The Divining (39 page)

     The polo game ended and the visitors from the west—who bore the extreme distinction of being guests of the Emperor of China—were invited to dine in the tent of the Tazhkin chief. Ming and his empress, and their entourage of over five hundred, dined separately in a collection of red and gold pavilions that made up a small village. Sebastianus and his friends were not part of that elite, unapproachable clique.

     The banquet put on by Chief Jammu was surprisingly sumptuous, with expensive delicacies and costly wine that flowed freely. As Sebastianus and his friends sat cross-legged on elegant carpets and dined off brass plates, it
was apparent that this was a wealthy tribe. Jammu's many guests, the heads of noble families, were healthy and well dressed. The men wore tall hats made of colorful felt, with sheepskin vests and woolen trousers, while the women wore pantaloons beneath long silk shifts. Maidens covered their faces with veils while the wives of prosperous men festooned their foreheads with gold coins. Many villages and settlements the emperor had visited were inhabited by farmers barely making a subsistence living, but these Tazhkin, with their platters heaped with meat, and goblets brimming with wine, were wealthy.

     From what? Sebastianus wondered.

     The usual dancers and musicians, jugglers and acrobats were brought out to entertain the men from the west, while Sebastianus tried to describe Rome to Chief Jammu—now with the aid of a
fourth
translator who spoke Chinese and Tazhkin, so that Sebastianus wondered how accurately his information was being conveyed, going through four men as it did.

     More wine flowed and the music grew louder until Chief Jammu—a large, barrel-chested man with missing teeth and bronze skin—began to boast about something Sebastianus could not comprehend. The translators, it seemed, grew less skillful the more the wine loosened their tongues. And so when he hefted his large frame from the carpet and gestured to his guests, Sebastianus and Primo and Timonides had to rise with him and wonder where they were being taken.

     Outside, they found imperial Chinese guards standing watch, as they had done since leaving Luoyang—a constant reminder to Sebastianus that he and his companions were prisoners—and they fell into step behind the small group as the chief led them through the chilly spring night.

     They arrived at an enormous tent, even larger than the one in which they had dined and been entertained. It glowed from within and was guarded by Tazhkin soldiers, who snapped to attention when they saw their chief. Sebastianus could not imagine the purpose of so large a tent, or why it was guarded, and he suspected that he and Timonides and Primo were about to be shown the tribe's treasure. He imagined gold and gems as the chief bent his tall frame to step through the opening.

     They followed, with Timonides making sure his son did not bang his
head on the wooden door frame, for Nestor was taller even than the Tazhkin chief. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light of the interior, the visitors from the west frowned at the sight before them. "What is this?" Timonides asked, taking in the rows of tables that appeared to be covered with balls of white cotton.

     They were led closer, and saw that the "cotton balls" were lined in rows and pinched between long wooden dowels, thousands of them, lying on the racks like snow. Through the translators, the visitors learned from Chief Jammu that what they were looking at were the cocoons of silk moths. The man from Pisa, who spoke Persian and Latin, explained that the special moths were husbanded like cattle or sheep, nurtured and protected until they lay their eggs on specially prepared paper. When the eggs hatched, the newborn caterpillars were fed fresh leaves, and after one month were ready. A wooden frame was placed over the tray of caterpillars and each began spinning a cocoon, attaching it to one of the long dowels in the frame. Within three days the caterpillars were completely encased in their cocoons.

     The caterpillars were then killed by heat, and the cocoons were soaked in boiling water to soften the silk fibers, which were then unwound to produce continuous threads.

     The guests followed Jammu as he boastfully described this process, and Sebastianus knew that he was omitting certain steps because it was illegal for anyone other than silk farmers to know the secret of making silk. So carefully guarded was the secret of manufacturing silk, in fact, that it was a death sentence to even try to smuggle a single silkworm out of China.

     It took five thousand silkworms, Jammu bragged through his missing front teeth, to make one silk robe. Which was why, Sebastianus and his friends knew, silk was so costly in Rome, especially as it must pass through so many middlemen after leaving China, with each raising the price in order to make a profit. Were this secret ever to make it back to Rome, along with moths to start a small silk farm, the lucrative business here in China would dry up.

     At the conclusion of the tour, the visitors were treated to a dazzling sight: rows of racks holding harvested silk that was awaiting only to be woven and dyed and made into scrolls, wall hangings, kites, clothing. The long silky
filaments, bundled so thickly that they resembled a woman's tresses, glowed like white gold in the flickering torchlight. Sebastianus and his friends were speechless at the sight of the gossamer strands, worth even more than gold or the rarest of gemstones.

     Thanking the chief, who was now swaying on his feet, the men from Rome retired to their tent to rest up for the journey back to Luoyang. They could not get the sight of that luxurious silk out of their minds, and as they undressed, Timonides said quietly, "Master, if we could obtain some of those worms, those cocoons, and take them back to Rome, we could be wealthy beyond measure."

     Sebastianus pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it down. "The punishment for smuggling silkworms is death, my old friend. It isn't worth it."

     "But still," Timonides said wistfully. "We would be the most famous men in Rome. Nestor and I could buy ourselves a villa, a comfortable retirement ..."

     "You will always have a home with me. Go to sleep, old friend. We have just one day to find a weakness in the emperor's security, and then we are prisoners in the city again."

     When Sebastianus doused the lights and the tent was in darkness, and presently both he and the astrologer were snoring, Nestor lay on his pallet staring up at the ceiling.

     For a long time now he had sensed that his father was unhappy, and Nestor loved his Papa very much. He had sought ways to please him, had searched for gifts in the marketplace, but nothing had shone for Nestor. A gift for his Papa had to be special.

     He thought of the silken threads in that big tent. They would make Papa happy. He could buy a villa. Papa would be comfortable.

     Nestor crept from his tent and loped swiftly and silently through the sleeping camp. He remembered where the shining hair was because it was in the biggest tent, which stood silhouetted against the stars. He saw the guards at the entrance and would have walked right in, but then he saw their spears and he wondered if they were hurtful men. So he went around the side, searching the perimeter of the enormous structure made of goatskins and felt, until he was on the other side, and there were no men with sticks here.

     The tent was well anchored into the hard ground, but Nestor was big and strong and he was able, after much grunting and groaning, to lift the staked wall and crawl under it. By the light of the few torches that glowed inside the tent, he saw the beautiful white filaments, bundled like a lady's hair, hanging from pegs.

     Nestor helped himself, curling his big thick fingers around the clump of silk strands, and then he paused to look at the white cocoons spread out on tables. He wanted one of those, too. Another gift for Papa.

     Nestor was so intent upon reaching for a cocoon, trying not to break it or disturb the tiny caterpillar sleeping within, that he did not hear the guards enter the tent, was not aware of their presence until he turned around.

     Nestor thought that if he smiled at the men with the clubs, they would not hurt him.

     I
T WAS THE FINAL
game of the week-long polo match, and tension and excitement filled the air.

     Timonides searched the crowd. Where was Nestor? He would not want to miss this game.

     "What is that?" Sebastianus said, pointing out onto the field where the two teams were lining up with clubs.

     Timonides squinted out over the sparse grass. "It's the ball—" He gasped. "Great Zeus!" he cried.

     Sebastianus and Timonides ran out onto the field, where Nestor's head rose out of the ground. They saw the packed earth around him and realized in horror that the simpleton had been buried in a deep pit up to his neck.

     Before Sebastianus and Timonides could reach him, horsemen rode up and barred the way. "You must stop this!" Timonides cried. "My son has done no wrong!"

     Sebastianus turned and dashed away from the field to the canopy beneath which Chief Jammu and his military aides sat on wooden chairs. When Sebastianus demanded to know what was going on, the chief said,
"The man was caught in the Silk House stealing from us. He had silk in his hands, and a cocoon. The punishment is death."

     "But he didn't know! Nestor has the mind of a child!"

     They heard a shout and the start of thundering hooves. Sebastianus and Timonides turned in time to see the horses racing toward Nestor. Even as the hooves came down on him, and the first great club, Nestor laughed.

     As Timonides watched in frozen horror, as he saw the blood and bone and bits of brain fly up from the clubs, he remembered that silk was produced by the mulberry worm. And thus the fulfillment of an ox scapula prophecy.

     S
EBASTIANUS FOUND HIS FRIEND
lying on a pallet, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Timonides's eyes were red and puffy, but he no longer wept. The sun had set, the stars were out, and he had no more tears to shed.

     "I requested an audience with the emperor," Sebastianus said, "and he has granted it. I am going to ask him to allow us to leave. We cannot stay here any longer. I am responsible for what happened to Nestor. I should have insisted long ago that we be permitted to leave. I only hope you can forgive me, my old friend, for allowing us to remain prisoner here so long."

     Timonides did not speak, and a short time later, after following the usual, wearisome protocol, Sebastianus bowed respectfully and said to Ming: "Your Majesty, I have seen with my own eyes the wise and compassionate way the Lord of Ten Thousand Years governs his vassals, and I see that they are happy under his rule. I believe my own emperor would be interested to hear about the wise and mighty Lord of Heaven, and perhaps he can even learn from the sovereign of the Flowery Land. I humbly ask that I be allowed to return to my country and paint for my Emperor and all the high officials a portrait of the wise and compassionate rule of the Lord of Ten Thousand Years. It will be a great honor to praise Your Majesty's name from here to Rome and instill in the peoples along the way a fearsome respect for the name of the lofty one who occupies Your Majesty's throne.

     "Your Majesty's generosity exceeds the number of stars in the night sky. Truly Your Majesty is the most generous man on earth. I wish to have the honor of telling the world of the greatness of the Lord of Heaven. I wish to boast of my having been your humble guest and the recipient of the Lord of Heaven's bounty and compassion. I wish to return to my country and impress my own emperor with this knowledge."

     Ming said nothing. His face was without expression beneath the curious crown of beaded fringe. Ma sat silently at his side.

     "In return for this generous favor, Your Majesty," Sebastianus continued, "I will tell you about the might and power of Rome. Her armies are like the seas, her soldiers are like dragons that breathe fire, her machines of war are like thunder and lightning. I tell Your Majesty these things not to betray my country, nor to boast in falsehoods—for what I say of Rome's legions is true—but to offer the Lord of Heaven the opportunity to join with a great ally that is almost as powerful as himself. Persia is Rome's enemy. And I know that the Han people would like to subjugate Persia. Together, Rome and China can surround Persia and show that lowly nation what great races we are."