TO THE HUNTING GROUNDS 99 



tains. Ahead trailed the long, winding way, dotted 

 with picturesque wagons filled with the soft gold of 

 the apples of this Hesperides. For here, in this 

 irrigated region, was such a maze of fruit, such flowers 

 and orchards and vineyards, as to make beholders 

 think that the unending source of Covent Garden is 

 tapped at last. 



Hordes of unkempt Tatars, with beards dyed fiery 

 red, matching the glint of their eyes, worked on the 

 roads in bursts of frenzied enthusiasm followed by 

 spells of dawdling indifference. Two very primitive 

 tents of skins sewn together flapped and strained at 

 their moorings, and up and down strode a tatter- 

 demalion playing sweet music on a collection of loose 

 pipes tied to a bag fashioned from a roughly dried 

 chamois skin. 



Another hour's easy going, through a wilderness of 

 enchanting gardens, brought us to Telav, a solidly 

 built town, capital of the old kingdom of Kakheti. 



The greater part of the city of to-day, spread over 

 the shoulders of two hills, is not very old, for again 

 and again through the centuries has it been destroyed 

 by invaders. In its palmy days the place was sur- 

 rounded by a fortress wall, bits of which, apparently 

 of great antiquity, are still to be seen. 



The fertile valley has ever been a tumultuous battle 

 ground. Timurleng, Lame Timur, the Tatar con- 

 queror, passed through in the fourteenth century, 

 burning, pillaging, and sacking as he went, razing to the 

 ground the little churches where the native Christians 

 " made their adorations, disagreeable to God," as 



