Daughter of Xanadu (31 page)

“The Khan seems to like foreigners,” I said. “That worries many men at court.”

The Empress sighed and looked to the horizon again, her bulky body swaying gently with the amble of her horse. “Many men at court do not understand the Great Khan. I knew him as a young man. He was as impetuous and battle-hungry as the next warrior. Like you, he killed many enemies
in battle. But over the years, he has developed a different way of thinking.”

It was hard to imagine my grandfather as a young man. I had always known him as old and fat, barely able to walk.

“Yesterday’s enemies are today’s subjects,” she continued. “Some of them have years of accumulated wisdom, stored in scrolls. Some have centuries-old religions, ways of understanding Eternal Heaven that go beyond our Mongol lore. That is why the Khan invites men of different religions to debate in front of him. He believes men from every country have wisdom to offer.”

“Some say …,” I dared to interrupt, almost afraid to speak yet not willing to remain silent. “Some say he has become too … too much like the Chinese.”

Chabi laughed. “Yet he has killed more Chinese than most Mongols. As he ages, the Great Khan is not more Chinese, but wiser. He is not rejecting his Mongol heritage but expanding upon it. He has allowed the Chinese to return to farming, instead of taking over their land for pasture. He has stored excess grain for famine years.”

I had never thought of the Great Khan as benevolent.

“The Great Khan no longer sees the world as a conflict between Mongols and foreigners, us against them. He can already envision a world at peace, unified under one ruler. Eternal Heaven has granted the Mongols a mandate to rule the entire world. Should not we use all the wisdom Heaven has given the world?”

I was struck dumb. This vision was much wiser and far-reaching than any I had imagined. Since his youth, the Khan had changed and grown in his thinking. I suspected that Chabi had influenced him.

“So one can be loyal to the Khan,” I said, “to our Mongol heritage and our right to rule forever, and still …”
Love a foreigner
, I wanted to say but did not dare. She would be shocked to know of my love for Marco. “And still respect foreigners?”

“Absolutely,” said my grandmother. “To be loyal to all humankind does not mean giving up your loyalty to your people.”

I rode in silence awhile, trying to understand. In my experience, loyalty to my people directly contradicted this wider vision of compassion for others. These ideas were grand and appealing, but they didn’t help me as I tried to decide what to do about Marco.

“Tell me, Emmajin,” said my grandmother. “You wanted to join the army and fight a battle, and now you have succeeded. Will you remain in the army?”

I squirmed in my saddle. “The Khan honored me when he allowed me to join the army. I understand that.”

“But now,” she continued, “what do you want most in your life?”

“My father wants me to enter the nunnery.”

“But you wish to return to the world, to do good, like Tara.”

If I had said these words, it would have been presumptuous. But when Chabi said them, they seemed right. “Yes. I would like to do something different, somehow. To make a difference.”

She smiled. It was a tiny smile in the broad expanse of her face. “Women do not usually make a difference in the world.”

I looked at her. She was a woman who made a difference, through her influence on her husband. “I can try.”

She smiled and nodded approval. “I hope you can become a messenger of peace.”

Peace. The word sounded different when spoken by a Mongol empress. After the terrors of battle, I found it appealing.

“A
ttention! Stand by for the entrance of the defeated!”

The Khan’s small audience hall, filled with joyful chatter, went silent. We all turned to the front door, where the sunlight silhouetted three small figures. The deposed Chinese emperor—a little boy—entered the Khan’s hall with his mother and grandmother. They walked in soundlessly, on slippered feet. Both women hobbled with tiny steps, because their feet had been broken and bound when they were children—a Chinese aristocratic custom that Mongolian women regarded with disgust.

I had quietly entered the hall through the back entrance to witness this historic moment. The Khan had invited all his sons and grandsons and his highest officials. My father was not present, but Chimkin stood near the Khan, as did Temur. I stood behind them, out of sight. The Khan, with his massive bulk, high on his wide throne, was ready to receive
obeisance from a small boy whose bow would acknowledge Khubilai Khan as Emperor of all China.

Together they stood before the Great Khan. I craned my neck to see their faces, which were grave. The grandmother, once known as the Empress Dowager, had been the real power behind the throne in southern China. Her face was lined with defeat. Her back was hunched and she leaned on a cane. Next to her stood a beautiful young woman, not much older than twenty, willowy and graceful, looking devastated. Beside her, no longer holding her hand, stood the boy, who was six. Until recently, he had been called the Emperor of China, a title he had inherited at four, when his father had died. He looked frightened but did not fidget. The historical might of China had come down to these three frail figures.

All three wore robes of silk, but not their imperial robes. In China, by tradition, only the emperor wears robes embroidered with dragons, and only empresses wear robes with the symbol of the phoenix. That day, the Great Khan’s yellow robe was covered with imperial dragons, showing that he was now Emperor of all China, north and south. Seated next to him, Chabi wore a robe covered with phoenixes.

The Great Khan had returned early from his hunting trip, to welcome General Bayan after his victory in the South. General Bayan had entered the city in a victory parade, with large cheering crowds. Temur had ridden in that parade. I had stayed in my room, not wishing to witness the glory heaped on General Bayan and his men. The victory feast would be held a few days later, at the Khan’s hunting camp.

Now, the day after the parade, the Great Khan had called
all forty-seven of his sons, from all his wives and concubines, to witness his treatment of the deposed imperial family of China. I was not invited but no one stopped me at the rear door.

I had heard rumors that despite Chabi’s pleas, the Khan planned to execute them. Far too many of our great Mongol warriors had died because the Chinese had resisted for nearly twenty years. To let these former monarchs live would strengthen the hopes of those who still planned to resurrect the Sung dynasty. Two of the young Chinese emperor’s half brothers had escaped farther south, and our troops were pursuing them. The Khan needed to send a strong message that such resistance would be futile.

On low tables displayed before the Khan were the trappings of Chinese imperial power, seized after the occupation of their capital, Kinsay. Jewel-encrusted crowns, imperial robes, jade tablets of authority, jewelry, and other treasures were piled high. Most precious was the Sung dynasty’s official seal, a block of jade adorned with the carving of a dragon, which the Empress Dowager had submitted to General Bayan the day our troops entered Kinsay, as the symbol of her surrender.

A man’s voice rang out: “Kowtow to your ruler, the Great Khan Khubilai, founder of the Yuan dynasty, Son of Heaven!”

Behind the princes, I stood on the tips of my toes to see the three of them fall to their knees and drop their foreheads to the ground. This act showed their humble submission to the Great Khan. It was the ultimate symbol that they accepted him as rightful ruler of all China.

Then they stood up. The grandmother struggled to
stand, leaning on her cane. They kowtowed again, then a third time. It was painful to watch the elder empress. She had shown bravery by refusing to abandon the capital even when her counselors had advised that she take the imperial family and flee to the South.

At the third kowtow, the three of them, grandmother, mother, and boy, remained with their foreheads to the stone floor.

The Great Khan held the power of life or death over them. With one word, he could order their execution, a public beheading.

The Khan remained seated, high on his throne. His voice rang out, loud and clear. “The Sung dynasty has come to an end. Our Yuan dynasty, which I declared five years ago, has inherited the mandate of Heaven.”

All those present broke out in cheers. “Long live the Khan of all Khans!”

From the crowd, I sought out the round face of Empress Chabi. She was seated next to the Great Khan. Her face was somber. She did not cheer. So I did not, either. Had she been able to convince her husband to change his mind?

The Khan raised his hand to quiet his men. “Rise!” he commanded.

The three stood up and faced him.

How would it feel, I thought, to know that you would die before sundown? The grandmother seemed resigned, the boy confused. I could see raw terror on the beautiful face of the young mother, whose lip quivered.

“Boy, step forward.”

The child looked at his mother, then stepped toward the Khan of all Khans.

“You can no longer call yourself an emperor. But henceforth you shall be known as the duke of Ying.”

A murmur of surprise rose from the sons as the words were translated into Chinese for the prisoners. Not only would there be no execution, but the Khan was prepared to treat these people as royalty. Temur seemed especially agitated.

“You may keep your servants that you brought north with you. You may not return to Kinsay, ever. I will provide residences for you, here in Khanbalik.”

As the translation rang out, the young mother shut her eyes as if in relief. Her dynasty was dead, but she would live, as would her child.

The Khan continued. “I hereby grant pardons to all your officials who submitted to our rule. We will treat your scholars with respect. We will provide support to southern China’s widows, orphans, and childless elderly. Our troops will not plunder your cities or your land. These are now our cities, our land. We will bring prosperity back to them after years of war.”

The murmurs stopped. The Khan had stated his will, and no one could openly oppose it. Clearly, the Khan wanted his sons and grandsons to witness his benevolence and generosity. I wondered if any of them knew that his wife had convinced him to make this decision. Perhaps he would now be known as Khubilai Sechen, Khubilai the Wise.

But what of my fate? Would the Khan be generous with me? Since my talk with Empress Chabi, I had been formulating a plan. Finally, I knew what I wanted to ask for. If the Khan could show mercy to the rulers of a huge country that had warred against us for decades, surely he could be kind to
Christendom, a weak, distant land that had never attacked us. Inspired by his benevolence, and the wisdom of Chabi, I was starting to envision a role I might play in ensuring peaceful cooperation between Marco’s homeland and the Mongol Empire. Once again, it would mean making a request of Khubilai Khan to allow me to do what no woman had ever done.

Maybe our ruler, wise and far-thinking, would grant my wish.

L
ate that afternoon, a servant rushed into my family’s compound, where I was resting. “Empress Chabi wishes to see Princess Emmajin.”

After changing into my best
del
, I nearly ran to the Empress’s private chambers. I was filled with hope. I had been mulling over my plan, refining it and rehearsing what I would say. This would give me the chance to tell my grandmother about it and see if she would help me convince the Khan. I needed an answer soon, before I had to report back to Abaji.

My plan was ambitious, bold. I needed a strong ally.

But that was not to be. As it happened, I was not to meet with just the Empress. From her chambers, a servant led me into a part of the palace I had never entered before—the Great Khan’s private courtyard, his personal residence.

As I waited for the servant to announce my presence, I was breathing hard. What could this mean? I heard the
Great Khan’s voice within. My heart jumped. Perhaps Chabi had arranged an opportunity for me to speak to my grandfather about my future.