The Silk Tree Read online

  Yes, Turfan was indeed hot – but most houses had underground retreats where it would be cool enough to sleep. Yet it was close to the Tien Shan mountains where the snow would be falling feet thick while they were baking below. But snowmelt was the very reason for the existence of Turfan. It came down in torrents, streaming far out into the desert. With it, irrigation was possible and there was more than enough to sustain a whole kingdom.

  The dynasty that ruled Kaochang might owe fealty to any external power that was in sway at the time but thrived by reason of one thing: competence at regulating the caravan trade. A river of precious and exotic foreign goods flowed in both directions, real wealth, with the Sogdians at its very heart making it happen.

  As Turfan was allowed its independence the Chinese had no power there and therefore they should expect all the bureaucratic nonsense of a foreign country waiting for them. Fortunately, Su had Sogdian friends who would be able to help matters along – for a small fee.

  With a glint in his eye Su declaimed that Turfan was to be experienced! All the races and breeds of man that ever were – long-haired Gokturks, uncouth Uighurs, the odd Tibetan, he’d even seen with is own eyes some Tocharians with red hair and blue eyes! And of course those from other oasis kingdoms – the Kuchean dancing girls were famed for their liveliness, and—

  ‘Thank you, Su hsien sheng,’ Tai Yi said with asperity. ‘For giving us an understanding of the nature of Turfan.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  After the hard experiences of the Gobi it was easier going. Days of soft, wind-blown sand and then on the horizon, a grand white-tipped mountain range rising – the Tien Shan. They had crossed from one side of the Great Desert to the other.

  With a quickening of the pulse Nicander noted that now their direction was firmly to the west. At the same time the country changed abruptly from the parched glare of desert sands to the sudden green of fertility where a snowmelt river chuckled through.

  The caravan closed with the mountains and then, gloriously, a great town lay in the plains beneath them. Turfan.

  Within an hour a detachment of Kaochang cavalry had ridden up to escort them in, and they arrived in style.

  It was on a scale they hadn’t seen since Lan Chou; big, sprawling and with the vigour and noisiness of a great trading centre.

  The first order of business was for Su to render his documents relating to his travellers. The pass he held for the caravan as a whole detailed their status and occupations, their intent of travel and liability for imposts.

  Each traveller then had to produce their own to be levied a transit fee and issued with a permit. Ying Mei was required to sign for Nicander and Marius; underneath they made their marks – touching the inkstone as instructed, they made three horizontal lines under her beautifully formed characters.

  It was a brisk, practised process.

  Once dealt with, the travellers were free to go but the camel train remained until Su and the merchants had paid their toll.

  The two-storey caravanserai was vast and spacious. Water trickled down one wall, cooling the rooms while the inside courtyard was criss-crossed with a grape trellis which gave welcome shade.

  Nicander and Marius cheerfully freshened up. After so long on the trail they were going to have some fun!

  ‘Now, our funds?’ Nicander asked.

  Their small hoard was laid out, but they were in a foreign country; what did their motley collection of silver, bronze and copper amount to here?

  ‘We need someone who knows the place.’

  ‘Who? Su isn’t going anywhere until he’s done his haggling, no one else has been here before.’

  ‘So we’ll stick together. Where’s Korkut?’

  ‘Where do you think? All the merchants have gone off to try their luck.’

  ‘Then …?’

  ‘We step out, just we two – the boys from Rome!’ cackled Marius.

  Nicander agreed with a wide grin. It would be an unwise Turfanian in the backstreets who thought to pick on Marius.

  ‘But in these?’ He fingered his monk’s habit, threadbare but comfortable, which he’d worn since Chang An.

  ‘Get new stuff at some market, a bit snappier, like.’

  As they left they saw Ying Mei standing with Tai Yi in the courtyard.

  ‘Ah! There you are,’ she said brightly.

  ‘We were just going out.’

  ‘How convenient. We need to do a little shopping and would appreciate the company in this strange town.’

  ‘That is, we were on our way to the monastery to give thanks for our safe arrival,’ Nicander said. ‘But as women are not allowed …’

  ‘Oh. And I was so looking forward to seeing the sights. With a friend, that is. Come, Tai Yi, we’ll have to go back to our room. These gentlemen haven’t time for us.’

  ‘It might not be—’ Nicander began awkwardly.

  Marius interrupted gruffly. ‘He’s saying as women don’t like to go where men do, M’ Lady. And we’re—’

  ‘We’d be no trouble, Ah Wu, none at all! It’s just that … well, you and Ah Yung being my friends I really thought you’d …’

  Nicander felt himself weakening. ‘If you came with us—’

  ‘Oh, thank you!’ she said happily. ‘We’ll have such a time together.’

  The bazaar was vast, an arched-over covered expanse with many cross street-ways. To the eyes of the travellers accustomed to the limitless vista of empty desert it was almost more than the senses could stand. Wafting stinks and fragrances fought each other, the lure of baubles and silks competed with beaten silver and jade, animal skins with stout linen – and people of all the tribes of Central Asia pushed past in an intoxicating mix.

  It was all new and exciting: an alcove with nothing but dried reptiles, another with cunningly worked children’s toys, yet more with spices and medicinals and others offering sweetmeats and strange confections.

  Ying Mei insisted they stop at a purveyor of holy raiment. Nicander selected a long wrap-around garment in a modest ochre. It came with an inner robe and waistcloth and was delightfully cool. Marius found a similar one in a more dashing deep red – with his beard, a striking sight.

  Nicander felt in his purse but found a hand lightly on his.

  ‘Please let me, Ah Yung. You’ve been so good to us.’

  He was aware that her touch had lingered.

  In another part of the bazaar there were goods on display that could only have come from the mountains and beyond: furs, leather capes, felt blankets. The stallkeeper was black-browed and tall and delighted in producing more – from deerskin carpets to almond pastries, rakhbin cheese to horse hides. Marius was delighted with his lynx-fur cap purchase and said he would put it away for the cold nights but when he picked up a bright-painted pipe with a belled end the man convulsed in mirth.

  Tai Yi told him, ‘That’s a child’s piddling tube you have, Ma sheng. For winter when they’re under many layers of furs. He wonders that you must be so … poorly endowed.’

  Ying Mei stifled a giggle.

  They continued on, to where the vividly coloured costumes of the mountain people were on display.

  ‘How does this look on me?’ Ying Mei asked Nicander anxiously, holding up a gaily embroidered black dress.

  He hesitated then beamed approval. The last vestiges of the Ice Queen had gone – in its place was a laughing, high-spirited soul who was going out into the world to see what it had to offer. Against the barbaric boldness of these dresses he saw that she was a different woman, no trace of the porcelain doll now in the natural flush of her cheeks.

  They took refreshments at a stall, watermelon cider with a startling potency and grapes cold from ice pits.

  It was proving a very agreeable day.

  Leaving the market, they came to the entrance of a sunken garden. It turned out to be a grape forest – the fruit growing on trellises vertically and flat above them, a gratifying ambrosial shade. For a small coin they ate all they wished, s
traight from the vine.

  Hearing a distant din of drums, gongs and cymbals they hurried out on to the streets. It was a procession. Over the heads of the onlookers they caught glimpses of part of a dazzling gold canopy, a float of some sort. The noise swelled and then into view came an extravagantly ornamented temple-car bearing a single image of the Buddha garlanded in flowers. It was accompanied by a dozen shaven-headed priests, clashing tiny cymbals and chanting.

  Preceding them was a single barefoot figure daubed with red and white whorls and draped in a plain-coloured robe. In his hand he bore incense and flowers and attendants held aloft a richly decorated parasol.

  The man was given great respect. People bowed their heads, others fell prostrate.

  ‘That’s our king! His Greatness Yong Ping who is on his way to the monastery to intercede for us with the Enlightened One. And then in three nights it will be the Feast of the Lanterns. You are welcome to join us.’

  The ladies decided to lose no time in returning to the market to find something suitable to wear but after it was pointed out that too much admiring of female attire was perhaps not what holy men should be seen doing, the men were released.

  ‘So what’s to do?’ Marius said with a wicked leer. ‘All on our own in an oasis – I’ve seen worse. Take Syria. Damn, but they were evil. Did I ever tell you—’

  Nicander frowned. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Not in this gear. We’d be asking for trouble. Remember we were going to buy some clothes …’

  Marius grinned. ‘Never mind that. Leave it to me – I know what to do!’

  Later that evening two men in the garb of a recently arrived caravan escort slipped out into the night. After a particularly tough desert march it was quite understandable that they would be wanting to sluice away the memories with the far-fabled wines of Turfan …

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The morning heat was beginning to take hold and Nicander threw aside the light linen bed cover. On the previous evening, unlike Marius, he’d held off on the wine, finding it sweet and cloying. He’d not appreciated the coarse gaiety of the Kuchean dancing girls, nor the lewd frolics of the performing boys. His mind was restless in a way it had never been before.

  He freshened up, staring at the face that looked back at him in the bronze mirror. If they ever made it through he would be a very different man from the one who had set out. All the old certainties, his place in the world, what was possible to achieve, what was not, the value of things – were now in a state of fluidity.

  Dao Pa had planted seeds of doubt. The towering genius of Greek thought and philosophy that he’d taken as the final answer to questions of being was no longer enough.

  His father’s expensive education had given him a thorough respect for the structures of logic and reason that lay behind decisions he made.

  But now there was an alternative. Which was right? Were they both – or neither?

  ‘Marius! Are you awake?’

  ‘No, go away,’ his friend growled.

  ‘I’m off to take a look at that big temple we saw on the rise. Do you want to come along?’

  He grunted. ‘No. I need rest.’

  Nicander swirled on his new robe and fastened his hair in a topknot as he’d seen on Dao Pa.

  On foot it was hot-going, and the road steep. His outer robe was capacious and he drew it over his head against the fierce heat.

  In the distance he heard the booming of a great drum and the flutter of cymbals, then the drone of chanting.

  Was this a more effective way to claim the attention of gods and angels than the solemn ceremonies in the Hagia Sophia? Were they calling on the same god or were they having their existence in different worlds? So much to know, to learn!

  He paused at the tall ornamental gate. The pagoda reared up in all its mystery.

  ‘Why have you come, Ni lao na?’ From nowhere Dao Pa had appeared, his features nearly hidden by the robe over his head.

  ‘I … I need answers, Master.’

  ‘What do you seek?’

  ‘The Tao,’ he said simply.

  ‘Then this is as good a place as any to begin your path to understanding. Come, I am known to the abbot.’

  They were given a room. It was austere and bare with high windows. Dao Pa sat cross-legged in the centre, motioning Nicander to sit opposite.

  ‘Your road will not be easy. Your mind is rigid with the teachings of your race which declares rationality the only path to understanding and will allow no rival.’

  ‘It has served me well. Why should I abandon it?’

  ‘No one requires you discard your birth-learning. Rather to widen your perceptions and place it within a larger frame of reference where it will have its function still.’

  ‘I’m willing to learn, Master.’

  ‘There are many works of depth and value devoted to the striving for enlightenment, but these are closed to you.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘In the eyes of this world you are unhappily an illiterate.’

  ‘Then how …?’

  ‘There are other methods handed down to us that are quite as effective. These require that the self does rise above its containing body and in discipline gains control over the gateway to understanding.’

  ‘Teach me.’

  ‘The first is the truest, most potent – and is called meditation. You will attend closely: for the uninitiated, the acquiring of such a state of being is as a butterfly ascending to the clouds – not unattainable but demanding the devotion of every particle of body and soul to that end. Are you prepared?’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  On the third day Nicander reached a point where the first tendrils of illumination had entered his consciousness, an understanding of the transcendent that could never be reached in ways that were confined to the prison of words.

  It was a wondering revelation; to feel the mind float free of the grossness of the body and enter a world of purity of thought and perception. But it was as though he were newly born, unable to make sense or reason of what he was experiencing. By some means he had to seek his own way, find the truths that must lie in the writings of the ancients that had trod the same path before him.

  Dao Pa came and sat beside him and said softly, ‘The chief mysteries are those whose essence is sealed by time.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Let me show you.’

  They left the room for the glare of the sunlight, crossing to a small building apart from the others. It was dark inside, but an obliging monk fetched a lamp.

  ‘This is the hall of relics. Look around you – there are sutras carried from India at great cost, there is the cast of a footprint of the Enlightened One himself. And over here …’

  Some writings were laid out which were in the form of characters descending below a continuous horizontal line. Nicander peered closely but could make nothing of it.

  ‘This is in the native tongue of the holy men of India, the very source of the philosophy and understanding of the people of Buddha. We know it well for it has been translated into Chinese for all the world to take knowledge from.’

  Dao Pa went to another, quite different, the writing vertical, with irregular jagged protrusions from the line the only indication that it held intelligence. ‘It is the hand of the ancient nomads, those who had their living in the plains beyond the Tien Shan that are without limit in this world. Uncountable numbers of their people are now extinct – and we know nothing of what they say.

  ‘It means that their world is unknowable by us. What they spoke among themselves through this writing may hold wisdom unmatched by ours but we’ll never share in it.’

  Despite the warmth Nicander shivered. This was touching on mysteries perhaps they had no right to pierce.

  They passed to an inner room. At first he could see nothing, then the flickering lamp picked out a body laid on a carpet and covered with a richly ornamented cloth.
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  Dao Pa tenderly drew it back revealing a mummy, perfectly desiccated.

  ‘This mortal – he may be one hundred, one thousand years old, it doesn’t signify, for he is lost to time.’

  Nicander recoiled. It was beginning to affect him, not just the mystic aura of the pagoda but the unearthly, spectral sense of having reached the borders of human reason.

  ‘See there; he has red hair and a thin nose – like yours.’

  Nicander felt a chill go down his spine. This was not an oriental at all. If anything it resembled one of the barbarous Celts from lost Britannia.

  ‘Why do they venerate him so?’

  ‘He was found in a city half-swallowed by the sand, buried with all the grave goods of a prince and ruler. No one can speak his name, his kingdom or his fate – he exists, yet he does not. He has substance but never a word or thought of his will we ever know.’

  How had this man found his way across the world here to this unknown remoteness? Or was it that here, in fact, was the first homeland of the Celts and they had left it for a better land at the edge of the world? This was not impossible – the Huns and Goths were at the moment doing just that, sweeping out of the dark unknown of steppe and forest to take what they wanted from the Romans.

  Either way this was more uprooting of his certainties, another realignment of perspectives – he had to break free and contemplate it all.

  ‘Master – I must take my leave now. There’s much to think on.’

  ‘I will be there for you when you need me.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Reflected moonlight splintered into myriad shards on the river as groups of people prepared their floats on the bank. Sitting on a rock ledge, watching as the Feast of Lanterns reached its climax, Ying Mei sighed deeply.

  From here and there bright points of light started then a couple would go to the water’s edge and launch their tiny craft. At the base of the little incense-stick mast a message was tied, known only to them.

  It would gradually be consumed but not before the couple’s wish had been read by the kindly gods.