Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [101]
I rushed on to the main palace entrance and questioned the guard. He remembered seeing the dragons come in, but he had not noticed three foreign men leaving.
I felt light-headed. I ran out of the palace, onto the square, then along the avenue leading to the city’s west gate. I wished I had thought to get my horse. It was hard to push through crowds of people on foot. A cramp tore through my side, and I stopped to steady myself against a wall. I had to see Marco, as soon as possible.
When I arrived at the city’s west gate, a guard stopped me and would not let me exit. He had his orders: women from the palace were not to leave the city without a male escort. When I told him I was a soldier, he smiled in disbelief.
I stood at the gate a long time, watching people go into and out of the city. Everyone seemed to be carrying a lot of goods, either on donkeys or hanging from the two ends of a pole carried on their shoulders, as Chinese do.
Marco, I thought. Please. Come now. I’m here.
“Emmajin Beki? Is that you?” A man’s voice came from behind me. I whirled around, filled with hope. There stood a tall, big-bellied Latin with pure white hair and beard. It was Marco’s uncle.
“Messer Maffeo!” I exclaimed. “Where is Marco?”
The old man smiled broadly under his huge beard. “He met with the Great Khan this morning, with great success.”
“Where is he now?”
“He was on his way back to our rooms.”
“Can you take me there? I must see him!” He paused.
“The foreigners’ section is not fit for a royal princess.”
“I command you.”
Maffeo Polo’s brow wrinkled with concern but he bowed his head. He offered me his arm in the Western way, and I took it. We walked out of the city and into the foreigners’ quarter. Seeing me with a male escort, the guard did not stop me.
I had thought the streets of Khanbalik were chaotic, but they were nothing compared to the ragged alleyways outside the city gate. Dirty, half-naked children ran about. Toothless beggars thrust their hands into my face. Poor women sold scraggly vegetables on blankets. Young women waved at men to lure them into brothels. I saw men with beards, hook noses, dark skin, and leering grins. The stink of urine and garbage was everywhere. Was this how foreigners lived just outside the greatest city in the world? I had seen nothing like it in my six months of travel.
Maffeo kept a firm grip on my elbow and steered me around aggressive beggars and vendors. Fortunately, he soon ducked into a wooden doorway and shut the door behind us. We stood in the murky, stinky hallway of an inn for foreigners. Several men lounged on pillows on the floor, smoking a long pipe. Maffeo led me into a small empty sitting room. It was clean but simple. I sat down hard and took a moment to catch my breath. My senses had all been assaulted at once.
The old man sent a servant to fetch Marco from his room. I wiped the grit from my face and smoothed down my braids. Stay calm, I told myself. But how could I? I had not seen Marco for more than two months. Would he be distant again in this setting?
When Marco arrived, his bearded face and green eyes were the most welcome sight in the world. He had an eager look that matched my own feelings.
My whole body leaped toward him. It was unseemly. I had not planned it. But months of separation from him had made me hungry to touch him. A look of surprise and pleasure crossed his face before he folded me in his arms. Along with that smell of spice, I breathed in love and trust and confidence. How had I ever thought he was frightening?
Nothing else in life mattered more than being with Marco now. I did not know what would happen. But at that moment, I knew that we could not be separated again. He would help me find a way.
Marco’s uncle—so different from mine—quietly