seas beyond the lagoon of Venice were bounded by land. Beyond Kubilai’s empire to the east there was a big island called Cipangu, and then, nothing. But Alberoni wasn’t interested in where the river flowed out to, apparently, but the very opposite as it turned out. He abruptly interrupted Tadeusz’s geography lesson.
‘Yes, yes. That is the place.’
He grasped my shoulder, and looked into my eyes.
‘Niccolo…’ Where others called me by my familiar name, Alberoni always used the formal version. He had been the Zuliani family priest for years. ‘Niccolo, I have been a little precipitate. I now see I should not abandon you at this juncture. Especially if you will be in some danger if you make the wrong decision. I should be there to advise you. I will come too. After all, my bags are packed.’
I narrowed my eyes and stared suspiciously at the priest, not sure what had changed his mind. But I had to admit his companionship would please me, and his presence could be useful.
‘Very well. We must all hurry to prepare, though. Lin has sent for ponies for us all — including you, Friar, as he assumed you were coming with us.’ I grinned evilly as I mentioned Alberoni’s hated transport. He had insisted on using a cart to make the long journey from west to east six years ago. The trip had been interminable, and I recall almost being seasick in the lurching, swaying vehicle. Me — a Venetian practically living on water — being seasick. It didn’t bear thinking about. But since our time in the Mongol Empire I had become almost as at home on the back of the hardy little ponies the Mongols used, as on board ship. Gurbesu could ride like the wind. She had been practically brought up on the back of a horse. Such a life as the one she led would not have suited the Chinee because they placed great store by verifiable virginity in a bride. Sitting astride a horse would not have been conducive to retaining that state. As well as proof by virginal blood, it is said that one of the ways of ensuring the virginity of a bride was by using a pigeon’s egg. If it did not break on insertion — if you take my meaning — then the girl could not be a virgin. Gurbesu would have failed gloriously. Tadeusz could ride reasonably well too, by the way. Which left Alberoni and Lin Chu-Tsai.
Our Chinee friend hated travelling, and like Alberoni abhorred the back of a horse. So I knew he would arrive in a carriage of some sort. But he would not wish to share it with the friar. In his opinion, we Westerners sweated fearsomely, and did not wash often enough. For my part, I thought the Chinee elite washed far too often, immersing themselves as they did almost every day. I preferred to change my clothes regularly, and keep myself sweet- smelling that way. I say I preferred it. To be honest, it was Gurbesu who had got me into the habit of changing clothes, swearing she would not lie with me if I wore the same clothes more than three days together. I therefore packed my saddlebags with lots of silk shirts and loose trousers in the Chinee style, together with a couple of short jackets and an informal long robe decorated with dragons called a bei-zi. I was quite the dandy in my Chinee clothes. Gurbesu too had her own version of the bei-zi, which was cut to fit snugly round her curves. The thought of how the clothes fitted her so well had me on the verge of suggesting to her that we adjourn to our bedchamber. But just as I was about to do so, we heard the sound of horses’ hooves on the broken cobbles of the old city street where we lived. We were ready to go.
Lin was not with the horses, but had given the ostler a message that we were to set off and he would meet us soon enough. I pushed and prodded Alberoni on to the back of his pony, which we chose for him as the one looking the most docile, and the rest of us mounted more easily. The friar jiggled the reins, but could not make his steed start, so I moved my pony alongside his and gave it a kick. With a yell of horror from Alberoni, and a look of annoyance from his mount, the two of them moved away in more or less the right direction. The rest of us followed in his wake, keeping up the encouragement that Alberoni was unable to supply.
FOUR
Our strange and erratic procession finally came together ten miles west of Khan-balik at the great marble bridge over the river called by some Pulisanghin. It was a big bridge with twenty-four arches and twenty-four piers because the river — that Lin called Hun-Ho — was a very big river that ran all the way to the ocean. The bridge was made of grey marble and ten horsemen could have ridden abreast across it. Our little entourage did not make such demands on it. While Gurbesu and I had ridden fast ahead of the others for the pure joy of it — and in my case to make sure I was well out of the reach of Mongotai — Tadeusz and Alberoni were plodding along at a more sedate pace. We had all arranged to meet up at the bridge, as Lin was to be coming from another direction in his carriage, according to the message sent by the ostler. Gurbesu and I knew we would have a long wait for the others to catch up, so we dismounted and sat in the shade of one of a row of columns along the bridge. Each one was set on the back of a marble turtle and topped by a lion. We sat fondling each other, watching the brown waters surge under the river.
Eventually, we could see the rest of our party arriving and rearranged our clothes. Lin must have encountered the slower riders some miles back, for they were all together now. Lin’s carriage was beautifully upholstered with fine-spoked wheels only marred by the mud they must have picked up from the building site that was Kubilai’s new citadel. Alberoni, uneasy on his docile pony, stared enviously at the ornate carriage. Lin, ignoring the friar’s stare, waved enthusiastically at me as he came closer. Gurbesu and I stood up and walked over to the carriage, leading our ponies by their reins.
Up front sat the driver of Lin’s carriage and his new servant, Po Ku. He was a tall, wiry young lad, whom Lin had personally selected from his own family’s province. Lin’s previous servant — Yao Lei — had been a two-faced traitor who had reported on his master’s activities to his real master, Ko Su-Tsung. Po Ku still had the scent of the farm about him, and was inclined to be clumsy. He had already driven Lin to distraction by breaking a fine bone- china plate that Lin treasured. But Lin bore the burden with stoicism in order to have a servant who, by virtue of his coming from Lin’s home region, he hoped had not infiltrated his household on the orders of his long-time enemy. Lin looked glad to see me again.
‘I have all the paperwork on the case right here.’
He patted at an ominously large heap of documents, some fastened with silk cords that lay on the seat next to him. My heart sank at the size of the pile.
With us all assembled together, Gurbesu and I remounted and, at the pace of Lin’s carriage, we began our long journey south-westward. Though I was all for pressing on, Lin insisted our first stop be a mere thirty miles beyond the bridge at Cho-Chau, where several fine hostelries were available. I think he was feeling the jolting of the carriage and wished to rest his back. Once we had settled in our accommodation, he and I decided to tackle the mountain of paperwork and plan our strategy.
Leaning back on a silk cushion to ease his backache, and picking diffidently at his rice-bowl, Lin began to tell me what he knew.
‘The accused is a girl of twenty, named Jianxu. Her mother-in-law, Madam Gao…’
I quickly interrupted.
‘Mother-in-law? Then this girl is married. Where is her husband?’
‘Dead. He died soon after their marriage apparently, leaving his mother and wife destitute. This was the beginning of their problems. In order to survive, the old lady agreed to marry a trader by the name of Geng Biao. He had a son — Geng Wenbo — who took a shine to the younger girl.’
‘The one found guilty of murder?’
Lin nodded patiently at this next interruption. I knew he liked to lay out the facts neatly and in chronological order, and I was for always irritating him by trying to cut to the chase. I raised both hands by way of an apology and let him continue. We had two weeks of travelling in which to examine the facts. There was no hurry. Though we also had to make a plan to extricate ourselves from the trap that Ko had driven us into. If we were to avoid putting ourselves between a rock and hard place, I would need to devise a strategy and soon.
‘I’m sorry. Go on.’
Lin smiled in that gentle but telling way of his, and continued his narrative. I could see that he was pleased at, once again, schooling the barbarian in the calmer ways of the Chinee. Outside, the sun was setting and the humidity of the day was falling away. A cooling breeze blew in through the open window. Lin carried on in that droning voice of his.
