Bayan brought them to a ladder, dangling in the water. Their few goods were easily transferred by Bayan and a couple of sailors. Avatak would be able to clamber up the ladder easily, but it was soon evident that Pyxeas would not. There was a brief, farcical scene as the stubborn old man tried anyhow, but his gnarled hands would not grip the rope rungs, his booted feet slipped, and he could not raise his weight – he could barely stand, let alone climb. So Bayan and Avatak tried to help him, the Mongol pulling his arms from above, Avatak pushing from below. Other crew gathered on the deck above, offering ribald advice in a dozen tongues.

Eventually a sterner, older man came to investigate. The captain, Avatak supposed. He glanced down at the scene in the boat, and looked out at Quinsai, and Avatak saw the burning city reflected in his black eyes. Bearded, wearing a turban and a crisp white gown, he had the look of an Arab – this was an Arab-owned ship, though of Cathay manufacture. He snapped a quick order to Bayan, and turned away.

Bayan shrugged. ‘Al-Quds is the captain and he wants to be gone. Get on with it, he says. Poor Bayan! Now then, master—’

Without ceremony he caught Pyxeas by the legs and lifted him over his shoulder. Pyxeas struggled feebly, but seemed too weak to protest. Thus laden, Bayan made his way up the rope ladder. Avatak was impressed by his skill, pushing one-handed from one rung to the next so that with every step up he had to balance without a handhold, and managing Pyxeas’ not inconsiderable weight as if he were no more than a sack of feathers.

Once on deck, Bayan set Pyxeas upright. The scholar seemed bewildered, disoriented. Bayan headed for their cabin, while a couple of the crew carried their trunk and baggage. Avatak led Pyxeas gently by the hand across the rocking deck.

From up here, the ship looked even more substantial than from the ocean. Its four masts were laden with sails of matted bamboo, furled for now, and two more great masts lay like tree trunks, lashed to the deck. There were structures on the deck like little wooden houses, and hatches were thrown open to show the interior below, great holds where goods were being stored, sacks and jars and barrels. From some of the holds came the sounds of animals – lowing, bleating, clucking – and a stench of straw and dung. Despite the noise and the chaos Avatak could see the crew were working methodically, moving goods around the holds to balance the weight on either side of the ship. He wondered how many crew there were – hundreds perhaps. There were many passengers too, like themselves, Cathay, Mongols, Arabs, most of them presumably traders, hurrying across the deck and in and out of open doorways.

‘Watertight holds,’ Pyxeas murmured unexpectedly.

‘What was that, scholar?’