gaze in their direction.
This was Khanbalik, residence of the Khan, located in Dadu, the great capital, the fabled city within a city, a place of celestial beauty built by heavenly dispensation, as revealed by the Oracle of I Ching. There had never been – nor could there ever be – something as magical in this world or in the next. It was here, to the ruler of the Yuan Dynasty, that kings and nobles from every part of the empire – Hungary, Acre, Mesopotamia, Laos and Tibet – came to pay obeisance. In the harem were women of unsurpassed beauty, their skin so translucent that wine would glisten through as it passed down their throats; women who did not venture outdoors without parasols, lest moonbeams mar their delicate complexions. On summer evenings, maidens would frolic on the terraces, playfully tossing at each other handfuls of crushed ice that had been painstakingly chipped from the high peaks and brought down carefully to the plains over many days of journey on horseback and on foot.
During the Festival of the Wind God, great kites would be launched into the sky, with men seated in them playing musical instruments to appease the gods and invite favourable winds to grace the land. When honoured guests were entertained, the game of chess would be played from the high walls overlooking the board that had been created on a small island in the pool. The chess pieces were living human beings who had to pay with their lives when the moment came for one or the other to be removed from the board. If he was in a good mood on these occasions, the Great Khan himself would dispense wine from a jade urn with a capacity of three thousand litres. In the evening, the guards burnt sandalwood logs brought back by the imperial fleet from the Malabar, positioning the pile windward from the top of the high walls so that the fragrance, wafted by the breeze, filled the palace with a perfumed haze.
At night, the imperial guard would be reinforced by a small army of great cats – lions, leopards, Siberian tigers and panthers – which prowled the grounds freely, filling the night with their muffled coughs and full-throated roars. Guests were advised against taking the morning air before these ferocious beasts had been accounted for and returned to their cages.
This was also the treasure trove of the Great Khan, where revenue collected from various corners of the empire was delivered, the yearly deposits amounting to more than the worth of many kingdoms. Gold, ivory and precious stones lay heaped on the polished marble floors. On a wall in one of the palace halls hung a huge plate of gold and ivory, engraved with a map of the known world that began at the Middle Kingdom and spread in all directions. The map also featured the mystical and heavenly lands lying within the domain of the Great Khan, who was mandated by heaven itself. It was rumoured that in earlier years, as the Great Khan passed the map, he would gaze at it and murmur idle wishes, resulting in his men saddling up and armies being sent forth in all directions known to the gods. Crossing the high mountains, riding over hot deserts and cold ones and navigating the blue oceans, they would bring yet another distant land under the heavenly yoke.
Temur and his escort, who evidently knew his way around, reached the main doorway to the palace, the servants bowing as they passed through. Numerous passages opened out into the main hallway, the entrance to each veiled with fine silk curtains. Finally, they came to a huge wooden door. Carved on it in copper was the sacred dragon serpent, its yawning jaws jutting out, its fangs drawn. The Uighur put his lips close to the snake’s head and murmured something which Temur failed to catch.
The door opened from the inside and the chief bodyguard, gesturing for Temur to enter, whispered, ‘My lord awaits you, most esteemed Governor.’
Temur nodded in acknowledgement and entered an enormous room bathed in the cheerful glow of a large fire
This was Khanbalik, residence of the Khan, located in Dadu, the great capital, the fabled city within a city, a place of celestial beauty built by heavenly dispensation, as revealed by the Oracle of I Ching. There had never been – nor could there ever be – something as magical in this world or in the next. It was here, to the ruler of the Yuan Dynasty, that kings and nobles from every part of the empire – Hungary, Acre, Mesopotamia, Laos and Tibet – came to pay obeisance. In the harem were women of unsurpassed beauty, their skin so translucent that wine would glisten through as it passed down their throats; women who did not venture outdoors without parasols, lest moonbeams mar their delicate complexions. On summer evenings, maidens would frolic on the terraces, playfully tossing at each other handfuls of crushed ice that had been painstakingly chipped from the high peaks and brought down carefully to the plains over many days of journey on horseback and on foot.
During the Festival of the Wind God, great kites would be launched into the sky, with men seated in them playing musical instruments to appease the gods and invite favourable winds to grace the land. When honoured guests were entertained, the game of chess would be played from the high walls overlooking the board that had been created on a small island in the pool. The chess pieces were living human beings who had to pay with their lives when the moment came for one or the other to be removed from the board. If he was in a good mood on these occasions, the Great Khan himself would dispense wine from a jade urn with a capacity of three thousand litres. In the evening, the guards burnt sandalwood logs brought back by the imperial fleet from the Malabar, positioning the pile windward from the top of the high walls so that the fragrance, wafted by the breeze, filled the palace with a perfumed haze.
At night, the imperial guard would be reinforced by a small army of great cats – lions, leopards, Siberian tigers and panthers – which prowled the grounds freely, filling the night with their muffled coughs and full-throated roars. Guests were advised against taking the morning air before these ferocious beasts had been accounted for and returned to their cages.
This was also the treasure trove of the Great Khan, where revenue collected from various corners of the empire was delivered, the yearly deposits amounting to more than the worth of many kingdoms. Gold, ivory and precious stones lay heaped on the polished marble floors. On a wall in one of the palace halls hung a huge plate of gold and ivory, engraved with a map of the known world that began at the Middle Kingdom and spread in all directions. The map also featured the mystical and heavenly lands lying within the domain of the Great Khan, who was mandated by heaven itself. It was rumoured that in earlier years, as the Great Khan passed the map, he would gaze at it and murmur idle wishes, resulting in his men saddling up and armies being sent forth in all directions known to the gods. Crossing the high mountains, riding over hot deserts and cold ones and navigating the blue oceans, they would bring yet another distant land under the heavenly yoke.
Temur and his escort, who evidently knew his way around, reached the main doorway to the palace, the servants bowing as they passed through. Numerous passages opened out into the main hallway, the entrance to each veiled with fine silk curtains. Finally, they came to a huge wooden door. Carved on it in copper was the sacred dragon serpent, its yawning jaws jutting out, its fangs drawn. The Uighur put his lips close to the snake’s head and murmured something which Temur failed to catch.
The door opened from the inside and the chief bodyguard, gesturing for Temur to enter, whispered, ‘My lord awaits you, most esteemed Governor.’
Temur nodded in acknowledgement and entered an enormous room bathed in the cheerful glow of a large fire
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