Silk Road

by Falconer, Colin

  His throne faced south, in the Tatar way, away from the north wind. The Empress sat beside him, on his left. On his right hand were his sons, seated at a smaller dais and at such a height that their heads were level with his feet. Opposite them were his daughters. Other princes of the court sat below them, in descending order of privilege, the men to the west, the women to the east.

  The lesser court attendants were ranged along the wings of the hall; Khubilai’s ministers in curious brimmed helmets; Chinese women in hooded gowns, long hair fastened on their heads with elaborate designs of pins; Tatar princesses in elaborate plumed headdresses; and, ever present, the imperial guard, with gold winged helmets, leather cuirasses, and leopard-skin cloaks.

  But even among this exotic throng, the most fantastic sight to his western eyes were the Confucian scholars in their black silk turbans, two braids sticking out behind like stiff ears. Some had let their fingernails grow almost to the length of their fingers, like the talons of a predatory bird. He could not stop staring at them. This fashion, he later learned, was intended not to intimidate, but as a means of setting themselves apart from the common people, to demonstrate that they did not earn their living by manual labour.

  Josseran noted that there were fewer women than there had been in Qaidu’s court in Fergana. The only females present appeared to be ladies of very high rank and they were greatly outnumbered by the men.

  Beside Khubilai, on the dais, was a man in the del of a Tatar, but with the shaven skull of a Tangut. ‘Phags-pa,’ Sartaq whispered to him. ‘A lama, despite his dress, the Imperial Preceptor, the Emperor’s chief adviser and wizard.’

  Their entrance was largely ignored for a great feast was in progress. The court chamberlains led them to the back of the great hall and they were invited to sit. Only the greatest sat at table, it seemed; most of the court sat on the bright silken carpets that were strewn around the floors.

  Attendants brought them platters of boiled mutton, borne in beautiful glazed dishes in olive and cinnamon colours.

  William was affronted. He squatted uncomfortably in his surplice, clutching the sacred relics he had brought with him to his chest. ‘This is insufferable,’ he hissed at Josseran. ‘We have travelled the length of the world to present ourselves and he makes us wait at the very back of the chamber!’

  Josseran shrugged his shoulders. ‘It behoves us to be patient.’

  ‘But I am the emissary of the Pope himself!’

  ‘I don’t think he would care if you were Saint Peter. He seems hungry.’

  More dishes arrived in ceramic bowls; eggs, a beer made from millet, some raw vegetables seasoned with saffron and wrapped in pancakes and some platters of roasted partridge. Sartaq told them the fruit and partridges had arrived fresh that morning from Cathay on the yam.

  Josseran put his fingers into a bowl of rice and scooped a handful into his mouth, the same way he had eaten with the Tatars throughout the entire journey. Sartaq knocked his hand away and shouted at him. For a moment he thought he might even draw his knife.

  ‘What are you doing, Barbarian?’

  ‘I am hungry.’

  ‘Even if you are dying of starvation, you should still eat like a Person when you are in the Palace.’ Sartaq picked up two pointed sticks inlaid with ivory and holding them with his index finger and thumb picked a morsel of chicken from one of bowls, and brought it to his mouth. ‘Like this, you see?’

  Josseran picked up the ivory sticks and tried to hold them in the same way that Sartaq had done. He dropped them into a bowl of soup.

  Sartaq shook his head in despair.

  Meanwhile William sat and fumed, ignoring the food. It was clear that everyone around them was intent on getting drunk.

  In the centre of the hall was a wooden coffer, perhaps three paces across, covered in gold leaf and bearing elaborate carvings of dragons and bears. There were gold spigots on each side and from these the stewards poured koumiss into golden jars, each jar enough to quench the thirst of ten men. One of these was placed between every man and his neighbour. He and William were possibly the only sober men left in the room.

  Two stairways led to the dais where the Emperor supped. Full goblets were carried ceremoniously up one stairway, empty ones down the other, and there seemed to be a brisk traffic. Chinese musicians in violet caps and gowns, partly hidden behind a painted screen, began to play their doleful gongs and violins. The Emperor raised his chalice to his lips, and everyone in the hall fell on to their knees and bowed their heads.

  ‘You must do the same,’ Sartaq hissed.

  Josseran complied. William sat obdurate, his face pale with anger.

  ‘Do it!’ Josseran breathed.

  ‘I shall not.’

  ‘You will, or I shall break your neck and save the Tatars the trouble!’

  William looked startled.

  ‘You will not put my life in danger as well as yours!’

  William fell, reluctantly, to his knees. ‘So now we pay obeisance to the Devil’s capacity for drunkenness? May God forgive me! Next we will light candles before the barbarian’s virile member and say vespers while he deflowers one of his virgins!’

  ‘If necessary,’ Josseran grunted. ‘It is all in the name of courtly diplomacy.’

  The Emperor upended his goblet and the koumiss squirted over his beard and ran down his neck. When he had finished his draught the music stopped, a signal for the attending court to resume their own gluttony.

  At last one of the chamberlains came over and ushered Josseran and William to their feet.

  ‘You are to present yourselves to the Emperor now,’ Sartaq whispered.

  ‘Now?’ William protested. He had imagined a grand entrance. If not that, then at least he had expected the King of the Tatars to be middling sober.

  Instead he was herded unceremoniously towards the centre of the hall. He and Josseran were practically thrown to their knees in front of the great throne, like prisoners.

  The chamberlain announced them and the hall fell silent.

  The Emperor had been dozing after the big meal. He came reluctantly awake. Phags-pa lama stood beside him, his face like flint.

  They were all waiting.

  Josseran took a deep breath. ‘My name is Josseran Sarrazini,’ he began. ‘I have been sent by my lord, Thomas Bérard, Grand Master of the Knights of the Temple, in Acre, to bring you words of friendship.’

  Khubilai did not appear to be listening. He had turned to Phagspa lama and was whispering something in his ear.

  The Tangut cleared his throat. ‘The Son of Heaven wishes to know why you have such a big nose.’

  From the corner of his eye Josseran saw Sartaq stifle a grin. He was doubtless wondering if he intended to make good on his threat to disembowel the next Tatar who remarked on this prominent feature. ‘Tell him among my own people it is not considered so large.’

  Another whispered exchange.

  ‘Then the Son of Heaven thinks you must be a very big-nosed people. Do you have gifts to present?’

  Josseran nodded to William who understood that this was his cue. He reverently held out the missal and Psalter. ‘Tell him these are gifts to help him with a new and glorious life in Christ,’ he said to Josseran. The chamberlains bore the sacred volumes to the throne where Khubilai examined them with the delicacy of a pig examining a pine cone. He opened the Psalter. It was prefaced by a twenty-four-page illumination of the life of Jesus Christ. He turned several of the pages and it seemed to entertain him for a few moments. Then he picked up the missal, which was illustrated with depictions of the saints and a seated Virgin and Child, etched in royal blue and gold. He stabbed his finger at one of the illustrations and made some remark to his wizard. And then he tossed both books aside as casually as if they were chicken bones. They landed with a thud on the marble floor.

  Josseran heard William gasp.

  It was clear that neither their appearance nor their offerings had made a deep impression on the great lord. He would
have to salvage what he could from their situation.

  ‘You are the one to whom God has given great power in the world,’ he said. ‘We regret we have little gold and silver to give you. The journey from the west was long and arduous and we could bring few gifts. Alas, we lost our other presents . . .’ He was about to say: when we were kidnapped by your soldiers, and corrected himself. ‘. . . we lost our other presents along the way.’

  Khubilai was ready to go back to sleep. He leaned across and murmured something to the Tangut standing at his right hand. Josseran understood this accoutrement of power; a king did not demean his person by talking directly with supplicants, even if they were ambassadors from another realm.

  ‘Even as the sun scatters its rays so does the Lord of Heaven’s power extend everywhere,’ Phags-pa lama answered, ‘therefore we have no need of your gold and silver. The Son of Heaven thanks you for your poor gifts and wishes to know the name of your companion. He also asks what business brings you to the Centre of the World.’

  ‘What is he saying now?’ William hissed, at his shoulder.

  ‘He asks who we are and why we are here.’

  ‘Tell him that I am in possession of a papal Bull. It is to introduce me, William of Augsburg, prelate to His Holiness Pope Alexander the Fourth, to his court. It empowers me to establish the Holy Roman Church in his empire and bring him and all his subjects into the fold of Jesus Christ, under the authority of the Holy Father.’

  Josseran translated what William had said, but omitted to mention that William was to establish the Pope’s authority in Shang-tu. A little premature, he decided.

  He looked around at the bodies of courtiers piled on the floor like corpses, some of them with wine leaking from their mouths. Somewhere one of the sleeping Tatars broke their wind. Another began to snore.

  ‘Tell him that he must listen very closely to what I have to say,’ William was saying, ‘so that he can follow my salutary instructions from the Pope himself, who is God’s emissary on earth, and so come to acknowledge Jesus Christ and worship His glorious name.’

  Josseran stared at him. ‘Have you lost your mind?’

  William kept his eyes on Khubilai. ‘Tell him.’

  You are a madman, Josseran thought. It is lucky I am here to protect you. ‘We thank God for our safe arrival,’ Josseran said to Khubilai, ‘and we pray to Our Lord, whose name is Christ, that he grants the Emperor a long and happy life.’

  William went on, for it had not occurred to him that Josseran might do otherwise than translate for him exactly as he had been instructed. ‘Now tell him we demand an immediate end to the devastation of Christian lands and advise him that if he does not wish to fall into eternal damnation he should repent immediately and prostrate himself before Jesus Christ.’

  He turned back to Khubilai. ‘Great Lord, we have been sent by our king to suggest to you an alliance.’

  For the first time the Emperor seemed to raise himself from his stupor. His eyes blinked open and he whispered something to his preceptor.

  ‘The Son of Heaven wishes to know more about this alliance of which you speak,’ Phags-pa lama said. ‘An alliance against whom?’

  ‘Against the Saracens of the west. Your great prince Hülegü finds them common enemy with us. My own lord bid me come here and offer that we join our forces against them.’

  The Emperor considered this proposal. My timing may be propitious, Josseran thought. If he is indeed in dispute for his throne, it will be in his interest to make his western borders secure before he sends this Hülegü against the threat within.

  He waited long minutes for the Emperor’s considered response. Then he heard a loud snore. The Ruler of Rulers had fallen asleep.

  ‘The Son of Heaven hears your words,’ Phags-pa lama said. ‘He says he will think on them and speak with you again.’

  And they were summarily dismissed.

  As they left the Hall of Audience Josseran noted that the rule of which Sartaq had so ominously warned them, that of stepping on the threshold, was not enforced by the guards – perhaps because almost the entire throng were incapable of observing it. A number of the courtly gathering not only stepped upon it but several of them actually fell directly across it, flat on their faces, dead drunk.

  LXXIII

  ‘HE IS A slattern and a drunkard,’ William hissed, when they were outside the chamber. ‘See how he disports himself! They are a godless rabble!’

  ‘Yet it is we who travelled six months across deserts and mountains to speak with him.’

  ‘What was his response to my words? You must tell me everything he said.’

  ‘His last words before he fell to his slumbers were that the chamberlains should be sure to send a virgin to my bedchamber tonight together with a dozen pitchers of koumiss.’

  ‘I should expect no better of you should you accept such a gift,’ William sneered. ‘Did he make mention of me?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘When I told him you were a friar of St Dominic he ordered you flayed alive and your hide hung on his yurt.’

  Josseran turned and walked away. They had travelled to the end of the world, risked their lives in countless ways, and it seemed that it had been for nothing. He wanted no more of this business. Damn William. Damn the Pope. And damn Khubilai Khan as well.

  William wandered out of the gates, his heart and mind in turmoil. He had promised himself nothing less than the salvation of Christendom and the conversion of the Tatar horde. Instead he had been treated with ignominy, and this Templar who was supposed to help him in his sacred mission had turned out to be no better than a heretic himself. But he would find a way. God had chosen him, and he would not fail.

  The inner city was the preserve of the Emperor and his court, but away from the golden curlicues, the city of Shang-tu itself was crowded and squalid, like every other great city William had seen, be it in Christendom, in Outremer, or here in Cathay. The houses were narrow, hovels of boards or mud brick, the timber joists of one resting on its neighbour so that the houses formed one long façade along the lanes. The windows were covered with torn strips of hemp.

  Unlike the courtiers he had seen in the palace, the poor people of Shang-tu wore simple blouses and trousers of hemp cloth, with little cloth turbans on their heads and wooden sandals on their feet. Most were clean-shaven though a few had long side whiskers or a sparse goatee beard.

  The alleyways were a seething mass of people and animals. Heavily laden mules were prodded along with bamboo sticks, ox carts rumbled past piled with bulging sacks of rice. A great lady swayed through the mass on an embroidered litter, jade pins in her glossy black hair, jewelled earrings swinging against her cheeks. Sugarcane sellers attracted customers by beating on a piece of hollow bamboo; the pedlars on the street corners and the hawkers at the canvas-covered stalls tried to outdo each other in screeching out their wares. Porters with wicker baskets and earthenware jars suspended on poles buffeted him as they hurried past.

  By the hump-backed bridges, where the congestion was worst, entertainers gathered to ply their business with the crowds. There were acrobats, men juggling large earthenware jugs, a sword swallower, a one-armed man with a performing bear.

  There was even a puppeteer, the man’s legs protruding ludicrously from beneath a curtain-covered box, and some actors performing burlesques for the crowd. William could not understand a word of what was said, but the Chin, laughing uproariously, seemed to enjoy the performance. The entertainment stopped abruptly when a troop of the Emperor’s soldiers appeared on the bridge. The actors scurried away.

  He passed a window, saw a huddle of ancient whitebeards, heard the chanting of a Q’ran. It plunged him deeper into despair. Was there no place here for the one true God?

  He wandered into a small courtyard with a covered arcade and stumbled on to a teahouse, apparently the haunt of wealthy merchants and courtiers. The windows were open to the street. Lanterns of vermilion and gilt hung from the eav
es; the walls covered with watercolours and fine calligraphy. A knot of singing girls leaned on the painted balustrade, inviting the passing trade to join them inside for tea and plum-flower wine. Giggling, they beckoned to William, who turned and fled. He came upon a dry earth wall with one small door opening on to the street. There was a crude wooden cross on the tiered roof. He caught his breath. Not even daring to hope, he ventured inside.

  It was dark, the air heavy with dust and incense. An oil lamp burned on the altar, which was laid with a gold cloth embroidered with images of the Blessed Virgin, and beside her, John the Baptist. He gasped and made the sign of the cross. ‘God is here,’ he murmured. ‘Even here in the heart of so much darkness!’

  He saw a silver crucifix set with jade and turquoise. Beside it was a small silver statue of Mary and a heavy silver box similar to the ones he had used in Augsburg to hold the sacrament. It was a miracle, the sign that he had been asking for. He cursed himself for his doubts.

  He fell to his knees and whispered a prayer of thanks. As he began to recite the words of the paternoster a figure emerged from the gloom at the back of the church.

  William rose to his feet. ‘My name is William,’ he said, in Latin. ‘I have been sent here by the Pope, who is the Vicar of Christ on earth, to bring you the benediction of the one true faith and lead you to the protection of the Holy Father.’

  ‘I am Mar Salah,’ the priest answered, in Turkic, ‘I am the Metropolitan of Shang-tu. I have heard all about you and I do not want you in my church. Now get out!’

  LXXIV

  William hurried back through the streets of Shang-tu to the palace, both excited and disturbed by what he had discovered. He had been unable to communicate directly with the priest; he would need the Templar for that. But there was no doubt the man was a heretic, infected with the blasphemies of Nestorius. He had all but thrown William out of the door.