Daughter of Xanadu (3 page)

While we waited for Old Master to begin, I tried to remember if I had heard any stories about Mongol women soldiers. One of Chinggis Khan’s four wives had gone to battle with him. Sometimes Chinggis Khan had asked Mongol women to line up on horseback, along with horses carrying fake men made of straw, on the ridge of a hill, to fool the enemy into thinking our army was three times as big. A famous Chinese woman, Mulan, had fought against our ancestors, although she had disguised herself as a man.

Of course, many Mongol women had shown great strength. Chinggis Khan’s mother had held the family together after his father died. Robbed of all livestock, she had lived by digging up the roots of wild onions and other vegetables until her sons grew up to be fine, daring men. Chinggis Khan’s first wife had demonstrated courage and loyalty despite being kidnapped by an enemy tribe. And Khubilai Khan’s mother had, by sheer determination, trained her sons to earn the right to take over the leadership of the Empire even though their father, the youngest son of Chinggis Khan, had not been chosen as successor. Although my grandmother Empress Chabi was a quiet and gentle Buddhist, the blood of all these earlier strong women flowed in my veins.

It seemed, though, that the days of strong women had ended once luxurious court life had begun. Now all Mongol women cared about was fine clothing, rich food, and pearls. And finding good husbands for their daughters. At that moment, my sister, Drolma, two years younger than I, was sitting
with other girls, exchanging court gossip, which she found more interesting than the battle stories. I wished I had been alive during the early days of the Mongol Empire, when our armies had pushed into unknown territories, and women had enjoyed many opportunities for adventure.

Old Master walked into the courtyard, carrying a bulging bag. Some of the younger boys begged him to say what was in it, but he refused. The children quieted down as Old Master began his tale. I leaned forward, to catch every detail.

This victory was different, he told us. For months, even years, the Mongol army had laid siege to the Chinese city of Hsiangyang. Behind thick walls, the citizens starved rather than let the Mongols win.

Cowards
, I thought. In a true battle, two armies, both on horseback, faced each other and fought until victory.

Old Master continued his story. After several years of stalemate, the Great Khan asked his nephew, the Il-khan of Persia, to send him two talented Persian engineers, experts in the secrets of the machines of war. These foreigners designed a machine that could catapult gigantic rocks over the city walls. Outside the walls of Hsiangyang, Mongol soldiers assembled ten of the new machines, bigger and swifter than any previous catapults, and gathered stockpiles of huge rocks.

On the day of the battle, they hurled torrents of rocks over the walls into the city. The army could hear the shrieks of the Chinese citizens. So frightened were the people that they opened the city gates and flooded out, screaming.

I leaned back against a wall and frowned. I disapproved of this new way of fighting, by frightening townsfolk instead of wielding sword and bow. No valor in it.

Old Master continued. The Mongol soldiers, ready with their swords and bows, mowed down the evil people of that city by the tens and hundreds. They showed the bravery and daring of their honored ancestors.

“How many enemies did they kill?” one boy asked.

Old Master smiled, reached for his bag, and turned it over. Out of it spilled what looked like small pieces of leather, the kind used to make armor.

The children shrieked.

Ears. A pile of ears that our warriors had sliced off the heads of the enemies they had killed. By tradition, our soldiers cut off ears to count the dead.

A shiver shook me. Suren recoiled. But many boys jumped forward and grabbed the ears. Some tossed them into the air and shouted with delight. Suren’s younger brother, Temur, near the front, shouted more loudly than everyone else. “Victory!”

The horror I felt was weak and girlish, so I shook it off. I drank in the happiness and confidence around me. As the next generation, we would inherit a mighty military more successful than any in history. The Mongol troops had achieved a well-deserved victory. They had fought hard to win each of those ears.

Everything seemed possible. I could no longer contain my secret desire.

“Suren,” I said, in a voice only he could hear. “I want to join the army.”

Suren pulled away so he could look directly into my eyes. Surprise crossed his wide brow, then a wrinkle of skepticism. No woman had ever served as a soldier in the Khan’s army.
But after a moment, Suren shook his head and grinned. I could always count on him to support my wild ideas. Suren planned to join the army in Ninth Moon. He leaned over and spoke directly into my ear. “So may it be! We’ll ride off together and fight side by side.”

An arrow of joy pierced my heart. I could see the scene clearly. Prince Suren on his bay steed and me, Princess Emmajin, riding my golden stallion, both of us in leather armor, metal helmets on our heads, quivers of arrows at our backs, swords hanging from our belts, riding in a row of gallant warriors, the crowds cheering all around us.

It was unlikely. I knew that. Still, I sighed. What a perfect day.

“Attention, everybody!” Standing next to Old Master, my cousin Temur shouted above the clamor. “Listen!” Although one year younger than Suren, Temur had the commanding voice that Suren lacked, and the young cousins quickly quieted down.

I frowned, annoyed. Temur was always trying to gain attention.

“Who are the future leaders of the Mongol Empire?” Temur shouted. He was well proportioned and handsome, taller than Suren, broad-shouldered yet trim. His eyes were set wide in his face, giving him a distinctive and appealing look.

The younger boys looked at one another, shifting uncomfortably. They were too young to think of themselves as leaders, more used to taking orders than responding to motivation. Suren frowned but didn’t stop his brother. Suren, I knew, felt jealous of his brother’s confidence. He feared that
their father—and the Khan—would choose Temur as eventual heir apparent, even though Suren was the firstborn son and grandson.

“Grandsons of the Khan! We are the future!” Temur continued.

“Yes!” yelled one boy. Then others shouted, “We are!”—still only half convinced. Old Master, rubbing his long wispy white beard, looked on with approval.

Temur stood even firmer. I wished Suren could rally enthusiasm that way.

“Let us prove ourselves worthy!” Temur shouted. “Let us show our skills!”

“How?” Suren asked, with an edge of challenge.

Temur’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. “An archery contest. In one of the public courtyards. All the boys of the court. Tomorrow at noon.”

My heart leaped. Archery was my best skill. I had spent years perfecting it, both still and mounted. At an age long past that when most Mongol girls gave up, I had persisted. This could be my chance to show, in public, that I was better than any of my boy cousins. But would they let me take part?

The boys greeted the proposal with a cheer. With just a few words, Temur had made it happen. I wondered if the Great Khan himself would watch the contest. I had to find some way to compete in it.

Tomorrow, I realized with a start, would be the day before my sixteenth birthday, the last day of my childhood. If only I could compete, one last time, before whatever awaited me in adulthood.

“E
mmajin! You’re back!” My mother’s voice sounded firm and joyful.

Oh, no
, I thought as I entered the rooms I shared with my mother and sister, off a back courtyard in the palace. I did not want to face whatever my mother had to say now.

Mama emerged from the bedroom, her pale heart-shaped face lit by an uncertain smile. Behind her, Drolma had a look of hope mixed with doubt.

“We have good news,” Mama said.

“Too good,” said Drolma. Short and delicate like Mama, Drolma had once told me she envied my beauty, but to me such things did not matter. Unlike me, she stayed out of the sun and used creams to keep her skin light and smooth.

I did not want to hear Mama’s news. My mother had been trying day and night for years to find me a husband. I should have been betrothed long before, but I had managed to sabotage each of my mother’s earlier efforts. Although
most suitors’ parents eagerly sought an alliance with the Khan’s family, now that I was nearly sixteen, many of them regarded me with suspicion as a difficult girl, past the ideal age for a betrothal. Each suitor was less appealing than the previous one. Drolma yearned for a betrothal, but by custom she had to wait for me to get settled.

Lately, Mama had been trying harder to make me spend more time with the girls and women, but I hated embroidery, dancing, and music. Drolma loved all that and had already picked out names for her future children. To me, it seemed that the women of the court did nothing but sit and gossip. I had told my mother that Suren’s father wanted me to spend time with his sons. My mother feared Chimkin, so she had let me get my way.

My father, Prince Dorji, home from the monastery for the victory celebration, emerged from the shadows behind my mother, dragging his lame foot. As much as I wished he had become a military man, I needed to show obedience and respect.

My father sat down in a Chinese-style wooden chair in the central sitting room between our family’s two bedrooms. Like most Mongols of his age, he had grown up in a
ger
, the traditional round white tent with a domed roof. Even though the Chinese were now our subjects, the royal family lived in a Chinese-style palace with raised beds, silken quilts instead of sleeping furs, and chairs instead of stools around a fire. I wondered what the Great Ancestor, Chinggis Khan, would think of that.

I stood before my father, trying to suppress my urge to defy him.

My father cleared his throat. “General Bayan’s top lieutenant is an excellent military man named Aju, respected by the Khan. He is back from the wars in the South.”

I perked up. I longed to hear more about that campaign.

“General Aju will come here tomorrow with his eldest son, at noon.”

I bit my lip to keep the objection from flying out. The timing could not be worse. The archery tournament would begin at noon.

“You must behave properly while they are here.” My father’s voice was firm. “Dress well, sit quietly, serve us. They will want to see if you can be a proper wife.”

I looked at my hands. To me, marriage meant only loss of freedom.

“It’s your best chance. A military family.” My mother’s eyes shifted nervously.

All night, I tossed in the bed I shared with my sister. I wanted to meet this military commander, General Aju, and wished I could ask him about the battle for Hsiangyang. But I also knew that once I was betrothed, my small chance of joining the army would disappear. My dreams would vanish forever.

If only I could show off my skills in the archery tournament, to prove publicly that I could do the extraordinary. Until recent years, I had always been praised for my archery and racing skills. Why should that change now? Perhaps someone, somehow, would realize what a waste it would be for me to marry and leave the family.

The next morning, Drolma braided my hair, trying to make it as smooth and neat as hers. She sang as she worked,
in a sweet soprano voice that calmed me. It occurred to me that I would miss her once I left home, whether for marriage or for the army.

When she finished, she bit her lip, facing me. “Please, Emma. Make it happen this time.” I hated to disappoint her, to keep her life on hold.

Just then, a messenger arrived, saying Aju would be coming earlier. His son Jebe was to enter the archery tournament. Word had spread quickly, and young Mongols around Khanbalik were arriving at court, eager to compete. My heart leaped. Perhaps these betrothal talks would end early and I could take part in the tournament after all.

At midmorning, they arrived. The minute I saw the young man, Jebe, I knew he would be a disastrous match. His father had the tall, burly physique of a military commander, but Jebe was as skinny and knobby as a winter tree branch.

Both Aju and Jebe stopped when they saw me, dressed in my mother’s best blue embroidered robe. “Dorji, you old fox,” Aju said. “What have you been hiding?”

Smiling, my father showed them to their seats in the row of Chinese chairs. Mama motioned to me, and I served the men bowls of
airag
, fermented mare’s milk. I handed the first drink to Aju, who sat at my father’s right, in the guest-of-honor seat.

“I hear she’s a spirited one,” Aju said after his first sip of
airag
.

“That she is,” my father said, nodding as if he had complimented me.

Feeling like a servant, I fetched a plate of Mongolian cheese and brought it to them. I had been through this ritual before. Once, I had dropped the whole plate of cheese into
the lap of a suitor’s father, but I did not dare do that now. Not to a high-level military commander. I hoped they would talk about the recent battle.