Robert Kennedy Exiting the Karakorum Pass, Mongol Empire April 13th, 1275 AD “At last!” It was his master’s cry of joy that snapped Giuseppe from his reverie. He looked up at the sight before him and smiled, exchanging grins with all those around him in the Polo caravan. It had been a long, hard journey through the pass, with half his time spent looking over his shoulder, certain more would be pursuing them. But none had come. The occasional messenger on horseback, their load light, had sent their hearts racing but other than a wave and a shout of greeting, they had all continued on their way. Emerging from the mountains and to the lush greens and golds of the plains he breathed a sigh of relief. Stretched out in front of him, as far as the eye could see, were infinite escape routes, unlike their journey through the pass where they could only retreat one way. “We’ll set up camp by the river and rest,”
