Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [53]
In my sixteen years, I had never left Khanbalik heading south. As the houses grew farther apart, I felt increasing exhilaration at the unknowns of the journey ahead. We traveled southwest, along well-paved roads lined with willow trees. It seemed a time of fresh beginnings. I resolved to maintain my soldierly demeanor around Marco.
Less than an hour outside the city gates, we came to a marble bridge over a large river. As we crossed it, I could see that Abaji and Marco had dismounted to examine the bridge. I wondered how the two of them had met. The bridge was exquisite, made of stone, with marble columns. Each column stood on a base shaped like a lion, and a second beautifully sculpted marble lion sat on top of each pillar, gazing at another lion across the road. There were hundreds of lions, and each was unique.
“Beautiful sculptures,” I heard Marco comment to Abaji. “What is the name of this bridge?” I rode past them, averting my eyes, before I could hear the response. I imagined that Marco looked up and watched me as I passed.
I enjoyed the pleasures of travel familiar from my yearly journeys to Xanadu: the snorting of the horses, the sun on my back, the breeze on my cheek. I loved watching the countryside, and the new views from each hilltop delighted me. I was riding straight into the heart of Cathay, where Mongol soldiers were obeyed but not necessarily welcomed.
The first day was a relatively short journey—only thirty miles to the city of Cho-chau. We arrived at a hostel and rubbed down our horses. We were called to gather in formation in the courtyard, and Abaji addressed us.
“Most of you know Captain Todogen,” Abaji said. “He will be in charge of our group of fifty during this trip. He will name the sergeants.”
It was my young uncle, the one who had let me ride in the victory parade. I wanted to wave at him, or grin, but I knew better.
A tall man with the biggest ears I had ever seen, Todogen quickly named five men who would be sergeants, each in charge of a squad of nine men. It was the way the army was organized, in groups of ten, one hundred, one thousand. I had not expected to be chosen as a leader of nine, and I was not.
But Suren was chosen, and I was assigned to report to him. Suren had been promoted after a month’s service, and I still ranked at the bottom. Yet what Mongol soldier would report to a female sergeant? It strengthened my resolve to work harder than Suren did, to earn the respect of the men and the officers.
By dinnertime, I was hungry. For each meal, we were expected to sit with our squad of ten. That night, my squad and I sat at a table not far from General Abaji. As I had entered the hostel’s dining room, I had noticed that Marco, having no rank, sat with Abaji and Todogen. I was no longer the royal granddaughter but a low-ranking soldier.
The other men in my squad seemed honored to be associated with two members of the Khan’s family. They were not men I had known well in training, except for Bartan, the man who had challenged me on the first day. Bartan ignored me, but the others talked to me eagerly. I could see Marco and Abaji by slightly turning my head. I was too curious not to overhear part of their conversation.
“I am glad you speak Mongolian,” I heard Abaji say to Marco. “You Latins look like Persians and Saracens, with your yellow hair.” Abaji had a plump face and spoke in a pleasant tone that made his words seem welcoming. I knew that Marco considered his hair brown, but most Mongols called any hair that was not black “yellow.”
Marco smiled in response to his goodwill. “We consider ourselves very different from Persians and Saracens.”
“You all worship the same god, no? Muslim religion?” Clearly, Abaji had no knowledge of Marco’s people.
“Our religion is different, older. It is called the Religion of Light.”
Abaji