Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [104]
I was happy to retreat to my own tent with my maid, as well as two guards. Even after six months with the army, I was glad to have the guards. I had no idea where Marco was staying and did not dare wander about the camp on my own to find him.
During the journey, and alone in my tent, I took time to think. Confused and worried, I wanted to be prepared and not act on impulse.
That evening, I felt sure, my fate would be decided. Perhaps my grandmother had spoken to the Khan and he had already made up his mind. Perhaps not.
This would be my last chance to state my case. Marco would tell his story about the battle of Vochan and praise me as a hero. I was no longer proud of killing all those men and horses in battle, and I hoped he would not exaggerate my role. But if all went well, his story would validate the Khan’s decision to let me join the army, and help me appear worthy in the eyes of his men. As one who had helped achieve victory, I would have a voice worth hearing.
Fingering the dragon’s tooth, I thought about Suren. That night would be his funeral oration, shaping the way Suren would be remembered. Saddened, I wondered what advice he would give me if he were here. What legacy would he really want? Suren was a loyal Mongol soldier. He represented everything that was finest about Mongol ideals.
I needed greater strength than the memory of Suren could give me. I took out the Tara amulet, which fit easily in my palm.
Tara, Tara, I thought. What should I say? She looked out of the amulet, her sweet face emanating compassion. I felt certain she would approve of my taking a message of peace from the Khan to Christendom. I wished she could speak to the Khan through me.
Compassion. I remembered the faces of the Burmese soldiers I had killed. The soldiers of the Burmese army were good men like Suren, obeying their king. How had I looked to them, hacking and slaying? Questions of war and peace were beyond me. The Khan of all Khans, at the age of sixty, had far more wisdom than I did about such matters. But whatever small role I could play, I wanted it to be for peace.
I could not solve the problem of Burma. But distant, weak Christendom, and its leaders, might be open to a different resolution. Exchanging letters could not solve all the problems of the world, but it might work in the case of Marco’s homeland. How fine it would look to Marco’s people if the Khan sent not an army but a maiden!
Marco and I could be partners in this effort. He could explain my mission to the Pope, in their language. As a representative of the most powerful ruler in the world, I would be welcomed and treated well.
But how could I prove to the Khan that I was mature enough, skilled and articulate enough, to be taken seriously as an ambassador? How could I convince him that I wanted to do this not for my own glory, or simply to spend more time with Marco, but for a greater purpose, a mission of which Tara would approve?
In one hand, I held Suren’s dragon tooth, still on its leather thong. He had won it by bravery, not on the battlefield but in service to the Khan’s healing. It was also a symbol of his friendship with the foreigners Marco the Latin and Little Li, the villager from a tribe near the border with Burma.
In the other hand, I held the amulet. I had once scorned Tara but now treasured her as a symbol of my aspirations. I looked closely at her picture. In her hand, she held a large flower. She was known as the Great Protectress, yet she did not carry any weapons.
Next to me, beside my sleeping fur, were my bow and arrows. I ran my finger along the smooth surface of my bow. It had served me well in battle. It was the symbol of my status