There were no border guards, no flags, no lines drawn in the sand, no indications whatsoever, but I knew immediately when we left Europe and crossed into Asia. It wasn't that the terrain had changed: for days now we had been travelling through undulating countryside, past pretty little villages, snow-capped mountains in the distance, the forests on either side full with June leaf. Then one morning when the ground grew steeper and the ground stonier and I caught the scent of pines on the warm air I knew we were at last in Asia. To be sure I asked Ky-Lin."To humans the extent of countries and continents are lines drawn on a map," he said, "and as such have little importance. But yes, if you were now standing on a map, you would be in that part which has `Asia' written on it."
I felt as excited as if I were a real explorer. Not in the sense of being the first in unknown territory, but in the knowledge that everything from now on would be different, my senses bombarded with new impressions: touches, tastes, smells, sights and sounds. So much to absorb, so little time to do it. I didn't keep a journal as such, but I had a small sketchbook in which I did some quick drawings and jotted down anything I wanted to remember: "flocks of small brown birds" I had written at one point; "grasshoppers," "lop-eared sheep" and "woman in red scarf" at others. I just hoped it would all mean something when I looked at it in the future.
I left it to Claude to record our progress, which he did faithfully, every day putting first the date and day of the week, then where we were (if we knew), how far we travelled that day, any unusual incidents, approximately how much we spent, and the state of the weather. He had twelve black notebooks, one for every month we spent away, and this was for the benefit of the firm, to prove we had been there and back. I would have found it all very boring.
We had hired a wagon, a driver and two spare riding horses before we joined a caravan, as I had got very good prices for three of the smaller yellow pearls, and I thought we deserved a little luxury. Ky-Lin advised us to carry our own food, so I had to do a quick mental re-cap of the cookery book I had left behind: not that that prepared me much for the cooking of rice, couscous, dried salted meat and fish, dried fruit and vegetables, nor for the making of unleavened bread. Surprisingly, my best help was Claude, who confessed to a liking for cookery, saying that after his father died and they had been "temporarily embarrassed," he had helped his mother with the cooking.
To my mind this more than made up for his dire performance on horseback. I had ridden as a child, and the small, stubby, hairy horses we had now were not much different from my ponies. Danny, being Irish, had an inborn gift for riding almost anything, and he showed uncharacteristic patience in teaching Toby, who was an apt pupil. So three out of the four of us could ride, which would be necessary on the next stage of our journey, and I realised we would have to persist with Claude, who still rode (or fell off) like the proverbial sack of potatoes—or, considering his build, more like a dislocated skeleton, in spite of the fact that his feet almost touched the ground.
We kitted ourselves out for the warmer weather with leggings, loose cotton shirts and, in my case, a divided skirt for easier riding. The men had haircuts—yes, even Toby, whose locks were now almost as long as they had been before—and I decided on drastic action for myself. But when I arrived back from the hairdresser, I was greeted with silence.
"Well?"
Luckily the silence had been of approbation, rather than otherwise, for they came crowding forward and touched or ruffled my unfashionably cropped head, springing already into soft curls. Claude decided it was sensible, Danny that it didn't spoil my beauty, and Toby said it suited me much better than those "dull plaits and buns and things."
It certainly felt much lighter and cooler, and was far easier to wash and keep clean.
In the sunshine we all wore woven straw hats against the sun and we only rode early in the morning or towards dusk. At night our wagon-driver curled up outside, near to his tethered ponies, and Toby did the same. Danny and I did sometimes, Claude never. I always seemed to find the ants. Normally we flung back the front and back openings to the wagon, making sure it had the benefit of the prevailing easterlies. Even so, it was rapidly approaching the hottest part of the year, and we all welcomed the occasional stream, river or lake in which to cool off, even fully clothed.
The caravan plodded on, ever upwards, our pace that of the slowest, those who brought their herds of sheep or goats for sale further on. If we had forgotten anything it would have been provided for, for there were the usual entrepreneurs who took their places in the caravan. One family brought a dry-goods wagon, laden with pots, pans, firewood, rope, boots, blankets, harness, nails, hammers, spare wheels and axles for the wagons and whatever else one needed in that line. Another brought food, including crates of chickens, and a third provided ready-cooked food. And all charged exorbitant prices
What they carried back in return was anyone's guess, but Ky-Lin remarked that there was a profitable trade in opium and also in the handwoven rugs and blankets the tribespeople made.
The countryside through which we passed was completely different from the mostly cosy European villages, hills, woods and forests. Here were vast stretches of open grassland, rippling in the breeze, with mountains dim in the distance. The air was thinner, sharper, more difficult to breathe, and we needed time to become acclimatised. One good thing was that Claude's "hay-fever," or whatever it was, seemed to have dried up.
Sometimes we saw no-one else for days, heard nothing different from the clump of hooves, the clink of harness, the cries of the drivers and herders, the bleatings of sheep and goats, the shush-shush of the wind through the grasses, the twitter of flocks of finches as they harvested seeds and the occasional lonely cry of a solitary raptor, circling overnead. Other days we would pass another caravan on the return journey, or see a group of herdsmen with horses or sheep, or a family trudging in single file, laden with packages and parcels, the men in embroidered felt caps, the women in headshawls or scarves.
We didn't always pass through grassland; sometimes we descended into mini-deserts of rocks and stones, and once or twice into the pleasure of a fertile valley with fresh fruit, grain and meat and the sheer bliss of mountain-cold water. To me the tracks we followed were barely discernible in the now-July grass, but Ky-Lin told me that this was part of the old Silk Road, which every traveller knew well enough from centuries ago.
Sometimes our fellow-travellers took out long, unwieldy-looking guns or even sling-shots to try and vary their diet, but although they sometimes came back with a few small birds, the shy Saiga antelope evaded them, standing on the skyline just out of range.
The weather was warm, sixty-five to seventy degrees during the day, and the nights pleasant, and in spite of my clothing, I was becoming as brown as a gipsy. Once we reached our first sizable town I was determined to dispose of my skirt, much as I had chucked away my corsets, and ride breeched like Toby and the men. No-one would care.
Ky-Lin kept me entertained with reminiscences of his travels with Summer and was the ideal travelling companion: compact, easy to feed and full of stories.
And the Eg continued to grow. . . .
At the end of July we reached our first objective, the town of Azumak, which straddled the most important trade routes for hundreds of miles. There was the way we had come and its continuation east; another road swung north towards the Russias, yet another southwest towards Persia, while the one we wanted went southeast towards the mountains of northern China.
To call Azumak a town was flattering it. True, there was a large market-place surrounded by warehouses, eating-houses, lodging-houses and stables; farther out was a small mosque, ditto a Buddhist temple; there was a tiny Greek Orthodox church and an even tinier Christian shrine, whose wooden effigy was so worn it was impossible to tell whether it was male or female, but the streets of the rest of the town were a hugger-mugger straggle of mud huts, tents, stalls, goat-pens, chicken-houses, sheds, yards and night-soil pits.
We found lodgings in one of the inns facing the square, and it was quite the noisiest location I had ever tried to sleep in. Morning, noon and night there were shouts, screams, yells, the rumble of wagons, the squeak of axles, quarrels, arguments, sellers extolling their wares, drums and pipes—and all this without the bleats, grunts, groans and squeals of the animals. Plus the all-day all-night barking of the dogs . . .
We had no intention of staying in this maelstrom of noise, dirt and dealing, but there seemed to be no choice. I had thought one night, perhaps two, before we found a caravan going our way, but it appeared no-one wished to travel that particular road. The rewards of such travel—opium, silk, jade, mohair, certain herbs and spices—were easily available on the longer but safer and more populous Silk Road, for which caravans were made up every two or three days. Travellers for Persia left approximately every two weeks, for Russia there were few takers except in the fur-trading season.
We—Ky-Lin and I—enquired everywhere, but no-one offered. It seemed so frustrating to have come so far, just to kick our heels. We tried to change our lodgings, but there was nothing better available, although we did manage to change our rooms for those at the back—at a higher price, of course. We had to eat out and this wasn't cheap either, and each day we were spending well over our budget. After three days of this I was beginning to despair, in spite of Ky-Lin counselling patience. He also advised me to use some of the waiting time finding us warmer clothes. This seemed ridiculous with the August heat pressing down on us, but he assured me that now was the cheapest time to buy.
Fur jackets, padded trousers (me as well), fur caps with ear-flaps, fur mitts and stronger boots, this set us up, together with the what was left of the winter clothes we had worn last winter through Europe. For all of this, and for the price of the journey ahead, it was necessary to sell more pearls, which Ky-Lin counselled me to bargain for through a back-street trader, rather than travellers from a caravan. I wasn't convinced, but after he had taken me through both options, I had to admit he was right.
On the fourth morning I was thoroughly restless and decided to take a walk round the market on our doorstep. I left Claude and Danny over one of their endless games of cards (on the second night I had made the mistake of giving Danny and Claude money to buy their own meal, and they had come home reeling and reeking of some rot-gut called arrack, or something like that, were thoroughly sick, which served them right, and stank of anise for twenty-four hours afterwards, so now we all went out together, or not at all). Toby had set off with Ky-Lin in his pocket, having perfected the art of Ky-Lin speaking through his mouth, Ky-Lin doing the prompting by little nudges in his pocket. So, although Toby couldn't understand anything, Ky-Lin could report back to me. I rather suspected Toby's first call would be at the camel-lines outside the town. We had both seen a sad-looking specimen in a zoo in London, and a string of them on the skyline while we were in the caravan, but he was always fascinated by the varying animals and birds we came across.
The market was its usual crowded, smelly, noisy self. Jingling the few loose coins in my pocket, for I had no intention of buying anything, I wound my way past the fresh food stalls—meat, vegetables, fruit—to the dry goods—fish, rice, beans, sultanas and raisins—then to the salt and spices. Next came the sweet things: sugar, honey, cakes. On to the cloth: silk and ready-made clothes, thread, needles, scissors, tape and ribbons. Then there were pots and pans and crockery, the latter ranging from the cheapest to the finest Chinese porcelain. One section was devoted to furniture, mostly bamboo and Chinese, and Persian rugs and carpets. Of course there were stalls for the sale of arms: swords, spears, rifles and percussion revolvers. Jewellery, from the exotic and expensive to the cheap and tawdry—I didn't see any pearls as good as mine. Toys for children, wooden mechanical monkeys, dolls with porcelain faces; one stall devoted entirely to soapstone and jade, the latter from spinach through rose to the pale "mutton-fat". I passed quickly through the stalls selling dull things like hides, saddles, boots, baskets, rope and tents, likewise past those selling tobacco, snuff and hashish, and finding a patch of shade, bought a refreshing cup of sherbert, deciding that enough was enough and that the rest of the stalls could hold no further surprises.
I emptied my tin cup and hung it on my belt, to be rinsed when I returned to the inn. We all had one: it was common sense not to share in the cups and ladles supplied by the drinks vendors, especially when one saw the diseases and sore mouths among the population.
Rather than try and battle through the middle of the market, I headed for the side, knowing that two corners would see me back at the inn. Now I was passing those stalls that faced the buildings surrounding the square. These were mostly small, some of them selling second-hand goods. This was the part where one found the bargains, if anywhere, but although I looked at a couple of embroidered purses I had no Ky-Lin to bargain for me.
Now I was at the last corner before the inn and I hastened my step, but suddenly an almighty great racket broke out just ahead to my right. Squealing, screeching, barking, howls of pain and the crash and splinter of wood. Hurrying forward I came across one of those sorry little stalls that sold "pets": mainly exotic birds, but also reptiles and the occasional dog or cat, although these latter were such prolific breeders that the streets were full of mongrels and feral cats already that no-one wanted anyway.
It seemed that this stall was one of the typical, cheaper ones: cages of pink-dyed canaries and colourful finches, a few somnolent tortoises, a couple of half-grown Saluki crosses and—a cat? At least that's what it sounded like. Half the cages were on the ground, the birds fluttering up and down, a tortoise lay on its back, claws waving helplessly, and the dogs were barking furiously and straining at their leashes, their fury directed at a creature crouching right at the back of the stall beside a cage whose door had literally been torn off. The animal was spitting, snarling and growling, while the stall-holder was stabbing furiously in its direction with what looked like a small, two-pronged pitchfork, cursing and yelling and out of control.
I became aware that the Ring on my finger was throbbing madly, so much so that it was actually hurting. I was supposed to do something or avoid something, but what? I stepped forward and turned over the tortoise which crawled away to safety, righted the bird-cages, avoided the snarling dogs, but still the Ring hurt. There was a sudden scream of pain from the corner of the stall and the stall-holder had the cat, or whatever-it-was, pinned down beneath the pitchfork, was picking up an iron bar and obviously moving in for the kill.
Without further thought I moved forward and snatched the pitchfork from the stall-holder's hand, and a moment later wrenched the bar from his suddenly slackened other hand, throwing both to the ground. He raised his fist at me and I stepped back as he picked up the pitchfork again, prepared to have another go at the animal.
I was in an awkward position. I couldn't understand him, nor he me, but I knew without doubt that I was meant to rescue the animal, now growling quietly in a corner and licking at an injured side. It now looked more like a cat to me, although I had had little to do with them, except as rodent-catchers in barns and stables. I wasn't even sure I liked them very much, although I had never really been able to find out. My parents had never considered pets to be essential to a household. I rode a perfectly pleasant pony, the doctor had a snappy little terrier, there was an aloof striped cat next door and my headmistress had a pair of blue lovebirds, but that was it. I had never stroked or cuddled any animal, and when I saw how obsessed their owners became with them, I decided I wouldn't bother to have one. But I wouldn't see one needlessly hurt.
The trouble was, I had only a few coins in my pocket, and nothing else to bargain with . . .
Still, it was worth a try. I tried the universal gesture for money, rubbing my right thumb and first two fingers together and raising my eyebrows interrogatively.
At once his attitude changed. He fawned and chirruped like his birds and burst into a flood of Arabic, putting down the pitchfork and obviously extolling the virtues of his beautiful cat. When he saw I didn't understand he threw in a few phrases of guttural French for good measure. Through this I gathered that the cat was unique and came originally from Siam.
"Look at his princely form, his unusual colour, his thick soft fur, his extraordinary eyes . . ." Words to that effect, but as I could see nothing but a dim form, a snarling row of teeth and a red-eyed glare I took his rhodomontade with the large pinch of salt it deserved. After five minutes or so, a sum of money was mentioned, which was far beyond my reach.
I shook my head and mentioned a sum commensurate with the few coins I had in my pocket—coinages were some of the terms one learned in all languages, and quickly—but he spat in disgust and waved me away. I knew some of the moves and pretended to walk away, waving my hand as though I had no further interest. The stall-holder caught at my sleeve and now his price had halved, though it was still more than I had.
I mentioned the same sum, he held his nose as though I was a bad smell, I pointed to the still snarling cat and the broken cage, as if it was he who had the worst of the bargain; I even poured my few coins into his palm, but I could see it was no use. I knew also that even if I managed to convey that I would bring back more money, he would have lost patience before I returned, preferring to get a good price for an animal for the pot; many people ate dog, cat or even rat, considering them a delicacy.
But there was nothing else I had to offer; I turned out my pockets and came up with a lump of fluff and a length of string. As a last resort I tried the secret pocket I had made in my new leggings and found the smallest pearl I had brought to change yesterday but kept as we had got enough with the other six—Eureka!
With the air of a conjuror I handed it over to the stall-holder who took it as though it would bite, demonstrated its smallness, tasted it with his tongue to see if it was genuine and again shook his head, though I noticed the coins had disappeared and he kept the pearl between his fingers.
At that moment the cat took matters into its own paws.
There was a sudden blur of movement, it sailed past my left ear and a moment later I yelped with pain as a heavy weight settled on my shoulder and several sharp bits dug into my skin as the creature regained its balance and turned around, so that out of the corner of my eye I could see an ear, an eye, a furry muzzle.
The stall-holder moved forward as if to interfere, but the cat spat and growled so savagely that he retreated, waving his arms and cursing, no doubt glad to be rid of the pair of us at a profit, for that pearl was worth twenty cats and more.
In the meantime I was frozen on the spot. Having only seen the formidable animal growling, spitting and snarling and feeling the weight and the claws—admittedly now sheathed—I was scared stiff the cat would turn on me if I so much as shifted an inch. I had such a picture in my mind of its savage aspect and menacing growls, so that when it started to purr against my ear I at first thought it was the prelude to imminent attack.
However, just in time I realised the Ring was no longer throbbing, rather was it exuding a kind of soothing warmth. So when the creature rested its head against my cheek and a cold nose tentatively touched mine, I felt I had fulfilled the Ring's intention in freeing the creature. I moved slowly and gingerly away from the animal stall and made my way down the alley towards the inn, a little bowed under the weight. Coming to a wall a little higher than I, I patted the top invitingly.
"Here you are, pussy-cat. Now you are free to go." I was glad there was no-one to hear. "I expect you can catch plenty of mice and—and things. Off you go now, and keep away from cages . . ."
I had thought it would understand, at least in part, through the Ring, but it was obviously deaf or something; it just settled down closer on my shoulder, purring more loudly, its tail tapping gently on the back of my shoulder, as if to say: "Keep on going . . ."
Of course! It was probably hungry. Well, I could probably get something for it at the inn. Reaching the courtyard I stepped over to the outside stairs which led to our rooms, ignoring the curious glances of those who always haunted the place, squatting around a small fire or leaning against a wall in the shade. I walked up the stairs very carefully, so as not to jolt the cat from my shoulders, or have his claws digging in once more.
Reaching my room I first opened the shutters then moved over to my pallet, sitting down gingerly. At last the cat cooperated, leaping down onto the blanket and licking a paw.
"I'll go and get you something to eat," I said, feeling foolish. "A little fish and a drink of milk, perhaps . . ."
I had my hand on the latch when I heard a quiet voice behind me.
"Not raw, if you don't mind. Lightly poached with a sprig of tarragon, and water, not milk . . ."