Silk Road (40 page)

‘The Son of Heaven hears your words,’ Phags-pa lama said. ‘He says he will think on them and speak with you again.’

And they were summarily dismissed.

As they left the Hall of Audience Josseran noted that the rule of which Sartaq had so ominously warned them, that of stepping on the threshold, was not enforced by the guards – perhaps because almost the entire throng were incapable of observing it. A number of the courtly gathering not only stepped upon it but several of them actually fell directly across it, flat on their faces, dead drunk.

‘H
E IS A
slattern and a drunkard,’ William hissed, when they were outside the chamber. ‘See how he disports himself! They are a godless rabble!’

‘Yet it is we who travelled six months across deserts and mountains to speak with him.’

‘What was his response to my words? You must tell me everything he said.’

‘His last words before he fell to his slumbers were that the chamberlains should be sure to send a virgin to my bedchamber tonight together with a dozen pitchers of koumiss.’

‘I should expect no better of you should you accept such a gift,’ William sneered. ‘Did he make mention of me?’

‘He did.’

‘And?’

‘When I told him you were a friar of St Dominic he ordered you flayed alive and your hide hung on his yurt.’

Josseran turned and walked away. They had travelled to the end of the world, risked their lives in countless ways, and it seemed that it had been for nothing. He wanted no more of this business. Damn William. Damn the Pope. And damn Khubilai Khan as well.

William wandered out of the gates, his heart and mind in turmoil. He had promised himself nothing less than the salvation of Christendom and the conversion of the Tatar horde. Instead he had been treated with ignominy, and this Templar who was supposed to help him in his sacred mission had turned out to be no better than a heretic himself. But he would find a way. God had chosen him, and he would not fail.

The inner city was the preserve of the Emperor and his court, but away from the golden curlicues, the city of Shang-tu itself was crowded and squalid, like every other great city William had seen, be it in Christendom, in Outremer, or here in Cathay. The houses were narrow, hovels of boards or mud brick, the timber joists of one resting on its neighbour so that the houses formed one long façade along the lanes. The windows were covered with torn strips of hemp.

Unlike the courtiers he had seen in the palace, the poor people of Shang-tu wore simple blouses and trousers of hemp cloth, with little cloth turbans on their heads and wooden sandals on their feet. Most were clean-shaven though a few had long side whiskers or a sparse goatee beard.

The alleyways were a seething mass of people and animals. Heavily laden mules were prodded along with bamboo sticks, ox carts rumbled past piled with bulging sacks of rice. A great lady swayed through the mass on an embroidered litter, jade pins in her glossy black hair, jewelled earrings swinging against her cheeks. Sugarcane sellers attracted customers by beating on a piece of hollow bamboo; the pedlars on the street corners and the hawkers at the canvas-covered stalls tried to outdo each other in screeching out their wares. Porters with wicker baskets and earthenware jars suspended on poles buffeted him as they hurried past.

By the hump-backed bridges, where the congestion was worst, entertainers gathered to ply their business with the crowds. There were acrobats, men juggling large earthenware jugs, a sword swallower, a one-armed man with a performing bear.

There was even a puppeteer, the man’s legs protruding ludicrously from beneath a curtain-covered box, and some actors performing burlesques for the crowd. William could not understand a word of what was said, but the Chin, laughing uproariously, seemed to enjoy the performance. The entertainment stopped abruptly when a troop of the Emperor’s soldiers appeared on the bridge. The actors scurried away.

He passed a window, saw a huddle of ancient whitebeards, heard the chanting of a Q’ran. It plunged him deeper into despair. Was there no place here for the one true God?

He wandered into a small courtyard with a covered arcade and
stumbled on to a teahouse, apparently the haunt of wealthy merchants and courtiers. The windows were open to the street. Lanterns of vermilion and gilt hung from the eaves; the walls covered with watercolours and fine calligraphy. A knot of singing girls leaned on the painted balustrade, inviting the passing trade to join them inside for tea and plum-flower wine. Giggling, they beckoned to William, who turned and fled. He came upon a dry earth wall with one small door opening on to the street. There was a crude wooden cross on the tiered roof. He caught his breath. Not even daring to hope, he ventured inside.

It was dark, the air heavy with dust and incense. An oil lamp burned on the altar, which was laid with a gold cloth embroidered with images of the Blessed Virgin, and beside her, John the Baptist. He gasped and made the sign of the cross. ‘God is here,’ he murmured. ‘Even here in the heart of so much darkness!’

He saw a silver crucifix set with jade and turquoise. Beside it was a small silver statue of Mary and a heavy silver box similar to the ones he had used in Augsburg to hold the sacrament. It was a miracle, the sign that he had been asking for. He cursed himself for his doubts.

He fell to his knees and whispered a prayer of thanks. As he began to recite the words of the paternoster a figure emerged from the gloom at the back of the church.

William rose to his feet. ‘My name is William,’ he said, in Latin. ‘I have been sent here by the Pope, who is the Vicar of Christ on earth, to bring you the benediction of the one true faith and lead you to the protection of the Holy Father.’

‘I am Mar Salah,’ the priest answered, in Turkic, ‘I am the Metropolitan of Shang-tu. I have heard all about you and I do not want you in my church. Now get out!’

William hurried back through the streets of Shang-tu to the palace, both excited and disturbed by what he had discovered. He had been unable to communicate directly with the priest; he would need the Templar for that. But there was no doubt the man was a heretic, infected with the blasphemies of Nestorius. He had all but thrown William out of the door.

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.