The Silk Tree (2 page)

‘Quickly!’ he urged, then lunged deeper into the forest gloom.

At a small clearing he stopped to catch his breath. How could they carry on like this?

He spared a thought for the legionary. He would be dead by now, overwhelmed by vengeful Ostrogoths, but it would have been a quick end. That such a brave man had to be sacrificed was a pity, but now he had bigger problems.

He knew vaguely where south was, but this would lead them into the densest part of the woods. His thoughts raced – did he let on about his plan to make for Brundisium? There were only so many ships and the more that tried to crowd into them, the less his chance of getting away.

And surely it was insane to think this sorry crew could keep up for the many days’ slog there, anyway. What were—

‘I’m h-hungry,’ the small voice of the older child broke in.

‘Shut up!’ he snarled.

He tried to bring to mind the teachings of the ancient Greeks that he was made to learn in his youth. Did the Stoics or the Cynics have anything to say about any moral necessity for the fittest to sacrifice their chances for the sake of the weak?

‘I want s-something to eat!’ moaned the child. Her mother was no longer in touch with reality; her eyes empty and, slowly rocking, she dangled the dead baby’s body listlessly.

He needed more time to think, to decide what to do.

‘Now!’ the child wailed. ‘Someone give me a little piece of bread, anything.’ She started to cry.

‘Hold your noise!’ Nicander spat. ‘I’ll go find something, just shut up!’

He struck out into the woods, eager to be away. Quickly he was deep into it, pushing through the thickening undergrowth between the trees until a broad track crossed his path at an angle. At last he could move freely – but to where? And how could he find food in a ruined countryside seething with barbarians? Perhaps this track led somewhere or – a chilling thought came. If it did, then it was more than likely …

Suddenly he felt hoof-beats through the ground and in a paroxysm of terror threw himself into a thicket, scrabbling at the leaf litter and thorns, desperate for concealment. The first riders came around the bend and he froze, praying they were not looking down. The horses thudded nearer in a gallop, then, just inches away, thundered past, the displaced air of their passage buffeting him. He was left with the stomach-churning reek of Ostrogoths on their way to plunder.

When they had passed he got up, trembling. The track in fact curved further and in sickening realisation he saw that it must pass close to where he had just left. However there was no slackening in the hoof-beats as he heard them die away on leaving the confines of the wood.

He straightened and tried to gather his wits. But before he could focus, in the distance, from the direction of his little group, he heard shouts, hectoring
and triumphant. Instantly he realised what had happened. The Ostrogoths had seen footprints in the moonlight on the bare field and these had led unerringly to their victims.

As the first unhinged shrieks came, Nicander could do nothing but stand dully, listening as it grew into a hellish chorus as the slaughter began.

His muscles were a raw torment and his feet burnt, but Nicander tramped on. He’d joined a flood of others desperate to get away from the scenes of ruin and carnage, fear driving him mercilessly. While the Ostrogoths were busy looting Rome he had to make best speed to Brundisium. It was the biggest port in the south: a capacious harbour, hundreds of vessels. He knew it well from the distant days when he’d been part of the family business, trading out of Leptis Magna.

Now, finally, he was close to his destination. And with it was the prospect of safety and release from suffering.

The journey had not been easy: frenzied stumbling across the Pontine Marshes to get out of reach of the marauders, then buying a place in an overcrowded cart at a ruinous price, only for the horse to go lame. Days of soreness had turned to agony as he’d flogged his body to the limits of endurance.

He’d tried to keep clear of the obvious route, the legendary Appian Way, but there was little avoiding the arrow-straight efficiency of the ancient engineers. And now he found himself toiling over well-rounded stone paving, ever alert for the wild thunder of hoofs behind that would tell him it had all been in vain.

Around the bend the wind caught a thick and cloying stench. Bodies.
No one was taking time to bury them and as the human flood converged on Brundisium he saw many more corpses, roughly pulled aside from the road.

God help it, he’d be glad to be quit of this place of death and desolation.

He patted his groin furtively. There was still a reassuring weight in the pouch that nestled snugly there. In his makeshift knapsack he’d planted a handful of siliqua, the coins debased and near useless, together with a scatter of obsolete sesterces, big and impressive, but also valueless. However those in the pouch were solidi, coins of gold, his entire fortune.

Nicander reached the crest of the last rise before Brundisium and gazed down into the wide plain and the town. His eyes searched feverishly – the harbour was virtually empty! There were two small ships out of reach at anchor offshore. Apart from that, nothing of the hundreds from the old days.

Picking up his pace down the road he tried to grapple with the consequences: if he couldn’t get away the only other port of size was Tarentum, days of pain over to the west.

But he couldn’t face any more. Must he take his chances here when the Ostrogoths came? Where could he hide? He hobbled on bleakly, fending off wretches begging for a crust, others on their knees in supplication for release from their misery.

There were roaming gangs out to get their hands on the pitiful scraps of wealth travellers kept to bribe their way to survival. When nightfall came it would bring scenes from hell – if the Ostrogoths didn’t arrive first.

Nicander forced his mind to try to find a way out and remembered that on the gently curving south side, out of sight past the old burying ground, ships were hauled up for repair to be fitted out for their voyages. It could be …

He took a short cut through the marshes and rickety tenements; there were far fewer people and he allowed his hopes to rise. Then, above the rooftops – the lofty broad spars of a ship! A
corbita
, a large vessel of at least 4000 amphorae gross tonnage.

Eagerly he slipped through an alley leading to the docks but, as soon as he got out in the open, he realised it was hopeless. The ship was alongside but
almost hidden by a crowd of hundreds; beseeching, shouting, weeping. He pushed through and saw that there were men with weapons in a ring of steel, guarding the crew who were at work ejecting its grain cargo into the sea – they now had a far more valuable freight.

There was one last chance: the cargo agent’s office was on the second floor of the building behind. Would he still be there and perhaps be able to sell him a place for gold in hand? His little hoard was not impressive but he knew the man and …

‘Sueva! How go you, old friend!’ The big Spaniard glanced up, gave a quick grimace and went back to his counting, each kind of coin in a different money bag. A sour-faced Moor looked on impassively.

‘I’d hoped to catch you here,’ Nicander went on, in as friendly a tone as he could muster.

‘Won’t be for much longer,’ Sueva said darkly. ‘Someone just saw the square-heads firing a farmhouse. They’ll be here before nightfall.’

‘Yes. Unfortunate. Sueva. I’ve need of a passage out of here. I don’t suppose that for a premium fee—’

‘Can’t be done.’

‘Oh?’

‘There’s sixty-seven head going in that
corbita
. We’re not taking any more and that’s final.’

‘I can perhaps find gold …?’

‘No.’

‘Is there another ship leaving soon—’

‘That’s the last. If I were you, my little Greek, I’d scamper off as fast as you can before this town starts getting exciting.’

On the wharf the crowd was growing but was still held at bay by the armed men. Moving closer, Nicander heard cries and curses as the throng was forced aside by some kind of disturbance at the far end.

It was a group being escorted toward the ship – the lucky few who were getting out with their lives. His heart pounded. Unless he could think of
something he was going to be left here, probably to die this very night, butchered by the barbarians.

He tried to pull himself together, he was a merchant, a businessman, and surely should be able to come up with some sort of deal. The pay-off would be saving his own life.

But weariness and pain had dulled his wits. He could think of nothing as he watched the fortunates being shepherded to the gangway and over the bulwarks.

And then a tall, well-built man in a shapeless cloak strode up the gangway – there was something familiar about him!

At the top he turned briefly and their eyes met. It was Marius.

For a long second the legionary held the gaze, then made to step onto the deck. He hesitated – and turned to face Nicander again.

‘There he is!’ he suddenly bellowed. ‘Been looking everywhere for the sorry bastard! My Greek slave! Get aboard this instant, you runt. Now!’

A guard reached out to collar Nicander. He allowed himself to be propelled up the gangway – but the captain swaggered up and barred the way. ‘And who’s paying, then? Full price it is, even slaves.’

He glared pointedly at Marius, who folded his arms and looked meaningfully at Nicander.

Near panic, Nicander faced away and scrabbled for a solidus.

‘Ha!’ guffawed the captain. ‘Your skin’s worth only a pawky single? I’ll have another four o’ them or you gets thrown back, my little cockerel!’

Five gold solidi for a couple of weeks’ voyage! His face burning, Nicander handed the coins over.

‘Right, get along, then,’ the man rumbled and stalked off.

Nicander hurried over to Marius, near incoherent with relief. ‘I … I—’

‘Well? Pick up the bag then, slave!’

‘What? You don’t mean—’

‘You need a taste o’ the whip to get you going, Greek?’

‘Marius, we’ve—’

‘It’s Master to you, runt!’

‘I … I – y-yes, Master,’ Nicander said, ready to do whatever it took to keep in favour.

‘Stuff that! Can’t you Greeks take a joke?’ Marius snorted and stalked off.

Nicander followed him forward to a chalked area of deck, presumably where they were to spend the voyage.

Already the ship was being prepared for sea, sailors elbowing the milling passengers out of the way as they bent on sail.

The ship poled out, and the big square sail was heaved round to the wind. It filled with a loud slam and banging before it took up, and a cheerful rippling began as they pulled away.

Closer to the open sea the vessel gently heeled under a keen breeze.

Near weeping with relief, Nicander stammered, ‘I can only thank you from my heart for your—’

‘Don’t waste your words, Greek. I don’t know why I did it – reckon it was your spunk when you took that hopeless bunch out into the night.’ A suspicious look came over his face. ‘So where are they now? Did you—’

Nicander pulled himself together, ‘Oh, right now I’m not sure. There was a band of Goths came up and I remembered your cry of the wolf. It worked, as well, but I couldn’t find them afterwards,’ he concluded, avoiding the big man’s eyes.

‘Oh? How did
you
get away, then?’

‘Ah, I climbed a tree. Easy, really – they were only looking on the ground.’

‘Good thinking, Greek. So how did you leave your tree with ’em all around you?’

‘Ah. That. Not so difficult. I waited for a square-head to ride under the branch then fell on him. A right tussle it was but he dropped his axe and I let him have it straight between the eyes and rode off on his horse, that’s all.’

‘Well, quite the little warrior!’

‘It was nothing,’ he said hastily. ‘How did you …?’

‘Not so smart as yours. Four of them came at me, put ’em down, then took another couple on my way out. Hard hacking all the way,’ he added laconically.

The entrance of the harbour came up and then they were through – into the blessed expanse of open sea.

‘Marius, just where are we off to? What’s our port of call?’

The legionary said nothing and fumbled in his pack. He brought out a small cloth bag and threw it at Nicander. ‘Beans, Greek.’

‘It’s actually Nicander, Marius.’

‘Right, Nico.’

‘Nicander.’

‘Get a move on, or you won’t make the head of the line for cooking.
Nico
.’

Without a word Nicander went off.

Some time later he came back with a steaming bowl and they used their fingers to sup the frugal meal together.

‘So it’s Constantinople, then, Marius. I heard the crew talking.’

‘Yes.’

‘Never been there. Have you?’

‘No.’

‘Then it’s a new place for us both. Have you given thought as to what you’ll do there?’

Marius grunted and patted his pack. ‘Seeing as how the square-heads won’t need this loot where I sent ’em, I’ll put it to good use for myself. You?’

‘I’ll see what kind of fist I can make of it in Constantinople.’ Nicander tried to sound convincing, as much to himself as to Marius. ‘Bound to be opportunities for an experienced businessman!’

The Eastern Roman Empire was a great melting pot; races from Greece, the Levant and the unknowable civilisations that lay in the interior to the east. Surely with his skills he could make something of it there! Returning to Leptis Magna was not an option. That would mean admitting defeat: he had left home against his father’s wishes to set up on his own in Rome.

‘Right. Well, I suppose we should get some sleep,’ he murmured. Outside their chalk square, the deck was carpeted by bodies. He pulled out his travel-stained chlamys. Marius quickly had his greasy wool campaign
cloak tightly around him and with a practised endurance sat with his back to the bulwark and head on his knees.

Nicander lay down. Even in his fatigue the decking was hard and unforgiving. Right aft there was a cabin with lights within and no doubt soft beds and wine …

He turned restlessly, looking up at the stars gently wheeling above, regularly obscured by the triangular top-sails.

Would fortune smile on him again? On a merchant with little capital, one of so many nameless souls fleeing the barbarians?

Sleep refused to come.

Setting foot on dry land could not come too soon for Nicander. At least the sailing had been uneventful. Their ship had followed the well-worn track eastward, navigating by known headland and seamark as vessels had for a thousand years. And now, after the slow, week-long journey through the winding length of the Hellespont into the Propontis, they were at last coming within sight of their destination.

Nicander watched as the light-blue misty coastline ahead firmed into darker blue.

It was a changed world now, one where Rome was diminished to a carcass for the plucking, finished as a country, let alone a world power. He had no real feelings for it any more; he’d lost his business and nearly his life because of their pathetic living in the past. They still maintained the pretence of glory with a senate and consul and all the flummery of an imperial history while letting their institutions decline and rot.

It was different for Marius. Brought up as a true Roman he was staunch in his loyalty and protected against reality by the traditions and ceremony of the legion. And secure among his comrades, he’d been blind to the inevitable. It must have been a cruel awakening to have been broken in battle and see all he held dear and honourable crushed under a barbarian horde.

How would he take to the other, more oriental Roman Empire? Nicander
had dealt with quite a few merchants from these parts; clever, metropolitan and sly. They had done well under Emperor Justinian, who had transformed the climate for trading with his laws and firm rule, preserving a bastion of civilisation in the face of the human torrent that was flooding in from the vastness of Asia.

And would he himself prosper or fade? With so little capital and no friends …

The land ahead took on colour and detail. Constantinople was beginning to emerge to the left, occupying the end of the peninsula across his vision. On the right was Chalcedon, which lay in Asia. Between the two cities was the Bosphorus Strait, leading through the mountains all the way to the Euxine Sea.

Nearer, a massive sea wall ran right along the foreshore, vanishing into the mists to the left. Above it were houses and larger edifices, glittering white in the morning sunshine. The wafting air brought the scent of land.

The ship’s twin rudders were put over as their course was laid to round the peninsula, and as they closed with the shore new sights came into view. A tower, a lighthouse – domes, tall buildings – and a great palace. And there next to it, unmistakeable, was the marvel of the Church of Sancta Sapientia – or Hagia Sophia as he knew it, a breathtaking vision in marble.

Close by it were the stern porticoes of some kind of senate building, looking as if it had been magically transported from Rome, and further round the end of the peninsula, gardens and olive groves, meadows and valleys.