The Tortoise in Asia (36 page)

“There's no choice. Besides I imagine Lanzhou's more civilized than this place.”

“Yes it is – a good deal. It's a main hub for the Caravan Road – the gateway to the West. But it's still in touch with Chang-an, and is a centre for Confucian learning. Now that you can speak our language pretty well, you'll fit in there. ”

It's pleasing to hear Kang speak of fitting in. He's worked hard at the language. On one level he's beginning to be accepted. People are getting used to him and it doesn't seem an exaggeration to say that Kang has become a real friend – extraordinary with their backgrounds being so different. Until recently neither knew the race of the other even existed. Maybe Confucius was right when he said people are close to each other by nature and only diverge as a result of repeated practice.

Marcus has written down some of the Master's analects. It's amazing how close they are to the wisdom in the Graeco-Roman tradition. But not identical; it's perplexing to see how low the social rank of the soldier is. Notwithstanding that, the Han soldiers seem competent, certainly enough to hold the wild Hsiung-nu at bay.

It's a given that the Han people will never fully accept a newcomer. Perhaps some may, but not most, not at that level where social acceptance excludes people with a foreign accent, even when race is not an issue. But of course it is an issue – that makes it harder. After all, Romans are xenophobic too; how could he expect others to be different?

But there're many levels of acceptance and he feels the first has been achieved through his friendship with Kang and his relationship with Meilin. It's a cultural breakthrough which he never thought possible. Reaching other levels could follow. It's clear that performing well at something useful helps to overcome barriers. Probably it's the essential thing. He can count on his military prowess to accomplish that. The reaction to his success against the Hsiung-nu proves it.

Gan is pleasant, even cordial at times, although of late he's more reserved – quite understandable. Other senior officers are friendly and always willing to talk. Even Chen deigns to offer a smile sometimes now. The benefits of tolerance are clearly apparent, something Marcus never had to consider before, when he was in the comfort of power.

“Guiren, do you think we'll stay in Lanzhou permanently?”

“Yes it's possible. But nothing is guaranteed. You'll have to be where the Protector-General needs you. You and your comrades really belong to him in a way because he pays you.”

“I'm starting to think about what my comrades and I'll do when we retire. My childhood background is farming and many of my comrades come from the land too. We enjoy the regime in Gaochang – working the land when we're not required for military service. But it's always just as labourers, working under someone, not owning anything.

“Do you think we could make an arrangement with the Protector-General to have some land outside Lanzhou to work ourselves, and spend more time at it? We've saved our salaries and could pay if it's not too much. We'd still be available for call up when we're needed to fight. I know that would mean we wouldn't do as much guard duty, but we could still do some. Anyway our greatest use is in battle.”

“I don't see why he wouldn't consider it. There's plenty of good farm land about a week's march west from Lanzhou. The area's sparsely populated so it should be easy to acquire some. I'll ask him. Though, I'll have to separate that from what he's considering about you and Meilin. That may be hard to do, so don't count on it.”

“Thanks Kang. You're a good friend.”

❧

The first thing to do in preparation for the journey is to check on Ting Ting, make sure he's ready to travel. The little friend rushes up, wagging his curly tail and making squeaking sounds, trotting around in circles. As usual, he picks up something in his mouth, this time a sandal. Marcus settles him down with a treat and says what they're planning to do. The words don't communicate semantic content but there's no doubt a certain understanding exists. Expressive changes in his wrinkly black face, a twitch in his silky ears, a cocking of his head, show he's paying attention.

Marcus comes out of the tent, Ting Ting trotting behind, and asks Gaius to call the cohort out in formation. Ting Ting sits patiently beside him, head imperiously high, while Marcus addresses the troops.

“The Protector – General has ordered us to go with him along the Caravan Road – east. His family is going too. Get ready to march tomorrow at sunrise.

“We'll be heading to the biggest city in the Region. It's the local Han capital. About eight week's march through rough country – mostly desert. A lot of it's Hsiung-nu territory; so we have to be on our guard.

“Tribes assemble in these parts to raid caravans. If they hear the Protector-General is travelling with us, we can count on an attack – a big one. Even with the Han escort, we could be up against some pretty stiff odds. The Protector – General should have requisitioned more men but Colonel Chen fears another attack on Gaochang. We make up about a quarter of the escort so a lot will depend on us. It shows that the Han have confidence in Roman ability – a good thing if we're going to continue to do well out here.

“I'm sure you all will welcome a chance for more action – pretty boring waiting around here. But make no mistake about it, we'll probably have to earn our keep.”

It's a relief to know that Meilin will be coming. The thought though drives home how uncertain their relationship is. It's out of their control, like a falling leaf in the wind. At any time Marcus could be ordered away to another place, never to see her again, maybe lose his life. Perhaps that's what Gan has in mind instead of outright refusing his consent

❧

The morning mist lies low on the motley oasis floor and begins to burn off as the Flaming Mountains ignite. With some apprehension, the party marches out of the fortress onto the Road. The hundred and forty-five Romans are in front of the turtle-roofed chariots which carry the Protector-General and his family. Behind them is the baggage train with Ting Ting safely installed in a wagon. The Han troops bring up the rear.

As they reach the outskirts of the oasis, Marcus says to one of the guides, “What are those people doing over there?”

There're hundreds of men and women sitting with sand piled up around their legs, sometimes up to their waists. Children are playing nearby, tumbling down the dunes and shrieking with delight. People take shelter under colourful fabric lean-tos supported by thin wooden poles. Reds, yellows, and pinks are dotted over the dunes which are scalloped in sine waves. Others are sitting in the harsh sun. It's a complete desert, not like the steppe which, although dry, supports a threadbare cover of vegetation. There's none of that here to disturb the perfect smoothness of the sandscape.

“They're taking the sand cure. People with sore joints come here from all around. The heat from the sand gives them relief. It's a traditional method.”

Meilin and Marcus have furtive meetings when the expedition stops for the night, but they have to be careful. Meilin is afraid of her father and doesn't want to jeopardize the chance he'll approve. He's forbidden contact and that has to be respected, at least ostensibly.

The Road leads through the desert into oases and more desert, sometimes carrying twin humped camel caravans heading in the opposite direction. At times it encounters towns and villages, entirely dependant on water gleaned from mountain run off which leaks into the land. It's tapped by wells linked by underground aquifers – like the one Marcus and Meilin met in.

Strange shapes are carved into the landscape by the ferocious winds that can blow a man down and transport fine grained soils over endless distances in eye-stinging blizzards. Marcus can't help but think that they're going through terrain that harbours more dangers the further east they go. But the biggest danger lies in what the Protector General may decide. Will the Road help in some mysterious way now that he's in its power? Marcus thinks of it as a companion these days, not always benign, but sometimes so. It's such an influential presence that possibly it has a mind of its own; certainly it has a consequence.

T
he caravan lumbers along slowly and is now in country vegetated only by wind -blasted shrubs. It's enough for flocks of goats though. At times they block the Road like swelling clouds, dirty white against the beige steppe. Kang says they're prized for their fine hair. Expensive garments are made from it – in high fashion at Court.

Fierce winds are blowing up every day now, tossing dust in gritty swirls and reducing men to crouching. They have to close their eyes to thin slits and breathe in short gasps through scarves made from scraps of fabric torn from their clothing. The caravan refuses to stop, forcing its way on in blind determination.

Outside a walled oasis town two weeks from Gaochang, the terrain loses its vegetation entirely and subsides into a black and barren horror of coarse gravel that sometimes rises in hillocks, sharp and ominous, harsh on the soft leather boots the men wear. It's as lifeless as the mouth of hell. An ugly gaseous smell rises from the black shards. Marcus takes comfort that his Han comrades know the place and don't feel the danger he's inclined to sense. They spend two weeks in its melancholy grip. Then the land builds quickly to a commanding height. Kang tells him it's the Jiayuguan pass. On the other side is an amazing sight.

A huge mud brick wall, the height of three men, snakes over the desert like a mighty dragon, slinking off into the distance and vanishing into a hazy horizon. From the top of the pass it's possible to get an impression of its width – sufficient to allow two chariots to pass each other. At the height he's on he can see across a distance as far as Rome is from the sea and still the wall continues. Marcus can't imagine how people could engineer such a structure anywhere in the world let alone in this remote place. Even the Titans would have trouble. Just the challenge of keeping the wild Hsiung-nu at bay during construction would be daunting.

“This is the wall which emperors have built over the centuries to keep the Hsiung-nu out – or it's supposed to,” Kang says. “Chin Shi Huang di started it a long time ago so he could unite our country. Later emperors extended it in stages over the years. Now it goes all the way to the Imperial capital.

“Soon we'll be in Jiuquan, the headquarters of the local prefecture. It's an important garrison town.

“The name means “wine spring'. People say that a general who defeated the Hsiung-nu in a great battle was given some special wine by the Emperor. Instead of drinking it himself, he poured it into a pool nearby so his troops could celebrate the victory with him. The men loved him for it – ha ha ha.

“Locals mine jade from the mountains here, different colours – black, white and green. The stone is sacred to us. Drinking cups made from it are so fine they glow in the moonlight.”

They stay in Jiuquan for a few days to resupply the caravan. Meilin is unable to bear the suspense any longer and goes to see her father. He's in his suite in the small fortress where they're staying.

“Father it's a long time since I asked for your consent. We're well on the way to Lanzhou and I need to know before we get there. May I have your answer please, please.”

“I know I've taken a long time Meilin. But it's a very difficult thing. I've thought about it a lot. I also know it's unfair to keep you waiting my dear girl. Unfortunately I have to say no. I cannot grant my consent. I'm very sorry to disappoint you, but they're just too many cultural barriers. It'll be better in the long run. You'll see.”

While his answer is not unexpected, until now hope has massaged the anxiety of waiting. Those words have destroyed it, swallowed it up in a devastating certainty. It's useless to argue. That's been done to no avail; even her mother has tried.

She buries her head in her hands and breaks into shaking sobs. Gan is shocked to see his daughter like this and doesn't know what to say. He moves over and tries to comfort her but she pushes him away and rushes out of the room.

❧

The caravan starts up again and passes through a grassland corridor. Kang says;

“It's where Emperor Wu bred horses from the heavenly herds of Fergana. He's the famous emperor who opened up the Caravan Road – beat back the Hsiung-nu to do it. Over there on the right are the Qilian Mountains; the Stony Desert is on the left, past the grass.”

Word filters through they're now in the danger zone. Everyone is on full alert, scouring the horizon for tell-tale signs of Hsiung-nu horsemen. Someone claims the first hint will be the smell – the Hsiung-nu never bathe. Marcus knows it well. Han common soldiers curse their leaders for not bringing more troops. Romans check their swords. Marcus puts his hand on Owl's Head. Gan's family particularly feels the tension; Meilin stays close to her mother. The women try to quell their temptation to imagine the horror the desert raiders are capable of, and nobody speaks.

The waiting is intolerable, aggravated by the slow pace of the caravan. The Road is in its treacherous mood, hankering after violence again. It's inevitable here, a natural occurrence in this part of the world. The stories Marcus heard from the Sogdian merchants in Margiana come to mind. They seemed fanciful at the time, but not now. Even the landscape is threatening. The heat haze on the mountains causes shapes to appear and slowly move – like monstrous sentinels signalling a coming attack.