Daughter of Xanadu Part 1

Daughter of Xanadu.

by Dori Jones Yang.

FOREWORD.

This is the story of two adventurous hearts from thousands of miles and worlds apart: one from medieval Venice and the other from the royal court of the Mongol Empire. A quirk of destiny brought them together, and their tale is revealed here for the first time.

To each, the world looked totally different. For Emmajin, life centered on the court of her grandfather Khubilai Khan. Outside the thick walls of the palace lay the streets of the capital city, and beyond that, land after land that her ancestors had conquered, across the gra.s.slands, over mountains, and through deserts to the primitive kingdoms of the Far West, where men had beards and round eyes of strange colors. The vast Mongol Empire, the largest in history, was at the peak of its power; it controlled most of the known world, and her grandfather was determined to conquer the rest.

Like all Mongolian children, Emmajin had learned to ride horses before she could walk and handled a bow and arrows with ease. She heard stories of brave Mongol women who were her ancestors, brilliant, resourceful, ambitious, and kind. But most of the women at court lived lazy lives of luxury. She preferred action and the outdoors and wanted to gallop off to have adventures like her male cousins, who all expected to join the army.

Beyond the far western edge of Emmajin's grandfather's empire, Marco Polo, at the age of seventeen, left his beloved home in Venice, Italy. It was the High Middle Ages, and many cities in Europe, then called Christendom, were building huge cathedrals. Venice was the richest city in Europe, and its traders brought home merchandise from far lands. But most of Europe was divided into tiny kingdoms that were relatively poor and powerless. When Marco's father and uncle returned from a long journey and told of a fabulous, wealthy empire in the East, ruled by a wise, powerful emperor, with millions of citizens, huge armies, and rare gems, few believed them.

Marco joined them on their second journey to the heart of the Mongol Empire. Because of sickness, bandits, icy mountains, and endless deserts, that journey took more than three years. By the time Marco arrived at the Khan's capital, in AD 1275, he spoke four languages and had many lively stories to tell.

Emmajin and Marco met in Xanadu, the Khan's summer capital, then called Shangdu. Outside the gleaming marble palace stretched a glorious garden, a paradise of brooks and ponds, pavilions and paG.o.das, winding paths and blossoming trees. It was a land of myth and mystery, where the unthinkable could happen.

Years later, when Marco Polo returned to Europe, he wrote a book about what he had seen in this marvelous land. Some dismissed Marco's book as falsehood, accusing him of exaggerating. But his writing fired European imaginations for centuries; five hundred years later it inspired a famous poem that begins "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan..." Most famously, Marco's book motivated Christopher Columbus to set sail across the ocean to the West, hoping to find the treasures of the East.

The distant land that Marco Polo "discovered" had long been known to the people who lived there. Khubilai's capital was in China, which had developed an advanced civilization with poetry, calligraphy, silk, and jade, and a written history of thousands of years. Khubilai's people, the Mongols, had roamed for centuries across the gra.s.slands of Asia as herdsmen and warriors, living in round tents they called ger gers, known to us as yurts. Some people called the Mongols barbarians because they had no written language, buildings, or even houses. But they perfected mounted archery and conceived brilliant military tactics that allowed them to quickly conquer much more advanced countries. Two generations earlier, Khubilai's grandfather, Chinggis Khan, and his fierce hors.e.m.e.n had swept across northern China and central Asia, defeating land after land, reaching as far as Russia, Poland, and Hungary in present-day eastern Europe.

By the time Marco Polo arrived, the Mongols had conquered most of the known world. They had abandoned their nomadic lifestyle and were living in Chinese-style palaces, wearing silks and brocades and eating sumptuous banquets in their capital city of Khanbalik, now known as Beijing. Khubilai Khan loved entertaining foreign visitors and debating with them about the merits of their customs and religions. Admired for his wisdom, he remained determined to fulfill the mandate from his grandfather: to conquer the rest of the world, including Europe.

The young woman in these pages, Khubilai Khan's eldest granddaughter, Emmajin, is purely fictional. But the details about the place and time and events are as accurate as possible, based on historical accounts. Many other people in these pages were real; I have imagined their personalities.

Like a lot of girls today, Emmajin dreamed big dreams. In her culture, the only way to achieve greatness was to prove your military skills on the battlefield. So that was what she set out to do. That is, until Marco Polo came along.

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In Xanadu did Kubla KhanA stately pleasure-dome decree:Where Alph, the sacred river, ranThrough caverns measureless to manDown to a sunless sea.So twice five miles of fertile groundWith walls and towers were girdled round:And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;And here were forests ancient as the hills,Enfolding sunny spots of greenery....

-"Kubla Khan,"

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge And when you have ridden three days from the city last mentioned, between north-east and north, you come to a city called Chandu, which was built by the Kaan now reigning. There is at this place a very fine marble Palace, the rooms of which are all gilt and painted with figures of men and beasts and birds, and with a variety of trees and flowers, all executed with such exquisite art that you regard them with delight and astonishment.

Round this Palace a wall is built, inclosing a compa.s.s of 16 miles, and inside the Park there are fountains and rivers and brooks, and beautiful meadows...

-The Travels of Marco Polo, by Marco Polo and Rustich.e.l.lo of Pisa, circa 1299, from The Complete Yule-Cordier Edition The Complete Yule-Cordier Edition, Volume I

Part I - In Xanadu

1 A Taste of Victory

The fierce Mongol army was riding straight at us.

My cousin Suren and I stood on the balcony of the palace gate, scanning the horizon, our hands on the marble bal.u.s.trade. In the far distance, on the plain outside the city's south gate, a ma.s.sive cloud of dust hid the mighty force, advancing toward the city. The sky shone vivid blue on this late-spring day. A cool wind whipped the loose hairs around my face but could not lift the heavy braids on my back.

I leaned over the marble barrier and squinted.

The Mongol army was about to enter my home city, Khanbalik-not to attack us, but for a grand victory parade. I was fifteen, nearly sixteen, the eldest granddaughter of the powerful emperor Khubilai Khan. My blood pounded in my ears, and I could barely stand still.

Finally, my sharp eyes detected the glint of metal armor and the first few horses of the parade as they emerged from the dark arch of the city's south gate. "Look! Is that the general?" I said to my cousin. Suren was the Khan's eldest grandson and my closest friend. His thick neck stretched out like a turtle's as he strained to see, too.

A huge roar of approval rose from the crowds lining the streets, confirming my guess. Shouts of joy echoed from the rest of the royal family, surrounding me on the palace balcony. "Hooray! Hooray!"

I cheered more loudly than anyone else. Victory tasted sweet.

Suren raised his fist high as he yelled. His wide face with its high cheekbones glowed with happiness. In his veins, Suren had a drop of my blood, and I had a drop of his flowing inside me. At the age of ten, we had decided to become anda anda, cutting our fingers and mingling our blood, promising lifelong loyalty, like blood brothers. Now, five years later, we were inseparable.

Suren pointed to the parade. "Emmajin!" he said. "Is that an elephant?"

I leaned forward and focused on the distant archway. Sure enough, a ma.s.sive gray creature was entering the city, the carriage on its back nearly hitting the top of the arch. We had heard of these beasts but never seen one. "It's twice as tall as a horse!" I said.

"No, three times as tall!"

The general led the army up the broad main avenue of Khanbalik, the Khan's capital, a city known to the local Chinese as Dadu, or the Great Capital. The soldiers rode in neat formation directly toward the palace gate where we stood. I felt the tromp of their horses' hooves vibrating in my body, and I smelled the grit and the sweat in the wind.

These brave soldiers had broken the long siege of a large city in the South, finally conquering it. This victory opened the way for our armies to march toward Kinsay, the capital of southern China. Many battles lay ahead, but now it seemed inevitable that the great Mongol army would eventually control all of China. No one could stop us now.

This general, the famous Bayan, was returning to his Emperor, the Great Khan Khubilai, to get his reward for breaking the siege and winning this historic victory.

Not far from Suren and me, just beyond a clutch of princes and wives and retainers, the Khan of all Khans sat on a raised platform. His ma.s.sive body was draped in white brocade edged with the finest furs, white with black spots, from snow leopards. His face, wide and normally impa.s.sive, seemed to glow in the late-afternoon sunlight. His feet rested on thick embroidered cushions.

On that day, we all wore white, the color of good luck and victory. I had borrowed a silk robe from my mother, because I had grown taller since the last big celebration. I craned my neck until I caught sight of my father, Prince Dorji. As the Great Khan's eldest son, he stood by his side, the first in a row of many sons of the Khan's four official wives. I felt a pang of joy. My father seldom claimed his rightful place at the Khan's side.

Although my father was the eldest, the Khan bestowed his favor on his second son, Chimkin, Suren's father. Chimkin had led armies, fought in battles, and won the respect of all at court. Instead of fighting, my father had run away to a Buddhist monastery. He walked with a limp, dragging one foot. Some of my cousins mocked him.

Suddenly, I felt like running. "Let's go!" I said to Suren. I pulled back from the bal.u.s.trade and pushed my way through the crowd of onlookers.

"Wait! Slow down!" Though no longer pudgy, as he had been as a boy, Suren was broad-shouldered and st.u.r.dy, not able to slip through the crowd as quickly as I could.

I headed for the steps and raced down them two by two. From the high balcony platform above the gate, the staircase curved around down the inside of a stone tower. Suren stumbled after me, his voice echoing in the empty tower. "Emmajin! Where are you going?" Unlike me, Suren never acted on impulse.

Across the courtyard and through the thick tunnel that was a front gate of the palace compound, I ran. I had always loved the most physical of activities: running fast, racing on horseback, practicing archery for hours on end until my arm muscles bulged. Even though I was a girl, I had built up my skills at all three Mongolian "manly arts": horseracing, archery, and even wrestling, the one sport reserved for men only. I loved to compete with Suren and my other boy cousins, the young princes.

In the square in front of the Khan's palace, crowds were jostling, and soldiers rammed them back, to keep the center of the square clear. With Suren trailing behind me, I dashed across the square toward the main avenue. Onlookers buzzed with jubilation, shouting and pointing as the horses, elephants, and soldiers advanced down the avenue toward us. Elation filled my body. I felt I could fly.

With his long legs, Suren caught up to me as I reached the parade route. "You can't see as well from down here. We're supposed to watch from-"

Just then a large man put his elbow in my face, pushing me back into the crowd. Out here, on the streets, royal grandchildren enjoyed no protection. I ducked my head to avoid getting a black eye. A look of consternation crossed Suren's face.

I laughed. "Don't you want to see the elephants close-up?"

I pressed my way south along the avenue, toward the parade. Drums and cymbals grew louder, mixing with the shouts. Guards pushed back small boys who ventured onto the street, trying to keep everyone behind a line of trees on either side. The tramp of hooves intensified. People around me began jumping, trying to get into position to see.

Finally, I found a good viewing spot, and Suren caught up. He flashed me a look of shared mischief, and I smiled. Only I could bring out the more playful side of Suren.

A single rider, richly dressed in silks and furs, led the parade, bearing a tall pole with the white horse-tail standard of the Mongols. Then two riders, and four, and finally eight riders abreast. Thousands of warriors streamed into the city.

My heart beat faster as I saw a strange bulk marching behind the hors.e.m.e.n. The elephant lumbered forward, gray and wrinkled, ten times the size of a horse or a camel, with legs as thick as huge tree trunks and a nose like a long snake hanging from between its tiny eyes. Two menacing white tusks stuck out from the sides of its mouth.

High atop its back, seated in an open carriage decorated with silken banners, sat the general. I stared up, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

One little boy, dressed in blue, was thrust into the street by the force of the crowd. He desperately struggled to return, but he tripped and fell. Suren dashed out, grabbed the boy's small hand, and pulled him to safety just seconds before the elephant's huge foot would have crushed him.

As the elephant pa.s.sed, Suren held the boy tightly with his left hand and used his right to shield me. He flashed me an exasperated look I had seen often.

The elephant trudged past me, so close I could have touched it. A sensation rippled through me-not fear, but excitement.

Following the elephant, the general's top commanders rode past, in order of rank. First came the highest, the general's two lieutenant generals; then the commanders of ten thousand men; then the commanders of one thousand. I could tell by their uniforms.

"Is that Emmajin?" One of the commanders of one thousand, riding on the outside of the formation, recognized me. A young uncle of mine known for his big ears, he had left court to join the army a few years earlier, as was the custom.

"Todogen!" I shouted his name as I ran alongside his horse.

Without a second thought, he reached down, and I grasped his hand. He slipped his foot out of the stirrup. I took a few running steps, then put my right foot into the stirrup and jumped up, tossing my left leg over the rump of his bay horse. He laughed as I settled behind him. I hung on to the high wooden back of his saddle. I caught a brief glimpse of Suren's face, which was shining with disbelief mixed with admiration, as we rode past.

On horseback now, I had joined the parade! The thrill nearly took my breath away. People in the crowd waved at us and cheered. The beat of the drums and the horses' hooves stirred my whole body, whipping me into ever higher levels of exhilaration. I grasped the saddle with one hand and waved with the other. People's eyes brightened with delight as they caught sight of me, a maiden, riding behind a soldier.

The sun shone on my face, and the dirt kicked up by the horses got into my teeth. My ears filled with cymbals and drums, the tromping of hooves, and shouts of triumph. Colorful banners flapped in the breeze. I closed my eyes, to capture the moment.

When we reached the square in front of the palace, the mounted soldiers lined up in neat rows, as if they had practiced this many times. The general, on his elephant, faced the central arch of the palace wall, just below the Great Khan. Todogen took his place in the second row, close to the elephant. From my spot on his horse's rump, I could see and hear everything. One soldier frowned when he saw me, but others grinned, as if they wished they had young women on their horses this happy day, too.

High on the palace wall, on the marble balcony, stood my grandfather, the Khan of all Khans. His great bulk made him look larger and more powerful than the thin men around him. Only those closest to him knew that he could stand but not walk.

"Silence!" someone said. Quickly, the crowd quieted. I could not see Suren anymore. He must have been watching from the crowd.

The general stood in his open carriage and shouted, "Long live the Khan of all Khans!" His men echoed him. The general fell to his knees and touched his head to the floor of his carriage in a traditional kowtow of obedience and deference.

"General Bayan, rise! You have served me well!" The Khan's loud voice boomed down from on high. "One hundred taels of gold for you!"

The soldiers roared.

"Fifty for each of your lieutenant generals! Ten taels for every officer! One tael of gold for every soldier who took part in this victory!"

Todogen nearly jumped in his saddle, his fist high in the air. The roar was deafening now, but I cheered so loudly I didn't mind.

The thrill of victory.

The triumph soldiers felt after winning a battle.

This sensation exhilarated me more than anything I had experienced in my life.

I had always loved outdoor pursuits, the wind on my cheeks as I raced on horseback, the tension in my arm as I pulled back the bowstring, the pleasure of hitting the target perfectly. I loved listening to war stories and could recite the tales of all the legendary Mongol heroes. But at that moment, I knew I wanted something more.

I wanted to be a soldier in the Khan's army.

2 A Thirst for Glory

That evening, the Khan's grandchildren flocked to a courtyard to listen to the court storyteller, called Old Master, recount the tale of the army's latest victory. Bundled up in furs to ward off the chilly spring evening air, they sat shoulder to shoulder around an outdoor fire, wriggling and giggling. The Great Khan had twenty-two sons by his official wives and twenty-five sons by his concubines, so there were countless grandchildren.

Suren and I, the eldest of this generation, stood near the back, looking over the heads of the smaller boys and girls. We both loved war stories-the bloodier, the better.

Tales that made my sister squirm inspired my imagination. I especially loved the ones that showed the military brilliance and valor of the Great Ancestor, my great-great-grandfather Chinggis Khan, founder of the Mongol Empire. I remembered with pleasure the story of how he drove the enemy army into a dead-end valley, then pretended to withdraw his troops. As the enemy soldiers filed out of the valley, the Mongol hors.e.m.e.n used their arrows to pick them off, row by row, saving arrows and Mongol lives.

While we waited for Old Master to begin, I tried to remember if I had heard any stories about Mongol women soldiers. One of Chinggis Khan's four wives had gone to battle with him. Sometimes Chinggis Khan had asked Mongol women to line up on horseback, along with horses carrying fake men made of straw, on the ridge of a hill, to fool the enemy into thinking our army was three times as big. A famous Chinese woman, Mulan, had fought against our ancestors, although she had disguised herself as a man.

Of course, many Mongol women had shown great strength. Chinggis Khan's mother had held the family together after his father died. Robbed of all livestock, she had lived by digging up the roots of wild onions and other vegetables until her sons grew up to be fine, daring men. Chinggis Khan's first wife had demonstrated courage and loyalty despite being kidnapped by an enemy tribe. And Khubilai Khan's mother had, by sheer determination, trained her sons to earn the right to take over the leadership of the Empire even though their father, the youngest son of Chinggis Khan, had not been chosen as successor. Although my grandmother Empress Chabi was a quiet and gentle Buddhist, the blood of all these earlier strong women flowed in my veins.

It seemed, though, that the days of strong women had ended once luxurious court life had begun. Now all Mongol women cared about was fine clothing, rich food, and pearls. And finding good husbands for their daughters. At that moment, my sister, Drolma, two years younger than I, was sitting with other girls, exchanging court gossip, which she found more interesting than the battle stories. I wished I had been alive during the early days of the Mongol Empire, when our armies had pushed into unknown territories, and women had enjoyed many opportunities for adventure.

Old Master walked into the courtyard, carrying a bulging bag. Some of the younger boys begged him to say what was in it, but he refused. The children quieted down as Old Master began his tale. I leaned forward, to catch every detail.

This victory was different, he told us. For months, even years, the Mongol army had laid siege to the Chinese city of Hsiangyang. Behind thick walls, the citizens starved rather than let the Mongols win.

Cowards, I thought. In a true battle, two armies, both on horseback, faced each other and fought until victory.

Old Master continued his story. After several years of stalemate, the Great Khan asked his nephew, the Il-khan of Persia, to send him two talented Persian engineers, experts in the secrets of the machines of war. These foreigners designed a machine that could catapult gigantic rocks over the city walls. Outside the walls of Hsiangyang, Mongol soldiers a.s.sembled ten of the new machines, bigger and swifter than any previous catapults, and gathered stockpiles of huge rocks.

On the day of the battle, they hurled torrents of rocks over the walls into the city. The army could hear the shrieks of the Chinese citizens. So frightened were the people that they opened the city gates and flooded out, screaming.

I leaned back against a wall and frowned. I disapproved of this new way of fighting, by frightening townsfolk instead of wielding sword and bow. No valor in it.

Old Master continued. The Mongol soldiers, ready with their swords and bows, mowed down the evil people of that city by the tens and hundreds. They showed the bravery and daring of their honored ancestors.

"How many enemies did they kill?" one boy asked.

Old Master smiled, reached for his bag, and turned it over. Out of it spilled what looked like small pieces of leather, the kind used to make armor.