Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [52]
I looked at him, not understanding. General Abaji had said my name, and I had been so certain I was not selected that I had not even heard it. Not until Suren called me did I realize what had happened.
I would be going on the mission to southwest China, as a soldier. Even as I breathed out in relief, I wondered: Could I find a chance to say good-bye before Marco left? Even my happiest moments now had an edge, because I kept thinking of him.
Ten days later, when we left Khanbalik, I could barely contain my excitement. We were headed to Carajan, a mountainous region just this side of the border with Burma. Troops from Burma had been crossing the border and clashing with our Mongol soldiers, and the Mongol commander in Carajan had urged the Khan to send a much larger army. Abaji’s mission was to assess the gravity of the situation and make a recommendation to the Khan. We would need to invade and subdue Burma before moving on to the bigger prize, India. My fellow soldiers, especially the recruits, hoped we would have a chance to engage in battle with the Burmese. I had packed and repacked my bags for a six-month journey, but I did not feel ready.
When Suren and I reached the south gate, after saying good-bye to our families, fifty soldiers—thirty recruits plus twenty experienced soldiers—were rechecking their horse packs and getting ready to leave. Traveling with us would be another twenty people: cooks, horse boys, servants. The supplies went on a caravan of pack mules tended by a group of mule boys. Everything seemed chaotic.
In the half-light of dawn, I heard horses whinnying, mules braying, pots clinking, men swearing, leather belts creaking. Clearly, the caravan would not be ready to depart at cock’s crow. I left Baatar in the area where the soldiers were assembling and ventured into the area where the mules were being loaded. What possessed me, I’m not sure. Maybe curiosity, maybe a premonition. There, among the mules and mule boys, was a foreigner rearranging his wares in heavy saddlebags on the side of a mule. He wore no hat, so I easily recognized the reddish curly hair. He was clearly swearing in some silvery foreign tongue that seemed familiar.
Marco Polo.
I stayed still, watching him until he turned slowly. A shock shot through my body as I saw the familiar face. What was he doing here?
He smiled coldly and bowed his head. “Emmajin Beki. You look different as a soldier. I had heard you were assigned to this mission.” His voice, so close, washed over me like cool water on a hot day. I had not expected to see him again.
“And you are assigned to this mission?” Why would a merchant, storyteller to the Great Khan, go on our reconnaissance mission?
“I am on assignment to the Great Khan.”
“Because of me?”
He laughed ruefully. “Not everything I do is related to you, Princess Emmajin. The nature of my duties is secret; only General Abaji knows.”
That piqued my curiosity. A foreigner who knew something I was not allowed to know? “And your father and uncle?”
“They are to remain in Khanbalik. My uncle’s illness has returned.”
“I am sorry to hear it. I see your ankle has healed.”
He nodded. “Mongolian medicine. Your ways of treating broken bones are far superior to ours. The doctor massaged and pressed my leg and foot daily, and somehow the break is healed. It works better than my father’s prayer.”
“Perhaps you were cured by your father’s prayer.”
He laughed in spite of himself. I had missed hearing that sound.
A horn blasted, and I returned to formation.
My mind spun. What would it mean to travel with him? As delighted as I was to hear his voice, I dreaded his presence, a reminder of both how easily I had fallen for his charms and how bad I felt about betraying him. How could I focus on my duties as a soldier when Marco was nearby? Just being near him confused me and made me conscious of being a woman. I had worked hard to toughen myself into a soldier.
We rode out of the city’s south gate in formation, in full uniform, with helmets. A small crowd