Treasure of Khan (3 page)

“Rocks ahead!” the old ship's carpenter cried, eyeing the protrusions off the bow.

“Every man to the left side of the ship,” Temur bellowed as they bore down on a dark wall of rock. The half-dozen men on the starboard railing ran, scampered, and crawled to the port side and frantically slapped the water with their makeshift oars. Their last-second surge nosed the bow away from the rocks, and the men held their breath as the port hull scraped against a line of submerged boulders. The grinding ceased, and the men realized that the ship's timbers had held together once more.

“There is no place to put ashore here,” the carpenter shouted. “We must turn and go back to sea.”

Temur peered at the sheer rock cliff rising above the shore. Porous black and gray rock stretched in a high jagged wall in front of them, broken only by the small black oval of a cave, cut off their port bow at the waterline.

“Bring the bow around. Row again, men, at a steady pace.”

Clawing at the water, the drained men propelled the boat away from the rocks and back into the offshore current. Drifting along the landmass, they saw that the towering shoreline eventually softened. Finally, the carpenter spat out the words the crew waited to hear.

“We can land her there,” he said, pointing to a large crescent-shaped cove cut into the shoreline.

Temur nodded, and the men guided the vessel toward shore, a final gust of energy flowing from their limbs. Paddling into the cove, the exhausted men drove the ship toward a sandy beach, until its barnacle-encrusted hull ground to a halt a few feet from shore.

The weary men were nearly too spent to climb off the ship. Grabbing his sword, Temur painfully staggered ashore with five men to search for food and fresh water. Following the sound of rushing water, they cut through a thicket of tall ferns and found a freshwater lagoon, fed by a waterfall that rushed down a rocky ledge. In jubilance, Temur and his men plunged into the lagoon and happily gulped down mouthfuls of the cool water.

Their enjoyment was short-lived when a sudden pounding broke the air. It was the boom of the signal drum aboard the Korean ship, thumping out a cry to battle. Temur sprung to his feet in a single motion and called immediately to his men.

“Back to the ship. At once.”

He didn't wait for his men to assemble but vaulted ahead in the direction of the ship. Whatever pain and weakness his legs had felt before vanished under the replenishment of fresh water and the surge of adrenaline rushing through his body. Bounding through the jungle, he could hear the drumbeat's decibels rise in his ears as he moved closer until he finally burst past a cluster of palm trees and onto the sandy beach.

The veteran soldier's eyes quickly scanned the surrounding waters and immediately spotted the source of the alarm. Midway across the cove, a narrow canoe sailed toward the grounded ship. Seated inside, a half dozen shirtless men rhythmically muscled spade-shaped wooden paddles through the water, driving the canoe swiftly toward shore. Temur noted the men's skin was colored a deep bronze, and most had curly black hair kept shorter than his own. Several of the men wore necklaces with a hook-shaped bone dangling across their chests.

“Your orders, sir?” asked a frail soldier who had been banging the drum, finally ceasing the alarm.

Temur hesitated before answering, knowing that a harem of old maids could defeat his emaciated crew in their present state.

“Arm with spears,” he ordered calmly. “Defensive line behind me on the beach.”

The surviving remnants of his command staggered off the boat and out of the jungle, lining up behind Temur with the few remaining spears still aboard. The ragged force had little strength left, but Temur knew they would die fighting for him if necessary. He felt for the grip of the Japanese samurai sword he now wore at his belt and wondered if he would die with its blade in his hand.

The canoe made its way directly toward the men on the beach, its rowers silent as they propelled the boat to shore. When the bow scraped the sand at the water's edge, the occupants jumped out and quickly dragged the canoe onto the beach, then stood solemnly alongside the craft. For several seconds, the two parties eyed each other suspiciously. Finally, one of the men from the canoe crossed the sand and stood before Temur. He was short, barely five foot tall, and older than the rest, with long white hair wrapped with a bark strip into a ponytail. He wore a string of shark's teeth around his neck and gripped a wooden staff made from twisted driftwood. His brown eyes sparkled with luster, and he smiled broadly at the Mongol, displaying a crooked row of bright white teeth. In a melodic language, he spoke rapidly, offering what seemed to be a nonthreatening greeting. Temur simply nodded slightly, keeping a sharp eye on the other men by the canoe. The old man jabbered for several minutes, then abruptly returned to the canoe and reached inside.

Temur tightened his grip on the Japanese sword and gave his men a knowing look of caution. But he relaxed when the old man stood and held up a fat thirty-pound yellowfin tuna. The other natives reached into the canoe and retrieved other fish and shellfish carried in reed baskets, which they placed at the feet of Temur's men. The famished soldiers anxiously waited for approval from the Mongol leader, then voraciously attacked the food, smiling thanks to the native hosts. The old man strode up to Temur and offered him a drink of water from a pigskin bag.

Having gained mutual trust, the natives pointed into the jungle and motioned for the shipwrecked men to follow. Hesitantly leaving their ship, Temur and his men followed the natives through the jungle, hiking for a mile or two before entering a small clearing. Several dozen small thatch-covered huts surrounded a fenced corral where small children were playing with a herd of pigs. On the opposite side of the clearing, an even larger hut with a high roof served as the home of the village chief, who Temur was surprised to learn was none other than the old white-haired man.

The residents of the village gawked at the strangers as a feast was hastily prepared and the Asian warriors were welcomed into the community with great honor. The ship, clothes, and weapons of the strangers were evidence of great knowledge, and the men were prized surreptitiously as new allies against potential enemy combatants. The Chinese and Korean warriors were simply glad to be alive and welcomed the generous offers of food, housing, and female companionship that the friendly villagers extended. Only Temur accepted the hospitality with reservation. As he chewed on a slab of grilled abalone with the village chief, his men around him enjoying themselves for the first time in weeks, he silently wondered if he would ever see Mongolia again.

 

O
VER THE
next few weeks, the men of the Mongol invasion force took up residence in the village, gradually assimilating into the community. Initially, Temur refused to settle in the camp, sleeping in the rotting ship each night. Only when the storm-ravaged hull timbers finally gave way and the battered remains of the ship slid to the bottom of the cove did he reluctantly move to the village.

Thoughts of his wife and four children played in his mind, but, with the ship ruined, Temur began to give up hope of returning home. His crew had gladly accepted their new lives on the tropical outpost, viewing their station as far preferable to the bleak life in China as soldiers of the Mongol emperor. It was an attitude Temur could never accept. The scrappy Mongol commander was a loyal servant to the khan and knew it was his duty to return to service at the first opportunity. But with his ship in pieces at the bottom of the cove, there was no viable means of returning home. With a bitter reluctance, Temur gradually resigned himself to a castaway's life on the large island.

 

T
HE YEARS
trickled by and gradually softened the resolve of the old warrior. Over time, Temur and his men had learned the lyrical native tongue of the island community, and the Mongol commander enjoyed swapping adventure tales with the white-haired chief. Mahu, as he was called, bantered on about how his ancestors had sailed an epic voyage across the great sea just a few generations before in mammoth sailing ships. The island had called to them, he said, with a rumble and a billow of smoke from the mountaintop, a sign of welcome from the gods to come and prosper. The gods had smiled on them ever since, providing a land of temperate weather and abundant food and water.

Temur chuckled at the description, wondering how the primitive natives who barely traversed to neighboring islands in small canoes could find their way to crossing the ocean itself.

“I would like to see one of these majestic sailing ships,” he chided the old man.

“I will take you to one,” Mahu replied indignantly. “You will see for yourself.”

The amused Temur saw that the old chief was serious and took him up on the offer. After a two-day trek across the island, he was beginning to regret his curiosity when the weathered jungle path they followed suddenly opened onto a small sandy beach. Temur stopped when his feet touched the sand, and the old man silently pointed toward the far end of the beach.

Temur didn't recognize it at first. Gazing across the beach, he saw only a pair of large tree trunks lying perpendicular to the shore. The rest of the beach appeared barren. As his eyes fell back to the fallen trees, he suddenly realized that they were more than just dead wood; they were the support frames for a massive raft that lay half buried in the sand.

The Mongol warrior ran toward the object, not believing his eyes. With each step, he became more mesmerized. Though obviously sitting on the beach for years, perhaps even decades, the ancient sailing craft was still intact. Temur could see it was a double-hulled design, with a single flat deck supported by the two large logs. The vessel stretched over sixty feet but carried only a large single mast, which had rotted away. Though the plank deck had disintegrated, Temur could see that the massive support timbers looked as sturdy as when they were felled. There was no doubt in Temur's mind that the boat had been an oceangoing vessel. Mahu's fanciful tale was true after all. Temur excitedly gazed at the remains of the vessel, eyeing a means to escape the island.

“You shall return me to my home and emperor,” he muttered wistfully to the wooden mass.

With a native work crew under the direction of the Korean ship's carpenter put to the task, Temur set about refitting the old sailing vessel. Deck planking was cut and fit from nearby hardwood trees. Coconut husk fibers were braided into sennit cord and tied to the hull timbers and supports. A large reed sail was woven and fitted to the replacement mast, cut from a young tree near the beach. In just a few short weeks, the nearly forgotten ocean voyager was reclaimed from the sands and made ready to ply the waves again.

To sail the craft, Temur could have ordered his old crew aboard, but he knew that most were afraid to risk their lives again in a daring sea voyage. Many of the men now had wives and children on the island. When he asked for volunteers, just three men stepped forward, along with old Mahu. Temur could ask for no more. It would be barely enough to sail the old craft, but the Mongol commander accepted without question the decision of those who elected to stay.

Provisions were stocked, and then the men waited until Mahu declared that the time was right.

“The goddess Hina will offer us safe passage to the west now,” he finally told Temur a week later, when the winds shifted direction. “Let us be away.”

“I shall report to the emperor of his new colony in this distant land,” he shouted to the men assembled on the beach as the twin canoe hull broke through the surf and an offshore breeze launched them briskly out to sea. Loaded with plenty of water, dried fish, and fruit from the local landscape, the ship set sail with enough stores for the crew to survive for weeks at sea.

As the lush verdant island disappeared in the waves behind them, the men aboard the catamaran felt a moment of insecurity and foolishness. Their deadly struggles on the sea more than a decade earlier came flooding back and they all wondered whether the forces of nature would allow them to survive again.

Yet Temur was confident. His trust lay in the old man, Mahu. Though the native chief had little sailing experience, he had read the stars with ease and tracked the sun's movements by day while studying the clouds and sea swells. It was Mahu who knew that the winds to the south of the island turned west in the fall months, which would fill their sails with a steady breeze in the direction home. It was Mahu who also knew how to catch tuna with a line and bone hook using flying fish for bait, which would supplement their diet during the long voyage.

After landfall disappeared from sight, the sailing came surprisingly easy for the inexperienced crew. Fair skies and calm seas greeted the men each day for a fortnight as they sailed with the wind. Only an occasional squall tested the boat's sturdiness, and it also gave the crew a chance to collect fresh rainwater. All the while, Mahu calmly issued the sailing orders while constantly tracking the sun and stars. Studying the clouds on the horizon several days later, he noticed an unusual clustering to the southwest.

“Land to the south, two days' sailing,” he proclaimed.

Relief and excitement flowed through the crew at the prospect of reaching land again. But where were they, and what lands were they approaching?

The next morning, a dot appeared on the horizon, which grew larger with each passing hour. It was not land, however, but another sailing vessel crossing their path. As the ship drew near, Temur could see it sported a low stern and captured the wind with triangular white sails. She was not a Chinese vessel, he knew, but looked to be an Arab merchant ship. The trader drew alongside the island catamaran and dropped its sails as a thin dark-skinned man in a brightly colored robe shouted a greeting from the rail. Temur studied the man for a moment, then, reading no threat, climbed aboard the small sailing ship.