Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [66]
Finally, fifteen days after crossing the river Brius, we arrived at our destination, the city of Carajan, sometimes called Da-li. We first spotted the city from a mountain pass to the east. At the crest of the pass, I looked down on a deep mountain lake reflecting pink clouds in the late afternoon. On the far side, Da-li, an ancient walled city, overlooked the large lake, climbing a gentle slope. This mild southern climate was not too cold, even in midwinter. But it had been raining, so I was soaked.
Standing in my short stirrups to take in the view, I grinned at Suren, who was next to me. The weariness of travel disappeared from my body. “I’ll race you there!” I took off on my horse and Suren followed. We galloped like madmen straight downhill. We soldiers had not been traveling in formation since entering the mountains.
The palace at Carajan, a stone structure by the lake, was surrounded by high walls and turrets with curved roofs. The buildings inside, small and fanciful, were painted with bright designs well suited to the lush mountain greenery. The servants wore black garments decorated with strips of bright cloth. The women wore many necklaces and earrings, and the men had gold teeth in their smiles.
When we rode into the courtyard, we were met by Nesruddin, the governor of Carajan and commander of the Mongol army garrison. Nesruddin, a Muslim, had won renown as a valiant soldier. A tall man with wide shoulders and huge girth, he wore a round brimless hat, pure white, perched in his thick dark hair, which he did not shave. He spoke Mongolian with only a slight accent, since he had spent part of his childhood in Khanbalik. He had a broad, ready smile and seemed genuinely pleased to greet us.
Nesruddin welcomed Abaji with open arms and invited Suren and me to join him at a banquet that night. It was the first time since our journey had begun that Suren and I were treated as royalty. It was an indulgence not offered to other soldiers, but I did not refuse. We were given spacious rooms in his palace, with servants who drew fresh hot water for baths in our private chambers. I let the maidservants scrub my head and hair and body, and I soaked in the tub. It felt wonderful to be a princess again.
At dinner that night, I realized that Nesruddin had also chosen to treat Marco Polo as an honored guest, when he had learned that Marco was traveling on the Khan’s business. Like us, Marco had been given a private room at the palace. At the head table, Nesruddin served us as much meat as we could eat.
Nesruddin did not mind talking to Abaji in front of us. In fact, he was eager to talk to us about the threat from Burma, the country just across the mountains.
Burma, which he called the kingdom of Mien, was a small but wealthy land, with towers of gold and silver in its noble capital, Pagan. Its king despised the Mongols. He often inflicted ravages on the people of Carajan, harassed our border troops, and mistreated Mongol envoys. Nesruddin’s spies told him that the Burmese soldiers were massing on the border, preparing to invade. Burma claimed the right to rule parts of Carajan, because many local villagers belonged to tribes that spanned the border.
So far, Nesruddin had been able to amass only twelve thousand Mongol horsemen, hardly enough for a large-scale attack against Burma. Most Mongol troops were fighting far to the east, on China’s coast. Nesruddin was itching for a fight.
Abaji peppered Nesruddin with questions. How many more troops would be needed? How long might it take to conquer Burma and then India?
“It will not be easy,” Nesruddin said. “The Burmese use elephants in battle. Our Mongol army horsemen are not trained to fight against elephants.”
Nesruddin had sent many missives to the Great Khan begging for enough troops to invade that rich realm and subdue that troublesome king. He took our arrival as a sign that the day would soon be at hand.
“A battle