Daughter of Xanadu Part 3

Of course, I had no choice but to get ready quickly.

I had spent many of the happiest days of my childhood in Xanadu, also called Shangdu or "Upper Capital." It was on the high plateau of Mongolia, on the other side of the hills that separated Mongolia from Cathay, or northern China. Xanadu's pleasant weather, sprawling formal gardens, and hunting woods provided the perfect playground for the Khan's many grandchildren. The palace there, though protected by thick walls and moats, was smaller and had a more informal atmosphere. Accompanied only by his family, his closest friends and a few invited guests, the Khan was able to relax in Xanadu.

Soon after my mother roused me, I walked into the rear courtyard of the Khan's palace at Khanbalik, just inside the north gate. The courtyard, wide and leafy, bustled with commotion as everyone prepared for the journey to Xanadu. Men shouted and servants loaded last-minute boxes onto carts, ladies stepped into their canopied sedan chairs, and horses whinnied. My damaged nose filled with the sharp smell of too many animals and men in a confined s.p.a.ce. Fortunately, no one stared at my face. I dodged and ducked and picked my way across, looking down to avoid stepping in horse dung.

Four giant elephants stood at the center of the courtyard. They were lashed together, and one ornate pavilion was strapped on the backs of all four. The Great Khan had decided to try a new mode of travel, inside this pavilion on the backs of four elephants that had arrived with the victorious army. Riding on one elephant would be hard enough; I could not fathom how a pavilion could stay steady on the backs of four such creatures, or how they could possibly walk in unison over such a long distance.

As I approached them, the elephants loomed, ever more ma.s.sive. What would I say to the Khan during this long day's ride, the first of our three-day trip to Xanadu? What would he say to me, after my humiliating defeat? I began to sweat, even though the dawn air was still crisp and cool.

The early-morning sunlight glinted on the elaborate woven designs of the silk tapestries, trimmed with golden fringe, that hung on the elephants' sides. Each creature had legs thicker than the red columns of the throne room, with rounded toenails bigger than my hand. Standing next to one elephant, I looked up its ma.s.sive side and saw a turbaned man sitting astride its wide neck. Two huge sharp white tusks jutted out from near its mouth, each tipped with a bra.s.s fitting. The creature stood still, as if gentle.

"This way, Little Sister." One of the Khan's attendants gestured to a brightly painted wooden staircase at the side of the creature. As I climbed, my legs shook and jostled the ladder. My mother's del del felt too tight to move in. She had insisted I wear one of her most beautiful felt too tight to move in. She had insisted I wear one of her most beautiful del dels, the one she had worn as a young bride. The creature turned its head toward me, and its huge round eye seemed hostile.

At the top of the steps, I paused to catch my breath. I rubbed my fingers over the stiff striped tiger skin adorning the wooden side of the pavilion. Above me, the roof had curved eaves in the Chinese style. The four pillars holding it up were painted with creatures of the hunt. Embroidered, ta.s.seled cloths were draped from the sides.

Inside the pavilion, the sun slanted straight into the eyes of the Great Khan, clad in a white ermine cloak. Next to him sat a short, round lady, the Empress Chabi, his chief wife, my grandmother, whose t.i.tle was khatun khatun, "empress."

The pavilion was surprisingly s.p.a.cious, with two long benches, but too small for a full-body kowtow. So I fell to my knees and bowed, facedown. My forehead nearly touched the cushions where the Khan's feet rested. I noticed that his feet were so swollen that they bulged out of his slippers.

The Great Khan bade me to rise. When I straightened up, eyes still down, I could sense him examining my face. The Empress gasped at the sight. My mother had used heavy powder to disguise the purple lines under my eyes as well as the glaring scab on my upper nose. Just the day before, I had scorned my beauty, but now I felt ugly.

"A Mongol always keeps control of his horse," the Khan said.

I nodded, feeling miserable and stupid.

"Especially a soldier."

I swallowed hard. Why had I made a fool of myself in front of everyone I knew by making such a request? I had to fight back tears.

"You are no ordinary maiden. I have long known this."

I dared to look up at him. Beside him, the Empress had a tiny smile in the middle of her wide, moon-round face.

"I have an a.s.signment for you. Are you willing to serve the Khan of all Khans?"

My heart turned over. "Yes, Your Majesty!"

"Then sit here, and keep silent." He indicated the spot to the left of Empress Chabi, on a tiger skincovered couch. My grandmother nodded her a.s.sent, and I sat down next to her. An a.s.signment from the Khan sounded like a chance to redeem myself.

My bottom sank into a soft cushion filled with down. The view from the Khan's perch stunned me. Lines of snow white horses and soldiers carrying horse-tail banners stretched out along the north avenue in grand parade formation. A rush of awe surged through me. All these men lived to serve the Khan of all Khans, ruler of the world.

Sitting close to my grandfather for the first time, I was keenly aware of his great bulk. My grandmother smelled of flowery perfume, and the Khan smelled of garlic and sour milk. He spoke quietly to me. "I have invited three guests to ride with us today. They are Latins, merchants from a land in the Far West, one we have not yet conquered."

Foreigners! I quaked. Still, I listened with respect. I quaked. Still, I listened with respect.

"In a few years, after we have completed the conquest of China, we will also subjugate their land, though they do not know it. You have a role to play in this mission."

He leaned back, his eyes sparkling, as if he were teasing me about a special treat. I nodded, confused and overwhelmed.

"You will get to know these merchants, and find out everything you can about their homeland: its kings, its religion, its language, its defenses, what riches it possesses."

Shocked, I stammered, "D-do you mean...to spy on them?"

He smiled. "We call it gathering intelligence. This mission would be of greater service to me than any on the battlefield."

Frustrated, I looked at my fingernails, which were rimmed with dirt.

"Khubilai!" My grandmother sounded surprisingly stern. "She is a girl. Think of her safety." It amazed me that she would dare to question his judgment.

The Khan regarded me steadily. "Perhaps she cannot handle this. Can you?"

I had not known any foreigners. My grandfather employed many of them, mainly Muslims and Tibetans and Uighurs, but most children at court either scorned them or feared them. Some foreigners, such as Tibetans, had dark eyes and straight hair like us, but wore distinctive clothing. Others, though, had heavy beards and overhanging eyebrows and thick hair, sometimes wavy like the lines in a sand dune. Farther west, I had heard, the men were ever more hairy, and their eye color ever more deviant. We all understood why "colored-eye" men made good warriors, since their very appearance was alarming enough to scare any enemy.

This a.s.signment sounded awful. But the Khan had honored me despite my defeat. Hearing my grandmother raise doubts made me want to prove I was up to the challenge.

"Your Majesty," I said, "I would be honored."

Just then, I heard someone coming up the steps. When the visitor's s.h.a.ggy head appeared, I recoiled in horror. Here before me was the frightening foreigner whose image had distracted me during the archery contest. He entered the pavilion and bowed low before the Great Khan, speaking Mongolian with a thick accent.

"Long-a live-a the Kaan of all Kaans." He misp.r.o.nounced the soft guttural kh kh sound, making it a sharp sound, making it a sharp k k.

When the foreigner raised his head, I forced myself to look at his features. His eyes, that alarming green, registered concern when he saw my swollen face. He wore a fine blue Mongolian del del with a high collar and long sleeves. He masked his smell with a perfume of cloves and ginger. with a high collar and long sleeves. He masked his smell with a perfume of cloves and ginger.

Then the young foreigner did something strange. He bowed to the Empress and me in a peculiar way, one hand behind him, the other swooping in front. Did he not know that no one ever bowed to women, not even the Empress?

"Great Khatun, Empress Chabi," he said. Then he added, to me, "n.o.ble lady. Please forgive me if I caused you offense."

Offense? I remembered with shame the way I had spit at this man, who I now realized was an honored guest of the Khan. Shaking with embarra.s.sment and confusion, I had no idea what to do or what to say to such an unpredictable, outlandish man. I remembered with shame the way I had spit at this man, who I now realized was an honored guest of the Khan. Shaking with embarra.s.sment and confusion, I had no idea what to do or what to say to such an unpredictable, outlandish man.

7 A Tale of Bandits

"Young Marco Polo," the Khan said with a smile. "No need to be so formal on this occasion. Where are your father and uncle?"

"I am sorry, Your Majesty. They are ill. Only sickness would keep them from so great an honor." His Mongolian was thickly accented but understandable.

"Just yesterday, in my audience hall, they seemed well. Sit down before these great beasts begin to move." The Khan indicated a seat to his right.

"Your Majesty is too kind. Your ladies are, ah, beautiful."

I looked at him with fascinated curiosity, as one would a monkey on a rope. Normally, no one would mention the presence of women when in the company of the Great Khan. We were supposed to be invisible and silent, mere decorations.

"My chief wife, Chabi Khatun. And this is my granddaughter, Emmajin Beki." Beki Beki was my t.i.tle, meaning "princess." was my t.i.tle, meaning "princess."

The Latin did something beyond comprehension. He took off his hat and kneeled before my grandmother and me. "Chabi Khatun. Emmajin Beki. At your service."

Not only did he bow on his knees, but he used the honorific form of "you"-not normally used for women and children. No one had ever referred to me that way. I looked at my grandfather with apprehension. He smiled and shook his head at the foreign manners.

At that moment, we heard a shout, and the elephants began moving with a jerk. The foreign man fell over sideways and grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be my ankle. Sparks of alarm shot up my leg, and I clutched the arm of my seat.

The Khan reached down to the Latin and helped him up to his seat, laughing.

The foreigner's face turned red, and he spewed apologies. I pulled my feet back under me, but I couldn't help smiling. He looked ridiculous, this man with the strange name of Marco Polo. How could I have feared him? And yet I felt off balance.

"You shall enjoy the view better from your seat," the Khan said to him.

As we rode out of the palace, a servant poured us each a goblet of fresh airag airag. It was frothy and milky, with a satisfying sour bite. But the jostling of the pavilion on elephant back made my headache worse. I was glad to remain silent.

Using half-Mongolian, half-Turkic words, Marco Polo stammered out answers to the Khan's questions. Although respectful, he had a lighthearted manner that surprised me. He spoke about his father, Niccolo, and his uncle, Maffeo, who had visited the court of Khubilai Khan ten years earlier. Apparently, the Khan had treated them well. They had promised to return with one hundred scholars, to explain their religion to the Great Khan.

Marco Polo, along with his father and his uncle, first visited their Holy Land and brought with them some sacred oil. But they failed to bring the hundred scholars. They had found only three scholars willing to travel to the East with them, and all three had run home when they had encountered war. My grandfather, who loved listening to wise men debate about religion, frowned with disappointment as he queried this young man about the details. Marco seemed fl.u.s.tered, trying to explain this major failure of his father and uncle. I guessed he was not used to speaking for them.

Still, the Great Khan showed more consideration for this man than I had expected. "You speak well, young man. If you live to manhood, you will not fail to prove yourself of sound judgment and true worth. How many summers have you seen?"

"This begins my twenty-first summer."

I was surprised. He looked older, though his cheerfulness made him seem young.

"Have you trained as a warrior? Fought any battles?"

"No, Your Majesty. Ours is a n.o.ble family in Venezia, but I am a merchant's son." Though not tall, he seemed well built and strong. What a pity he had no training.

"So you came this great distance, yet you have no services to offer me?"

I had thought of this man as a potential enemy, but the Great Khan a.s.sumed he came as a faithful va.s.sal. I realized how little I knew about foreigners.

The Latin seemed startled by the question. "I have traveled across many lands, O Kaan of all Kaans." That k k sound sc.r.a.ped against my ears. Still, the sound sc.r.a.ped against my ears. Still, the airag airag was causing a light buzz to replace the pounding inside my head, and it helped me to relax. was causing a light buzz to replace the pounding inside my head, and it helped me to relax.

"Your father spoke only a little of this journey the other day. How long did it take you to get here from your homeland?"

"Three and a half years."

"So long? Yet you carried the golden tablets of safe pa.s.sage." These tablets, I knew, were issued by the Khan to guarantee safe travel within the Empire. I a.s.sumed the Khan had given the tablets to Marco's father and uncle during their previous visit.

"Yes, thanks to Your Majesty. The tablets saved our lives many times. But we also had to pa.s.s through freezing mountains, torrents of rain, dangerous deserts."

The Great Khan's eyes grew serious. "And during that time, what was the most challenging obstacle you faced?"

Marco paused. His forehead had an amiable way of smoothing out when he thought. One word escaped his lips. "Bandits." His green eyes sparkled.

I leaned forward to hear better.

"Ah, bandits!" The Khan's face lit up in antic.i.p.ation. "I would like to hear this story. I command you to tell it to me." A servant refilled his golden goblet, then ours, and the Khan settled back in his fur-covered seat to listen.

Marco began, tentatively at first. "It was a band of...Caraonas."

I had heard of these fearful men, Caraonas, bandits born of Mongol fathers and Persian mothers, not accepted in any society. Outlaws.

"We were traveling in a caravan of fifty men, on camels. We came to a vast plain, in Persia, on our way to the...to the...big water." He squinted at the Khan as if hoping the Khan would provide the word he was looking for. But the Khan just listened.

Marco swallowed hard and continued. "Most towns there have high walls, built to defend against the Caraonas, who have...who have hurt people there for many years."

As he spoke, Marco's manner changed. His posture straightened as his uncertainty dropped away, and confidence took over his voice.

"These Caraonas have a certain magic," Marco continued. "They can bring darkness over the face of day, so that you can scarcely see your comrade riding beside you. They ride abreast, as many as ten thousand of them, spread across the whole plain. Like hunters, they catch every living thing they find. They butcher old men. They capture young men and women and sell them as slaves. Thus the whole land is ruined, a desert."

As he spoke, I thought, Can I handle this a.s.signment, gathering intelligence from this foreigner? Can I handle this a.s.signment, gathering intelligence from this foreigner? Like it or not, I had to do what the Khan had commanded me. Like it or not, I had to do what the Khan had commanded me.

Marco seemed to get lost in his story. "One day, as we were crossing the plain, night fell at midday. We could hear the pounding of horses' hooves. The Caraonas galloped at us a thousand strong, in the darkness. Everyone panicked. My uncle, my father, and I were near the back of our caravan. We turned and headed to a nearby village. Our camels, struck with fear, ran fast as horses."

Listening to the foreigner's deep voice, I forgot his odd appearance and imagined myself riding on a camel, beset by sudden darkness, fleeing from murderous bandits.

"The village had locked its gates," Marco continued, "but we pounded, and they let us in. Only when I was inside did I know that my father and uncle had made it, too. Those who came later were not allowed in. They screamed as the bandits butchered them. Of the fifty men in our caravan, only seven of us escaped. We knelt down and thanked G.o.d for sparing our lives." He used the Mongolian word for G.o.d: Tengri Tengri.

Marco finished speaking. I had almost stopped breathing during the story. It was a shock to come back to the present. For an unending moment of silence, I wondered if this foreign man had spoken too much. Most people say little in the Great Khan's presence until they are certain where they stand.

The Khan stared at Marco with narrow, piercing eyes. The Empress, who had been listening with interest, looked at the Khan as if curious to see his reaction. Then the Khan beamed. "Well done! You were so quiet at our official meeting yesterday, I had no idea that you have talent as a storyteller."

Marco bowed his head. "I speak your language poorly."

The Khan laughed. "You speak better than many at court. In a few days, I will dine with several of my men. You will entertain us with a story."

The young foreigner seemed fl.u.s.tered but honored. "At your service."

The man's storytelling amazed me. All my life I had looked up to military men. This Latin had no ability in the manly arts. Yet he was an artist with the spoken word.

Intelligence gathering was not a role I had ever envisioned, and I did not excel at talking. But the Khan had entrusted me with an a.s.signment. I would have to try my best.

8 Above Xanadu

On the third day, we arrived at our summer home in Xanadu. A few days after that, I armed myself for my first meeting alone with Marco Polo. I brought my bow and arrows, both hanging from leather straps on my waistband. While I did not intend to use them, I wanted the foreigner to see me as formidable.

My uncle Chimkin told me where to find Marco Polo's tent. I was to treat the green-eyed man as a guest and to see him every day. Without arousing his suspicion, I was to gather information about the kings and princes of his land-how they maintained their dignity, how they administered their dominions, and how they went forth to battle. After each meeting, I was to report back to my uncle.

Overnight, it had rained heavily-the kind of weather that made Xanadu into a garden spot. As I walked across the wet gra.s.s, the sunlight angled through the clouds. Still, my hair stuck to my head. The rain had washed much of the white powder off my cheeks, exposing my bruises, which were fading to yellow. A bruised face might protect me against unwanted advances.

The Latin was standing outside his tent, looking toward the low row of hills that surrounded Xanadu. When he heard my footsteps behind him, he whirled around, and his hand reached for his dagger. "Who goes there?" he asked.

My hand rushed to my own dagger, and my heart quickened. I was face to face with a dangerous, armed foreigner. Then I shook my head, appalled at his slow reaction. If I had ill intentions, he would be dead by now.

When he realized who I was, his face broke into a smile of relief and pleasure. "Emmajin Beki. I am honored." He replaced his dagger and bowed in his Latin way, one hand in front, one behind. "What brings you here this morning?"