The Silk Tree

by Julian Stockwin

  ‘Then there’s those bloody women around our necks,’ Nicander said bitterly. ‘When things get hard they’ll come crawling to us to save them, no doubt about that. But we’ve sworn to Kuo that we’d stand by them, we’ll never be rid of ’em.’

  ‘You’re in a funny mood, Nico – what’s riding you? Day after tomorrow we’re on our way and we takes what comes at us until we win. Right?’

  The next day the sun was bright, but the mood wouldn’t lift. Nicander took Marius aside, ‘My friend. You know I’m not a religious type, but I’ve a feeling we need all the help we can get.’

  ‘You’re planning to go and ask a church to pray for us? Well now, I don’t think I’ve seen a one for the last thousand miles.’

  ‘Don’t mock, Marius. We can’t be sure there’s anyone up there looking after us, right over in this side of the world. What I’m saying is that if we can’t get to our gods, it might be a good idea to ask the ones here.’

  Kuo was understanding and pointed out an impressive pagoda rising above the roofs. ‘The Buddhist monastery of The Holy Turtles.’

  He turned to his niece. ‘My dear, do you not want to go with these holy men to seek guidance and protection for the journey?’

  Stiffly she apologised that she must decline: as a Confucian she had no sympathy with a foreign religion.

  Relieved to be let off, the two men set out together. A few coins for ‘donations’ had been quietly pressed on them by Kuo.

  ‘But we don’t know the words of the hymns,’ Marius said.

  ‘Or the order of service,’ Nicander agreed as they turned a corner and went up a lane. ‘But that’s no matter. What we want is a lot of monks or whatever praying for us on our behalf. And that’s what they’ll do – for a small fee, that is.’

  ‘I tell you what I want,’ Marius said, seeing a wine shop set out in the sun under a trellised canopy. ‘A sup o’ something to put me in the mood.’

  ‘Why not!’ Nicander agreed.

  Their holy garb provoked strange glances from the customers and a well-built waiter with one eye came across and looked at them suspiciously.

  ‘What do you want here, then?’ he asked.

  ‘A cup of wine, perhaps?’

  ‘You’re monks – you don’t drink!’

  ‘Ah, we’re foreign monks, as you can see. In our religion we are allowed.’ Which was quite true of Byzantium churches.

  ‘Oh, right. What’ll it be, then?’

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Well, we’ve wine for them as likes that, but we do best with our ales.’

  ‘Ales, Marius,’ Nicander translated.

  ‘Ask ’em what they have!’ he said, smacking his lips.

  Nicander relayed on the response – Courtiers Clear Ale, Melody of the Western Market, Old Woman’s Ale and the famous and superior, Toad Tumulus Ale.

  Several hours later Marius was in a very mellow mood. Nicander had to admit to a much improved perspective, even though he had held back.

  They were greeted at the gate of the monastery by a genial monk, his head shaven and hands clasped together.

  ‘Brother monk,’ Nicander said respectfully. ‘I am Ni lao na, and this is Ma lao na.’ He had shamelessly awarded them both the honorific ‘old and venerable monk’. We are shortly to set forth on a difficult and perilous journey and—’

  ‘You are joining a camel caravan, and you wish us to pray to Avalokitesvara, bodhisattva of travellers, for your safe passage.’

  ‘You are very understanding.’

  ‘But of course, it is a very common thing in Chang An. There is however the custom that—’

  ‘We will be generous in our thanks.’

  ‘Then if you will come this way.’

  Much of the prayer room was in shadows but a shaft of sunshine lit a small area furnished with well-worn wooden appointments and a large gong.

  They were ushered to their places and a file of monks entered.

  ‘Kneel, if you please.’

  The soft boom of the gong sounded and chanting began. It rose and fell hypnotically and in a strange way was comforting. The gong boomed again and a single voice intoned prayers in an ancient language.

  Then with more chanting it was over.

  ‘It is my first time in visiting a monastery of your persuasion,’ Nicander said, making conversation as he dropped some coins into the bowl. ‘It’s very impressive.’

  ‘You think so? It is only one of very many in China. The Buddha is much respected and revered in this land.’

  ‘I think, though, that this monastery is one of the most important, is it not?’

  ‘I cannot dispute your words, Ni lao na. But this could be because of our success in our worldly endeavours which the Enlightened One bids us undertake to support our community.’

  ‘Worldly endeavours?’

  ‘In Chang An we have been most fortunate in the quality of our silk that we produce here. It is said to be foremost in the whole of China,’ he said proudly. ‘Are you familiar with silk?’

  Nicander tried to look suitably unworldly. ‘Not really. May I learn?’

  They moved to inner buildings – where the reality of the secret of silk unfolded before their eyes. No silk trees, no seeds. Only an uncountable number of grey worms steadily munching on mulberry leaves, dozens of monks at labour with boiling vats, others at spindle frames and looms.

  Nicander’s guarded look of incredulity at Marius was returned with a shrug.

  ‘And we are so renowned of our quality,’ the monk went on, ‘that we supply our brothers at monasteries as far away as Kuang Chou and Shen Yang.’

  ‘Silk cloth?’ Nicander asked. They couldn’t possibly be shipping out wriggling worms.

  ‘There is no need for that. We send only the eggs.’ He pointed to a large stack of bamboo containers on end. ‘In those. They’ll stay in there for months, even years, then show them light and air and they’ll begin to hatch out.’

  ‘I see. So convenient.’

  But then a thought took root, a ridiculous, wonderful, wicked thought!

  He shot a glance at Marius and saw his eyes widen – was he thinking the same thing? His friend gave a slow wink.

  It would have to be played right.

  ‘Well, Reverend Brother, I do thank you for your time. When we return to our land we will be sure to give prayers for your continuing health and prosperity.’

  He edged further around. ‘Do convey our thanks to your colleagues who prayed for us so sincerely. We will now take our leave.’

  The monk bowed politely – but then called out, ‘Lao na, what is wrong with your brother? Is he taken sick?’

  Nicander turned around in concern. Marius was bent over, holding his stomach with both hands.

  ‘Oh, dear. I fear a return of the river fever. I will help him home. Come, Ma lao na.’

  The monk bowed again, his face unreadable.

  Out of the monastery, Brother Ni and Brother Ma turned into the lane of the apothecaries and hurried until they were out of sight.

  Marius laughed in relief. ‘Be buggered! The monk thought I was pissed!’

  ‘You did get one?’

  He pulled out two bamboo containers.

  ‘It’s stealing,’ Nicander mumbled in a sudden rush of guilt.

  ‘I’ve only snitched a couple, they won’t miss ’em in all that lot,’ Marius said in triumph. ‘And now we’re going back to Constantinople – and with what everyone expects us to return with. The doings to make our own silk, for God’s sake! We put ’em in our holy scriptures box – remember that false bottom? No one’s going to look under our sacred writings, are they now!’

  It was breathtaking. If they made it through they would have the means not only to make themselves insanely wealthy but earn Justinian’s undying gratitude.

  If – they successfully crossed the deserts and mountains, faced demons and barbarians, went in the right direction …

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Kuo wa
s waiting for them, his face creased with worry. ‘Thank the heavens. Quickly – inside!’

  ‘What is it, Kuo hsien sheng?’ Nicander said with a sudden chill.

  ‘Wen Hsuan – he’s hot and angry, determined to find you. I’ve received word from Luoyang. There are imperial agents out, asking about you.’

  Terrified of the Emperor’s wrath, they were apparently sparing no efforts to cover the country and Chang An, one of the biggest cities in the Empire and the gateway to the outer world, would be high on their priorities.

  ‘How far—’

  ‘My man has only just reached here, but they cannot be long behind. I will hide you here of course, however I fear that the first place they will secure is the caravan terminus. We must pray you’re able to leave before they reach us.’

  With nervous apprehension Nicander and Marius prepared for their journey. In the privacy of their quarters the contents of the bamboo tubes were carefully extracted. A mass of undistinguished black earth studded with pale specks, it was easily padded down into the false bottom of the box and the scriptures carefully arranged above, in the main compartment.

  Their clothing and necessities were gathered together and packed into a pair of pannier bags and then they were ready.

  After a sleepless night they waited in a stew of anxiety. Kuo himself would visit the terminus to see if anything was amiss and leave it until the last moment to send for them.

  It was well past midday when word finally came. It was on!

  They left the house separately, the two holy men going on foot the relatively short distance to the Western Market, Ying Mei and Tai Yi in a sedan chair took a different route, their baggage yet another.

  Nicander was keyed up and the noise and confusion of the bazaars and choked lanes tried his patience. When they reached the caravanserai the substantial quadrangular courtyard was packed with jostling humanity and strings of camels. On the air was a heady compound: the stench of droppings, occasional wafts of perfume, the pungency of old leather and a sense of imminent travel.

  There seemed no order to the scene. Kuo found them and took them to where the ladies waited. ‘It’s always like this. Don’t worry, it will sort itself out. The freight camels have already been loaded, there’s only you passengers who are left.’

  Eventually a harried clerk with a well-thumbed list came up with two stable boys. ‘Kuo sheng! You’re last, do you know that? Or nearly last. I have you down for four – two females for mule and carriage, two males for class three horses, one pack camel through to Khotan, changes at Dunhuang. Right?’

  ‘Correct, and here they are.’

  ‘Well, good. The boys will take you to your mounts. Please stand by them, do not leave for any reason, we will not be held liable in the event the caravan goes without you. Understood?’

  The clerk made the necessary entries and they were hurried into the throng.

  ‘Make way! Make way!’ the boys yelled and suddenly they were at the long camel train.

  Brother Paul and Brother Matthew’s place was next in line to a snug enclosed carriage for the ladies.

  Nicander looked at their two horses with dismay. They were small – halfway in size between a horse and a donkey, a different breed to any he knew.

  ‘This is your camel,’ one of the boys said.

  It was a large two-humped beast with a mournful look and huge eyelashes. It swung its big head to regard him then looked away.

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Yes. What do I call him?’

  The lad, surprised, gave a soft smile. ‘This one’s Meng Hsiang, on account he’s always dreaming.’ He fondled the beast’s muzzle. It responded with a subterranean rumble and a grey tongue shot out to touch his hand.

  He expertly brought it down to a kneeling position. ‘We’ll load him up now.’

  It was skilled work; balancing the load, leading the plaited cords to counter movement and yet not interfere with the camel’s gait, and having the underlying harness cinched just so.

  ‘I’m going to be a cameleer when I’m big,’ the boy said shyly as he finished up. ‘My father promised.’

  He tapped at its rear with a stick. Obediently the giant back legs levered the animal up on the kneeling forelegs then it straightened, not seeming to notice the load at all. He went to its muzzle and inserted a wooden nose-peg and led the line from it to the rear of the saddle of one of the horses.

  ‘On the road the cameleers will take care of him for you – but don’t let ’em treat him rough, he’ll never forget. And if ever it comes on to a sandstorm—’

  The booming of a large gong sounded making conversation impossible. The boy shouted, ‘You’re leaving!’ and scurried away in a general movement to one side of all who did not belong to the caravan.

  The noise became deafening with boisterous farewells, restless snarls of nervous camels and orders being shouted up and down the long snaking line.

  And there was the Ice Queen, exchanging last words with her uncle. Nicander watched cynically as she finished, putting her hands together in a courtly bow. She straightened, turned quickly and went to her carriage without once looking back. She got in, followed by Tai Yi, and in one swift movement drew the curtains on the outside world.

  Heartless bitch!

  The little carriage was small and stuffy, worse when the veils were drawn.

  Tears squeezed out until Ying Mei’s face, expressionless and rigid, dissolved into a rictus of grief and heartbreak. She surrendered to her emotion, weeping helplessly.

  Tai Yi reached for her, held her close, whispering the same endearments she had so long ago when she had comforted a small child on the loss of her friend to banishment.

  But then Ying Mei fought back – she was her father’s daughter and would never, ever, shame him. How could she? Such a wise, wonderful, perfect man … who she would not see ever again. It brought on terrible sobs welling up from her deepest being, a flood of pain and desolation that threatened her sanity.

  The never-ending din outside beat in on her – but at the same time it gave her a focus. They might well have to face the world before they left and to be caught like this …

  She brutally clamped a hold on herself, forced her body into a dignified position and managed a wan smile at Tai Yi.

  Her father desired it, therefore there was no recourse to argument or self-pity. She was going to the far lands and that was an end to it.

  After all, as she’d told her uncle, there were Chinese princesses who had gone this way before on their way to permanent exile, to be married for political reasons to some barbarian king. They must have gone through this agony but had nevertheless nobly complied for the sake of their country. At least she was not being dispatched to marry a horse-stinking nomad or mountain dwarf.

  It made her feel better – but then again they knew where they were going, what their fate was – she didn’t. Would this far country be a terrifying place of witches and goblins, barbarous civilisations who despised the delicacy of Chinese thought and manners? Would the men …

  She crushed the thoughts.

  Whatever lay in the future she would face it as the daughter of a Kuo. And, she clutched close to her heart, she was a lady, high-born and with an impeccable education and would never let her standards slip whatever the situation. If she was confronted by barbarians then they would see her quality and respect her nobility …

  Certainly she would maintain her distance from the holy men, uncouth and rough-tongued as they were, more or less barbarians themselves. Her father had shrewdly set limits on their familiarity: ‘wise direction’ she would only accept as a last resort and that properly, through her Gold Lily Lady-in-Waiting. They held the chest and means to pay their way through as well as the authority to draw upon her uncle’s account, quite sufficient to keep the holy men humble and supplicants for the length of the journey.

  The passage would be long; she and Tai Yi would be in their company all that time
and it would be essential to maintain a countenance.

  From outside came a sudden massed tinkling of small cymbals and the acrid drift of incense sticks. The drone of chanting began from the Buddhists claiming protection for their journey. This was followed by the hearty thumping of drums and loud gongs calculated to keep the Taoist demons at bay.

  They would be leaving very soon.

  Deep within her, Ying Mei’s heart began to cry out in its desolation.

  The order came down the line. ‘Mount up!’

  Nicander swung up on to his horse. The saddle was not a supple leather one but a felted wooden frame, with a high crudely carved lion for its horn. What was so strange were the two foot supports dangling each side. He noticed others had put their feet in the iron loops and he did the same. It felt odd but remarkably steadying.

  The crowds were thickening but kept at bay. Much of Chang An had come to see one of their famed caravans set out on their legendary journeys and he was one of the intrepid travellers! His excitement grew.

  Marius, trying to control his horse which was gyrating and snorting at the noise, managed a quick grin.

  Ahead there was definite movement, heads turning, gesturing. From over to the right people fell back quickly – and the head of a column of soldiers swung into view.

  Nicander’s first instinct was terror – then it was replaced by anger that they had been so easily trapped.

  Run? Hide? By now the caravanserai would be well and truly surrounded.

  Dully he watched the soldiers tramp around to head off the line of camels, an officer on a horse accompanying them.

  They reached the front of the line, then the tall gates of the western wall of the city opened up and the soldiers marched through.

  ‘It’s our bloody escort!’ Marius gasped in relief.

  With a surge of shouting and cries and a tinkle and jingling of harness the front of the caravan set off through the gates.

  The ripple of movement reached back to them, and in a haze of unbelief he felt the horse jolt into motion to follow the next ahead. A slight twitch at his saddle showed that their camel was beginning its plod behind them. The whole caravan was under way.