Empire of Dragons (35 page)

‘Two adolescents in love . . . Good gods, he had only fallen in love with your sister! That doesn’t seem such a serious crime to me. It happens every day where I come from and no one is surprised by it.’ The end of the column had begun to move, and Metellus turned around to encourage the others. ‘Take heart, men! After what we’ve been through, this certainly shouldn’t worry us. The journey will be lengthy and anything may happen. The prince’s Chinese troops will come to our aid.’

Dan Qing interpreted that interruption as another intentional sign of scorn, but he had agreed to accept a different relationship with the Roman he’d called Xiong Ying, and he realized that his attitude was meant to put him to the test, to examine his motives before deciding whether to carry on with their friendship. It was a trial he had to submit to and he continued as if nothing had happened: ‘Yun Shan was promised by my father to a prince of the state of Wu, a kingdom which had broken away from the empire. It was a way for him to reunite the state without bloodshed. He told the minister to dissuade Wei from his intent, but to no avail. The minister felt that an exemplary punishment was necessary so that nothing of the sort might happen again, so that in the future no one would ever think of attempting such a thing.’

‘And he had him castrated.’

Dan Qing nodded.

‘Contemptible,’ said Metellus without even looking into his eyes.

‘I did not give that order.’

‘That doesn’t change things. He who holds power is responsible for what his subordinates do. Even in the fury of battle, even under the most precarious circumstances, my men know that they must respect the rules that their commander upholds. In any case, I am responsible for every action of theirs, no matter how contrary it may be to my principles. This is what we call
disciplina
.’

Dan Qing fell silent. Only the snorting of the horses and the rumbling of the thunder could be heard in the mist-covered valley.

‘S
HE
’
S ALIVE
.’

Dan Qing turned towards Metellus. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Your sister is alive.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘I can still tell a woman’s gaze when I see it. A woman disguised as a Manchurian soldier . . . who else could that be?’

‘You’re probably right. Where did you see her? Where did she go?’

‘I don’t know. She looked at me for a moment, then rode off. She might still be here, or she may have gone off into the forest.’

The wind was blowing up even more strongly, with furious gusts, until the clouds split and the rain hammered down in a violent downpour, flooding the ground at their feet and transforming the trail into a muddy stream. The Romans bent their backs under the lashing storm, accustomed to bearing up silently under adversity, under the hostility of men, nature and the elements. Every now and then Metellus would turn to check on them, and it broke his heart. He had convinced them to follow him on this adventure, which had just concluded in reimprisonment perhaps no less cruel than the one they had escaped from.

He feared that destiny, this time, would not be giving them a second chance. He had not exploited their new-found liberty as he should have, and he tormented himself by thinking of thousands of ways of escaping. When he stole a glance at Dan Qing, he could feel his fury and humiliation, his frustration and impotence, but what came across most strongly was his need to talk, his need to share the anguish that oppressed him.

‘Who do you think betrayed you?’ Metellus asked, eyes pointed straight ahead.

‘I don’t know. It could have been anyone. So many people saw me in the village. Perhaps not all of them are loyal to me.’

‘But the attack of the Flying Foxes came from the same men who are holding us prisoner now, wouldn’t you say?’

‘That’s possible.’

‘And so your enemy already knew when we crossed the border . . . Daruma?’

‘Impossible,’ exclaimed Dan Qing. ‘Why would he have freed me, facing constant danger to bring me back to my homeland? My master trusted him, and no one knew a man like my master did.’

‘Your master is dead, unfortunately . . .’

‘By now the storm will have washed away his blood. Those black clots have dissolved in the water flowing over the bastions and down the stone steps . . . The man who killed him must die.’

‘You seek revenge for a vengeance. That’s absurd.’

‘I was not responsible for his misfortune. Don’t make me repeat it again.’

‘That doesn’t change anything. Nothing can heal Wei’s wound. He has become a war machine, a concentration of hatred and resentment that can find relief only in the grief and pain of others; in his determination to inflict more suffering than what he has been made to bear.’

‘From what you’ve told me, you evidently feel the same way . . . towards the man who killed your wife and took your child. Am I wrong, Xiong Ying?’ Metellus did not answer, and Dan Qing brought his argument to its conclusion: ‘That’s why I have to kill him. For one reason or another, Wei is no longer a human being: he’s a ferocious beast, a rabid dog. He must be eliminated.’

The storm seemed to be abating after the enormous violence of its onset. The clouds galloped off towards the plain, leaving frayed traces of their passage. A dense mist invaded the valley and the rain continued to fall in occasional downpours. The column was now making its way through a vast clearing covered by a luxuriant blanket of grass.

‘Is there any hope for us?’ asked Metellus.

‘Hope is always the last to die, says an ancient proverb of ours,’ replied the prince.

‘We have a proverb that says the same thing. But what do you think?’

‘Do you remember when I told you about the Flying Foxes?’

‘As if you’d just spoken.’

‘The followers of the true way indicated long ago by Master Mo still exist. They are the most tenacious adversaries of the Flying Foxes. They are warrior monks, bound to each other by an oath, capable of any feat, ready for any sacrifice. They are the men of the Red Lotus. They are the only ones who can save us from this situation.’

He had just finished speaking when a shriek echoed through the valley, as high and grating as the cry of an eagle. Wei leaned out of the carriage and twisted repeatedly, scanning the slopes to his right and left, prey to a strange agitation.

‘What was that?’ asked Metellus.

‘A signal,’ replied Dan Qing. ‘A message to let us know that we are not alone. Perhaps you are right: Yun Shan is alive and thinking of how she can free us.’

‘Yun Shan means . . . Swathed in Clouds, doesn’t it?’ said Metellus, translating into Persian.

‘That’s right.’

‘Do all of your women have such fascinating names?’

‘Yes, almost all of them. What was your wife’s name?’

‘Clelia.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It was the name of an ancient heroine. With her last breath, my wife beseeched me to take care of our son, and I don’t even know where he is . . . or if he’s still alive. And the direction of my march continues to take me away from him.’

‘Not forever . . .’

Metellus was quiet for a little while. ‘I don’t know what to think of you,’ he said all at once, as if concluding a thought that had remained in his mind.

‘You will have to overcome your diffidence,’ replied Dan Qing. ‘If you care to, that is. In any case, if you think about it, I’m the only person you can count on, whether you like it or not.’

Metellus fell silent again.

‘We must unite our forces now and try to survive,’ began Dan Qing again. ‘We’ll decide about the rest later. You’ll have the time to learn who I truly am.’

Metellus looked back again at his men, trying to judge their mood. Had being taken prisoner again broken their resolve? They were riding along, speaking softly to each other. Perhaps they underestimated the danger, or perhaps they just didn’t want to brood on it because they knew fretting was useless.

They set up camp towards evening at the edge of a village perched on a green hill. The prisoners were unbound and gathered into a single tent, watched over by armed guards. Dan Qing was brought to another tent, alone.

Metellus spoke briefly to his men. ‘I know what you’re thinking: that it would have been better to wait for the spring monsoon in India and that this time we may never win back our freedom. If that’s what you’re thinking, you’re wrong. The decision we made was the best one, even if all seems lost now.’

‘But . . . what’s happening, Commander?’ asked Balbus.

‘The youth who met us at the castle gate is the man who has come to power in Dan Qing’s absence. They hate each other, implacably, but we’re no part of their duel to the death. No matter what happens between them, I think we’ll survive. I want to make one thing clear: until this affair is over with, we’re on Dan Qing’s side, even at the risk of death. We’ve given our word and will keep it.’ Antoninus shook his head, but Metellus pretended not to have seen him. ‘Stay on the alert and don’t lose heart. I’ll see to it that you get back home, even if it costs me my life.’

T
HEY RESUMED
their journey the next morning, crossing the valley eastward for three more days. They rode with their hands bound to the saddle pommels and their feet tied to the stirrups, closely watched over by Wei’s armed guards, fierce-looking Manchurian mercenaries who carried long curved swords. At the head of the column advanced the men in black, armed with double bows and long, heavy arrows. To attempt to escape under those circumstances would be suicide. After the first day, Dan Qing journeyed separately, tied behind Wei’s own carriage, an elaborate vehicle with a luxurious sedan at the top, decorated with bronze and lacquer ornaments.

After four days of marching, the valley began to open into a vast rolling plain crossed by a wide, muddy river navigated by boats travelling downstream. They had big trapezoidal sails and were laden with goods of every sort. The fields all around were flooded with water for the cultivation of marsh grain, which even the prisoners ate every day, along with goose meat and eggs. The men could not help but wonder at this unusually generous treatment, which even included a fermented drink that resembled wine.

‘The commander is right,’ said Quadratus. ‘We’re not part of their internal conflicts. Perhaps Wei wants us to serve in his army and doesn’t want us to become debilitated.’

‘That’s possible,’ replied Antoninus, the highest in rank after the two centurions. ‘I think you’re right about that, for sure.’

Their complete uncertainty about their future made them want to believe the most reassuring hypotheses. Metellus, on the contrary, had a bad premonition, but he kept his feelings to himself.

They advanced for three more days and the landscape continued to change. They saw endless rows of trees with big dark green leaves on which small yellow or red berries, which looked much like brambles, grew. It seemed strange to all of them that there would be such extensive orchards of plants that produced only tiny berries, but they ascribed it to yet another of the many oddities that made this boundless land so different from their own.

As they proceeded, the villages became more numerous and more populous and their paved roads were teeming with people. After every day’s leg, there was a rest station where they changed their horses, which offered hot food and lodging for wayfarers. The convoy would set up camp in a separate clearing which was always ready to accommodate important guests. Metellus was sure that they were headed for the capital. A name kept coming up: Luoyang.

And Luoyang appeared before them one evening towards dusk after many days of journeying from the place where they had been taken prisoner. It was, for these people, what Rome was to them, and Metellus could not help but admire the large city surrounded by imposing walls and mighty towers made of huge blocks of stone cut with exceptional skill. Grandiose buildings of a different style rose inside the walls as well: temples, perhaps, or aristocratic palaces. Great leafy-boughed trees loomed up everywhere, lit by the last rays of the setting sun. The sky had been overcast and the sun was veiled but, nonetheless, that enormous disc descending at their backs behind the crests of distant mountains spread a sanguine glow over towers, palaces, spires and pinnacles, igniting continually changing reflections in the painted wood, in the bronze, in the multi-coloured ceramic.

Metellus and his men, despite the worries gnawing at them, were awe-struck, realizing that they were probably the only ones from their world ever to have seen such wonders. But the thought immediately occurred to them that they might never have the chance to tell anyone about them. Their isolation was compounded by a lack of information. Separated even from Dan Qing, the only person who could help them interpret events or decipher signals that meant nothing to them, they felt totally at the mercy of chance. On the other hand, the passing of the days and the long hours of their forced march, during which nothing ever happened, had given them a sense of tranquillity and normality that in the end had inspired a certain unconscious optimism.

Before entering the city, the column stopped and Metellus noticed a brief scuffle near Wei’s carriage. Soon after he saw a hooded horseman come forward between two armed men. It must be Dan Qing. They had covered his head in a black cloth bag so he wouldn’t be recognized.

The column set off again and continued at a steady pace until they found themselves before the western gate of Luoyang. It was still open, and guarded by an armed military unit. A dispatch rider must have advised the guards about Wei’s arrival, because an imperial cavalry squadron appeared immediately in a cloud of dust to escort the carriage of the young eunuch into the city. This seemed strange to Metellus: the new emperor’s power in the capital must not yet be consolidated if he needed an escort of that size.

At least fifty soldiers on horseback lined up on both sides of the carriage with swords in their hands, while others lit torches to illuminate the darkening roads of the city. The prisoners remained at the end, along with the rearguard.