Empire of Dragons

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘Precisely. The exact negation of what you were just saying.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean that you don’t make decisions. Think of that leap. If he had jumped an instant sooner, he would have fallen into the water. If he had jumped an instant later he would have died, run through by a great number of arrows. He flew through the air at the exact moment in which he felt an opening between opposing destinies. At that instant, a small amount of exertion was sufficient to achieve an incredible result. You Westerners, on the other hand, always seem to be rowing counter-current, with the wind against you.’

  Daruma was sweating with the effort of explaining such arduous concepts in a language that was not his own. He spoke in Persian, sometimes in koinè, and his listener tried to meet him halfway by suggesting appropriate terms himself.

  ‘I wonder how we Romans have managed to build an empire and maintain it for centuries,’ replied Metellus sarcastically. ‘And how we – a measly crew of emaciated prisoners – managed to survive the insults of fate and the cruelty of our enemies, managed to triumph over crushingly superior forces, managed to cover tens and tens of miles in the dark, eating only what we could find, tormented by thirst and cramps of hunger.’

  ‘I must admit that all this is quite remarkable,’ agreed Daruma, ‘but it doesn’t change the reality of things. The waste of energy is insane, the price paid in terms of suffering exorbitant, and the end result depends on chance alone. But, returning to Dan Qing, it’s obvious that he has formed an excellent opinion of you. He would never have risked his life for just anybody, especially for someone he’d known for such a short time.’

  ‘Not so short. I’m almost sure that he remembers first seeing me at Edessa.’

  ‘And what did he see?’ asked Daruma, while a galley boy poured more of the infusion into his bowl.

  Metellus drank some as well. It tasted slightly bitter, in a pleasant way, and was quite fragrant. ‘He saw me in combat, I think. Fighting to defend my emperor. To the death.’

  ‘That explains many things . . .’ said Daruma with a deep nod.

  Metellus tasted the beverage again, and found that he was beginning to like the curious flavour of those aromatic leaves. ‘What was he doing in Edessa with Shapur? And what were you doing at the oasis of Khaboras?’ he asked, staring Daruma straight in the eye. ‘If destiny has led me to remain with you, it’s only right that I should know.’

  Cries came from the stern and they turned. The crew had thrown out nets and were starting to draw them in. Metellus’s comrades joined in to lend a hand and, as a net was pulled slowly on board, the deck filled with darting fish that were gathered and put into baskets to be cleaned and prepared for dinner.

  Daruma drew a deep breath, like a man readying himself for a difficult undertaking, then began to tell his story. ‘China is a very ancient empire, perhaps the oldest that exists on this earth, but for decades now it has been afflicted by continuous tumult. The pressure of barbarians from the north, and its own internal strife, have divided that gigantic land into three kingdoms: one in the north, one in the centre and one in the south. Each is governed by a military chief who has proclaimed himself wang – that is, sovereign. Each of the three is convinced he has the right and the duty to unify the empire and therefore to kill the other two. This has resulted in an unceasing state of war that has depopulated the once-prosperous countryside, destroyed flourishing cities, reduced trade to less than half of what it had been. The armies are dwindling, due to the impoverishment of the farmers and the fall in population, and so the nomadic barbarians from the steppe, the Xiong Nu, have been enlisted to defend the long wall in the north, and given land in return for their services.

  ‘In this atmosphere of great confusion and decadence, the Kingdom of the North – the biggest and most powerful – has remained perhaps the only point of reference. The capital is grandiose still, and boasts of the biggest library of the country, with twenty thousand students applying themselves to the most diverse studies.’

  Metellus was surprised by the many incredible coincidences with the empire of Rome: the pressure of barbarians from the north, the necessity of allowing foreign tribes to settle within the wall of defence, the progressive barbarization of the army and the endemic civil wars ravaging the state.

  Daruma continued his story. ‘One of the plagues which most greatly afflicted the Kingdom of the North was that excessive power had fallen into the hands of the palace eunuchs . . .’

  ‘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. ‘W
e 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.

  16

  DINNER 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.

  THEY 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.