Silk Road by Colin Falconer Page A

lady does not take her pleasure in such spectacles.
    ‘What are they doing?’ he asked.
    ‘She is testing him.’
    ‘Testing him?’
    ‘He has asked her to marry him. It is now her right to discover if he would be suitable as a husband. He has to prove himself. What use is a weak husband? A woman cannot feed her children with kisses and endearments.’
    The whip cracked again. Josseran turned around. The young man was still upright in the saddle, riding steadily. But already there were two bloody stripes across his back.
    ‘How long does this go on?’
    ‘Until she is satisfied.’
    ‘And if she does not want him for a husband?’
    ‘Then he must decide how long he can endure the whip. If he falls from the saddle he loses any claim to her. She is not expected to marry a man with no courage or strength.’
    The whip cracked again and again. The young boy allowed no outward sign of pain to show. But the blood ran freely down his back now, staining his trousers. The girl wielded the whip once more.
    The crowd cheered with each slap of the whip. The young man had slumped a little in the saddle, Josseran noticed. His back was a lather of blood. But he kept the horse settled, and did not try to swerve out of range.
    The girl waited, watching the rider as he made a complete lap. Then she yelled aloud and put all her weight behind another blow. The boy flinched, but kept his balance in the saddle. Flecks of blood sprayed along the horse’s flank.
    ‘If she loves him she will stop now,’ Khutelun said. ‘He has proved himself.’
    ‘And if she does not love him?’
    ‘Then it would be better if he is not too brave.’
    But as Khutelun predicted, the girl tucked the whip back into her belt and raised her arms, her ululating cry rippling through the wild mountains. The watching family members rushed in and gathered around the pony to congratulate its rider, who grinned back andaccepted their plaudits, although the smile was really no more than a grimace.
    ‘As a woman, I would expect any man to do as much for me,’ Khutelun said. ‘As a princess I would expect much more.’
    He felt as if she was issuing a challenge.
    ‘In your country are you considered a brave man?’ she asked him.
    ‘What does a man have if he does not have honour and valour?’
    ‘Are you a good horseman also?’
    ‘One of the finest.’
    ‘How many horses do you own?’
    The Tatars took twenty horses with them on a campaign, more horses than any knight could ever hope for, more than many rich lords possessed; and he himself was anything but rich. How could he explain to her that he had sold much of what he owned to travel to the Holy Land? How might he describe the circumstances of his service to the Order of the Temple?
    ‘I have three horses,’ he said, which was only partly true, for though he rode them in battle they in fact belonged to the Temple.
    ‘And how many wives?’
    ‘A man can only have one wife, by God’s law.’
    ‘One wife if he has no appetite. As a man will drink just one bowl of koumiss if he is not thirsty.’ And she laughed.
    Josseran could not believe his ears. It was as well that William could not understand what was being said.
    She was close enough that he could smell her scent, a savage alchemy of leather and curds and female musk. He felt himself stir.
    ‘What are your women like?’ she said. ‘Are they great horse-women?’
    ‘None of them compare to you.’
    ‘Then what can they do?’
    ‘A noble maid is supposed to be beautiful and gentle, with a soft and mellifluous voice.’
    ‘This is what you look for in a wife?’
    ‘She should also be versed in music and tapestry making. The paragon is Our Lord’s mother, Mary.’
    ‘I agree that a woman should be able to sew and cook. The yurt and the children are her province. But in times of war or misfortune she should also be able to fight and hunt.’
    ‘Fight?’
    ‘Of course. What else do you Christians look for in a wife?’
    ‘Modesty,’ he