Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [105]
I wanted to show the world that we Mongols were not just fierce fighters, the conquerors of Chinggis Khan. We had evolved into wise rulers, heirs to his grandson, Khubilai the Wise.
Looking at these objects, at last I figured out what I needed to do.
That evening was Marco’s big opportunity to tell his best story to the Khan.
The Khan and his men gathered outdoors, in a grassy meadow not far from the sea, on a warm spring evening that felt like summer. The Great Khan sat on a wide wooden throne-chair halfway up the hill, behind a coarse plank table loaded with freshly cooked meat from the hunt. Everyone else sat on the ground, grabbing meat off platters passed by servants, eating with their hands, licking juice off their fingers, tossing bones onto the ground, drinking airag from greasy silver cups.
The meal was an orgy of excess: the usual venison, but also bear, wildcat, wild boar, and various birds. There was not one fish dish, though we were by the ocean, and there were no unappetizing vegetables, rice, or grain. The meat tasted even better for the smell of smoke and aromas from the cooking fires and the crispness of the night breezes off the sea. Overhead, stars spattered across the clear sky.
Men mingled easily. I wished I could find Marco and sit with him, but I did not see him. I wondered if he was in his tent, rehearsing his story.
Temur introduced me to more of his companions, who peppered me with questions about the battle.
“I hear the Burmese fought with elephants, is that true?” one man asked me.
“Yes, they brought at least two thousand of them!” I said.
The men murmured their amazement.
Temur looked away. “Her role was very small,” he said.
I smiled and shook my head. The others would hear the story soon enough.
When it was time for the entertainment, Temur and I sat down near the Khan, on a blanket. On the Khan’s right sat Chimkin. Near them sat many of the Khan’s other sons, and just below Temur sat a group of princes from his generation. Although an outsider might have thought we were sitting casually on the ground, the strict hierarchy of the court prevailed.
After the feasting was over, I finally saw Marco. When his moment came, he appeared in the area where we of the Golden Family were seated, and he bowed to the Khan.
At a signal from the Khan, Marco climbed up on a table and held out his arms to quiet the crowd. From that place, not far from where I was sitting, he could be heard by hundreds of men. Marco looked stunning in a blue del with silver threads. He ran his eyes over us, lingering a moment on my face. He had known where I was all along.
“Great Khan of all Khans, generals and commanders, princes and kings, dukes and marquesses, counts and knights!” He spoke loudly and clearly. I noticed how much improved his accent was after he had spent nearly a year in our land. Still, he had a slight lilt to his voice, softening the harshness of our tongue.
“I have traveled the length and breadth of this great Empire, and I can tell you that there is no city in the world as grand as Khanbalik! No garden as fair as Xanadu! And no meal as delicious as the freshly killed game I have eaten tonight!”
The men cheered and stomped. Flattery works everywhere in the world.
Marco held up his silver cup. “There is no wine as delightful as this fresh springtime airag! And no ruler as powerful, as wealthy, and as wise as the Great Khan Khubilai, Son of Heaven, founder of the Yuan dynasty, Great Khan above all Khans, ruler of the Mongol Empire, which stretches from the lands of the rising sun to the lands of the setting sun!” His voice rose in a crescendo to a peak of intensity.
The Great Khan had a big smile on his broad face, under his sloping mustache. His eyes disappeared into thin slits above his ruddy cheeks. The Son of Heaven rose from his throne.