Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [45]
The Khan’s servants lifted him out, wooden seat and all, and carried him to a high spot of ground.
“Arise.”
We rose and faced our grandfather. Apparently, my training was not a secret. Suren and I stood with spines stiff, he stocky and thick, and I lanky and thin. I heard Suren take a sharp breath. Would the Khan punish him for teaching me swordsmanship?
“Prince Suren, Emmajin Beki, I have heard that a woman is learning swordsmanship in these woods.”
We bowed our heads. I should have sought his permission. Now I was getting my beloved cousin in trouble.
“I have come to watch you practice.”
Suren glanced sideways at me, clearly apprehensive. He had made progress, working with the master, but still we handled our swords like beginners.
I spoke. “Our skills are meager. We have little to show to one who has watched the greatest swordsmen in the world.”
The Khan laughed deeply and switched to his familiar tone of address, used only within families. “Show me what you have learned so far.”
Suren glanced at me, and I smiled to put him at ease. Maybe now I could show the Khan directly that I was worthy of becoming a soldier, not just a spy.
I picked up my cloth-wrapped sword, and Suren did the same. We took our stances. I made the first thrust, and Suren parried. Thunk. Whap. Our muffled swords crossed and thrust. I focused hard, trying to remember all I had learned.
Suren made an error, exposing his left arm. I could have pretended to cut it off, but I did not. Instead, I thrust to his right, and I saw realization in his eyes at the last moment. I did not want him to look bad before the Khan.
Although it was practice, the swords were heavy, and we were soon out of breath and sweating.
“Hah!” I shouted. It was the sound we used to end a fight. Suren stopped, his sword high against mine. We froze in that pose for a moment, then dropped our swords to our sides and bowed again to the Khan.
The Khan smiled. “You do not want to kill each other?”
Suren again looked at me, uncertain.
So I spoke: “We are both Mongols and kin. No need to kill today.”
The Khan laughed. He tried to stand, and two servants rushed to his side. He wobbled, and his swollen feet would not hold him. He sat again, hard, but on the edge of his fur-covered seat. “You have learned much in a short time.”
Suren spoke with fervor. “We are eager to cut down the enemies of the Khan.”
The Khan smiled. “Suren, son of Chimkin, you will make a fine soldier.”
Suren breathed relief. The Great Khan had not reprimanded him.
Then our grandfather turned his eyes toward me. “Emmajin Beki. Come.”
I approached him, my head bowed. The Khan knew everything and did nothing by chance. Did he know I had overheard his military strategy?
The Khan spoke. “You handle a sword better than I expected. But you are more woman than warrior.”
I stiffened, then summoned my courage to speak. “I can be both.”
The Khan smiled, looking surprised and indulgent. “I have been watching you all summer. Your uncle Chimkin thinks you have grown strong. He says you have carried out your assignment well. Much better than anyone expected.”
I nodded but did not smile, remembering Marco’s pain.
“What did you learn from the foreigner?”
“Christendom seems defenseless,” I said. “It is divided into many countries.”
He nodded as if asking me to continue.
I paused, trying to think of the right words. I needed to sound both wise and loyal. Yet I spoke from the heart. “I have learned that the world is large. That every land has good people as well as bad. That no decision can be taken lightly. That the Khan’s wise rule can”—my voice faltered—“will unite all the peoples of the world and bring peace and prosperity.” It was not exactly what Marco had taught me. But I wished it to be true.
The Khan’s thin eyebrows rose.
“The foreigner, Marco Polo,” I continued, “wishes to return to his homeland, with goods to trade.” The Khan’s eyebrows joined. “If that is the Khan’s wish,” I added.
“My plans for the young Latin are up to me,” he