Empire of Dragons (46 page)

‘Translated into our time . . . three hundred and fifteen years ago . . . would mean . . . seven centuries from the foundation of our City . . . of the capital of Taqin Guo. Oh, gods in heaven! It’s the Lost Legion!’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Yun Shan.

‘Just two years before these events you’ve told me about, one of our armies was annihilated in a great battle against the Persians. Just a single unit, just one legion, managed to break through the encirclement and escape, but they were never heard of again. No one ever knew what had happened to them . . .’

The sun had dropped below the red-tiled rooftops of Li Cheng and the clouds faded from flaming red to orange to blue-grey as the sound of the horns inviting the monks to meditation echoed in the valley below.

‘In the rest of the country,’ continued Yun Shan, ‘those men are legendary. It’s said that they were invincible. And it’s said that they will reappear, rising from their tombs, if a single descendant of the Han dynasty should ever be threatened . . .’

Metellus looked into her eyes. ‘Did they leave no sign of their presence? Have you ever noticed anything strange around the village or outside it?’

Yun Shan bowed her head as if suddenly struck by his words, then said, ‘Follow me . . . the great green stone, perhaps . . .’

‘What is it?’

‘Follow me,’ she repeated. ‘Perhaps you’ll be able to understand.’ She swerved to the right, urging her horse up a paved ramp that led to the high part of the village, and Metellus followed.

They soon reached a large rock wall that gave access to a wide staircase. The lower part of the wall seemed to be handhewn. Yun Shan dismounted and approached a spot of the wall completely covered by creeping vegetation that hid it from view. She turned to check that Metellus was behind her, then pushed aside the climbing plants to reveal a worn inscription carved into the stone.

It was in Latin!

Metellus felt tears rising uncontrollably to his eyes and he hid them by drawing closer to the rock. He ran his fingers over those time-weathered signs and he imagined he could still feel the heat of the hands which had inscribed them. The hands of the men who had escaped the massacre of Carrhae, the men of the legendary Lost Legion!

‘Was it them?’ asked Yun Shan anxiously. ‘Did they truly come from your country?’

Metellus nodded deeply without taking his hand off the wall. ‘Yes, three hundred and fifteen years ago. Not one of them ever came home. None of them ever saw their wives or children again. They carved this inscription and then they decided that they would never again speak their mother tongue, not even with each other, so as to forget . . . so as not to suffer. That’s what it says here,’ he concluded, placing his index finger on the last lines of the inscription.

ITAQVE LINGVAE MAIORVM ELIGIMVS OBLIVISCI

NE POENA AMISSAE PATRIAE INTOLERABILIS FIERET

‘ “And thus we decided to forget the language of our fathers so that our nostalgia for our lost homeland would not become unbearable” . . . They wrote this for me,’ he said, leaning his head against the wall. ‘No one before me could have read this.’

T
HE DOVE ENTERED
from the little window in the western tower of the imperial palace of Luoyang and went to perch upon a swing where fresh water and food awaited him. The servant in charge of the dovecote noticed him immediately but did not move. He let him eat and drink, and only when he heard him cooing tranquilly did he approach and skilfully grasp him between his hands.

He hurried down to the ground floor, stood before the entrance to the audience chamber and spoke to the guards. One of them disappeared inside and returned almost immediately to admit the servant to the eunuch’s presence.

Wei cupped the dove between his hands and brought him to his cheek, murmuring soft words to his ear: ‘You’re back, finally! And now you’ll take us to where you’ve been all this time. Now you’ll take us to Li Cheng, won’t you, little one?’

The servant took his leave, backing away towards the entrance. He was absolutely convinced that that man could make himself understood to animals, and understand their language as well.

Wei struck a bronze disc hanging between two columns and a loyal follower soon appeared: one of the chiefs of the Flying Foxes.

‘My Lord,’ he said, bowing.

‘Do you see this dove? He has just arrived from a long journey and he is still quite tired, but when he has rested and regained his strength he will take us to the fortress of the Red Lotus at Li Cheng. We will destroy them just as we did the disciples of Wangzi at the Monastery of Whispering Waters. Draw up your comrades immediately, all those who are available, in the inner courtyard. I’ll be there soon. While you’re leaving, send in the superintendent of the security forces.’

The man bowed again and left.

Wei, all alone now, leaned his head to look at the dove he held in his lap and he began to stroke it slowly, passing his waxy hands down its back with grace and delicacy, almost affection, one would say. Then he brought the bird close to his face. He cupped its belly with his right hand, its claws inserted between his index and middle finger. His left hand held its head between his thumb and index finger so that the bird’s eye was a palm’s width away from the tip of his nose.

Superintendent Zhong Wu entered, stopping at twenty steps from Wei’s chair, and bent over into a deep bow.

‘We have finally learned how to reach Li Cheng and destroy the refuge of the Red Lotus,’ said the eunuch, still stroking the dove and without any excitement in his voice, as though he were speaking of a perfectly normal event.

Zhong Wu bowed his head as if to honour he who had achieved such a feat, though in reality to hide a grimace of disappointment. Such an important discovery on the part of his leader was humiliating for him, as it highlighted his own failure.

‘From this moment on, all those whom you cannot completely trust must be put under strict surveillance. At the least hint of anything suspicious you must take immediate action. Arrest and imprison any spies. Eliminate them, simply, or have them followed discreetly at a distance to learn what connections they may have. There’s no need to teach you these things, I suppose.’

The superintendent bowed again. ‘Your advice is always precious and I am eager to take it to heart, My Lord.’

Wei nodded without commenting on that expression of servile adulation, continuing to stroke the dove. His hands had such a perfect hold on the wings and claws of the animal that it could move nothing but its head. And it did so continually, as if seized by extreme agitation.

Zhong Wu spoke again: ‘Once the corrupt imperial lineage has been done any with and the last heir is out of the way, you can declare the reigning dynasty abolished forever. You will be proclaimed Son of the Heavens.’

Wei sighed, then said, ‘I had given you another job.’

‘I know, My Lord.’

‘Well?’

‘I have restricted the choice to a very few candidates: very young children who are without parents, or whose families are willing to give them up for a reasonable sum of money or an exchange of favours. We are considering their aptitude and natural inclinations, their intelligence, quick wits and daring – all qualities which are not easily identified in children as young as you have specified.’

‘The chosen one will have to consider me and recognize me as his father in every way. And once we have taken Li Cheng, the little one will have a mother as well. Go now. Do as I’ve ordered.’

The superintendent took his leave and reached the exit. Wei got up from his seat next to the imperial throne, which he had decided not to use just yet, and walked towards the door that led to the inner courtyard of the first pavilion, holding the dove close to his chest.

As soon as Wei appeared, the commander of the guards promptly ran up to hear any orders he was mindful to give.

‘Summon a team of horsemen,’ Wei ordered. ‘The fastest we have. Now.’

The officer rushed towards the guard post and gave curt instructions to his underlings. A squad of horsemen, auxiliaries from the north-west regions, presently rode up on their mounts, indefatigable horses of the steppe, even more costly than the tiger cubs from Siam that were gifted to sovereigns. They were called the horses-that-sweat-blood, for their extraordinary speed and resistance.

‘You’ll have to follow the flight of this dove,’ Wei explained to them. ‘Unlike any other animal of his species, he has been trained to return to a place where he has remained for at least six months. Woe to you if you lose sight of him! You will suffer an exemplary punishment. I’m sure you can imagine what that entails.’

The horsemen listened, sitting perfectly still on their shaggy steeds, covered by heavy leather tunics crossed over at the chest.

‘Every evening,’ continued Wei, ‘one of you will return to the garrison at Luoyang to communicate the location of your detachment. The last messenger will inform me of the position of Li Cheng. At that point, the expeditionary force will be ready, and we shall set out to conquer the city and the fortress. Have no fear: your mission will not be a difficult one. This creature will guide you, and I am confident that you will never lose contact.’

Wei opened his hands and released the dove. He stood still, eyes trained on its first uncertain burst of flight. The bird soared off then in a wider sweep, straight towards the luminous midday sky. The horsemen left at a brisk gallop, following their winged guide.

Wei re-entered the big silent room and immersed himself in profound meditation. His mind sought the solitary place that sheltered his implacable enemies, where – he was certain – Yun Shan was hiding with the foreign barbarian, who, he felt sure, was still alive; he had survived the blow of the tiger and the massacre of all his companions. Did Yun Shan love him? The force of his suspicion made the pain caused by the thought intolerable. Doubt gnawed at him like a worm. He knew deep inside that Yun Shan had forgotten the feeling that had united them when they were little more than children. She had forgotten the agony he had suffered. He remembered her last words, the night of their duel at the walls of Luoyang.

His powers of concentration and the hatred streaming from his mind like a jet of poison were not sufficient to reveal to him what was happening in the place where Yun Shan had devoted herself to another man and had, perhaps, opened her heart to him. He felt he could see images, scenes of secret looks and caresses, simmering desire. He yearned for the death of his adversary with all the intensity he was capable of, and it seemed impossible that the blow he had inflicted upon him had not then crushed his heart.

F
OR DAYS
he remained in that state, fasting and drinking only an infusion of bitter herbs. At times, his prostration was so extreme that his mind fabricated an idyllic scene: a family, where he and Yun Shan had a child, a creature that he had chosen to raise in the palace so he could found a new dynasty. He saw himself teaching the child the basics of universal knowledge and his mother the rituals that could bring a man close to the Heavens. But in the end those scenes left him with nothing but a sense of burning frustration and a furious ire that only blood could atone for.

He would interrupt his meditation when a rider came to report on the flight of the dove, on the legs of the journey that would bring him to Li Cheng. Each time, he felt invaded by an almost infantile apprehension.

Sometimes, to calm the pangs of hatred, he would practise calligraphy on a fine ivory-coloured silk fabric, the same that had been used to compile the classic texts that had survived the fire of the Great Library of Luoyang. He painted the ideograms of an ancient version of
I Ching
, the Book of Changes. His hand seemed inexorably attracted to tracing out the changing lines of a coupled hexagram that reproduced the image of a funerary stele, obsessively, insistently. He searched for a response from the oracles carved into the shoulder blades of bulls and rams, which he cast furiously over the floor of the throne room, again and again.

A funerary stele. An omen of death. Whose death?

That evening one of the servants entered his living quarters; his expression made it clear that he had bad news.

‘A man is waiting for you in the audience chamber, My Lord,’ he said, and withdrew hurriedly.

Wei got up and went to the audience chamber, where his initial impression was confirmed. It was one of the horsemen of the imperial cavalry and fear was painted on his face.

‘We’ve lost contact with the dove, My Lord,’ he said, his terror growing as he spoke. Wei’s face twisted into a sneer of disgust and rage. ‘We’ve searched everywhere. We split up and went in every direction, but the bird had taken off over impenetrable territory where our horses could not follow. No one had considered the possibility of this happening, My Lord, the chance that . . .’

The words were not out of his mouth when Wei’s arm flashed through the air, striking the base of his neck. The man crumpled to the ground without a sigh. Then the eunuch turned and went back to his quarters. He sat down, picked up his brush and began to draw the signs of an ancient oracle on silk.

His hand moved with supreme grace, with measured, elegant gestures. The ideograms took shape as if by magic, blossoming like flowers in a meadow. His arm was almost immobile and suspended; only his wrist moved, commanding his hand and his brush. The ink seemed to flow directly from his body on to the fabric, in a black haemorrhage of evil humours. He laid his brush down at last on a rosewood stand and withdrew into himself, seemingly dozing. The features of his face slackened, his limbs relaxed, his lids drooped until his eyes were nearly closed.

He remained in that state of apparent unconsciousness for some time without moving and the entire palace plunged into a leaden silence.

One of the handmaids assigned to his personal care entered his rooms every so often, carrying a tray with a steaming cup of the infusion he usually took at mid-morning and afternoon. She would remain for a few moments at a respectful distance, unmoving, eyeing him furtively with a timid but admiring glance, perhaps taken by the fierce beauty of her master. She would then place the tray on a table and walk away with an imperceptible step, vanishing amid the indigo silk curtains that fluttered in the light breeze always wafting through the palace, produced by its clever architectural play of secret passages and polished surfaces.