Silk Road (48 page)

W
ILLIAM WAITED
on his knees on the flagstones, repeating the words of the paternoster. When he saw Josseran he leaped to his feet.

‘What did he say?’ he asked, his voice hoarse with strain and excitement.

‘He says he has made his considerations and would like us to know that of all the religions he has heard . . . he likes ours the best.’

William could scarcely believe his ears. He dropped back to his knees, shouting his praises to God. All the trials and misfortunes had been worth the price. He had done as God had asked him to do and brought the king of the Tatars into the fold.

Josseran did not join him in his thanksgiving. He left him there, still on his knees, and made his way back to his apartments. He sensed that their celebration was premature. Even after so many months spent travelling the roads of Middle Asia and Cathay, the conversion of the Son of Heaven, Ruler of Rulers, Khan of Khans of all the Tatars, now seemed to him . . .

. . . too simple.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
they again presented themselves at Miao-yen’s apartment. William was hollow-eyed from exhaustion. He had been too overwrought to sleep and had spent that entire night repeating prayers of thanks and supplication. Josseran had not slept either. He felt torn in two. They had seemingly achieved a triumph beyond imagining, yet the arguments he had heard during the debate had cast a shadow over his soul.

Such blasphemies could never be spoken aloud in Christendom; such open debate was impossible. The opinions and philosophies he had heard had shaken his faith more deeply than ever. Could a man really know the mind of God? In the face of so many other theories and opinions how could any man be sure that he had stumbled upon an absolute truth?

Miao-yen awaited them, seated on a silk mat. She bowed her head as they entered. They returned her greeting and sat down, cross-legged. One of her maids brought bowls of plum tea and set them on a black lacquered table between them.

‘Tell her today I shall teach her the way we make confession,’ William said.

Josseran relayed this, watching the young girl’s face, wondering what went on behind her black eyes.

‘I am honoured to learn this confession,’ Miao-yen told him. ‘But first I should congratulate you. I have heard of your triumphant hour in the Emperor’s pavilion.’

‘Your father seemed well pleased with us,’ Josseran said.

A curious smile. ‘He was well pleased with everyone.’

‘But he assured me that he liked our religion best of all.’

Miao-yen still smiled. ‘He said this to you?’

‘Indeed.’

She turned and gazed dreamily out of the screened windows at the lake. Josseran heard the rasp of a willow broom in the court outside. ‘You do not understand my father,’ she said finally.

‘What is it we do not understand?’

‘What does she say?’ William wanted to know. ‘Must you always frustrate me like this, Templar?’

‘I am not sure of her meaning.’

‘Do not try and instruct her yourself,’ William warned. ‘I will not have her infected with your heresies.’

‘Very well, I will tell you what she says,’ he answered. ‘She casts doubt on our victory before the Emperor yesterday.’

‘But you heard the verdict from his own lips!’

‘She implies that what the Emperor says is not what he means. It would not be the first time a king has dissembled for his own ends.’

Miao-yen turned from the window. ‘All think they are victors in the debate. Did you not know?’

Josseran took a breath.

‘You did not really believe he would so isolate himself from his allies in the court? The debate was merely a device to set you all against each other. My father is all things to all men; I told you this. It is the core of his strength.’

‘But he said he found most reason in our religion.’

‘When he is with the Tanguts he follows the ways of Buddha; to the Mohammedans he is the upholder of the Faith. To Mar Salah, he was the protector of your Jesus. He does and says what it is politic to do and say.’

‘Tell me what she says!’ William almost shouted.

Miao-yen kept her eyes lowered while Josseran translated what she had just told him. William’s face turned ashen and the euphoria that had been with him all morning evaporated entirely. ‘She makes mischief,’ he said. ‘I do not believe her.’

‘That Khubilai toys with us for reasons of politics makes more sense to me than his sudden conversion.’

‘I do not believe it!’ William said but Josseran could see that the awful truth had already taken hold.

‘You may be right. It is only her opinion.’

‘But you believe her?’

Josseran did not answer.

William jumped to his feet. His hands were shaking. ‘I am the emissary of the Pope himself!’ he shouted. ‘He cannot toy with me in this fashion!’

And he marched away.

After he had gone Josseran turned back to Miao-yen. ‘I fear there will be no instruction today,’ he said.

‘A thousand apologies. But it is better that you understand the game my father plays, even if you do not know all the rules.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ he said, and wondered if the Emperor knew she was telling them this, or if Miao-yen had taken it on herself to tell them the truth.

And so, he thought, our great triumph of yesterday was purely imaginary. Treating with these Tatars was like trying to capture smoke in your fist.

He looked into the doe eyes of the princess and wondered what else he would learn from this strange creature. Does she wish to be our ally or does she merely wish to torment us with our own foolishness?

The pleasure barge floated on a lake of velveteen beauty, as glossy black as coal, and dappled with light from the lanterns of the pagodas along the lake’s edge. The night was cool and scented with jasmine. From the cabin of her barge Miao-yen could see the entire city; the lacquered tiles of the palaces and temples glittered under a three-quarter moon.

She lay on her back on the silken carpets, naked except for a pair of small silk slippers on her feet. Her body was the colour of alabaster, aromatic from the perfumed oils from her bath.

A servant woman knelt at her head. With her right thumb she applied pressure at the Place of a Hundred Meetings, easing the tension in her body. Then, using both her thumbs, she concentrated her attentions on the Hall of the Imprint between the eyebrows, before dragging around to the highest yang at the soft temple, where she felt the gentle throbbing of her pulse.

Her expert thumbs went next to the Wind Pond, at the lower margin of the occipital bone, then she pinched the skin at the nape
of the neck, kneading down towards both
jian jing
acupoints in the thick muscles of the shoulder well.

The ceiling of the cabin was painted in watercolours with flowers and mountain landscapes, a nether dreamworld of cloud and willow. Miao-yen felt herself drifting among them.

Employing the tips of her thumbs, the masseuse worked along her smooth arms, concentrating the pressure at the Inner Pass, above the soft crease of the wrist, and the Spirit Gate beneath the ulna, pressing hard into the Joining of the Valleys; press-release, press-release, so that the princess groaned aloud, feeling the pressure build between her eyes and then suddenly and wondrously disappear.

She moved to the legs, avoiding the triple yin crossing, for a good masseuse will not excite the sexual longings of a maiden.

Miao-yen rolled languorously on to her stomach. She worked her fingers into the Jumping Circle with the knuckle of the bent middle finger, pressing hard into the silk depression below the right and left buttocks, heard the girl gasp and bite the flesh of her arm with sudden pain.

She finished with a number of two-palm presses along the gently curving spine, using the muscular pads on the heel of her hand. Miao-yen’s eyes were closed now, her body relaxed, her lips parted.

The masseuse stood up, her work finished. She examined the girl’s body with the critical gaze of an older woman. She envied her taut muscles and fragrant skin. She would be the perfect jewel for some Chin prince, she thought.

And best of all, she had the wonderful secrets of the slipper.

William lay in the darkness of the third hour, listening to the mocking sounds of the city; the cry of the Mohammedan summoning the heathen to their church and the booming of the gongs of the idolaters as they set out through the darkened streets. He was surrounded by unbelievers, a lamb among the dogs of hell. He felt the burden of his charge, this great pact God had made with him, to bring his holy word here to the end of the world.

His eyes ached for sleep but his muscles and his nerves were as taut as bowstrings.

He closed his eyes, remembering the sweet powders and fragrant teas of his new student, heard again the lapping of the waters of the lake around her pavilion, the strange music of the Cathay lutes. The rustle of silk was as ominous and piercing as thunder.

He got out of his bed and knelt on the floor, tried to concentrate his heart with prayer. His hands began to shake.

He tore the robe from his shoulders until it hung about his waist and searched in the darkness for the switch. He found it in its hiding place, beneath the bed. He began to flail at his back with great enthusiasm, for at stake was the greatest triumph of his faith, if he had but the strength.

Or would he, in his way, cause his Lord to suffer again?

T
HE HUNTING PRESERVE
was to the west and north of the city, abutting the city walls, a vast paradise garden of meadowlands, woods and streams, stocked with wild hart, buck and roe deer. There were also herds of white mares, their milk the sole property of the Emperor. The park was enclosed by an earthen wall that snaked sixteen miles around the plain and was surrounded by a deep moat. The only entrance was through the palace itself.

Josseran had seen the park from Miao-yen’s pavilion and had thought never to go there. But one day, much to his surprise, he was invited to ride to hunt with the great Khubilai himself.