THE SILK TREE

CHAPTER THIRTY

The next day a little procession weaved through the busy crowds. At its head a footman wearing an emblazoned tabard sounded a gong every five paces to clear the way. Several attendants followed and then Kuo and the two holy men, more footmen in the rear.

They had received the best of news: a caravan would leave shortly and with a letter from the abbot secured by a suitable donation, Kuo’s friend the general would be agreeable, for a trifling fee, to expedite their passes.

And now they were heading for the market to fit the men out for their great journey, Tai Yi and Ying Mei in a separate party with Kuo’s wife.

A maze of streets opened up; the wards were divided into lanes, each specialising in different goods. They passed singing crickets in cages, apothecaries, ironsmiths and fortune-tellers.

Kuo led them to a bazaar completely devoted to the camel caravan.

There was a welter of offerings: bridles for camel and horse, saddles of every level of comfort and expense and, of course, clothing. With the pungent aroma of new leather and fresh-oiled felt on the air they made their selections under the canny eye of their benefactor.

First was good stout ox-hide boots with extra thick soles. Deserts were not all sand and wind-scoured gravel would be trying on the feet.

Next came full-length padded cloaks with all-enfolding lace-up hats recommended for the fierce cold.

Then – peculiar sandshoes made of felt scales like a fish, lined with colourful cloth and reinforced with leather. They had a strong drawstring that bound them tight to the ankle, vital for long stretches in the dunes.

Other articles for the journey were added: personal water gourds, a clothing repair kit, wide bamboo hats against a merciless sun, gloves.

Kuo advised they delay buying hot-weather clothes, linen smocks and trousers, until they got to the edge of the infernal regions.

After a restorative snack of pork dumplings Kuo announced that they were expected soon at the caravanserai which was finalising the dispatch details of their caravan.

The offices of the caravan master were in a large cobbled courtyard, with stables and warehouses on the other three sides. Nicander’s heart beat faster – in just two days they would be leaving on a fearsome journey that if all went well would only come to an end in Constantinople!

Seeing Kuo, a large dark-featured man bellowed, ‘You’re back!’

‘I said I would, Su hsien sheng. Shall we talk?’

‘Who are those?’

‘Two of your passenger freight, should your price be right. I have another two coming later. Now-’

‘Passes?’

‘On their way. The Lady P’eng has been summoned to her father’s side in Aksu, a final sickness – things have been rushed, you understand.’

‘Lady? Aksu? Sounds like trouble to me, Kuo!’

‘Not at all. These gentlemen, foreign holy men, have agreed to be her protectors and she does have a female companion. And she’s of gentle birth, no competition for your girls on the way.’

‘Humph. So I guess she’s after top treatment?’

‘I don’t think so. In this time of sadness she desires privacy, not display. Tell me, is this an official trip or…?’

‘No, private. No hordes of slaves sucking your water all the time, if that’s your meaning. Carrying silks, that’s raw bolts and made goods, porcelain, copper. There’s a crowd o’ Buddhists bearing brass images to Khotan – that’ll be fun for everybody – the usual other stuff. Two hundred and twenty camels in all. You’re not shipping on this run?’

‘Only my two-legged freight and a few letters. Anyway, that sounds quiet enough, gold and ivory in a caravan always makes me nervous. Shall we get to details?’

‘Fine.’

‘What’s the escort?’

‘Fifty cavalry, Uighurs; twenty bowmen, Kuchean and Chinese, but these are good men.’

‘Usual fee?’

‘Joint, divided among all with a stake in the caravan? Yes, the usual.’

‘Good.’

‘So you’ll be finalising? You’ve left it a bit late, Kuo.’

‘Not so fast. I trust you, Su Li, best caravan master I know, but I’d like to set eyes on your camels if you please.’

As they were led out from the stables for inspection Nicander blinked at the first one and looked again. ‘Wh-what do you call that?’

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Su asked defensively.

‘He’s got two humps!’

‘What do you expect of a camel, you idiot! He’s going to cost you, Kuo! Troublemaker, knew it as soon as I sees him.’

‘No, no. He’s a holy man from a far kingdom, I don’t suppose he’s ever seen a camel before.’

Kuo and Su agreed final prices and fees in the office.

‘Holy men, monks, like? There’s a cut in it for them if they know healing. Not much, there’s others I can call on…’

‘What’s the word on the route? Any worries?’

‘Tibetans causing trouble east o’ Niya, knocked over a garrison at Miran. Usual bother, otherwise quiet.’

‘Seems well enough. You’ve been to the diviner?’

‘Why would I not, soon as we knew the date for sure?’ Su replied in an injured tone. ‘Almanac gives us a fair passage, should we sight the rat star before we leave.’

‘So we’re settled. My party will see you at departure.’

They returned to Kuo’s home to find the ‘holy scriptures’ had arrived from the bookseller.

Written on a curious material called ‘paper’, these were in an ingenious portable form Nicander had never seen before – the usual scroll flattened and folded on itself many times so ‘pages’ could be turned. Kuo found a gemstone specimen box of the right size to carry them and demonstrated its false bottom, used to conceal the more precious stones.

That evening Nicander felt restless, and sensing Marius was too, suggested they take in the gardens.

They walked in silence, then Marius said, ‘Can see m’self setting to rights a dish or three of faggots when we get back. How about you, m’ friend?’

Nicander gave a half smile. How could he put into words his sense of foreboding?

‘It might not be as straightforward as all that, Marius,’ he muttered. ‘Something about the whole thing that makes me… well, it’s going too well, it can’t be this easy.’

‘You just like it here too much, that’s your problem.’

‘No, I just feel-’

‘It’s all right for you, Greek, you picked up the lingo quick smart. Not like me, half the time I’ve no idea what you’re talking about! I want to be back where a man knows where he’s at with people, can give a straight reply, kind o’ thing. For me, I don’t care if I’m down to hucking the streets again, so long as I’m with m’ kind!’

‘Wanting something badly doesn’t make it any more certain you’ll get it, Marius.’

‘What’s your gripe, Nico? We get on a camel this end and get off some other one at the other – simple.’ He chuckled. ‘Might even meet up with the camel wrangler I spoke to in Constantinople about getting to Seres. There’s a thought – won’t he gasp to see us!’

‘I’m sure,’ Nicander said drily. ‘But look at it my way – count how many things can go wrong, then add to those how many things have to go right for us to make it through. Marius, the odds are piled high against us before we even start!

‘Take just one thing. Only this – that no one, and I mean not a single soul – is known to have got through to the other side! They admit it! And I believe them for one simple reason. How many Chinese have you seen in the streets of Constantinople? None. A whole lot of Huns, Syrians, Moors and even weirder races, yes, but none from here. What does that tell you?’

‘So we’ll be the first! Does that frighten you?’

‘I don’t think you’re getting my drift. We’re heading out into this demon hell of a place and no one knows what’s there at the end. Who’s to say it’s the right way home? It might be in quite a different direction and there we are, tramping on, headed for a boiling sea or frozen place somewhere.’

He stopped walking. Obstinately Marius continued on, then turned back. ‘Look, Nico, I know nothing’s sure. Is that why we shouldn’t even try? Hey?’

‘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…