Daughter of Xanadu Part 9

His father's eyebrows shot up. But his uncle smiled. "We would welcome visitors from the Khan's court. But is a long journey for a lady."

I smiled at him, practicing hiding my thoughts. "Of course. I have never traveled. But I enjoy hearing about distant lands. Marco tells me you have visited many lands."

After that day, every five days, I walked in the gardens or the gra.s.slands or rode in the hills with Marco, his father, and his uncle. On other days, I was free to spend time as I wished, racing and competing against Suren and the other cousins. Each time I met with the Latins, I looked for the c.h.i.n.k in their armor, half hoping I would not find it.

Marco's father was cautious around me, erecting walls of defense, and did not divulge any information about his homeland. His uncle Maffeo, though, seemed more relaxed and told many stories, often humorous. His health gradually improved.

As for Marco and me, our friendship resumed the formal distance it should always have had. Marco, ever talkative, continued to tell me stories of his homeland and of their journey. I asked about the various kings and emperors, trying to remember which had the strongest armies. His uncle patiently taught me many words of Latin until I could stammer out a few sentences, including my favorite, "Deus amat Mongoliam." That means "G.o.d loves Mongolia." I also asked many questions about the Religion of Light but found the answers confusing.

Marco never again brought up the subject of how fearful the Mongol army looked to his countrymen. Nor did he touch me. But he had already said enough, and I could see admiration and longing in his eyes.

After each talk, I reported to my uncle. One of his men listened to my report and wrote down some of the things I said. No matter how many names of places and kings I memorized, nothing seemed to light up Chimkin's eyes. Even Suren could find out nothing further about how likely it might be that I could join the army.

Every day, I felt torn. In my effort to achieve my own dream, I was collecting information that might someday destroy Marco's beloved homeland. The more I learned of the lovely waterways of Venezia and the grand cathedrals of Rome, the more I realized that conquest by the Khan's troops might harm them more than help them.

Seventh Moon waxed hot, and Eighth Moon hotter. Women sat in the shadiest parts of the garden and fanned themselves with silk fans. Men cursed, hopped on their horses, and rode far afield. This was the hottest summer Xanadu had ever seen.

Marco continued to amuse the Khan with his stories, but I was not invited again. Suren and Temur were sometimes invited. From what Suren told me, it seemed that Marco learned quickly what type of stories pleased the Khan-mostly tales of the lands he had visited on his travels, the quirks and lore of the people he had observed.

Suren began to teach me a little swordsmanship, though we had to do it in secret. He pa.s.sed on to me what he had learned from the sword master. We arose early each morning to spend several hours practicing, in a small clearing hidden in the woods.

By late in Eighth Moon, I was growing worried. The summer was nearing its end and I had not discovered any information about Marco's homeland that would be useful to our army. I began to despair. How could I find what my uncle had asked for?

One hot day, Marco's father did not come out with us. He had to meet someone about his trading business. But his uncle joined us for a walk in the garden. To avoid the midday heat, we met in the morning and sat near a pleasant waterfall.

Uncle Maffeo was built like a huge bear, but he was far gentler than Marco's wiry, tense father. In his brother's presence, the uncle spoke little, but on that day, he became affable and talkative.

He and I were sitting on a marble bench, chatting about his travels, when Uncle Maffeo mentioned the "Holy Land."

"Tell me more about this Holy Land," I said. "It is in Christendom?"

Uncle Maffeo smiled and wiped his pink forehead, which was streaming with sweat. "Marco, you didn't tell her about the Holy Land?" he asked with a smile.

Marco must have shaken his head. He stood behind me, in the shade of a tree.

"The Holy Land is where our Lord Jesus lived," Uncle Maffeo explained. "All of Christianity is based on his life and teachings. Let me show you where it is."

As Marco had done once before, Uncle Maffeo picked up a stick and drew a map in the dirt at our feet. The Holy Land was at the eastern edge of the Middle-of-the-Earth Sea, and Christendom lay north and west of it.

As he was drawing, I felt a slight touch on the back of my neck, between my braids. Startled, I turned my head. Marco smiled gently, holding up his finger to show a tiny bead of sweat he had tenderly wiped from my neck. I smiled at him.

He had not touched me since that day in the gra.s.slands when he had tucked a flower behind my ear. I sensed he was feeling, as I was, sad that our days together in Xanadu would be over soon.

"We Christians fought hard to take back the Holy Land," Maffeo explained. "But the Muslims-the Saracens, from Arabia-stole most of it back from us. We've sent armies again and again, for years, to win back the Holy Land from the infidels. Every man in Christendom knows the importance of this duty. It's G.o.d's will."

My braids lifted off my back. Marco was trying to help me feel cooler. Each time he touched me, I lost track of what his uncle was saying. G.o.d's will, of course, was that the Mongols conquer every land, but I was feeling too good to argue.

"If only the Mongols would help us," Uncle Maffeo was saying.

My attention returned. "Help you do what?"

"Take back the Holy Land! That's what the Pope's letter to the Khan was all about, and we're hoping the Khan will agree. The Pope's fondest dream is that the Khan will form an alliance with Christendom, to retake the Holy Land."

"I'm confused," I said. "How would that work?"

"If the Mongol troops came from the East, from Persia, like this," he said, drawing in the dirt an arrow pointing to the Holy Land, "then all the kings and princes in Christendom would travel from the West to join them, with their finest soldiers." He drew lines over the sea, showing that they would come by ship. "With our combined forces, we could finally drive the Saracens out of the Holy Land!" Uncle Maffeo seemed as thrilled as a Mongol commander planning a battle.

In the meantime, Marco seemed to be drawing a map with a light finger on my back. I felt like shivering with pleasure but did not want his uncle to notice. I had to focus hard to pay attention to Uncle Maffeo's words.

"Wait," I said. "All the kings of Christendom would take their finest soldiers?" And leave their homelands undefended? And leave their homelands undefended? I did not add. I did not add.

"Yes. All warriors want to go to the Holy Land to earn glory for Christendom."

"With the best soldiers far away, who would defend the homelands?" I asked.

Marco's fingertips felt delightful, like a cool breeze on a stifling day. But he stopped as suddenly as he had started touching my back. I wanted Uncle Maffeo to keep talking so Marco would touch me again.

"Oh, that would not be a problem," Uncle Maffeo continued. "No one would attack a fellow Christian country during a Crusade."

Uncle Maffeo looked up, and Marco stepped back, away from me.

A thought jumped into my mind. While I had been concentrating on Marco's touch, Uncle Maffeo had given me the crucial piece of information I had been seeking. If all the best troops of Christendom could be tricked into leaving their homelands to fight in the Holy Land, far away, our Mongol troops could sweep in across the northern plains and take over Vienna, Paris, Venezia, Roma.

I stared at the dirt map and imagined a long, sharp arrow starting from Russia and moving overland toward Venezia, even as the ships, filled with Christian troops, left Christendom undefended. If another division of Mongol troops cooperated with the Latins to take over the Holy Land, that could be added to our Empire, too. Surely the Latins could not expect to keep it if we conquered it. The whole West would fall at once, into our Empire. It seemed so neat, so easy.

At last, I had something to report to Prince Chimkin.

Uncle Maffeo stood up, panting. "Too hot," he said. "Shall we return?"

All night, tossing, I could feel a tingling on each spot of my shoulders and neck and back where Marco's fingers had stroked me. It was wrong to think of Marco that way. Forbidden. I knew I had to report the conversation to my uncle, even if it meant the destruction of Marco's beloved Venezia. This was the only path that might lead me to a position in the army and a life of adventure. But my heart felt severed.

14 Overheard

Xanadu, by its very design, was supposed to protect the Khan and his guests from the heat. Breezes blew through the green valley, and shade trees were plentiful in the garden and the surrounding hillsides. Pavilions and halls were designed to catch the wind. But I felt sweat-drenched by noon each day. Although I knew all the places renowned for their coolness, I could not find any place to escape the heat.

One morning in the middle of Eighth Moon, Marco arrived for our walk late-and alone. Both his father and uncle were feeling weak from the heat. It seemed I would have one last chance to see him alone before the summer ended. Yet what would I say?

"Princess, I hope you can help me," Marco said as we walked toward the gardens. "My father is anxious. We delivered all our trading goods to the Khan in Fifth Moon, and we have heard nothing. The Khan continues to enjoy my stories, but he has not rewarded me. We need goods to take back to the West."

"When do you plan to return to the West?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"As soon as the Khan will allow it."

Marco had never before made a direct request. "I will see what I can find out."

"Gratias!" he said, which I knew means "thank you" in Latin.

To find a shadier place to sit, where no one would overhear us, I suggested to Marco that we enter the forbidden part of the gardens, an area only the Khan and his guests could enter. This smaller garden had more trees-willows, pines, and cypresses-and more shade. It was accessible only through a guarded gate. But as children, Suren and I had found a secret way to enter the inner garden from the roof of a small gazebo.

Marco hesitated, but I a.s.sured him it would be safe on such a hot day.

Making sure no one saw us, I climbed onto the roof of the gazebo and clambered over the wall into the Khan's private garden. Marco followed. We walked along a pond surrounded by graceful willows and into a pine grove that would have been cool had there been the slightest breeze. I headed toward a midsize pavilion made of gilded cane, thinking to sit in the shade inside.

When we were just behind the pavilion, I heard voices coming from inside. The wooden window shutters, carved with beautiful scenes and paned with thin paper, were open to allow air into the pavilion. I heard the unmistakable booming voice of the Khan.

Nothing could have been more perilous than walking in the Khan's private garden with a foreigner. What had muddled my mind? I ducked below a window, holding my breath. Silently, I eased myself into a sitting position. Marco sat beside me. He pointed back to the grove, as if to say, Shall we get away? Shall we get away?

I shook my head. The area around us was too exposed, too visible from the Khan's pavilion. We were lucky no one had seen us arrive. Now that I knew there were men in the pavilion, I could not think of any way we could flee without being noticed.

Seeing my fear reflected in Marco's eyes, I stayed put under the window. I hoped the men would go away and leave us free to escape. Why would the Khan hold a meeting on the hottest day of Eighth Moon?

"Good news indeed!" the Khan was saying. "We are winning battle after battle in southern China. If our luck continues, we shall conquer their capital at Kinsay and have a victory parade in Khanbalik not long after the New Year Festival."

Another victory parade? I listened closely. Perhaps I could take part in it. I listened closely. Perhaps I could take part in it.

"After twenty years of fighting, it will be the biggest victory of all," another man said. "Subduing the Chinese has been harder than anyone could have imagined."

"Your Majesty's Empire will stretch from the forests of the Far North to the seas of the South-far larger than any Chinese dynasty." It was my uncle Chimkin's voice. He seemed near the window. I shuddered and ducked my head lower.

"A toast to our great General Bayan and his troops! May their triumphs continue!" The Khan seldom toasted anyone else. While the musicians played and the men drank, we could have escaped, but my curiosity got the better of me. Maybe I could be sent to the South to help in the final conquest of southern China, instead of to the West.

Marco looked alert as he scanned the landscape for ways to escape.

My grandfather's voice resounded with confidence. "Today is the day I have been waiting for. We begin planning our final conquests, of those parts of the world we have not yet occupied. When this campaign is finished, we shall rule the entire world."

His men cheered. Marco's thick eyebrows twisted.

The Khan's voice grew softer. Leaning closer to the wall, I strained to hear more. I hoped Marco couldn't understand this formal court language. "After the conquest of China, we must be ready to move on the next front. I need to decide which of the three options it will be. Let me hear your reports."

That should have been another signal to run, but my muscles were frozen as stiff as those of a deer standing still to avoid the detection of a nearby hunter.

A man began speaking. I recognized the voice as that of one of the Khan's generals. He recommended invading Zipangu, Land of the Rising Sun, a set of islands east of Korea. This would require an enormous fleet of ships, and it might take two years to build them.

Another man reported on a huge land called India, famous for rubies and spices, elephants and tigers. To get a large army there, though, would require sending troops over the highest mountain ranges in the world. On the other side lay a country called Burma. Burmese soldiers had recently clashed with Mongol troops in the mountains. The king of Burma had threatened to invade China, and our army had to stop him if he did.

The names of these faraway countries meant little to me.

Finally, Chimkin spoke. I shut my eyes to listen, afraid of Marco's reaction. "Many lands in the West remain unconquered. Our Mongol kinsmen control Persia and Russia. But now we know that many small countries lay behind that-in Christendom."

Inches from my side, Marco flinched. My eyes flew open.

The Khan spoke up. "Why Christendom? As we have heard from our storyteller, these countries are weak and poor, with no good sources of gold or gemstones."

"Certainly, Your Majesty," said Chimkin. "We also know they have many skilled artisans, a useful addition to our Empire. More important, our spy has come up with a simple, elegant solution."

I closed my eyes tight again, hoping Marco did not know the Mongolian word for "spy."

Chimkin continued. "Those Latins have long been obsessed with one goal: taking back their so-called Holy Land. If we offer to cooperate with them to remove the Saracens from their holy city of Jerusalem, they would quickly send their finest troops to the Holy Land. That would leave their homelands undefended. Our Mongol troops could easily sweep in from the north and east, from Russia, conquering all of Christendom in a matter of months. Then the Mongol Empire would stretch from sea to sea."

Marco gripped his forehead. I thought of the countries he had described, their kings and queens, their languages and history, their churches. They could soon be destroyed, because of me. What Marco thought was a charming friendship with a Mongol princess could turn into the defeat of all the lands of Christendom.

"Sea to sea," said the Khan, as if he liked the sound of it.

"Your choice of a spy turned out to be excellent, Great Khan," Chimkin said. "At first she provided little useful information. But I give her credit for this brilliant strategy she picked up from talking with the foreigners. They revealed too much."

This was what I had dreamed Chimkin would privately report to the Khan, to prove my loyalty and competence to join the army. But I had never imagined that Marco would hear these words. This was a living nightmare.

I felt as if a saber had sliced through my head and body.

15 Betrayal

Marco nearly stood up, but I pulled him down. If he made his presence known, we could both be killed. His eyes burned with angry disbelief. He grabbed my arm and squeezed it hard, with more strength than I had thought he had. I winced in pain and closed my eyes. With an easy wrestling move, I could have pushed him away, but not without making noise.

"Airag!" shouted the Khan. I could hear servants shuffling to refill goblets, and a lone musician, a flutist, struck up music as the Khan likely took a drink.

That was the signal I had been waiting for. When the men drank, they would probably not look out the window. Awkwardly, I started to run, nearly dragging Marco. We raced across the open s.p.a.ce to the pine trees.

Panting, we ran without stopping until we reached the section of wall where we had entered. I quickly found a foothold and pulled myself up to the top of the wall and over to the other side, landing with a thunk on the pavilion roof. Wincing with pain, I reached my hand down to help Marco, who was heavier and less agile.

He wavered, as if unwilling to touch my traitorous hand. But it was his only way to get out. His hate-filled eyes cut into my heart. He reached up and I tugged with all the arm strength I had developed in my years of wrestling. His body lurched over the wall. He landed on his side on the roof and slipped out of my hands. He slid down and rolled off, landing on a rock with a crack.

Sure that I heard a sound of pursuit on the other side of the wall, I jumped off the roof and ran toward the far side of a hill, leading Marco into a small grove of trees not visible from the inner wall.

I dashed behind a paG.o.da, jumped across a stream, and ran to the edge of the garden's outer wall, then dove under some thick bushes. Finally, I found what I was seeking-a spot under a sprawling evergreen where Suren and I had hidden as children. Even as I crouched on the ground, the branches. .h.i.t my head, but this spot was protected and hidden.

For a long moment, I could not hear Marco following me. Had he been captured? What was taking him so long? Then I heard a stumbling noise in the woods.

"Over here," I called in a loud whisper. He was moving slowly and awkwardly. "Quick!" I called out again.

Marco crashed into the site and collapsed, breathing heavily. He grabbed his ankle and grimaced in pain. I put my hand on his, with a surge of concern, but he pushed it away. I could well imagine his thoughts.

We stayed there, silent, until our breathing calmed down. I listened and could hear no shouting or sounds coming after us. Marco moaned for a while, then stopped.

When I finally dared look at him, he was staring at me.

"Well. An excellent spy," he said, shaking his head. "What a brilliant strategy we revealed to you, a way to trick us into leaving our homeland undefended so that the Mongols could invade and conquer. How could I have trusted you so?"

My first reaction was defensive. "You know I serve the Great Khan," I said. "That is my highest loyalty. Does that surprise you?" My words felt cold and hard.

"From the beginning, then, your purpose was to gather information about my homeland, so the Great Khan could decide how best to invade and conquer it."