Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

The poorer shacks petered out and the road wound through near identical flat fields.

One by one the songsters fell silent until there was nothing but the slithery jingle of harness and soft clop of hoofs, the creaking of wheels and occasional animal snort, a hypnotic backdrop to their slow but inexorable progress.

Nicander took in the passing scene. The landscape seemed unchanging but he soon found that this was an illusion: at their deliberate walking pace the roadside passed by in an unchanging rhythm and the outer perspectives remained solid and unmoving. However, after an hour’s placid motion distant features had subtly changed their shape, had revealed more of one side.

Of course, this is how it must be – great distances eaten up only by steady and continuous travel. Each new day they would press on in an achievement of endurance that eventually would see all of a thousand miles pass by.

A horse cantered down the line. It was the caravan master who reined in when he saw Nicander.

‘How’s your lady?’ he demanded.

Irritation boiled up in Nicander at the thought of the Ice Queen in her carriage telling her lady-in-waiting to take issue with them for their conditions. ‘How should I know – why don’t you ask her yourself?’

The man’s face tightened. ‘Don’t come it the fool with me, Ni sheng ! I could make it hard for you before the trip’s done.’

Nicander regretted his outburst. Su was probably under a lot of strain at the outset of a major transit and a moaning female was not what was wanted at this stage.

‘She hasn’t complained to me, Su sheng .’

The face eased. ‘Good. Let me know if…’

Nicander nodded, resolving not to let the woman get to him again.

The sun dipped in the sky, cooling the air. Shadows lengthened, evening crickets began their chorus.

Idly Nicander wondered how they would spend their first night. The country was fully under cultivation, the intensive kind peculiar to China where fields ran close to the next with only a narrow path separating them. Where were five hundred camels going to fit?

Soon they entered a small town, pulling off the main road into a lane and through a gate into an expansive quadrangle, much the same as the one in Chang An.

Waiting for them was a line of men who moved forward as the head of the train came to a stop.

‘Dismount! All riders – dismount!’

Nicander swung down painfully. So many hours in the saddle was going to take getting used to.

Under the sharp eyes of the escort the men unloaded the goods the camels carried into carts, to be put under guard until morning while the camels were taken to their stables. A lad came for their horses and they were led away into the main building. There was no alternative but to stay close to Ying Mei for this was a caravanserai and there would be costs involved.

They were efficiently dealt with: a cell for him and Marius on the lower floor with the constant stink of camels, rooms on the airy upper floor for the ladies.

And within the hour a gong announced a meal.

As this was a freight caravan the large hall was only partly occupied.

Nicander held back until he could see how things would be handled. The monks sat by themselves at one table, the caravan crew were already at merriment at another and all the merchants and other passengers were beginning to gather together at a large communal table. There was no sign of Ying Mei or her sharp-tongued companion.

‘Come on, Marius. We’ll see who we’ve got for company. Some of ’em look interesting…’

Before they could move Tai Yi’s voice behind them snapped, ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you two. Neglecting your duty, for shame! You’re engaged as protectors, your place is with My Lady while she dines.’

‘We’re monks, not guardsmen!’ Nicander said hotly. ‘We’ll sit wherever-’

‘Even holy men can feel hungry if their allowance is cut off! What’s it to be – your duty, or suffer your hunger pangs alone?’

The four were granted a table away from the others.

Nicander reluctantly conceded that two ladies on their own could be at the mercy of revellers if the night developed. For the first time they had revealed a touching dependency. It was a minor triumph and helped him put up with the stifling correctness at the table and perpetually averted gaze.

His ill-humour returned seeing Marius fawning on the woman and the shameless adulation that the caravan master showed when he came up to enquire after her situation.

However, after they had dined the ladies promptly went to their rooms and they were free for the night.

Nicander was too restless for sleep even though warned they would be on their way at first light. He wandered out into the moonlit quadrangle. It was busy with men rubbing down horses, lamplit repairs to camel tack and a long line of animals being fed.

It was a telling picture of the organisation behind an enterprise of this size and his business instinct shied at trying to calculate the overheads of half a thousand camels and horses, not to mention the costs of accommodation for the passage crew which must greatly outnumber the two-legged freight. No wonder the prices of goods passed from market to market in this way were so exorbitant by the time they’d reached their destination.

He was pleased when he spotted his camel, who’d so patiently followed them all day. He was chewing rhythmically, jaws moving sideways. The beast gave no sign of recognition and a huge eye swivelled glassily away.

A young man, probably one of the caravanserai men spelling the passage crew, emerged from the other side where he’d been inspecting one of the animal’s splayed feet. He looked up in surprise.

‘Do you know the name of this camel?’ Nicander asked.

‘Meng Hsiang,’ he answered warily. ‘Fifth time into the desert for this ’un. Never any bother.’

Nicander felt a jet of pride that his camel had stood out in this man’s memory.

‘You’ll look after him, won’t you?’

It came out a little awkwardly but resulted in a pleased smile. ‘O’ course I will. This is your first trip?’

He didn’t seem at all put off by talking to a bearded foreigner and Nicander realised that for him, the exotic must be commonplace.

‘First time. Tell me, why are there so many camels not loaded? There must be at least a couple of hundred not working, taking feed.’

‘Oh, this is the caravan master’s investment, he and his crew. Only the males take a load. There are spares but most of the others are females with their young. They’ll be sold for a good price somewhere along the way, already trained.’

‘Our Mr Su. A hard man.’

‘Has to be. Tells the camel wranglers what he wants and can’t let ’em slack off. Responsible for dealings with customs for unaccompanied cargo after every big stage. Has to know the border entry fees ahead of time, negotiate ’em down, know when to go around. If there’s a run-in between two oasis kingdoms he’s got to talk to both to let him through, and of course his is the last word on which direction to take after a sandstorm. Has to be hard.’

Nicander nodded.

‘And did you know he’s got power of life or death?’

‘Oh?’

‘If there’s misbehaving, thievery, suchlike, he can order the culprit thrown off the caravan. If this is in the Great Desert they’ve no hope.’

‘So, do what he says.’

‘A good idea. Look, I have to go now. ’Ware of the desert demons and have a good journey!’

They were roused before dawn and after a solid meal the caravan headed out. The same steady swing and plod, the snaking line ahead a ribbon of colour in the dun-grey and soft green of the fields, the distant smudge of the mountains always there.