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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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜The accused is a girl of twenty, named Jianxu. Her mother-in-law, Madam Gao . . .’
    I quickly interrupted.
    â€˜Mother-in-law? Then this girl is married. Where is her husband?’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Jianxu, apparently, was reluctant to marry again. Maybe she was still mourning her first husband, maybe Wenbo was not much of a catch. The two ladies’ fortunes would, after all, be secured by the marriage of the older lady, her mother-in-law, to Old Geng Biao. There was no