Another one said, “He is full of evil!”
The whole camp of Mongol men rushed toward Patrick. They formed a circle around him.
Beth hurried to reach Patrick. She tried to squeeze between two warriors. But they blocked her.
Beth heard Patrick say to the men, “I had to jump over the fire. What’s the big deal?”
The men tightened their circle. Their hands were raised in fists. Beth was afraid.
Then a deep voice from behind Beth spoke. It said in a loud voice, “Mighty warriors! Let us talk!”
Beth turned around to see who had spoken.
It was a tall young man. His brown hair hung to his shoulders. He had a short beard. He wore the Mongol warrior tunic, but he also wore a floppy, blue velvet hat.
The men slowly stepped away from Patrick. They turned to face the tall man.
Beth rushed to Patrick. He was curled up like a ball. His arms were crossed over his head to protect it.
“I don’t like this place very much,” he said as Beth helped him up. Patrick was covered with sand, but otherwise he was unharmed.
The man in the velvet hat waved for them to come behind him.
“Jumping over a cooking fire is against the Mongol law,” he said gently to them.
“But … but I was falling,” Patrick said. “I almost got burned. It was an accident.”
“The boy is clearly a stranger and has made a mistake,” the man said to the warriors.
The Mongol who had grabbed Beth stepped out of the crowd. He came forward and bowed to the new man. He bowed so low that his forehead touched the ground.
Then he stood up and said, “The boy and the girl are evil.”
“Why do you call them evil, Koke?” the man asked.
Koke said, “They suddenly appeared in the desert. They left no tracks. They had no animals to ride.”
The man in the blue hat looked at Patrick and Beth. “You appeared without making tracks? Did you fall from the sky?”
Suddenly Koke pointed at Beth. He said, “And this girl tried to steal a horse.”
Beth gasped.
“I only patted him on the head!” she said. “Is that against the law too?”
Koke sneered at her.
The Mongol scowled. “There is the matter of the fire.”
The man drew Beth and Patrick close. He said, “These children aren’t Mongols. You can’t expect them to know or understand your laws.”
The young man ruffled Patrick’s blond hair. He gave the cousins a comforting smile.
“We demand that they be punished,” Koke said. “In the name of Kublai Khan, we must have justice.”
The young man gave a half bow. His blue hat flopped when he leaned over.
“Ah,” he said, “you call on the name of Kublai Khan. And … so do I.”
The young man reached inside a leather bag hanging from his belt. He pulled out a flat object. It was about a foot long and three inches wide. The edges were rounded. It had strange writing on it. It gleamed in the sun. It looked like pure gold.
Beth gasped and looked at Patrick.
“Wow,” Patrick said. “That’s the golden tablet!”
Marco Polo
The group of Mongol warriors saw the golden tablet.
“Ooh,” they said.
Then the tall man said, “Kublai Khan gave my family this tablet. With it, he has given me his authority. I order you to leave the children unharmed.”
The tall man leaned his head toward the children. His blue hat now flopped sideways.
“Go into the ger,” he whispered.
“The what?” Patrick asked.
He motioned toward the tent-house. “There,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
The cousins obeyed quickly. They didn’t want to stay outside with the angry warriors.
When they entered the tent, Patrick and Beth couldn’t see very well. There was only a dim light from a small fire in the center of the tent.
The ger’s walls were made from wool felt. They were decorated with colorful wool rugs. Wood beams held up the roof.
Just as the tall man had said, he followed them inside.
Beth and Patrick saw him tuck the golden tablet into his tunic. Then he put his hands on his hips. He looked straight at the cousins.
“What are you doing in the middle of the Mongolian desert?” he asked.
The cousins looked at each other. Neither knew how to answer.
The man eyed them. “Where did you come from? How did you get here?”
Beth heard Patrick swallow hard. She knew what he was thinking. Would this man believe them if they told him the truth?
Beth decided to try. “We are here because of an English knight,” she said. “He sent us to meet Kublai Khan.”
“A knight from England?” the man asked. He frowned. “Is he planning a crusade against the Mongols?”
“What’s a crusade?” Patrick asked.
The young man gave Patrick a curious look.
“You haven’t heard of the Crusades?” the man asked. He touched two fingers to his forehead lightly.
Beth sighed.
“A crusade is a religious war,” she said to Patrick. “Knights did—do—a lot of fighting in the Holy Land. Our friend, the knight, sent us on an errand—not a crusade.”
The man said, “And what is your errand?”
“We need to find a golden tablet,” said Patrick. “Like the one you have.”
“Aah, that is a difficult errand. Only someone in the khan’s family may give you a golden tablet.” He took the tablet out and tapped it. “This one was given to my father and uncle when they came here eight years ago.”
Beth studied the man more carefully. “Where are you from?” she asked.
The man took off his blue hat. He gave Beth a slight bow. “I come from Italy,” he said.
“Italy is far away,” Patrick said.
The man nodded and said, “I traveled three years to get here.”
“Three years!” Patrick said. “Why did it take so long?”
The man looked at him with a small smile. “I don’t know how to make boats, camels, or horses go any faster,” he said.
“It’s not like they have airplanes,” Beth said softly to Patrick.
Patrick flushed with embarrassment.
“Kublai Khan’s men met me in the desert,” he said. “They will bring me to the Great Khan. I have gifts for him.”
“We have a gift for Kublai Khan too,” Beth said.
“Then come with me,” the man said. He smiled. “It would be wise for us to stick together.”
“My name is Beth,” she said. “This is my cousin Patrick.”
The man gave Beth and Patrick a little bow. He clicked his boot heels and said, “I am Marco Polo.”
The First Gift
“Marco Polo!” Patrick cried out.
He was excited. Here was the foreigner Mr. Whittaker said they would meet.
Patrick said, “I’ve heard your name at the pool—”
Beth gently bumped Patrick’s ribs with her elbow.
“He means at school,” she said quickly. “You’re a famous traveler.”
Marco looked confused. He scratched his forehead.
“Perhaps you mean my father, Niccolò,” Marco said. “Or my uncle Amaffeo. They have traveled far more than I.”
Just then two men stepped inside the ger.
“Ah,” Marco said, “here they are now. Children, meet my father and my uncle.”
The cousins politely greeted the men. They were older. They wore the same kind of hats as Marco.
“So, you’re the mysterious desert visitors,” Amaffeo said. “The Mongol warriors warned us about you.”
“We heard you were evil,” Niccolò said.
He smiled in a friendly way. Beth could tell he wasn’t worried about them at all.
“We want to meet Kublai Khan,” Patrick said to him. “We didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
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p; Amaffeo said, “Good! We’re almost ready to leave. We must pack the gifts for Kublai Khan.”
“Gifts!” Patrick said. “I almost forgot.”
Patrick remembered to check the wool bag. He could give the first gift to Marco.
Patrick looked inside the bag. It held several gifts. The one on top was a rectangle. It was wrapped in red paper. The tag on it said, “To Marco Polo.”
Patrick handed the package to Marco.
“This is for you,” Patrick said. “A gift from the kingdom of Odyssey.”
Beth and Patrick smiled at each other.
Marco carefully took off the wrapping paper.
“It’s a book,” Marco said. He held up the book for all to see. Then he flipped through the pages.
“The pages are blank!” Marco said.
“It’s a diary,” Beth said.
“Do we have a quill and ink?” asked Marco.
Amaffeo said, “We do. And such a quill!” He walked to one wall of the ger. He sorted through some boxes that were neatly stacked.
“Ta-da!” Amaffeo said. “I made this quill myself. I found the feather in the desert.”
Amaffeo held up a black-and-white feather. It was about four feet long. The feather’s shaft was as thick as a pinkie finger. The tip was black from ink.
“Wow,” Beth said. “A pen made from a feather. The bird that lost it must have been huge!”
“A giant!” said Niccolò. “I have seen the great eagles. They nest high in the cliffs. The Mongol men call them rocs. They are big enough to carry a sheep over a mountain.”
Beth gasped.
“Oh, that is nothing,” Amaffeo said. “I have seen a roc pick up an elephant!”
Patrick laughed. “An elephant?” he said. “That’s impossible!”
“Believe it, boy,” Marco said. He looked Patrick straight in the eyes. “This is a strange and wonderful land. Mongol warriors say they have seen a roc destroy a warship.”
Beth was sure the men were joking.
But still, she thought, this long feather came from something large.
Beth wondered how the quill worked.
“Marco,” she said, “why don’t you write your name in the book?”
“A good idea,” Marco said. “I’ll write a title as well. Uncle Amaffeo? The inkwell, please.”
Uncle Amaffeo rummaged around their crates. He brought out a small box. Inside was a bottle with black ink. He took off the bottle’s cap.
Marco took out a knife and sharpened the tip of the giant quill to a point. He dipped the point in the bottle of ink. With the long feather resting on his shoulder, he wrote his name on the page. Then he wrote these words: The Travels of Marco Polo.
Beth watched with awe. Marco’s writing was curly and beautiful.
Marco blew on the ink to help it dry. Then he closed the book.
“Now,” Marco said. “We must get on with our travels.”
Beth, Patrick, and the three Italians stepped outside the ger.
Mongol men were taking down the camp. The fire pit had been covered with sand. The cooking pot was gone. Six oxen had been hooked up to a large wood cart. A handful of men approached the ger. They began to take it apart.
“What are they doing with the house?” Patrick asked.
Amaffeo said, “The Mongol men will place it on the oxen to carry it to the palace.”
“It’s like a heavy tent,” Patrick said.
“Won’t we get to stay in the khan’s palace?” Beth asked. She was looking forward to seeing it.
“That’s up to the khan,” Marco said. “He may not like us.”
“Maybe he’ll like our gifts,” Beth said.
“I hope so,” Marco said.
A Mongol warrior brought four horses forward.
The three Italian men attached bags to the horses’ saddles. Then each got on his horse.
Patrick boosted Beth onto their horse. Then Beth pulled Patrick up into the saddle. Their horse’s bridle was tied to the saddle of Marco’s horse. All the cousins had to do was hang on.
“We go east,” Amaffeo said. He pointed off in the distance. “The palace is that way.”
All at once the horses started to gallop.
“Yee-haw!” Patrick shouted. “Kublai Khan, here we come!”
The Palace
The Italian travelers and the cousins rode to Shangdu city. Patrick winced at every bump and thump. His whole body hurt from the horse ride.
The summer sun was setting in the palace courtyard. In minutes darkness would come.
“Look at the moon,” Patrick said to Beth, pointing. They both thought about Albert and wondered if he were safe.
The palace looked like the Chinese houses they had seen in movies. Everything was red or gold. The roofs sloped downward and then lifted at the corners.
Patrick could not see any gardens. But he could smell them. Sweet flower perfume and the scent of rich dirt filled the air.
The cousins got off their horse.
A young Chinese servant suddenly appeared in the courtyard. Patrick was startled because he hadn’t heard any footsteps.
The servant wore a knee-length silk tunic with pants. He bowed. He then untied the horse’s bridle and led the horse away.
“How did they know we were here?” Patrick asked.
“The khan knows everything that happens in his land,” Marco said. “He has spies.”
The three Italians were busy unpacking their horses. More Chinese servants came and helped them.
A Mongol servant spoke to the Polos.
“Kublai Khan waits,” the servant said. “He longs for news from Niccolò and Amaffeo Polo.”
The servant’s skin was very light. He wore his hair like the Mongol warriors. But he had a tall hat that looked like a box. His shoes were cloth, not leather. And his tunic was made of thin silk.
“But we stink of horses,” Niccolò said. “We can’t meet the khan now. We need a bath first.”
The palace servant shook his head.
“Love has cut off its nose,” the servant said simply.
“Huh?” Patrick asked.
Marco laughed and said, “He means that Kublai Khan won’t care about the smell.”
“Kublai Khan’s heart is heavy,” the servant said. “He has waited eight years. He feared you were dead.”
Amaffeo made up his mind. “Let’s go to Kublai Khan’s court,” he said. “I also long to greet my old friend.”
The servant led them inside the palace.
Patrick and Beth were amazed. Beth’s mouth hung open.
“Do you see?” she said to Patrick.
“I see!” Patrick said.
The floors were covered with gold bricks. The walls were made of wood beams and more gold bricks.
Beth tugged on Niccolò’s sleeve.
She pointed at the bricks.
“Is … is that real gold?” she asked.
“Why, of course,” Niccolò said. “The khan wants—and gets—the very best.”
Patrick looked at the high ceiling. He was surprised at all the empty space. From the outside, the palace looked tall enough for three stories. However, the entire building was only one level.
The cousins and the men came to a huge carved door. It was tall and wide enough for two elephants. The doors to the throne room swung open.
Niccolò, Amaffeo, and Marco all slowed down. They stood side by side. Beth and Patrick came alongside them.
Beth’s eyes were wide with wonder. The room was richly decorated. Colorful rugs, vases, paintings, and tapestries filled the room. The furniture was carved with detailed patterns. Some of it was painted gold.
In the center of the room was a large white throne. An old man sat on the throne. He wore white clothes. White animal skins draped from his chair. Around the khan stood men, women, and even a few children. All of them wore fine silk clothes and tall hats.
One of the children was a young girl. She looked at Beth with a curious smile. Beth smi
led back.
A servant blew a small trumpet four times.
Another servant shouted, “Behold, the Great Khan!”
The Polos stepped forward. Patrick and Beth followed. They slowly approached the throne.
Kublai Kahn
“What are we supposed to do?” Beth whispered.
They had never met a Mongol khan before.
“Do whatever Marco does,” Patrick said.
So they did what the Italians did.
When the three men dropped to their knees, so did Patrick and Beth.
When the three men bowed their foreheads to the floor, so did Patrick and Beth.
They did that four times to show respect.
And then the old man in white spoke.
“Stand!” Kublai Khan said.
Beth and Patrick scrambled to their feet. The three Italians rose more slowly.
“My eyes see only five people,” Kublai Khan said. His voice was rough, as if he had swallowed sand.
“Amaffeo, Niccolò,” Kublai Khan said, “eight years ago I asked for one hundred Christian teachers. You brought only one young man and two small children. Where are the teachers?”
Niccolò coughed to clear his throat. Drops of sweat popped out on his forehead. Beth thought Niccolò looked worried.
“Your Excellency,” Niccolò said, “we bring you some holy oil from Jerusalem.”
Niccolò held out a pretty gold jar. A servant came to carry the oil to Kublai Khan.
The khan studied the jar. He opened it and sniffed the oil inside. Then he poured a few drops on his fingers.
Kublai Khan frowned.
“Does this oil have any special power?” Kublai Khan asked. “Will it make me young again? Will it turn sand into gold?”
Niccolò shook his head. “No, Your Excellency,” he said.
“Is this all you bring to me?” Kublai Khan asked. “Worthless oil?”
Amaffeo answered this time. “We also bring a letter from Gregory the Tenth, the leader of our church,” he said. He pulled a parchment out of his tunic.
Amaffeo read the letter out loud. It said nice things about Kublai Khan. It told about the Crusades going on in Jerusalem. Gregory the Tenth was sorry he could not send Christian teachers to China. He said he needed his teachers in Europe.
Peril in the Palace Page 2
