Daughter of Xanadu (16 page)

O
n the last day of Eighth Moon, the Great Khan and his court left Xanadu and returned to the capital in Khanbalik. This time, I rode with Suren, and we were high with enthusiasm. My joy about joining the army the next day helped me to bury my still-simmering regrets about Marco. My independent adult life was about to begin. Temur, too, had been permitted to join. Good-hearted Suren did not seem to mind.

When I arrived home, I found on my bed a fur-lined military-style coat, a fur cap with ear flaps, thick felt leggings, a new pair of leather riding boots, and a set of leather armor. Beside them lay a white
del
, embroidered with the insignia of the Khan’s army, made of smooth, firm silk. Clearly, someone from the military had delivered them, at the Khan’s orders. I held the
del
to my face, feeling its texture against my cheek.

This type of silk, I knew, was a special fabric used only for the army. It was famous from the stories of Chinggis Khan’s
conquests, a layer of silk worn under the leather armor, so tightly woven that arrows could not pierce it. Mongol soldiers astounded their enemies, because when an arrow struck them, they could pull it out of their armor, toss it aside, and continue fighting. A surge of gratitude overwhelmed me as I held the first tangible sign that I was truly to become one of those soldiers.

I ran my fingers over the leather armor, a cuirass designed to cover the front and back of the torso. It was made of overlapping strips of lacquered black leather and laced with rawhide thongs, and it had flaplike sleeves. The flap that protected the right arm had no laces. That made me smile. The right arm needed to be free for shooting during battle.

I tried on the armor. It was remarkably flexible but still it made my body feel stiff and masculine. I tucked my braids inside and pulled the cap over my head. I wished they had given me weapons, as well. In my room, I pretended to wield a curved saber.

“Why are you doing this?” My mother was standing outside the bedroom door. At her side, Drolma had twisted her face into a look of disgust.

I walked over to my mother and gave her the gentlest expression I could. “You know me. I have always loved archery. I can think of no greater honor.”

She looked up at where the wall met the ceiling. “I tried to discourage you.”

“No more need to worry about my betrothal. The next suitor will be for Drolma.”

Drolma sighed. “No one will want to marry me now.”

“If I bring glory to our family, every general’s son will want to marry you,” I said.

Now my mother sighed. I thought I saw her blink back a tear.

“This is only training,” I said. “I will be at a camp south of the city. I am not going far away.” But no soldier trains for long. Ultimately, I would go far away.

Early the next morning, the first day of Ninth Moon, filled with exhilaration and apprehension, I donned my military garments and packed a bag of belongings, enough to last several weeks. Clad in full armor, I looked like a soldier in every way, except for my hair. My chest under bulky clothing was flat enough that I could pass for male.

Suren smiled when he saw me. We were overdressed for that late summer day, and no one wore armor within the city limits. But we couldn’t help wearing every item.

“You look intimidating,” I said, teasing him. “Where is Temur?”

“My father decided he should train with a different battalion.”

Good
, I thought. Temur would not be competing with us as we learned new skills.

I wished Marco could see me outfitted as a soldier. He had returned to Khanbalik with his father and uncle, I had heard, but I did not know his plans. I wondered if the Khan had given them enough treasures to enable a return journey. Thinking of Marco made my heart hurt. I wished I had been able to say a proper good-bye.

Suren and I rode together to the camp where we would begin training. We were to be among three hundred new recruits for the Khan’s personal guards, the
kashik
. This was the elite of the army, a roster of ten thousand men. It included many of the Khan’s close relatives, as well as select
Mongolian noblemen and sons of high commanders. The rest were chosen on a competitive basis, the best of every battalion. These soldiers remained near the Khan, so they seldom went to war as a unit, but the Khan selected men from this group for special missions.

When Suren and I arrived, most of the recruits had already lined up for inspection. Each holding a bow, they were standing in rows, in three companies of one hundred. All were dressed, like us, in full armor.

For his personal guard, the Khan chose Mongols from many different clans, mixing them so no one clan could conspire against him. Cathayans were not permitted, since they outnumbered us and could not be trusted to support the Khan’s rule. But other foreigners, such as Turks and Tibetans, were allowed to join in small numbers if they were from clans allied to the Golden Family through marriage. They were called in-laws. I recognized only one face, that of Jebe, General Aju’s son.

It was a crisp fall day with a high, clear blue sky and a slight breeze. It had rained overnight and the ground was muddy. Most of the training would be done by a lower officer, but that day the Khan’s son, Chimkin, stood before them, tall and handsome.

I struggled to suppress my doubts. Earning the Khan’s permission might have been easier than earning the respect of my fellow soldiers would be. Suren and I tied up our horses, took our bows, and walked toward the troops. We stopped at a respectful distance. Many of the men glanced at us, so Chimkin followed their looks. I stood as straight as I could.

I detected a look of annoyance on Chimkin’s face. Suren and I had felt certain that we were on time, but instead, we
had disappointed him by arriving late. We advanced and stood beside him, facing the troops. I heard murmurs of surprise when they realized I was a woman.

“Soldiers of the Great Khan!” The recruits stood stiffly at attention when Chimkin addressed them in a loud, firm voice. Chimkin held his arm out toward my cousin. “You have the honor of training with my son, Prince Suren, eldest grandson of the Khan of all Khans! Show your respect.”

The men fell to their knees and put their foreheads on the ground. Suren looked embarrassed. No one had ever kowtowed to him.

“Rise!” Chimkin continued. They did. He pointed to me. “We also have a woman from the court, Emmajin Beki.” No mention of my father, Prince Dorji.

The men stayed silent. Some soldiers, I suspected, would consider it bad luck to have a woman soldier in the army. But these were recruits, eager to please. “The Great Khan has honored us with the command that this girl be allowed to train with us.”

I gazed into the sea of faces, trying to seem more confident than I felt. I saw curiosity but not hostility or alarm. Could I keep up with them?

Chimkin did not ask the soldiers to kowtow to me, of course. No one bowed to a woman, except that Latin Marco Polo. Why was I thinking of him now?

“Make room for the new soldiers.”

Two of the men in the front row moved out of the front ranks. Suren and I took these spots, front and center, and turned to face our commander, General Chimkin. I held my bow at exactly the same angle as the others and matched the stance of the other men.

I had done it! I stood among the soldiers of the Great Khan’s army. A dizzying rush of excitement rose from my gut to my head, and a huge smile spread inside me, hidden behind the stern mask on my face. I was a part of the great Mongol army, which had conquered most of the lands of the world.

“Soldiers of the Great Khan!” Chimkin was referring to me as well as the others now. “Let us practice how we will kowtow to the Great Khan. Imagine you have just marched into his illustrious presence.”

“Long live the Khan of all Khans!” we soldiers shouted, in precise unison. We put our swords to our foreheads, fell to our knees in the mud, and kowtowed three times. I matched the movements of the others, anticipating the moment when I would do so in front of the Khan himself, as part of his personal guard. I was no longer powerless. Although I was a woman, I had served the Khan by gathering intelligence. I had proved myself both loyal and worthy. Face to the mud, I was exactly where I wanted to be.

M
y first day of training started well. Chimkin explained that we were to spend at least half our training on archery, mostly mounted archery. That was my strongest skill, and I looked forward to competing with these soldiers. But what made my blood rush with excitement was to hear that we would also be trained with weapons used for close combat: hatchets, maces, lances, lassos, and especially swords.

The large group was split into companies of one hundred soldiers, each under the command of a centurion. Suren and I were assigned to a sergeant called Chilagun, who seemed to be in his thirties. Chilagun had sun-darkened skin and bowed legs from riding all his life.

He immediately began barking out orders. His job was to break us as one breaks a wild horse, molding us so that we would work together as one. He said we were raw and untested, spoiled by too many years at court. Many of us were members of the Golden Family or pampered sons of
high officials. None of us had ever taken orders from a commanding officer. I craved the discipline of military life.

Although we would ride as mounted archers, Chilagun immediately began teaching us how to march in formation. He held a whip and flicked it at us occasionally, just missing. When he made us race on foot, something I was not used to doing, I immediately fell behind. After a short distance, a cramp in my side made me double over with pain. Chilagun rode up from behind me on his horse and cracked his whip.

“Keep moving!”

“I …” I was puffing heavily, holding my side.

“So, you cannot keep up with the men, even on your first day?”

I stood straight, willing the pain to go away. He expected me to fail. They all did. I began running again.

That afternoon, we were given blunt sabers for practice. Many of the new soldiers had never used a sword before. Suren had taught me the rules for practicing with swords—how to thrust and parry without hurting your opponent. Some soldiers did not know those rules and drew blood, hitting arms and legs of their opponents not covered by armor. One nicked Suren in the lower arm.

At first, no one would practice fighting me. Finally, one of the smaller men, egged on by his comrades, shyly agreed. “Don’t make her look bad. Let her win,” I heard one say to him. Within a few minutes I had pinned the short man down with my sword.

A large well-muscled man swaggered up to take his place. I could tell by his stance that he expected to humiliate me. I heard someone call him Bartan. I bowed to him before the practice fight. This time, the match went on a little longer,
but I defeated him, too, using a swift, dexterous move Suren had taught me. A small group of men gathered around us. Bartan rose from the mud. He looked at me with narrowed eyes, as if I were the enemy. When he walked away, others went with him. “She cheats,” I heard one say.

After that, the men were reluctant to fight against me. Suren saw this and challenged me. We fought a good fight, using the skills we had practiced in Xanadu, each of us carefully avoiding a victory so that the other would not be humiliated. When the other soldiers saw how skilled we were, some stopped to watch.

Distracted by the attention, I missed a move, and Suren won the match.

“Ah, see? She’s human,” I heard one man say. Had they thought me a goddess?

After that, it was easier to find men to fight during practice. There always seemed to be others watching, offering advice for my opponents. Some liked the novelty of clashing swords with a woman.

Chilagun wandered the field, observing us without comment. When I felt his eyes on me, I put in extra effort, hoping to win his respect. The exertion and sun built up heat under my armor, and lines of sweat dripped down my face.

At the end of the day, my arms ached but I had held my own. Chimkin commanded us to stand at attention in rows once again. He was joined by a white-haired portly man, whom he introduced as General Abaji, one of the Khan’s top military advisers. I recognized him from the Khan’s banquets. He outranked even Chimkin, as I could tell from Chimkin’s deferential manner toward him.

“Soldiers of the Great Khan’s army!” General Abaji’s
voice was firm and loud. He was still vigorous despite his age, which must have been over fifty years.

“Listen well. On the first day of Tenth Moon, we will divide you into three groups. Most will stay in Khanbalik for further training. A company of thirty soldiers will travel with me on a reconnaissance mission, to gather intelligence. Another thirty men will go with General Chimkin on another journey, in a different direction. Learn well and prepare for the day when we select the best among you for these two missions.”

My heart pounded. Surely, Chimkin’s journey would be to the West. Even though it was only for reconnaissance, I now wanted to avoid it. It would be easy for the generals to insist that I stay safe in the capital. I assumed that Marco, his father, and his uncle had also returned to the capital from Xanadu. So if I stayed, I might be able to see Marco again before he left for home. But that assignment would be humiliating. The best option would be to join Abaji’s mission, whatever that was. I had one month to prove myself.