her to take the regency with the assistance of the able Chinqai until a quriltai could declare Guyuk’s successor. In the meantime, Batu proposed a quriltai to be held at a more central location, called Ala Qamaq. The precise location is unclear, but seems to have been somewhere south of Lake Balkhash, rather near to Batu’s territory. The suggestion was met with uproar among the families of Chagatai and Ogedai. The traditional homeland of Chinggis Khan, the Onon-Kerulen region of northern Mongolia, had to be where the Khan was decided! Support for Batu’s suggestion came from his lineage, the Jochids, and what at first seems unlikely allies, the Toluids. To explain this, we need to step back a few years. Tolui, the fourth son of Chinggis Khan and Borte, had married a Kereyit woman, a niece of Toghrul Ong Khan named Sorqaqtani Beki. On Tolui’s death in 1232, Sorqaqtani became the head of that branch of the family. The sources across the board agree that Sorqaqtani was highly intelligent, diplomatically and commercially skilled. She was diplomatically skilled enough to decline, without issue, Ogedai’s offer for her to marry his son Guyuk after Tolui’s death. Instead, she remained independent, inheriting Tolui’s lands and making off very well in the allotment of appanages in 1236. She spent the following years fostering her territories, making ties with merchants and amassing quite the fortune. Even before Tolui’s death, he was often away on campaigning, leaving her to the rearing of their four children: Mongke, Kublai, Hulegu, and Ariq Boke, four names we’ll get to know very well in the following episodes. Teaching them to read and write Mongolian, about administration and leadership, she groomed them for leadership. She also made ties abroad. One of her sisters, Ibaqa, had been married to Chinggis Khan, while another was married to Jochi and though she bore him no sons, it allowed her to make contact with his sons from other wives and form a good relationship with Batu. And then she waited. When Guyuk moved his army westwards, Sorqaqtani was quick to have messengers contact Batu. Batu, concerned with his own autonomy, prepared for the worst. While we can offer no proof if they actually conspired to kill Guyuk, or simply took advantage of the situation as it developed, either way they deftly handled what followed. The combination of the wealth of Batu and Sorqaqtani, and their tremendous influence, made them a dangerous pair, one which outplayed their political rivals. As the quriltai at Ala-Qamaq looked to be going ahead, Sorqaqtani likely felt she compared very well to Guyuk’s widow and the regent, Oghul-Qaimish. Nothing is known of Oghul-Qaimish until she was suddenly thrust into the regency. Like Torogene, she was originally from the Merkit tribe, awarded to Guyuk when both were young. She bore Guyuk two sons, Qucha and Naqu, and may have been the mother of his three known daughters. Unlike Torogene and Sorqaqtani, Oghul-Qaimish had no network of carefully selected allies to rely upon, and was completely unprepared for the role of imperial regent. She is described as generally ignoring the requirements of governing the empire, spending her time with shamans and merchants. Dismissive of Batu’s efforts to organize the quriltai, it seems she was under the impression that the succession would of course go to one of her sons, while also believing it could not go forth without her presence. Because of this, she also seems to have failed to undertake the extensive bribery- sorry, ‘gift giving’- necessary to help smooth along one’s nomination. The quriltai at Ala-Qamaq was held in 1250. While it saw strong attendance from the houses of Jochi and Tolui, few Chagatayids or Ogedeids bothered to show up, refusing to see it as legitimate. Oghul-Qamish was not present, and her sons Qucha and Naqu briefly stopped in before departing and leaving a representative, Temur Noyan, to vote for them. As Qara-Hulegu, the deposed grandson of Chagatai, and one of Ogedai’s sons from a concubine, Qadan, showed up, Batu could say that all branches of the family were represented and therefore, was perfectly legal. In the absence of Qucha and Naqu, the only candidate who fielded enough respect was Mongke, though we can suspect it was engineered to choose him either way. Mongke was the eldest son of Tolui and Sorqaqtani, a fit, well respected military leader who had fought well during the great western campaign. Mongke and his mother were friendly to Batu, and made an agreement to essentially make Batu ruler of the western half of the empire. Hence, Batu ensured Mongke had the Jochid vote. This was by no means uncontested. The house of Ogedai believed that Chinggis Khan had meant for rule of the empire to stay within their line. Batu, Sorqaqtani and her children presented various arguments against this. One was that the Ogedeids, through their actions such as the executions of Temuge and Al Altan, or by choosing to elect Guyuk to succeed Ogedai instead of his grandson Shiremun, had voided this. Another was that, in Mongolian tradition, the youngest son inherited the father’s property. As Tolui was Chinggis Khan’s youngest son, that therefore made his line the rightful heirs. The fact that Mongke was not in turn Tolui’s youngest son was thoughtfully glossed over. Generous bribery did much to convince the naysayers present, and in the end even the representative left by Qucha and Naqu voted to elect Mongke as great Khan. The assembly agreed to hold a quriltai in Mongolia as soon as possible to confirm it. That an election went ahead without their presence sent the Ogedeids into a tailspin. They had failed to declare their own candidate in the first place: Qucha and Naqu each wanted to be Khan, while their mother Oghul-Qaimish seems to have actually picked Ogedai’s grandson Shiremun as her candidate. At each other’s throats, the three actually formed their own courts in opposition to each other. Government at the highest level ground to a halt, the minister Chinqai said to have been left in the wind as none of these courts listened to him. Oghul-Qaimish tried to raise funds for a quriltai: like Guyuk, she only paid merchants in drafts rather than, well, actual payment, and increased irregular acquisitions on the sedentary population. Even nomads saw their taxes increase: normally every 1 in 100 horses was paid in tax, but in 1250 this increased to every 1 in 10! An embassy from King Louis IX of France brought a red scarlet tent as gift for Oghul-Qaimish, which she took around to claim she had just garnered the submission of the King of France. It was all for naught. In summer 1251 the quriltai was held by the Kerulen River, where Mongke was formally enthroned at a lavish ceremony. Oghul-Qaimish and her son Qucha did not attend. Naqu did, in the company of Shiremun, and an army hidden inside large gers mounted on carts. They were going to arrive late and ambush the new Khaan in the middle of feasting. Or they would have, if not for a lost camel. A member of Mongke’ keshig, a falconer, was in search of a camel which had wandered off when he ended up in the camp of Naqu and Shiremun. There he stopped to help in repairing a broken cart, which he noticed was full of weapons and armour- something one simply did not bring to a quriltai. Politely excusing himself, he was said to have ran “three days distance in one,” to reach the new Khan. The sources present Mongke refusing to believe members of his family would march against him. We can dismiss this entirely. The possibility of such a counter effort had to have been anticipated from the beginning, and the fact that Mongke immediately had an armed company under his right-hand man, Menggeser, on standby to send against them speaks to that. Menggeser and his men apprehended Naqu and Shiremun and dispersed his force. Mongke needed to begin his reign with clearing the board of enemies, on a scale beyond even what Guyuk had done. Qucha was ordered to come to Mongke, and only reluctantly agreed. Oghul-Qaimish refused to come, calling Mongke’s messengers traitors for having taken the rule from the line of Ogedai. They returned with an armed escort, taking her captive with her hands stitched together in rawhide. Along with Shiremun’s mother, they were taken to the camp of Sorqaqtani. There, they were beaten with burning brands until they confessed to charges of witchcraft. As Sorqaqtani had fallen ill about this time, this accusation for those assembled may have felt legitimate. Put on trial by Menggeser, now chief judge of the empire, Oghul-Qaimish was stripped naked and humiliated, but defiant. “How can anyone else look upon a body that only an emperor has seen?” she told the court. She was found guilty, then rolled up in felt and thrown into the Kerulen River, though spared having her orifices sewn. Her sons fared better, as Shiremun’s chief commander was tortured into saying the princes were innocent of the treason. Qucha was forced to live basically within sight of Karakorum, while Naqu and Shiremun were sent to the front lines in China. Guyuk’s man Eljigidei was punished for the execution of Al Altan, his sons caught and their mouths filled with stones until they died. Eljigidei was captured and sent to Batu, who either boiled him alive, or cut off his feet and head. Buri, a grandson of Chagatai and friend of Guyuk, was put to death by Batu, while Yesu-Mongke, the prince Guyuk had placed in charge of the Chagatais, was executed and replaced by Qara-Hulegu, who had originally held the position. Guyuk’s atabeg, Qadaq, was also captured and killed. The Uighur idiqut was put to death by his own brother on Mongke’s orders. Even the able and long serving Chinqai was killed, an old enemy Danishmand Hajib allowed to take out a grudge upon him. This purge continued until the line of Ogedai had been pruned and their lands confiscated. Only a few princes, those who had sided with Mongke or were too young, such as Qaidu, the future foe of Kublai, survived on much reduced territories. The ulus of Ogedai essentially ceased to exist, most of its territory given to the Jochids, central government or Toluids. The Chagatai Khanate fared better, but saw a change in leadership and loss of several princes. This was the Toluid Revolution, a massive transformation in the Mongol Empire. The switching of the ruling line from that of Ogedai to Tolui, the near eradication of the line of Ogedai and effective division of the empire between Batu and Mongke marked a radical transformation in the composition of the empire. Mongke and the lines of his brothers wrote official histories to justify the switch to their rule, and here we see the ravaging of the reputations of Torogene, Guyuk and Oghul Qaimish. Sorqaqtani died shortly after Mongke’s ascension, and unlike Torogene and Oghul Qaimish, she passed away on good terms with her son, having seen him elevated to the highest of positions. Nevertheless, it was in part to her efforts that the empire was placed on a path to fragmentation. Deep seated grudges were now set among the lines, and the unity that Chinggis Khan had fought so fiercely to achieve was cracking. In the meantime, Mongke was going to lead the empire in another massive phase of expansion, 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!
Over our previous few episodes, we’ve taken you from the ascension of Ogedai as Great Khan in 1229 to a whirlwind journey of conquests across Asia. The final conquest of the Jurchen Jin Dynasty in North China, the subjugation of the rest of Central Asia, Iran, through the Caucasus into Anatolia, and the famous great western campaign, wherein Subutai and Batu led Mongol forces across the western steppe, conquering the independent Turkic Cuman-Qipchaps, Rus’ principalities, and culminating in battles in Hungary and Poland. Now, let us step back to the latter half of the reign of Ogedai and his ultimate demise at the end of 1241, and the seeds this sowed for the future of the Mongol Empire. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. We left off with Ogedai at the highpoint of his reign as Great Khan. Episode 13 detailed his establishment of the imperial administration, taxation systems, construction of the imperial capital of Karakorum and ordering of new conquests, while the following episode detail the fall of the Jurchen Jin Dynasty in 1234. The final conquest of the Jin, the longtime foes of the Mongols who had managed to survive the mighty onslaught of Chinggis Khan, must have been a moment of great pride for Ogedai. He oversaw the monumental expansion of the Mongol Empire, though he himself was not at the head of most of these armies. Nonetheless, in the first half of the 1230s Ogedai took a direct and energetic role in government. Under his watch, skilled figures like Yelu Chucai in north China, Mahmud Yalavach in Central Asia and Chinqai as Chancellor became overseers of reconstruction after the initial conquests. Ogedai truly wielded an authority and influence across Asia, not to mention an immense wealth, which few monarchs in history can compare to. Yet, the clouds formed over Ogedai quickly. The death of Tolui, his brother and close confidant in 1232, likely from excessive alcoholism, was a blow he struggled to recover from. The death of his son and heir Kochu in the early rounds of the Mongol-Song conflict in 1236, which began months after the destruction of the Jin, was another severe blow, marking his major withdrawal from government. Depressed, Ogedai increasingly absolved himself from the function of state to partake in excessive drinking and feasting, his health declining precipitously. As early as 1235, when the great western campaign was beginning, Ogedai may have already not been in physical shape to join them. His judgement clouded by alcohol and disinterest, the Khan was easily swayed by smooth talking officials and wife, Torogene, whose interests were more often personal enrichment than the rebuilding of conquered territories. Yelu Chucai, the Khitan minister who fought vigorously to impose a proper and fair government in China, felt these effects keenly. Chucai, you’ll recall, had managed to persuade Ogedai against eradicating the northern Chinese and instead implement a regular taxation system, and reduce the extortion of the local people by rapacious officers. At the start of the 1230s, Yelu Chucai was met with success, and with Ogedai’s support implemented further reforms. In 1231 he was made head of the Secretariat for North China, placing him in charge of the region’s civilian government. With the fall of the Jin in 1234 and Mongol rule now established across all of northern China, Chucai was able to convince Ogedai to launch a census of the region, undertaken by Shigi Qutuqu, Ogedai’s adopted brother, and help encourage the displaced population to return to their homes. Chucai even convinced the Mongols to implement a household tax, lessening the individual taxes the Mongols used in Central Asia. Further, the grain levies were now assessed based on the value and quantity of land, rather than a flat rate. These efforts alone greatly reduced the tax burdens on many, and in 1235 Chucai was at the height of his influence. In 1230, he had collected 10,000 ingots of silver in tax from North China; by 1234, the revenue quota was set to 22,000. Chucai was turning his attention to reintegrating Jin officials to serve in the Mongol administration, and must have had high hopes for what he would accomplish. Unfortunately 1236 marked a downhill turn for, well, everything. With the completion of the census, done on Chucai’s urging to properly organize tax obligations, the Mongol government had a rough idea of the population distribution of their northern Chinese territory. The census showed a population of North China of 1,730,000 households over ten districts: about 8 and a half million people. For comparison, the final census the Jin Dynasty took in 1207 showed a figure of 8,400,000 households, approximately 53 and a half million individuals! While there certainly was a horrific loss of life in the former Jin territory, it’s important to note much of this can be attested to population displacement, and a massive influx of refugees to the Song Dynasty in southern China, and a huge floating population. It’s difficult to count households when those very houses have been destroyed. It’s very likely the Mongol ordered census was not undertaken very well or thoroughly. Many fled before the approach of the census takers, fearing them to be raiding Mongols, or fearing the result of possibly increased taxation on the region. The fact remains though, northern China saw a terrible loss of life ove the twenty years of Mongol-Jin conflict. If not killed from the wars themselves, the destruction of farmland,the ensuing starvation,spread of disease and banditry carried off many more. Whatever Yelu Chucai’s intentions were for the completion of the census, Ogedai quickly dashed them. With this information, Ogedai divided up large tracts of north China into princely appanages, khubi, to give to the various third and fourth generation Chinggisids and the military officers. As the Mongol Empire was considered the shared patrimony of the Chinggisids, all of them had to be provided for- and there were a lot of Chinggisids running around now. Ogedai granted them agricultural lands and the families upon them to supplement their incomes. Among those who gained lands to oversee was Tolui’s widow, Sorhaqtani Beki, and her son, the twenty year old Kublai. In 1236 the future Kublai Khan had his first post over Chinese- which he, like many other Mongols, did not do well, absentee landlords in Mongolia. Yelu Chucai was aghast at this: part of his efforts had been to centralize government, but this parcelling up of North China was a huge step to decentralization, another nightmarish level of princely egos and officers he had to jump through, as well as another level at which the Chinese population could be oppressed. While Chucai got Ogedai to agree on continued government control of taxation in these appanages, the actual implementation in practice was poor. The following years were only worse. Chucai had enemies in the court- those who wished to plunder the riches of China to line their own pockets- and though Chucai and Ogedai had a personally warm relationship, the death of Ogedai’s son Kochu in November 1236 sapped much of his remaining energy. In 1237 Chucai’s foes were bold enough to publicly denounce him for misappropriating funds- charges which went nowhere, but were an opening salvo in an ongoing fight for power. Chucai managed to convince Ogedai to allow him to hold civil service examinations in China to staff the bureaucracy, but few of the 4,00 who passed in 1238 were ever called up for service. The Mongols were unwilling to hand over control to the Chinese. Chucai, as a Khitan and therefore seen as kin to the Mongols, was tolerated despite his sinicization, and respected for his long service to both Chinggis and Ogedai. But as Ogedai grew clouded by drink, without the Khan’s backing Chucai was unable to hold back those who wished to loot China. With Mongol demands for higher and higher levels of tax assessment, Chucai’s efforts were undone by Central Asian Muslim merchants. Long had the imperial family fostered a good relationship with this diverse group, an important source of information for the Mongols in their campaigns in the west. Ogedai infamously overpaid for their goods, sometimes astonishing amounts. Recall how we said the tax revenue of North China in 1230 was 10,000 silver ingots? On several occasions, Ogedai gave 500 silver or gold ingots to individual merchants. The reason for such overpayments was to help restore the overland trade and encourage merchants to make the difficult trek to Karakorum. Freely giving away such amounts also demonstrated the wealth and majesty of the Great Khans- who else could afford such generosity but the most powerful monarchs under Heaven? The partnership between Mongol princes and Muslim merchants was very common and earned a specific name in Mongolian: ortogh. Mongol princes, including Ogedai, financed Muslim merchants with huge quantities of silver. The was a huge drain of the treasury, going to the enrichment of individual princes and merchants. In late 1239 Ogedai was convinced to place the taxation of north China into the hands of tax farmers, led by a notorious individual named ‘Abd al-Rahman. In the words of historian Thomas Allsen, “a more ruinous and exploitive system is difficult to conceive.” In this system, the Central Asian merchants placed bids on the right to collect various categories of taxation, and substantially raised the tax quota they said they’d collect for the Mongols. Whatever the merchants collected over these quotas was profit, and they’d collect as much as they could. Unable to pay the new tax levels, the same merchants would then lend money at usurious rates to the Chinese. And the source of the money being given as loan? Why, the silver provided by the Mongols- that which had originally been taken as tax revenue! Despite Chucai’s objections, this was undertaken in China and Central Asia, and the result was an unmitigated disaster. The revenue taken as taxes from northern China in 1234 was 22,000 silver ingots; in 1240, the efforts of the tax farmers had raised the tax burden to 44,000 silver ingots- not counting what they took as profit above this, or the interest on their loans! We are told of people being forced to sell their lands, homes, animals, even family members to pay these taxes, or fleeing outright. Ogedai “magnanimously” set out a decree ordering that the interest rate could not exceed the original amount borrowed, but the damage was clear. Even though Ogedai removed ‘Abd al-Rahman from office in late 1241, his short tenure had economically devastated northern China- which, it should be noted, had hardly recovered from the initial Mongol conquests. Ogedai ordered that public funds would be used to pay the outstanding debts, totalling 76,000 ingots. Of course, this meant ‘Abd al-Rahman and his gluttonous merchants still got paid. With ‘Abd al-Rahman’s removal Ogedai appointed Mahmud Yalavach, the head of the Secretariat for Central Asia, to the head of the administration for North China to restore order and implement a proper system of taxation. Yalavach had little time to do this, as Ogedai was dead a month later. While his administrative apparatus was mired in corruption, Ogedai himself was mired in the cup. It’s difficult to overstate just how little interest Ogedai took in governing in his final years, drinking, feasting and hunting instead. On the rare occasions when he was making official decisions, he was often good and sozzled while doing so. Most medieval sources discussing Ogedai, even those most celebratory of his reign, remark on his severe alcoholism. Even the often laconic Secret History of the Mongols mentions his failure to resist the drink. On one occasion, Yelu Chucai pointed to how wine corroded the metal mouth of its container, and told Ogedai “how can it not cause even more injury to the five human organs?” Ogedai told Yelu Chucai just how right he was, gifted him gold and silks, then ordered for more wine. The most famous anecdote is Ogedai’s older brother, the stern Chagatai, ordering Ogedai’s cupbearers to halve the numbers of cups Ogedai was given in a day. Ogedai’s response was to double the size of the cups. Often ill, and more often drunk, with his absence his wife Torogene steadily increased her influence. Torogene had been captured by the Mongols in 1204/5, a wife of a Merkit chief before being given to Ogedai. Torogene was neither Ogedai’s first wife nor his favourite: these honours belonged to his wives Boraqchin and Moge Khatun respectively, the latter having been a wife of Chinggis Khan before passing to Ogedai on his father’s death. However, Torogene was the only wife to bear him sons. 5 of Ogedai’s 7 children were born with Torogene, the other two with concubines. We’ve already named several of these sons over the last few episodes: Guyuk, the eldest, followed by Koten, and Kochu, the son chosen as heir who died in 1236. Kochu’s demise was a personal and political blow Ogedai did not recover from, and in the vacuum caused by Ogedai’s drunken stupors, Torogene stepped up. With her close confidant, Fatima, a Central Asian Muslim captured during the Khwarezmian campaign, Torogene began manuevering her supporters into positions of power. All sources agree that Torogene was an intelligent woman, one who hoped to ensure her oldest son Guyuk would succeed Ogedai and not let the throne pass to another branch of the Chinggisids. Many sources also call her vengeful, vindictive and domineering. Even while Ogedai still lived, Torogene began issuing decrees in his name; a necessity considered Ogedai was incapable or unwilling to do so. The already mentioned ‘Abd al-Rahman, the tax farmer from China, was an ally of Torogene, brought to her attention by Fatima, his rise assisted by their effort. Even though Ogedai removed him from his office in China, Torogene’s influence ensured al-Rahman stayed in the court. Indeed, he became Ogedai’s drinking buddy, only too happy to pass more cups to the Khaan’s lips. Those who had tried to restrict his drinking were distant, or had long since given up: Chief Minister of the Central Secretariat, Chinqai, was pushed out by ‘Abd al-Rahman and Torogene; Ogedai’s brother Chagatai was in Central Asia, and Yelu Chucai’s influence had dissipated, reduced to court astrologer. On the 7th of December, 1241, Ogedai went on a hunting trip in Mongolia. He returned on the 10th, where a feast was held, attended by ‘Abd al-Rahman and Ogedai’s sister, Al Altun, queen of the Uighurs who was there likely protesting central encroachments on her territory. Ogedai drank copiously, ‘Abd al-Rahman giving him wine and more wine throughout the night. By the morning of December 11th 1241, Ogedai, Great Khan of the Mongol Empire, was dead. He was 55 years old. Accusations of poison were spread: Ibaqa of the Keryit, a former wife of Chinggis who was cupbearer at the final feast, was accused, but was exonerated by the respected general Eljigidei (El-jig-i-die), a firm Ogedai loyalist. It seemed initially that Moge Khatun, the respected widow of both Chinggis and Ogedai, was poised to assume the regency until a successor could be decided. But the childless Moge was outmaneuvered by Torogene, who had anticipated this for years. Messengers were sent to Chagatai, now the only surviving son of Chinggis Khan, who sided with Torogene to be regent. Both Chagatai and Moge Khatun died soon afterwards. The sudden rounds of deaths sure were convenient to Torogene, but nothing can be proven on the matter. Either way, initially Torogene enjoyed wide support as regent, whose goal now was to secure the succession for her son Guyuk. It was not to be easy, nor cheap. Early on, the only surviving full brother of Chinggis Khan, his youngest brother Temuge, moved to take Karakorum with an army, but was convinced out of this by both Torogene’s diplomacy and the arrival of another of Ogedai’s sons Melik, and his troops. It should be noted that the succession issue was not something the Mongols ever sorted out. Chinggis had declared Ogedai to be his heir, but in steppe tradition neither choosing an heir nor primogeniture was common or always accepted. In theory the election was open to all descendants of Chinggis Khan through his wife, Borte. Due to Jochi’s uncertain paternity, his descendants never seem to have been viable however. Chinggis Khan could declare Ogedai his heir as his authority was absolute by the end of his life, but Ogedai did not wield the same strength on his death. It is conflicted between sources if Chinggis Khan had actually given the imperial throne permanently to the line of Ogedai, or if it was to be chosen by whoever was the fittest candidate amongst the branches. While being the son of the previous Khan was obviously a boon to this, having seniority, armies and commanders to back up one’s claim mattered a great deal, as the Khan was to be decided upon at quriltai of the elite of the empire. In earlier steppe empires, succession often went brother-to-brother before it went father-to-son. Before his death Ogedai had named his grandson Shiremun, son of his late heir Kochu, to succeed him, but the young and inexperienced Shiremun could not field this military support. Torogene’s second son Koten threw his hat in the ring, basing his candidacy on rumours that Chinggis Khan himself had once spoken well of him. Unlike Shiremun, he had military experience and a following, making him therefore a serious contender. Torogene’s early efforts to hold a quriltai, a meeting of the imperial family, to settle the matter were hampered by the refusal of Batu, head of the Jochids, to come or even send representatives. Citing gout and poor health, Batu stayed within his own territory and did not desire to see Guyuk ascend to the throne. The two had developed an antagonism during the great western campaign, and Batu saw that the ascension of Guyuk would be a limit on his own authority. While Torogene continued to try to arrange the next quriltai, she was no mere caretaker of the empire, instead making her own administrative decisions. Many of the ‘progressives’ of the administration, those who argued for reconstruction and regular taxation such as Chinqai in the Central Secretariat, Mahmud Yalavach in North China, Yalavach’s son Mas’ud Beg in the Central Asian Secretariat and Korguz in Iran, found themselves chased from office. Korguz was killed by the Chagatayids on a minor charge, to the anger of the Jochids who he was associated with, while Mas’ud Beg fled to the court of Batu. Mas’ud’s father Mahmud Yalavach had run afoul of Chagatai before Ogedai’s death, so chasing him from his new office in China further appeased the Chagatayid branch. Chinqai and Yalavach ended up finding refuge with Torogene’s second son, Koten, who refused to give them up to his mother. Having such influential and experienced figures in his court was a boon to his candidacy. Our dear friend Yelu Chucai, who had already lost influence before this, was spared, having been reduced to court astrologer and lacking real power. His wife predeceasing him, the powerless Yelu Chucai died in 1243, alone and depressed at the failure of his efforts. Before Chucai’s death Torogene’s ally ‘Abd al-Rahman had already been reappointed to his position in North China. We have very little information on his second tenure in the office, but almost certainly his exploitative practices continued. Part of why Torogene ran the ‘progressives’ from office was to secure the support of the Mongol elite who wanted to exploit China’s resources. A number felt already the influence of non-Mongols, especially Chinese, was too great in the administration and by appealing to this crowd Torogene could build support for her son’s enthronement. Equally effective was a substantial spending effort on her part, gift giving to convince more to her cause. Notably, this was a period with little Mongol military action. Baiju continued his operations against the Seljuqs, as we covered previously, and minor operations continued against the Song Dynasty. It says a lot about the Mongol conquests when we can consider concurrent campaigns happening in China and Anatolia as a slowdown! It was not until summer 1246 that Torogene felt she had the support to hold the next quriltai to decide Ogedai’s successor. The choice was down to three: her sons Guyuk and Koten, and her grandson Shiremun, but neither of the latter could compete with Torogene’s warchest. Batu refused to come to this quriltai as well, but this time did send representatives like his older brother Orda and younger brother Berke. Perhaps he had realized the dangers to the empire by continuing to stall on the matter. The meeting was held near the Kerulen River in Mongolia in August, where Torogene had again spared no expense. The deliberations took place in a massive white tent, said to hold 2,000 people, where the nobility of the empire debated the course of action. On Torogene’s expense, matching outfits were provided for each day: white, red and blue velvet robes the first three days, followed by brocade on the fourth. Mornings of discussion followed with afternoons of drinking and evenings of feasting- again, huge expenses on the part of Torogene, and not without effect. Deciding Shiremun was too young, Koten in too poor health, Guyuk was settled upon. As per tradition, he refused several times before agreeing, hoisted into the throne by his cousins, Orda son of Jochi, and Yesu-Mongke son of Chagatai. On the 24th August 1246 Guyuk son of Ogedai, grandson of Chinggis Khan, became the third Great Khan of the Mongol Empire. Our next episode discusses the “long” reign of Guyuk Khaan, 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 two days’ walk a trail of corpses lead from the bridge over the Sajo River. Arrows protruding from fallen Hungarians, limbs bent at unnatural angles, leading to a dense marsh where armoured bodies lay sunk in the bloodied water. Riders picked over the bodies, collecting unbroken arrows, still usable weapons and armours while finishing off survivors. Great piles of loot were made, to be divided among the troops, and Batu Khan, grandson of Chinggis, took the royal tents of the Hungarian King, Bela IV, for himself. Bela had escaped, but the Mongol riders would pursue. In the aftermath of the carnage at the battlefield at Mohi, the rest of the Hungarian Kingdom and Europe itself seemed open to Mongol horsemen. Batu and Subutai may have envisioned leading their men into the cities of Italy, Germany and France, but within a year they pulled their forces back from Europe. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest. The Mongols considered the battle of Mohi, over the 10th and 11th of April, 1241, among their greatest victories, a hard fought battle over a determined enemy. Though the battle over the bridge was close, Mongol losses running high and certain princes wishing to retreat, in the end Batu and Subutai outplayed the Hungarians and destroyed the royal army. Yet King Bela IV had escaped, as had his brother Prince Coloman, and a number of Hungarian nobles had not been present, never providing their troops to Bela in the first place. Nonetheless, the battle’s outcome was a massive disaster for the Hungarians. Alongside the sheer volume in manpower lost, many of the Kingdom’s highest ranking figures had been killed. From top bishops, archbishops, the Knights Templar within the Kingdom, to Bela’s chancellor, were among the fallen. In one stroke, the head of the Hungarian administrative apparatus was nearly severed. Though Bela and his brother Coloman survived, they were on the run, desperate to get as far from the Mongols as possible. In the even terrain of the Great Hungarian Plain east of the Danube River, it was hard to get far enough. Prince Coloman reached Pest, where the Hungarian army had rode from so confidently a week prior. He urged the inhabitants to flee, but was rebuffed, the wall-less town choosing then to begin building ditches and defences. Coloman rode on to Zagreb in Croatia where he succumbed to his injuries in May. Bela rode to his territories west of the Danube River, near the Austrian border where his wife and young children were. There they were invited to seek refuge in Austria by its Duke, Frederick. Bela headed to the Austrian fortress of Hainburg, where he was promptly imprisoned, the Austrian Duke demanding an exorbitant ransom from the Hungarian King: at least 1,000 marks in coin, another 1,000 in gold, silver vessels, jewels, and five western counties of Hungary to be ceded to Frederick. Bela reluctantly paid, then rejoined his family in Hungary before fleeing south to Croatia. Duke Frederick sought to take these territories by force, but due to local resistance, was only able to hold three. Angered, he began extorting money from refugees seeking shelter in Austria! Bela reached Zagreb around May 18th, in time to bury his dear brother Coloman, in some accounts forced to give him an unmarked grave to avoid it being descretated by the Mongols. In his absence, Hungary was left to the Mongols. In the Hungarian Plain where fortifications sat on level ground and consisted of wood or earthworks, the Mongols were unstoppable. Historical sources and archaeology show horrific destruction, depopulation and indiscriminate slaughter. In some regions of the plain population loss reached as high as 70% , many villages permanently abandoned. Remains of people trapped within burning buildings abound. The few locations built in difficult to access sites, such as mountaintops or thick marshand protected with stone, fared better, but these were rare and of little consolation to the majority. Demographically, this caused a massive shift with refugees flooding out of the plain to western and northern Hungary, territory more rugged and easily fortifiable. We have evidence of desperate, impromptu defenses built around churches, often the only stone buildings accessible. Ditches and earthworks were dug in concentric layers around churches, incorporating the local cemeteries and features. Arrowheads and bodies are always found, indicating only hopeless last stands. At Pest, Batu and Subutai linked up with Qadan, Burundai and Bojek, the commanders who had campaigned through Transylvania. The hastily constructed defences of Pest were easily penetrated, the town burned down by the 30th of April. From Pest, the Mongols ravaged the cities on the east and north banks of the Danube River, unable to cross it. By July 1241 Mongols riding west along the north bank of the Danube reached the Duchy of Austria. Austria’s Duke Frederick defeated some Mongol parties, in the process making a fascinating capture: an Englishman, banished from England around 1220, who had wandered east, developed a skill for languages and eventually wound up in Mongol service, where he was richly rewarded for his talents. He was sent as envoy to King Bela at least twice, before meeting his fate in Austria. Finding resistance stiff and yet still unable to find an unguarded crossing point over the Danube River, the Mongols soon turned back from Austria. To terrify the defenders on the west side of the Danube, the Mongols piled bodies of the slain on the east bank, and were said to have speared small children on lances and parade them ‘like fish on a spit.’ Waiting for the river to freeze, Mongol forces were left to harass central and eastern Hungary for the remainder of 1241. An emotional eye witness account of the horrors of the 1241 occupation is recorded for us by the Archbishop of Varad, Master Roger, sometimes called Rogerius. Written shortly after the invasion, Roger describes his own harrowing journey on the run from the Mongols, including first hand information from other survivors. Roger had fled Varad, modern Oradea in Romania, shortly before the city was destroyed by Qadan. Watching from the forest, he saw Qadan leave only the castle standing before withdrawing. After several days, the castle’s defenders came down from the walls to rebuild the town, thinking their deep moat and wooden towers had scared off the Mongols. One day at dawn Qadan’s riders reappeared, killing those outside the walls then surrounding the castle, setting up seven catapults which bombarded the walls ceaselessly day and night; towers and newly fortified sections of the walls were all demolished. The defenders were killed, and the women and survivors who fled into the church were trapped when the Mongols set it aflame. Withdrawing again, the Mongols waited several days before returning again to kill those survivors who had come out for food. Roger saw this carried out several times; a German village on the Çris River which he nearly stayed in was obliterated shortly after his departure; Cenad, where he hoped to flee, was destroyed before he could arrive; and for a while he found refuge at a fortified island, accessible only by a narrow passage and gates. After his servants abandoned him, stealing his money and clothes, Roger left the island for the nearby forest, from where he watched Mongol forces arrive. Setting up on one side of the river, the Mongols tricked the defenders into mobilizing there, anticipating the Mongols would try a river crossing. Then, another group of Mongols struck the now undefended gates, striking the defenders from the rear and taking the island. Horrific slaughter ensued, and once again after a few days the Mongols returned to kill those survivors who, through hunger, were forced to come out to search for food. Knowing many people hid in the forests, the Mongols sent captured persons into the forests with messages that they would spare anyone who gave themselves up before a set deadline, allowing them to return to their homes. Having found the Royal Seal from the corpse of Bela’s Chancellor at Mohi, they dispersed forged documents in the name of the King, sending this message to discourage flight. “Do not fear the ferocity and madness of the hounds and do not dare to leave your houses, because, although on account of some unforeseen circumstances we had to leave behind the camp and our tents, yet by the favor of God we intend gradually to recover them and fight a valiant battle against the Tatars; therefore, do nothing except pray that merciful God may permit us to crush the head of our enemies.” Starving and scared, many complied and returned to their villages, Master Roger among those leaving the forests. The Mongols appointed basqaqs to govern these regions, both Mongols, subject peoples and Hungarians who had sided with them. Roger describes attaching himself to a man who had “already become a Tatar in deeds.” In this way, the well educated churchman accompanied his new master to weekly meetings of the overseers, who installed, over summer 1241, a regional administration. Courts and local governments were established to maintain a sort of justice- one which involved the overseers collecting numerous beautiful women for their own purposes. The villagers were to resume life and bring in the harvest. Once collected, the Mongols rode out, took what they needed for their own men and horses, and burned the rest. With a cold winter and continued depredations in spring 1242 preventing planting, a horrific famine followed. Roger makes this interesting statement after the Mohi battle: “First they set aside Hungary beyond the Danube and assigned their share to all of the chief kings of the Tatars who had not yet arrived in Hungary. They sent word to them on the news and to hurry as there was no longer any obstacle before them.” Evidently, the Mongols anticipated not just raiding Hungary, but allocating its territory and people to the princes and the Great Khan as they had elsewhere. Over 1241 at least, the Mongols were still expecting to stay in the region and continue to expand. With much of his kingdom left in the hands of the Mongols, King Bela tried to organize some sort of resistance. While in Zagreb in summer 1241 Bela corresponded with the Pope , Gregory IX, for help from the west. Gregory essentially shrugged off Bela’s pleas, informing him no help would come as the Pope and Holy Roman Emperor, Frederick II Hohenstaufen, were locked in conflict. The Kaiser in his letters to King Henry III of England and Louis IX of France did say they should unite against the incursion, and his son Konrad, King of Germany, collected a crusading force, but this all came to naught. Konrad’s army advanced some 80 kilometres east of Nuremberg in July 1241 before dispersing, the Mongol threat to Germany proper having dissipated for the time being. By September, the German nobility was rebelling against Konrad and civil war breaking out, while the Saintonge War between France and England began in early 1242. While Pope Gregory had ordered the preaching of crusade against the Mongols, he died in August 1241, his successor surviving only three weeks, leaving the position vacant until Innocent IV’s election in 1243. Bela would see no aid from the west. The winter of 1241-1242 was brutally cold, exacerbating the famine and suffering in eastern Hungary. The few fords and ferries over the Danube River were guarded by Hungarian defenders on the river’s west bank, but as the temperature dropped precipitously and ice began to form on the river, they knew it impossible to watch the full length of the frontier. Despite efforts to break the ice, the Danube froze around Christmas 1241. To test the ice, the Mongols left a group of horses unguarded, and when they saw Hungarians cross the ice to herd the horses back over the river, they knew it was safe to cross. Batu and Subutai took their riders over the river, falling on the untouched western edge of Hungary. Once more, unfortified sites and villages suffered greatly from Mongol riders. But here the terrain was more rugged, fortifications more common and there had been time to improve defenses and plans. In the first days of 1242, Batu directed his energies against Esztergom, the kingdom’s preeminent political and religious centre. Hungarian prisoners were sent forward to build a wall of bundles of twigs before the moat, to screen 30 siege engines. The population felt confident behind their moats, walls and wooden towers, but stones lobbed from the catapults destroyed the towers and homes within the city. Next, they hurled bags of dirt into the moat, the garrison unable to clear it due to the precision of Mongol archers. With it apparent that the walls would soon be breached, the townsfolk set fire to the suburbs, destroyed the fine fabrics, buried gold and silver, killed horses and generally hid everything of value, then retreated to the citadel. Once Batu learned he had denied his prize, he was furious. The stone citadel was surrounded with wooden palisades, but they were unable to take it- a Spaniard named Simon led a skilled defence with able balistarius, referring either to crossbowmen or counter siege engines, keeping the Mongols at bay. Perhaps with good reason, it was a commonly held belief in Europe that crossbows were a weapon feared by the Mongols. The Chinese catapults the Mongols utilized were designed for use against walls of pounded earth- common in China and Central Asia, and highly effective against earth works and wooden walls, as among the Rus’ principalities. A stone walled fortress however, proved resilient. See, the Chinese catapult was a traction catapult, sometimes called a mangonel, and was powered entirely by manpower. Large teams of men, each holding a rope, would pull on one end of the catapult arm, thus propelling the given projectile. Such a machine was, comparatively speaking, easy to build and take apart, and could be fired relatively quickly. To increase the velocity of the projectile, it was a matter of increasing the size of both the team and the machine. However, their range and strength was less than the cunningly designed counterweight trebuchet, which began to appear in the 13th century. The Mongols would, in time, require these counterweight trebuchets in order to take the greatest of Song Dynasty fortifications, Xiangyang, as the classic traction catapult proved insufficient to the task of those mighty walls protected by wide moats. Likewise, it seems stone fortifications, which in Central and Western Europe were often built on high points difficult to access, proved beyond the means of the traction catapult. Esztergom’s outer walls had fallen, but the stone central castle withstood their efforts, and if the defenders had their own counter batteries, Batu may have been infuriated to watch his own men and machines for the first time targeted by enemy catapults. Batu was certainly in a foul mood: when 300 ladies from the city came out in their finest clothes to beg for mercy, Batu ordered them robbed and decapitated before finally leaving the city. Nothing stood of Esztergom except the citadel, the surrounding suburbs a smoking ruin. Szekesfehervar, one of the Kingdom’s chief cities, similarly withstood a brutal assault. Everything outside the city walls was obliterated but the able garrison, possibly a group of Hospitaller Knights, built their own siege weapons to counter those of the Mongols. The siege lasted only a few days before the Mongols moved on. The ferocious pace the Mongols had taken cities in Eastern Hungary was not repeated in the western part of the Kingdom, where the enemy refused to meet the Mongols in the open field. With depleted numbers Batu may have lacked the will to conduct prolonged, bloody sieges, his siege weapons struggling against stout stone walls. With the garrisons refusing to rush out for feigned retreats, Batu found his operational abilities reduced. While Batu struck Esztergom at the start of 1242, Qadan had been sent south to hunt down Bela IV, who had moved on from Zagreb. After a flight down the Dalmatian coastline, Bela took refuge on an island just off shore before finally going to sea, narrowly avoiding Qadan’s riders. At one point, he sailed close to the shore to view Qadan’s army, who could only watch in frustration. Early in the season with limited pasture, Qadan only had a small force, but took out what anger he could, burning down numerous settlements from Zagreb itself past Dubrovnik, before abandoning the pursuit in March. Qadan cut through the Serbian Kingdom and the southern edge of the Hungarian Kingdom, taking Belgrade, before meeting with Batu in Bulgaria. And it is the end of March, 1242 that we reach the most controversial topic of the campaign, as Batu began to pull back from Hungary, having found no great success in the territories beyond the Danube. This was no hurried rush to escape the country however. The earlier mentioned Master Roger was still in Mongol service at this point, recording that up until the withdrawal began, he was under the impression Germany was to be the next target. Roger then describes the journey as slow, loaded with booty, weapons, herds of cattle and sheep, methodically searching hiding places and forests to find both persons and goods they had missed in their first advance. Upon returning to Transylvania, where the rugged region and thick forests provided much cover for survivors, and castles had since been refortified, Batu ordered a renewed onslaught. Roger states succinctly, “With exception a few castles, they occupied the whole country and as they passed through, they left the country desolate and empty.” Orda and Baidar returned through Poland, burning Krakow a second time. Batu reached Bulgaria, where the King, Ivan Asen II, had died in July 1241, leaving only young heirs and anarchy to succeed him. With the kingdom already in chaos the Mongols were fuel to the fire, and Bulgaria may have submitted to them. A Mongol army reached the borders of the Latin Empire of Constantinople, where Emperor Baldwin II defeated them, only to be defeated in a second engagement. We lack information on the meeting beyond that: as per the suggestion of historian John Giebfried, this may perhaps be a description of Baldwin falling for a feigned retreat. Baldwin, it must be noted, had granted shelter to Cumans fleeing Hungary, a cardinal sin in the eyes of the Mongols. The attack seems to have been limited, though Baldwin must have felt in a tenuous position with Mongols on his northern border and soon on his eastern with Baiju’s subjugation of the Seljuqs in 1243. Before reentering the steppe, the Mongols began reducing rations for their many prisoners- at this juncture, anticipating the worst, Master Roger fled into the woods. The rest were told they may return home, and the jubilant crowd made it several kilometres down the path before the Mongols rode them down for sport. In the steppe, Batu’s route was slow, allowing men and horses to rest after years of hard campaigning. His younger brother Shingqur led Mongols forces in the suppression of a Qipchaq rebellion later in the year, pursuing them all the way to the northern Caucasus. Batu and his army wintered in that same region before marching north, in 1243 reached the Volga River where he set up his encampment. He never returned to Mongolia. I’m sure you sat through that whole section screaming “But what about Ogedai’s death!” Ogedai Khaan died on the 11th of December, 1241. It’s often presented that the army had to hurry back in order to elect Ogedai’s successor as per custom. But as we have just noted above, the Mongols continued to campaign in Eastern Europe after they pulled back from western Hungary. In fact, based on the time it took Batu to reach the Volga steppe, his pace was downright leisurely- and he never returned to Mongolia, Subutai himself staying with Batu for a few years. Ogedai’s successor, his son Guyuk, was not elected until 1246, and Guyuk had left the army in 1240 before even the fall of Kiev. To put simply, the withdrawal in 1242 was not in order to elect the new Great Khan. We must ask if a messenger could have even reached Batu before his withdrawal began at the end of March 1242. Assuming the messenger left immediately on the discovery of Ogedai’s body in December 1241, that’s less than four months to cross the entirety of the Eurasian steppe in the middle of winter, a tough ride even for a Mongol. Sources such as Rashid al-Din indicate Batu didn’t learn of Ogedai’s death until well after the departure from Hungary. If not withdrawing because of Ogedai’s death, then what was the reason? Numerous theories have been proposed, some more convincing than others. Some have suggested the attack was never intended as more than a raid, though we have pointed to statements suggesting otherwise. Historian Denis Sinor suggested the Hungarian plain provided insufficient pasture for the Mongols’ vast herds of horses, though Sinor’s math for the matter leaves something to be desired. Based on environmental data, Nicola di Cosma suggested an exceptionally wet spring forced the Mongols to turn back. While the data may suggest a wetter spring, the historical sources do not indicate this was an issue for the Mongols in 1242. They certainly do mention occasions when it was an issue for the Mongols, such as the so-called ‘second Mongol invasion of Hungary,’ of Nogai Khan, where numerous sources reference foul weather hamphering Mongol efforts. Of course, every nation in Europe likes to claim their heroic efforts inflicted so many losses on the Mongols that it forced them to turn back. Despite the campaign being a greater effort than popularly portrayed, the Mongols were routinely victorious in field battles, so support from that quarter is rather lacking. Historian Stephen Pow has recently offered a new explanation based on close examination of the historical sources. He suggests a shift in Mongol goals over 1241-2, a realization based on Mongol losses and frustration with continuous sieges and strong stone fortresses. The withdrawal, in his view, was not a full retreat with intent of never returning, but a temporary strategic retreat. Recall, if you will, our episode on the final conquest of the Jin Dynasty, wherein, due to struggles with the mighty fort of Tongguan, Ogedai, Tolui and Subutai temporarily withdrew from the Jin Empire for a season to restrategize. With a new plan of attack, the Mongols successfully bypassed Jin defences and overwhelmed the empire. Pow’s suggestion is essentially that this was the intention as to Europe. Finding their catapults and efforts having little success against stone fortifications, and having suffered losses over the continued campaigning, Batu and Subutai decided to pull back in early 1242 to rest men and horses and determine a new plan to overcome Europe. They considered Hungary conquered, and once reinforcements had been gathered, they fully intended on returning and extending their rule. The campaigning on their departure from Hungary was to consolidate the conquered territory. However, political matters evolving in the aftermath of Ogedai’s death meant Batu’s attention was drawn away from Europe for the time being. If you found that all a bit confusing, don’t worry- we’ll be interviewing Dr. Stephen Pow himself in the next episode to discuss his theory, and the other suggestions, in greater detail. As for Hungary, King Bela IV returned to his kingdom late in 1242 once he was sure the Mongols were gone. What he found was a shattered hull, the Great Hungarian Plain mostly depopulated through massacre and flight. Bela spent the next decades rebuilding his kingdom and preparing defences. The erection of stone castles by both him and the nobility was encouraged, the great majority of which were built west of the Danube on the border with Austria where most of the population now was. The Danube itself was to be a great defensive line, fortifying the important crossing points. To defend the now depopulated Hungarian plain, Bela invited the Cumans back into Hungary almost immediately, granting them this empty pasture. To secure their loyalty, Bela married his son, Stephan, to the daughter of a lead Cuman Khan -possibly a daughter of Khan Kuthen. Further marriage ties were organized with neighbouring states, with unsuccessful efforts to build an anti-Mongol coalition, all for the inevitable return of Mongol armies.But that is a topic for another episode; our next task is an interview with historian Stephen Pow on the theories of the Mongol withdrawal from Hungary, 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!
“I, Khan, the emissary of the heavenly king, to whom he gave power over the earth to lift up those who subject themselves to me and lay low those who resist, am amazed at you, king of Hungary – that when I will have sent you envoys thirty times, you do not send any of them back to me, and send me neither your messengers nor letters. I know that you are a wealthy and powerful king, that you have many soldiers under you, and alone you rule a great kingdom. And, therefore, it is difficult for you to submit yourself to me voluntarily. However, it would be better and more beneficial if you were to voluntarily submit to me! I have understood, in addition, that you are keeping the Cumans, my slaves, under your protection, for which reason I command you not to keep them with you any longer, and do not have me as your enemy because of them! It is easier for them to escape than you because they, lacking houses and migrating about with tents, might perhaps get away. But you, living in houses, having castles and cities – how will you escape my hands?” So reads the famous ultimatum sent by Batu, grandson of Chinggis Khan, to Bela IV, King of Hungary. Our previous two episodes have covered the rapid Mongol campaign across the western steppe from 1236-1240, conquering the Volga Bulghars, the Alans, the Cuman-Qipchaqs and the Rus’ principalities. Having just taken Kiev in December 1240, Batu and mighty Subutai cast their eyes to Eastern Europe: Poland, the Hungarian Kingdom and beyond. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquests. The man standing between Europe and the Mongols was Bela IV, King of Hungary, a great power of Europe. The Magyars, as the Hungarians call themselves, came to Europe as nomadic horse archers like the Mongols, conquering the Pannonian Basin -Hungary- in the 8th century and raiding western Europe. At Lechfeld in 955 they were defeated by the Holy Roman Emperor Otto I and some fifty odd years later these pagans officially adopted Christianity with the baptism of Stephen I, first King of Hungary, on Christmas Day 1,000. In the following centuries they abandoned the old ways, but with a still formidable military the Hungarian Kingdom emerged as the lead power between the Holy Roman Empire in Germany and the Rus’ principalities to the east. Controlling not just modern Hungary but large swathes of Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia, the Hungarian monarch controlled a diverse realm, the crossroads between Catholic and Orthodox Christendom. Bela IV made few friends after his coronation in 1235. Born in 1206, the same year Chinggis Khan declared his Empire in distant Mongolia, Bela had a rocky relationship with his father King Andrew, whose decentralization of the kingdom through rich land rewards to the nobility frustrated Bela. Their tension progressed, Bela essentially making himself an autonomous monarch in Hungary’s Croatian territory. With Bela’s marriage to a Byzantine princess, Andrew urged the Pope to annul the union and forced Bela from the Kingdom. Ultimately he let his son return, making him ruler of Transylvania in the 1220s, where Bela came into regular contact with the Cumans. Cuman presence increased with the eastern upheavals from Mongol expansion, Cuman Khans fleeing to Hungary for asylum and baptism. Bela was drawn to the Cumans as a pillar of support against his father, while also boosting his reputation as a good Christian ruler by encouraging missionary work among them, styling himself King of the Cumans. Bela’s first years as King after 1235 saw the reclamation of crown lands and reduction in privileges of the nobility while expanding the Kingdom. Border territories were taken from Bulgaria and in 1238 Bela’s brother Coloman extended their rule in Bosnia by force. Bela’s efforts made him unpopular among the aristocracy of the kingdom, who felt their rights trampled upon.When a large body of Cumans under Khan Kotjen sought refuge in Hungary in 1239, Bela was only too happy to welcome them. 40,000 skilled mounted archers loyal directly to Bela provided him a massive bodyguard against a possible uprising from the barons of the kingdom, and Bela heaped rewards and rights to them. Bela was not unaware of the Mongols’ western expansion. One contemporary author, Thomas of Spalato, records that the Hungarians had heard so many rumours of impending Mongol invasions that when news came of their arrival in the 1240s, it was treated as a joke. Bela certainly had up to date information from refugees like Kotjen Khan and Mikhail Vsevolodovich (Vsye-vo-lod-o-vich), Prince of Chernigov, and the Domincian Friar Julian returned with letters from Batu demanding Bela’s submission, preceding a number of Mongol envoys. Contrary to popular depictions and contemporary accusations, Bela was not a monarch sitting idly on his hands; he had foreknowledge and some measures were enacted. Passes through the Carpathian mountains, the shield dividing the Hungarian plain from the Eurasian steppe, were blocked with wooden barriers and fallen trees, and some fortresses in Transylvania were refortified. The crux of his defense relied on the Cumans; their horse archery and experience in steppe tactics were a mighty aid to the already formidable Hungarian army. Bela was the only monarch in Europe preparing for their arrival. Of course, nothing went to plan. Tensions flared between the Cumans and the kingdom’s sedentary population. The sources speak of anger at Cumans herds allowed to roam through peasants’ fields, distrust at the close proximity of pagans, all encouraged by Hungarian lords eager to undermine Bela’s powerbase, to dire consequence. On the fall of Kiev on the 6th of December, 1241, Batu and Subutai moved their army west and broke off into columns. The total force for the invasion of Europe is difficult to gauge, estimates of around 50-60,000 troops being common. Intelligence was carefully collected, strengths assessed. Batu was fearful of being outflanked by the enemy, and it was deemed necessary to send a portion of the army into Poland, at that time divided into five duchies- Bela IV’s sister was married to a lead Polish Duke. Despite some modern comments, the whole campaign was no mere raid. Structurally it differed little from the previous years of campaigning and the Mongol belief in world hegemony was well established. At the borders of Hungary and Poland at the start of 1241, Batu anticipated a conquest of both, and likely expected to push into Germany as well. The army split into two main theaters. One group under Orda and Baidar was to strike Poland, preventing the Polish duchies from aiding the Hungarians. The main army was to conquer Hungary, certainly intending to use its grassland as a forward base for further operations. Batu and Subutai lead the main army, sending three smaller detachments to penetrate various passes along Hungary’s Carparthian frontier, allowing them to surround the enemy. We’ll deal first with the Polish invasion. In January 1241 the first Mongol scouts entered Polish territory, followed by Orda’s main force in February, generally estimated around 10-20,000 men. Orda, Batu’s older brother, moved quickly in two main divisions under himself and Chagatai’s son Baidar. The attack on Poland was swift and ferocious: by the 13th of February, Sandomierz, capital of a Polish duchy, was taken. An engagement at Tursko saw the Polish knights get the better in the initial clash, only to be destroyed when the Mongols regrouped and surprised them. From Sandomierz they followed the Vistula River, sending contingents north to harass, pillage and burn, causing confusion as to their movements and hampering the already slow Polish response. On the 18th of March, the army of Boleslaw V, ‘the Chaste,’ Duke of Sandomierz, was destroyed at Chmielnik (Hhe-myel-nik); shortly afterwards, the Mongols sacked the Polish capital, Krakow. Boleslaw V fled to the kingdom of his brother-in-law, Bela IV. The Polish High Duke at that time was not in Krakow, but in his home duchy of Silesia. Henry II the Pious was the lead member of the fragmented Piast dynasty, duke of Silesia and High Duke of Poland since 1238. His preparations were slow and by the time he readied his army, the Mongols were in Silesia, western Poland. Henry was supposed to wait for aid from his brother-in-law, King Vaclav I of Bohemia, but found the Mongols approaching too quickly, following the Oder River to the Silesian capital of Wroclaw [Breslau]. On the 9th of April, 1241, Henry’s army met the Mongols under Orda and Baidar at Legnica, better known as Liegnitz or Wahlstatt [German, ‘vahlstaht’], west of Wroclaw. The Liegnitz battle is not recorded as well as Mohi, and a considerable amount of details were added by later authors. Illustrative of this is the notion that a contingent of Teutonic Knights under their Grand Master Poppo von Osterna were present, and that Qadan or Qaidu led Mongol contingents there. In reality, Poppo von Osterna was not Hochmeister until 1253 and the Teutonic Order provided no troops for the battle- though the Templars provided 500 peasants from their landed estates. Qadan, a son of Ogedai, was not present, as he led an army into Transylvania, and Qaidu, the grandson of Ogedai famed for his conflict with Kublai Khan, was certainly absent, as he was only about 10 years old! Liegnitz is often presented as the Mongols easily overwhelming the Polish and German forces of Henry II, but the medieval chronicles demonstrate that the Europeans made a good show of themselves. A Polish Fransciscan reported that another Polish friar, Benedict, was told by the Mongols that they were on the point of retreat when Polish resistance collapsed. The 15th century Polish writer Jan Dlugosz describes the Poles holding their own against the Mongols in the first half of the battle. But the Mongols had a trick: a standard bearer waved his banner violently and sent forth a smokescreen, so foul the Poles lost order. Stephen Haw postulates that this poisonous smoke was gunpowder, or perhaps firelances. For the Poles who had never encountered such devices, it was overwhelming. Polish order collapsed and they were overrun. Nine sacks of ears were said to have been filled, and Duke Henry was decapitated, his severed head paraded on a lance before neighbouring cities. The suburbs of his capital at Wroclaw were destroyed, though the citadel held out. Mongol losses may have been high, as they were unwilling to meet King Vaclav of Bohemia’s army. Small parties were briefly sent into eastern Germany where the town of Meissen, just west of Dresden, suffered an attack, but Orda and Baidar moved south to link up with Batu, cutting through the Bohemian Kingdom, modern Czechia. Stiff local resistance in Bohemia proper convinced Orda to pass through Bohemian controlled Moravia. Fortified points were bypassed for speed, but villages in the countryside suffered. Through the Vlara Pass they entered the Hungarian Kingdom on its northwestern border in May 1241. As that takes us to Hungary, let skip back a few weeks. After the deparuture of Orda and Baidar in February 1241, Batu and Subutai took the rest of the army to Hungary, dividing their forces to overwhelm their foe at multiple points. On March 12th, Batu and Subutai crossed through the Verecke Pass, the northeastern route the Magyars themselves first took to enter Hungary. Ogedai’s son Qadan took his contingent through the Bargo Pass into northern Transylvania. One of Tolui’s sons, Bojek, took his force through the Oituz pass into central Transylvania, and the noyan Burundai diverted far south, coming up through the Tornu Rosu Pass into southern Transylvania, linking up with Bojek at Alba Iulia. At the beginning of March King Bela IV began gathering his forces at Pest, one half of the city which forms modern Budapest. His requests to foreign rulers for aid were largely ignored. Bela had in mind an orderly countermarch against the Mongol army. But things quickly slipped from his hands. Some of the nobles held their forces back, refusing to come in the first place. The Mongols broke through the Carpathians quicker than anticipated and news came in of nobles going ahead to face them without support. Denis, the Kingdom’s Palatine, fled to Pest, having failed to repel the Mongols on their exit from the Verecke. Bishop Ugrin of Kalocas (Kalots-ash) defied Bela’s order and likewise marched ahead to engage the Mongols, and only barely escaped with his life. The Duke of Austria, the quarrelsome Frederick II, came to Bela’s call for aid, defeated a small Mongol party in a skirmish near Pest and withdrew. The Bishop of Varad fought the Mongols near Eger, where he was defeated and Eger destroyed. Reports kept coming to Bela of his forces allowing themselves to be destroyed piecemeal by the Mongols, while yet more Mongol forces kept showing up from new directions and rumours swirled of destruction in Poland. On top of that the tensions between Cumans and Hungarians had not abated. News of Cumans among the Mongol forces led to cries that Bela’s Cuman allies were spies for Batu. Bela placed the Cuman Khan Kotjen and his family under guard in Buda, but in an assault led almost certainly by Hungarian and German nobles, Kotjen and his retinue were killed. In turn, this prompted a pogrom from Hungarians in the area against the Cumans. The remaining Cumans refused to risk their lives for ‘allies’ who treated them such, and abandoned the Hungarians, leaving a trail of destruction as they flew en masse to Bulgaria, some making their way to the Latin Empire of Constantinople. This was just a goddamn mess for Bela, but he was forced to action. At the start of April a Mongol army approached Pest and Bela marched out. The Mongols fled and for a week Bela pursued them, reaching the village of Mohi on the Sajo (shah-yo) River, finding a larger Mongol army arranged on the opposite bank, a single bridge across the only passage. It was the 10th of April, only one day after the Mongol victory at Liegnitz. Bela had just followed Shiban, Batu’s younger brother, into ground of Batu’s choosing. Batu and Subutai commanded a force estimated around 20-30,000 men, the rest of the army still ravaging Poland and Transylvania. The village of Mohi, where the Hungarians made camp, sat near the Sajo River in the northern edge of the great Hungarian plain, flat rolling grassland ideal for cavalry, while the thick trees along the river kept much of the Mongol army hidden. When Shiban’s messengers ran ahead with news of the size of the Hungarian army, Batu was unnerved, climbing a mountain to convey with Eternal Blue Heaven for a day and night to pray for victory, urging the Muslims in his army to likewise pray. As the Hungarian army settled into their camp at Mohi, Batu viewed them from a nearby burial mound. Seeing how the Hungarians had packed themselves tightly within a laagar, a wagon fort, Batu was not impressed, likening them to sheep trapping themselves within a pen. Batu had hoped King Bela would try to cross the bridge, but by digging in at Mohi, Bela was forcing Batu to act. Thomas of Spalato wrote that a Rus’ prisoner escaped the Mongols and warned the Hungarians, and Bela stationed a guard at the bridge. Frustrated, Batu had to force a crossing- neutralizing his army’s mobility and playing to strengths of the Hungarian’s heavier armour. But Subutai came up with a plan. While Batu took his men over the bridge, under the cover of night Subutai would take a force downstream and build a pontoon bridge to cross and outflank the Hungarians. It didn’t go well. The waters downstream were deep and in the darkness, progress on the pontoon bridge was slow. Too slow for Batu, who in his impatience or belief Subutai was on schedule, ordered an assault, sent a close comrade in a heavily armoured elite unit to push the Hungarians off the bridge. The Hungarians held firm, crossbowmen proving deadly. Bela’s brother Coloman, the Bishop Ugrin and the Master of the Knights Templar in Hungary led the counterattack and repulsed the Mongols. Coloman was said to have personally thrown the Mongol commander off the bridge. The Mongols were forced back, and the Hungarians returned to their camp jubilant. Both European and Chinese sources written from Mongol documents indicate Mongol losses were heavy- as an aside, Mohi is the first battle on European soil described in any detail in a Chinese source. This source, the Yuan Shih, indicates the princes among Batu’s forces were greatly perturbed by the losses, and desired to withdraw and replan. The Polish friar C. de Bridia wrote that the Mongol vanguard actually broke on the bridge and fled. Batu was furious at Subutai’s failure to cross the river, though Subutai was not to be swayed. In response to voices urging retreat, Subutai told them “If my lord wishes to retreat, then retreat by yourself. Until I reach the Magyar city on the Danube River, I will never return!” The Hungarians left a light guard on the bridge while the distant Hungarian camp slept soundly. Only a few hours after the initial clash, early on April 11th before dawn, the Hungarian bridge guard was rocked by the sudden crashing of stones descending on them from the darkness. The Mongols had set up their Chinese catapults and were ‘shelling’ the enemy position. Demoralized with losses mounting, when the Mongols charged they broke through the defenders. Survivors ran back to the camp, shouting alarm, but the Hungarians were slow to rise, not having anticipated an attack so soon. Subutai’s forces crossed his pontoon bridge, and by 6 A.M. the Hungarian camp was surrounded. Though Bela’s decision to circle the camp with a wall of wagons offered some protection, the space was too small for the large army. Panic set in as thousands of men woke to cries of anguish and Mongol arrows raining among them, while the Mongols tried to set the wagons on fire. In the densely packed camp men tripped over tents and tent ropes, crushing each other in the fray. Confusion now reigned, and Bela’s fortifications trapped his men. Prince Coloman, the Bishop Ugrin and the Templars rode out to force back the Mongols but were unable to rally more men to join them. Coloman and Ugrin were seriously wounded while the Templars, despite brave efforts, were killed to a man. A cry ran out. An opening! The Mongols had left a gap, and many ran to take it. This was a trap. Men surrounded with no escape will fight to the death; but provide an avenue for survival, and they’ll take it. In the disorganized rout no formation or protection was to be had. As if herding their sheep, the Mongols followed along both sides of the Hungarians, ensuring none veered off trail. Once the prey was exhausted, the Mongols fell upon them. Survivors were led directly into a marsh where many drowned, encumbered in their armour, weak from injuries and exhaustion. The Bishop Ugrin met his end in these waters, one among many of the nobles, bishops and archbishops of the kingdom who fell. Bela and his brother Coloman barely escaped, with Coloman seriously injured. So ended the battle of Mohi, the back of organized Hungarian resistance broken. Hungary, and the rest of Europe, now seemed open to the Mongols, but just under a year after the victory at Mohi, Mongol armies departed from Europe. Why was this? What did they do in that year in between? Since most popular accounts cut from the Mohi victory straight to the Mongol withdrawal, we will give you, our dear listeners, more detail on the what the Mongol presence in Europe actually looked like beyond these battles, and the consequences for Hungary. If it wasn’t Ogedai Khaan’s death in December 1241 which caused the Mongol withdrawal, then what was it? Theories have abounded from a lack of pasture, poor weather, to a gradual conquest having been the intention. While we will return to Hungary’s fate and later interactions with the Mongols in future episodes, we will also be interviewing Dr. Stephen Pow in a forthcoming episode to discuss the theories, and his own thesis, around the Mongol withdrawal in more detail, 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!
“And from thence they proceeded to the land of the Rus and conquered that country as far as the city of Magas, in the inhabitants of which were as numerous as ants or locusts, while its environs were entangled with woods and forests, such that even a serpent could not penetrate them. The princes all halted on the outskirts of the town, and on every side they built roads wide enough for three or four wagons to pass abreast. And they set up catapults opposite the walls, and after a space of several days left nothing of the city but its name, and took great booty. And they gave orders to cut off the right ears of the people, and two thousand seven hundred ears were counted. And from thence the princes returned homewards.” So the Persian writer Juvaini describes the siege of the Alanian capital of Magas in winter 1239, a lesser known corner of the famous Mongol western campaign. In our previous episode, we covered the years 1236-1238, the first years of the great campaign wherein Batu and Subutai wrecked havoc across the northern Rus’ principalities and Volga Bulghars. When we left off, Batu and Subutai were withdrawing from the ashes of the northern Rus’ in spring 1238 to spend the summer resting men and horses and preparing their next moves. In today’s episode, we follow their continued movements, securing the remainder of the Volga and south Russian steppes, down to Crimea and the Northern Caucasus, to the resumption of hostilities against the southern Rus’ and the fall of Kiev, mother of cities, at the end of 1240. I’m your host David, and this is…. As we’ve stated already, Batu and Subutai pulled their forces back from the northern Rus’ to rest their men, fattening their horses on the grasslands of the steppe over summer 1238. The campaign had so far been a great success, marred by only a few difficult sieges and the loss of a son of Chinggis Khan, Kolgen. The northern Rus’ principalities had been subjugated, leaving only a collection of Rus’ states in the west still independent. For a time though, the Rus’ would have a respite. The Mongols were loathe to advance too far without securing their rear, and Subutai knew well from his own experience how tough the steppe’s inhabitants could be. Were you to place the conquests at that point onto a map of modern Russia, you would have seen a huge strip of land from the northernmost point of the Caspian Sea to where Moscow sits today as under Mongol rule. The steppes of southern Russia, Ukraine, Crimea and between the Black and Caspians seas north of the Caucasus were still unconquered, where several nomadic, semi-nomadic and other independent powers continued to reside. Many Cuman-Qipchaq tribes had fled deeper into that region, having avoided the initial Mongol advance. Leaving them unattended would allow them to move back into their original territory once the Mongols moved on, or even strike their rear while the Mongols focused on the Rus’ settlements. So the decision was made, once man and horse was rested by the end of summer 1238, to subdue these peoples. You may recall our episode covering Chormaqun Noyan’s conquest of the Caucasus and Georgian Kingdom. That was happening essentially at the same time as this. As the Qipchaqs and Georgians were known to have had contacts and alliances in the past, it may have been a conscious decision to coordinate these offenses, ensuring no help would come from the steppe to the Caucasus while ensuring the Caucasus could not be a haven for fleeing nomads. Securing the region also provided another lane of contact for Mongol forces, rather than all messages being forced to circumnavigate the vast Caspian Sea. An interesting thing to note in regards to the scale of the Mongol Conquests, which often happened simultaneously: it’s easy to forget, since by necessity most discussions have to pick only a narrow window to discuss. In autumn 1238, several Mongol armies shot across the southern steppe, beginning at the Black Sea coastline and moving east. Batu’s brother Shiban, Chagatai’s grandson Buri and Tolui’s son Bojek marched into the Crimean Peninsula, defeating the Cuman tribes who inhabited the peninsula’s fertile steppe, and its Armenian, Greek and even Gothic population. On December 26th 1238, the famed Crimean trade port of Sudak, also called Soldaia, fell to the Mongols, leaving them the masters of this great trade entrepot. Another of Batu’s brothers, Berke, later to be the famous Muslim ruler of the Golden Horde, at the same time campaigned against the Cuman-Qipchaqs north of the Black Sea. Those not subjugated by Berke were dislodged and likely among their number, or soon to be at least, was an important Cuman leader called Kuthen in Latin sources, though more commonly known as Kotjen or Kötöny. We’ve met him before, as he was present at the battle of the Kalka River back in 1223. With a marriage alliance to the Rus’ prince Mstislav the Bold, it was on Kotjen’s urging that the Rus’ came to assist him against Jebe and Subutai. Kotjen escaped the battle, remaining in the steppe north of the Black Sea until the return of the Mongols. With 40,000 warriors and their families, he fled before the Mongol advance, making his way to Hungary in 1239, where we will pick up with him in our next episode. Many Cumans were also sold into slavery. The slave trade was a big deal in the Black Sea, with captured nomadic Turks prized goods alongside the furs collected from the Finno-Ugric peoples to the north. Defeat in steppe warfare often resulted in the victors capturing the vanquished and taking them to the cities of the Crimea to be sold across the Meditteranean and Islamic world. The Mongol incursions caused a glut of slaves on the market- nomadic Turkics for their hardiness and horsemanship, not to mention skill with a bow even at a young age, made ideal soldiers once they received the training and funds of a state. The dying Ayyubid state in Egypt bought up a number of these, forming an important body of slave soldiers- Mamluks, who would soon overthrow their heirs of Saladin and establish their own dynasty, to the Mongols’ later chagrin. Slaves were sold further afield, as far as India, where Qipchaq slaves such as Balban eventually rose through the ranks to become Sultans of Delhi- again, to the Mongols’ later chagrin. Everything has consequences in Eurasia! While Crimea was secured and the Cuman-Qipchaqs subdued, Mongol forces marched towards the Caucasus. The first group to feel their wrath were the Circassians along the eastern Black Sea, where the Olympic destination of Sochi stands today, attacked by Tolui’s son Mongke, the later Great Khan, and Ogedai’s son Qadan. We are told only that a Circassian King, ‘Buqan,’ was killed in the process. The Circassians, called Cherkes by the Russians, are a member of the northwestern Caucasian peoples, who like the Qipchaqs, also found themselves sold into slavery extensively and transported across the Mongol Empire and Meditteranean. In the late 14th century, the Qipchaq Mamluk dynasty in Egypt was succeeded by a Circassian one, commonly called the Burji dynasty. With much of the central steppe and Black Sea coast secured by the end of 1238- though the northern Caucasus still untaken- Batu and Subutai recalled their forces. It was time to look to the Rus’ again, this time the mostly hitherto untouched southern principalities. On March 3rd, 1239 Pereyaslavl, downstream along the Dnieper from Kiev, fell to Mongol forces. It seems to have been something of a test to see the mettle of these southern principalities, especially that of Kiev. Kiev had been the great capital of the unified Rus’, and still must have held something of a reputation as the Mongols approached it cautiously. The reality of Kiev’s strength by this point was quite different. Despite the proximity of the Mongols and devastation of the northern principalities, fighting over Kiev had continued unabated by the Rus’ themselves. Kiev’s Prince Vladimir Riurukiovch was ousted by Prince Mikhail Vsevolodovich of Chernigov basically as the Mongols arrived on the doorstep of the principalities. For summer 1239 the Mongols rested men and horses, once again picking up the sword in the fall. In October, the struck Chernigov, northeast of Kiev. An attempt was made by Prince Mstislav Glebovich, cousin to Mikhail of Chernigov, with his army to repulse the Mongols in the field. The army was crushed and Msitslav disappears from the sources. Stones so large four men could barely lift them were hurled by catapults into Chernigov’s walls, and by October 18th the city had fallen, its population like so many others subjected to fire, rapine and massacre. From Chernigov, envoys were sent to demand Kiev’s submission, and Mongke, who in about a decade would become Great Khan of the Mongols, traveled to see the city himself, having heard of its splendour. He stood on the opposite bank of the Dnieper, and though his personal thoughts on the city are not recorded, Rus’ sources insist he marvelled at its beauty. Prince Mikhail refused to surrender, though he soon abandoned Kiev and fled to Hungary. Mongke’s presence was only reconnaissance and he to departed. Perhaps he had wished to gleam if Kiev had any offensive potential, and deeming this not the case, it was decided the city could sit for the time being. Mongke travelled back east across the steppe, joining with forces which were securing the remaining independent territory of the north Caucasus and steppe. Here, the notable remaining independent force, other than those few Qipchaq and other Turkic tribes which had escaped Mongol armies, was the Alans and their ‘kingdom’ in the valleys of the north side of the Caucasus. The Alans were an Iranic people -ancestors of today's Ossetians- who had inhabited the steppe since the time of Attila the Hun. Their polity in 1239, insomuch as we can call it that, had emerged after the collapse of the Khazar Khaganate in the 9th and 10th century. Sometimes called ‘Alania,’ its kings were notable for converting to Christianity and at times acting as a formidable military force, though by the start of the 13th century the Alans were a collection of local powers rather than a unified state, and sadly we are lacking much information on this kingdom. Back in the 1220s they had, alongside the Qipchaqs, fought Jebe and Subutai upon their exit from the Caucasus mountains, and as I’m sure you know by now, the Mongols were rather slow to forget such grievances. Their continued independence posed the final threat, no matter how slight, to the Mongol rear. As a result of this decentralization, it seems the local Alanian leaders made their own decisions on how to respond to the Mongol advance. We are told of one individual, Ajis, who led a resistance against them until his capture and execution, while another, Arslan, quickly submitted and was made overlord of the Alans only to be replaced soon after by another Alan prince who provided his troops to the Mongols. The capital of the Alanian Kings was Magas, a strongly fortified site which remained influential among them, perhaps a symbolic capital as much as anything, and therefore a prime target. The Mongols arrived outside the fortress in November 1239, where they met their most difficult battle of the campaign yet. The very name of the settlement was disputed until recent decades, when it was finally reconstructed as Magas, the Persian word for ‘flies,’ as in the insects. This conclusion was reached in part as it explained why so many Medieval Muslim writers made puns involving these bugs when discussing it. The location of the settlement is also a long subject of debate, but an exciting possibility has been identified by Dr. John Latham-Sprinkle, who has proposed the massive hillfort Il’ichevsk gorodischche on the borders of Russia’s Krasnodar Krai and Karachai-Cherkess Republic, in the valley of the River Urup. Our medieval sources indicate that Magas was highly fortified and in a strong position, surrounded by dense forests, taking the Mongols months to subdue to. Few of the possibilities have matched the basic facts we know about Magas, but Latham-Sprinkle has found Il’ichevsk to meet the criteria,: for the time it was inhabited, for being a royal residence of the Alans, a strong fortress and destroyed in the mid 13th century. Il’ichevsk is a long, high ridge, approachable only from the south, it;s other sides protected by cliffs and rivers. Seven lines of defenses, thick walls, wide ditches and embankments, protected the city and its inner layers- a veritable Minas Tirith, if you will. The site was massive: the whole fortified area from north to south was 15 kilometres, covering some 600 hectares. That’s larger than 14th century London or Milan! The outermost walls covered fields and small, scattered villages, becoming more densely populated as one proceeded up the ridge to the royal residence. With evidence of imported craftsmen to construct the walls, of stone 4 metre thick held with a lime mortar, it’s clear this was the home of powerful lords, and thus a very reasonable choice to identify as the Alan capital. For the Mongols, it was a difficult siege. Arriving outside the walls in November or December 1239, it was not until February 1240 when the city fell. Roads had to be cut through the forest around the fortress to even approach it. The length of the fortifications made it impossible for the Alans, well past their prime, to man the full distance, thinning their defense. We are told from the Yuan Shih, compiled from the Mongols’ successors in China in the 1370s, that the Mongols relied heavily on allied and subject forces for this assault. A Tangut officer is mentioned leading squads, and it seems many Alans fought for the Mongols against their capital. When it fell, it was destroyed. Archaeological evidence indicates the city was abandoned immediately afterwards: a church’s roof which collapsed from fire was never cleared from the floor. A child’s body was found unburied outside the church where it had fallen, a Mongol arrowhead embedded in the church’s walls. While Magas fell, Mongol contingents ranged across the northern Caucasus, taking settlements and forts: by November 1239, when the siege of Magas began, Mongol forces were already within kilometres of the great fortress of Derband, which fell to them in spring 1240. Lacking an existing overarching political structure to incorporate, the Mongols found it difficult to impose their rule on the ground outside of periodic military actions. The fact that sites in Dagestan began rebuilding their fortifications within a few years of the Mongol invasion was telling. In China, for instance, many cities taken in the early 13th century had their walls unrepaired until the 1350s and 60s. The many valleys of the region made it a nightmare to bring every local tribe to heel. Perhaps because of this, the Mongols saw fit to transport thousands of Alans and others across the empire, as slaves and military units. From the Balkans to China we have Alans showing up in entire regiments over the 13th century, indicating their useful military prowess, and perhaps the frustration the Mongol governors felt dealing with them in the Caucasus. In summer 1240 the princes were called back, holding a quriltai to celebrate the gains and decide the next steps. During this feasting we are provided an interesting episode from the Secret History of the Mongols. In this account, Batu sends a messenger to Great Khan Ogedai, informing him that during the feast Batu drank from the ceremonial wine first, which angered Ogedai’s son Guyuk and Chagatai’s grandson Buri who took offense at Batu taking this ceremonial position ahead of them. In the Secret History’s account, Guyuk and Buri leave the tent, calling Batu an old woman with a beard and shouting insults. When Batu’s message reached Ogedai with the news, he sobered up long enough to become furious at his son and recall him. The whole episode has been torn over by historians repeatedly. It seems to have been the climax of long simmering tensions among the princes ,having until then been kept at bay by continually separating them over the campaign. There were likely several factors at play: Guyuk was haughty, being the son of the Great Khan though not his heir; likely a few continued the slander of Jochi not being Chinggis’ son, and hence Batu, the senior prince, not really a Chinggisid. Other concerns were more material. Historian Stephen Pow has noted that some regions were left to members of one branch of the family to attack, in theory making those conquests their territory. However, since the majority of the vast territory seemed destined for the Jochids, many of the princes grumbled as to what they were getting for their efforts. The timing is suspect as well, as the time needed for Batu’s messengers to reach Ogedai, and then Ogedai’s messengers to return to recall Guyuk, is too great for this is have occurred after the fall of Magas but before the fall of Kiev in December, which we know Guyuk to have been absent for. Perhaps this was a compression of a series of events, or coordinated ahead of time, their troops required for the front with Song Dynasty, with later editing to the Secret History of the Mongols using this as an opportunity to discredit Guyuk, but multiple sources indicate the departure of both Guyuk and Mongke, along with their troops, around late summer 1240. So Batu and Subutai’s army lost as many as 20,000 men, on top of casualties they had already suffered and those stationed behind to keep their rear secure and prevent uprisings. This was not an end to the campaigning by any means, and Batu turned his sights to Kiev and the western Rus’ principalities. Once the Dnieper had frozen in November 1240, Batu marched onto Kiev, investing it on November 28th. Batu set up his catapults in a great line and fired upon the city walls day and night until they crumpled before them. Kievan efforts to defend the breaches were met with hails of arrows, and the Mongols mounted the walls, forcing back the Keivans. Retreating to the Church of the Blessed Virgin, the Rus’ fortified it’s approaches. As the Mongols began to overcome the impromptu defenses, frightened townsfolk and defenders climbed with their possessions on top of the church, only to have to collapse under their weight. By the 6th of December 1240, Kiev was in Mongol hands. Though Halych of Galicia-Volhynia soon fell as well, on the whole the campaign in southern Rus’ was considerably less destructive. In northern Rus’, essentially all major and many secondary cities had been sacked in quick succession, but we see in the south sieges of only major settlements, capitals like Chernigov, Kiev, and Halych, or undefended settlements without walls. At secondary cities which showed stiff resistance like Kremenents and Danilov, the Mongols moved past. Much of Galicia-Volhynia, the westernmost extent of the Rus’, was left untouched, it’s ruler Danilo not submitting to Batu until 1245, and even then, retained enough strength to declare his independence until a Mongol campaign at the end of the 1250s. What was the cause of this comparative reduction of Mongol devastation? One factor is certainly the departure of Mongke and Guyuk with their troops, perhaps causing a loss in morale alongside the numbers of available men. Another aspect is that while the many sieges in Rus’ were successful and relatively quick, it does not mean they did not result in Mongol casualties. Indeed, evidence suggests the western campaign was a bloody affair for the Mongols, resulting in the losses of many elites and commanders- Chinggis Khan’s son Kolgen most notably. We are told of a large cemetery in Mongolia built for prominent Mongols killed in the campaign, and we learn from Chinese references to rich rewards for those who shipped the bodies of Mongols back to their homeland, something which apparently happened with some regularity. While in field battles, Mongol commanders stayed behind the lines in order to properly assess the situation and give orders for troops movements, generally staying out of the battle itself, this was not the case for sieges. Rather, it seems officers, captains and even generals had to command from the front to help encourage the men over the walls. Sons of the elite aspiring to build their reputation as brave warriors, fought from the front as well. In the confined spaces and narrow streets of a city and fortress, the Mongols could not rely on their mobility, and it seems losses ran high. The Rus’ cities fell in quick succession but not without taking Mongols with them; we may likewise assume the difficult siege of Magas and other Caucasian fortresses had brought losses as well. By the time Batu and Subutai reached southwestern Rus’, Mongol casualties, both those killed and those injured in the many battles, were beginning to become an issue. In addition, units were left across the region to hold it and stop the newly conquered tribes from rising up and keep contact routes open with the rest of the empire. Coupled with the departure of Guyuk and Mongke’s armies, it’s possible that Batu and Subutai’s army was as much as half its original size, maybe down to 50-60,000 men. Mongol actions thus were limited to major settlements where they could bring their full force or locations where defense was weak and a prolonged siege could be avoided. If not, the settlement was bypassed, preferring soft targets or to hit enemy field armies. Still, Batu and Subutai controlled an experienced and battle hardened army, and had effectively conquered the principalities of the Rus’. As 1240 turned to 1241, they now sat on the borders of Europe, having conquered up to the edge of what is now western Ukraine. Many Cumans, and the odd Rus’ prince, had fled to the Kingdom of Hungary. The housing of Mongol enemies was an act of waragainst the Mongol Empire, and Batu was determined to punish the Hungarian Monarch for this. Europe was about to hear the hoofbeats of Mongol horses. Our next episode will take us to the famous battles of Liegnitz and Mohi, 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!
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!
While Ogedai Khaan led his armies in the final war against the Jurchen Jin Dynasty, covered in our previous episode, this was far from the only theatre his forces operated in. As the conquest of northern China was completed, Chormaqun Noyan brought Mongols armies back to the west, returning to Iran to hunt down the energetic Khwarezmian Prince, Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, hoping to restore his father’s empire. In the course of this, the Mongols effectively completed the conquest of Iran, the Caucasus and entered Anatolia- a great southwestern expansion of the empire. At the same time, Mongol armies under Subutai conquered the western steppes and Rus’ principalities, a vast, two pronged pincer assault on western Eurasia, and the subject of our following episodes. First, we must wind the clock back from the 1230s to the Khwarezmian campaign of Chinggis Khan in the 1220s. As you’ll recall from that episode, the Mongol invasion at the end of 1219 brought about the near total collapse of the Khwarezmian defense and flight of the empire’s ruler, Muhammad II Khwarezm-Shah. Muhammad died at the end of 1220, harried to his end by Jebe and Subutai. On his death in December, Shah Muhammad’s son Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, a far braver and more talented general, took up the mantle of leadership- or rather, what was left of it. Rallying what forces he could, he eventually made his way into what is now Afghanistan, defeating two Mongol armies but finally crushed by Chinggis Khan himself on the Indus river in November 1221. At the battle's climax, Mingburnu spurred his horse off the cliff and into the Indus, swimming across and making into the Punjab. Chinggis Khan, to give the devil his due, is said to have personally ordered archers not to fire on him, admiring Jalal al-Din’s courage. The same mercy was not spread to other Khwarezmian troops trying to make it across the river. Jalal al-Din spent the next three years in northwestern India. At that time, northern India was ruled by several Muslim warlords, mainly former generals of the Ghurid Empire which had once stretched from Iran across northern India. Among these was the general Iltutmish, based in Delhi- the origins of the Delhi Sultanate. At the end of the thirteenth century, the Delhi Sultanate had the strength to repel Mongolian invasion, but in the 1220s was only one power among several. At the time of Jalal al-Din’s arrival, Iltutmish of Delhi’s main rival was Qubacha, a fellow Ghurid controlling the Punjab and lower reaches of the Indus River. Despite being fellow Muslims, the post-Ghurid powers had little love for the Khwarezmians. Jalal al-Din’s father Muhammad had been a stalwart foe of the Ghurids, and after the Ghurid collapse in the early 1200s, it was the Khwarezm-shah who had gobbled up their western territories in Iran and Afghanistan, bringing Khwarezmian influence right to the borders of India. Jalal al-Din’s own appanage given to him by his father was the former Ghurid capital of Ghazna. Further, the Khwarezmians had also become foes of the ‘Abbasid Caliph in Baghdad, who provided his holy support to those generals battling the Khwarezm-shah. The Khwarezmian reputation was that of an aggressive, unreliable and expansionist empire, and the chief scion of that house, Jalal al-Din, was not destined to enjoy a warm welcome among his co-religionists in India, nor among those Hindu rulers still extant in the region. Upon his defeat on the Indus, Jalal al-Din needed to make space for himself from the Mongols, who initially turned back from the river but soon sent parties to hunt for Mingburnu. Managing to gather survivors from the Indus battle and other refugees from the invasion, his victory over local Hindus in the Salt Range brought defections to Jalal al-Din’s force. Charismatic and with a reputation as a superb warrior, Jalal al-Din rarely had trouble attracting followers- making friends with other states was another matter. With Mongol forces under Dorbei Doqshin approaching, Jalal al-Din fled further into India, coming to within a few days of Delhi. His envoys sent to Sultan Ilutumish were killed, for Iltutmish, a wily politician, had likely weighed the costs of providing aid to Mingburnu with the Mongols now approaching. Delhi was too well protected for Jalal al-Din to assault, so he doubled back to the west, ransacking as he went and successfully avoiding Dorbei Doqshin’s Mongols. Dorbei abandoned the pursuit, returning to Chinggis Khan at Samarkand in late 1222, where he was severely reprimanded and ordered back to India. Jalal al-Din in the meanwhile attacked the Ghurid successor in northwestern India and Iltutmish’s main rival, Qubacha, forcing him to submit and pay tribute. Most of 1223 he spent ravaging cities along the Indus, making his way to the Gujarat peninsula. Having successfully pissed off everyone between the Indus and the Ganges rivers, Jalal al-Din was greeted with rumours of a grand coalition -Iltutmish, Qubacha, and various Hindu lords- uniting against him, as well as Dorbei Doqshin’s second approach. Learning that a half-brother had set up a state in western Iran, Jalal al-Din decided it was a good time to leave India in 1224, leaving his officers Ozbeg-bei and Hasan Qarluq in control of his Indian territory. They, along with Qubacha, took the full brunt of Dorbei Doqshin’s returning army, who took his frustration out on them when he found himself unable to locate Jalal al-Din. While this proved unfortunate for them, Iltutmish did rather well out of this episode. With his major rivals weakened by Jalal al-Din and Mongol attacks but his own state relatively untouched, over the late 1220s and 30s Iltutmish was able to overcome these rivals and set the Delhi Sultanate on a path to regional dominance. In due course we will return to Iltutmish’s successors, but now we must follow our friend Jalal al-Din westwards. Jalal al-Din’s three years in India did little for his dream of restoring the Khwarezmian Empire, but saw better opportunity in the efforts of his half-brother, Ghiyath al-Din. Around Rayy, modern Tehren, Ghiyath al-Din had started to reestablish Khwarezmian control. Jalal al-Din’s thought seems to have been that, if anyone was to continue the Khwarezmian Empire, it was going to be him, damn it! Mingburnu cut across southern Iran, hoping to restore Khwarezmian rule as he went, first stopping in the province of Kerman. There, Baraq Hajib ruled, a former general of the Qara-Khitai brought into Khwarezmian service who established his independence in the wake of the Mongol invasion. Jalal al-Din gained his submission and married one of his daughters, though Baraq soon revolted and Mingburnu carried on. At Shiraz in the province of Fars he was welcomed and again married a daughter of the local dynasty, the Salghurids. He then departed for Isfahan, where he rested his main army. With a handful of picked horsemen, said to be carrying banners of white cloth like the Mongols, Jalal al-Din led a daring raid against his half-brother, attacking him in his camp, capturing him and absorbing his followers and territories. This greatly strengthened his position. Knowing that the former northeastern sections of the Khwarezmian empire, including the former capitals of Gurganj and Samarkand were under firm Mongol control, Mingburnu must’ve thought it more prudent to push west, in theory providing himself more resources and space to resist the Mongols. Gaining the submission of the chiefs of Luristan, marrying princesses of local Turkomans, he now had a not-insubstantial force under his belt. Most of southern, central and western Iran had now submitted or was under his direct control. Casting his eyes west, he marched towards Baghdad. Supposedly he was expecting assistance from the Caliph, at that time an-Nasir, who had reigned since 1180. Caliph an-Nasir had been paralyzed and blind for a few years at that point, but the memory of Muhammad Khwarezm-shah’s own failed march on Baghdad had not been forgotten. Anticipating that the son shared the same greed as the father, an army was dispatched to repel Jalal al-Din. Drawing them into a feigned retreat, Jalal al-Din put them to flight, pursuing them as far as Baghdad’s suburbs before withdrawing, and then defeating a force sent from Irbil, capturing that city’s ruler. Lacking the means to siege Baghdad itself, Jalal al-Din sought easier targets. He moved next against the Eldeguzid atabegs of Azerbaijan- former Khwarezmian vassals who had submitted to the Mongols- and destroyed them in 1225, taking their capital of Tabriz. A brief Georgian foray against Tabriz while Jalal al-Din was mopping up remnants of the Eldeguzids brought him, for the first time in his life, into conflict with Christians. Over the next few years, Jalal al-Din unleashed a torrent of destruction against the Kingdom of Georgia. At that time ruling Georgia and Greater Armenia, the kingdom had suffered terribly during Jebe and Subutai’s own expedition through the region only a few years prior. In 1226, Jalal al-Din took the Geergian capital Tbilisi, destroying the churches within the city. According to a contemporay historian, Kirakos Ganjaketsi, rather than spend time to determine who in the city’s diverse population was Christian or Muslim, Jalal al-Din simply ordered all the men to be circumsized. After this, Mingburnu marched rapidly back to Iran, having heard rumours that Baraq Hajib was attacking Isfahan, the new Khwarezmian capital. Baraq apologized and sent gifts, and while Jalal al-Din rested in Isfahan, he learned that the Georgians revolted. Speeding back to Georgia, Jalal al-Din undertook a slaughter outside the walls of Akhlat, but was unable to enter the city. In similar time, news reached him of another threat to Isfahan. A Mongol army was approaching the city, ordered there by Chin-Temur, the Mongol appointed governor of Gurganj, a former capital of Khwarezm. Jalal al-Din brought his army back to Isfahan, and in August 1228, bravely led his forces to be defeated by the Mongols. His half-brother Ghiyath al-Din fled, and Jalal al-Din was forced to retreat when the Mongols drove back his remaining forces. However, with losses high or fearing a trap, the Mongols failed to advance, and withdrew back to their own empire. Thus was Isfahan saved, if narrowly. Really changing things up, Jalal al-Din returned to Georgia again in late 1228, and inflicted one of the most famous defeats in Georgian history at Bolnisi, known also as Mindori. A large army of Georgians, Armenians, various ethnic groups from across the Caucasian mountains as well as a significant Qipchaq component had been assembled against him. Qipchaqs had a long history serving as mercenaries for both the Georgian Kingdom and the Khwarezm-shahs, and we may well assume a number were present among Mingburnu’s forces. Outnumbered and lacking swordsmen and lancers, it was a precarious position for Jalal al-Din. His vizier, Yulduzchi, suggested it would be better to pass behind the enemy, cutting them off from water, thus weakening the larger force in the heat. Jalal al-Din’s reaction as recorded by Juvaini is rather illustrative of his character. Becoming as enraged as was possible for him, he hurled a pencase at the vizier’s head while shouting “they are a flock of sheep! Does the lion complain of the size of the flock?” It is unfortunate for Mingburnu that this was a mantra he applied to everything. Yulduzchi repented, paying a fine of 50,000 dinars. Opening contact with the Qipchaq, reminding them of his own connections with their people, he successfully convinced them to remove themselves from the battlefield. Then he convinced the Georgians to send champions out to face him- supposedly Jalal al-Din killed them all himself, then ordered a general charge against the demoralized Georgians. The foe was destroyed and we might regard this as the high water mark of his military career. The last half of 1229 Jalal al-Din was held up besieging Akhlat, falling only to great massacre in April 1230 after a 8 month siege. Learning that the Seljuq Sultan Kayqubad I, master of Anatolia, was organizing an alliance against him, Jalal al-Din moved west. Falling ill, he lost his strength and was unable to ride his horse, forced to be carried in a litter. At Yassıçemen near Erzincan in August 1230, Jalal al-Din met an allied force of Seljuqs under Kayqubad I and the Ayyubid Sultan of Syria al-Ashraf, the nephew of the famed Saladin. During the battle Jalal al-Din tried to mount his horse, but lacked the strength to even hold the reins. His courtiers pulled him back. Seeing his banners fall back, the army thought Jalal al-Din was retreating, and thinking the battle thus lost, fled. The Seljuq-Ayyubid forces, believing it a feigned retreat, held their ground. Jalal al-Din escaped another major military defeat, this time while seriously ill. Certain to improve his mood was news of a large Mongol army now approaching. Far to the east, Ogedai had been elected Great Khan of the Mongol Empire. Aware of Jalal al-Din’s resurgence, Ogedai could not allow him to reform the Khwarezmian Empire. Seeking to complete the conquest of the region, perhaps even hoping to take Baghdad itself, Ogedai ordered fresh troops to be sent. Commanded by Chormaqun, a member of the keshig, the imperial bodyguard and a veteran of the Khwarezmian campaign, this is our first mention in the sources of the tamma. The tamma was essentially the closest the Mongols came to garrison duty, sent to the empire’s borders to expand, consolidate and intimidate, rather than a full, tsunami like tidal wave of invasion. There is some suggestion Chormaqun may have initially been ordered west by Chinggis Khan in his final days, but would have been held up by the Khan’s death in 1227. Ogedai in that case would have been reaffirming his father’s decision. So, Chormaqun set out with perhaps 30,000 men, ordered to be supported and reinforced by the appointed basqaqs and darughachi governing the western Mongol empire, like Chin-Temur. In early 1230 Chormaqun crossed the Amu Darya and began the proper subjugation of Khurasan, which had been left a ruinous buffer after the 1220 invasion. Chormaqun bypassed those few strongpoints still holding out, leaving Chin-Temur to reduce them and set up a proper administration in his wake. By autumn 1230, Chormaqun was in Mazandaran, northern Iran, and took Rayy, which he set up as his headquarters. Chormaqun spent the next two years in Rayy, from where he ordered his various forces and took the submission of most of the powers in Iran, the states of the south sending representatives and recognizing Mongol rule. By 1233 essentially all that was left of Jalal al-Din’s reconstituted Khwarezmian Empire in Iran had submitted to the Mongols, leaving his capital of Isfahan isolated until it fell in 1236. In eastern Khurasan, that is, now modern eastern Iran and Afghanistan, Chormaqun’s lieutnentats Dayir and Monggedu operated, driving out Khwarezmian holdouts. By 1235 they had brought the Mongol Empire to the borders of India, forcing an officer Jalal al-Din had left behind, Hasan Qarluq, to submit. It seems even the Isma’ilis, the famed ‘Order of Assassins,’ allied themselves with the Mongols, providing intelligence on Jalal al-Din’s movements and strength. By spring 1231, Mongol forces had entered Azerbaijan’s Mughan plain, zeroing in on Mingburnu. He frantically sent word to the Seljuq Sultan and Ayyubid Sultan of Syria, urging cooperation against the Mongols. But it was too little too late. Jalal al-Din had long ago soured the relationship through his aggression. Too busy raiding and campaigning, he had not created anything in the last decade to actually prepare for the return of the Mongols, and now he paid for it. He spent 1231 hopping across the Caucasus, narrowly avoiding Mongol forces. At one point, he only just escaped his camp as the Mongols came across it, only the action of a general waving Mingburnu’s banners and therefore distracting them, giving Jalal al-Din enough time to escape. Near Diyar Bakir, known also as Amida, in what is now southeastern Turkey, his luck finally ran out. Hounded down to just a few followers, in mid-1231 he was killed by Kurdish bandits robbing him for his robes. The clothes were recognized, the Kurds killed and the body thought to be that of Jalal al-Din buried. So ended the reign of Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, final ruler of the Khwarezmian Empire. A fine soldier and warrior but a poor king, he could not improve upon the Khwarezmian tradition of treachery and aggression to his neighbours. With the time, energy, troops, experience and personal charisma, Jalal al-Din had the potential to build a proper resistance to the Mongols, yet he instead squandered this opportunity, in many ways showing himself little better than them. Still he remained a powerful symbol; for years, rumours persisted of his survival, and every once and a while someone would claim his identity, only to be swiftly killed by the Mongols. Many a medieval Muslim author glorified him, such as his own secretary Nasawi, the Khwarezmian refugee to Delhi Juzjani, and even Juvaini, a beaureaucrat who worked for the Mongols. We might consider him the Bonnie Prince Charlie of the 13th century Muslim world. A figure whose actual person could not stand up to the legend and potential of his idea. Jalal al-Din’s demise had other consequences. For one, there was still a large body of Khwarezmian troops in the region, fleeing the Mongols and now acting as mercenaries. In time, they were displaced from their refuge in Syria, making their way south and in 1244, took Jerusalem. Jerusalem had only been in Christian control again since Emperor Frederick II’s crusade in 1228. Not until 1917 would Jerusalem again be controlled by non-Muslims. In Azerbaijan, Tabriz came under Mongol rule quickly after Mingburnu’s death. With Iran secured, Chormaqun marched into newly subjugated Azerbaijan, and there planned the conquest of the Caucasus. Georgia was severely weakened; first Jebe and Subutai’s attacks, then Jalal al-Din’s repeated depredations, it would be just a matter of reducing fortresses. In 1236 Chormaqun ordered a three pronged assault against the territories of the Georgian Kingdom: Chormaqun himself drove into Greater Armenia, Mular up the Kura Valley and Chagatai Noyan, known as ‘the lesser’ to distinguish himself from Chinggis’ son, attacked Georgia proper. So weakened, the Georgians could offer no unified defence, with each lord retreating to his own castle in the mountains. The Mongols moved at a leisurely, careful pace, forcing some castles but needing to starve out others. Some Armenian and Georgian lords, like the influential Awag Zak’arian, willingly submitted, receiving special treatment and encouraging others to follow his example. With the flight of the Georgian Queen Rusudan from Tbilisi, Awag was the most powerful lord in the kingdom, and assisted in the Mongol expansion. In 1238 Tbilisi fell to Chagatai Noyan, Queen Rusudan fleeing into the far western mountains of Georgian territory, near the Black Sea. So remote was it that the Mongols did not even pursue her. By that point, Subutai and Batu’s armies were overrunning the steppes north of the Caucasus, so perhaps they felt her trapped between them. The conquest of the Caucasus was essentially complete by 1240. Though it saw its shares of massacres, it was considerably less disastrous for the locals than, say, the war against the Jurchen Jin had been in north China. Most local forms of government were allowed to continue operating, though now with Mongol overlordship at the top. The Mughan plain in Azerbaijan became a favoured centre for Mongol power, and in time, a political centre under the Ilkhanate. For more details on Mongol rule in the region, one can easily find a copy of Bayarsaikhan Dashdondag’s The Mongols and the Armenians online, kindly uploaded to the internet and academia.edu by Dashdondag herself. The early 1240s saw notable political upheaval in the Mongol Empire- of course at the end of 1241, we have Ogedai Khaan’s own death, though we’ll deal with that in a later episode. Chormaqun was struck down by a paralytic disease, leaving him unable to command, his wife acting as regent until officially replaced by his lieutenant, Baiju Noyan. Baiju had a habit, even for Mongol standards, of ordering senseless executions. It is Baiju who brings us to the final section of today’s episode, the battle of Kose Dagh. The Seljuqs of Rum, as the Anatolian branch of the once mighty dynasty was known, had experienced a heyday and expansion under Kayqubad I. After his death in 1236, he was succeeded by Kaykhusraw II, not his equal and certainly not up to repelling the predatory Baiju. From 1240 to 1241 a Turkoman revolt led by Baba Ishak hamstrung the Seljuq state, and Baiju took note of this Seljuq weakness. In 1242, hungry to continue expanding, Baiju led his armies into Anatolia. The Seljuq controlled Armenian city of Erzurum was a first target. After a two month siege, catapults brought down the city walls, the Christians and Muslims within the city brought to an indiscriminate slaughter. Valuable gospels found in Erzurum were gifted by Baiju to his Chirstian followers, while Armenian princes in his army sought to rescue those taken as slaves. Following further campaigning, Baiju returned to the Mughan plain for winter 1242, before returning in Spring 1243. The Seljuq Sultan Kaykhusraw II had boasted he would march and defeat the Mongols in the Mughan; Baiju marched back into Anatolia before Kaykhsuraw’s men were even mobilized. Kaykhusraw tried to get reinforcements from his vassals and allies, at Trebizond, Aleppo, Nicaea, and Cilician Armenia. The Armenian King, Het’um I, was a stout observer, and knew that the drunkard Sultan Kaykhusraw fared little chance, and held his forces back. Erzincan, Sivas, Kayseri, all fell to Baiju as he pushed into Anatolia. He brought with him a large, multi-ethnic force, with notable Armenian and Georgian contingents. Baiju encouraged the intermingling of his forces, so as to prevent ethnic rivalries flaring up and increasing unit cohesion. By June 26th, 1243, Baiju caught the Sultan’s army in the defile of Kose Dagh, in what is now northeastern Turkey. The Seljuqs likewise brought a diverse contingent, including important Frankish mercenaries commanded by a Cypriot and a Venetian. Kaykhusraw drank himself into a stupor the night before, and was so hungover that army organization was non-existent, his force failing to assemble until late in the day. Stationed well beyond the lines, the Sultan had little awareness of what was happening at the front. Moral was poor, the Mongols’ reputation was one of invincibility and absolute terror. There could be only one end. Mongol horse archers supported by Georgian and Armenian heavy cavalry clashed with the Turkish and Frankish troops of the Seljuq Sultan. Within an hour, they had broken and fled. So sudden was the Seljuq flight that Baiju suspected it had to be a feigned retreat, and held his army back. Only cautiously did he send scouts forward to check out the abandoned Sultan’s camp, and when they found it truly abandoned, the celebration was great. Kaykhsuraw left all his treasure behind in his flight, and what a great deal of treasure it was. Though he survived, his reputation and military were broken. The Seljuqs had little option but to submit to the Mongols- as did the King of Armenian Cilicia, Het’um I, leaving the Mongols as masters of Anatolia. The Kose Dagh campaign was a part of a growing shift in Mongol military thought. Under Chinggis Khan, campaigns were normally a reaction to an incident or a need; the Otrar Massacre was of course an important precipitate to the Khwarezmian campaign, but Chinggis Khan had tried to avoid it, even after the massacre sending envoys to seek a peaceable solution. Only when his envoys were killed by Muhammad Khwarezm-shah did Chinggis Khan order an assault. The initial campaigns ordered by Ogedai were sent against targets who had survived Chinggis Khan’s invasions, that is the Jurchen Jin and Jalal al-Din. But by Chormaqun’s final years and the time Baiju took office in 1241, the justifications for invasions grew ever flimsier. The greatly weakened Kingdom of Georgia and the Seljuqs of Rum were not a threat to the already vast Mongol Empire, though the Georgians were considered enemies since Jebe and Subutai’s expedition. No, this was conquest for the sake of conquest. Baiju attacked the Seljuqs in their moment of weakness, for little reason other than the expansion of the Mongol Empire. This was the manifestation of the belief that the Chinggisids were to rule everything under the Eternal Blue Heaven. The very existence of non-subject powers was, in itself, resistance against the will of Heaven. The Khan had no allies, only vassals. The submission of the Anatolian Seljuqs by the mid 1240s marked the highpoint of Mongol efforts in the region for some years. Baiju probed Syria, bringing the submission of local Ayyubid princes there, and his armies tested the borders of Iraq. However, the Mongols seem to have been under the impression that Baghdad was supported by a massive army, and were hesitant to commit to any serious operation against it. It would not be until the arrival of Hulegu in the 1250s that the Mongol conquest in the region would be finalized. As it was, Mongol rule now stretched from the Mediterranean and Black Seas all the way to the Pacific Ocean, and still continued to expand. Our next episode will begin to cover the conquest of the greatest western steppe, the prelude to the invasion of Europe proper, 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!
The crowd that had assembled was mighty. The princes, sons, and generals from across the Mongol Empire had collected on the Kerulen [Хэрлэн] river in September 1229 to elect Ogedai, third son of Chinggis Khan, as Khan of Khans. From the line of Ogedai’s late brother Jochi, his sons Orda, Batu, Berke and more made the journey from the Qipchaq steppe; Ogedai’s two surviving full brothers and their children, Chagatai and Tolui (to-loo-i), stood present, as were the only living siblings of Chinggis Khan, his brother Temuge and half-brother Belgutei (bell-gu-tai). It was a huge gathering, perhaps the final meeting of many members of the old guard: the last of those who had fought alongside Temujin to unify the Mongols now watched as the reins of power were handed to the next generation. I am your host David and this is the Ages of Conquest podcast: The Mongol Invasions! Chinggis Khan had died in August 1227. Two years had been needed for the appropriate funeral arrangements, for the various princes to return to Mongolia and preparations for the coronation. Tolui had been appointed regent of the empire during those two years, and despite some later rumours, there can have been little doubt as to the decision. Chinggis Khan himself had decreed Ogedai to succeed him, and there could be no serious thought of challenging his will. To quote the Persian writer Juvaini, writing in the 1250s, Chinggis Khan spoke thus: “If it is your wish to pass your lives in ease and luxury and to enjoy the fruits of sovereignty and wealth, my advice, as I have lately given you to understand, is that Ogedai should ascend the throne of the Khanate in my place because he stands out amongst you for the excellency of his firm counsel and the superiority of his perspicacious understanding; and that the government of the army and the people and the defence of the frontiers of the Empire should be executed by his auspicious advice and good counsel. I therefore make him my heir and place the keys of the Empire in the hands of his valour and ability.” To which his sons are said to have replied after kneeling before him, “Who hath the power to oppose the words of Chinggis Khan and who the ability to reject it?” Removing their hats and belts as signs of submission, Chagatai took Ogedai’s right hand, Temuge his left, and hoisted him onto the throne while Tolui passed a cup to Ogedai, symbolically showing the three main alternatives supporting him. Then, all in attendance kneeled three time before Ogedai, saying “May the Kingdom prosper by his being Khan!”, then exited the grand tent, knelt to the sun three times, and returned into the tent to drink and cheer: Ogedai was now ruler of the Mongol Empire, taking not his father’s title of Khan, but the older Turkic title Khakhan, “Khan of Khans,” often transliterated as Khan written with two ‘a’s. So, who was Ogedai? Born in 1186, the third son of Chinggis Khan and Borte, Ogedai was 43 years old when he became Khaan. Not as skilled a military commander as his brothers, Ogedai instead had a reputation as generous, easy-going and incredibly fond of alcohol. Unlike his surviving brothers, who could be unyielding like iron, Ogedai was one to compromise and seek solutions- and therefore stabilize the empire his father had created. It was Ogedai who famously constructed the imperial capital of Karakorum in Mongolia’s Orkhon Valley. Early on in his reign, Ogedai took to administration with vigour, not just streamlining but in many respects creating an actual bureaucracy and tax system for the empire. Compared to Chagatai, Ogedai was rather positively portrayed by Muslim historians of the period, who shared numerous anecdotes, although many of questionable verocity, of Ogedai intervening to save the lives of Muslims about to be executed for transgressing a law of Chinggis Khan, such as washing in a river. Of course, this is not to say Ogedai was a man of peace. As we will see in the coming episodes, the conquests continued rapidly on his orders: crushing the Jurchen Jin and remnants of Khwarezm, as well as driving into Europe in the 1240s. Ogedai could also fly into horrific rages and order slaughter and sacrifice: from sending 40 virgins to join Chinggis Khan in the next world, to a terrible rape of the women of the Oirat tribe to continued destruction in China, Ogedai could order the deaths of thousands just as easily as his father. Later in his reign, Ogedai found increasing solace in alcohol and withdrew from government, leading to his sudden demise in December 1241. But in 1229, Ogedai was an energetic and ambitious monarch, one eager to prove himself a worthy successor to his father’s enormous legacy. Ogedai needed to not just consolidate an empire, but set out finding long term methods to rule one as well, rather than the temporary garrison occupation it had been to that point. Civilian administration had been completely subordinate to military rule. The general in the theater who held the highest office, such as Mukhali in north China from 1218-1223, had also acted as governor general. Being engaged in ongoing conquest at the same time meant that civil matters were secondary, and the population was subject to the whims of whatever local power had survived the Mongol onslaught, or been appointed to govern them. This often ended up an appointed general concerned with how to best mobilize their resources for the Mongol war effort or to enrich himself. Furthermore, Chinggis Khan had never established a system of regular taxation. Taxes were collected in kind, that is, in whatever goods the Mongols felt they needed for the war effort, be they animals, weapons, iron implements to be turned into weapons or food stuffs. There was no regular interval for this, nor a set level of assessment. Mongol parties came and took what they needed, when they needed it, and the local populations were thus exploited, suffering depredations well beyond their initial subjugation. Upon taking the throne, Ogedai had several issues to deal with, such as the matter of how to accommodate the large sedentary populations of north China and Transoxania while completing the conquest of the Jin Dynasty and Khwarezmian Empire. The Jin were now based behind the great defensive line of the Yellow River, with new generals leading a valiant defensive effort, while in western Iran the son of Khwarezm-shah Muhammad II, Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, had reappeared after years in India, making claim to restore his father’s empire. Challenged from these fronts, on his ascension to Khaan in late 1229 Ogedai held a council to decide the courses of action to take. Some choices were obvious: new military forces needed to be raised to crush these opponents. Chormaqun Chor-mah-hun) Noyan, a member of the keshig, the imperial bodyguard, was given a large force to destroy Jalal al-Din and subdue Iran. We will look at his campaign later in this series. In China, the Jin Dynasty, though reduced, was not yet broken, and had even reclaimed some territory in the years during the Khan’s absence. A final Mongol invasion of the Jin would be forthwith, though difficult, as their remaining territory was well fortified by the Yellow River guarding the north, and the great fort of Tongguan protecting the western approaches. The Chinese Song Dynasty bordered the Jin to the south, and while no friend to the Jin, they remained neutral in the war. Careful planning was needed, and we will explore Mongol strategy in the final war against the Jin in our next episode. The other question raised at this council was what to do with the sedentary populations, especially in occupied north China. For some Mongols, the solution was simple: an extreme faction led by a general Bedger (bed-ger) suggested the total annihilation of the northern Chinese, turning the now empty land into pasture for their horses. For some at the meeting, this was beyond the pale. One such was the scholar, Yelu Chucai. Chucai, you will remember, was a Khitan, a semi-nomadic people related to the Mongols who had once ruled China before the establishment of the Jurchen Jin Empire; though adopting aspects of Chinese culture in the following centuries, they retained their identity and many had risen up against the Jin with Chinggis Khan’s invasion. Yelu Chucai entered the Khan’s service in 1218. Having lived through the terrible siege of Zhongdu, he spent three years learning Buddhism before being called into Mongol service. His height - well over 6 feet, or 182 centimetres tall- deep voice and long beard down to his waist instantly caught the attention of the Mongols, as did his promulgations of loyalty, a trait Chinggis Khan always valued. Yelu Chucai accompanied Chinggis Khan west into Khwarezm, where he served as a court astrologer, scribe and advisor, building a network of contacts and a respected reputation among the Mongols, as well as a keen understanding of how the Chinggisids viewed the world. A great humanitarian, Yelu Chucai could not allow Ogedai to approve this genocide, and vehemently argued against it. His suggestion was to instead begin a system of regular taxation. Chucai knew that appealing to the Mongols’ sense of empathy would be fruitless, so essentially argued this simple tenant: kill everyone, and you’ll only gain their wealth once, but tax them every year, and long term you’ll make more revenue at less danger to yourself. Ogedai was intrigued, and allowed Yelu Chucai to try out his strategy as part of the newly created Branch Secretariat for China. At the same time, a similar Branch Secretariat was established for the Islamic lands the Mongols controlled, headed by Mahmud Yalavach, a Turkic merchant who had been a part of the embassy to Muhammad Khwarezm-shah in 1218. Yalavach likewise instituted tax reforms and rebuilding, and Ogedai was immediately pleased by the results. What Yalavach and Chucai did in both Secretariats was basically set up systems of regular, categorized taxations, though each with regional differences based on local tradition. In his Secretariat, Yalavach’s taxes were on every adult male, as per Islamic tradition, while in time Chucai’s would align with the Chinese model of taxation based on the household, with different rates for urban and rural peoples. Streamlining taxation and reducing the numbers of minor officials and princes collecting taxes at whim meant that the revenues coming to the Mongol court increased significantly. Ogedai allowed Chucai further power for more reforms, and by 1231 Yelu Chucai was responsible for the administration of North China. Former officials of the Jin Dynasty were rescued to aid Chucai’s burgeoning bureaucracy, rebuilding efforts were launched, the power of monasteries were curtailed and fiscal obligations forced onto monks conducting business. Chucai had further ambitions, such as continued refinement of his tax system and hoping to reduce the power of regional princes to strengthen the central government. Long term, his intention was a return to his idealized, Confucian style of Chinese governance. You could almost say he looked to rescue the Chinese from Mongol rapaciousness, allowing northern China a chance to heal from the ravages of the Mongol-Jin wars. Chucai even managed to convince Ogedai to allow a census to be undertaken, something Chucai later came to regret, as we will discuss in future. Much of Ogedai’s early reign was caught up with continued war with the Jin Dynasty, subject of our next episode but completed by 1234. Mongol victory there had been a long time coming, but Ogedai needed to continue his father’s work should he wish to step out from under his shadow. In 1235, preparations began to be made for the Great Western Invasion. As you may recall, during the expedition of Jebe and Subutai, they had fought Rus’, Cuman-Qipchaqs and Volga Bulghars, all peoples who now needed to be brought under Mongol rule. By this time, the Mongols were increasingly supporting the belief in their united destiny to rule the world. Those who rebuffed initial Mongol demands for submission, or worse, fought and even defeated Mongol armies were an affront to the obvious will of Heaven. The Song Dynasty had made an unfortunate effort to claim, by force, the territory of the fallen Jin Dynasty, and now the south of China too fell prey to Mongol designs. The scope of Ogedai’s empire was increasing dramatically year-by-year. Don’t worry, though, we’ll cover these regionally rather than overburden a single episode. Ogedai made adjustments to suit this expansion. One such was the expansion of the yam system, essentially a relay system to quickly transport messages across the empire. It was similar to the American Pony Express, except the Mongol system actually lasted longer than 18 months. During Chinggis’ reign, the yam was confined to Mongolia, but Ogedai oversaw its extension into north China, the former Qara-Khitai and occupied Khwarezmian territories, tying these far flung corners to the central administration. The yam was made up of relay stations which a messenger could reach on a day's ride, quickly acquiring a new horse and provisions and continuing onwards to the next station. As Ogedai, much like his father, was concerned with encouraging trade he allowed merchants to utilize the system. To determine who could use what at each station, travellers were assigned with a gereg, known also as paiza, essentially a passport. The material the passport was made of -wood, iron, silver or gold- determined what provisions the carrier could access at each station, and allow them unimpeded or protected movement across this empire. Not that this system was without any issues, as it was the responsibility of local communities to provide provisions and animals for their nearest yam station, leaving them exposed to exploitation of merchants or commanders lining their own pockets. To further facilitate these trade routes, Ogedai also ordered the construction of protected wells, security patrols, improved roads and bridges, all in order to encourage merchants to make the trip in Mongolia. But Ogedai knew that merchants would need a definite location to carry their wares too, as well as a place for diplomatic envoys to always find the Khan’s representative: the extensive march of Qiu Chuji from northern China to Afghanistan to find Chinggis Khan was too inefficient to repeat. Partly for this purpose, in 1235 Ogedai ordered the construction of his most famous project: Karakorum, an actual capital city for the Mongol Empire. Once again, this may have been Ogedai expanding upon another of his father’s ideas, though the specifics are somewhat murky. Chinggis Khan seems to have had a semi-permanent, but poorly understood, base at Avarga along the Kherlen River, in northeastern Mongolia where he spent so much of his life. Archaeologically, little remains of Avarga, perhaps being little more than a location to store loot and house envoys, or hostages, from the sedentary world. Two large mounds have been discovered there, and it has been speculated that each mound held a palace, one built for Chinggis and the other by Ogedai, though they were likely unimpressive structures surrounded by Mongolian gers rather than walls. More interestingly is that for decades, the site continued to serve as a cultural and religious destination, and thousands of burned animals bones have been found there, indicating large and ongoing sacrifices. Perhaps rather than palaces, it has been speculated that the mounds were temples, and as the site had been associated with Chinggis it became a holy memorial to him. Chinggis Khan may have not been totally averse to the notion of a capital then, though he may have seen them more useful as places to store treasures too inconvenient to carry with him. BUT, there is some evidence he actually chose the site of Karakorum and wanted to build a capital there: late Yuan Dynasty transcriptions and the Yuanshih, ‘History of the Yuan Dynasty,’ from 1370, assert Chinggis founded Karakorum in 1220. This is unlikely, as we know Chinggis spent all of 1220 campaigning in the Khwarezmian Empire. He did, however, pass through the Orkhon Valley, where Karakorum would later be built, on his way to invade Khwarezm in 1219. Entering the valley, Chinggis would have noted much to find attractive. Rich in water and grass, vital to maintaining the Mongols’ valuable animal herds, it’s central location in Mongolia also placed it in easier reach of merchants and envoys while still a safe distance from any sedentary foe. Further, it was a region of cultural and imperial significance to nomads, as the Orkhon Valley was associated with the capitals of earlier steppe empires and confederations , such as the Uighur Empire, whose capital of Qarabalaghun (Kh-ara-bal-a-ghun) had been built there. Qarabalghasun’s (Kh-ara-bal-gha-sun’s) ruins, or Ordu Baliq, are only 30 kilometres north of where Karakorum was built. It’s also the home of the famed Orkhon Inscriptions of the Turkic Khaganates. For an ever growing Mongol imperial identity as the masters of the steppes, it was a powerful political connection to lean on. While Chinggis Khan may have designated the site of Karakorum to serve as the great capital of his empire, as we have shown in our previous episodes, he spent the remainder of his life on campaign or preparing for campaign. It’s doubtful any construction was undertaken on his orders. While Ogedai may have built on a site chosen by his father, what he built was entirely his own, and served as the administrative centre of much of Eurasia for the next 30 years. Karakorum was not a huge city even by medieval standards- travellers to the city in the 1250s found a population of around 10,000 people. Separated into four quarters and surrounded by a low wall, Karakorum was an amazingly diverse city. Mosques, Christian churches, Confucian, Daoist and Buddhist temples stood across the street from each other. Markets were constructed for merchants travelling from across the Muslim world, while Chinese craftsmen built the imperial palace and later, captured artisans from Europe were brought back to further decorate it, most famously in the form of a silver tree with four spouts to pour various alcoholic drinks from. With its own mint for coinage, gold and silversmiths alongside blacksmiths and other craftsmen, it served as a major production centre. The major streets were paved with limestone, lined with wood to prevent displacement during the freezing and thawing cycles, and all atop gravel to aid in water drainage. A canal was even dug to bring water into the city and drive the water wheels of the smiths. Many scribes and members of the bureaucracy could be found there, taking in messages sent from across the empire via the yam system and passing on instructions back. Numerous storehouses were built to house captured goods and tribute sent by subservient peoples, and it was to Ogedai’s delight to showcase his generosity by using this loot to overpay merchants several times what their goods were worth. This served as an effective means to encourage merchants to actually make the journey to Karakorum, which in contrast to a nomadic camp, featured amenities to keep visitors occupied and entertained. Limited agriculture was undertaken around the city, with evidence for wheat and barley, and one account mentions a proud farmer presenting his locally grown radishes to Ogedai. The city was not self-sufficient however, and at its height required hundreds of cartloads of food to be shipped to the city daily in order to feed it, something which came to be a major strategic weakness later in the century. The Great Khan essentially used Karakorum as his office, and the city likely had few actual Mongols within it at any given time. Rather than actually residing in Karakorum’s palace, Ogedai and his successors continued to nomadize around the capitol, venturing within it sparingly as business or ritual commanded. Ogedai himself preferred another palace he had built in Mongolia, the Wanangong, or Palace of Eternal Peace. Having a fixed location to send diplomats and treasure was to the benefit of the empire, while also helping to rebuild the overland trade routes damaged in the initial Mongol expansion. Neither was it the only city in Mongolia at the time, though it was certainly the largest. There was also Chinqai Balasagun, meaning ‘Chinqai’s city,’ named for the able minister Chinqai, a former Onggut merchant who served as Ogedai’s chancellor. Built by thousands of captured Chinese, it was intended as a logistics base in western Mongolia to prepare for the great invasion of Khwarezm but had turned into a major farming and production centre, manufacturing goods and weapons for Mongol armies. Ogedai’s early reign was marked by activity. New conquests were launched across Eurasia, an extensive new administration was created and a capital city built. Perhaps initially uncertain of how fit he was for the position, Ogedai was eager to prove himself a worthy successor to his awe-inspiring and terrifying father. The expansion of the Mongol Empire only continued under Ogedai, and his armies seemed unstoppable. Chinggis Khan bequeathed him a mighty army, but Ogedai built a political system to back it up. A number of historians for this reason consider him to be the true founder of the Mongol Empire. But the zeal was soon burned out of Ogedai, and by 1237 he essentially removed himself from most affairs of state. With access to most of the alcohol of Eurasia, Ogedai busied himself by sampling as much as he could. His final years were swallowed up by constant drunkenness and without his forceful presence, corruption set in. His second wife, Toregene Khatun, began exercising her own authority, pushing to the edge reform minded figures such as Yelu Chucai and Mahmud Yalavach. This later period of Ogedai’s rule and his weaknesses will be investigated in an upcoming episode, but our next episodes will detail the continued conquests by the Mongol armies on Ogedai’s orders, beginning with the final destruction of the Jurchen Jin Empire. This will carry us onto the invasion of Europe, 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 and if you want to help us continue to grow our audience, be sure to leave us a positive review on Apple Podcasts! 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!
“And thus, for our sins God put misunderstanding into us, and a countless number of people perished, and there was lamentation and weeping and grief throughout towns and villages... And the Tatars turned back from the river Dnieper, and we know not whence they came, nor where they hid themselves again; God knows whence he fetched them against us for our sins.” So ends the section in the Chronicle of Novgorod which describes the first encounter between the Rus’ and the Mongols, the famous Kalka River battle of 1223. Perhaps the most impressive feat of the Mongol invasion of the Khwarezmian Empire was the so-called raid of Jebe Noyan and Subutai Ba’atar, two Mongol generals whose pursuit of Muhammad Khwarezm-shah took them from modern Uzbekistan across northern Iran, through the Caucasus then across the steppe to Ukraine, fighting a combined Rus’-Qipchaq force on the Kalka River in May 1223, before returning back across the steppe. For these generals, it was a journey through totally alien cultures, languages and peoples, and that they met with military success at almost every turn- with notable exceptions- is an impressive feat itself. Considerable legend has built upon the ‘great raid’ like so much rust, so we are eager to strip this away, sharing recent historiography and shining a light on this expedition. I’m your host David and this Ages of Conquest: The Mongol Invasions. For background on this venture, we must point to our episode on the Mongol invasion of the Khwarezmian Empire, which of course you have listened to! Mongol armies reached the northeastern borders of the Khwarezmian Empire, in modern Kazakhstan, at the end of 1219, and by March 1220 had seized the capital of Samarkand and nearby Bukhara, and with their fall the nerve of the Khwarezmian ruler, Shah Muhammad II, broke. Stationed in Balkh, just south of the Amu Darya, the final natural barrier to the Mongols, the thought of facing Mongol armies in battle was too much for him and he fled west to Iran with a small entourage including his son, Jalal al-Din Mingburnu. In Chinggis Khan’s long experience in warfare, he knew that should the enemy leader escape, he could rally disparate forces and strike back: this was something Chinggis himself had done many times in his earlier career. The Khwarezm-shah could not become a beacon for resistance, and thus Chinggis Khan sent his hunters in pursuit: Jebe Noyan, Subutai Ba’atar and Toquchar Guregen. Jebe was at this time Chinggis Khan’s top general. A daring and brave commander, Jebe led from the front and had a knack for long pursuits. Jebe had famously entered Chinggis Khan’s service in a rather unorthodox manner. Originally in the service of the Khan’s enemies, in 1202 at the battle of Koyiten, Jebe, then named Jirqo’adai (djir-cho ‘ad-ai), shot and killed the Khan’s horse.. After the battle, Jirqo’adai was captured, and told the Khan that should he execute him he would be useful to no one, but spare him and he would be his most loyal servant. Always one to appreciate acts of bravery and noting his skill with a bow, Chinggis Khan took him and renamed him to Jebe, meaning arrow. Jebe distinguished himself against the Jin Dynasty and then against against Kuchlug of the Qara-Khitai, during which he almost single handedly doubled the size of the empire, as covered in a previous episode. Jebe was the senior commander of the hunt for Muhammad Khwarezm-shah. Subutai is likely the most famous Mongol general, though in 1220 was far from the prominence he would later assume. Indeed, the following expedition forged Subutai into the iron-hard commander for which he was later renowned. His most notable command prior to this was alongside Chinggis Khan’s eldest son Jochi, sent against fleeing Merkits and unintentionally colliding with an army under the Khwarezm-shah Muhammad. Jebe may have been a mentor to Subutai in this pursuit. Each of them was in command of a tumen, in theory 10,000 though almost certainly these were undermanned. The man sent in support was Toquchar Guregen, guregen meaning son-in-law, as Toquchar was married to a daughter of Chinggis Khan, Temulun. Toquchar’s job was to consolidate those cities and towns which submitted to Jebe and Subutai’s forces, while securing their rear. The pursuit went at a fast pace. Shah Muhammad reached Nishapur in northeastern Iran as early as April 1220, but moved again once he learned that Mongol forces had crossed the Amu Darya. Jebe and Subutai as they moved took the submission of cities like Balkh, Sarakhs and Nishapur itself in May. These cities were given a Mongol appointed governor, ordered to provide tribute, food supplies and to not offer assistance to the Khwarezm-shah. Those who resisted were bypassed for sake of speed, sending messages to Toquchar to punish them. Nishapur was lightly treated, but soon revolted due to false rumours of a victory of Shah Muhammad. Toquchar attacked them in November 1220, where he was killed by an arrow outside the walls. In spring 1221 Nishapur received a grim punishment for this action: Tolui, Chinggis Khan’s youngest son, led a brutal retaliatory campaign and devastated Nishapur. Men, women, children, even cats and dogs were said to have been slaughtered. Toquchar’s widow, Temulun, took part in the massacre, wrecking havoc for her fallen husband. Back in 1220, after Shah Muhammad left Nishapur, he undertook a wild ride across northern Iran. Jebe and Subutai struggled to find his trail, splitting into two separate columns which blazed across the country before reconvening at Ray, at present day Tehran. During this period, Jebe captured Shah Muhammad’s mother, Terken Khatun, sending her to Mongolia to spend the rest of her life a prisoner. Muhammad’s western flight was hamphered by his conflict with the Abbasid Caliph in Baghdad, and with Jebe and Subutai closing the gap, he sped north to Hamadan. According to the Persian writer Juvaini, the Mongols narrowly missed the Shah with their arrows at Hamadan, while another, Nasawi, records a battle fought between Muhammad and the Mongols. If Nasawi’s account is true, that was the only time Muhammad led an actual battle during this entire campaign. Either way, after Hamadan, at the end of summer 1220 Jebe and Subutai lost Muhammad’s trail. Muhammad had fled to an island off the coast in the Caspian Sea, down to a few followers and his sons. Delirious, mentally and physically exhausted and suffering from pneumonia, Muhammad Khwarezm-shah died there in December 1220, his 20 year reign ending in fire and a sea of blood. Jalal al-Din took on the mantle of Khwarezm-shah and returned to the mainland, the remainder of his story is covered in our previous episode. Jebe and Subutai spent winter 1220 in Azerbaijan’s Mughan plain. Perhaps they soon learned of Shah Muhammad’s death, as they began 1221 by attacking the local kingdoms, though our sources diverge on details. In some sources, during this winter they sent messengers to Chinggis Khan for permission to continue campaigning, while in others had received such permission at the outset. By February 1221, they were attacking the Kingdom of Georgia. We’ll give a brief rundown on who the Mongols encountered here. The Kingdom of Georgia was the region’s great power since the early 12th century, developing and expanding upon a strong military and fortress system established by King David the Builder. Georgian heavy infantry and cavalry had resisted repeated Seljuq invasions, while the mountainous country provided many natural barriers. Greater Armenia was under Georgian rule, as was northern Azerbaijan through Georgia’s vassals, the long-reigning Muslim Shirvanshahs. To the south of the Shirvanshahs were the Ildiguzids, Seljuq appointees and longtime foes of Georgia who a few years prior had recognized Khwarezmian overlordship. There was an independent Armenian Kingdom in this period, though it was in southeastern Anatolia. This was the Armenian ruled Kingdom of Cilicia, and whom we’ll meet in future episodes. The Mongols moved quickly. In February 1221, they defeated a Georgian army before doubling back to Iran to deal with revolt among cities which had submitted. One of these which was sacked was Maragha in March 1221. At this time, ibn al-Athir was living in Mosul, a city not far from Maragha. Writing a few years later, he records an interesting anecdote at Maragha, describing an unnamed Mongolian entering a house during the sacking, killing several people and taking more prisoner. Only when the Mongol removed their helmet, armour and weapon to rest, did the prisoners realize that their captor was actually a woman, then surprised and killed her. While we have a few cases of Mongol women partaking in battle, almost all were princesses or were avenging fallen husbands, like the aforementioned Temulun. This occasion in Maragha is perhaps the closest we come to a regular women in the Mongol army. No other source mentions this anonymous woman, or indicates any women of high standing marching alongside Jebe and Subutai. Much of 1221 was spent pinballing across northwesternmost Iran and the Caucasus. Hamadan, Nakhichevan (nak-i-chev-an), Ardabil (ard-a-bil), Sarab, Bailakan (bai-lak-an) and others were all attacked; the Ildeguzid (il-de-guz-id) Atabeg of Azerbaijan, Ozbeg, ignored Georgian requests for an alliance and submitted to the Mongols; and later in the summer they defeated the Georgian King George Lasha, son of the famed Queen Tamar, drawing his heavy cavalry into a feigned retreat. George only narrowly escaped, and died in 1223, leaving his kingdom greatly weakened. He was succeeded by his sister Rusudan, who ruled as regent for the next twenty years, marrying a Seljuq prince, but her kingdom suffering repeated depredations by Khwarezmians under Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, and then the Mongols who she reluctantly submitted to. And so ended Georgia’s golden age. Jebe and Subutai spent winter 1221 on the Mughan Plain again. Had they sent messengers to Chinggis earlier in the year, by now they would have returned with orders and confirmed Muhammad Khwarezm-shah’s death. It is probable they were ordered north against the Qipchaq-Cumans, the nomadic Turkic peoples who inhabited the steppe beyond the Caucasus. The Qipchaq-Cumans had been an issue for several years already: alongside Jochi, Subutai had fought them just prior to the Khwarezmian campaign; Qipchaq-Qanglis made up much of the Khwarezmian military, and had a long tradition of military alliance with the Georgian Kingdom. In either of these realms they had the potential to undo Mongol advances once Chinggis withdrew. Since part of the Mongol Empire’s legitimacy was based on its supremacy of the steppe, the independence of the Qipchaq-Cumans, a potential rival to that claim, was entirely intolerable. Perhaps even at the outset of the campaign, Jebe and Subutai had been ordered against them, but we are not provided sufficient evidence to say that with certainty. In turn, that brings us to another point. Often this part of the campaign is titled as ‘the Great Raid,’ intended as one of exploration and intelligence gathering, and therefore a great success. However, this appears to be a creation of more recent popular literature. As we have already described, little of Jebe and Subutai’s actions differ from the ongoing campaign of Chinggis and his sons in the east. A raid would not have been so concerned with subjugating cities and peoples, and the sources themselves generally refer to it as conquest. As mentioned, the Mongols had an enmity with the Qipchaq-Cumans for several years at this point. A major attack from an unexpected direction was always a favourite maneuver of Chinggis Khan, and perhaps their conquest was in mind from the outset. In 1222 Jebe and Subutai began north again. In Shirvan, they sacked Shamakhi, where we find a particularly gruesome siege technique. Supposedly, they built a ramp from corpses of livestock and locals, fighting over the city walls until the ramp decomposed! Their next movements were halted by the great fortress of Derbent, guarding one of the main passages through the northern Caucasus to the steppe. Deeming it too secure, they asked its ruler to provide them with envoys to discuss terms. One envoy was killed, and the other forced to show the Mongols a difficult alternate route through the mountains past the fortress. Exiting the mountains, they entered into the base of the Volga steppe into Chechnya or Dagestan. There, they were met by an army of horsemen: Alans, a nomadic Iranian people who had inhabited the region since Attila the Hun, and the Turkic Qipchaq-Cuman tribes. It’s quite possible the Shah in Derbent, the Georgians, or even merchants, had brought news of the Mongol army wrecking havoc across the region, and they had prepared should the Mongols come for them. The Alan-Qipchaq army was too strong together, so messengers were sent to the Qipchaqs with promises of sharing loot and gifts should they abandon the Alans. The Qipchaq leaders withdrew, leaving the Alans to be slaughtered by the Mongols, who soon caught the unsuspecting Qipchaqs and fell upon them. Evidently, quite a number escaped, fleeing westwards- among them a notable leader named Kotjen, rising to prominence with the deaths of the two most powerful Cuman Khans in the battle. Kotjen had allies among the Rus’ princes to the far west. The Rus’ principalities were at that time infamously fragmented, inhabiting the cities of northwestern Russia, north of the Ukrainian steppes. These competing principalities- the most prominent being Veliky-Novgorod, Vladimir and Kiev- often relied on Cuman horsemen as auxiliaries for attacking their rivals, bartering for valuable Cuman warhorses and marrying into the Cumans for alliance. Mstislav the Bold of Galicia, perhaps the leading Rus’ prince of the time, was married to Kotjen’s daughter, and upon learning of the Mongol threat from his father-in-law, helped assemble a mighty coalition of Rus’ princes in the final months of 1222. With the fearsome druzhina heavy cavalry of the Rus’ princes and skilled Qipchap-Cuman horse archers, it was a formidable force. In a lovely coincidence, the three lead Rus’ princes of the coalition were Mstislav the Bold of Galicia, Mstislav of Chernigov, and Mstislav Romanovich, the Grand Duke of Kiev. The sources have an unhelpful tendency to just refer to ‘Mstislav’ when discussing the army. As this force assembled in late 1222, Jebe and Subutai raided Crimea, sacking the port of Soldaia. Popular retelling has Venetian merchants ally with the Mongols here, sharing information on Europe and spreading Mongol propaganda in exchange for exclusive trade rights, Subutai then sacking their Genoese rivals at Soldaia. Such statements have no basis in history, however emerging it would seem, from a French work of the 1890s. Italian, especially Genoese, presence in Crimea and the Black Sea in 1222 was minimal. At this time access to the Black Sea was controlled by the Latin Empire of Constaninople, supported by Venice, preventing Genoese entrance. Soldaia itself was an outpost of the Empire of Trebizond, another Byzantine successor, but as argued by historian Andrew Peacock, when the Mongols arrived at Soldaia in 1222 it may have been under the brief control of the Seljuqs of Rum, taken as a part of their war against Trebizond. Either way, in 1222 Soldaia was not a Genoese colony. The belief in a Venetian-Mongol alliance emerging in 1222 must be a conflation of later Venetian prominence in Crimea and among the Mongols in the later thirteenth century- long after Subutai’s initial raid into Crimea. No evidence from the period suggests, in any form, that Venice allied with the Mongols in the early 1220s. After this Crimean raid Jebe and Subutai learned of the Rus’-Cuman army making its way down the Dnieper. Hoping to split this force up as they had the Alans and Qipchaqs, Jebe sent an envoy, who the Rus’ princes killed. Another envoy was sent, with this simple message: “Since you have listened to the [Cumans], and have killed all our envoys, and you are coming against us, come then, but we have not touched you, let God judge all.” From here, most modern retellings skip to the prolonged feigned retreat culminating on the Kalka River- a battle often presented as Subutai’s masterstroke, second only to his victories in Hungary two decades later. However, there is a little known skirmish prior before that which is often ignored, recorded by the Chronicle of Novgorod. As the Rus’-Cuman force marched down the Dnieper towards the Mongols, on the other side of the river a small Mongol scouting force was spotted observing them from a Cuman burial mound, a kurgan. The Mongols hadn’t realized they were by a ford, and one of the Mstisilav’s, likely Kotjen’s son-in-law, and a Cuman force unexpectedly crossed and closed the distance. Surprised, the Mongols buried their captain, named Gemya-Beg in the Chronicle of Novgorod, to hide him until they could return. But the Cumans uncovered him, and executed him before Mstislav. This episode seems a minor skirmish, but a shocking interpretation has been proposed by historian Stephen Pow. Pow suggests that Gemya-Beg was how 13th century Rus’ writer may have interpreted the name ‘Yeme Beg,’ which was the Turkic form of Jebe Noyan, suggesting this was the embarrassing capture and execution of Chinggis Khan’s star general! Allow me to explain while you settle from the shock. In most western Asian sources, Jebe is referred to by the Turkic form of his name, with beg, ‘prince,’ the Turkic version of the Mongol title of noyan. Jebe disappears during this campaign, last mentioned with certainty in the Caucasus, and his final fate unrecorded. This was hardly uncommon for Mongol generals, as the Mongols preferred not to discuss the deaths of their commanders. Some modern authors have tried to fill in the blanks, such as Jebe dying of illness during the return but again, there is no medieval source which states this. Jebe was brave, often taking risks and leading from the front: perhaps he had rode ahead to eye the Rus-Cuman army himself. The Cumans recognized him and were very excited to have captured him. The episode stood out to the Rus’ chroniclers: they knew it was someone important who had been captured, but were not quite sure who or how important. This puts a spin on what follows: if Jebe died on that kurgan in May 1223 and was Subutai’s superior, then the famous nine day feigned retreat Subutai led the Rus’ and Cumans on may have been an actual retreat. Suddenly thrust into command thousands of kilometres from any reinforcement with a large enemy army drawing down on him, Subutai needed to fall back and replan. So, for nine days his army ran, the Rus’ and Cumans hot in pursuit. As they travelled across the steppe, Subutai saw the enemy force lose its cohesion, the Cuman riders pulling ahead of the Rus’. Rather than face the full might of the coalition, Subutai could bring the full weight of his army to bear upon only a fraction of the enemy. As they reached the Kalka River, Subutai’s force turned about and fell upon the isolated Cumans, who routed. The Cumans fled, colliding with the Rus’, who lost their battle order as Mongol arrows fell among them. Mstislav the Bold of Galicia lived up to his name by being among the first to run, making his way back to the Dnieper, taking a boat and cutting loose the rest- trapping the rest on the shore with the Mongols. A portion of the army under Mstislav of Kiev retreated to a nearby hill and built a stockade, holding out a few days until tricked into surrendering. It was promised that the blood of the princes would not be shed- so the princes were bound hand and foot, and placed under boards as the Mongol command feasted and danced upon them. The rest of the army was slaughtered, though one prince was recorded as being brought to be executed before Jochi in 1224- likely, this was the fate of Mstislav of Kiev. The Chronicle of Novgorod says only 1 in 10 men returned from the Kalka campaign, and all indications are that losses were shockingly heavy. Yet that the Mongols quickly returned to the steppe took them out of mind. The Kalka disaster had little immediate impact on the Rus’, other than the loss of several princes, and no preparations were made for their possible return. The Cuman-Qipchaqs likewise stayed fragmented, though Kotjen Khan seemed to remain wary. When the Mongols returned in the late 1230s, Kotjen was the Cuman leader who fled to Hungary. Why did Subutai not put further pressure on the Rus’? By now, he had been on campaign for several years, and the size of his force must have been ground down. Further, if Jebe wasn’t killed in the above mentioned incident on the kurgan, he did not long survive the Kalka Battle, and his loss would have been demoralizing. Despite the victory over the Rus’ and Cumans, they had shown themselves dangerous foes, and Subutai knew that if he returned, he would need a powerful force. Thus did he begin the long trek back to Mongolia in the summer of 1223… ...unfortunately for Subutai, this episode doesn’t end there. While many popular retellings end on a triumphant account of the Kalka, on his way back east Subutai’s army was ambushed by the Volga Bulghars. It’s a murky episode, and you’ll find a lot of nonsense about it online. First off, who were the Volga Bulghars? The original Bulgarian nomadic tribes of the steppe were first mentioned around the 5th and 6th centuries. There was a brief period when they were the regional power in the 7th century, often called ‘Old Great Bulgaria,’ under Khan Kuvrat. On Kuvrat’s death, according to tradition his sons took the tribes in different directions: one, Asparukh, took them to the Danube, founding the first Bulgarian Empire, assimilating into the local slavic population and adopting Christianity. Another group travelled north, to the intersection of the Volga and Kama Rivers and hence, the Volga Bulghars. Famed as merchants their cities were a vital trade point between the Rus’ cities, the Finno-Ugric peoples of the forests, and the Islamic world, and they were the northernmost outpost of Islam, which they had adopted in the 10th century. By the twelfth and thirteenth century, they had an increasingly violent competition with the easternmost Rus’ principality, Vladimir-Suzdal. With their extensive trade contacts among the Cuman-Qipchaqs and along the Volga they must have known of the destruction of Khwarezm and the rough clockwise movement of Subutai’s army, long making preparations for a possible confrontation. This battle is mentioned in brief in several sources, but only the Arab writer ibn al-Athir, writing in Mosul in the early 1230s, provides any details, and it must be noted he may have been eager to play up any Mongol defeat. We do not know if Subutai was intending to strike the Volga Bulghars, or was completely surprised by them, but somewhere along the Volga river, Bulghar forces ambushed him, drawing the Mongols into feigned retreats and striking them in the rear as their forces spread thin, to high losses. According to ibn al-Athir, Subutai was left with only 4,000 men by the end of the battle, though he then mentions that Subutai had strength enough to attack cities along the lower reaches of the Volga outside Bulghar territory like Saqsin, so we might question how accurate this number is. Jebe, notably, is not mentioned at all. And that’s it! Though some modern authors like to write about Subutai then avenging himself against Bulghar forces further upriver, neither ibn al-Athir or any other medieval source makes any such mention. It seems these modern statements arise from two things: 1) confusion regarding highly influential French authors, D’Ohsson and Grousset of the 19th and early 20th centuries, whose vaguely worded paragraphs on this section may have led others, blindly trusting them, to interpret a victory. And 2) Many authors just as blindly accept the legend around the ‘undefeated’ Subutai, with source not easy to access to combat it. Mighty Subutai was defeated, and forced to withdraw from Bulghar territory- though whether this was a minor or major loss, we cannot tell. This was not even the only military defeat we know Subutai suffered- another loss came at the hands of the Jin Dynasty in the early 1230s, the final victory of that once mighty kingdom. And so Subutai returned humbled and hardened from a several thousand kilometre march across Eurasia. He brought with him information on the nature of the enemies in the west, and an idea of the numbers needed to subjugate it. Jebe had to be avenged, as did Subutai’s pride, andin time Subutai would return with overwhelming force to crush the Bulghars, the Cuman-Qipchaqs and the Rus’. We’re far from finished with the Mongol conquests, so be sure to subscribe to Ages of Conquest: A Kings a Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. You can also leave us a written review on iTunes which would help us to raise our profile so we can keep this show running! 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!
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!
In the smoke filled air, the cries of men and women reach towards Eternal Blue Heaven as horsemen ride over ruined city walls. The men of fighting age are forced together, their weapons and armour abandoned or taken, to be shortly executed en masse. A tower of their skulls be all that remains of their resistance The women, holding close crying children and infants, are led away, chattel for their new masters. Those craftsmen and artisans of skills -engineers, masons, woodworkers, and smiths of metal- are deemed to be useful to their new master in the east, and will be carried off for his service. Over the 13th century, from the islands off Korea to the plains of Hungary, from the forests of Siberia to the rugged borderlands of India, variations of this scene are enacted again and again, in the pursuit of nothing less than the domination of everything under Heaven by one family. I’m your host David and welcome to Ages of Conquest: a Kings and Generals Podcast. This is the Mongol conquests. In Bukhara, in early 1220, as the formidable Khwarezmian (Khwa-rez-mian) Empire buckles under their onslaught, the man who has caused this horrific explosion of violence stands before a crowd of the city’s notables and wealthy. Once proud and haughty, now they are held humble before this horseman from the steppe. “O peoples,” he tells them through his translator, “know that you have committed great sins and that the great ones among you have committed these sins. If you ask me what proof I have of these words, I say it is because I am the punishment of God. Had you not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you.” As the translator finished the statement, the shocked murmurs and hurried glances of the crowd would surely have pleased him - Genghis Khan, the World Conqueror, who had driven this proud people before him like hunters do their prey. The 13th century Mongol Conquests today are often presented in apocalyptic imagery, a carry over from many of the medieval sources, for whom the only explanation for the speed and thoroughness of these conquests could only be that they were a punishment sent by God, surely heralding the end of times. These connotations are difficult to dissociate, and indeed, one might ask why we should look deeper, when these conquests resulted in an estimated 30-40 million deaths, unimaginable suffering, rape and cruelty. Genghis Khan’s name, to many in the west, Iran and China, brings to mind the stock image of the blood thirsty barbarian, who raped his way to over 200 million modern descendants! Yet, in Mongolia today, he is not a national shame, but rather considered the heroic, legendary founder of their country, the unifier of the Mongols who led them to an unprecedented age of greatness. He is a lawgiver, the ideal steppe chieftain. Stern and vengeful to his enemies, but generous to his followers, a protector bringing peace and ending the age of intercine steppe warfare. For centuries, descent from Genghis Khan was perhaps the single most important source of legitimacy for dynasties and states across Asia. Even those monarchs not of the altan urugh - the Golden Lineage- often maintained a puppet Khan descended from him, or married a daughter of distant descent. For many of the Turkic peoples across the steppe today, Genghis takes the form of a great folk hero, and individual clans, tribes and peoples will feature some legend wherein a famous ancestor of theirs was granted their rights to that territory by Genghis himself, or was held as a loyal general by him. How do we reconcile these differing interpretations? As with so much of history, the truth lies in the middle. That is what we will discuss over the course of this podcast series. Not a dramatized, apocalyptic presentation, but neither a glowing heroic description, we will instead in detail go through the Mongol conquests, beginning with the origins of the empire and following through its expansion, administration, collapse and legacy, and address along the way popular misconceptions. To begin this, then perhaps we should first take a note of the name of the great Khan himself. Rather than the ‘Genghis,’ of modern English, we should instead use the more accurate rendition of his name in Mongolian: Chinggis Khan. Not meaning ‘universal emperor,’ it instead is something like ‘fierce, stern ruler,’ and neither was it his birth name. Chinggis Khan was born in about 1162, as Temujin, son of the minor chieftain Yesugei. Greatness did not come to him easily. When he was about 9 years old, his father was poisoned by a rival tribe, and Temujin and his family were soon abandoned by their own people. Only slowly did he gain power, suffering numerous setbacks, captures, and military defeats, forced to crawl and scratch for every inch. It was only in 1206, when he was over 40 years of age, that he finally unified the tribes of Mongolia, was elected Great Khan and took the title of Chinggis Khan. Even then, there is no evidence suggesting world domination was a goal he set himself to at this point: the initial attacks on China, beginning with an invasion of the Tangut Xi Xia in 1209 ,and an invasion of the Jurchen ruled Jin Dynasty in 1211, were intended for plunder and the punishing old enemies rather than establishing a vast empire. Only in the final years of his life, as Mongol armies obliterated the Khwarezmian ((Khwa-rez-mian)) Empire in modern Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan and Iran, does it seem the Mongols started to envisage themselves not just as rulers of the steppe and north China, but of much, much more. To paraphrase the Historian David Morgan, the Mongols came to believe it was their destiny to rule the world when they found out that they were in fact, doing so. The empire Chinggis Khan founded was the largest contiguous land empire in history, coming to incorporate most of the Eurasian continent by the end of the thirteenth century. Contrary to some statements you may seen online by those reminding you of the size of the British Empire that this was an ‘empire of empty space,’ the Mongols took control of all of the Chinese mainland, the trade cities of the famed Silk Routes in Central Asia, with Persia, Iraq, the Caucasus, eastern Anatolia and the cities of what is now Russia and Ukraine. That Mongol armies never landed in England and France is perhaps why to many in the west they remain but a foggy topic, the might of Genghis Khan glossed over in favour of Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great for most English speakers. Yet the Great Khan’s lifetime and legacy was a defining period for most of Eurasia, an immense period of transformation. Few powers of the 12th and early 13th century survived the Mongol onslaughts, and those that did were often significantly impacted by them. Neither were these impacts solely military: the expansion of trans-continental trade, spread of ideas and movements of peoples resulted in major economic changes, and Europe learned in detail of the wealth of China and the far east; population losses from the conquests and the Mongol civil wars, and finally the Black Death, as well as huge migrations of people across Asia, changed the population figures and distribution across the continent; Islam, from its low point with the destruction of Baghdad by Mongol armies in 1258, spread across Central Asia in the wake of the Mongols; and the states which succeeded the Mongol Empire now bore much different political and cultural outlooks, with a slew of Turko-Mongolian empires rising and falling ruled by Chinggisids or those who married into the family, most famously the great conqueror Temur; the likes of the Ming Dynasty in China, which after a brief flirtation with its famous trade fleets, became a Dynasty famously insular, closing itself off to outsiders and with a near-paralyzing phobia of the Mongols: it is this dynasty which built the Great Wall of China as we know it today. All of these various aspects and more, we will explore over the course of this series. For purposes of this series, we define the Mongol Empire as the single, unified state ruled by the Great Khans from 1206-1259. Upon the death of Chinggis Khan’s grandson, the Great Khan Mongke in 1259, civil war tore apart the empire into regional Khanates: the Yuan Dynasty in China, ruled by the heirs of the famous Kublai Khan, who maintained the title of Great Khan; the Ilkhanate in Persia, the Caucasus and Iraq, ruled by the descendants of Kublai’s brother Hulegu (Hoo-le-goo), the conqueror of Baghdad; the Golden Horde in Russia, Ukraine and Kazakhstan, ruled by the sons of Chinggis Khan’s ill-fated eldest child, Jochi; and the Chagatai Khanate in the geographic expanse between them, where the line of Chinggis’ second son Chagatai would rule in some form for centuries. These were not the only Khanates of the period: an Ogedaid (O-ge-dai-id) Khanate would emerge in the late thirteenth century under the rule of Qaidu (Kai-doo) Khan, and would dominate the Chagatai khanate for some time; the rambunctious Neguderis (Neg-ood-er-is) in modern Afghanistan would be a thorn in the side of the Ilkhans and rulers of India; and one may even suggest the constituent Khanates of the Golden horde like the White Horde, held their own true independence. And this is not even discussing the further fragmentations and reunifications over the following centuries! As one can gather from this brief description, this can be a complicated period and certainly overwhelming if we dive in unprepared. This series will hopefully serve to ease the uninitiated into it: we will begin with an introduction to nomadism in Mongolia, the tribes of that region and the local powers of North China, before detailing the rise of Chinggis Khan and his conquests. From there we will follow a history of the empire and the succeeding Great Khans of the 13th century: first Ogedai Khan, who would send Mongol armies to conquer the western steppe, Russia and into eastern Europe before his unexpected death in late 1241; then the regency of his wife Torogene, the brief reign of their son Guyuk and regency of his widow Oghul Qaimish (og-hool kwai-mish); and then the significant Toluid Revolution in 1250, when Mongke (mong-ke), the eldest son of Ogedai’s brother Tolui (to-lu-ee), took power. Mongke’s reign saw the major consolidation and expansion of the empire, sending his brother Hulegu into the Middle East while he and his brother Kublai took up arms against the Song Dynasty of Southern China. Mongke’s death in 1259 brought an end to Mongol unity, and the following years saw the outbreak of war between the various newly emerging Khanates. Following that, we will cover the history of these Khanates, and their own successor states, and will note when appropriate historiography, sources and other related matters. With this brief outline complete, let us note some important themes and trends to keep an eye out for during our sojourn into Mongol history. Perhaps the most notable and reoccuring being the notion that ‘conquering the world from horseback is easy: ruling from it is hard,’ to paraphrase a supposed quote of Chinggis Khan. That is, in military matters the Mongols proved themselves to be well-versed professionals, but actually garrisoning, managing and governing an empire thousands of kilometres in scale is a rather different matter entirely. At the start of the 13th century, the Mongols lived as nomads without walled cities, without written languages and without the complex administrative features necessary to manage huge populations. These were all skills the Mongols had to acquire, on a vast scale dealing with added problems of diverse populations speaking hundreds of unrelated languages in territories where the pre-existing government apparatus had generally been annihilated in initial Mongol assaults. The difficulties of this, and the surprising successes, is a matter we will explore. Closely related to that is what we might call the conflict between steppe and sedentary culture. That is, whether the Mongols should maintain their traditional ways, the nomadism and herding of Chinggis Khan and his fore-fathers, as well as adhering to the laws he laid out for them, known as the yassa. In this case, the wealth of the sedentarized, agricultural world should be utilized mainly for the further expansion of the empire, and was there for the Mongols’ exploitation. It was believed that the sedentary world would soften them, and force them to lose their military edge. In contrast, there were many who instead wished to adopt aspects of these urbanized societies and sedentary cultures, most notably in Persia and China where ancient traditions captured their attention. In these cases, the view was not to exploit these resources for expansion, but focus the empire onto these territories. In the Yuan Dynasty based in Mongolia and China, this is most keenly visible. There, the heirs of Kublai Khan quite literally went to war over this matter. The conflict was whether the leadership should live in Mongolia, using China proper as a sort-of supermarket, its resources there for the Mongols to use against their enemies outside the dynasty. The other party believed that China should be the empire, where the Mongols should make their capital and should adopt Chinese traditions as it suited them, particularly to serve the Mandate of Heaven, as Chinese monarchs justified their rule. In the Yuan Dynasty, it may be said the sedentary party won their civil wars, but by the time the Mongol rulers were expelled from China in 1368, they were too Mongol for the Chinese, but too Chinese for the Mongols who had remained in their homeland. The Ilkhans of Persia found themselves struggling between the conflict of the yassa of Chinggis Khan and the shariah of Islam; the Chagatai Khanate literally broke into western and eastern halves over this matter; and though the Golden Horde’s rulers had the most success avoiding the perils of sedentery soceity, they still needed to build cities for their trade. Another matter we’ll examine is the Turkification of the western Khanates. From early on, Turkic tribes formed an integral part of the Mongol armies, and as they moved west, ‘true Mongols,’ those actually from Mongolia, made up only a small percentage of some of these armies, well represented in leadership positions but forcing various Turkic peoples, especially Kipchak-Cumans, into their services. In the Golden Horde the role of these Turks is easily noted, but they took on significant roles even in Yuan China, and in the Ilkhanate and Chagatai realm this intermixing occurred as well. In fact, the role of non-Mongols in both the Mongol army and administration is something to keep an eye out for in general: without the skills, knowledge and manpower of Uighurs, Khitans, Turks and Chinese, it is difficult to see the Mongols expanding beyond China, let alone across Eurasia. Indeed, the empire was ‘Mongol’ in the sense of its primary leadership and army core: the vast majority of its population and even armies however were non-Mongol. By the time Chinggis Khan rode west against the Khwarezmian (Khwa-rez-mian) Empire in 1219, there were more Chinese fighting for the Mongols in China, than there were Mongols fighting there! This is very much the key to how a population of about one million Mongols was able to dominate Eurasia for a century. All history is based from the historical sources which have survived to the present day. At times, you may hear people on the internet state that ‘we know nothing of the Mongol Empire! They wrote nothing down!’ or something like that. This is quite far from the truth: in fact, this a period particularly rich in historical sources. Authors from China to Japan to Java to India to the Islamic world and Christendom all describe their dealings with the Mongols. Often, we have sources written decades apart, in different languages on the far sides of Eurasia presenting their own garbled versions of the same events, each now bolstered with a greater understanding of the world at large. The first battle fought in Europe to be described in a Chinese source was the famous encounter between Subutai, Batu and the armies of Hungary at Mohi in 1241. European travellers to the Mongol Empire, such as William of Rubruck, John de Plano Carpini and the famous Marco Polo describe in exquisite detail their experiences with the Mongols, describing their histories, appearances, empire and military tactics. There are wonderful extensive histories written in Persian, that of ‘Ata-Malik Juvaini (ju-vai-ni) with his History of the World Conqueror, to the mammoth universal history of the Ilkhanid vizier Rashid al-Din Hamadani, in his Compendium of Chronicles, which not only provides a history of the Mongols, but makes an attempt to provide a history of the Turks, the Islamic World, China and the Franks as well! Juzjani, a refugee from the Khwarezmian (Khwa-rez-mian) Empire, shares with us all the awful rumours he heard of the Mongols during his asylum in Delhi; al-Nasawi, the secretary of the valiant Khwarezmian (Khwa-rez-mian) Prince Jalal al-Din Mingburnu (ming-bur-new), provides a fantastic account of that prince’s resistance against the Mongols; ibn al-Athir, writing in Mosul in the 1220s, shows us the horror of hearing reports of the Mongol devastation of the Khwarezmian (Khwa-rez-mian) Empire trickled down to him. In the east, we have numerous Chinese accounts, notably the hastily compiled Yuan-shih, a general dynastic history of the Yuan Dynasty put together in the early years of the succeeding Ming Dynasty. And of course, no source is as famous, or infamous, as the great wild card, the Secret History of the Mongols, an epic chronicle written sometime after Chinggis Khan’s death to record his unification of the Mongols and his words. The oldest history written in the Mongolian language, it is an invaluable chance to look at how a nomadic state viewed its own history before being ‘tainted by sedentary cultures. This is of course, only a brief survey, as it doesn’t even mentions the accounts of Arabic, Armenian, Georgian, Rus’, Byzantine, Korean or later authors. The idea though, is to present that we have a rich variety of sources for this period, from both within the empire, written on imperial order, or from outside the empire and written by its enemies, all over the course of the 13th century.The great difficulty for any historian of the Mongol Empire is that there are so many sources in so many languages. To read them all, in their original languages and original scripts, is a task beyond any individual mortal. Yet, in recent years, and especially with the advent of the internet, translations are far more accessible, and now we can discuss in detail numerous aspects of the empire undreamable decades ago. This won’t be an endless description of battles, instead something which will show that this was no apocalyptic swarm of demons but rather events undertaken by, and against, other humans. Not just bloodshed, but a period of increased cultural contacts and learning, trade and exploration, yet also of prejudice, violence and human greed. So truthfully then, something demonstrating all the colours of the human experience. A complicated and complex yet incredibly fascinating and unique period in human history, we hope this series can spark not just your own interest in the Mongol Empire, but increase your appreciation in other historical topics as well, seeing them all with the same ribbon of complexity. We hope that you have enjoyed this introduction to our series about the Mongol Empire. We at Kings and Generals will be bringing you the next episode introducing Mongolian nomadism and steppe society, 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
We're back! After a summer hiatus, we are back with a new episode. Host Matt Taylor talks to Numenta VP of Research Subutai Ahmad about the effort he has been leading in applying Numenta research and HTM principles to deep learning systems. This episode is also available as a video.
Host Matt Taylor interviews Numenta VP Research Subutai Ahmad about his experience at this year's COSYNE conference. They discuss: What COSYNE is all aboutWhy Numenta attendsWhat Numenta presentedThen Matt dives into the content and asks Subutai about the difference between tonic and burst modeshow cells in the cortex control modes in the thalamuswhy would cortex control modes of thalamushow TC cells detect precise sparse codes from L6what the thalamus is providing in the FF input to L6the hypotheses suggested by the poster
This week, we look at Jebe, Subutai and their first incursion into the kingdom of Georgia.
On this episode I finish up the Dogs of War series and go into the legacy of Subutai and how he affected the future.
In this episode I go over my thoughts on the Alex Jones deplatforming and then go into two of Subutai's most famous campaigns. Share the link with your friends! https://bit.ly/2MgpY2w
This is the beginning of a series about the legendary Mongol general Subutai. In this episode I go into his early life and a overview of his methodologies as a general. Share the show with this link! https://linktr.ee/opotrace follow me on IG https://bit.ly/1JVLyzi