They set up for the night, the usual desert evening chill an icy breath that came out of nowhere, sending everyone scrabbling for their sheepskins and impatient for a hot supper.
The crew came around with iron pegs for the tents. All eight guys were rigged on each side and fully tensioned.
Soon after midnight the wind got up again, waking Nicander. The sides of the tent began flapping and banging in a terrifying bluster. The wind then turned to a devilish shrieking and the agitated flailing became a vicious thrashing.
With it was a cold that despite his layered clothing pierced his innermost being, leaving only a tiny point of warmth remaining. For hours he lay awake, frightened and shuddering with the cold.
Before first light, the order was given to form up ready as soon as a quick meal was taken. While the tents were struck by the crew, just moving shapes in the gloom, no one spoke for the misery of it all, the need for endurance. Surely this howling wilderness could not last for ever…
The first needle-sharp rays of sunlight appeared and they were off once more. The sun rose higher and the icy cold turned to baking heat. A general halt was called to change clothing and then it was onward, always onward, through the unvarying dreary flatness.
The sun dipped in the west and another dramatic desert sunset began building. Marius peered into the distance and growled, ‘Something over there!’
With a lurch of unease Nicander spotted a series of black objects on the skyline.
Shouts of alarm came from up and down the camel train as the numbers grew.
An urgent order to halt went out.
Soon half the horizon was filled. There was now no doubt – these were a murderous horde of Hsien Pei Mongols on the move.
‘Why have we stopped?’ Nicander blurted. ‘We’ve got to get away!’
‘Su’s right. While we’re stationary there’s no dust being kicked up. Maybe we’ve got a chance of not being noticed,’ Marius said, steadily watching.
‘Our escort…?’
‘Haven’t a chance. That’s cavalry, over firm ground, no cover. We’ll be cut to pieces without mercy.’
‘So we’re… doomed?’
‘Depends. If we offer to surrender – and if they take it, well, we may get away with slavery o’ some kind, but if they’re in a murdering mood, I suppose…’
Nicander watched the slowly moving host in a chill of horror. They were angling away as if to cut them off – but why weren’t they thundering in at speed?
Up and down the line people watched transfixed like statues: there was nothing they could do to save themselves against the brutal flood.
The glorious sunset was shining full on the horde. It picked up an occasional flash of steel, the different horse colours, one or two banners – all pitilessly illuminated in grim detail. But still they made no move to ride in for the kill.
The tension was unbearable. Through Nicander’s mind stampeded images of the Ostrogoths’ cruel and barbarous attacks. Surely he had not been spared their callous butchery to face his end here in this hell on earth?
Marius stiffened, then turned to him with a twisted smile. ‘So o’ course, we just wait it out. They’ll be off soon and we can get back on the trail,’ he added off-handedly.
‘What are you saying?’ Nicander said incredulously.
‘Well, any fool can tell we’re right in the eye of the sunset. So they can’t see us, can they?’ He gestured out behind them to where the final minutes of the sun’s glory blazed out.
Su waited a full hour after the Mongols had passed out of sight ahead before giving the order to set up for the night. But there would be no hot food or drink, for no fire dared be lit that might draw attention. As the icy chill stole in everyone crept into their tents in dread of the fearful horde somewhere out there in the night.
The next morning some wondered whether it was wise to continue in the same direction as the Mongol horde, but Su pointed out that the slow-moving caravan would never catch up with their steppe ponies.
The wind started up again, a hard blast that blustered and stung. Nicander felt a grudging admiration for the little figure on the camel ahead, hunched and enduring as the wind plucked and battered. This was suffering indeed and should never be expected of a woman, let alone a gentle-born one. There was nothing now he and Marius were taking that she was not sharing, and she had never once complained.
After two more days there was a subtle change in the desolate landscape: a golden-yellow sand was appearing.
It pleased Korkut. ‘Praise the gods! This is Taklamakan sand, but from the Tien Shan mountains. We’re nearly through to Yi Wu and from then on it’s much easier.’
Nicander remembered being told that where the Kunlun mountains flanked the southern side, the Tien Shan stayed with the north – it meant that they were well on their way to having crossed from one side of the Great Desert to the other, and there it would be the famed oasis kingdoms to welcome them.
The sprawling golden-yellow dunes increased and then they were back on the softness of sand.
It was not long, however, before Nicander sensed there was something affecting Meng Hsiang. Not in the same way as when he had smelt water but there was an uneasiness, a restlessness. His big head swung this way and that, and he gave out occasional drawn-out rumbles.
‘I think old Meng Hsiang is having a fit,’ he called across to Marius.
‘Can’t be the Mongols, he didn’t worry about ’em last time. Or the water – didn’t they give him a swill before we started out?’
Their stout-hearted beast had never let them down. ‘He’s on to something, and I don’t know what it is. I don’t like this, Marius!’
Whatever it was, the whole camel train was getting infected. Up and down the line there were tossing heads, ill-tempered snarling, and then the caravan came lurching to a stop.
Nicander shook his head. ‘What’s got into them?’ There was nothing ahead that looked like a threat.
Then the camels jostled together, knelt down and lowered their heads, thrusting their noses into the sand and sending up snuffling fountains.
Alarmed shouts rang out. Korkut began hastily winding a cloth around his wife’s face and others were doing likewise in a frenzy.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a long wall of ochre dust and cloud towering up to the sky, dark and whirling, was advancing over the ground towards them, swallowing up everything in its path.
‘Sandstorm. Get something over your eyes and mouth – quickly, Nico!’ Marius cried. There was no time to look to the others.
They threw themselves down against the camel. A fitful wind started, then rapidly grew stronger, spitefully whipping up sand. Then in a sudden buffet the storm struck. In an instant they were plunged into a chaos of darkness and a hot whirling fury that howled and battered at them.
Nicander choked and gasped as dust and sand was driven into his hair and clothing and every crease and orifice. He felt a drag on his legs and realised he was being slowly buried in sand. He kicked out and tried to rise but his senses were disoriented by the whirling chaos and he fell to his hands and knees, crowded and bullied by the howling storm.
It was difficult to think: the overriding imperative was to find the camel again – if he was driven away it would be into the fearful desert where he would be lost for ever. He crawled one way. Nothing. Then he tried another direction and to his intense relief found he was clutching Meng Hsiang’s front leg. He hauled himself along and buried his face in the thick fur of the neck, revelling in the pungent smell.
He clung there while the whistle and roar of the tempest went on and on but then quite as suddenly as it had come, it weakened and died. Nicander snatched a glance around him. The air was still full of dust-smoke but as it cleared the still forms of the camels could be seen, half-buried in sand piled up on one side. Here and there things began to move, ghostly shapes throwing off powdered sand.
Marius heaved himself up, spitting and swearing while Meng Hsiang spluttered and lifted his head, shaking it vigorously and snorting loudly.