Daughter of Xanadu Part 13

While the others cut down bamboo trees for a giant bonfire to scare off the wild beasts, I helped tie up the horses and mules. As Marco was tying up his horse, a handsome bay mare he had purchased in Khanbalik, I heard him call her by name.

"Your horse has a name?" I asked, laughing. We Mongols do not have the custom of naming animals, and I had always been careful never to speak my horse's name, Baatar, aloud. I had thought I was the only one to name my horse.

"Yes." Marco looked embarra.s.sed. "I call her Principessa."

That long foreign name meant nothing to me. It didn't seem to fit this wiry Mongolian horse.

"It is our word for beki beki, princess," he added, watching for my reaction.

I laughed again. How odd to give a horse a t.i.tle-my t.i.tle. Had he named her for me?

We gave the horses long leads so they would enjoy what gra.s.ses they could find in early winter. I hoped the servants could get the fire going soon, as I was hungry.

Abaji strode over to where we were tying the horses. "You will need to tie those horses tighter. Tie all four legs together and peg the ropes down strong."

It sounded like a strange way to tie horses.

"A bamboo fire makes sounds louder than you have ever heard, a deafening noise that makes men swoon or die of fright. It scares off the lions and bears, but it frightens horses, too. We have to ensure they can't run away."

I looked at all the horses and mules. "I fear we don't have enough rope to tie all four legs of every creature."

"We're likely to lose those we don't secure well."

I did as I was told, but I wondered if Abaji was showing the mental confusion of old age. What noise could possibly be so loud as to scare horses and men to death?

Principessa stomped and kicked, and I tried to hold her still while Marco tied her legs. But he took pity on her and tied the knots loosely, and only on the front two legs. I could see from the way he stroked her neck and spoke softly in his own tongue to calm her down that he had a soft spot for that mare. I blushed, remembering Marco's fingers stroking my back.

The soldiers stacked up enough bamboo for a huge bonfire, but Abaji insisted they not light it until after dinner.

Night fell early, and the stars shone clear in the wintry air. Instead of bantering as usual, we all ate our roasted venison quietly, listening for sounds of lions and bears in the nearby woods. Once, we heard a loud crack of a branch behind us, and everyone started. Captain Todogen jumped up and strapped his bow and arrows to his back, to be ready. The rest of us followed suit. I also felt for my dagger at my waist. Marco sat still, fingering his own knife. We hadn't traveled this far only to be attacked by wild creatures in the forests of Szechwan.

After dinner, Abaji stuffed his ears with bits of fabric and wrapped a cloth around his head, covering his ears. "Everyone will need to do this."

Suren and I looked at each other in disbelief. How could this general, who had slain hundreds of people, fear some popping noises from a wood fire?

To humor our commander, we all tore off bits of fabric to stuff into our ears and wrapped our heads with excess clothing. Suren wrapped his head loosely, whispering to me that he wanted to hear the full effect. Marco said we looked like oriental Saracens. Instead of endangered, we felt lighthearted and curious.

Finally, a servant brought over a burning branch from the other fire to light the bamboo. At first, there was no loud sound-only the m.u.f.fled noise of wood catching fire. I was ready to take off my silly head wrap but knew we had to show deference to Abaji.

Suddenly, I heard a huge explosion, a bang so loud I felt my head would crack open. Suren grabbed his ears. Then came another explosion, and another, each louder than the last. Some men started running away.

"Stay near the fire!" Abaji shouted. "It is safer here." Through the m.u.f.fle of earplugs and cloth, as well as the explosions, I could barely make out his words.

I noticed Suren pointing at the horses and shouting. "Marco, your horse!"

Suren pointed upstream. The other horses were stomping and trying to run, but were unable to, since their four legs were tied tightly. But Marco hadn't tied Principessa's legs tightly enough. Now he began running toward the woods.

"Marco! Stop!" I shouted. I ran after him.

"Emmajin! No!" Suren tried to stop me, but I tore loose from his grip and ran after Marco. Suren chased me.

My ears, still wrapped in cloth, were relieved when I moved away from the explosions of the fire, but I knew Marco was heading into danger. The woods loomed, dark, damp, and menacing.

For a fleeting moment, I could see his horse's shape ahead of us in the dark, but then it disappeared into the forest. What a fool Marco was! Did he consider his horse's life more important than his own?

The cold night air bit into my cheeks, but Marco kept running, and I ran after him, Suren at my heels. My side ached and I remembered how fast Marco could run.

Suddenly, I heard a roar and then a squeal from the horse. In the darkness, I could barely make out a tangle of struggling animals. I halted, uncertain, as growls and yelps filled the air, drowning out the noise of the bamboo fire. Principessa had been brought down by a beast.

My body trembled. I wanted to flee, but my legs were like stumps of wood. Any minute, I was certain, the creature would thrash too close to me and sink its fangs into my flesh. I breathed in thin gasps. It was too dark to see the creature or how close it was.

I reached back for an arrow and fitted it to my bow, trying to take aim at the thrashing animals. Marco reached for his knife and lunged forward.

Something large jumped onto Marco and knocked him over. He screamed and flailed. My heart nearly stopped beating. I hesitated about letting the arrow fly. What if I aimed for the creature and hit Marco instead? For a long, fearsome second, I tried to focus on the flailing. I loosened the bowstring, and my feet started to turn. This terrifying creature could kill all three of us.

I heard an arrow whiz past me. Would Suren save Marco's life as I hesitated? I took a deep breath and steadied my arm. I drew back my bowstring and let my arrow fly.

The wild creature let out a yowl, flinched, and then turned toward me. Closer now, I could see a huge cat's eyes, big gold circles surrounding a thin line of black. Rage filled me. I let another arrow fly, straight at one of its glittering eyes. It landed true, in the lion's left eye. The beast fell back, struggling with its paws as if to extract the arrow.

"Marco! Run!"

Marco scrambled to his feet and stumbled toward me. I grabbed his hand, but he yelped in pain. He held his left arm with his right hand. But he could run. Suren urged us on. Abandoning the horse, we ran like lightning away from the wounded creatures, stumbling on roots, toward the camp area near the stream.

When we got back, Abaji was furious. "Why did you run into the woods? I commanded you not to!" Abaji pulled me toward the fire, examining me. "You're not hurt? And Suren? You're all right?" Losing either of the Great Khan's grandchildren would have been the end for him. The life of a foreigner mattered nothing by comparison. "You were to look after her!" he raged at Suren.

I pulled away and hastened to Marco's side. His arm was covered in blood, hanging limply at his side. His manservant quickly set to dressing the wound, forcing him to sit close to the exploding fire.

"I'm sorry," Marco kept saying, his accent suddenly thick and his words slurred.

The other soldiers stood looking at us with fear and curiosity. "Stand guard!" Abaji shouted at us. He meant me, too. With the other soldiers, heads wrapped in cloth, we turned away from the fire and watched the moving shadows, our bows at the ready. I wanted to go to Marco, but I had already stepped far out of line.

I found my hands shaking. In my whole life, I had never killed anything larger than an eagle. Now I might have killed a great beast of the forest, a lion. I wondered if it was still alive, thrashing in pain, possibly even approaching our fire to attack again. Or was it feasting on the meat of Principessa?

I had not expected such a strong, nearly paralyzing surge of fear. Was that how I would react in battle? Suren had not hesitated to shoot. I worried that Marco might bleed to death. Would someone have to amputate his arm?

Finally, Marco's servant came up to me with a whispered report. "The wound is not too deep. I have treated it. The foreigner is lucky. He is resting." I was relieved but still could not take my eyes off the menacing darkness that was the forest.

After a silence, when Abaji had gone away, the other soldiers began talking.

"Suren said she killed a lion," one said.

"With one shot," said another, who could not possibly know.

The soldiers gazed at me with awe. I looked away. I welcomed their admiration, but it was not the reason I had shot the beast. My motive had been to save Marco.

After a time, we took turns guarding as others slept. Captain Todogen told me to rest. I went straight to Marco, who was lying on a sleeping fur on the far side of the popping fire. I squatted next to him and his eyes fluttered open. "Are you all right?"

He tried to smile. "I will live."

"Your horse is gone," I said, unable to think of better words to say.

"I owe you my life."

I wanted to tell him how frightened I had been, not of the lion, but of losing him. Why had I thought it so important to keep my distance? But words failed me. "You should not have run off like that," I said instead. "And I should not have followed you."

He smiled. "But you did. G.o.d bless you."

My words of response got stuck in my throat, so I put my hand on his good shoulder. I cherished the feel of his warm body, and I didn't want to take my hand away, not ever.

He gave me a lopsided smile. That moment I knew: He had forgiven me. He had not stopped thinking of me. The distance between us was false. He had known all along about that invisible rope. We were closer than ever.

Suren called for me to take my rest, but I stayed a long time at Marco's side, watching his eyes close, first in pain, then in sleep.

O-mi-to-fu, I called out in my mind, using the Buddhist term I had heard from my devout father but never used myself. O-mi-to-fu. Let him live. Heal his wound. Don't ever take him from me O-mi-to-fu. Let him live. Heal his wound. Don't ever take him from me. I had never prayed before.

I learned something about courage that night, in the wild woods of Szechwan. Courage is not an attribute some people have and others do not. It comes when you fear losing something valuable. I wondered about the other Mongol soldiers around me, and about other soldiers in history. How many of them had been brave in battle simply to defend themselves or comrades they loved? No storyteller would relate this side of valor.

The next day, some soldiers went into the woods, well armed, and found the body of a full-grown female lion, its powerful jaws slack yet stiff in death. Next to the creature, Principessa lay dead, her mouth and eyes wide in terror, but no flesh consumed. A Mongol soldier shut the mare's eyes. My arrow had lodged deep in the eye of the lioness.

After that, my fellow soldiers treated me with deference. But I still wondered how I would react in battle. If an enemy soldier threatened me in the darkness, as the lion had, I could kill him. But what about face to face, in daylight? I could not yet be sure.

22 Tibetan Village

Marco's arm was not as sorely wounded as I had feared. He rode one of the packhorses, using his right arm to hold the reins. He rested his left in a makeshift sling, and within a few days, he could use it almost normally. His servant, who had applied a mysterious white balm to the wound, predicted that his remedy would work.

For the first time, I rode beside Marco. By now I did not care what people said. I wanted to make up for lost time. Still, I could not speak of emotions. I noticed that Marco had strapped to his saddle several long tubes of green bamboo. I asked him why.

"Have you ever heard such a frightening noise?" he asked me. "I think it is because the bamboo branches are hollow. They could prove valuable."

Marco's mind worked in amazing ways that I was only starting to appreciate.

Suren rode up from behind and separated us. He seemed determined to keep me away from Marco. Now that we were camping, Suren slept each night in my tent, near the entrance, as if keeping guard, though against what danger he did not say.

During the next five days, we pa.s.sed through increasingly rough terrain. We had to climb on foot up ever more arduous trails and descend so steeply that my knees became wobbly. The higher we rose, the more I wanted to spend time with Marco, to hear his distinctive laugh, to exchange a few words of Latin, to see the wrinkles around his eyes when he smiled. But Suren succeeded in keeping us apart.

As we rode, I constantly thought of Marco. I remembered stroking his warm shoulder when he was wounded. I recalled the feel of his hand as we had stood on the stepping stone in the Khan's garden at Xanadu. Once, I had caught a glimpse of his chest, and it had been covered with curly hair. I wondered what that hair would feel like under my fingers.

We were as far from the lavish court of Khubilai Khan as I could imagine. The strict rules of Mongol court behavior seemed to fade with each mile we rode.

Finally, we came to a village of Tibetans. Our journey would not take us deep into the heart of Tibet, to the monasteries and temples my father spoke of reverently. Instead, we would skirt that huge mountainous land, pa.s.sing through several of its poorer villages. Gautama Buddha himself had come from a mountainous country south of Tibet, and the red-hatted lamas of Tibet had brought their enlightened ways of Buddhism to the Mongols, converting my father and my grandmother, the Empress Chabi.

As we wound down the mountainside to the Tibetan village of mud houses, large dogs rushed at us, barking. Villagers came out to greet us in a spirit of friendship, offering their homes for us to stay in. They were poorly clad, wearing handspun wool or the skins of beasts, and their smiling faces were splotched with dirt. I wondered how they could live in such an inhospitable climate, since I saw few signs of agriculture and no fertile gra.s.slands for their herds, lumbering beasts that looked like huge hairy cattle.

That night we did not sleep in our tents but in the homes of the villagers. A toothless woman saw Suren and me and mimed eating from a bowl. We followed her into a small house, wondering what food these poor people could spare for a group of travelers far more numerous than the population of their village.

The house was dark and windowless and had a rancid smell of yak b.u.t.ter. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. We sat on low wooden stools near the fire.

The old woman put into my hand a small cracked bowl filled with a warm oily liquid-yak-b.u.t.ter tea. It was a long way from the fresh, milky airag airag I was used to. It had a foul, bitter taste. But its warmth calmed my stomach. I smiled at the woman, and she smiled back. She stirred a pot on the fire and offered us thin porridge. Suren went out to our mules and returned with a side of fresh venison. Her eyes bulged when she saw it. Thanking him profusely, she cut a piece of it and stirred it into the porridge. These Buddhists refused to kill animals but did not refuse to eat meat. I was used to. It had a foul, bitter taste. But its warmth calmed my stomach. I smiled at the woman, and she smiled back. She stirred a pot on the fire and offered us thin porridge. Suren went out to our mules and returned with a side of fresh venison. Her eyes bulged when she saw it. Thanking him profusely, she cut a piece of it and stirred it into the porridge. These Buddhists refused to kill animals but did not refuse to eat meat.

After dinner, Suren quickly fell asleep. But I bundled up in my warmest cloak and headed out for the stream that ran through the village. It was late in Eleventh Moon, and after sunset, a still cold descended from the peaks above. I tucked my hands under my arms as I walked, welcoming the clear, cold air on my cheeks and in my throat.

This place was as remote as I could imagine from the festive bustle of the capital, high above the flatlands of Khanbalik. Reality was skewed; what was impossible elsewhere seemed possible here. I wasn't sure what I wanted of Marco, but I longed to talk to him in private.

The thin air of Tibet, and the magical quality of that village, distorted my thinking. I knew very well that a closer friendship with Marco could destroy my standing in the military. Yet I was not thinking about that. Right then I just wanted to be alone with Marco.

The moon was as large and clear as I had ever seen it, a brilliant silvery white, with patterns visible on its pale face. Its light made the landscape glow with an otherworldly clarity. I walked upstream, around a bend, where the huts of the village were just out of sight. I could not even smell the smoke from the wood fires in the village. I wondered briefly about wild creatures, remembering the gleam of the big cat's eyes. But I pushed aside all thoughts of dread and safety.

I leaned back against a boulder and stared at the stream, which reflected a moon that bobbed and changed shape with the rushing water. The Tibet sky, I noticed, had twice as many stars as ours, and each shone more brilliantly than those we saw at home.

I heard footsteps behind me. I sensed the fragrance of spices before I saw him. Somehow, I had known that Marco would come.

He, too, was wrapped in a thick coat and walked with his hands tucked under his arms. He still favored his left arm, though it was no longer in a sling. With his fur-lined hat, he could have pa.s.sed for a Mongol, but I recognized his step.

Marco stopped when he saw me, then approached wordlessly. He leaned against the same boulder, an arm's length away. It seemed that he, too, had been looking for a way for us to talk alone. We had more to say than we could put into words.

I broke the silence. "Surely the stars are not this brilliant in Venezia?"

He looked above us and soaked up the spectacle. "I have never seen them so brilliant. This land is blessed." I could see his breath as he spoke.

There was comfort and familiarity between us, but also a pulsating tension.

"Marco, tell me. Why did you come on this journey?"

"I swore to your Great Khan that I would tell no one, except Abaji. But it will become clear soon enough, once we arrive in Carajan."

"You can tell me."

"I am loyal only to the Great Khan." He was lightly mocking my own protestations of loyalty that day in the garden.

"You know I would not betray you," I said, echoing his tone.

He c.o.c.ked his head but did not mention that I had already betrayed him once. I smiled rea.s.surance, and he chose to trust me. "There is a medicine, in Carajan, which is powerful enough to heal the illness that afflicts the Great Khan's feet. To cure gout."

I smiled. Clever Marco. He had figured out a way to make the Khan grateful to him. "And he has sent you to purchase it? You will heal our Great Khan?"

He laughed in that familiar way. "It is made from the gall of a dragon."

I thought he had misp.r.o.nounced a word. "A dragon? You told me once they were mythical creatures. Superst.i.tious people, you said, think they breathe fire."

He smiled a delicious smile. "In Carajan, in the mountains of southwest China, dwells a creature men call a serpent. In fact, it is not a serpent but a kind of dragon. One that does not breathe fire. The medicine comes from its gallbladder."

"And how will you obtain this medicine?"

"They sell it in the markets of Carajan."