Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

He tried to make light of it. ‘But not before we’ve had a few more interesting adventures, I’d say.’

‘I’d call ’em more trials,’ rumbled Korkut, tucking into more mutton. ‘The stretch between Cherchen and Niya is particularly bad. I remember when-’

‘Are you not feeling well, dear?’ Zarina said in sudden concern, looking at Ying Mei.

She got up and went to her, squeezing her shoulder gently but Ying Mei did not respond, and held herself rigid.

‘The first time’s always hard. Leaving behind-’

‘Thank you, Korkut tai tai, ’ Tai Yi said, helping Ying Mei to her feet. ‘The Lady P’eng will now retire to rest.’ She shepherded her unresisting mistress away.

‘Odd sort of woman,’ Korkut muttered, picking at his teeth.

‘No she’s not!’ Zarina snorted. ‘The poor lamb – she’s homesick, that’s all.’

The first indication they had of Dunhuang, the oasis to the west, was an increased number of mounds of dull sand clumped around scraggy sage brush.

Grey outlines of hills formed, and then out of nowhere, a single tree, gaunt, with spiky dark-green leaves.

Closer to, there were more trees. The hills were actually massive dunes – not just one or two but stretching away out of sight one after another in mighty curved waveforms.

The caravan wound past the edge of the dunes which towered above them a hundred feet in an awe-inspiring mass.

It was approaching night but Su pressed on into the gathering dusk.

Then a sight to clutch the heart: a walled town. Well-watered gardens outside, people moving, lights, distant sounds of human activity – life!

Nicander’s horse snorted and tossed his head impatiently. Somewhere not far was water.

They followed the edge of the wall then picked up a track along its side and came to a river. It seemed so improbable; rearing dunes and lifeless light-grey sand, but moving through it a channel of living, sparkling water.

They had arrived in the confines of a caravanserai courtyard open to the stream. The order to dismount was given and a crew took charge of the animals and led them to water. The passengers found themselves quickly surrounded: small children running about, merchants claiming their goods, officials haranguing the caravan master, hucksters and others who simply stared in awe.

A welcoming band struck up – cymbals and lutes, a wailing pan pipe of sorts, three drummers. The crowd increased.

Nicander and Marius were told: ‘You two – follow him.’

A youth with laughing eyes darted ahead to show them to their cell in the low building that reeked of the dust of ages. He held out his hand for a coin but Nicander shook his head sorrowfully. The lad ran off trailing shrill abuse.

Their kit was finally brought and they made free with a generous pitcher of water.

A little later Korkut appeared at their door, grinning. ‘Look, while we’re in an oasis we’re off caravan victuals, look to ourselves. Now myself, I don’t take to caravanserai feed, too basic if you get my meaning. Zarina thought you’d like to come with us to the Golden Peach, it being our first night. That is if you haven’t an arrangement with the monks, you being holy men and so forth.’

‘Kind of you to think of us, Korkut sheng ,’ Nicander replied. ‘We’d be honoured to come.’ He paused. ‘Would it be possible to take with us the Lady P’eng? She being so cast down and…’

Korkut’s bushy eyebrows rose. ‘Well, if you think so. I have to tell you that the Peach is very much your regular oasis inn, which is to say its pleasures and entertainments might not be to the taste of a lady.’

‘Zarina’s going?’

‘I couldn’t stop her!’

‘Then as she’s a lady, so there’ll be company for her.’

Nicander was not proud of the fact that there was also another motive behind the request: as they were a party invited together Ying Mei could hardly refuse to pay for their share – one worry disposed of.

Dunhuang throbbed with life. A caravan of colourful strangers with money to burn, fashion goods from China to buy, the latest gossip from Chang An and travellers to entertain were irresistible.

The brightly lit streets were full with peoples from every remote corner of Asia in all kinds of outlandish dress. Korkut’s little band made their way through and soon arrived at the inn.

From the upper-storey balcony, girls with elaborate coiffures threw them kisses. They passed inside to a roar of noise, candlelight picking out gold-leafed carvings, scarlet furniture, intricate tapestries – and the eyes of the revellers.

Korkut took them to stairs at the rear. The upper floor turned out to be even more extravagantly furnished. They were shown to an elaborately lacquered table close by an open space.

A voluptuously dressed girl bowed with a dazzling smile. ‘Good evening! I’m Mei Ling, mistress of the table, you are our honoured guests.’

They sat on low benches, Korkut and his wife in the centre with Ying Mei opposite. Tai Yi eased herself between Nicander and her mistress. Marius sat next to Korkut.

Waiters arrived with trays of delicacies. ‘Wine!’ ordered Korkut. ‘The best!’

It came in a silver-chased jug worked with flying camels with wings, and was silky smooth, slipping down rapidly after the stern discipline of the desert.

‘Not so fast!’ Korkut ordered.

‘We’re here as guests in Dunhuang. We must follow their customs. So – will you drink my health, or will I drink yours, Ma sheng ?’ He made a fist. ‘You see this?’ Two fingers came out. ‘Now you – any number.’

Three fingers came out of Marius’s big hand.

‘So the total is five. Now to make it interesting, at just the same time we throw, we shout out what we think will be the correct number. Ready?’

Marius caught on quickly to the drinking game but it was Korkut who first scored.

‘Your very good health, sir!’ Marius grinned and toasted him Roman fashion, moving his arm wide across his chest.

Nicander joined in and after losing twice in succession, a pleasant fuddle settled in.

The promised feast arrived. Pigeon’s eggs, a fish in bamboo root, tripe in spicy noodles, the dishes kept coming.

He eased forward to catch a glimpse of Ying Mei. She was talking gravely to Zarina but appeared to be having a good time, even if her poise was as unbending as ever.

There was movement at another table where caravan master Su sat. He wore a deep-blue silk top jacket with distinctive yellow patterns woven into it and leg-hugging red trousers which were tucked into calf-length brocaded boots. And on his head was a black conical cap cheekily tilted forward.

His guests were two girls in as colourful a dress as he and both were in paroxysms of laughter.

‘Bloody Sogdians!’ Korkut spluttered. ‘Can’t keep away from ’em.’

To one side a flute began an exploratory trill. It was from a trio which included knee drums and lute.

‘Ha! This is why we came, m’ friends. Only thing the Sogs are good for.’

Two serving girls scurried out with a crimson and green rug which they threw over the reed-matting floor. An expectant hush fell.

The flute then joined with the pipa lute in a soft, lingering melody, hinting at mystery and allure.

Even through his alcoholic haze Nicander was caught up in the atmosphere. Mere yards away in the darkness huge silent dunes were stretching away to infinity, while here they were, cheating the wilderness demons in a celebration of their victory over the desert.

In a flash of movement a dancer appeared in a bare-shouldered silk blouse and a long, filmy gauze skirt over loose green trousers. She stepped forward daintily, her tiny jewelled slippers pointing and tapping in deliberate movements until she reached the centre of the rug where she took up a provocative pose.