Silk Road (25 page)

Then it regurgitated a bellyful of green slimy curd over his back.

William staggered forward, his water spraying over his robe as he groped one-handed behind his back to discover what had befallen him. One-Eye, who had also seen what had happened, collapsed on the ground, helpless with laughter. William attempted to wipe the foul slime from his robe while still clutching his member in the other hand. He saw Khutelun watching him and tottered away, his face crimson.

Only Josseran did not laugh. She wondered why, for she knew he had no great love for his companion.

‘The beast does not like him overmuch,’ she said.

‘That much is plain.’

‘Tell him to wait till the sun dries it,’ she said, ‘then he may flake it off. Else he will just make it worse.’

‘I will tell him,’ Josseran said.

William was shrieking as if the regurgitated cud were molten lead. If he were typical of all the barbarian shamans, she thought, they had nothing to learn from them or their religion. Yet this warrior, this . . . Joss-ran . . . was different. He had proved himself strong and brave, and ever since he was injured on the mountain she had sensed a certain kinship with him.

Though why that should be she had no idea.

They were in the lands of the Uighurs, Khutelun told him.

The people here, she said, were vassals of the khan in Bukhara, and had been since the days of Chinggis, to whom they had made their submission to prevent the destruction of their fields and their cities. The nomad Tatars imposed taxes on the people through local governors, who ruled with their sanction. There was an annual tribute, the
tamga
, paid by merchants and craftsmen in the cities, and the
kalan
or land tax imposed on the farmers. Even local nomads paid taxes with a portion of their herds. This was called the
kopchur
. And there was also a 5 per cent levy on all merchants passing through the khanate. It was in this way that the Tatars kept a stranglehold on the lucrative Silk Road.

For nomads, it seemed to Josseran, they had a firm grasp of the principles of empire.

A week later they reached Aksu, the Uighur capital. The ruins of ancient beacon towers rose from what Josseran at first thought to be mist. But as they came closer he saw that this mist was actually a dust storm. The ancient town lay just beyond, a huddle of white buildings sheltering under swaying poplar trees, nestled against the base of yellow loess cliffs. The green strip of the oasis clung to the banks of a river.

Suddenly they were riding through poplar-shaded lanes between green fields planted with tomatoes and aubergines. Water sparkled in the irrigation canals. A young girl veiled her face at the sight of these infidels, while little boys, bathing naked in the streams, stared
at them with huge blueberry eyes. People ran into the streets in their skullcaps, old whitebeards pushing and shoving along with the rest to get a better view of these strange barbarians the Tatars had brought with them.

That night they did not stay at a caravanserai but lodged in the house of the local
darughachi
, the Tatar-appointed governor. There was a meal of mutton and rice and spices, and servants with platters of fruit and pots of aromatic green teas and a real bed with silk coverlets.

It was almost like being alive again.

But when Khutelun leaped on to her camel the next morning she shouted a warning to Josseran. ‘I hope you have enjoyed your rest! From here we enter the worst desert in the world. Soon you will long to be back at the Roof of the World!’

THE SPEED WITH
which night fell in the desert surprised Josseran. It was like being thrown into a windowless dungeon and having the iron door slam shut.

Late some afternoons they might see a lonely caravanserai in the distance, and Khutelun would make them quicken their pace to arrive before sunset, find shelter behind its dun-yellow walls. They would sprawl exhausted among the packs and fibre ropes, the kettles spitting over their fires, grateful for the shelter from the unremitting desert wind.

But other nights they were forced to make their camp in the open desert, huddled by a meagre fire built from camel droppings dried by the sun. The Tatars called this
argol
and in that barren wilderness it was their only source of fuel. At least there was always plenty of it as the route they took was the one all caravans followed; it was marked by a cairn of stones every quarter of a league. One-Eye collected baskets of dung during their daily march and when they stopped to camp the Tatars would collect handfuls more while the fires were lit.

Then they would eat the thin gruel of mare’s curd that had become their staple before falling into black, exhausted sleep on the hard ground, curling into their sheepskins.

Then it was the turn of the lice to start feasting.

One night Josseran stayed huddled by the cold fire, long after the other Tatars had curled up to sleep inside their
dels
. Khutelun delayed also; he wondered if she had begun to look for his company as much as he now craved hers.

William stayed awake as long as he could, beggar at the feast, but fatigue finally overtook him. Alone now, Josseran and Khutelun watched the fire die, listening to the rumbling snores of the Tatars. In the darkness One-Eye babbled at the demons who infested his sleep. The camels snuffled and barked.

‘Tell me about yourself, Christian,’ Khutelun said softly.

‘What is it you wish to know?’

‘Tell me about this place you talk of. This Outremer. Is this where you were born?’

‘No, I was born near a place called Troyes, in Burgundy, a province of a country called France. I have not seen it these five years or more. My home ever since has been a place called Acre, which is a great city and fortress next to the sea.’

‘What is it like to live inside a fortress? Do you not sometimes feel that you are in a prison?’

‘I have lived all my life inside stone walls. I am accustomed to it. It is these wide spaces that make me afraid.’

‘I could never live behind a wall. A civilized person must have the grass beneath their feet and a horse saddled to ride.’

He looked up at the sky. It was like a piece of black velvet, strewn with diamonds. It was beautiful, but it left him feeling naked. ‘Once, when I was a child, I decided to find out how many stars there were. I crept out of the castle one night and lay down in the field and started to count.’

‘How many are there?’

‘I don’t know. I fell asleep. My father found me under a big oak tree, almost frozen, and had to carry me back home. I woke up on a fur beside a big log fire. I have never wished to know the night so well again. Neither have I been so cold. Until the Roof of the World.’

He remembered his father’s arms around him, warming him, how his beard tickled his cheek. It should have been a pleasant memory, but it was tainted with sorrow like so many of his remembrances.

Perhaps he should have left me there under that oak tree, Josseran thought.

‘My father carried me home many times,’ Khutelun said. ‘I was always running away at night. I wanted to fly, to touch the stars with the tips of my fingers.’ She reached out her hand towards the night sky. ‘In Christian, do you have names for the stars?’

‘That one is the Pole Star,’ he said, pointing to the north, ‘but we also have names for the gatherings of the stars.’ He pointed above his head ‘For instance, we call that one the Great Bear. If you look long enough, you can imagine the outline of a bear.’

‘Then you have a wonderful imagination,’ she said, and he laughed. ‘For us it is the Seven Giants. You see that star, there. That is the Golden Nail. It is where the gods tie their horses.’

‘You believe in more than one god?’

‘I believe there might be. Who can tell?’

‘But there is only one God, who made us, and who made all things.’

‘How do you know there is only one god? Have you been to the Blue Sky to see for yourself?’

‘It is my faith.’

‘Faith,’ she repeated. ‘I have faith that my horse will take me to the end of my journey. The rest I must know for myself.’

They fell silent for a while. ‘Have you children, Christian?’ she asked him suddenly.

‘Once. I had a daughter.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘She died.’

‘What of your wife?’

He hesitated. How much should he tell this woman of his past? And even if he did tell her, how much could she understand of it, when her own ways were so different? ‘She is far away, in France.’

‘Do you love her?’

‘I loved her body.’

‘How long since you have seen her?’

‘It is many years now. I dare say she has forgotten what I look like.’

‘Why do you not return to her?’

‘Because she is not, in truth, my wife. She belongs to another. It is a sin on my head.’

Khutelun nodded. Taking another man’s wife was a crime among the Tatars as well. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her cheeks against the cold. He could only see her eyes and the glow of the fire reflected in them.

‘I will tell you this frankly,’ he said. ‘I have never thought of any
woman as anything more than a pillow, something soft to lie with at night. Do I speak too freely for you?’

‘No, of course not. My own father has many wives that he keeps for the pleasures of the body. But he has only one favourite wife, and now he is older and his blood has cooled he spends most of his days with her. They talk much.’

‘It is wrong to have more than one wife.’

‘Why?’

‘A man should control his base desires. They are an affront to God.’

‘Is that what your holy man would have you believe?’

‘I may not love him overmuch but I believe he understands the mind of God better than I.’

‘How can a man understand the mind of the gods? So much in life is uncertain.’

‘God’s law is immutable. It is for men to keep it.’

‘I was taught as a child to obey no law but that of Chinggis, our Great Khan, because that is what makes our empire strong. But as for the gods, we try and listen to the spirits of the Blue Sky as best we can. But nothing is certain.’

‘Did your Chinggis teach you that it was right for a man to have as many wives as he wished?’