Patrick O’Brian 3-Book Adventure Collection: The Road to Samarcand, The Golden Ocean, The Unknown Shore. Patrick O’Brian
and Olaf heaved again. They pulled, grunting. Li Han shrieked like a stuck pig. Suddenly the pot came off with a loud plop: Olaf fell backwards into the fire, and Chang, charmed with the game, pinned Li Han to the ground, baying wildly.
Between them they made such an appalling din that they never heard the approaching thunder of the Mongols. The camp was filled with Kokonor tribesmen before Derrick could get up for laughing.
As they came in Hulagu and his brothers ran from the horse-lines, where they had been doctoring a sick mare. The leading tribesmen leapt from their horses, saluted Hulagu and spoke rapidly for a few moments. Hulagu ran to Sullivan’s yurt: in a minute he was out again, running for his horse, and before the dust of his going had settled down he was out of sight, together with his brother Kubilai and the other tribesmen.
Chingiz stood staring after them, fingering the dagger at his belt. ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Derrick.
‘The Altai Kazaks have come down from the north,’ replied Chingiz, with a savage grin. ‘They have come for their revenge for the tower of skulls, and they have joined with the Uruchang horde. They are raiding our yurts and killing whatever they can find. They have driven some of our herds into the Takla Makan, and they think they can destroy us, because my father is away. We are going to try to lead some of them into an ambush beyond the Kazak Tomb.’
Sullivan came quickly out of his tent and passed down the lines, giving his orders quietly and distinctly. An indescribable bustle filled the camp for half an hour, and then, out of the apparent confusion, a well-armed, well-mounted and well-prepared troop rode westward after Hulagu. Chingiz rode on Sullivan’s right hand to show the way, and once again Derrick was impressed by the way in which the Mongol seemed to carry a compass and a chart in his head. He was never at a loss, although the bare steppe seemed always the same, and as they rode fast through the gathering night he said that they were coming near to a single rock that stood out of the plain, and that there they were to stop. Hardly had he spoken when out of the dusk loomed the rock, straight ahead of them: he said that in the light of the dawn they would see broken country beyond, and that was to be their goal for the hour of the rising of the sun.
They lit no fire, for no light was to be seen, but they sat in a circle as though a fire had been there, and they ate their horse-flesh cold.
‘This is very instructive,’ said the Professor, as he wiped his lips. ‘As I understand it, the tribes beyond the Altai have been pushing the Kazaks to the south, and now the Kazaks in their turn are attacking our friends: it is surely a repetition of those great waves of barbarians who came one after the other to destroy the Roman Empire. And there are many other instances which will occur to you. One sees the evidence of these successive invasions so clearly in the excavation of any archaeological site, but to see the whole thing in present action is to have history brought to life in the most vivid manner – more vivid even than the most pronounced differentiation of the culture strata at, let us say, Beauplan’s classic excavation at Chrysopolis.’
‘I am sure you are right,’ said Sullivan, ‘but speaking as a layman, I must say that for my part it is a demonstration that I could do without. Living history has an awkward way of separating you from your head, and I would rather reach Samarcand all in one piece. For the moment I could wish that history would keep in its proper place – between the covers of a history book.’
By the time the eastern sky began to lighten they were in the saddle again, making their way towards a region of abrupt rocks and twisted ravines, a great stretch of country that seemed to have been torn apart by an almighty earthquake in the past.
Li Han took a gloomy view of the whole affair: he was riding behind, between Derrick and Olaf who kept near to him to pick him up when he fell, for although they had now traversed hundreds and hundreds of miles of Northern China, Inner and Outer Mongolia and Sinkiang on horseback, so that even Olaf could navigate his mare efficiently, Li Han had never become more than a most indifferent rider, and he was apt to pitch off on one side or the other whenever they went faster than a walk. ‘Surely,’ he gasped, clutching again at his horse’s mane, ‘surely peaceful negotiations will suffice? Soothing remarks and well-turned compliments will assuage the barbarians: or if not, a small present, accompanied by promises of more, will turn their wrath.’
‘These guys ban tough eggs,’ said Olaf. ‘They ain’t out for no parlour-conversation. Ay reckon the best kind of present ban one ounce of lead, right between the eyes, see?’
‘But suppose the barbarians should shoot first, with two ounces of lead? Or leap upon us with horrible cries?’ Li Han shuddered. ‘But doubtless,’ he added, to comfort himself, ‘philosophic Professor will dissuade both sides from actual blows at the last moment by honeyed words and sage-like example.’
‘Not at all, Li Han,’ cried Professor Ayrton, who had caught these last words, ‘I am all for blows in this emergency. If these invading Kazaks try to come between me and the Wu Ti jade, I shall endeavour to deal out the shrewdest and most painful blows that I can manage, with no honeyed words at all. You must remember the precept of Chih Hsü, “In a sudden encounter with a tiger, a double-edged sword of proved temper is of a greater material value than the polished manners of Chang-An.”’ He raised his voice, and speaking to Ross and Sullivan, he said, ‘I feel quite like the warhorse in Job. Have we much farther to go?’
‘A fair distance yet. Did you say a warhorse, Professor?’
‘Yes. “He saith among the trumpets Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.” I believe you people have corrupted me by your example: why, when I return to the museum, they will call me the Scourge of Bloomsbury.’
‘The Professor says that he feels like a warhorse,’ said Derrick to Chingiz.
‘Hum. Well, perhaps his learning will be of some use to us with spells and incantations.’
‘Don’t look now, Professor,’ said Ross, quietly, ‘but I think your principles are slipping.’
‘My principles? Oh, yes: I apprehend your meaning. But, my dear sir, do you not appreciate the difference between attack and defence? Here are we, in the middle of our good friends’ country, and we find them being annoyed, harassed and put to serious inconvenience by a pack of invading ruffians. Are we not to show our displeasure? Furthermore, Sullivan assured me that the Kazaks will undoubtedly associate us with the Kokonor horde, and that if they are not discouraged by firm action on our parts, they will certainly molest us, even to the point of taking away our belongings. And thirdly as the Kazaks are Mohammedans, and there is an element of religious fanaticism in their attack, they may, if victorious, go so far as to destroy the Wu Ti jades, many of which, I am glad to say, are graven images, and anathema to these bigots. All these things being considered, therefore – loyalty to our friends, a due regard for our own safety, and the preservation of these artistic treasures – I feel wholly justified in crying “Forward, with the greatest convenient speed, and smite them hip and thigh.”’
Chingiz pushed his horse up to Sullivan, and when the Professor had finished, he pointed. ‘There is the Kazak Tomb,’ he said. On a high rock before them there was a low, crumbling mound: once it had reached up in a steep-sided pyramid; the centuries had brought it down, but as they came nearer they could still see that the whole erection had been made of hundreds upon hundreds of skulls.
‘We will add to that before dawn,’ said Chingiz, ‘either with their heads or our own.’
Beyond the Kazak Tomb the way grew harder. On either hand the broken, weathered rocks leaned over their path: they rode in single file, picking their way with care. From the shadow of a great boulder came a single man, a Kokonor Mongol who was waiting for them. Down through a steep canyon he led them, and there the shadow of the night lingered still: they tethered their horses in a place where there was a thin sprinkling of grass, and began to climb. They came up into the light over a difficult shoulder of moving shale, and as the first red glow of the sunrise appeared they reached the skyline.
They were at the top of a cliff that overlooked a narrow valley, almost a ravine, with sheer sides: the valley led out into the distant