Silk Road (64 page)

But the Grand Master would protect him from any consequences. They were Templars, and even these Dominicans could do no more than shake their fists at them. He might not be able to leave the Order straight away, as he had planned, though. Not until William was back in Rome.

He wondered if poor Gérard and Yusuf were still held hostage at Aleppo. They, at least, would be pleased to see them safely returned.

‘I can see the prospect of departing Kashgar makes you speechless with joy so I shall leave you to your melons,’ Sartaq said. Then, as an afterthought, he added: ‘Should you find yourself outflanked, call
for aid and I shall send a squadron of my cavalry to help you fight your way out through the figs.’

He laughed and rode back towards the fort.

Miao-yen was laid out like a corpse on her bed, in her robes of red brocade, tiny silk slippers on her feet. The pale light from the window made her skin appear almost translucent.

William sat there for a long time, watching her, not trusting himself to move. Finally, he reached out a shaking hand to touch her forehead. It was impossible. The fever had left her; her skin was cool to the touch.

He thrust a knuckle into his mouth to keep from crying aloud. What have I done?

She stirred and for a moment he feared she would wake. He jumped to his feet and backed away from the bed until he felt his shoulder blades pressed against the stone.

What have I done?

He heard the cries of a Mohammedan priest over the roofs of the town, the infernal song of the ungodly reverberating from the blue and distant mountains until it seemed to fill the room, deafening him.

He had never thought to see miracles in his daily life. Yet here was one, by his own doing. God had laid hands on this heathen princess to refute him and, yes, to punish him.

Why else would God choose to save this woman
now
?

He fell on to his knees and began to pray once more, this time for his own soul, not the girl’s. Then he prayed that Miao-yen’s recovery would be short, and that she would lapse again into the sweats, for only with her passing could he be sure his terrible sin would be buried forever.

N
OW
M
IAO-YEN
was well, her maids surrounded her constantly, fussing like hens. She sat up in the bed, the white powder of her cosmetic disguising her deathly pallor. She had been dressed in a gown of crimson brocade with charcoal sash, and there were ivory and gold pins in her hair.

Josseran and William were ushered into the room. They came to stand at the foot of the bed.

‘I am pleased to see you recovered, my lady,’ Josseran said.

Miao-yen attempted a smile. ‘Thanks to the magic of Our-Father-Who-Art-in-Heaven.’

Josseran turned to William. ‘She credits you with saving her life, Brother William. She offers you her thanks.’

It seemed to Josseran that the friar received this news with something less than rejoicing. Some humility from him, at last. He clutched a small wooden crucifix in his fist, turning it over and over in his fingers. ‘Tell her it was God’s will that she lived.’

Josseran turned back to Miao-yen and relayed to her what William had said. Their conversation continued in low murmured voices.

Josseran said: ‘Good news, friar. She would like you to baptize her into our holy religion.’

William looked as if he had been slapped. ‘I cannot.’

Josseran stared at him. ‘You cannot?’

‘I have instructed her as far as I can. She must pray and give thanks to God for her deliverance, if that is her wish. But I am not satisfied as to the sincerity of her faith, and so I cannot give her holy baptism.’

‘But she wishes you to help her! Here is a soul begging you for the blessings of Christ! She will be your first convert! Is this not what you wished for all the time we were in Cathay?’

‘Tell her not to pester me further,’ William said. ‘I have given you my counsel on this subject.’ He turned and fled the room.

There was a startled silence. Miao-yen and her ladies stared at him, bewildered. ‘Is Our-Father-Who-Art-in-Heaven angry with me?’ Miao-yen asked, finally.

Josseran was too astonished to answer. Finally he stammered: ‘I do not know what is wrong with him, my lady.’

‘Does he not wish me to worship the Pope, as he has instructed me?’

‘I have no idea what he wishes any longer.’ Could his brush with death in the desert have tipped the balance of his mind?

‘Perhaps you will ask him to come back and see me. I do not want him to be angry with me.’

‘I am sure he cannot possibly be angry with you, my lady.’

‘Yet that is how it seems.’

Josseran did not know what to say to her. Brother William had such a gift for grasping ignominy from the jaws of triumph. ‘Once again, I am very glad to see you so recovered,’ he managed.

‘So that I can rush to my husband?’

Through the window he heard the bleating of fat-tailed sheep on their way to the market and to slaughter. It seemed to him the Tatar princess understood their predicament.

‘After our parting in my father’s gardens at Shang-tu, I thought never to see you again,’ she said.

‘I have missed our conversations.’

‘I told you my father would prevail. You see how it is? Already he has isolated his brother. Alghu saw how the tide was turning and my father won him over by promising him the Chaghadai khanate as his own fiefdom and helping him assassinate the regent. What can Ariq Böke offer him? Just constant demands for men and taxes for his army. With Alghu on my father’s side Ariq Böke is trapped between their two armies.’

‘Alghu is indeed fortunate to have you as part of the bargain.’

‘I am merely my father’s excuse to cede so much of his kingdom to another prince. It is politics.’

‘I hope your new husband will treat you well,’ Josseran said.

‘And if he does not, my father will still be Khan of Khans and Emperor of the Chin. So what does it matter?’ She sighed. Perhaps she was wishing now that they had all let her die.

Josseran stared at the Mohammedan church framed in the south-facing window. A Tatar princess raised in the ways of the Chin now sent to live among Mohammedan princes. Could there be a more lonely life? ‘I am sure your new khan will realize he has been sent a gift more precious than gold.’

‘Who knows what he will think of a girl with lily feet?’ She closed her eyes and laid her head back on the pillow. ‘But I am tired. The illness has drained all my strength. You should leave me now. You will speak with Our-Father-Who-Art-in-Heaven, tell him I do not wish him to be angry with me and that I thank him for saving my life?’

‘I will, my lady,’ Josseran said.

He took the narrow stone steps up to the roof of the tower. It looked out over a maze of alleys and flat mud roofs, and the half-dome of a Mohammedan church. A sandstorm was rushing in from the north. Oil lamps flickered in a thousand windows; the afternoon was pitched into a premature twilight.

Josseran let the wind buffet him. What is wrong with you? he thought. You are not a Chin princess with lily feet. She has no choice that she can make, but you could still take another path in your life. She is powerless, you are not.

So will you accept the same fate, a life of regret and resignation, all for the want of a little courage? Josseran Sarrazini, if you cannot learn to live, then you must learn to die. Whatever way things go, at least you will be free.

Fergana Valley

The yurts had been loaded on the
kibitkas
, the tent-carts, and vast flocks of sheep and goats and horses raised clouds of dust across the plain. Qaidu sat astride his horse, watching the preparations. His lips were drawn in a line as thin as a bow beneath his grizzled beard. He stared stolidly ahead, the ermine cap with its earflaps drawn down over his head.

Khutelun rode up to greet him on her white mare. She was dressed in the insignia of a shaman: a white-cowled robe with drum and staff.

‘Have you spoken with the spirits?’ he said to her.

‘I have.’

‘What did you see in the other world?’

Khutelun could not tell him that her seeing had again failed her, so she told him only what she had foreseen in her mind: ‘I saw a war without ending. I saw the empire of Chinggis Khan crumbling away to many kingdoms, as it was before.’

‘Do you see us abandoning the Fergana steppe to Alghu?’

‘I see us running like the wolf pack, returning at night to carry off the young and the weak and give no one at the Roof of the World a moment’s rest.’

Qaidu considered, his face grim. ‘Khubilai has sent one of his daughters to Bukhara, as bride. It will ensure the alliance between him and Alghu and keep us all in their grip, like a bird in a fist. At present this princess is safe behind the walls of the fort at Kashgar but soon she will be on her way across the mountains for her marriage. Alghu has sent a
mingan
of his cavalry as her escort.’ He gazed beyond the mountains, as if he could see their caravan. ‘I would that she did not arrive.’

‘Let me do it,’ Khutelun whispered. ‘Give me five
jegun
of your horsemen and I will stop her.’

‘I thought this is what you would say.’

His own yak-tail standard flicked and whipped in the wind. ‘You will see to it that Alghu receives his new bride without her head. Can you do that?’

‘I can do it,’ she promised him.

Kashgar

W
ILLIAM FOUND
J
OSSERAN
in the stables, sitting on a stone trough, holding his sword and scabbard two-handed, resting his weight upon it. His robe was hunched around his shoulders.

He looked up when he heard the friar’s footsteps in the darkness.

‘I thought to find you here,’ William said.

‘How did you know?’

‘I have spent much of this last year in the dubious pleasure of your company, so I know a little about the way you think, Templar. Were you going to ride out tonight or would you have done me the courtesy of a farewell before your departure?’

‘I have never seen the need for farewells. And you no longer need me, Brother William. These people will not harm you. They will see you safely along the rest of your journey.’