Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

Their mounts were led out to barely stifled gasps of dismay. They looked like runts; donkey-coloured, they had bushy manes and long tails. Nicander heaved himself up on one, which didn’t appear to be troubled by the burden.

Their baggage went on a pack mule and with the other ponies, five drivers and Yulduz they got under way.

As they skirted the base of the mountains, they were overawed by their dark bulk thrusting vertically to arrogant heights. The limitless immensity of the desert floor stretched out to the other side.

After an hour or so a river valley opened up and they entered the world of the mountain.

Bare, forbidding grey cliffs dropped precipitously down to the narrow valley floor and a small jade-coloured river.

On each side the cliffs began closing in and before long they were threading their way along an uneven rocky track by the side of the river. Ahead through the winding defile Nicander caught breathtaking glimpses of snowy peaks.

A constant cool wind funnelling down from the uplands through the ravines obliged them to find warmer clothes. As they wound ever deeper into the mountain fastness it turned to a sun-bright cold that was piercing.

Sure-footed, their ponies made their way forward on the rough terrain, delicately, like cats. It was now obvious why these were used in preference to the big-boned horses of the plains.

By the end of the day their track was appreciably steeper. They stopped at a flat area, a saddle between two valleys. It had spectacular views of the interior, the soaring peaks now tinged with a delicate rose as the lower areas shadowed before nightfall.

On this caravan there were no crew to take care of the domestics and while Nicander and Marius set about rigging a heavy black tent Tai Yi and Ying Mei took their pot to where a tiny cooking fire crackled.

Quite swiftly the mountains turned purple and then all disappeared into the shadows of night.

With no campfire, no entertainments and no fellow travellers there was nothing for it but to retire. To reduce the load, a single communal tent had been brought – and sleeping arrangements agreed. The ladies would enter first and when decency allowed, call out, on their honour to face away as the men did likewise.

The tent was roomy but stuffy with a strong odour of animal. Nicander threw the door flaps wide but the night air was frigid, feeling far colder than the desert and with a humid edge to it, much more cutting. He quickly laced them up again.

They lay back in the dark and after a round of stilted ‘good nights’ each was left alone with their thoughts.

Across the saddle they descended to another valley floor trending in a different direction. It widened and after a while they took a steep path that led out on to a sparse meadow. The ponies were given their head to crop the grass.

Without any warning a squall came up and fat drops of rain began falling, icy cold. It passed as quickly, leaving the grass wet and glittering and the sun beaming in warmth.

Suddenly Ying Mei pointed to the sky. A pair of great eagles circled high up. ‘Wild creatures!’

They were the first such they had seen after months in the dead heart of the desert.

‘And there.’ Marius’s keen eyes spotted a montane sheep perilously picking its way along the side of the far mountain.

They spied more and the time passed agreeably until they found themselves entering some kind of upland kingdom between the crags and peaks. Pleasant grassy sward, trickling crystal brooks and here and there the tiny dash of colour of a wildflower.

Then a settlement came into view with blue smoke spiralling up from squat stone huts, flocks of sheep and a cluster of gaily decorated round tents off to one side.

Their arrival brought out children in ribboned pigtails and little black trousers screaming in delight and women eager to see what goods had been brought.

But they did not stay long. Yulduz chivvied on the proceedings, glancing repeatedly at the sky.

Soon they had left the grassland. Their track took on a marked upward gradient and the animals strained at their loads.

They passed through a towering canyon, a dismal place of cold dankness and shadow, and out into a broader valley where they continued their ascent.

The ponies were now making heavy weather of it, panting. Yulduz got off his mount and led it, ordering Nicander and the others to do so too. Puffing and wheezing with the high altitude they tramped over the stony path, now littered with boulders and treacherously wet.

Often the sun was obscured by clouds streaming over the peaks, instantly sending the temperature down to a numbing cold.

Further on they came to their first snow, scattered slush that made it hard to see what they were stepping into and in their bulky sheepskins difficult and slippery going.

They passed over the rise and a wide upland area opened out before them. On it many long-haired beasts were grazing peacefully on the slopes before a small village. Yulduz gestured towards it with a smile. As they headed there the first flakes of a light snow came whirling down.

They stopped at the largest house, a wooden two-storey structure with lean-to stables and animal pens.

‘My son’s house!’ Yulduz said proudly.

Inside, aglow with the ruddy glare of a fire, it stank richly of animals.

After he was greeted by a succession of sun-browned relatives, Yulduz introduced a shy woman in filigreed headgear and voluminous dress as his son’s wife.

Then came a number of wide-eyed children to greet them and a deeply wrinkled old woman. ‘Her mother.’

The travellers were greatly relieved to be in the warm, and with no shared language, but with Yulduz translating, chatted happily to the family.

A frothy concoction of tea, salt and butter was served. This was followed by a delicious feast of many dishes – horse-meat sausages, sheep’s liver, a spicy rice dish of chicken and fried shredded carrots in a huge cauldron.

After everyone could eat no more, Yulduz commanded, ‘We sleep!’ A rickety ladder led up to the open second floor with beds and tables in one communal area.

In the morning they all helped in the main task: transferring the goods and baggage to the yaks. Yulduz explained that at the higher regions where they were headed the ponies could not stand the altitude.

The yaks were of impressive bulk: even Marius could barely see over their humped shoulders, and with a dense and hairy undercoat they looked well fitted for the cold. Their horns were a yard across but the huge beasts were imperturbably docile, taking their saddle-frame without pausing as they cropped the snow-littered grass.

The yak train was sizeable – thirty-five of the shaggy monoliths in all, laden down with salt from the plains, worked silver goods, carpets, baubles from Kashgar’s bazaars.

Nicander and the others were helped into the saddle by giggling boys. The massive beasts stood unmoving, firm as a rock. Nicander flashed a nervous grin at Marius and the ladies.

There were no ropes stringing the yaks together as with a camel train. When shrill shouts announced the start of the trail, each animal obediently followed the one in front. The lead yak, which did not carry any load, walked forward and placidly turned to left and right on command as they wound across the upland plain.

They were easy to ride, reassuringly steady with none of the airy sway – or the goaty smell – of a camel. Yaks were almost scented, even with their slightly oily hair, which hung down below their bellies.

Ahead, Ying Mei twisted round to wave an assurance to Nicander.

The plain contracted and then they began following a narrow, stony track around the steep bare flank of a precipice. Nicander saw to the right the mountainside falling away in an awesome drop to a river below. All it needed was a misplaced hoof and…