Daughter of Xanadu (15 page)

“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.”

I looked away, watching the bushes for signs of movement. That had been the Khan’s purpose in assigning me to this task. I had succeeded. Now it felt wrong.

At what point during the summer had my feelings changed? During that elephant pavilion ride with the Khan, my choices had appeared clear and simple: Loyal without question, I had wanted to prove myself capable by gathering the information the Khan had requested. Then, gradually, meeting by meeting, in the gardens and grasslands, I had learned to see the world through Marco’s eyes. Now loyalty to one man felt like betrayal to another.

Those jade eyes bored into me, and I needed to defend myself. “It was my assignment, before I knew your name, Marco Polo. If I do well, I will be allowed to join the Khan’s army. That is my dream.” Even as I said the words, I thought,
What have I done?
This man had never harmed me, never tried to control me. He had trusted me. Now I had sown the seeds of the destruction of his homeland.

Marco rolled over onto his back, still clutching his ankle. “What a fool I’ve been.”

I looked again at his thick curly beard, his reddish hair, his delicate lips, his well-formed eyebrows over those deep-set eyes whose color changed in every light. How often had he made me laugh and forget my worries? Just as I had shown him the sights of Xanadu, he had introduced me to the wonders of the world beyond, painting verbal pictures. I blushed as I remembered the map he had traced on my back.

I reached to touch his shoulder. “Marco, I …”

He rolled his head in my direction, and I cringed at the deep disgust in his face. I hated the person he saw.

“Marco. I wanted to tell you. But what could I say?”

His face darkened with anger.

Marco laughed bitterly. “Ah, Emmajin Beki. My noble lady.” His sarcasm dripped like acid onto burnished metal. “We Latins are people, like you. We love our homeland as much as anyone.”

My face burned. When I had told my uncle about the strategy, I had felt torn. But I had assumed that Marco would never know of my role. Now it seemed possible, even likely, that the Khan would send me on a mission to invade Marco’s homeland. Instead of triumph, I felt shame.

Venezia was far away, and Marco was here, glaring at me. Now that I had lost his friendship, his admiration, I realized how much I cared for him. My heart felt stabbed.

Once we knew we had not been followed, Marco leaned on me and limped back to his
ger
. His anger and resentment weighed heavy on my shoulder.

He did not say good-bye. I was certain I would never speak to him again.

F
inally, it rained in Xanadu. A heavy storm one night blew branches off trees and watered the parched grasses of the meadows. The thunder and lightning woke me. At first, it seemed a punishment by Tengri, Eternal Heaven. But no lightning struck in the valley of Xanadu, so we took it as a good sign: God’s anger was directed elsewhere.

The next morning, the grasses shone greener and the world seemed made afresh. A cool breeze softened the air, chasing away the heavy humidity.

Suren and I grabbed our swords and headed for our secret clearing in the woods. We began our daily practice, slashing cloth-wrapped sword against sword. Thunks and whaps rang out, instead of clangs of metal. The slices and blows were a wonderful way to vent my anger and confusion.

We had not been practicing long when we heard the sounds of horses crashing through the trees to our secluded site. The entourage was hidden until the last minute.

Entering our clearing was the Great Khan’s palanquin, carried by six servants. When they had pushed up the last twist of trail, they carefully lowered the carriage, draped in imperial yellow silk covered with dragons.

Suren and I froze. We had no time to run or hide the signs of our forbidden activity. We bowed low, heads to the ground, swords laid out before us in the wet grass. When we heard the cloth pulled aside, we shouted, “Long live the Khan of all Khans!”

The Khan’s servants lifted him out, wooden seat and all, and carried him to a high spot of ground.

“Arise.”

We rose and faced our grandfather. Apparently, my training was not a secret. Suren and I stood with spines stiff, he stocky and thick, and I lanky and thin. I heard Suren take a sharp breath. Would the Khan punish him for teaching me swordsmanship?

“Prince Suren, Emmajin Beki, I have heard that a woman is learning swordsmanship in these woods.”

We bowed our heads. I should have sought his permission. Now I was getting my beloved cousin in trouble.

“I have come to watch you practice.”

Suren glanced sideways at me, clearly apprehensive. He had made progress, working with the master, but still we handled our swords like beginners.

I spoke. “Our skills are meager. We have little to show to one who has watched the greatest swordsmen in the world.”

The Khan laughed deeply and switched to his familiar tone of address, used only within families. “Show me what you have learned so far.”

Suren glanced at me, and I smiled to put him at ease.
Maybe now I could show the Khan directly that I was worthy of becoming a soldier, not just a spy.

I picked up my cloth-wrapped sword, and Suren did the same. We took our stances. I made the first thrust, and Suren parried. Thunk. Whap. Our muffled swords crossed and thrust. I focused hard, trying to remember all I had learned.

Suren made an error, exposing his left arm. I could have pretended to cut it off, but I did not. Instead, I thrust to his right, and I saw realization in his eyes at the last moment. I did not want him to look bad before the Khan.

Although it was practice, the swords were heavy, and we were soon out of breath and sweating.

“Hah!” I shouted. It was the sound we used to end a fight. Suren stopped, his sword high against mine. We froze in that pose for a moment, then dropped our swords to our sides and bowed again to the Khan.

The Khan smiled. “You do not want to kill each other?”

Suren again looked at me, uncertain.

So I spoke: “We are both Mongols and kin. No need to kill today.”

The Khan laughed. He tried to stand, and two servants rushed to his side. He wobbled, and his swollen feet would not hold him. He sat again, hard, but on the edge of his fur-covered seat. “You have learned much in a short time.”

Suren spoke with fervor. “We are eager to cut down the enemies of the Khan.”

The Khan smiled. “Suren, son of Chimkin, you will make a fine soldier.”

Suren breathed relief. The Great Khan had not reprimanded him.

Then our grandfather turned his eyes toward me. “Emmajin Beki. Come.”

I approached him, my head bowed. The Khan knew everything and did nothing by chance. Did he know I had overheard his military strategy?

The Khan spoke. “You handle a sword better than I expected. But you are more woman than warrior.”

I stiffened, then summoned my courage to speak. “I can be both.”

The Khan smiled, looking surprised and indulgent. “I have been watching you all summer. Your uncle Chimkin thinks you have grown strong. He says you have carried out your assignment well. Much better than anyone expected.”

I nodded but did not smile, remembering Marco’s pain.

“What did you learn from the foreigner?”

“Christendom seems defenseless,” I said. “It is divided into many countries.”

He nodded as if asking me to continue.

I paused, trying to think of the right words. I needed to sound both wise and loyal. Yet I spoke from the heart. “I have learned that the world is large. That every land has good people as well as bad. That no decision can be taken lightly. That the Khan’s wise rule can”—my voice faltered—“
will
unite all the peoples of the world and bring peace and prosperity.” It was not exactly what Marco had taught me. But I wished it to be true.

The Khan’s thin eyebrows rose.

“The foreigner, Marco Polo,” I continued, “wishes to return to his homeland, with goods to trade.” The Khan’s eyebrows joined. “If that is the Khan’s wish,” I added.

“My plans for the young Latin are up to me,” he said.

I gulped and nodded. Why had I risked my future by asking a favor for Marco? Still, I could not help adding, “He has served you well, and pleased you as a storyteller.”

The Khan tapped his finger on his armrest. “I am considering an invasion of the Latin’s homeland. Your uncle Chimkin says your Latin words and your knowledge could prove useful. Would you be prepared to join this expedition?”

Suddenly, I had the choice of betraying Marco or my homeland. I knew the Khan was testing me, to see if I sympathized too much with the foreigner. If I said the wrong thing, I would never be able to join the army.

“I would like to fight against enemies of the Empire, but not in Christendom.”

Suren sucked in his breath, and the Khan stared at me. While I knew this was not the right answer, something had changed inside me during the summer in Xanadu. If given a choice, I would not take part in the invasion of Marco’s homeland.

“You must face a hard truth, young Emmajin,” the Khan said. “All enemies are people, like Marco. Every man you kill in battle has a father, an uncle, a homeland, some skill, perhaps a sense of humor. Everyone who joins the army must learn that.”

The Great Khan was right. It had been weakness that had made me identify with that foreigner. Soldiers needed to show strength. But finally the Khan had said the words I had ached to hear: “join the army.” I had already betrayed Marco. It was time to be loyal to my dreams.

Calm confidence flowed through me. I no longer felt confused or angry, embarrassed or humiliated. I regarded him steadily. “If the Great Khan gives me the honor of being
the first woman soldier in his army, I will strive to bring you glory.”

He cocked his head, as if not understanding. “But you would not obey my orders to invade that man’s homeland.”

I straightened my back. “I obeyed your orders by reporting what the foreigner told me about his homeland. As a soldier, I will obey any orders the Khan gives.”

“Good,” said the Khan. “Then I will let you train with the army, in Ninth Moon.”

I bowed my head and closed my eyes, flooded with relief and gratitude.

At last I had resolved the battle in my heart. Face to face with the Khan, I had spoken up for what I thought Marco wanted. Against all odds, the Khan had allowed me to join the army anyway.

My blood pounded so fiercely that my head felt light. I was ready to leave my childhood behind. I was prepared to venture into the real world of battles and conquest in the Khan’s army. Now I had to forget about Marco and prove myself a good soldier.