“There is a young European woman among the prisoners,” Reyhan explained. “I implore you to seek her release immediately. God knows what will happen to her if you don’t. I fear she would be abused by the guards if there is a delay in setting her free. She has been fettered but appears to be from a royal court in Europe. It is easy to identify her among the other Rus captives. There is also an elderly woman brought here from the territories of Rus by the name of Shura who has been employed as a cook. She can be of assistance as a translator.”
Krisztina’s heart began to pound when one of the guards pointed to her and gestured that she should accompany him. During the journey, it had occurred to her to begin loud, repetitious recitations of this verse from the Bible in Latin, “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.” The Mongols must have assumed the words to be a witch’s spell. Therefore, probably fearing that she might turn them into rodents, they let her be.
Krisztina’s wrists and ankles were in pain from the shackles placed on them. Her mouth felt dry. Ringlets of hair stuck to her sweat-drenched forehead. She could barely stand and didn’t know how much longer she would be able to bear her captivity. She had had little water to drink, and the food was almost unbearable. So, she had gone mostly without for many days since her capture. A thought that she was too young to die kept her alive during this time of great ordeal. She had no idea what became of Prince Mstislav or her poor sister. She had a feeling that Mstislav was killed, but she kept assuring herself that somehow her sister survived. She could not bear the thought of something bad happening to little Zofia.
The guard led her to an opening where a high-ranking Mongol, whom she thought was possibly a prince, judging from his attire, stood. He looked handsome with rather delicate features compared to the other Mongol warriors she had seen thus far, his brown hair visible under the feathered metal helmet he wore, his eyes kind and respectful. He smiled at her for a moment before he began to issue orders in a tongue unfamiliar to Krisztina. Immediately the guards unchained her. The stout Rus woman Krisztina had spoken with earlier was by his side and assured her that she would be safe.
“This is Prince Hulagu,” the woman said, “grandson of Genghis Khan.” Krisztina had heard that name before, but the image she had in her mind was that of a barbarian, not the handsome man standing in the deportment of royalty before her. She gestured to Krisztina to bow before the Prince. Hulagu waved the curtsy to be unnecessary and moved toward her, holding out his hand instead. The kindness he showed toward her, the strength that emanated from him, and the sense of safety after the long journey melted all of Krisztina’s resolve, and she fainted into his arms.
When she finally opened her eyes, she found herself on a soft bed in a palatial chamber. Two eyes, the color of honey, were watching over her. She could not understand the language of the middle-aged woman who was addressing her, but through Shura, she learned that those eyes belonged to a Persian Princess by the name of Reyhan.
Reyhan had a beauty that age could not erase, and one could see that her charms had no rival in her younger days. Through Shura, Reyhan informed Krisztina that until her full recovery she would remain under her care. Krisztina smiled politely to acknowledge her appreciation, but soon tears began to fill her eyes. Choking on her words, she asked about her companions, mostly her sister.
“Prince Mstislav fought bravely to save your sister and during the battle with the Mongols, unfortunately, he lost his life. Your sister, from what we have learned, ran away during the skirmish—that is as much as we know,” Reyhan said and Shura translated.
“I knew it. My little sister, my beautiful Zofia is alive,” Krisztina said tearfully.
Reyhan noticed that Krisztina did not mention the late Prince to whom she had been betrothed and did not appear to lament his loss. She asked Shura to bring them some tea, then sat beside Krisztina and held her hand.
Chapter Eight
“The World” Comes to the Mongol Court
Early the next morning Krisztina woke up to the sound of Mongols chasing after their horses to feed them and harness them. The goats and sheep were bleating, which mingled with the strange tongue the Mongols spoke. She heard the neighing of a horse and rose to look out the window. How strange, she thought, even their horses look different. They were rather short and stocky with large heads and long, thick tails and manes. This was such a different world, and she knew adapting to it would not be easy. Shura helped her bathe and gave her fresh clothing. The Rus woman had also prepared some borscht that she ate with great appetite.
Krisztina felt like driftwood carried by the waves of the sea to an unknown shore, yet, she believed that somehow the angels looked after her. How else could she have survived the ordeal of being taken as a prisoner of war? And that prince, Hulagu, would she see him again? Would it be inappropriate to ask Reyhan about him? It was almost a miracle that she was placed under Reyhan’s care. Shura had explained how Reyhan had been abducted from Persia and brought to the Mongol court which made them both victims of conquest. So much sincerity and wisdom shone in Reyhan’s eyes, and she displayed such a caring attitude that almost from the moment they met, Krisztina felt that she could trust Reyhan.
The following morning, Krisztina had recovered enough to go for a walk in the garden and see the other palaces as well. Magnificent works of art hung on their stately walls, but they were not to her taste. Trophies from different parts of the world were mounted together and lacked coherence. Different paintings and ornamental objects from Chinese calligraphy to Persian works of miniature were juxtaposed randomly as if by people who could not make up their minds which art they liked best. Despite the vastness of the palatial structures occupied by different Mongol dignitaries, Krisztina found their enclosures claustrophobic.
In the center of Karakorum, she was surprised to see a church, a mosque and a number of Buddhist temples standing in close proximity near the marketplace. She returned to Reyhan’s palace, excitedly describing to her friend, with Shura’s help, the existence of a church in Karakorum. She added that she was shocked to see a mosque right next to it.
“Here in Mongol territories, all are free to worship as they please so long as they abide by Yasa laws.”
“What are they?”
“They are rules devised by the late Genghis Khan. There are aspects to them that make sense and others that make no sense at all, but we have to abide by them nonetheless. I will explain them to you one of these days.”
Unlike the other palaces Krisztina had visited on that day, Reyhan’s was well-lit and inviting, filled with the scent of roses. They both enjoyed engaging in conversations during which Shura acted as translator. They all laughed when she struggled with words she could not clearly pronounce. One time, Reyhan explained her interest in the Mohammaden flower known by the Crusaders who had carried it from Asia to Europe as the Damask Rose.
“Mohama . . . Mohamma . . .” Shura murmured but could get no further.
Reyhan intervened, saying, “Gole Mohammadi.” She also took a stem of the heavenly scented pink flower out of a vase for Krisztina to inhale its aroma.
On another occasion, Reyhan brought five rolls of fine silk in yellow, red, blue, green and purple, and Shura tried to explain that tailors at the court could make them into dresses for Krisztina in any design.
“The Persians call the fabric Abrish,” Shura said, looking lost.
“Abrisham,” Reyhan corrected her, holding the blue one next to the European Princess’s face, and expressed her surprise at how the color of Krisztina’s eyes almost instantaneously turned darker like the fabric.
“Abrisham,” Krisztina repeated in flawless Persian to the delight of Reyhan.
Within a few weeks, Krisztina and Reyhan no longer needed Shura to be present as they learned to communicate with each other in Persian, fir
st clumsily and then more comfortably. The Mongols, in general, did not speak the language, and that gave them greater freedom in their discourse.
Hulagu began visiting Krisztina almost every day. He brought gifts of food and pastry. When she went for walks in the garden, he asked to accompany her.
Festive events took place at the Mongol court on a regular basis, honoring outstanding warriors, celebrating victories in distant lands, or displaying Mongol wealth to foreign dignitaries. The Mongols could now afford to wear a different color of silk for each event. Krisztina could choose from all the silk fabrics her heart desired and choose she did, but her gowns were made in the European style.
Everywhere she went, Kirsztina could sense Hulagu watching her. Every time she turned, he would be behind her, or a few feet away. He seemed conscious of her movements, of the way she spoke, of the way she laughed and particularly of the way she looked at him. Although the Mongol women of the court were extremely beautiful, Krisztina looked exotic. Seeing Hulagu looking so timidly at her, considering his status as one of the most powerful men on earth, excited her imagination. Every time their eyes met, she blushed.
One morning when the two of them were out on a leisurely walk, Hulagu told Krisztina that he was very much in love with her and expressed his desire to marry her.
Krisztina wanted Reyhan to be the first person to hear the news of Hulagu’s proposal but said that she was more anxious than happy.
“I don’t know if it is destiny that leads me or my own obstinate soul, but I find myself always led to the edge of the cliff that separates what is stable and clear from that which is elusive and unpredictable,” Krisztina confided.
“What exactly do you mean?” Reyhan asked, perplexed.
“Oh, Reyhan so much has happened in so short a time. The tumultuous winds that carry me from one part of the world to another leave me confused.”
She told Reyhan the story of Wiktor and how they were parted. Then added, “I was led away by Mstislav, a man I hardly knew and little cared for, toward Kiev when he was killed so tragically. Here I am now facing the prospect of marrying the grandson of Genghis Khan, and I fear that even this path will not lead to the green pasture of bliss.”
“There are aspects of life that are ordained by Providence, your destiny, you cannot change or alter. But there is also the willpower granted to you as a human being that allows you to resist what you see as wrong and embrace that which is proper and right,” Reyhan said.
“I left Wiktor because my uncle would have otherwise disinterited me, leaving me in poverty and misery, and now it is as if I am marrying Hulagu for riches and status, but that is not really the case.”
“I think you are obsessing too much about matters that are completely out of your hands. Come now! Let us see what type of gown you would like to wear on the day of your wedding ceremony.”
“Can I tell you a secret that I wish you never repeat upon all that is holy to you?” Krisztina asked.
“Of course you can trust me as I have trusted you from the moment Hulagu brought you to my palace.”
“O’ Reyhan, I like Hulagu . . . but he has such an overpowering personality that at times . . . how can I say this? I fear him.”
Reyhan walked up to her and tied the ribbon under Krisztina’s bonnet that had come loose and said, “Mongols do create such a sensation. No wonder the world has succumbed to their audacity and power so easily. Look at it this way, by being his wife and soulmate you will be sharing that power.”
With the arrival of summer, Reyhan wrote a note to Sorkhokhtani inviting her to Karakorum. She worried that the news of Hulagu’s growing attachment to Krisztina would reach Sorkhokhtani before she had a chance to explain the circumstances. Although it seemed prudent for Hulagu’s mother to be informed of his romantic interest as soon as possible, Reyhan felt a bit nervous for being the undesignated match-maker. She had been struggling for days with the idea of how to present the facts to Sorkhokhtani, without exposing herself and Krisztina to the wrath of the powerful Mongol Queen.
When Sorkhokhtani arrived, Reyhan’s nervousness rose to a fever pitch. Hulagu’s mother straightened her skirt as Reyhan poured tea out of a china pot for two. Reyhan’s hands shook a little as she tried to use the right words, convincing the Mongol Queen that her meddling in her son’s life was justified.
“There was a woman of regal stature among the prisoners of war brought here from Europe,” Reyhan said as soon as they both sat, facing each other in her parlor. “Everything about her indicated her royal birth, and we later learned that she is indeed the niece of Henry the Pious of Poland who recently died in the Battle of Legnica. Of course, we have kept that information from her and will disclose it in due time, when she is stronger.”
She paused and then continued, “When I first met her, her constitution revealed the hardships she had endured. She possesses a beauty that is rare in these parts with hair the color of gold, and eyes the color of the sky. I asked Hulagu to release the princess from captivity and allow her to stay at my palace.”
“Well, it probably did not take long for my sky-worshiping son to fall in love with those blue eyes,” the shrewd Mongol Queen replied as if she had read Reyhan’s mind.
“O, Khatun,” Reyhan said, addressing her apologetically and using the Mongol epithet for my lady, “I am afraid that has been the case. Her name is Krisztina, but Shura calls her by the Rus name, Dounia. I love that name for it means “the world” in my language. We all call her Princess Dounia now. She is quite young and impressionable. She does share your faith in Christianity, and I am sure she will learn the customs of the Mongols by your grace,” she said, hoping those words would erase the lines of doubt from Sorkhokhtani’s face.
“From what you tell me it appears that Dounia is here against her own will, launched into a totally different culture, and left with no choice but to marry a man she hardly knows. Hulagu, we both know, can be a difficult person to get along with.”
“Well, as a female prisoner of war, Dounia could either marry a Mongol prince or wrestle with the serfs over who should be doing the laundry,” Reyhan remarked with more sarcasm than she intended, and then reminded herself that Sorkhokhtani had nothing to do with the misfortunes that plagued her own marriage to Ogodei. She then added, “Hulagu is tough on the serfs and on prisoners of war, but he has never been disrespectful to any of us,” Reyhan said in Hulagu’s defense.
“Remember the time when I thought I had lost the turquoise talisman that belonged to Hulagu’s great grandmother. He acted like the world had come to an end. Storming out of my chamber, he went riding on his stallion with such fury that I thought he would never return to Karakorum. Moments later, I found the necklace tucked under a cushion. It had fallen when I had dozed off. I think I will give it to Dounia as a gift, to connect with his ancestry.”
Reyhan took that remark as her consent and smiled.
“What do you know about Dounia’s background?” Sorkhokhtani asked in a challenging tone.
“The Polish Princess was betrothed for a short period of time to a cousin of the Grand Duke of Kiev before he was killed, and she was brought here,” Reyhan said matter-of-factly, knowing the futility of hiding anything from the Mongol royals.
“How does she feel about Hulagu?” Sorkhokhtani asked, still looking concerned.
“She has consented to the marriage, although I am not sure about her true feelings. Hulagu professes that he loves her. I told him to respect and honor her. He said Dounia is a Christian just like my mother. I asked him whether he is a Christian. He said he is a mere politician without religious binds.”
Sorkhokhtani laughed at that remark and said, “Well my other politician son, Kublai, seems to have completely lost his mind. He cuts up paper in different sizes, places his stamp upon them, calling them paper money. He even says, and he could be just jesting, that he would put to death anyone who claims t
hat this is not the real thing.
“Oh, and there is this Roman who has come to the court of Kublai,” Sorkhokhtani added as if she suddenly recalled the name, “calls himself Marco Polo. He is neither a warrior nor a merchant and insists that he just likes to journey the world to see things. Can you imagine that!”
With Sorkhokhtani’s blessing, a date was set for Hulagu and Dounia to be married. The wedding took place at Amgalan Palace with rows of flowers greeting the guests. Hulagu and Dounia recited their vows before a Christian priest and a shaman blessed them as well. A teary-eyed Reyhan and an equally teary-eyed Sorkhokhtani were among the witnesses. Too overjoyed to express any other emotion, Reyhan and Sorkhokhtani kept wiping their eyes as they watched Hulagu’s union with Dounia.
A tiara of flowers sat instead of a bejeweled crown on the beautiful bride’s lace covered head. She was wearing the turquoise necklace Sorkhokhtani had given her. Dressed in white silk because she had refused to wear the traditional Mongolian bridal gown, Dounia looked teary-eyed too. She may have been overwhelmed by the beauty of the ceremony or she may have been thinking of Wiktor and how she had lost him. She never spoke of it, not even to Reyhan.
Hulagu kissed Dounia on both cheeks as a sign of his devotion to her. The newlyweds then mounted a flower-strewn carriage in front of an ululating crowd of admirers. Reyhan tossed sugar-covered bits of almonds and rose petals at them in accordance with Persian tradition, and they rode away to their designated bridal ger in the Mongol landscape.
Chapter Nine
The Runaway
Krisztina had readily accepted her new name. She knew Reyhan loved calling her Dounia, yet, in her heart, she could not easily forgo her Christian name and promised herself to use the name Krisztina if she ever got a chance to write letters. She considered Hulagu’s attempts to charm his way into her heart as temporary relief for her troubled mind, for she still saw herself as a captive. She felt trapped by an unfamiliar, alien culture; a culture that did not understand her or her beliefs. She appreciated the fact that Hulagu had rescued her from a far more degrading course, but still could not bring herself to adapt to Mongol ways. She felt homesick and doomed to bondage, married or not.
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