‘But of course – I forget my manners! Do enter, my child, take some refreshment while you tell me why you are here. You are most welcome, most welcome!’
They were led along paths lined with peonies and trees, through several courtyards, and then past a series of modest buildings of a charming style to a formal hall.
It was delicately appointed in the same spare, elegant taste as his brother.
They sat by a low table, Ying Mei close to her uncle. A set of tiny porcelain dishes was brought and a larger container used to decant a fragrant steaming liquor.
Kuo told Nicander, ‘You may not yet have tried jasmine cha.’
Nicander lifted the dish and caught a subtle aroma – there were tiny leaf fragments and a dried white blossom floating in the tea. It was delicious.
‘Now, my dear, tell me. How is your father?’
Ying Mei replied without emotion, ‘Uncle, this is why I’ve come. I beg that before you hear me, you desire all of your household to leave save yourself.’
In the same controlled tone she laid out what Kao Yang’s usurping of the Dragon Throne had cost her family.
It was the first time Nicander had heard the full story, and despite himself, his heart went out to her.
To stand helpless while her father was mutilated, to hear that her mother had hanged herself in shame soon after, and that all the time she had been living with the constant fear of being taken up as a concubine by the tyrant was deeply shocking.
She had held her dignity for her father’s sake and, like him, had done her duty as she saw it. With the Emperor’s cruel putting to death of his own son they had felt released of the bonds of loyalty.
Kuo’s face went pale and when she passed him a letter from her father his hand trembled.
He read, twice, then turned aside.
She waited quietly, her face an impenetrable mask.
Recovering himself, Kuo addressed her gently. ‘Your father is a great philosopher, a worthy disciple of the sages and a loving and dutiful father. And I will not refuse him. But in this he is asking for more than he can possibly realise. The obstacles to be faced are very severe. On the other hand you have little choice: your fleeing the Emperor’s court has earned his rage and vengeance – you will be hunted for the rest of your days. Or his.’
He went to the door and looked out, then resumed his place. ‘So – you seek to leave China for exile in the Western Lands. Are you still resolved on this?’
‘I am.’
‘Not Japan or Korea, as others have done?’
‘My father despises their debasing of our civilisation, and as well, fears that the Emperor’s agents have influence even there.’
‘So he wishes you to be entirely out of the reach of the Emperor.’
‘Yes, Uncle.’
‘Therefore beyond the influence of our civilised ways, into the land of the barbarians. This is hard indeed, my child.’
‘Our history has many instances of a princess journeying beyond civilisation in obedience to her father. How am I to be so different?’
‘Very well. I bow to your wishes, my dear. Now, you gentlemen…?’
Nicander answered. ‘We have sworn to your brother that we will stand by his daughter until she has reached her sanctuary.’
‘That is most noble in you, sir. May I enquire where you come from?’
Wary, he knew the question would not have been asked if Kuo had mentioned it in the letter.
‘Sir, from a small kingdom far away, it is of no consequence for we came by sea. We are seekers after truth and have travelled far in our wandering.’
‘I honour you for it. Yet the obstacles remain a threat to you all. I shall be frank. I am a merchant in silk and it is in my interest to know of far places to learn of the market there, prices, demand. Yet my knowledge extends only to the oasis towns in the great desert before the mountains. Past these, no one knows what is there.
‘We merchants consign our stock and sell to the highest price as advised to us by our agents in those places, the most distant of which is in a place called Aksu, still far from the mountains. That is to say, this is as far as my knowledge and influence extends. I cannot help you any further. After Aksu… you are on your own.’
‘How will we go on from there?’
‘You will join a caravan leaving here for those regions. They are large, some several hundred camels is the usual number. These go to an agreed destination, like Dunhuang, Khotan and such, so the merchant may plan to send his freight there. On arrival there may be an entirely different caravan going on – the silk is transferred and the original caravan returns. The furthest I personally have sent a freight is Kucha. The merchants in the various cities know the market prices and conditions further on the route, having their own agents out there. They can advise of caravans going on and make arrangements for you.’
‘So we travel by camel caravan.’
‘Yes. Do understand that the purpose of these caravans is the moving of freight – you are only a variety of goods requiring special handling.’
‘Then people regularly travel?’
‘On the nearer routes, often. Officers relieving outer garrisons, imperial messengers, merchants consulting agents, but the further parts very rarely. In fact, I can tell you that I know of not a one who has gone beyond the last oasis towns, as you must. There have been famous travellers who have gone into the mountains, devout monks wishing to reach India to acquire the original writings of the Buddha, but only very few, and none whatsoever any further.’
‘Sir, are you not curious what lies at such a distance?’ Nicander asked respectfully.
‘We Chinese have little interest in barbarian peoples. To journey into the direction of the setting sun can only end in regions of darkness at the edge of the world. Whatever is the nature of the tribes there makes no difference to the price they seem willing to pay for our silk.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘But of course, I’m forgetting the Sogdians.’
‘I know little of them, sir.’
‘These are peoples who make a profession of running the caravans. You will find them in every town, every stage. Your caravan master you can be sure will be a Sogdian, and they speak among themselves the intelligence to make a crossing, but never to we. The secrets of the way are theirs and they are jealous to keep them so. It is possible they do know what is beyond the mountains but we will never learn of it.’
‘Then, sir, it is clear: we join another caravan at Aksu for our onward journey.’
Kuo’s face set. ‘Before you go further, I find it my duty to express something of the horrors – yes, I use that term – of the journey. As you move away from here, you will enter a region of madness. You will reach the edge of a desert that is an empty wilderness that stretches for eternity. You will then leave the world of mankind entirely and enter upon a place where you have nothing save what is carried on you, no friend but who is on the camel ahead, no stranger will you meet but the fiends and demons of the desert.
‘The heat of the day is all but unendurable, at night the cold can petrify a man. Sandstorms arise that mount to the heavens in blackness and grief to fall upon the hapless traveller and force him to his knees to scour him mercilessly before burying him.
‘And all the time there is no living thing save the caravan, which moves at the pace of a walk, yet it has to exist on its own resources until it finds the next oasis. If it does not, or misses this place, the next caravan will find its bones.
‘If you think this a small risk, know that not three years ago a Turfan caravan of over a thousand camels was overdue at the Yi Wu oasis. It had vanished into the emptiness and no one knows why, it was never found nor a soul survived to tell of it. And I have to tell you this is not uncommon. I beg you, reflect on what you are contemplating. This I beseech you!’
‘We go on,’ Ying Mei said. ‘It is my father’s wish.’
Kuo hesitated, then spoke. ‘Very well. I shall begin preparation. As your father would remind you, Confucius confides, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step” and so it is in our case.’