Part 18 (2/2)

”You proved, so clearly, that your archery skills were as good as any man's,” he said. ”But what moved me was something different. You had a heart for that magnificent eagle.”

In the dark, I blushed, ashamed that he had noticed this weakness. Yet his voice was gentle and calm, not accusing.

”That eagle died quickly,” I said.

”That eagle soared majestically before it fell,” he responded. ”That was the moment I knew I loved you.”

His words, so direct, stunned me. He loved me. He had loved me all this time, all these months. He knew that with certainty.

By contrast, my love for him had not come at a single moment. It had grown over time, from scorn and distrust, through curiosity, to something deeper, a certainty that my life was not worth living without him. I knew that now, with just as much certainty. Yet my life was not my own. It belonged to the Khan.

Marco was looking at me, hoping for a reply. ”After the battle,” I began. The words stuck in my throat. I swallowed a lump and went on. ”Someone told me you were dead.”

He moved to comfort me, but stopped. ”You seemed angry at me that day,” he said.

”I was angry. But not at you.”

”We have one more night,” he said. He had heard in my voice what he needed to hear. We had one night to act on our love, before I had to return home to the court.

I remembered his kiss, the pa.s.sion of his embrace in Tibet. On this night, even the maid in my chamber would be away, celebrating with her family. No one would know if Marco came to my room. Night after night, I had dreamed of this opportunity.

But it felt wrong. Suren's concern rang in my ears. A heavy weight in my heart felt as dark as the new moon. It was not the right moment for joy. As much as I had wanted Marco, for so long, my heart would not allow it now.

”I don't know what to say,” I replied. ”The sky is so dark without the moonlight.”

Marco could see I was holding back. ”The stars are distant, but beautiful. I will always admire them.”

Suddenly, I wanted to cry. Nothing would ever be right in my life again. I thought of Ai-Jaruk going off to battles with her father and returning home to an empty bed. Her story had seemed happy when I had first heard it. Now it seemed tragic.

”I must go now.” I could barely choke out the words. I turned and walked quickly to my empty bed.

34 News

On the third day of the New Year, we set off from Carajan. With a heavy heart, I left with Abaji and the remaining soldiers.

Before our departure, Little Li and some men had brought the eight young dragons from their village to Da-li, carrying them in baskets suspended from poles balanced on their shoulders. In a courtyard of Nesruddin's palace, they constructed wooden pavilions and secured them on top of the elephants. Inside were special pens to hold the juvenile dragons in shallow water. Each dragon had its own pen, to protect them from snapping at one another. It turned out to be the perfect solution to the problem of transporting the dragons over long distances. Marco was bringing back a little of the magic of Carajan.

During my two-month journey back to the capital, I kept wis.h.i.+ng I could be with Marco, traveling through lowlands with the elephants and dragons. Night after night, I regretted my decision not to go with Marco that night of the new moon. I let my mind wander, imagining what might have happened.

I also agonized about my future. What could I ask of the Great Khan? I could not become a military commander. I no longer wanted to fight in battles, and I certainly did not want to conquer Marco's homeland.

General Abaji, I knew, would recommend to the Khan that we attack Burma as soon as possible, to exploit the king of Burma's weakness after his loss at Vochan. Abaji wanted to raise an army in Khanbalik and return quickly. But I would not take part in that battle. The future seemed like a blank wall that I was racing toward every day.

Shortly before we arrived in Khanbalik, early in Third Moon, a small party of hors.e.m.e.n headed by my cousin Temur came out to greet us.

Temur seemed older, with a deeper voice and a hint of a mustache. He wanted to hear about Suren's death before others did. He acted sad, but Suren's death made Temur the Khan's eldest grandson. If his father, Chimkin, succeeded our grandfather, as expected, Temur might someday become Khan himself.

Temur nearly burst with his own news. ”General, you have heard the good news? Our troops have taken Kinsay.”

This news sent a lightning bolt through my body. Kinsay was the capital of the Southern Sung dynasty, center of power for southern China.

Two soldiers who were riding close enough to hear cheered. ”A victory in Kinsay! All China is ours!” Our army had been fighting in southern China for fifteen years. Now the Khan's empire stretched to the sea in the South and the East, adding hundreds of thousands of subjects in the world's wealthiest country. It was a huge victory, the biggest Khubilai Khan could achieve.

”I was there,” Temur said with pride, ”with the army as we marched into Kinsay. It was a glorious moment.”

”Was the fighting fierce?” I asked.

Temur shook his head in dismay. ”Our great general had conquered so many of their cities that the rulers of China knew it was pointless to resist. The mother of the boy emperor conceded without a battle. Our troops rode into Kinsay with no opposition.”

This news. .h.i.t me hard. Suren had died in a battle that had not gained new territory for the Empire. Yet the glory would go to Temur and the army that occupied Kinsay.

We dismounted to hear the rest of the story. Temur told it with verve and gusto, as if it reflected his personal glory. I found myself leaning toward him, eager to hear every word. So were the other soldiers.

All winter long, Temur told us, the Great Khan had received news of victory after victory, as General Bayan Chincsan and the Mongol army conquered twelve major cities in southern China. Everyone had been expecting a huge battle at Kinsay, with great loss of life, because they had expected the Chinese to defend their capital to the last man. Then came a messenger with the great news: Kinsay had fallen without a battle.

The empress of South China, mother of the six-year-old boy emperor, had called in an astrologer when the Mongol forces had surrounded Kinsay. The astrologer reminded her of a forecast her late husband, the emperor, had been told as a young man: only a man with one hundred eyes could rob them of their kingdom. Back then, the forecast had been seen as good news. But when the empress learned General Bayan's name, which, when said in Chinese, sounds like ”hundred eyes,” she surrendered and handed over the imperial seal.

Full of confidence, Temur seemed mature and articulate. With his slim body and handsome, wide-set eyes, he looked more the part of a crown prince than Suren had. I could see in their eyes how much the other soldiers admired Temur. Still, his manner was arrogant. He was too eager to step into Suren's empty boots.

”Good news indeed!” Abaji slapped his thigh. ”When is the victory parade?”

A pang shot through me. I had envisioned returning to Khanbalik as part of a victory parade. Now I was returning with a straggling group of soldiers, victors of a distant battle. Our hard-fought win on the plain of Vochan, against such great odds, paled in comparison to the conquest of all southern China. Would the Khan value our victory?

”General Bayan is on his way back from the South, bringing the empress and the young boy emperor. They should arrive in ten days or so.”

”Good. So we will arrive in time for the parade-and for the beheading.” Abaji's voice sounded eager.

I s.h.i.+vered. A Chinese queen and her young son would now face the wrath of the Khan of all Khans. Their execution would send an essential message, I knew, a warning to all who dared to resist Mongol conquest, including the kings of Burma and Zipangu. Sparing the enemy's rulers was not an option. It would encourage others tempted to resist.

But to me, at that moment, the public execution of a woman and child in the streets of Khanbalik seemed barbaric.

35 Reentry

Khanbalik was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with a sense of pride in Mongol greatness. From the moment we rode into the capital under the huge arch of the south gate, with its curved blue roofs, I could feel the exuberance. Scattered crowds near the gate had been waiting for the arrival of General Bayan with the Chinese empress and her son. People surged forward to look at us, soldiers traveling under the Khan's banner. It was hard to keep riding in formation, and Baatar s.h.i.+ed and whinnied.

”General Bayan!” a man shouted in Mongolian, and more men moved forward.

”No, not yet!” one of Temur's soldiers responded. ”General Abaji, returning from a victory in the Southwest.”

”General Abaji, returning from the South!” someone shouted. The announcement was echoed in Cathayan, and a cheer rose around us.

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