The Silk Tree (25 page)

Marius sat up, irritated. His head hurt and he resented Nicander’s dig at him about the silver. He wasn’t sure how much was left of their little hoard but it wouldn’t be much, the woman drank like a fish.

The hard fact was that they had no money of their own. They were dependent on a noble lady for their means.

For most of his life he’d been a free soul. The legion couldn’t care less about what the soldiers did out of the ranks and he had learnt many a trick of survival when they had gone unpaid, as so often they did. But this was no hard-arse army camp with only sorry-looking followers on offer, instead he had the run of a town with all the temptations a free spirit could crave – if he could find the necessary. And who knew what other oasis fleshpots there would be on the trail?

It came to him as he strolled outside to squint at the day.

The escort was quartered out of town, away from the gentle folk. He found them at the usual tasks: digging latrines, fletching arrows, mustering stores, checking harnesses.

‘Hey there, soldiers!’ he called. The Chinese he’d picked up was no match for Nicander’s gifted delivery but these were a bunch of rough-neck Central Asians with no need for niceties.

They looked up, curious.

‘Just came to check out what an army camp looks like these days,’ he chuckled. ‘I was a sandal-man m’self just a few years back.’

What was probably a tessararius equivalent came up, wiping a blade he’d been honing. ‘Where you been a soldier?’ he growled.

‘Ma Lai Ssu. Out on garrison at the western frontier.’

‘Aldar the Gokturk. Not Khotan way?’

‘No. I said real western garrison – up on the mountains.’

‘So you seen our camp. And?’

‘Just interested in your weapons. We didn’t go much on bows out there, more your blade. Bit more reliable, like, out in the rocks.’

‘We’re archers.’

‘I saw. Show us your bow – it looks a bit strange.’

One was fetched. Marius recognised it instantly as a Scythian design – not one piece but made of wood and horn bonded together with fish glue in a sinuous double curve. At the ends, the nock was carved out of bone and in the centre the bow was well reinforced with animal sinew.

He took it, careful to handle it awkwardly. ‘Bit small,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Can I have a go?’

‘String it for him,’ Aldar ordered.

‘Show us a shot or two yourself first,’ Marius said diffidently.

The edge of the dunes was the obvious target and a small melon was placed some way up. A quiver of arrows was brought which Aldar threw to one of his men.

He took position fifty feet off and drew smartly. Sighting quickly, the man let fly, but it kicked up sand inches to the left.

‘Well done!’ Marius exclaimed as sincerely as he could.

The man grunted in exasperation and took his time with the next shot. It skewered the melon.

‘Should get it first shot,’ Aldar spat. ‘Bastard enemy not wait for second.’

He retrieved the weapon and handed it to Marius. ‘You go!’

Stepping back in alarm, he gingerly accepted it. It was light and handy, an
ideal cavalry weapon but testing the string with his finger he found the draw was formidable.

He’d noticed the arrow was shot from the right-hand side while Roman practice was always the left. He raised the bow, canting it over to emphasise the apparent awkwardness and drew slowly. It was stiff going but he could feel the power in the higher note of the sinew and horsehair string.

The dune was dotted with small clumps of sage. He sighted on one as his mark as he had no intention of hitting the target. He held his breath and loosed – the flight was fast and flat in trajectory, piercing the tuft off-centre. A nice weapon and it seemed he’d kept his eye in over the years.

‘Not good. Another!’ Aldar said.

‘I was near, though, wasn’t I!’ Marius retorted. He’d need a few more to get right back to where he’d been.

He selected another tussock and heard those behind comment on his crazy left-hand shooting, which suited him nicely. This time he scored the centre of the tuft, at least four feet away from the melon.

‘I think you stay with holy song, do better than this to enemy.’

‘One more!’

He let it spray sand only a foot away. ‘Hey! Did you see that – not bad at all!’

‘You frighten him only.’

‘I’m getting better at it,’ Marius said stubbornly.

‘No good. Have to stop. We got work to do now.’

‘Wait!’ He fumbled and brought out some coins. ‘Look, I wager my next one gets closer. Who’ll match my bet?’

He had them. He could see it in their eyes.

The next shot, to general laughter, was off two feet. Ruefully, he paid up.

‘No, I want a chance to get it back. Here, I’ve still got more coin.’

The bet was gleefully accepted but, before he could let fly, there was a sudden stir behind.

‘What’s all this, then?’ came the ill-tempered voice of Colonel Ya.

‘Oh – this Ma
sheng
. We teach him shoot.’

‘You? Couldn’t hit a sick camel at ten paces! Give me that.’ He seized the bow and strung an arrow.

‘Watch me!’ He made much of settling his stance and sighting up then down several times.

Marius could hardly believe his luck. The man was bringing the arrow down from above on to the target, a showy but useless move that ruined the sight picture until the last moment. The shot was fair however, near centre but a little above the target.

‘See? That’s how a professional does it.’

‘Isn’t this a bit close?’ Marius wondered. ‘I wouldn’t want an enemy nearer than a hundred feet, I’d think.’

‘If you insist then, Ma,’ he grumbled and paced out double the distance. He loosed off, making fair practice, the arrow whistling to thunk in a foot or two to the left. ‘Not bad,’ Ya grunted.

‘I could do better!’ Marius blurted.

‘A holy man handy with a bow? I’ve never heard of it!’

‘I can! I will!’ he said in a hot temper. ‘Look – I’ll put all this down on that I’ll get closer than you!’

‘You’re not serious, man.’

‘I am! And I’ll take anything you lot can put up as well. I can get more from My Lady!’

There was a pause then a babble of excitement.

Ya cut across it. ‘Very well – to teach you a lesson the expensive way.’

He pointed down range. ‘Let’s see what you can do, Ma.’

Marius waited until all bets had been laid, then neatly planted his arrow three inches closer to the target.

An incredulous gasp went up. ‘You lucky – cannot do it again!’

‘I can. But it will cost you,’ he said, taking his winnings.

Ya’s face suffused with red. He took up the bow. This time he scored a foot or so above.

Marius’s arrow was six inches nearer.

‘Steady, sir. Can’t let a holy man best you.’

‘Out of my way, oaf,’ snarled Ya and took his time. Enough for Marius to muster bets from newcomers eager to have a piece of the action.

Ya was now shaking with anger and the hit was a good three feet to the right.

Time to collect.

These were honest soldiers but run-of-the-mill, nothing to set before the legionary who had of all in the cohort been chosen to stand with the best to bring down mighty cataphract Persian knights.

In one quick motion Marius brought up the bow for the last shot. It transfixed the remains of the melon.

He gathered up his winnings and left with a cheery wave.

Marius was stretched out savouring his little victory when Nicander arrived back.

He opened his eyes. ‘Where’ve you been, Nico? You’ve missed the excitement.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The Tibetans. It’s worse than Su thought. They’ve cut the route and we’re stranded. What a pity, when I’ve been to so much trouble seeing to our capital!’

He slapped down his haul, a goodly selection of every coin traded on the caravan routes of the desert.

‘Where—’

‘Never mind that for now.’ Marius swung down his legs. ‘There’s a get-together tonight. All caravan members who have an interest, what we’ll do next. Su isn’t going to make a move without he gets backing, which means some sort o’ vote.’

‘To head out and take on the Tibetans with a bigger escort or wait, you mean?’

‘No idea. He’s going to lay out the options. My feeling is we can’t wait around – if the Emperor is that set on seeing our heads on a pole he’ll have agents out to the borders.’

‘You’ve got to be right, we daren’t stay here.’

The meeting was held in the Golden Peach but there was nothing light-hearted about the patrons on this occasion.

‘What is it that they’re such a risk to us, these Tibetans?’ Korkut asked Su.

‘They took Miran. We can’t go around, we don’t know what’s on the other side and besides we can’t shift enough supplies for that distance to do it.’

‘So it’s all off for Khotan.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Why don’t we double our escort?’ called one of the older merchants. ‘Should be enough to sort out a lot of rogue Tibetans. Or help bluff our way through.’

‘There’s none available hereabouts. Southbound caravan took ’em all.’

‘We wait?’ suggested one of the Buddhist monks.

‘Not possible,’ snapped Korkut. ‘I have to deliver to Khotan and can’t delay indefinitely.’

‘And I’ve got a contract to supply and can’t sit on capital doing nothing.’

‘But if we can’t get through, everyone’s going to have to think again!’ growled another.

‘Su
sheng
?’ Nicander asked.

‘I can’t have a view, I’m not paying, it’s not my risk.’

‘Nevertheless, you have a duty to your caravan and its people,’ Ying Mei’s cool voice interjected. ‘To assist them with their decision it’s of value to have your estimate of our position. Do please let us hear it.’

Su flushed. ‘My Lady, you have to understand—’

‘Your opinion in this is as much to us, as the worth of your judgement is to our course through the desert. How can it be different?’

‘Well said, Lady!’ a merchant called.

Su frowned darkly. ‘How we go on has to be your own decision! That’s the way of it in a caravan.’

He sniffed importantly. ‘Yet I’ll give you my feelings about it. That’s all!

‘Well, you’ve got only a few choices. The first is, you don’t go on, therefore the caravan terminates here. All advance fees and monies returnable at this
point. The second, you go on – but retrace and go for the northern route right around the Taklamakan desert – get to Khotan the long way.’

Mutterings arose which he stopped with a glare. ‘If you do this, there’s a few things to think on. It’ll be high summer across the other side and there’s some who’ll see it a torment too far, Turfan in summer.’

He let it sink in.

‘And, it’ll cost you. Not only is it longer that way but there’s transit fees to pay for more oasis kingdoms, although it’s likely they’ll be modest, they wanting to attract more caravan trade.

‘Then there’s those here who’ll tell you, the northern route is not pleasant. In fact it’s bloody hard. No horses, certainly no carriages,’ he said with a glance at Ying Mei.

‘No horses means no cavalry. The Hsien Pei Mongols have been quiet so far this year but we’ll be passing their territory and we could get unlucky. Those of a nervous nature should think about it.’

‘But I’m understanding from all this you recommend we should do it,’ Korkut said.

‘I’m not saying you should do anything. And as well, there’s another decision you have to make.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Don’t go around the edges to get to Turfan and the other oases – strike out across the desert directly, the Loulan route.’

‘Is it easier?’

‘It’s worse – but it’s quicker.’

‘How worse?’

Su rubbed his chin speculatively. ‘Well, now, and I’m not the one to put you off … but Loulan is suffering. Their lake Lop Nor is playing tricks on ’em, retreating away and letting the dunes swallow ’em up piece by piece. I’ve not been that way for years, can’t say for sure they’re even still there, so if we go that way we could find ourselves gasping for water – at a ghost city in the dunes.’

Korkut stood up and looked about him. ‘So. You’ve made things clear for
us, thank you. As I see it, there’s only two alternatives. Give up right here or go the long way around the Taklamakan. No other. Am I right?’

‘Can’t argue with that.’

‘Then I suggest we put it to the vote. Those who want to call it all off now.’

The monks voted for it to a man, as did one or two others, but when hands were counted for the longer route there was no doubt about the sentiment of the majority.

‘Seems you have your answer, Su
sheng
.’

The caravan left the pleasures of Dunhuang and headed out. To cross where two deserts collided.

To the right: the hideous extremes of the Black Gobi stony desert; left: the vast sea of dunes so parched and lifeless that its name meant ‘he who goes in never returns’, the Taklamakan.

The sounds of squeaking leather, the muffled tread of camel feet and the desultory dinging of bells that every animal now carried seemed overly loud in the awesome stillness.

Several of the merchants rode a tarpan, the stocky steppe pony with much endurance, but they had paid Su dearly for the privilege, some were on camels but most walked at the easy pace of the caravan.

Ying Mei was in a camel howdah, a light structure between the humps with hanging veils for privacy. Tai Yi kept pace with the animal on foot, while behind, Nicander and Marius walked alongside Meng Hsiang.

It was hot, but a heat so dry that perspiration evaporated immediately. More bearable than humid heat but hard going over the sun-blasted ground. Nicander was grateful for his ox-hide calf boots that insulated and cushioned.

He felt for his water gourd. It was barely half-full still short of midday, with the hottest part of the day to come. Those unable to control their thirst
would be given no extra. The next fill would not be until the evening at the water skins.

Next to him the splotched brown bulk of Meng Hsiang moved on in long deliberate paces, the splayed toes sure and firm in the sand. The beast could go for a week or more without water, and the shaggy coat that looked so hot in fact kept the burning heat of the sun at bay.

On impulse he reached out to pat his muzzle. The camel swung his head about, looking at him in mild interest.

Something resolved out of the rumpled dunes ahead. Trees! With the miracle of green on them! Some quirk in the lie of the desert had brought water to the surface – a modest spring that gouted from under a rock ledge to meander lazily on gravel for a hundred yards or more before dissipating into the sand.

The camels were released and lined the watercourse. They drank swiftly, some with deft flicks throwing water over their backs and snorting with pleasure.

At the source drinking gourds were refilled and like the others, Nicander drank thirstily, revelling in the life-giving coolness. It had a faintly sulphurous tang but at that moment it was the best water he had tasted in his life.

Suddenly aware that he was being watched he looked up and saw Dao Pa standing apart from the others.

The man was leaning on his staff, wearing a peculiar wide hat with two flaps that hung down over his ears.

‘Master Dao!’ Nicander exclaimed, ‘I didn’t know you were with us!’

‘Quite so. Yet surely this is to be expected.’

‘Because you …?’

‘That I need to reach Khotan and this is the only course open to me, yes. But more to your understanding is to perceive that of all the substantiality and conditions of this world only a very small proportion are permitted a frail mortal to know. There is an unknowable infinity of others he will never be aware of, yet most surely exist independent of his rational observation.’

‘Without evidence of their existence.’

‘You are progressing well on your path to the Tao, Ni K’an Ta.’

‘Thank you, Master. If we—’

‘Mount up!’ Su’s voice broke through impatiently.

Nicander reluctantly found his place in the line and waited while the caravan got under way.

He vowed to seek out Dao Pa that night; they would talk more and the frightful wasteland would retreat, if only for an hour or two.

When the sun lost its ferocity and began its slow dip towards extinction, Su called a halt by a long weathered ridge.

‘As far as we go on this easy stretch. We’ll leave the harder for tomorrow.’

There was speculation at his words at the evening camp.

‘He means the heat. Have you noticed? As we went north from Chang An it’s got hotter and hotter. Stands to reason it’ll be worse the further we go.’

‘And colder – at night, I mean. I don’t think it’s that. More like the water’s going to give out.’

‘Or the Hsien Pei will be waiting and we’ll have to fight our way through.’

‘If they’re out, I don’t give much for our chances – we’ve an escort as will see off any bandits but the Mongols are a different matter. Why, four years back – or was it five, they took a caravan and we didn’t find the bodies until last year.’

The chat stopped when Su himself arrived, looking tired and distracted. ‘Things on the trail are going to get worse – a whole lot worse,’ he muttered to no one in particular.

With a sweep of his hand he cut short the anxious babble. ‘You’ll find out soon enough. Now let’s have some eats.’

The mutton stew was cheering against the chill of the night and with the appearance of the
hung tsao chiu
things were definitely on the rise. Made from dried and powdered buckthorn date, the hot drink was mixed with a liquor. Su swore by its effectiveness against both cold and heat and declared that it would be on issue every night while in the desert.

Nicander was puzzled. The fierce-eyed seer was nowhere to be seen.

He asked Su, ‘Could you tell me where I’d find Dao Pa at all?’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘Some kind of monk, I think. Comes from the south somewhere, if you saw him you’d never forget the man.’

‘Look, I know who’s in this caravan and there’s no Dao Pa!’

‘Beard, biggish fellow – and blue eyes.’

‘A foreigner! I know all you buggers, and there’s no one like that. Now I’m bloody tired. Why don’t you leave me be, hey?’

Nicander shrugged. He’d search out Dao Pa later.

There seemed to be an unspoken acknowledgement that any entertainment in this appalling loneliness would have to come from among themselves. One of the cameleers came forward shyly, and sat cross-legged. He pulled out a flute and softly accompanied by another on a small drum performed a dreamy piece.

They played a second tune, spirited and gay.

Zarina got to her feet. ‘Let cares take flight!’ she laughed, and began dancing.

Shouts of encouragement came from all sides and she drew up one of the young serving girls and the two whirled and gyrated in a dance of Central Asia, ribbons swirling, dresses flaring, faces alight.

They sat to thunderous applause.

A woman who tended to the cooking was next. From one of the many tribes from the outer lands, her features were bluff, oriental and sun-darkened. She wore a padded tunic and her boots were as colourful as the long scarf that she coyly flicked as she stepped into the firelight.

Another drummer joined in. The rhythm set toes tapping as she strutted about in a high-fingered twirl, moving faster and faster until she collapsed in an exhausted heap.

Nicander was enchanted. It was so unreal: far out in the desert, untouchably remote and so dependent on each other and their animals, a bubble of humanity progressing through a hostile universe.

A gruff merchant stood up and came forward. He said some
incomprehensible introductory words and then, unaccompanied, sang in a deep voice that rang with emotion.

There was a pause; people looked about expectantly. A voice called from the other side of the fire. It was Ying Mei asking if anyone possessed a pipa, or any kind of lute. Someone brought an old but clearly cherished yu ch’in, a circular instrument with four strings.

She accepted it gracefully and experimentally plucked delicate notes.

She nodded. ‘“Water Lilies in the Shade of Purple Bamboo”.’

The music flowed like water in a brook, tinkling and rushing, her clear, high voice complementing it. Around the fire there was rapturous attention and when the piece concluded with a last melting and affecting note held to nothing, there was stunned silence and then wild applause.

Korkut stirred in admiration. ‘I’d have thought that kind of playing you’d only ever hear at the imperial court.’

Her next piece was more robust. ‘Night of the Torch Festival.’

First one drummer then another picked up on the processional rhythm and the flute came in with an ingenious cross-melody.

After another two tunes she sat down, pleading fatigue.

The fire crackled and spat, its red glare illuminating the near desert with moving shadows and ghost-like shapes.

Marius leapt up. ‘Damn it, I’m in!’

‘Fighting song o’ the Pannonians!’ he roared in Latin. Marching up and down he belted out a legionary favourite, his audience bemused but appreciative.

When it was over he flopped heavily next to Nicander. ‘Be buggered, but that felt good!’ he muttered, taking a long pull at his
hung tsao.
‘Memories …’

Then he turned and shoved Nicander to his feet. ‘Sing something, Greek!’

There was a patter of polite applause but Nicander’s mind went blank.

It had to be something from the motherland. Perhaps from the rich traditions of Pythagoras’s music of the spheres, one of the songs which he had learnt so painfully at school.

The difficulty was that there was no
kithara
to play and also the Grecian
modes were so at variance with the oriental. In their classicism they could seem remote and unfeeling. He refused to compromise with Byzantine catch-songs of the street so there was nothing for it but to try to conjure something of value and moment.

He stepped forward. A vision of a scowling music dominie with a willow switch waiting for his first bad note threatened to unnerve him but he manfully launched into one of the Hymns of Apollo.

A Greek song was a series of long notes, full of feeling and intended to be accompanied by a plucked instrument which would drop notes rich with meaning into the spaces between.

There was a respectful quiet as he did his best, striving for pure and golden notes but aware that without the plangent twanging of the
kithara
the strange Greek intervals would sound baffling to his audience.

Then a soft tone sounded – and another. In the right places and while not in strict Phrygian mode, they were a very good approximation. He looked round. Ying Mei with her borrowed
juan
had come around to his side.

She stood beside him, watching intently.

They finished the song together to a wondering applause.

He bowed, touched at her gesture. ‘Thank you, My Lady.’

She smiled – but without a word returned to Tai Yi.