Silk Road

by Falconer, Colin

  But this did not trouble him overmuch for it was now clear that these Nestorians had been energetic in bringing word of Jesus here to Cathay. It would make his job so much easier. All that was required was to bring this rebellious church to heel and they would have their foothold among the Tatar.

  It was the task God had chosen for him. And he was ready.

  ‘The Lord is here,’ William said.

  Josseran stared at him. What was wrong with this damned priest now? His face was flushed and shining and there was a strange light in his eyes.

  ‘There is a house in the town,’ William went on. ‘It has a cross above the door and inside there is an altar and images of the holy saints. The priests are plainly heretics but it proves that the people here know of Christ. You see? The word of the Lord has reached even here. Is it not a miracle?’

  Josseran grudgingly admitted that it was. ‘Do they have many converts?’ he said. He wondered what this might mean for them and for their expedition.

  ‘There were but a handful of people inside. But it scarce matters. It means Christ has a foothold here.’

  ‘They may not care much for the Pope, though.’

  William ignored him. ‘We need only to bring these followers of the Nestorian heresy back to the fold of Rome, and we can build a strong church here. Once we have properly brought the word of God to these Tatars we can together banish the Mohammedans not just from the Holy Land, but perhaps even from the face of the earth!’

  Unlikely, Josseran thought, since so many Tatars were also followers of Mohammed. But if there was a Christian church here in Shang-tu it still promised much for the future.

  ‘You must come with me straight away and speak to their priest!’

  Josseran shook his head. ‘It behoves us to be a little more circumspect. Do not forget, their founder was hounded from Constantinople by Roman priests. They are not likely to love us.’

  William nodded. ‘You are right, Templar. My love of God makes me reckless.’

  ‘We should learn more of the Tatars and their king before we make our move.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I must learn to be patient.’ He took Josseran by the shoulders and for a terrible moment Josseran thought he might embrace him. ‘I feel we are destined to do good works here! I shall go now and be at my prayers. I should thank God for this sign and listen in the silence for His word.’

  He turned and left the room.

  Josseran sighed and went to the window. It was late and night had fallen over the city. He felt desperately tired. William’s words echoed around his head. I feel we are destined to do good works here. Well, that would be unexpected. All he had ever thought to do until now, was to do the best he could.

  Their lodgings in the palace were sumptuous. Josseran’s quarters were hung with curtains of ermine and silk. His bed was like no bed he had ever seen; it had a carved frame and was closed on three sides with white satin partitions, painted with delicate watercolours of waterfalls and bamboo groves. The bed covers were lined with floss silk.

  There were several low tables about the room, all made of polished black lacquer, and some exquisite jade ornaments in the shapes of elephants and dragons. But the most curious object was a porcelain cat with an oil lamp cunningly concealed inside its head. At night, when the lamp was lit, the cat’s eyes appeared to glow in the darkness.

  The whole room was redolent with incense and sandalwood. A long way, he thought, from the bare brick walls and hard wooden bed of his monk’s cell in Acre.

  This whole city was as a dream. Should I ever return to Troyes, and tell my cousin barons the things I have seen, they will all call me a liar.

  He fell exhausted on to the bed and slept.

  LXXV

  SARTAQ ROUSED HIM from his sleep the next morning. He told him he had been assigned to Josseran as his escort while he was in Shang-tu, and his first duty was to accompany him to Khubilai’s treasurer, Ahmad.

  ‘The Great Khan wishes another audience this afternoon,’ Sartaq told him as they made their way along the terrace.

  ‘I hope this time he will not fall asleep during our interview.’

  Sartaq grinned. ‘I hope not, also. Perhaps you should try and tell him something to interest him.’

  I had expected that he would hang on our every word anyway, Josseran thought. It had never occurred to me that an emissary who had travelled six months for an audience might also need to entertain him. ‘Tell me something, Sartaq. What is your religion?’

  He shrugged. ‘I am a Mohammedan.’

  ‘I did not understand. How can this be? I walk around this city I see Mohammedans everywhere. They have their own bazaar, their own hospital, their own church. Yet everywhere on our journey I saw with my own eyes how you have fought with them and laid waste their towns and their cities. The khan whose troops were to escort me to Qaraqorum was Mohammedan. And now you tell me you yourself follow their religion.’

  ‘The war has nothing to do with the gods. There are many gods. But if someone will not bow their knee to our Great Khan they must be made to submit.’

  ‘So all these people you have conquered are your slaves?’

  Sartaq looked genuinely bewildered. ‘Slaves? The people pay us taxes, but it is the right of every ruler to collect taxes from his subjects. But we Tatars are warriors not clerks. So we collect the wisest and the best from everywhere to help us rule. So we have Confucian scribes, Tibetan holy men, Nestorians, Uighurs, from all over our empire. They are not slaves. Some of them are indeed very rich.’

  ‘So you do not make war on the Mohammedans because they are Mohammedans?’

  ‘Of course not. They make good accountants. They understand the silk trade.’ Sartaq slapped him on the shoulder and laughed. ‘You are a very strange man, Barbarian. I swear I shall never understand you!’

  Josseran began to see the futility of William’s plans, and his own. When they set out from Acre he and his fellow Latins had believed the presence of Christians among the Tatars meant that their cause would find special favour with their khan. It was now clear to him that no religion had particular favour among the Tatars. Hülegü’s cruelty to the Saracens in Aleppo and Baghdad was not typical, just tactical.

  But how could he explain this to William?

  The treasury was in one of the great palaces on the other side of the great court; it was a large chamber, dark with cherry wood, open to the gardens on one side. Ahmad himself was a white-robed Mohammedan with a grizzled beard. He sat cross-legged on a rich carpet of burgundy and peacock blue, surrounded by his minions, and there were scrolls wound on wooden spindles, an abacus and piles of mulberry-coloured paper lying on the carpets around him.

  Josseran was handed, without ceremony, some of the mulberry paper. These, Ahmad explained, were in exchange for William’s silver censer and silver cross, which were to be handed over at once. They were now the property of the Emperor.

  And he was cursorily dismissed.

  ‘These Tatars, I do not understand,’ Josseran said to William. ‘They are conquerors of every land we have travelled these six months and yet they allow the Mohammedans and the idolaters to freely practise their religions. Indeed, they even adopt their gods among themselves. They say Khubilai’s favourite wife is an idolater, and worships this Borcan. In Fergana, Qaidu was an avowed Mohammedan. And by all reports Hülegü’s wife is Nestorian.’

  ‘It is a weakness among them,’ William answered. ‘A weakness we should exploit.’

  ‘Or is it rather their strength? Some would call such tolerance a virtue.’

  ‘A true faith does not abide tolerance! It is an offence to the one and true God! These Tatars have no abiding god so they search for another. That is why the Lord has brought us here. To show them the one and true way.’

  Perhaps, Josseran thought. Yet things might have gone better for us all in the Holy Land had we employed some of their forbearance.

  William read his expression. ‘You are a man of heretical thought, Templar. I
f it were not for the protection of your Order, you might have found yourself before an Inquisitor long ago.’

  ‘All I know is that these Tatars have conquered half the world, while we scarcely retain our few castles in Outremer. Perhaps we have something to learn from them.’

  ‘Learn from them?’

  ‘These Tatars never fight wars for their religion. They let men decide for themselves what god they choose. They do not blunt a single idea. They absorb something from everyone and it makes them stronger, not weaker.’

  William stared at him in horror. He is no doubt wishing for his thumbscrew and a handy bonfire, Josseran thought. ‘A good Christian defends his faith against all unbelievers. To do less is to crucify our Lord all over again.’

  ‘You are a priest,’ Josseran said, ‘so I am sure you must be right.’ He decided to say no more; he had already said far too much. He held out the mulberry-coloured paper notes that Ahmad had given him and thrust them in his hand.

  ‘What is this?’ William said.

  ‘It is for the censer and the silver cross,’ he said.

  ‘The censer?’

  ‘And the silver cross. The Emperor has taken possession of them.’

  ‘You gave them to him? But they were not brought as gifts!’

  ‘It seems not to matter. Sartaq tells me that all gold and silver objects in the realm are, by law, taken by the Emperor for the treasury. It is an offence for any but Khubilai himself to possess such metals. But in exchange he gives you this.’

  William stared at the pieces of paper in his hand. They had been made from mulberry bark and were struck with the vermilion chop of the Emperor’s seal. They bore writing on both sides in Uighur script. ‘Paper? Is this a further insult?’

  ‘They call it paper money. You can exchange these for goods as if they were coin.’

  ‘They play you for a fool.’

  ‘On the contrary, Brother William. I went with Sartaq to the bazaar and bought these plums with one of these notes. The hawkers took my paper without murmur and gave me these strings of cash into the bargain.’ He held up the chain of coins, each with a hollow centre, threaded on a thin string of twine.

  William stared at him. Paper money! Who had ever heard of such a thing? He turned to the window. A golden dragon snarled back at him from the eaves of the split-bamboo roof. ‘I shall protest to the Emperor directly. When are we to have our next audience? There is much to discuss.’

  ‘We have an audience this afternoon.’

  ‘Let us hope this time he is not drunk.’

  ‘Let us also hope that this time you speak to him as befits a ruler and not as a pauper in your church come for confession.’

  ‘Do not lecture me on how to conduct the Church’s business!’

  ‘I really do not understand why the Pope chose you for his emissary. Did he tell you nothing about obeying the polite forms when you are speaking to the prince of a foreign kingdom?’

  ‘All men are equal before God.’

  ‘We are not before God. We are before the king of the Tatars. A good ambassador must learn to bow and scrape. So why did the Pope send you? Was he hoping to get rid of you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that if I had translated everything you said, we would both have had our heads cut off in Aleppo and a dozen times since.’

  ‘I was chosen for my zeal, and for my love of Christ, not because I am artful with words. God guides me in all I do.’

  ‘Or was it because no one else was mad enough to do it?’

  ‘How dare you speak to me that way!’

  ‘Yes, I think that must be it. You are expendable. And no one else close to the Pope thought it was the right thing to do.’ He tossed the rest of the Emperor’s paper at him as he left. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘buy yourself some plums.’

  LXXVI

  FOR THEIR SECOND encounter they did not meet with the Emperor inside the great Hall of Audience, but were instead escorted through a pair of roofed gates into the sanctum of a park behind the palace. This court, Sartaq told Josseran, was set aside for Khubilai’s personal pleasure.

  It was the most beautiful garden Josseran had ever seen. Green-tiled pavilions nestled among stands of willows and bamboo and the sun rippled like mercury on the still waters of a great lake. Long-life fishes – as the Chin called them – swam lazily in the shadows cast by hump-backed bridges with balustrades of carved stone. Peacocks eyed them with the cold suspicion of kings, white swans swam serenely between the lotus blooms or stretched their long wings in the sun.

  They passed along an avenue of willows. Ahead of them Josseran saw the white yurt of the Emperor, a token at best, for its luxurious appointments mocked anything Josseran had seen on the steppe. It was raised on a dais of beaten earth and surrounded by flagged courtyards and weeping willows. Above the trees a yellow paper sun and a blue and orange butterfly floated against the sky, the bright-coloured kites of the courtiers’ children.

  As they waited to be admitted, Sartaq whispered to Josseran that they must approach the Emperor’s throne on their knees. Josseran relayed these instructions to the friar, with predictable result.

  ‘I refuse!’ he hissed. ‘I have bent the knee enough to these savages! From henceforward I bend my knee only to God!’

  ‘Have we not discussed this? You are not an Inquisitor here, you are the Pope’s emissary to a foreign king!’

  ‘It is a blasphemy!’

  ‘Give unto Caesar.’

  William hesitated. His face betrayed a dozen conflicting emotions. Finally, he accepted the wisdom of what Josseran had said. When the chamberlain came to fetch them, he fell to his knees alongside Josseran and in that way they again approached the Son of Heaven.

  It was warm inside. The courtiers, in their red brocade gowns and curious helmets, were busy with their silk fans. The fans were stiff and round and decorated with watercolour and calligraphy, and fluttered like a thousand brightly painted butterflies. Josseran noticed that many of the nobles also carried small and delicately carved vases in which they would occasionally expectorate; this, so that they should not be obliged to spit on the Emperor’s carpets. Tatar musicians played behind a great screen, the two-stringed lutes and gongs and drums creating melodies jarring to Josseran’s ears.

  The Emperor seemed better disposed to receive them today. Sober, at least. He reclined on a throne of gold and ivory. He had on a rimmed helmet of beaten gold and a robe of crimson silk. His feet were clad in stubby leather boots with upturned toes in the Tatar style. This time he did not have Phags-pa beside him as intermediary. His golden eyes were as watchful and languorous as a cat’s.

  Josseran and William were required to remain on their knees but one of the attendants at least brought them a silver cup filled with black koumiss.

  William refused.

  ‘Does he not like our wine?’ the Emperor asked Josseran directly.

  ‘It is forbidden him because of our religion,’ Josseran answered.

  ‘He does not drink? That has not been my experience of Christians. Are you also forbidden?’

  ‘I am not a priest.’

  ‘So you like our wine?’

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘And do you like the chalice?’

  ‘It is very fine,’ Josseran answered, wondering where this line of enquiry was leading.

  ‘It is called the Wrath of Chinggis Khan.’

  Josseran examined it, speculating on why it was so highly valued. It was a large bowl, covered in silver, but very plain and without decoration.

  ‘It is made from the cranium of a chief who defied my grandfather,’ Khubilai explained. ‘He captured him and had him boiled alive in a cauldron. When he was dead he removed his head with his own sword and had his skull set in silver.’ He paused, to allow his guests to digest this information. ‘Do you have such vessels in the barbarian lands?’

  Aware of the implied threat, Josseran assured him that they did not.

  ‘What is he
saying?’ William demanded.

  ‘He informs me that this cup was fashioned from the head of one of his grandfather’s enemies.’

  William made the sign of the cross. ‘Savages!’

  ‘What is this other one saying?’ Khubilai asked.

  Josseran hesitated before replying. ‘He is fearful in your presence,’ he said, ‘and wishes to extend his warm wishes from his master.’

  The Emperor grunted, satisfied.

  ‘Tell him I bring him good news of the one and true faith and the promise of life everlasting for him and all his subjects!’

  ‘Be still,’ Josseran snapped.

  ‘I am an emissary of the Pope himself! I will not be still! This is the reason I journeyed here. You will translate for me while I read this fellow the papal Bull!’

  Josseran turned back to the Emperor. ‘We wish to bring you word of the Christian religion, which brings hope and joy to men everywhere.’

  ‘We already have the Luminous Religion in our realm.’

  ‘But it is not the true form of our religion.’

  The Emperor gave a soft smile. ‘Mar Salah, who is Metropolitan of Shang-tu, says it is you who are not true Christians and that I should not listen to you.’

  Josseran absorbed this news without expression. William eagerly awaited his translation. Josseran gave it to him, word for word.

  The friar’s face suffused purple. ‘This savage would take the word of a heretic over that of the Pope himself?’

  ‘We would be best served by acting with dignity in the face of this provocation,’ Josseran reminded him.

  But William had already produced a parchment from his robes. He broke the metal seal. It must be the Pope’s Bull.

  It was clear he intended to read it, regardless of Josseran’s efforts to stop him. He will antagonize the Emperor and cost us any chance of a fair hearing, Josseran thought. He may perhaps even cost us our lives. God forgive me, but I have no intention of translating the Bull. William is too importunate and the Pope is not here. If we are to return to Outremer with credit, then I shall trust in my own judgement.