Empire of Dragons (6 page)

‘Rebellion – any type of rebellion – will receive the same kind of treatment. Simple disobedience or the failure to produce the quantity of mineral required of each one of you will be punished with ten lashes or with three days at the stake with no food and no water. The quantity of rough stones to be produced each day is fifty pounds. At night you will be shackled. By day your chains will be removed so you can work better. The straw in the huts will be changed once a month. When one of you dies, the rest of you must throw the carcass into that crevasse over there.

‘This is all you need to know.’

When he had finished speaking, the jailer opened one of the shacks and Uxal accompanied the new arrivals inside: twenty-three men in all, including the twelve Romans.

The old man pointed out their straw pallets and fixed a shackle with a ring to one of each man’s ankles. He attached a chain secured to the floor with another ring and a padlock. Uxal fettered himself as well and handed the key over to the jailer, who went out and closed the door behind him.

Uxal gestured for everyone to keep silent until the jailer’s steps faded into the distance, then spoke softly. ‘Now you can talk, but they mustn’t hear you outside. If they hear us, they’ll punish us, and I can assure you that that’s no laughing matter. Your lives are worth nothing here.’

‘How do you know our language?’ asked Metellus, who was near him.

‘As a boy I spent ten years in the service of a Roman merchant of precious stones who had a warehouse at Buprasium, in the gulf.’

‘How did you end up here?’

‘The merchant sold me to a Persian nobleman to pay off his debts, even though I was a free man! I could not stand being a slave and I tried to flee, and this is where they brought me.’

‘That means you can survive a long time here,’ observed Lucianus. ‘You’re an old man.’

‘Don’t count on it,’ said Uxal. ‘I’m alive because they need me. I’m good at handling the turquoise. If nothing else, that son of a bitch who sold me taught me something that’s helped me to survive, if you can consider this living.

‘Now, let me explain a few things. Let’s start with the food: the miners eat only dry beans and fish meal, which is distributed once a day in the morning. For dinner there’s a bowl of murky soup with a revolting taste, whose ingredients I’ve never been able to guess. All the better, probably. Water is rationed because there’s very little of it. Don’t drink much during the day, when you’re sweating a lot. Drink in the evening, when it’s cooler, so your body can use it all. Sometimes the food never gets here because there’s been a sandstorm or for other reasons I’m unaware of. When this happens, the jailers eat and we don’t. Cockroaches can help you survive, and so can mice. I roast them on the coals from the forge and, let me tell you, they’re not at all bad. Otherwise you can eat them raw. You get used to it.

‘As far as your attitude: forget you are a man, forget you have a name, a country you come from, a family. Forget you have any honour or personal pride, or you’ll be dead before you know it. Never react to provocations, don’t ever look a jailer in the eye, don’t help a comrade who is ill. Any kind of group solidarity is seen as a threat, as a possible conspiracy.

‘These people, who watch us and punish us for nothing at all, often do so only because if something happens their punishment would be as bad as ours, or worse. The Persians have incredible imaginations when it comes to torture . . .’

‘I know,’ said Metellus. ‘I’ve read Ctesia’s
Persian Memories
.’

Uxal shook his head. ‘What’s that?’

‘The story of a Greek doctor who lived at the court of Emperor Artaxerxes.’

‘Ah,’ replied Uxal. ‘Anyway, you in particular have got me worried. You’re a soldier, aren’t you?’

‘We all are.’

‘But you more than the others. The way you look is a permanent challenge. Your eyes are defiant. Hide both if you want to live.’

‘I have to live,’ said Metellus, ‘and so do my comrades.’

‘Fine. Then do as I’ve said and you may last a little longer.’

As he spoke, the expressions of the others darkened; the signs of consternation were painted on the faces of those men who had all been accustomed for years to facing the worst dangers, to risking their skins constantly. But the prospect of a life without hope, a life of degradation and humiliation, dragging on for who knows how long only to meet an abominable death, made many of them think of suicide, a much more honourable end for soldiers.

It seemed that Uxal had read their thoughts when he began to speak again after a brief interruption. ‘Tomorrow you’ll see that hell exists, but remember that there’s worse: the third level, the bottom galleries. Whoever ends up down there is branded first, and then never again allowed to see the light of day. Only cadavers come out of those dark tunnels.

‘Some of you will probably decide to commit suicide. That’s the rule: usually two or three out of ten, but that depends on the type of men you are. I don’t know you yet, so I couldn’t say. I’ve seen men crush their skulls against a rock, or throw themselves into one of the wells or run themselves through on their pickaxes. It’s a choice I respect. I’ve considered it myself more than once. But if you want my advice, try to keep going. You never know what the future holds. To tell the truth, I’ve seen men leave here.’

‘How many?’ asked Publius.

‘Three . . . in twenty years.’

‘Not that many,’ commented Quadratus sarcastically.

‘Depends on your point of view,’ replied Uxal.

‘And do you know how they managed to get out?’ asked Balbus.

‘That I don’t know.’

‘Ransom?’ asked Metellus.

‘Maybe. But I’m not certain.’

‘We are grateful for the warnings and the information you’ve given us, but I’d say it’s best to get some rest now. Tomorrow we begin work in the mine.’

‘Don’t mention it. We’re all in the same shit. I thought you should know the way things are. One last thing: don’t trust anybody and don’t speak with anyone you don’t know. Everyone’s a spy here. Ready to sell you off, or report you, for an extra spoonful of soup.’

‘You’re a spy as well, I suppose,’ said Metellus.

‘No.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because I have my dignity. I’ve never lost it because I’ve always kept it hidden. Not all men are the same. That’s why I’ve never decided to take my own life. I’ve met a lot of interesting people in here, after all. Many of them have died, lucky them. Others are still alive.’

‘Thanks for the advice. And now, if you don’t mind, we should try to get some sleep.’

‘Just one more thing . . . a question.’

‘Yes?’

‘There was a strange rumour going around the camp before you arrived.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘That’s right.’ He nodded. ‘They were saying that among you is a person of exceptional importance . . .’

Metellus did not bite.

Uxal leaned forward and examined the faces of the newcomers. ‘I wonder which one of you is this big fish . . . this great man . . .’

Metellus still did not say a word. Uxal’s gaze rested on Valerian. ‘It’s you. No doubt about it. It can’t be anyone but you . . . the emperor of the Romans. Incredible!’ His lip twisted. ‘Human destiny makes no sense . . . no sense at all. You who commanded half the world are now less important than this toothless old fellow you have in front of you.’

Metellus, who was closest to him, grabbed his miserable rags. ‘That’s enough, old man. One more word and you’ll never feel like joking again.’

Uxal cracked a half-smile. ‘Calm down, General, it’s not me that the emperor here has to fear. It’s just that I’ve never seen an emperor before. If I had died yesterday, I would have missed this opportunity.’ He lay down on his pallet but continued to mutter to himself, ‘Unbelievable . . . Who would have believed such a thing . . .’

Metellus lay down as well. ‘Try to rest, men, and try to survive. At any cost. Even suicide is desertion. Remember that.’

I
T WAS STILL DARK
when they were awakened and their chains removed. A jailer gave each of them a shovel and a pickaxe and Metellus noticed that, as the tools were being handed out, the armed guards were never more than a few feet away, their swords unsheathed. Groups of five men at a time were made to step on a platform tied to a winch with ropes. They were lowered underground to the point where the tunnels branched off. Each man was given a lamp to light up the dark, narrow burrows of the mine.

When the newcomers arrived at the worksite, Metellus took the emperor aside. ‘Caesar, you must not strain yourself. There are eleven of us and we’re more than capable of producing your share as well. It will only mean a slight effort on our part, but your life is precious, and it is our duty to protect it in every way we can.’

Valerian replied in a calm, firm voice, ‘No. Here we are all the same. I will do my part. It is not right that you sacrifice yourselves for me.’

The others insisted as well. ‘Caesar,’ urged Quadratus, ‘you must preserve your strength for the day you will be ransomed. You are responsible for the empire. You are the father of our nation and you must return, whatever the cost.’

‘I’m nothing now, my friends. Nothing more than a companion in misfortune. I’m sorry to disappoint your hopes, but if my son had tried to ransom me, we would know something by now. Messages between governors fly much faster than the caravan that brought us here. And now let’s get to work. The time we have is barely enough to fulfil the daily task that our jailers have set for us.’ He took an axe and began to strike the rock with considerable strength. The fragments flew in every direction.

Metellus, Quadratus, Balbus and Antoninus grasped their own pickaxes and began digging. The others began to gather the fragments, to load the baskets and pile them up in the main gallery where the elevator hoist was. One of the jailers noted the number of baskets per miner, then gave a signal and the hoist rose creaking towards the light.

As work proceeded, the tunnel was invaded by a dense dust which settled on the miners, turning them into white ghosts, stealing away their breath and burning their eyes. The airless atmosphere sucked away their energy and the heat made their toil unbearable.

The day seemed interminable and, when Metellus and the others were lifted to the surface, they could barely stand up. The awful-smelling soup tasted delectable and the water soothing their scorched throats a balm.

‘Everything is relative,’ Uxal commented after he had distributed the water. ‘This stuff would make anyone vomit under normal circumstances, but after such a hellish day, it’s not bad, is it?’

‘You’re right, old man,’ replied Antoninus, swallowing the soup with his eyes closed.

‘Listen well to what I have to say. Beginning tomorrow, cover your noses and mouths with damp rags, or in a very short while, you’ll no longer be able to draw breath.’

Valerian approached him. ‘Why are you doing this for us? The man who made you a slave was a Roman. You should hate us.’

Uxal’s toothless mouth broke into a grin. He evidently felt very honoured to be conversing on such intimate terms with the emperor of the Romans. ‘My master was a son of a bitch before he was a Roman – there are plenty of those everywhere. The reason why I want to help you? I don’t know. Maybe because you act and speak like civilized people.’

‘We have mines as well, with slaves working them exactly the way we are now.’

‘Slaves exist everywhere and they will always exist in some form, but when I travelled in your world I also saw temples, squares, libraries, fountains and aqueducts, streets like nowhere else in the world, public baths with hot and cold water . . . Once I was in a city called Lambaesis: it was bang in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nowhere. Yet there was a library full of books and a market with clerks checking the weights on the scales and the capacity of the wine and oil jars. There were baths and fountains fed with the water of an aqueduct that came from hundreds of miles away. And when I travelled, every night I stopped in a place where there was something to eat, a clean bed to sleep in and soldiers to keep thieves, swindlers and murderers away.’

Valerian was moved. That humble man who had travelled through his empire was recalling the very aspects of civilized living that he had sought to revive during the years he had ruled; the years of his government. ‘Your words give me pleasure,’ he said, ‘even though they are not completely justified. All you know of the Persian world is what you’ve seen in this hellhole. If you had visited Persepolis, Pasargade, Babylonia, Susa, you’d surely be speaking of them with enthusiasm.’

‘That might be,’ replied Uxal, ‘but each man can only speak of his own experiences. You know, my dream was to be a Roman citizen. Can you believe that?’

‘I can,’ replied Valerian. ‘It’s still the dream of many. For what it’s worth, I have the power to grant your wish. I have not been deprived of my office and thus, by virtue of the humanity you have shown towards me and my companions, I, Licinius Valerian Caesar, declare you a Roman citizen.’

Uxal glanced at the others with an amazed expression, then looked the emperor in the eye. ‘I’m a Roman citizen. Incredible. If they’d told me, I would never have believed it. What can I do?’

Balbus spoke up. ‘Well, first of all you can vote and elect public officials, and you can bequeathe an inheritance and the right of citizenship to your children. In case of trial you are entitled to appeal against the sentence and if you are condemned to death you have the right to a rapid execution by decapitation . . .’

‘Hmmm . . . all advantages that I fear I’ll never be able to enjoy, but I’m happy all the same. Thank you, Emperor.’

Valerian smiled and went to take his ration of food from the bucket.

Quadratus approached Uxal. ‘Tell me something, old man, now that we are compatriots. Hasn’t anyone ever thought of using his work tools to take out the jailers and the guards?’

‘I imagine so,’ replied Uxal. ‘But no one has ever tried, at least since I’ve been here.’

‘Why, if I may ask?’

‘Because after a month in the mine you’ve barely got the strength to pull yourself out of that hole in the evening and crawl to your pallet of stinking straw. Do you think you’d be able to overcome well-armed and nourished men who greatly outnumber you?’