Altai A Novel by Wu Ming

Author:Wu Ming
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Verso
Published: 2013-04-08T20:00:00+00:00

24.

We left the caravanserai on five haggard-looking bay horses. I was wearing Muslim clothes, to get round the law against infidels riding horses like everyone else. To my right was an Indian girl disguised as a man, then a man who looked like a girl, and finally a German in a cloak and turban. I wondered if the Moor Ali, behind his red beard, mightn’t be hiding unexpected features.

We went down the third hill of the New Rome, the one upon which stood the Suleymaniye Mosque, and reached the Imperial Road. In spite of his age, Ismail sat straight in the saddle and rode at a good pace. I spurred my horse to catch up with him.

“Where are we going?”

“Out of the city,” he replied crisply.

We headed westward, the only direction on the peninsula that doesn’t lead to the sea.

“We’re visiting a pirate, not a peasant,” I said, in a bid to melt the old man’s reticence.

Ismail raised his chin. “We’re not going to see him, we’re going to see the man who can tell us where to find him.”

By now we were near the Column of Arcadius, and the voices from the Grand Bazaar drowned out our words. As we crossed the square, I noticed with surprise that they were female voices, and that behind the stalls and shops selling henna, candles, flowers and yogurt, there were veiled women, most of them peasants, and that the clientele was made up of women, too.

Once we were out of the crowd, I learned from Ismail that this was Avrat Pazari, the only market in the city where Muslim women could buy and sell in peace, without servants or brothers keeping an eye on them.

Our riding party carried on past the Cannon Gate, leaving the Byzantine walls behind. We passed through the suburbs and found ourselves in the open countryside. Low hills followed one after the other, run through with waves of green. I saw snakes darting in and out by the side of the track. Ali told me not to worry, because none of them were poisonous. And the horses remained calm.

Then the countryside assumed tones of yellow and ocher, as sunflower fields filled the horizon. Sparrows and bee-eaters chirped on the branches of the few trees. Their rainbow feathers filled me with unexpected joy. At about midday, Ismail made an announcement.

“Here we are, Cardoso. Nearly there.”

The landscape was unchanged. Grass and sunflowers as far as the eye could see; nothing else. We crested a hill, and on the slope of the next one I spotted a group of men on horseback. Around them, a dance of birds flying in high circles and plunging in dives. They were falconers.

Years before, I had been the guest of a nobleman in the Trevisan marches, carrying out a task for my old bosses. Hunting with falcons was his great passion, but I could hardly say it was mine. I was pursuing different prey. On that occasion I had been bored, and had soon tired of standing with my nose in the air following the movements of the raptors.

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