Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [40]
One hot day, Marco’s father did not come out with us. He had to meet someone about his trading business. But his uncle joined us for a walk in the garden. To avoid the midday heat, we met in the morning and sat near a pleasant waterfall.
Uncle Maffeo was built like a huge bear, but he was far gentler than Marco’s wiry, tense father. In his brother’s presence, the uncle spoke little, but on that day, he became affable and talkative.
He and I were sitting on a marble bench, chatting about his travels, when Uncle Maffeo mentioned the “Holy Land.”
“Tell me more about this Holy Land,” I said. “It is in Christendom?”
Uncle Maffeo smiled and wiped his pink forehead, which was streaming with sweat. “Marco, you didn’t tell her about the Holy Land?” he asked with a smile.
Marco must have shaken his head. He stood behind me, in the shade of a tree.
“The Holy Land is where our Lord Jesus lived,” Uncle Maffeo explained. “All of Christianity is based on his life and teachings. Let me show you where it is.”
As Marco had done once before, Uncle Maffeo picked up a stick and drew a map in the dirt at our feet. The Holy Land was at the eastern edge of the Middle-of-the-Earth Sea, and Christendom lay north and west of it.
As he was drawing, I felt a slight touch on the back of my neck, between my braids. Startled, I turned my head. Marco smiled gently, holding up his finger to show a tiny bead of sweat he had tenderly wiped from my neck. I smiled at him.
He had not touched me since that day in the grasslands when he had tucked a flower behind my ear. I sensed he was feeling, as I was, sad that our days together in Xanadu would be over soon.
“We Christians fought hard to take back the Holy Land,” Maffeo explained. “But the Muslims—the Saracens, from Arabia—stole most of it back from us. We’ve sent armies again and again, for years, to win back the Holy Land from the infidels. Every man in Christendom knows the importance of this duty. It’s God’s will.”
My braids lifted off my back. Marco was trying to help me feel cooler. Each time he touched me, I lost track of what his uncle was saying. God’s will, of course, was that the Mongols conquer every land, but I was feeling too good to argue.
“If only the Mongols would help us,” Uncle Maffeo was saying.
My attention returned. “Help you do what?”
“Take back the Holy Land! That’s what the Pope’s letter to the Khan was all about, and we’re hoping the Khan will agree. The Pope’s fondest dream is that the Khan will form an alliance with Christendom, to retake the Holy Land.”
“I’m confused,” I said. “How would that work?”
“If the Mongol troops came from the East, from Persia, like this,” he said, drawing in the dirt an arrow pointing to the Holy Land, “then all the kings and princes in Christendom would travel from the West to join them, with their finest soldiers.” He drew lines over the sea, showing that they would come by ship. “With our combined forces, we could finally drive the Saracens out of the Holy Land!” Uncle Maffeo seemed as thrilled as a Mongol commander planning a battle.
In the meantime, Marco seemed to be drawing a map with a light finger on my back. I felt like shivering with pleasure but did not want his uncle to notice. I had to focus hard to pay attention to Uncle Maffeo’s words.
“Wait,” I said. “All the kings of Christendom would take their finest soldiers?” And leave their homelands undefended? I did not add.
“Yes. All warriors want to go to the Holy Land to earn glory for Christendom.”
“With the best soldiers far away, who would defend the homelands?” I asked.
Marco’s fingertips felt delightful, like a cool breeze on a stifling day. But he stopped as suddenly as he had started touching my back. I wanted Uncle Maffeo to keep talking so Marco would touch me again.
“Oh, that would not be a problem,” Uncle Maffeo continued. “No one would attack a fellow Christian country during a Crusade.”
Uncle Maffeo looked up, and Marco stepped back, away from me.