Empire of Dragons (23 page)

‘That’s one thing at least that we don’t have,’ Metellus couldn’t help reflecting.

‘Eunuchs? They are frequent in China. The surgeons have become such experts that the number of patients who survive the operation is greater than the number who die. In any case, many of the last emperors were little more than children when they ascended the throne and thus were forced either to allow their mothers to rule the state in their place or to rely on the eunuchs, who often – thanks to their intelligence or their cunning – had succeeded in infiltrating the highest centres of power.

‘In Dan Qing’s court, the situation was quite unusual, influenced by an event whose implications I’ve never fully understood . . .’

The wind blew up, filling the sail so forcefully that the mast creaked. A cloud front appeared low on the surface of the waves towards the west and Metellus could hear Antoninus saying to Rufus, ‘If this keeps up, we’ll have another rough night.’

‘Go on,’ urged Metellus.

‘Three years ago Dan Qing departed for a diplomatic mission to the Persian court, leaving the administration of the state in the hands of the most faithful of his father’s ministers, Yangming, who was appointed regent. But when two years – instead of several months – had passed since the prince’s departure, someone became seriously worried about his prolonged absence: Dan Qing’s master, Wangzi, a wise and pious man who lives in a monastery in the mountains. I have known him for some time, because during my journeys I have often stopped at his retreat, where I have been welcomed with great hospitality.

‘It was he who organized this mission. He contacted some Zoroastrian priests who were his friends and gave them a message for Dan Qing, specifying a date for meeting up with my caravan at the source of the Khaboras or at the river port.’

‘And now,’ concluded Metellus, ‘the prince is returning to a kingdom which is no longer his. He has to defeat this minister – who must have betrayed him – and seize power again, without being able to count on anyone but an old monk, if I’ve understood you correctly. A situation very similar to what my emperor would have found, had I managed to take him back.’

‘Did Dan Qing say anything to you?’ asked Daruma.

‘He told me that he is alone.’

‘That must mean that you’re right, then.’

‘But there must be troops who are still faithful to him. Friends that he helped, officers who have sworn their loyalty . . .’

‘If he told you he is alone, that means that he cannot or doesn’t want to count on anyone. Or nearly anyone.’

‘There’s something we must clarify about this, Daruma. We’ve already clashed once.’

‘Ah . . . I think I know what you’re referring to.’

‘I want to know how far we’ll have to accompany Dan Qing, at what point our mission can be considered concluded, and when our voyage of return will begin, as you promised.’

‘Don’t worry, Commander, I’m neither a hero nor a warrior. We’ll enter China from the south and cross the mountains. Once we reach the monastery I’ve spoken to you about, our roads will part. Dan Qing will go towards his destiny, while we will deliver a load of spices to the plain, pick up a load of silk and then turn back. At that point, you will be able to count the days that separate you from Taqin Guo.’

‘Taqin Guo: the Roman empire, for the Chinese.’

‘That’s what they call it. For them it’s a land of legend in the far west, about which they know nothing.’

‘It seems impossible,’ said Metellus. ‘We buy enormous quantities of goods from China, we export many there as well, yet neither of the two empires has ever come into contact with the other, as if they were two different worlds.’

‘Distance!’ replied Daruma. ‘It’s the distance, Commander. So great that it becomes necessary to acquiesce to intermediaries. The most curious thing is that the Persians, your implacable enemies, are not always on good terms with their Oriental partners either.’

‘True. Two hundred years ago, our emperor Tiberius complained that with the gold the Persians earned in taxes on the silk and precious stones we imported, they financed their wars against us.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me in the least,’ Daruma said sententiously. ‘Avariciousness, the desire to accumulate treasure, is another of your most peculiar characteristics.’

Metellus had his answer ready, but a line from Virgil came to mind: ‘
Quid non mortalia pectora cogis, auri sacra fames
.’ The execrable lust for gold did indeed lead men’s souls astray. And he bit his tongue.

D
INNER WAS READY AT DUSK
. Metellus and his comrades watched the fish being roasted on the brazier; fish they’d never seen or imagined, brightly hued with blue or metallic green reflections. They tasted delicious, seasoned with an abundance of spices, in particular a condiment that only the very rich could afford in the West: pepper.

Dan Qing sat with the others, slightly apart from them. He was served first, and given the beverage prepared with the infusion of dried leaves that Metellus has tasted that afternoon. The others were served palm wine.

The sun set in a triumph of black-bellied clouds with purple edges, its last rays painting flaming paths on the surface of the Ocean, which stretched out to lap at the boat.

The men chatted, in a good humour. They were talking about women, mostly, and that pleased Metellus. He hadn’t heard them talking about women for years, since the last dinners they’d had in their tents on the Taurus mountains as they’d patrolled Edessa. They had never had the time or even the inclination since then.

The topic was proof of vitality regained. Metellus himself felt pervaded by a strength and energy that reawakened his longings. But then the pain came back even sharper, because his desire centred on a person who no longer existed. And yet the thought of her still seduced him: her full lips, the generous breasts that women from the south were so famous for, her round hips aroused visions and sensations that were still very vivid. He remembered the last journey they’d made together, to Italy. A mission in Sicily. One afternoon in Segesta, in the stone colonnade of the great sanctuary: they were sitting close, watching the setting sun, talking about what they would do when they were finally able to come home from the Orient. The house they would have liked to buy near that marvellous spot, the olive grove, the vineyard they’d plant, with a garden of roses and jasmine to scent the evening air. They would raise their little boy like their ancestors had; Metellus himself would teach him to make wine and raise bees. They would have more children, who would grow in peace, who would live serenely in the shade of these great solitary columns. He even remembered the chirping of the birds seeking their nest on an architrave that held up the sky.

It was all gone. Vanished, in a moment of agony, a surging of blood.

‘Aren’t you eating?’ Daruma’s voice sounded at his side.

Metellus started. He looked at the food in his bowl and began to eat.

‘I know how you’re feeling, but just wait until we’ve landed. You’ll really see something then! Landscapes that change from one moment to the next – cities, villages, mountains, the roar of tigers and the trumpeting of elephants. India! You will feel so many new emotions that your life will start to flow again like the current of a river that has found a new path after a cataclysm has blocked its original course.

‘The sea is different, mind you . . . the sea mirrors our thoughts, unfortunately the deepest and most melancholy ones. It reflects what is hidden in the depths of our soul, our unconfessed fears. The face of death floats under its liquid surface, beckons from the horizon that slips further and further away, without ever allowing you to reach it.’

Metellus smiled. ‘You talk like one of us, like one of our poets. I thought that your philosophy had overcome these fears.’

‘Ours has, that is true. But not yours. It’s not difficult for me to see what’s passing through your mind.’

‘Then you know that you needn’t worry about me. I’ll survive. And I’ll do what I have to do.’

Dinner was soon finished and the moon rose from the sea, illuminating its vast expanse. Metellus remained a while to observe the scaly surface of the Ocean, which reflected the heavenly body in a thousand shimmering facets. He leaned against the railing, abandoning himself to the marvellous spectacle that reminded him so much of the Internal Sea. He realized that he was following the route of Nearcus, Alexander’s admiral, only in the opposite direction. He would soon be seeing what the great Macedonian king had only dreamed of. He would have liked to speak with the prince of the oblique eyes, but Dan Qing’s haughtiness felt like an insuperable obstacle. He was fascinated by the prince, attracted, even, but he could not help comparing his attitude to the sorrowful humanity of Valerian, and pondering on how the old emperor had died among his soldiers with a dignity and a strength of character that no philosophical searching could match.

He approached Daruma instead, who was still sipping his infusion of dried leaves. ‘Do the Chinese truly know of the existence of our empire?’

‘Yes, as I’ve told you, they do. But their knowledge is not much more detailed than or much different from what you know about China. I’ve heard a very particular story, though. One and a half centuries ago, at the time of Emperor Hedi, a Chinese general named Ban Chao brought his army all the way to the Caspian Sea, crossing the great desert of Central Asia. From there he sent a lieutenant named Gan Ying to try to reach the sovereign of Taqin Guo – that is, of the Roman empire!’

Metellus looked at him in surprise. ‘How do you know such things?’

‘The monks at the fortress told me about it. They have copies of works and documents that were destroyed in the first fire of the Great Library of Luoyang.’

‘Continue. What happened to Gan Ying, then?’

‘He reached the shore of an inland sea.’

‘The Pontus Euxinus?’

‘Perhaps. The description in our sources is not clear. But I think it must have been as you suggest. They say it was only two marching days from the confines of Taqin Guo.’

‘Incredible. He must have reached Tigranocerta or Phasis, in Armenia . . . Well?’

‘Well, it just so happened that Gan Ying had Persian guides with him, and when they realized that he meant to reach the confines of the Roman empire and speak with the emperor, they told him he could never succeed; that the distance separating him from the border of Taqin Guo was as great as the distance he had left behind him. Gan Ying lost heart and turned back, with nothing to show for his efforts. The Persians did not want the two empires to speak directly.’

‘Of course. The taxes that the Persians impose on the silk caravans bring in enormous sums, but perhaps that isn’t the only reason. The two empires were too far apart to fear each other, but it might have been in the best interests of both to collaborate, or even ally themselves against common enemies. The Persians, for instance.’

‘You hate them, don’t you?’

‘Hate is a personal emotion. It can’t be directed against an entire nation. I hate those who were responsible for the death of my emperor and one of my companions. They inflicted every sort of suffering and humiliation on us. But none of this would have happened had we been ransomed.

‘You see, we have a great Greek historian who holds that history is mostly the consequence of chance. The event you’ve just told me about seems to confirm this theory. What would have happened if, a century and a half ago, the two emperors had established a direct relationship? What would have been the destiny of mankind, the course of history? What happened was that a Persian guide told a little lie and prevented a momentous change from taking place. And so for China we’re still Taqin Guo, a legendary place in the far west, and for us China has remained Sera Maior, the place that produces silk . . .’

Metellus fell still, but Daruma understood what was going through his mind. ‘You’re thinking that you might be the one to accomplish the task now, aren’t you? Why not? Imagine what extraordinary consequences the meeting of two great empires would have. Just think what a turning point in history you would have brought about!’ Daruma seemed truly excited for the first time since Metellus had met him.

‘I don’t want to think about that now,’ replied Metellus. ‘My only concern is to return as soon as possible. But . . . if I could . . . it’s certainly a fascinating idea. I only wonder whether it’s possible to establish any kind of relationship with men like Dan Qing. My emperor spoke every day with even the most humble of his soldiers.’

‘Because they spoke the same language. If you want to communicate with Dan Qing, you must learn his language. Not just the one he speaks, the one he thinks.’

Metellus looked at him with a sceptical expression.

‘I’ll help you, if you like,’ said Daruma, then wished him a good night and retired below deck.

Metellus took a cup of palm wine and poured a little into the sea, offering up a libation to Uxal’s spirit, which rose and fell with the waves, before the moon disappeared behind a cloud.

T
HEY REACHED
the mouth of the Indus thirteen days later. The great river was announced by a wide yellowish patch in the middle of the intense blue of the Ocean. The large estuary was swarming with vessels and the shores were packed with merchants, sailors, labourers and farmers. They disembarked one after another, except for Dan Qing, who stayed on board. Evidently that place held no interest for him. Or, if he was interested, he certainly wasn’t showing it. Metellus and his men scattered through the market in their first leave as free men. Because even fear is a form of slavery, and they were finally free from the threat of being followed and hunted down.

Here they breathed the air of a completely different world: the costumes, the clothing, the colour of men’s skins. Even the animals were strange: monkeys, parrots, elephants . . . And cows, cows everywhere, roaming tranquilly down the streets. They were very peculiar-looking as well, with a strange hump like a camel’s on their backs, just behind their necks.