Daughter of Xanadu (24 page)

But in Da-li, everyone was too busy to listen to our stories. The moment we entered the city gate, I could see that the populace was in an uproar.

A passerby told us the king of Burma was headed toward the border region of Vochan with a huge army. Apparently, he had heard about the buildup of Mongol troops and decided to defeat them before the Great Khan could send a bigger army. Impudence!

General Nesruddin had begun organizing his troops for battle. He had only about twelve thousand horsemen, against a Burmese force rumored to be huge, so he needed every
soldier he could get. Abaji had traveled with only twenty trained horsemen plus us thirty recruits, but he offered our services for the battle.

I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Less than four months after joining the army, I would fight in my first battle. My muscles tensed, eager for action. Of course, I knew nothing of war, only the fast heartbeat I had felt listening to the tales of old storytellers in the safety of the Khan’s court. I assumed I, too, would survive to tell great tales. Only the unknown died in battle.

I felt no fear. I was confident that the greatest army on earth would easily defeat these upstarts from a small, little-known kingdom to the south. The Mongol army conquered all.

The day we left for Vochan was like none other in my life. I packed my things on my horse as I had many times, but it seemed I was outside myself, watching. Every sound was magnified: the whinnying of horses, the slap of saddles landing on their backs, the creaks of the leather belts being pulled tight under horse bellies, the mud sucking my boots, the flapping banners, the high-energy voices of men heading off to battle. Suren could not stop talking, but I found myself almost silent, in awe.

We rode out of the city gate in rows of ten, one squad per row, wearing our full leather armor, a sword on the left, a bow on the right. Two full quivers on our backs held twenty lightweight long-distance arrows and twenty short-distance ones, with heavier tips. Our plan was to return to Da-li after the battle.

Although twelve thousand was considered a very small army, to me it seemed huge. I could not see the front of the
line or the back. Each of us was also equipped with a mace and a dagger. I hated the mace, a crude weapon, a spiked ball on the end of a stick, a blunt force requiring no skill or training. But we were ordered to carry it.

We rode five days westward through the jungled hills toward the town of Vochan in the border province of Zardandan. Each night, we slept on the ground along the narrow road, and Suren kept close to me. The evening after we left, it began to rain, and the downfall continued most of the five days—a cold, continuous rain typical of winter in these parts. We were soaked, but the dreary weather could not dampen our spirits.

Marco joined us on the journey to Vochan, though he was no warrior. Nesruddin encouraged him to go so he could tell the story of the victory to the Great Khan. Marco had purchased a gray mare, to replace Principessa. He rode, I heard, near the rearguard. I did not see him during our journey, but I wondered how he was faring in the rain.

When we arrived at Vochan, we pitched our tents on a plain, a large greensward surrounded by hills on three sides. On the fourth stood a great wood, thick with trees. The rain stopped, and we spread out our belongings to dry. My boots were caked with mud. The warm baths and clean beds of Nesruddin’s palace now seemed a distant memory.

Nesruddin commanded us to rest and renew ourselves. He used the time to give his colonels instructions for the upcoming battle. The king of Burma was known to employ as many as one hundred elephants in battle. Even the experienced soldiers among us had never faced elephants. I could not imagine how the Burmese could get the giant creatures over the mountain passes from Burma to the Plain of Vochan.

Marco stayed in Nesruddin’s large tent with him and Abaji. I envied Marco for his having the chance to listen to the two generals strategize before the battle. But I also pitied him because he had to camp with such a great host of Mongol horsemen but was not equipped or trained to fight. What would he do, watch from a nearby hillside?

Two days after we arrived, we saw great clouds of dust and heard the thundering of the enemy troops arriving at the distant end of the Plain of Vochan, about a mile away. The sound vibrated ominously in my body. The enemy poured over a low hill, thousands upon thousands, mostly foot soldiers but also horsemen. We jumped to arms, but soon it was obvious that the Burmese troops were making camp there after their long march over the mountains. The proximity of the enemy made my blood churn. How dare they invade the Khan’s Empire?

Where the Burmese pitched camp, at the far end of the plain, it looked as if they had built a city. We could see and smell the smoke from their campfires. They were preparing for battle the next day.

In late afternoon, the distant thundering grew louder. The enemy’s elephants were arriving over the low hill. I was amazed by their sheer number. Marching twenty abreast, they advanced onto the plain, row after row after row.

All twelve thousand of us Mongol soldiers watched in shocked silence as the massive army of elephants crested the hill and advanced. The ground under our feet shook from their stomping. If their intent was to instill fear, they succeeded. I tried to control the dread swelling in my gut, but I had never felt so overwhelmed.

By the time the thundering stopped, more than two
thousand elephants, all equipped for war, had marched onto the Plain of Vochan. How the king of Burma had achieved such a feat was a mystery. I could not believe that so many of these giant creatures existed in the world.

A scout returned, and I crowded with other soldiers to hear his breathless report. “They are large and fearsome, the largest beasts in the world,” he said. “Each one carries on its back a fortress of wood, well framed and strong, full of archers. At least twelve, maybe sixteen, on each elephant. All well armed.”

I quickly calculated. The archers on elephant-back alone far outnumbered our twelve thousand, and that was only one-third the number of troops the king of Burma had brought to Vochan.

All told, there were indeed sixty thousand Burmese troops. They outnumbered us five to one.

Clearly, the king of Burma was planning the battle to end all battles. We had been caught unawares, with the greatest strength of the Khan’s army a two-month march to the east. There was no time to get reinforcements.

Many of us would not survive this battle. I looked at those around me, whom I had come to know well. How many of us would be trampled to death by elephants, felled by archers, or cleaved in two by swords?

Valor
, I repeated to myself. It will take valor to face them. But another voice in my head kept repeating a different word:
folly
. I tried to suppress that thought.

Standing next to me on the Plain of Vochan, Suren spoke so low no one else could hear. “You and I must leave this place at once.”

I couldn’t believe he would say such a thing. “Why?”

“I have strict orders, from the Khan. You are to return to Khanbalik alive.”

“What?” I was incensed. “You want to flee before the battle has begun?”

“No, I don’t. But you are a woman and cannot die on this battlefield.”

I laughed nervously. “Those are the Great Khan’s orders?”

“Yes. I have sworn to protect you.”

The Khan had allowed me to join the army, but he expected me to flee from battle. Suddenly, Suren, with his broad, kind face, seemed like the enemy. “I’d rather die here than have it told that I fled in fear.”

It was as if Old Master were inside my head, shaping my words. He had molded my beliefs as a child so fully that I saw myself as part of a legend, conscious of a role I was acting. The thought of fleeing did not tempt me.

I could see conflicting intentions on Suren’s face. He had not chosen this assignment. I touched his shoulder. “Together you and I will tell the Great Khan about our first battle. I will assure him that you tried to stop me.”

He smiled uncertainly. But I held my ground.

That night, each company of one hundred met with its commander to receive its orders. Todogen told us that the battle would commence at first light the next morning. Although we were far outnumbered, our skills in battle were unsurpassed, and our archers the best. Even our horses were skilled in war, sturdy and brave.

We had never faced thousands of elephants, but we were not to let them intimidate us. Elephants, Todogen told us, were poor fighters and served merely to inspire fear. When we saw them advancing, we were to hold our ground and
begin the battle with no dismay. The elephants’ thick skin was not impervious to metal-tipped arrows. Our arrows flew farther, so we should be able to take down many of the creatures before we were within range of the Burmese archers.

We were to advance straight at the enemy. Each of us had to kill five Burmese soldiers, plus another five for every one of our comrades killed in battle.

Todogen stood tall and shouted his final command: “Remember the words of the Great Ancestor, Chinggis Khan, ‘In daylight watch with the vigilance of an old wolf, at night with the eyes of a raven, and in battle fall upon the enemy like a falcon.’ ”

As he spoke, I could feel thrills of anticipation up and down my back.

That night, after dinner, Marco found me sitting by a fire. “Emmajin Beki. I wish I could convince you not to go into battle tomorrow.”

I laughed. “If I sat on the side, that would make a sorry legend.”

Marco was serious. “I don’t care about the legend. Many will die.”

I nodded. “I know. Too much blood. I could be killed. But I will not.” Certain that I would be protected by the valor of my ancestors, I didn’t think of how many of them had been killed in battle.

Marco pulled out a blue silk scarf and handed it to me. “In Christendom, soldiers take these to battle, given by their loved ones.”

I laughed. “The ladies give them to the men, though, right?” He did not smile. As I took the scarf, a strange, unsettling premonition swept over me. Would Marco find the
scarf on my corpse? I quickly tamped down that thought. “This will bring me luck?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will take it into battle.” I wished I had brought the Tara amulet my father had given to me. I wished I had reconciled with him before leaving home.

“Emmajin. I …” I could tell that Marco wanted to embrace me, but there were too many soldiers around. We could not show any emotion.

I took his hand in mine and held it longer than I should have, wishing I could experience one more
bacio
. “No need for words. I will see you tomorrow night.”

T
hat night, I could not sleep. I did not think it would be my last night on earth, but I knew it might. Would death be painful? I thought of my mother, my sister, my father, the Great Khan. It was possible I would never see any of them again. Mostly, though, I thought of Marco, of all the possibilities I had secretly dreamed of with him. Why had I hesitated?

Beside me, Suren lay awake, too, tossing. At one point, I reached out and put my hand on his arm. “Suren.” He turned toward me. “It will be a good outcome.”

He nodded.

We arose well before daybreak and donned our armor. I wrapped Marco’s blue scarf around my neck but tucked it out of sight. We were each given a chunk of mutton and told to fortify ourselves, but my stomach was unsettled. A light breeze was blowing across the plain, and small high clouds
glowed red in the morning sky. The rising sun etched the hilltops so clearly the rest of life seemed blurred.

We mounted and stood in formation, twelve thousand horsemen of the great Mongol army, in our brown leather armor. Baatar was skittish, so I patted his neck, trying to calm his nerves and mine. He had carried me from Khanbalik to the jungles of Carajan and now to the battlefield at Vochan.

We recruits were four rows back, since Nesruddin wanted his best archers and most experienced warriors in the front line. I wished I could have been in front, but it was, after all, my first battle. The strategy was to attack with a constant barrage of arrows, one unit replacing another as our arrows ran out.

My squad, under Suren’s command, was near the woods at the right side of the plain. Across from us, a row of armed elephants, several hundred abreast, stretched from one side of the plain to the woods on the other. I could see, even from a distance, that the Burmese soldiers wore uniforms of red.

Seated straight in my familiar saddle with its silver ornaments, on the golden palomino stallion I had ridden almost every day for four years now, I kept my mouth in a firm line. Our orders were to keep still. But my mind raced. My life had been too short, too inconsequential to end on this day. If I survived, I decided, I should make my life count, do something that mattered.

The Mongol way was to begin each battle in total silence, allowing the enemy to advance first. I watched as the front line of Burmese troops moved forward, advancing toward us. At first, it seemed just a line of red; then I could hear the grinding of horses’ hooves.