The Tortoise in Asia (18 page)

He's recently found himself part of a disparate group of merchants and other travellers who congregate late in the afternoon. Sometimes magi join them, spectacular in their long flowing robes and tall conical hats, decorated with crescent moons and stars. He's welcome though everyone knows he's a slave; all are humane enough to ignore it. The condition is commonplace in these parts. However, that an officer of the Roman army, renowned as conquerors even this far East, has fallen into that state is a novelty worthy of attention.

They meet at the Margiana caravan inn for refreshment and conversation. Here one seldom drinks wine. If it's consumed at all, it's always cut with water and drunk sparingly. Though the composition of the assembly constantly changes as people come and go, there's always a core who know each other. Set in the heart of the buzzing population centre close to the market, it resonates with the throb of visitors from distant lands who come along the Road. Everyone looks to the Margiana as a clearing house for news and the exchange of ideas. No subject is taboo, even religion, which, despite a diversity ranging from the sceptical to the pious, everyone treats on a basis of tolerance.

Today's gathering was particularly interesting – Marcus hardly said a word, just listened. A magus in full religious garb, complete with conical hat, who's a frequent visitor to the Margiana, had a long and intricate conversation with a leading caravan merchant. The subjects they discussed ranged from commerce and various types of goods, to a mathematical means of estimating their quantities without individually counting them, to philosophy, music and art. Even warfare was a topic.

That night the day's conversation stays in his mind keeping him from going to sleep. After a while he dozes off, but suddenly he sits up, startled as if someone had prodded him with a sharp stick. It's not the Eumendides though. Instead, a thought as clear as a shooting star has come to him. It shouldn't be amazing at all, rather absurd in a way that it is, but the sense of superiority he's grown up with has been such a block to perception. These Sogdians he's been meeting with are remarkable, really impressive; their knowledge of the world and its workings, their cultivated ways are clearly admirable, even, though awkward to admit, to some extent awe – inspiring. There's real merit on display here; he can learn from it – as long as he has an open mind. It's not an easy thing to do when he's been so sure of what constitutes the only civilization.

At first he was visiting the Margiana tavern just to have some company, slumming it among barbarians, because there was nobody else around except his comrades, and he wanted to broaden his acquaintances. But the demonstration of expertise today, which puts into sharper focus what's been seeping into his view for some time, perhaps subconsciously, requires a change in how he looks at non Romans. Perhaps it's the need to adapt in these strange circumstances, perhaps it's because he's so far away from home, perhaps something else, but whatever the reason, tonight he's passed through a portal into a new state of mind.

The next day he hurries to the Margiana after work, expecting a continuation of yesterday's discussion. But that's not to be; the magus isn't there; something more pressing to talk about has come up. One of the merchants, a Parthian, says

“Last week someone tried to poison King Orodes. He was at a banquet – you know how he loves his food – and somehow poisoned meat got past the tasters. He fell violently sick on the spot and had to be taken away immediately. Miraculously he didn't die and began to recover in the morning. Obviously the poisoner botched it – probably didn't put enough in.”

“Who would do such a thing?” says one of the others.

“Just a minute; there's more. After sundown, while he was in his bed sleeping, an assassin snuck into the room. Got past the guards who must have been bribed and strangled him with a bow string.

“It's thought that Phraates, one of his sons, was behind it. He's ambitious enough. Support was building for some time against the King. His effete habits were offending many of the nobles after Surena's death. They complained about the lack of a strong military leader. Maybe the great general's clan also had something to do with it. No doubt they had a motive. They never believed the King's story of how their kinsman died.

“Good riddance I say. Everyone's been worried that with Surena dead, Parthia's vulnerable – without a good commander any longer. Orodes was weak and useless in war – only good at intrigue.

“Fortunately, the speculation is that the succession will probably be settled without a civil war. Orodes' faction is not strong enough and there's nobody else to challenge Phraates. In any event we're too far east to be affected even if there is one.

“My Roman friend, the battle of Carrhae has cast a curse on both our countries. The Caravan Road is spreading it far and wide like a disease. It'll cause trouble for a long time to come.”

While the news elicits some interest, what they talk about next is far more compelling. Orodes and concerns about succession in the Parthian Empire are far away, but something is starting to happen right here, near this part of the Road, something that could change their lives.

L
ushan, a flamboyant Sogdian merchant just arrived with his caravan, is holding forth in front of an attentive audience. He's got them spellbound. A picture of what Romans think of the East, he's a vision of colour and panache. His silk tunic, as blue as lapis, is open to mid chest and gathered by a silver- studded belt. Pearls trim the edges of the garment. Still strange to Marcus, the fabric seems like the surface of a pool, capturing the light and freeing it. He's embarrassed as he's caught staring at it – mesmerized by its beauty and the memory of its battle role.

The Sogdian has a narrow black moustache, drawn above his lip as if by an artist's crayon. Its precision suggests more personal grooming than could ever be contemplated by a Roman, even if moustaches were in fashion. He's wearing a conical hat, shorter than the type worn by the magi, with silver plaques at the bottom. Loose yellow trousers are stuffed into sharp-toed boots that rise almost to the knee. His well modulated voice is pleasantly refined. Opulence and sophistication seep out of every pore.

“There will be a lot of trouble on the border soon I am sorry to say. Worse than anything in Parthia. Political waves in the East are building up to a crest that threatens to break over the Caravan Road. A deluge could come at any time.

The King of Sogdiana wants to push back the Wu-Sun who have been harassing our people for years from the East. He has entered into a risky alliance of convenience —”

One of the merchants interrupts,

“Not with Jir-Jir of the Hsiung-nu surely?”

“Yes, with him. I know it is dangerous, but what choice does he have? The Hsiung-nu have defeated the Wu-Sun before. They are traditional enemies, even though they speak the same language and look like each other. We made a treaty with Jir-Jir and sent him three thousand camels and a lot of our horses from Fergana, you know, the ones that gallop so fast they sweat blood. Hopefully that and the subsidy we pay will persuade him to keep to the bargain.”

Marcus is intrigued. A flicker of an idea begins to form in the bottom of his brain, stone cold for so long. But first he needs more information.

“Tell us more of what's going on”.

“We Sogdians are a commercial people, peaceful and rich. The Caravan Road has blessed us with trading opportunities and we concentrate on these, not fighting battles. Art and science and cultivated living are imperatives for us, not soldiering. We are no longer trained in war like the nomadic tribes around us, the Wu-Sun for instance. They are constantly raiding us, swooping out of the desert like a foul sand storm into our cities, stealing our goods and raping our women. Our section of the Caravan Road is no longer safe. There is a danger it will actually be cut. You can imagine what that would do to our commerce.”

The other merchants gasp. That's what their class has always feared. It's forever been a frightful possibility since the Road was opened up and cleared of the wild Hsiung-nu. Cutting the Road would bring ruination to not only the caravaners but to all the people for huge distances around who rely indirectly on the income from it.

Lushan continues, “We are sick of it but can't stand up to them. So we need Jir-Jir – he is the tribal leader, called a Sharnyu by the way. It means Son of Heaven.”

Marcus asks about the Hsiung-nu. Lushan says, “They are a fierce nomadic people who dominate the Eastern steppe which the Caravan Road runs through. They are traditional enemies of the Han who live to the south east, past the great mountain barrier.”

He explains how the Han are a good deal more sophisticated than the nomads, how they look similar but speak a completely unrelated language, how they have a legendary empire that extends to the great eastern ocean, how they have sent their armies against the Hsiung-nu to open up the Caravan Road, how people say the Road actually begins at their capital city far away in the east, and how nobody he knows has ever been there.

The others at the table point out that the Hsiung-nu can't be trusted, that they're essentially raiders who prey on the sedentary affluent. If the region is stirred up business will suffer. Marcus barely listens to the voices, now a babble as the merchants interrupt and talk over each other. He's never seen them so excited. They all parade the horrors of warfare boiling over into Parthia and interrupting the flow of commerce. Everyone of them is staring at the face of financial catastrophe.

As the group breaks up, he takes the Sogdian aside and says, “Can I speak to you confidentially about a sensitive subject?”

Lushan nods.

“Do you think there's any chance the chief of the – how do you pronounce it?”

“Shoong noo”

“… Would he hire a few Roman soldiers as mercenaries?”

“Yes there is every chance. When he was on his way to Sogdiana a cold snap hit his tribe and wiped many of them out. I'm sure he would welcome some reinforcements. The King is paying him well so he has money. What do you have in mind?”

“I'm in charge of a cohort – a hundred and fifty men. I'm sure they'd follow me in an escape if we had somewhere to go. We can't go back to Rome; it's too far. But Sogdiana is a separate country and if we joined the Hsiung-nu, the Parthians wouldn't dare try to recapture us. I don't know what life would be like out there but it would have to be better than here. At least we'd be free. And there'd be action – beats the boredom we suffer from now.

“Would you be willing to help? My men and I have been able to hide some money – Roman currency. Is it of any use to you?”

Always with an open mind when there's a chance of making money, the merchant's eyes light up.

“Yes it would be. I can have it exchanged on the western part of the Caravan Road, but you need to appreciate there would be a significant exchange loss that far from Roman territory. So your denarii will not be worth as much as you might expect”.

“That's all right. I understand.”

After a short negotiation they agree upon a sum. No chance of losing Lushan's interest should be taken by being difficult. Besides, Marcus is too excited by the prospects to waste time bargaining, and it's not a worthy thing anyway in his opinion.

Virtually all of the money saved will have to be used. What an end to his get – rich campaign! Not only did the expected plunder never materialize, but now he has to spend what little wealth he has to buy his freedom, an asset he had before in abundance.

“I will have to find a way to speak to Jir-Jir personally since he will make this sort of decision himself. Right now he and his tribe are in the steppe north of Samarkand. That is our largest city. You will have to give me half the fee up front and take the risk that I will not be successful. If I fail, you will save the other half“.

There's no choice. He must take the chance. Of course the merchant could take the money and disappear, but, judging by the respect the others show him he's a man of good repute. In any event the prospect of earning the other half would be an incentive to keep to the bargain. Another risk is that Lushan could return from Jir-Jir full of good news which he could say justifies a price increase. But all opportunities to extract more money can't be avoided. In any event, the potential reward of escape outweighs monetary considerations.

Lushan says “We have to wait until my caravan is ready to head back to Samarkand. I have to hire armed guards. It's too dangerous to go alone or in a small party. Desert bandits would pick us off like sheep in wolf territory. I don't even know how to wield a sword – ha ha ha. But I can pay others to do that. I suggest we meet again in three days. Make sure you bring the cash.”

Excitement burns off the fog of depression as Marcus returns to camp. He calls together the officers of his cohort in a secret meeting at his tent after dark and explains the plan.

“For this to work, it can only apply to a small number of men – our own cohort, nobody else. Don't tell even the others in our cohort until I give the word.

“I hope to conclude the arrangements with Lushan within a week. We'll have to put up all the money ourselves for now but we can get the rest to do the second payment. Gaius, you work out a fair arrangement. I've asked Lushan to get the Hsiung-nu to send a contingent to meet us on the Caravan Road at a discreet distance from Margiana, if we can do the deal”.