hand on her neck. “What are you doing?” I asked.
His weird eyes registered uncertainty.
With the familiar cry of “Tchoo! Tchoo!” I urged Baatarforward across the grasses, and the tawny mare followed. Baatar and I moved fluidly together, as if he could read my thoughts. I quickly broke into a trot, then a lope, checking to see if the Latin was following. He was hanging on to the wooden saddle and smiling gamely at me. I headed for the foothills and slowed as we started up a well-known trail.
The morning’s rain had left diamonds in the grass, and I brushed against wet branches that sprayed me with sparkling drops. I luxuriated in the first warm rays of sunlight on my hands and face.
As we rode, single file, mostly uphill, I silently rehearsed the questions I would ask of this man. If I could get all the needed answers quickly, perhaps the Khan would let me return to my usual life, with hours to spend on archery and horseback. I had hoped Suren and I could begin preparing for military training that summer.
Soon we approached a clearing overlooking Xanadu from the hills just north of the walled city. I jumped off my horse and tied him to a nearby tree. Marco Polo did the same. Then I led him to the edge of the clearing for the best view.
From this vantage point, we could see the whole of Xanadu. The palace sat on a wide plain surrounded by high hills visible along the horizon. Much of the plain was forested, a semi-wild park of trees and grasslands and natural streams. These woods, a hunting preserve for the Khan, contained many deer and foxes. From above, we could see how the thick outer walls of Xanadu formed a huge square. Inside was a small town for servants and guests, as well as the Khan’s famous fabulous gardens. Brooks, hillocks, bridges, pavilions, twisting pathways, and artificial lakes all glistened in the intense sunlight.
I sighed. It was like a fantasyland, a place I had longed for during the cold winter.
At the heart of this square was a smaller square, formed by high stone walls topped by turrets. Inside this inner, “forbidden” city were the golden roofs of the palace, a smaller and leafier version of the massive imperial palace in Khanbalik. The main hall, raised on an artificial hill, was pure white marble, shimmering and smooth. It faced due south, as all major doors do, toward the sun, away from us.
Other buildings inside the inner walls were pavilions of painted wood with golden roofs, set amidst tree-shaded courtyards. Each building was positioned carefully on a straight north-south, east-west axis, in the Chinese imperial style. But one large courtyard was dotted with round white tents, our distinctive Mongolian ger s. They reminded everyone of the old days, when our ancestors were nomadic herders and warriors, traveling freely. The Khan had insisted that the floors of the palace at Xanadu be made of packed dirt, to keep him connected to the earth.
Overhead, an eagle soared. An exhilarating breeze blew my hair about my face. I hoped the magic of Xanadu would make this day go well.
The foreigner gazed at the panorama below, as if drinking in every detail. “My father told me of this place, but I could not imagine it. I thought the Mongols lived on horseback, moving their tents from place to place.”
“That’s true.” I pushed myself to speak. “We Mongols are hunters and herdsmen, with no tradition of fixed palaces. We do not eat plants or dig in the dirt.”
He turned back to me, his face radiant with joy. Those eyes looked clear and empty. I wondered if they could seemore than dark eyes saw. He looked innocent, but my grandmother had hinted that he was not safe. The time had come to begin my mission.
I led him to a grassy spot and spread a goatskin on the ground. I put my bow in the middle, a clear boundary between me and the foreigner. I sat on one side, and he sat on the other. I kept the sharp-tipped arrows behind me, so he could not reach them.
I got out a leather
His weird eyes registered uncertainty.
With the familiar cry of “Tchoo! Tchoo!” I urged Baatarforward across the grasses, and the tawny mare followed. Baatar and I moved fluidly together, as if he could read my thoughts. I quickly broke into a trot, then a lope, checking to see if the Latin was following. He was hanging on to the wooden saddle and smiling gamely at me. I headed for the foothills and slowed as we started up a well-known trail.
The morning’s rain had left diamonds in the grass, and I brushed against wet branches that sprayed me with sparkling drops. I luxuriated in the first warm rays of sunlight on my hands and face.
As we rode, single file, mostly uphill, I silently rehearsed the questions I would ask of this man. If I could get all the needed answers quickly, perhaps the Khan would let me return to my usual life, with hours to spend on archery and horseback. I had hoped Suren and I could begin preparing for military training that summer.
Soon we approached a clearing overlooking Xanadu from the hills just north of the walled city. I jumped off my horse and tied him to a nearby tree. Marco Polo did the same. Then I led him to the edge of the clearing for the best view.
From this vantage point, we could see the whole of Xanadu. The palace sat on a wide plain surrounded by high hills visible along the horizon. Much of the plain was forested, a semi-wild park of trees and grasslands and natural streams. These woods, a hunting preserve for the Khan, contained many deer and foxes. From above, we could see how the thick outer walls of Xanadu formed a huge square. Inside was a small town for servants and guests, as well as the Khan’s famous fabulous gardens. Brooks, hillocks, bridges, pavilions, twisting pathways, and artificial lakes all glistened in the intense sunlight.
I sighed. It was like a fantasyland, a place I had longed for during the cold winter.
At the heart of this square was a smaller square, formed by high stone walls topped by turrets. Inside this inner, “forbidden” city were the golden roofs of the palace, a smaller and leafier version of the massive imperial palace in Khanbalik. The main hall, raised on an artificial hill, was pure white marble, shimmering and smooth. It faced due south, as all major doors do, toward the sun, away from us.
Other buildings inside the inner walls were pavilions of painted wood with golden roofs, set amidst tree-shaded courtyards. Each building was positioned carefully on a straight north-south, east-west axis, in the Chinese imperial style. But one large courtyard was dotted with round white tents, our distinctive Mongolian ger s. They reminded everyone of the old days, when our ancestors were nomadic herders and warriors, traveling freely. The Khan had insisted that the floors of the palace at Xanadu be made of packed dirt, to keep him connected to the earth.
Overhead, an eagle soared. An exhilarating breeze blew my hair about my face. I hoped the magic of Xanadu would make this day go well.
The foreigner gazed at the panorama below, as if drinking in every detail. “My father told me of this place, but I could not imagine it. I thought the Mongols lived on horseback, moving their tents from place to place.”
“That’s true.” I pushed myself to speak. “We Mongols are hunters and herdsmen, with no tradition of fixed palaces. We do not eat plants or dig in the dirt.”
He turned back to me, his face radiant with joy. Those eyes looked clear and empty. I wondered if they could seemore than dark eyes saw. He looked innocent, but my grandmother had hinted that he was not safe. The time had come to begin my mission.
I led him to a grassy spot and spread a goatskin on the ground. I put my bow in the middle, a clear boundary between me and the foreigner. I sat on one side, and he sat on the other. I kept the sharp-tipped arrows behind me, so he could not reach them.
I got out a leather
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