The Silk Tree

by Julian Stockwin

  ‘I think she grieves for him and does not wish display.’

  ‘Hm. Once we’ve cleared Lan Chou the going’s rough for anyone, let alone a high-born. You’d think she’d be advised to take camels and attendants by the dozen. Odd.’

  Korkut’s wife was in no doubt, however. ‘Can’t you see? You men are the last to catch on, as always.’

  ‘What do you mean, Zarina, dear?’

  ‘It’s obvious. She’s a princess being sent to marry a foreign king. They don’t want to risk that she’s captured in an official legation caravan so they send her in disguise. I’ve seen her face – she’s stricken to leave China for ever, poor lamb.’

  She turned to Nicander with a big smile. ‘That’s so, isn’t it? Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us – isn’t it, friends?’

  The others murmured an agreement.

  Lost for words Nicander could only stare back dumbly.

  Then their meal arrived. Each was given a bowl and iron spoon, and the food was ladled out. There were appreciative murmurs as they tucked in.

  After finishing off with melon, they sat contentedly watching the fire.

  A night under the stars was not as bad as Nicander had feared. Marius had taken their padded capes and shown him how only the hips required softer ground for comfort, the head in its warm hood needing to be raised only as much as by a rolled-up day cloak.

  It was almost sensual, the feel of the chill night breeze on his face, while the rest of him was snuggled into the strong-smelling oiled felt. He heard the soughing of wind and every snick and scurry of night sounds as though part of it, yet he was tucked up in his warm cocoon.

  The next day it rained: a spiteful, blustery downpour that started up soon after they were on the road, and which tested their cloaks and bad-weather gear to the limit.

  Cold and dispirited, they journeyed on, the road slippery with running yellow mud, horses snorting with their stumbling efforts.

  The rain petered out in the afternoon but the mud persisted. Fortunately that night they arrived at a caravanserai – a roof over their heads, piping hot cabbage soup and an early night.

  Under grey skies the next morning they resumed their journey, assured that they would not be troubled by rain once they reached Lan Chou, and in fact the sun did show itself towards the afternoon.

  Each day saw them a little further on, the sounds of the caravan now familiar and comforting. Occasionally there were snatches of song, a plaintive flute or a flat nasal instrument that Nicander couldn’t place.

  His horse walked on meekly, an occasional shake of its head and muffled whinny its only protest. Behind, their camel dutifully plodded in their wake.

  One morning some weeks later, Marius spotted new mountains ahead, others to the left and then, unexpectedly, a wide river.

  Swirling yellow-brown with silt, it was fast-moving – the Yellow River once more. Further along was the substantial town of Lan Chou.

  The settlement had high, well-defended walls and was a frontier between the fertile plains they had been crossing and the route out into the borderlands. On the way to the caravanserai there were strange peoples with weather-darkened faces, market smells that were pungent but unknown and everywhere a restlessness, a feeling of transience.

  They did not stay long. Su got them on the road as soon as he could, swearing that he would lose half his crew if they were any longer in such a town.

  Not far upstream they arrived at a crossing point, under vertically fluted crags between two opposite flat areas. There were dozens of rafts manned by scores of small, muscle-hard peasants who jockeyed noisily for position, some joining several craft together to form larger rafts.

  The rafts were supported by inflated sheepskins and had to be energetically paddled across against the swift-moving current.

  The operation took some time; camels imperturbably standing until their turn came, precious cargoes given particular care and passengers marshalled in apprehensive groups.

  Halfway across the river Nicander was fascinated to see figures in the cliff opposite – colossal carved statues ninety feet high. He hoped the Buddhas would look kindly upon their journey …

  Their crossing complete, the mountains closed in: to the right a range of undistinguished crags with bands of red-brown, to the left a mighty rearing that had the far-off glitter of white snowcaps.

  Slowly but steadily the camel train began an ascent on a stony track through the first pass. They were following a caravan route as ancient as time, out of China and into the trackless deserts and fearful wastes of the interior.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Nicander gazed out on a flatness so vast it was limitless. A deadness – where nothing lived, the eternal grey-brown dust and sand with occasional clumps and tufts of desiccated vegetation stretching out in ever-tinier detail until it dissolved into nothingness at the horizon where the desert met the hard blue sky.

  And with it a silence descended that was so profound that his ears filled the void with a soundless screaming.

  For weeks – and countless miles – they had travelled in company with a solid, reassuringly visible work of man – the Great Wall of China. The wall came to an end in a tall open structure with upturned eaves above a massive portal, the Jade Gate. The act of passing through this was the formal leaving of the Middle Kingdom, China.

  After this point they were entirely on their own.

  Near overwhelmed with the sense of desolation and loneliness he trudged back to the safety and familiarity of the caravan in time to farewell Wu Kuo Chin, the young officer, who took his leave with a wooden face.

  ‘A great honour for him,’ Nicander murmured to Korkut.

  ‘Ha! He’s going to a living death, and he knows it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s to command a band of criminals, slaves and broken-down misfits sent here for punishment. They have to man those watchtowers and shift for themselves, there’s nobody cares what happens to them. No glory to be won here, only sudden raids by brigands and those bastard Hsien Pei Mongols.’

  ‘The Great Wall, how long has it been here?’

  ‘Why, this part … from the time of Western Han. Five, six hundred years.’

  Nicander shook his head at the thought that it had been manned continuously for centuries even before Julius Caesar had seized power in old Rome.

  Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Marius, and gave a hail.

  His friend waved, his clothes, like Nicander’s own, were now dust-stained and worn. ‘Just heard. We’ve been called up before Su. Wants to talk about what we’re going to face or something.’

  It wasn’t a large, formal meeting. The camel-drivers and passage crew were busy at their preparations and knew what was expected but Su was taking no chances with the travellers.

  He stood at the centre of a loose circle: Korkut, his lively wife, the monks in a group, others, some thirty in all – and the Ice Queen.

  She had compromised her courtly appearance and was now dressed in a plainer robe with less ornately styled hair. Her expression, however, was the same – a patrician stare above the common herd, a controlled blankness.

  Su’s bluff features had a serious cast. ‘You’re seeing me because I want you to hear me tell you what’s ahead. To leave you in no doubt what you have to do if it starts getting rough.

  ‘The first thing for you to know is that I’m in command of this caravan and therefore responsible for it. That means you do exactly what I say. Understood?’

  He looked from one to the other. ‘Very well. The second is just as important. Never leave the caravan. We carry only so much water, camel feed and so on and that means the caravan never stops. Not even to look for anyone who’s missing, wandered off somewhere. We never go back!’

  Checking to see he still had their full attention he went on, ‘Up to now we’ve more often than not stayed at a comfortable caravanserai. That’s all over. We’re going on our own resources by day-stages as
fast as we can across the plains between oasis stops, where we rest and take on fresh victuals and water. There’s no roads, no paths – if you ramble off you’ll never find your way back, you’ll leave your bones as a warning to others.’

  He continued. ‘Water. More precious than gold – you have your own gourds during the day which you’ll only be able to refill from our skins at the end of the day. Never more than three sips at a go, relish it before you swallow.’

  ‘What about attacks by raiders, barbarians?’ one of the monks wanted to know.

  ‘We’re a good-sized caravan but with an escort to match. No band of raiders is likely to trouble us, but they might if they’re desperate. If it happens, we’ll have the camels form a circle and get down, you stay behind them while our archers and cavalry deal with ’em. Don’t stray or run, stay until we give the word.’

  Su continued. ‘So where are we going? This is the start of the southern caravan route. The first stop is Dunhuang, then we’ll be keeping close to the mountains all the way to Khotan. It won’t be pleasant but believe me it’s better than the northern route across the desert!’

  ‘What will it be like for us?’

  ‘Going’s good, if that’s what you mean. Plenty of water from snowmelt off the Kunluns but pretty bare else. Sooner we get through the better.’

  One of his crew signalled to him.

  ‘We’re ready to move out. Remember what I’ve just said. The season’s advanced but we’re on time. Should have a good run.’

  His confidence was reassuring and they mounted up quickly.

  Soon the camel train was moving out, every pace setting more distance from civilisation, the world of men and order – deeper into an arid wasteland. A few heads turned back to catch a last glimpse of the Jade Gate, now a forlorn outpost in a sea of desert.

  The sun reached its zenith and they plodded on. It began to descend but before the usual violet dusk of the desert stole in, Su had found his place for the night; a twist of sand and rock that had given shelter for a line of grey-green camel thorn and a flat area to settle.

  A fire was quickly started and the well-practised routines of preparing for the night were begun. In respect for the cold of the desert nights Nicander and Marius had now accepted a tent.

  This evening seemed in some way different. Was it the certain knowledge that they were utterly alone at the empty heart of the universe? That they would meet no others until they reached the next oasis?

  The fire flared and spat but already people were moving to be near it, as all around the darkness fell silently and completely.

  ‘Korkut sheng, where is your wife?’ Nicander said, needing to reach out.

  ‘As always, she paints her face as if she’s to meet the king of the fairies the next hour. She’ll be here – if only to hear the gossip.’ The burly merchant’s face was impassive as it was lit by the firelight.

  ‘Well, Ya? Your men are posted?’ Korkut asked.

  The commander of the escort, a self-important and opinionated ex-soldier of obscure origins, was condescending to sit with the travellers instead of his customary holding court in his own tent.

  ‘Of course.’

  Nicander found it difficult to follow the thick accent; the man was reputedly a Uighur due to his almost Western features – and brutal treatment of his men.

  Zarina stepped into the firelight in a profusion of fur and exuberantly coloured leggings. ‘Good evening, everyone!’ she beamed, and took up position next to her husband.

  ‘Good to see you in spirits, habib,’ he said, helping to arrange her cloak.

  ‘Yes, dear. I’m always feeling better when I have so many big men about to protect me. You know the desert frightens me.’

  ‘As I keep telling you, demons are terrified by fire – as long as those lazy beggars keep it going you’ve nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Oh? You men never stop to think what it is for us ladies. What if we have to go out into the dark to … you know … what then?’

  ‘Then, beloved, it is clear I must go with you, whatever your business.’

  There was laughter but it tailed off as a figure came out of the blackness, moving gracefully towards them.

  It was Ying Mei.

  No one spoke as she entered the firelight and looked about uncertainly.

  Until now she had kept to herself, taking her meals in her carriage and seldom seen.

  She was in a plain robe and held a shawl close.

  Seeing Nicander she went to him. ‘May I sit with you, Ni lao na?’ she asked in an even tone, her elegant poise not out of place at a court reception.

  Thunderstruck at being addressed directly for the first time, he stood up. ‘Why, of course, Lady P’eng.’

  Tai Yi silently appeared with a travelling cushion.

  Nicander took his place again slowly, aware that not a word had been spoken by the others. Ying Mei sat next to him, looking modestly into the fire.

  What did it mean?

  Zarina smiled at Ying Mei. ‘You’ll have had a dusty ride in the carriage, my dear. How do you keep yourself so …?’ The well-meant opening faltered at the realisation that she had forgotten the complex honorific due a lady – who of course in any event was not to be troubled with such trivialities.

  ‘A woman’s appearance is her chief ornamentation, without which pearls and gold lose their meaning,’ was the quick reply. ‘As your own appearance and dress does so well confirm. It is our duty to the world, is it not?’

  ‘If it please you, Lady P’eng, we’ve been concerned you’ll suffer much in this journey,’ Korkut said awkwardly. ‘It must be for some very important reason, I fear.’

  His wife glared at him but Ying Mei answered in the same quiet, level voice. ‘I’m called to my father in Aksu who lies ill. I shall obey him, I believe.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Korkut said hastily with a quick wink at Zarina. ‘We understand.’

  A familiar bong started up at the kitchen and before long a steaming wheel-sized platter arrived. Nicander pulled out his bowl. The serving man hesitated then humbly went over to Ying Mei and offered the dish, kneeling with his head bowed.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said equably and reached out delicately with her chopsticks. Selecting a choice collop of mutton she offered it to Nicander.

  He could hardly believe it. This was a common gesture of politeness in Chinese society – but among equals. Was this …

  Ying Mei then did the same for Marius and Tai Yi as well, before helping herself.

  Nicander struggled to make sense of what was happening. Was it because her self-imposed isolation in this vast emptiness was no longer bearable and she was craving warmth and fellowship? Had the Ice Queen melted? He didn’t know whether to be relieved or scornful. But how far did it go?

  ‘It must have felt quite a wrench to leave China?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ Her expression was composed but she did not catch his eye.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering when you’ll hear proper Chinese again,’ he continued.

  She froze – and he saw that her eyes were glistening.

  He tried to make light of it. ‘But not before we’ve had a few more interesting adventures, I’d say.’

  ‘I’d call ’em more trials,’ rumbled Korkut, tucking into more mutton. ‘The stretch between Cherchen and Niya is particularly bad. I remember when—’

  ‘Are you not feeling well, dear?’ Zarina said in sudden concern, looking at Ying Mei.

  She got up and went to her, squeezing her shoulder gently but Ying Mei did not respond, and held herself rigid.

  ‘The first time’s always hard. Leaving behind—’

  ‘Thank you, Korkut tai tai,’ Tai Yi said, helping Ying Mei to her feet. ‘The Lady P’eng will now retire to rest.’ She shepherded her unresisting mistress away.

  ‘Odd sort of woman,’ Korkut muttered, picking at his teeth.

  ‘No she’s not!’ Zarina snorted. ‘The poor lamb – she’s homesick, that’s all
.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The first indication they had of Dunhuang, the oasis to the west, was an increased number of mounds of dull sand clumped around scraggy sage brush.

  Grey outlines of hills formed, and then out of nowhere, a single tree, gaunt, with spiky dark-green leaves.

  Closer to, there were more trees. The hills were actually massive dunes – not just one or two but stretching away out of sight one after another in mighty curved waveforms.

  The caravan wound past the edge of the dunes which towered above them a hundred feet in an awe-inspiring mass.

  It was approaching night but Su pressed on into the gathering dusk.

  Then a sight to clutch the heart: a walled town. Well-watered gardens outside, people moving, lights, distant sounds of human activity – life!

  Nicander’s horse snorted and tossed his head impatiently. Somewhere not far was water.

  They followed the edge of the wall then picked up a track along its side and came to a river. It seemed so improbable; rearing dunes and lifeless light-grey sand, but moving through it a channel of living, sparkling water.

  They had arrived in the confines of a caravanserai courtyard open to the stream. The order to dismount was given and a crew took charge of the animals and led them to water. The passengers found themselves quickly surrounded: small children running about, merchants claiming their goods, officials haranguing the caravan master, hucksters and others who simply stared in awe.

  A welcoming band struck up – cymbals and lutes, a wailing pan pipe of sorts, three drummers. The crowd increased.

  Nicander and Marius were told: ‘You two – follow him.’

  A youth with laughing eyes darted ahead to show them to their cell in the low building that reeked of the dust of ages. He held out his hand for a coin but Nicander shook his head sorrowfully. The lad ran off trailing shrill abuse.

  Their kit was finally brought and they made free with a generous pitcher of water.

  A little later Korkut appeared at their door, grinning. ‘Look, while we’re in an oasis we’re off caravan victuals, look to ourselves. Now myself, I don’t take to caravanserai feed, too basic if you get my meaning. Zarina thought you’d like to come with us to the Golden Peach, it being our first night. That is if you haven’t an arrangement with the monks, you being holy men and so forth.’