‘Yes?’ Arif said warily.
‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do for you. Any young beasts as are newly broken in, why, we’ll take one and by riding him all day get him used to the saddle, like. You can sell him for more that way.’
Arif grinned. ‘I understand. We do this if you man enough!’
‘Go and get one, let’s try it.’
The cameleer went to a string of young camels at a rail and patted one affectionately before untying it and bringing it over. ‘Meng Hsiao – baby Meng. One of your Meng Hsiang’s own sons.’
The father gave a glassy stare of indifference but the young one pawed the ground restlessly, his eyes rolling.
‘Say hello, he know who you are.’
Marius came forward cautiously but before he could say anything the head reared up and a frightful set of bared teeth clashed ominously.
‘Hey, hey, Meng Hsiao, he a friend,’ Arif said reprovingly, then to Marius, ‘Touch his muzzle, talk.’
The long-lashed eyes were beautiful and Marius reached out to stroke the downy brown fur. The head recoiled and before he could react the camel spat at him, stinking ejecta catching him on his cheek and shoulder.
‘The fucking bastard!’ Marius roared in Latin, wiping his face, ‘He’s scored one on me!’
The camel jibbed fretfully.
‘Try – hold your hand in front of his nose so he smell you, then do.’
Eventually they came to speaking terms and Arif was satisfied. ‘Now we ride him.’
Meng Hsiao was made to kneel, which he did unwillingly.
‘Get on.’
Marius gingerly slid between the two humps, holding on by a scruff of hair on the mane. ‘Where’s the reins?’ he demanded.
‘This not a horse, lao na,’ Arif said. ‘You ready?’
The camel snarled menacingly, its head twisting to see what was on its back.
‘Yes. Get it going.’
Arif thwacked its hindquarters. Meng Hsiao gave an ill-tempered low grumble.
He gave another slap. Without warning the back legs levered up on the knuckled forefeet and Marius was jerked forward wildly. His grip on the mane was the only thing that saved him from a hard landing but then the front legs came into play and he shot backwards, hanging on grimly.
Marius found himself sitting precariously atop a nervously gyrating camel. The animal eventually settled and stood still, the hide on its back giving nervous twitches as though trying to rid itself of a foreign object.
‘Well done!’ Arif said with a wide smile.
Marius clung on tightly to the mane. ‘How do you steer the beggar?’
‘Don’t worry. Meng Hsiao follow his father, who is bigger.’
‘Well, then. Now make him let me off.’
There were newcomers joining the caravan: a troupe of entertainers who plied the northern route and a party of monks on their way to the oases of the west. Two of the merchants had decided that they’d had enough and after disposing of their wares planned to return as soon as possible but the others were keen to take advantage of a caravan heading in that direction.
In the morning, bright and early, they set out again.
But of Dao Pa, there was no sign at all.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The first day promised well of their journey as they threaded along roads passing sweet-smelling melon beds, orchards with fruit in season and clumps of giant sunflowers three feet across whose seeds Korkut declared were excellent eating.
Soon however they were away from the intensive irrigation works and the familiar desert landscape returned.
Ying Mei rode a steppe pony, now with an easy grace and in colourful riding dress while the ever-faithful Tai Yi walked beside her. Then came Meng Hsiang and tagging along beside was Meng Hsiao, getting used to being away from the females and other young.
Marius had quickly adopted the lazy sway of a cameleer, finding there was no need to hang on at all.
At midday it was Nicander’s turn to ride and he tried to copy Marius’s easy posture as the rhythm of stately sway and rocking took hold. But when the camel train came to a halt that evening he was grateful to be able to stretch his aching muscles.
The stopping place was well chosen, between two spurs of the Tien Shan and with firm ground. The crew energetically got to work in anticipation of the entertainment. The space around the fire was widened and traveller and cameleer quickly found places.
Ying Mei felt an expectant thrill. These, of course, would not be as accomplished as performers at the imperial court but their stage was the grand spectacle of the desert at night, under the stars by the dancing flames of the firelight.
A troupe of musicians came on with their instruments and squatted to one side, opening with a lively piece.
The show started with the acrobats: young girls in crimson blouses and green tasselled trousers skilfully leaping and throwing each other aloft in time to the music.
When the applause finished they scampered off to allow a pair of dancers to steal in opposite one another. The slim-waisted woman had dark curled locks and long legs half-concealed within mysterious gauze finery. The man, in a dashing costume with sparkling gems on his bared chest, prowled like a panther around her to the sensuous throbbing of the drum.
Ying Mei stole a glance at the two holy men: Marius was rapt, watching with undisguised excitement the intertwined playing of hands and the woman’s wanton pout.
Nicander was taking it in, but had a distracted frown – was this because he was disapproving or was he regretting his status as a holy man?
As the dance livened Ying Mei found herself caught up in its charged atmosphere. Beside her Tai Yi shifted uncomfortably so she quickly assumed an immobile expression in the best traditions of an imperial court.
The acrobats came on again with somersaults and juggling and were followed by three female contortionists who drew gasps from the crowd.
Ying Mei noticed Nicander and Marius lean back in conversation. Was this not to their foreign taste?
In fact, she wondered, what was?
She knew nothing about them, really – they were barbarians, from somewhere in the outer world beyond the bounds of civilisation. But did they have any culture or civilisation of their own – she doubted it, for all the peoples she had heard of shaded by degrees from the Middle Kingdom’s delicacy and elegance into the unspeakable brutality of its far borderlands.
Her protectors were holy men seeking after truths, so it was understandable that they would come to China in this quest. Who could foresee that they would be caught by pirates and sold into slavery? The strange part was that now neither seemed particularly interested in the gentility and aesthetics of the greatest civilisation of them all.
Yet they were taking back to their kingdom a wonderful treasure of precious works of literature and philosophy – which neither of them was able to read! What did this say about their mission to seek the great truths of mankind?
There could be only one explanation: their searing experiences at Yeh Ch’eng had soured them on Chinese culture.
And, she reminded herself, the works they carried and looked after so well in their little chest were there only as ‘holy scriptures’ as a cover for their leaving China and would probably be discarded at the first opportunity.
A new set of performers pranced on, the famous Sogdian whirling dancers, entrancing the crowd with trailing ribbons and dazzling smiles.
Ying Mei glanced again at Nicander and Marius; both seemed to be enjoying this part of the show – or was it the Turfan wine?
One thing was certain: the freedoms and spice of danger was making this the adventure of a lifetime for her. It wouldn’t last, though. Sooner or later they would cross the mountains and she would be duly delivered to the Western Lands and left to find a new life.
She had to face it with courage and resolve – which for her father’s sake she would – but it was a frightening thought. Was there nothing that could prepare her for exile?
Then a daring thought came. She would get the holy men to teach her the language of their tribe, and as well perhaps discover what it was like to live there, the customs and etiquette of the natives. She had her gold secreted away with more to be withdrawn from her uncle’s agent in Kucha but would this be enough to sustain the life of a gentle lady in their society?