Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [34]
By the time Marco and I strode out of the eastern gate, the sun had reached its noon peak, but fortunately the sky was overcast. Most Mongols would laugh at the idea of taking a stroll in the grasslands. But this Italian seemed to enjoy it. He remarked on the colorful wildflowers, the fresh green of the grasses, the bees and butterflies.
My mind overflowed with rebukes for Marco. But walking with him made me wonder if it was wrong of me to blame him for my humiliation. It was really my own fault. When the Khan asked my opinion of Ai-Jaruk, I should have said, “Such a strong woman brings great honor to her father.” Of course, the right words came later.
Truth be told, I had missed Marco. I wished we could talk about the evening, make sense of it. But I was not supposed to trust him. He was not a friend, after all, but a source of information.
Now, walking close to him in the grasslands, I tried to bring to mind the words I had practiced, the questions that would get him to reveal his secrets.
As usual, he was at no loss for words. “Emmajin Beki, may I ask a question?” he said when we were far outside the city walls. “The topic may be sensitive.”
This man had no sense of right and wrong. I stopped and stared at him.
“The Great Khan’s feet—what is wrong with them?”
The Khan’s feet were swollen and painful. That was obvious to all. He had to be carried everywhere. No one dared to discuss it. Was Marco looking for the Khan’s weakness, to report to his fellow countrymen? “Why do you ask?” I said.
“In my country, there is a disease called gout. Only rich men suffer from it. I have heard of a medicine to treat gout, but it is hard to find.”
“I know nothing about this subject,” I said. I continued walking, wondered if Marco was hatching some kind of plot.
“What are you thinking about, Princess?”
“The story you told to the Khan.”
“What about it?”
I stopped walking again and glared at him. “First, you must never—ever!—keep the Great Khan waiting.”
Marco blushed. “I lost my way. Then I slipped and fell into a pond.”
“You are lucky he didn’t send you away forever.”
Marco looked down, clearly embarrassed. He reminded me of Suren as a boy. “I was already late. There was no time to go back and change.”
I shook my head. I wondered if all foreigners were so careless. “More importantly,” I continued, “you should not have told a story about Khaidu. The Great Khan hates him. Khaidu claims that he has the right to be Great Khan.”
Marco shook his head. “How was I to know?”
“It’s safer if you don’t tell stories about other Mongols. We have storytellers to investigate and tell the correct versions of these stories.”
Marco picked a long strand of grass and twisted it. “Thank you, Princess. I appreciate your advice.”
I had wanted to humble him, to regain the upper hand. But I felt no joy in it. It was too easy. A Mongol man would have fought back if someone had lectured him.
“What made you decide to tell the story of Ai-Jaruk?” I asked sharply.
“I heard it when I was traveling through the desert West. I thought you would like this tale. You showed such courage by competing in that archery tournament.”
I tried not to blush at his obvious flattery. “You should tell the Khan a story from your homeland. You do have such stories, don’t you?”
“Ah.” A small smile appeared in his beard. “I loved hearing stories when I was a boy. The best were stories from France, stories of knights and ladies.”
“Knights?”
“Cavalieri, warriors on horseback.”
This sounded more promising. “Christendom has mounted warriors?”
“They wear metal armor. When they are not fighting battles, they practice their skills in tournaments, called jousting matches. Not archery, but jousting. They use lances,