The Silk Tree

by Julian Stockwin

  Tai Yi stood up. ‘We must go. Right now – into the country, find a farm or something and stay there while we think what to do.’

  ‘What if—’

  ‘Shut up! Quiet – all of you!’

  Marius listened intently. ‘There!’ he whispered, pointing up to the ceiling.

  The others heard nothing: but then there was a nearly inaudible scrape. And another. Marius beckoned Nicander and the two crept toward where the steps led down from the roof garden.

  ‘They’re here!’ Marius grated. ‘I’ll take the first, you—’

  A dark figure dropped into view to a muffled scream from the women.

  ‘Wait!’ Marius hissed, holding up his hand, but there were no more following.

  The figure threw back its hood. It was a bearded man, his eyes wary and suspicious. ‘You the four?’ he barked in broken Chinese.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Mansur, son of Anjak. He say you want … get out of Samarkand.’

  Quick as a cat, Marius crossed to the steps and looked about carefully, then returned. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘My uncle, he say.’

  The caravan master must have told him of their plight – and the opportunity for gold.

  ‘We have to leave right now. Can you …?’

  It took some explaining but when Mansur had finished there was a deathly hush.

  What was being proposed was audacious, dangerous and terrifying, but it might just work. Centuries before the Persians had clamped their hold on the caravan routes, there had been trade between Rome and China on the seasonal trails. One of these went north about the Hyrcanian Sea, what the Persians called the Caspian, and from there across to the Pontus Euxinus, the Black Sea. And then it was only a direct voyage by trading ship to the city of Byzantium itself.

  There was a catch. The route had been long abandoned for fear of the Huns and Goths who had come out of the howling wilderness of the steppe lands on a path of pillage and destruction among the rich pickings of Europa. What was being suggested was that they journey into the homeland of these brutal nomads.

  Mansur, however, specialised in trading with these peoples and knew them well. He was able to move freely about the more settled tribes for they liked the bright baubles of civilisation he exchanged for their furs and worked goods, and in fact he was off on a trading run now and could offer them safe passage for a price.

  In terms of distance it would add little to the miles they would have had to travel by the usual route and the going across the steppe lands would be easier than the deserts and rugged lands of the south, but in terms of risk …

  To stay was out of the question. It would be only a matter of time before they would be found.

  Ying Mei had drawn heavily on her uncle’s note at the last possible place, Khotan, and Mansur’s price would seriously deplete her resources. However, there was nothing for it. To leave under eye through guarded gates was not to be considered, even in a disguise of some sort. As part of a caravan perhaps two had some chance of breaking out but as a conspicuous party of four …

  ‘How will we escape the city?’ Nicander asked.

  ‘Leave to me. First, you give me your mark.’

  This was to be something that would recognisable to them later. ‘Marius! Your Mithras.’

  Unwillingly the legionary took off his iron ring and passed it over.

  ‘Tonight, someone will come with this. You will do as he say! Your baggage – you leave in this room, so. Go with nothing.’ With that, Mansur slipped away.

  It proved to be a long wait but, just as the first light was beginning to lift the darkness, a boy appeared at the steps.

  He handed over the ring. Nicander gave a nod.

  Nervously the lad beckoned. They followed on to the roof and down the rear in the predawn stillness. The boy darted ahead, peered around the corner, then motioned for them to make haste.

  Nearby a cock crowed making Nicander’s pulse race but there was no holding back now.

  The small group hurried down the street and turned into a narrow lane. It led to a communal well.

  Pausing, the boy looked about – then feverishly cranked up the bucket and gestured to Marius.

  ‘In there?’ he muttered with incredulity.

  The boy stabbed a finger at the bucket.

  ‘Stand on it, hurry,’ Nicander said with urgency.

  Marius did so, holding on to the rope and the lad let him down quickly. He leant over to see, then cranked up the bucket and pointed to Tai Yi. She went down too, followed by Ying Mei.

  As the bucket was being pulled up, Nicander heard footsteps behind. He whirled round – but it was only a woman with a large pitcher looking at them curiously.

  The boy gabbled something and she came forward with a smile and took her time getting a fill of water, then left.

  Nicander clambered on and the bucket was lowered quickly into the darkness, past slimed stonework that stank of mineralised water.

  At the bottom was a light – a tallow dip set on a ledge giving a ghostly illumination to the three standing together in water to their knees.

  ‘I didn’t reckon on this,’ Marius quavered. ‘What’re we doing here?’

  Nicander recognised the ancient method he’d seen in Petra for bringing life-giving water from distant snow-covered mountains to arid lands. ‘This is a qanat. You see that tunnel?’ He pointed to the low subterranean passage hewn out of rock. ‘It feeds a line of wells that goes far into the desert. I’ve a notion we’ll be going for a long wet walk.’

  The boy shinned down the rope and splashed next to them. He picked up the light and led the way into the tunnel.

  Bent double, they inched forward, following the wavering light and stumbling on the uneven floor.

  In the gloom the sound of their splashing progress was loud and echoing.

  Was the crushing weight of rock above them waiting to collapse and bury them?

  Nicander had contrived to be behind Ying Mei whose mechanical movements betrayed her fear and in the darkness he ached to hold her, to comfort her. He realised that Marius, too, was affected by the confinement of the narrow, dark passage. He tried to keep up a steady conversation, complaining at the numbing cold of the water, the constant splashing forward and demanding that the sun had better be shining good and hot when they eventually came up.

  Then far ahead there was a change in the Stygian blackness. As they made towards it, it resolved into a delicate splash of light from above. They drew nearer until they reached it – they were at another well and far up was a perfect disc of pure brightness.

  Marius stared up, the light pitiless on his contorted features. He gave a hoarse cry and pounded on the side of the well.

  The boy hurried back and urgently signalled that this was not the right one, they must continue on.

  But Marius was near the end of his tether. Nicander pushed over to the legionary and swung him around. He scooped icy water and dashed it into his face. ‘We’re all still here, Marius! Let’s finish it together!’

  The man’s chest heaved and Nicander could sense the struggle taking place as his friend strove to conquer his terror.

  ‘It’s time to march, caligatus,’ he said gruffly. ‘Now!’

  With fixed, staring eyes Marius shuffled off down the tunnel.

  They splashed on and on. It wasn’t the next well but the one after that when they were motioned to stop.

  The boy whistled twice. There was no response.

  He whistled again, agitated. No answer drifted down to their echoing dungeon.

  Nicander felt panic rising. If there was a misunderstanding and no one was there …

  A sudden dark shape broke the blinding circle of light above and a shout echoed.

  In a giddy wash of relief the young boy shouted back and soon a bucket on a rope was clattering down.

  ‘Marius, you go.’ Nicander guided him forward.

  ‘No!’ he replied in a hoarse, off-key voice. ‘Ladi
es must.’

  Ying Mei was first and the bucket was winched up. Then it was Tai Yi, but Marius would not be budged, it had to be Nicander next.

  The squeaking windlass swayed him up into the ever-increasing light until in a blinding flash he reached the surface. Willing hands helped him over the lip of the well and in the warmth of the morning sun he found himself looking out over a parched landscape back to the walls of the city.

  He turned to the well but it was the young boy who stepped out.

  Marius was the last to emerge. He fell to his knees and kissed the warm earth. ‘I’ll rot in hell before ever I get down there again!’

  Mansur was waiting for them with mounts ready saddled up, along with his packhorses and mules and a goods wagon piled high. ‘We stage at Aktash. Your baggage will catch us there.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Nicander’s heart was bursting; there were so many things that he wanted to say to Ying Mei, but she was riding ahead with Tai Yi.

  He found his chance at the midday break when they stretched their legs together under the spreading willow trees along the river.

  ‘My dearest, dearest Callista,’ he murmured, ‘we haven’t had a chance to talk.’

  ‘Dear Ni K’ou – it’s hard for both of us, but you see—’

  They were startled by one of Mansur’s drivers as he brushed past on his way to wash a water skin.

  Nicander collected himself. ‘I’m sorry you had to leave Samarkand where you would have been able to listen for news of China.’

  She gave a small smile. ‘Don’t worry about that, Ni K’ou. I’ve thought of a way. You told me that the caravans end in Constantinople. Travellers can’t get through Persia, but messages can. I’ll send a letter to Yulduz and ask him to deliver it to my uncle’s agent in Khotan. That way my uncle can get it to my father in Shaolin. You see? So when I’m in Constantinople I can tell him I’m safe and happy – and perhaps that I’m Ni K’ou tai tai,’ she added shyly.

  His eyes misted and his hand went out to hers.

  ‘Please don’t, Ni K’ou.’ She drew away and her face clouded. ‘We can’t be … close … It would shock Tai Yi and I would hate to hurt her. And it wouldn’t really be fair to Marius …’

  ‘My darling love – how can I—’

  She looked at him tenderly. ‘Ni K’ou, I love you and I want nothing to spoil it. Why don’t we keep things as they were until we get to Constantinople? Then, when we’re safe, we’ll tell the world and be married.’

  ‘B-but it’ll be so long and …’

  ‘I’ll be strong and you must be too,’ she said, easing away from him as they walked.

  ‘For you, I’d …’ he gulped.

  But a thought came: was she in fact testing him? To discover whether it was love – or lust – that his feeling for her would be the same in far distant Constantinople before she gave her heart?

  They continued on in silence for a short distance.

  ‘We should join the others, Ah Yung.’

  ‘Yes, Ying Mei,’ he said sadly.

  After more than a week of heading ever deeper into the dusty, empty plains they reached the great Oxus river then followed a pathway north for another week.

  There, they came across two shy but curious shepherd children tending a flock of sheep. Mansur called to them familiarly and they sang out a reply.

  ‘Hah. The Turghiz, they ahead, wait for me.’

  He jolted his horse forward. ‘That a good sign. If trouble, they not there.’

  After an hour the gentle rise fell away – and below was the extraordinary sight of the sea.

  It was so unexpected that Nicander felt disoriented. He went up to Mansur, ‘I thought we were …’

  ‘What the Turghiz they call the Aral Sea because many islands.’

  Along the low-lying coastland there was a village with a few modest timber houses and numbers of yurts, substantial round tent houses, from which wisps of smoke were rising.

  A wave of people came out to greet them and soon they were surrounded by laughing, chattering strangers in outlandish and colourful garb. Far from the pitiless savages they’d feared, mused Nicander.

  ‘We feast!’ Mansur announced.

  The next morning Mansur’s wagon was made the centre of an enticing display of his trade goods and he stood back to let the villagers see his wares. But as the afternoon drew to a close, Nicander saw he seemed in no hurry to conclude his stay.

  ‘When do we start out again?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Why, yes. We want to get going as soon as we can.’

  ‘Nothing stop you. Over there –’ he indicated vaguely away from the Aral ‘– you reach the Caspian. Around, and you meet your Black Sea.’

  ‘No, I meant all of us together. When do we go?’

  Marius heard the talk and came up. ‘That’s right. We’re not paying you to lay about and peddle your stuff all day!’

  Mansur stiffened. ‘I don’t know what you talk, foreigner! You pay me, leave Samarkand, through nomads – I do it! Tell you where to go on old silk route, I do it! Not hold your hand all way to Constantinople.’

  ‘Tell me you’re not saying this is as far as you go?’ Marius said dangerously.

  ‘I say. This is Dost. I stay one month, return to Samarkand. You don’t like, you come back with me.’

  ‘Why, you fucking cheat! I’ll—’

  But Nicander had seen several Turghiz men moving closer, fingering weapons. ‘Marius! Not now,’ he muttered.

  Mansur snapped some words at the Turghiz who remained nearby, watching warily.

  Nicander held Mansur’s eyes. ‘Let’s get this clear – you say this is as far as you go with us?’

  ‘Is right.’

  ‘So if we want to go on, we go alone.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Through the steppe barbarians – just us.’

  ‘They leave you alone. Mongol or Turk, they get no honour for killing weak, helpless. Only if you have treasure – but you not have.’

  ‘We don’t know the way!’

  Mansur shook his head as if to an imbecile. He pointed in exaggerated fashion to the west. ‘You go there, you meet Caspian. Big! Cannot miss! You go around. Finish!’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘I give you good horses. Two week, you go slow. Other side, I don’ know, never go.’ He folded his arms.

  ‘We don’t know the barbarian tongue. If we need to …?’

  The man simply shrugged.

  They had no choice but to set off alone. Six horses, two mules and four travellers, moving over the dry, featureless plain in the general direction of a vast inland sea that none of them had seen.

  Ahead were the lands of the restless Turks and Mongols that were so terrifying that the Huns and Goths who had wrought so much carnage in Europa had fled before them.

  The little band stopped for the night by a slow-moving watercourse.

  Nobody spoke more than the odd word – was it the towering silence of the stark, empty landscape or their utter helplessness in the face of both nature and man?

  And their painstaking politeness to each other – was this to keep the fear of the barbarous primitives at bay?

  The stars came out, a scintillating splendour overhead, but with it a chilling cold. They shuddered and drew closer to their fire until it began to die.

  There was only one tent and without weapons it made no sense to take turns to be on guard outside so each lay down to their sleep.

  They travelled deeper and deeper to the west.

  The going was good and there was fine grass for the horses. But always the thought that somewhere out there was a Mongol horde on the move – not the tame Turghiz settled pastorally around the Aral, but the cruel and all-conquering warrior Turks from the unknown interior vastness of Asia.

  On the fifth day the morning began like any other; the vast blue bowl of the heavens cloudless, nothing moving. Then the hazy line of the horizon became imperce
ptibly stippled, restless, followed by a subliminal rumble – the beating of thousands of hooves, louder and louder. Out of the dust a broad wall of riders appeared, spreading out to the right and left, an unstoppable torrent.

  Hearts thudding, Nicander and the others dismounted and waited for what must come.

  The flood parted each side of them in an appalling thunder. Brutish, swarthy-faced riders with lank hair, wearing long coats and upcurved boots surged around them.

  Ringed by the horses, edgy and fidgeting after their gallop, one man vaulted out of the saddle. He swaggered up, stopping a few yards in front of them and barked something.

  Nicander shook his head with incomprehension.

  The man threw an order over his shoulder and in one fluid movement a hundred bows were readied and aimed.

  He snarled at them again.

  In the last moments of life granted to him Nicander turned to gaze on Ying Mei’s precious face – but was dumbfounded to see her begin striding forward, proudly carrying her staff. Looped on it was the ornamented yak-tail her father had given her.

  She stopped in front of the Mongol, raised the staff high and proclaimed the words of an imperial court admonishment that they be allowed free passage.

  The man’s eyes opened wide in astonishment, first at the yak-tail, then at her slight figure. The moment hung then he motioned the bows down. He made a curious gesture across his chest with a slight bow of his head and indicated the four should remount.

  However, as his warriors took station on each side it was clear they were meant to follow.

  It was a ride of some hours. Late in the afternoon a sight few had ever seen unfolded before them: on the gentle grassy slopes ahead was a vast nomad city of densely packed yurts, lines of wagons, tethered oxen, and on the outer fringes, flocks of sheep and goats.

  The dominating rise in the centre was covered by an inward-facing rectangle of large yurts decorated with flags and pennants.