Empire of Dragons (20 page)

‘Daruma tells me you come from a great land in the Orient . . .’ Metellus began in Persian.

‘Zhong Guo,’ replied the prince.

‘Is that the name of your country?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And yours?’

Metellus hesitated an instant, then replied in Latin, ‘
Imperium Populi Romani
.’

‘Where is it found?’

‘In the far west. It contains an entire sea.’

‘It must be the land we call Taqin Guo. It means western country.’

Metellus thought that the word
guo
must mean ‘country’ or ‘land’, since it was common to both words. ‘So you know of our existence, as we know of yours. We buy a great deal of your silk. Daruma has also told me that you are a prince,’ he continued. ‘I would like you to know that we are honoured to share this part of our journey with you.’

The prince acknowledged his courtesy with a slight bow of his head.

‘May I know your name?’

‘Dan Qing,’ replied the prince.

‘I’m Marcus Metellus Aquila.’

‘Everything seems very complicated in your tongue.’

‘It all seems much simpler in yours, but that’s surely a superficial impression, both on my part and on yours.’

Metellus noticed that when the prince spoke to him he never broke contact with his eyes, making the Roman feel ill at ease. The prince’s gaze seemed enigmatic and inscrutable.

A sudden gust of wind, quite prolonged this time, interrupted their conversation.

‘It’s coming from the west,’ observed Uxal.

‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Metellus.

‘I don’t like it,’ said Septimius.

‘Neither do I,’ replied Metellus. ‘But that doesn’t mean much. The wind is like the fate of man: it can change from one moment to the next.’

Daruma gestured for the galley boy to collect the empty plates and he passed around a jar of palm wine. Everyone took some except for Dan Qing, who drank only a few sips of water. He then stood, made a bow and disappeared below deck.

‘I haven’t seen the two of you speaking much,’ said Metellus to Daruma. ‘That’s strange for people who have to come up with a plan of escape.’

‘Not enough privacy here. I’ll go down now and we’ll be able to speak freely. Those of you who want to rest will be given mats and covers. It’s humid on deck at night, even though it’s hot. You don’t need me to tell you to keep your eyes open,’ he added. ‘Small pirate boats might draw up alongside our vessel during the night. They are very fast and very dangerous. And the threat we’re fleeing from has not disappeared either.’

‘I know,’ replied Metellus. ‘We won’t be taken unawares.’

Daruma went below deck as Metellus rallied his men and assigned the guard shifts. A big red moon hovered over the river, creating a long golden trail on the water, while to the west only a faint reflection of the vanished sun remained.

Dan Qing reappeared around midnight and went to the bow, where he took up the same immovable pose as before. There he remained until dawn. Metellus observed him several times but could not tell whether he was awake or asleep. His position, with his head slightly reclined on his chest, would have allowed either one or the other, but certainly, if he fell asleep from time to time, his was a vigilant rest. No movement escaped him, no change of direction or vibration in the air.

T
HE NIGHT
passed tranquilly. The moon waned after the second guard shift, leaving a sky teeming with stars of a luminosity never seen before, crossed from one end to the other by the white veil of the Milky Way. Metellus took the last shift before sunrise himself, together with Quadratus, and he noticed that at dawn Dan Qing had leaned his head on a coil of ropes, permitting himself a little rest. He showed an almost infantile fragility at that moment, but the bow-shaped curve of his reclining body gave the impression that he could lash out at any moment with the same power he had shown in that astonishing jump on to the boat.

Metellus would have liked to speak with him, to learn more about that remote land from which he’d come, travelling all the way to the confines of the Roman empire. He’d have liked to ask him about the origins of silk. All sorts of nonsense circulated in the West, but the most absurd claim of all was that the fabric was woven by a worm. But he felt reluctant to disturb the prince’s intense solitude, although soon each one of them would be going his own way, each towards the world he had left so long ago, and they would never have another chance to talk.

Daruma reappeared at daybreak, wearing floor-length robes made of a light-coloured cloth similar to linen but much thinner. The river was even wider now and the low, sandy banks were even further away.

‘We’ll be able to see the Ocean in a couple of hours,’ Daruma said.

‘And our roads will part. I can’t tell you how grateful we are . . .’ replied Metellus.

‘I don’t think so,’ interrupted Daruma.

‘What do you mean “I don’t think so”?’

‘That we will not part. You will come with me and the prince.’

‘You’re joking. But we . . .’

‘We had an agreement. Is this how a Roman stands by his word?’

‘You can’t expect us to stay with you all the way . . .’

‘To China? Exactly.’

‘Of course it was. I hired you as my guard until the end of the journey.’

‘This is the end of the journey. The Ocean shore. Even Alexander stopped at the Ocean shore. Daruma, I have left a son, alone, without his mother, in the hands of enemies. Don’t you understand? My thoughts were with him when I agreed to your terms. In good faith, I agreed to come with you as far as the shores of the Ocean, and by this good faith I shall feel free of any obligation as soon as we reach the mouth of this river.’

Daruma bowed his head and seemed to reflect for a few moments in silence, then said: ‘You owe me your lives, you Romans, and I now demand payment of this debt. And since there is nothing in this world as precious as life, you will have to do what I ask, to repay me at least in part. But . . . this is philosophy! If you set foot in this port, how far do you think you’d get, anyway? You don’t have enough money to pay for passage with a caravan.’

‘We’ll go by sea.’

‘But the Persians control all the shipping wharves.’

‘It’s a risk we’ll have to run.’

‘If you come with me,’ continued Daruma as if he hadn’t heard, ‘you’ll see things that you’ve never even imagined might exist. You’ll see a world that no one from your land has ever seen nor perhaps ever will. You will be paid with such generosity that you won’t have to worry about earning money for the rest of your lives. And when it’s over, I’ll accompany you back to the confines of your world myself. I’ll come with you personally or hire trusted guides to do so in my place.’

Metellus’s men had gathered at a short distance and watched with apprehension as their commander argued with Daruma. Even Dan Qing had turned towards them with an expression that finally hinted at something like emotion. Misgiving, perhaps, or disappointment.

The helmsman began to turn the boat towards the western bank, abandoning the centre of the current.

T
HE BOAT SLIPPED TOWARDS
the western shore and this seemed like a positive sign to Metellus, but Daruma’s fixed look did not bode well, and Dan Qing’s expression was ureadable. The heat had suddenly become oppressive. The damp air rising from the river was suffocating and a line of low, swollen clouds advanced from the west.

A port came into sight, with a great number of ships at anchor. A wide array of vessels were seething with half-naked sailors loading and unloading, sewing and mending sails, repairing and checking oars and helms, yelling out in every language, their calls mixing with those of the gulls that flew low over the surface of the water, swooping after the refuse tossed from the boats.

Metellus scanned all the vessels in search of some shape that looked familiar to him, a ship from Alexandria, for example, which might be persuaded to offer them passage. He thought he could take advantage of his military rank: the captain of a merchant ship might even consider his request an opportunity to jump at, if nothing else for the benefits he would stand to gain once back at home.

Balbus approached him. ‘What are we doing, Commander?’

‘Going home,’ replied Metellus firmly.

‘What about him?’ added Balbus, casting a sideways glance at Daruma. ‘He doesn’t seem to see things the same way. Am I wrong?’

‘No, you’re not. He insists that we escort him and prince narrow-eyes all the way to Sera Maior. China, that’s what the Indian calls it. There’s evidently been a misunderstanding, but he’ll just have to accept that he can’t force us into this.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He might report us, turn us over to the Persians. What’s to stop him doing that?’

‘Our guest. He’s being hunted by the Persians as well, and Daruma seems to be responsible for his safety. As long as he’s with us we have nothing to fear. It could become a problem after we’ve left . . .’

At that same instant, the voice of the sailor at the top of the mast rang out: ‘Warship to starboard!’

Daruma took charge immediately. ‘Oars in the water. Men, to your posts! Helm hard aport!’ he shouted.

The crew foreman passed on his orders and the rowers thrust the oars into their locks and began to row at full strength. Others unfurled the sail so it would be ready to hoist as soon as they were beyond the river estuary.

Metellus looked to where the sailor was pointing and saw a streamlined vessel manned by at least fifty rowers leaving the port at that moment, with another fifty or so soldiers aboard. The banner being raised at the stern bore a winged creature: the symbol of Ahura Mazda.

He turned to his men. ‘Prepare for combat!’

The men shouldered their arms and rushed to the starboard side. Uxal lined up courageously with his comrades, as if he could be of some use in a battle, but Quadratus shoved him back unceremoniously.

Daruma’s boat had the current and the impetus of the oars in its favour, but the warship maintained its route and speed, intent on cutting them off.

‘Evidently someone beat us here,’ said Daruma.

‘Are you sure it’s us they want?’ asked Metellus.

‘Who else?’ replied Daruma. He watched with dread as the Persian ship advanced at an ever faster speed.

Dan Qing approached him. ‘The wind is coming. Raise the sail.’

‘But there is no wind!’ said Metellus, looking around.

Dan Qing fixed him for an instant with his emotionless gaze and said, ‘It is coming.’

‘Do as he says!’ ordered Daruma.

The sailors hoisted the sail. The great rectangle of cloth hung inert from its yard. Metellus shook his head and went back to join his men. The warship was nearly in the middle of the estuary and Daruma’s helmsman continued to haul starboard in the slight hope of escaping to the opposite shore before the approaching vessel completely cut them off.

‘Get ready,’ ordered Metellus. ‘It’s five to one.’

‘It won’t be the first time,’ growled Quadratus, ‘if I remember well.’

‘Ready to prevent the enemy from boarding!’ shouted Metellus to his comrades, grasping his sword.

He had not finished speaking when a strong gust of wind hit the boat and inflated the sail. It tensed, making the yard creak and bending the mast. The helmsman withstood the jolt, but couldn’t stop the boat from drifting sharply leewards, dangerously close to land. The boatswain increased the rowing rhythm for the men on the left side, who managed to correct the drift. The vessel sailed into the mouth of the estuary, where the wind, no longer buffered by the mainland, hit full force and carried the boat off at great speed.

The warship, which was unmasted, had to cut its mission short and gave up the chase.

‘We’re saved!’ said Daruma.

Metellus sighed in relief as the crew abandoned themselves to exultation. Uxal danced wildly on the deck, making everyone laugh.

The Roman commander approached Daruma and said, ‘You’re safe now and I’m sure you’ll find a way to hire new guards just as reliable as we are as you continue your journey. This is where our paths part. Haul to shore.’

‘How?’ asked Daruma. ‘Look for yourself. The shore is inaccessible, nothing but cliffs. And can’t you feel the wind? Don’t you know what it is?’

‘I’m not a sailor.’

‘It’s the monsoon that blows constantly east with unstoppable force, day and night, for the entire season.’

‘Pull in to shore,’ repeated Metellus in a tone of voice that did not allow for objections. ‘We’ll swim it if we have to. It’s just moving air. I’m accustomed to much worse.’

The wind was increasing in intensity and the cloud front was approaching now with frightening rapidity: a wall of black clouds shot through with continuous flashes of lightning, accompanied by the low threatening growl of thunder. The devastating power of such an alien, hostile nature made itself felt all at once. Metellus, used to the mild weather of the Mediterranean, watched the monster with sudden anxiety. A lightning bolt split the sky and plunged into the sea, shattering into blinding streams of fire, unleashing a deafening crash of thunder.

The boatswain shouted, ‘All men to their stations! Take in the sails! Bow to the waves!’

Metellus paled at that sight.

Daruma looked at him with a sarcastic smile while a violent gust of wind ruffled his hair. ‘What are you afraid of, Commander? It’s just a little moving air. Tell your men to find something to grab hold of, and not to let go unless they want to end up in the sea.’ He himself firmly gripped the railing.

The sun was being darkened by the menacing clouds, but before it was totally swallowed up it launched a last ray to illuminate the leaden, foaming surface of the waves.

‘This is the Ocean, Commander!’ shouted Daruma. ‘No one and nothing can resist her.’

Dan Qing vaulted over to the bow and seized the lines which bound the foresail to the boom like a horseman gripping the reins of a restive horse. Uxal curled up like a mouse in the forepeak, behind a coil of ropes.

Driven violently by the aft wind, the boat began to pitch, plunging into the hollows that yawned before it, then suddenly rearing up on the liquid slopes of waves nearly as high as hills.