Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [60]
While the others cut down bamboo trees for a giant bonfire to scare off the wild beasts, I helped tie up the horses and mules. As Marco was tying up his horse, a handsome bay mare he had purchased in Khanbalik, I heard him call her by name.
“Your horse has a name?” I asked, laughing. We Mongols do not have the custom of naming animals, and I had always been careful never to speak my horse’s name, Baatar, aloud. I had thought I was the only one to name my horse.
“Yes.” Marco looked embarrassed. “I call her Principessa.”
That long foreign name meant nothing to me. It didn’t seem to fit this wiry Mongolian horse.
“It is our word for beki, princess,” he added, watching for my reaction.
I laughed again. How odd to give a horse a title—my title. Had he named her for me?
We gave the horses long leads so they would enjoy what grasses they could find in early winter. I hoped the servants could get the fire going soon, as I was hungry.
Abaji strode over to where we were tying the horses. “You will need to tie those horses tighter. Tie all four legs together and peg the ropes down strong.”
It sounded like a strange way to tie horses.
“A bamboo fire makes sounds louder than you have ever heard, a deafening noise that makes men swoon or die of fright. It scares off the lions and bears, but it frightens horses, too. We have to ensure they can’t run away.”
I looked at all the horses and mules. “I fear we don’t have enough rope to tie all four legs of every creature.”
“We’re likely to lose those we don’t secure well.”
I did as I was told, but I wondered if Abaji was showing the mental confusion of old age. What noise could possibly be so loud as to scare horses and men to death?
Principessa stomped and kicked, and I tried to hold her still while Marco tied her legs. But he took pity on her and tied the knots loosely, and only on the front two legs. I could see from the way he stroked her neck and spoke softly in his own tongue to calm her down that he had a soft spot for that mare. I blushed, remembering Marco’s fingers stroking my back.
The soldiers stacked up enough bamboo for a huge bonfire, but Abaji insisted they not light it until after dinner.
Night fell early, and the stars shone clear in the wintry air. Instead of bantering as usual, we all ate our roasted venison quietly, listening for sounds of lions and bears in the nearby woods. Once, we heard a loud crack of a branch behind us, and everyone started. Captain Todogen jumped up and strapped his bow and arrows to his back, to be ready. The rest of us followed suit. I also felt for my dagger at my waist. Marco sat still, fingering his own knife. We hadn’t traveled this far only to be attacked by wild creatures in the forests of Szechwan.
After dinner, Abaji stuffed his ears with bits of fabric and wrapped a cloth around his head, covering his ears. “Everyone will need to do this.”
Suren and I looked at each other in disbelief. How could this general, who had slain hundreds of people, fear some popping noises from a wood fire?
To humor our commander, we all tore off bits of fabric to stuff into our ears and wrapped our heads with excess clothing. Suren wrapped his head loosely, whispering to me that he wanted to hear the full effect. Marco said we looked like oriental Saracens. Instead of endangered, we felt lighthearted and curious.
Finally, a servant brought over a burning branch from the other fire to light the bamboo. At first, there was no loud sound—only the muffled noise of wood catching fire. I was ready to take off my silly head wrap but knew we had to show deference to Abaji.
Suddenly, I heard a huge explosion, a bang so loud I felt my