The Journeyer

“Well,” I said, “I remember one or two who took calculated advantage of their good looks, and thereby married above their station.”

“You call that being stalwart? Here it would be called concubinage.”

“It is only that offhand I ca

“In Rome or Greece,” said Kubilai, “were there any such instances? Your Western histories, do they record any instances?”

“I honestly ca

Chingkim spoke again. “Do you believe it could happen, Marco? That all men could and would make themselves equal and free and rich, if only they were given the liberty to do so?”

“Why not, my Prince? Some of our foremost philosophers have believed it.”

“A man will believe anything that does not cost him anything,” said Kubilai’s voice. “That is another proverb of the Han. Marco, I know what happens when people are set free—and I did not get that knowledge from reading history. I know because I have done that for people myself.”

Some moments passed. Then Chingkim said in an amused tone, “Marco is shocked to silence. But it is true, Marco. I saw my Royal Father employ that tactic one time to conquer a province in the land of To-Bhot. The province resisted our frontal attacks, so the Khakhan simply made a

“I hope, my Prince, it made them happy.”

Kubilai gave a laugh that resounded around the wall like the noise of an iron cauldron being pounded with a mallet. He said:

“What happens, Marco Polo, is this. Tell a poor man that he has free permission to rob the rich he has envied for so long. Does he sally forth and ransack the gilded mansion of some lord? No, he seizes the pig owned by his peasant neighbor. Tell a slave that he is set free at last and made the equal of all other men. Perhaps his first display of equality is to murder his former master, but the second thing he does: he acquires a slave. Tell a troop of soldiers, unwillingly impressed into military service, that they may freely desert and go home. Do they, as they go, assassinate the lofty generals who drafted them? No, they butcher the man who was promoted from among them to be their troop sergeant. Tell all the downtrodden that they have free permission to rise up against their most brutal oppressor. Do they march in grand array against their tyrant Wang or Ilkhan? No, they go in a mob and tear to pieces the village moneylender.”

There was another silence. I could think of no comment to make. Finally Chingkim spoke again:

“The ruse worked there in To-Bhot, Marco. It threw the whole province into chaos, and we took it quite easily, and my brother Ukuruji is now Wang of To-Bhot. Of course, nothing is changed for the Bho people, as regards class and privilege and prosperity and liberty. Life goes on there as before.”

I still could think of no comment to make, for the Khakhan and the Prince were obviously not talking just of some ignorant rustics in the backward land of To-Bhot. The opinion they had of the common folk was of all common folk everywhere, and it was no high opinion, but I had no argument with which to controvert it. So we three moved from our places around the Echo Pavilion and went back inside the palace and drank mao-tai together and talked of other things. And I did not again suggest any moderations of the Mongol code of laws, and to this day the decrees proclaimed throughout the Khanate conclude as they did then: “The Khakhan has spoken; tremble, all men, and obey!”

Kubilai never made any comment on the order in which I was calling upon his various ministers, though he might have supposed that I should rightly have commenced with his highest of all: that Chief Minister Achmad-az-Fenaket of whom I have by now so often spoken. But I would have been glad to omit the Arab entirely, especially after I heard so many unpleasant things about him. In fact, I never did seek audience with him, and it was Achmad who impelled our meeting at last. He sent a servant to me with a testy message, requiring me to appear before him and collect my wages from his own hand, in his capacity as Finance Minister. I gathered that he had got a

Before I obeyed Achmad’s summons, I went to ask my father if the Compagnia Polo’s enterprises were still being thwarted, and, if so, whether he would like me to broach the subject with the obstructive Arab. Failing to find my father in his suite, I went to my uncle’s. He was reclining on a couch, being shaved by one of his women servants.

“What is this, Uncle Mafìo?” I exclaimed. “Getting rid of your journeyer’s beard! Why?”

Through the lather he said, “We shall be dealing mainly with Han merchants, and the Han despise hairiness as a mark of the barbarian. Since all the Arabs of the Ortaq are bearded, I thought Nico and I might enjoy some advantage if one of us was clean-shaven. Also, to be frank, it troubled my vanity that my older brother’s beard is still its natural color, while mine has gone as gray as Nostril’s.”

My uncle, I assumed, was also still keeping his crotch hairless, so I remarked, somewhat waspishly, “Many of the Han shave their heads as well. Are you going to do that, too?”

“And many of them let their hair grow as long as a woman’s,” he said equably. “I may do that. Did you come in here just to criticize my toilet?”

“No, but I think you have answered what I was going to ask. When you say you will be dealing with merchants, I gather it means that you and Father have resolved your differences with the evil Arab Achmad.”

“Yes, and quite pleasantly. He has conceded all the necessary permits. Do not speak of the Chief Minister in such a tone, Marco. He turns out to be—not so bad, after all.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” I said, though not much believing it. “I have to go and see him right now.”

Uncle Mafìo sat up from his recumbent position. “Did he bid you stop to see me—for any reason?”

“No, no. I merely must collect from him some money that I do not know what to do with.”

“Ah,” said my uncle, lying back again. “Give it to Nico to invest in the Compagnia. You could not make any better investment.”

I said, after some hesitation, “I must remark, uncle, that you seem in a much better humor now than when we last spoke in private.”

“E cussì? I am back in business again.”

“I was not referring to—well, material things.”

“Ah, my famous condition,” he said wryly. “You would prefer to see me drooped and draped in melancholy.”

“I would not, uncle. I am delighted if you have in some measure made peace with yourself.”

“That is kind of you, nephew,” he said in a more gentle voice. “And in truth I have. I discovered that a man who ca

“Whatever that means, I am glad for you.”

“You may not believe this,” he said, almost shyly. “But, in a mood to experiment, I found I could even give pleasure to this one who is shaving me. Yes—do not look so startled—to a female. And in return she taught me some feminine arts of giving pleasure.” He seemed suddenly embarrassed by his own air of embarrassment, and gave a loud laugh to blow it away. “I may have a whole new career ahead of me. Thank you for inquiring, Marco, but spare me my blushes. If Achmad is expecting you, you had best run along.”