The Eagle and the Dragon, a Novel of Rome and China

by Lewis F. McIntyre

  “Beggars all dress alike here, Marcus?” asked Antonius.

  “Those are adherents of an Indian religion. The Emperor Ming, Emperor He’s grandfather, brought them here after he had a dream, and built them a magnificent temple east of the city, the Bai Ma Si, the White Horse Temple, because they arrived on a white horse. They are monks who dedicate their lives to living the life of the Buddha, doing without all the things of the world, living by begging. Emperor Ming was quite an adherent, though he could never give up all the things of the world and go begging with them. The people consider it great good luck to give them coins or food when they beg from them, and the monks can go pretty much anywhere they want… even in the palaces. Look, Antonius, I think you have found a friend. Give him a few coppers.”

  A monk had come up to Antonius, probably drawn to his western features, and proffered his bowl. “Good luck to yer, lad, an’ be off with yer,” he said with a smile as he dropped a handful of copper coins into the monk’s bowl with a clatter. The monk, himself with western features that would not have drawn a second glance in Rome, bowed and made a blessing motion with his free hand, and said a few words in Greek… not just Greek, but good Greek. Antonius returned the bow with a smile and replied, “I had not expected to hear Greek spoken here so far from the Islands. My name is Antonius Aristides. May I ask from whence you hail?” Gaius and Marcus listened attentively, though Marcus had no Greek.

  “I am from Bactria, and my name is Demosthenes.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Demosthenes. I have heard of your country, Bactria of the thousand richest cities,’ east of Parthia and I guess, west of here?”

  “That is correct, sir Antonius. It is a pleasure to speak with you, but now I must rejoin my companions.”

  “It has been a pleasure, Demosthenes.” Antonius fished a silver denarius from his purse and dropped it into the monk’s bowl. “Here, treat your friends to a good meal.” To his surprise, the monk returned it, almost with an expression of distaste.

  “No, I am sorry… we must take no more from the world than we need to survive, and we must not put ourselves in a position above one another. But I forgive your ignorance. Some time, we must meet, and talk about the teaching of Lord Buddha, the Enlightened One. Your simple copper coins are a great prize. May the blessing of the Buddha be upon you and your friends, sir Antonius.” He blessed him, smiled and turned away.

  “Hmm, that was unusual… he was born speaking Greek,” said Antonius.

  Gaius was just as surprised. “Right, the last language I expected to hear in Luoyang! Bactria is supposed to be a wealthy country north of India, settled by of Alexandria the Great.”

  Marcus asked, “That was Greek he was speaking? We call them the Da Yuan, the Great Ionians, who live in splendid cities. He must be one of them. The Yuezhi, also western-appearing people near them, are quite brutal barbarians, and they conquered the Da Yuan some time back. We have fought several wars with them to keep the passage to Parthia open.”

  “Well, the world is a much bigger, stranger place than ever I imagined,” said Gaius.

  They continued the tour of the city. Marcus led them to a medium-sized shop, a wood framed building with a foyer or office facing the street, with bamboo screens partitioning off a maze of backrooms. He spoke briefly to the proprietor, an elderly man in black jacket, a pill box hat covering his white hair. Halfway through the conversation, his eyes lit and he burst into a smile “Da Qin?” he said, and again “Da Qin?” quite excited. Then he slammed his fists together before him and nodded his head in salute to the Romans, and was delighted to receive formal Hanaean salutes in turn from each of them.

  Marcus finished the conversation and turned to the three Romans. “Your reputation precedes you. Everyone in town knows that the great Da Qin from the West have arrived to meet Emperor He, and he is most honored to have you under his humble roof. ‘Da Qin’ is the name they use for Rome, ‘Great Ch’in.’ They view you as their western counterpart, in the great Yin and Yang scheme of things that maintains balance in the world. You are quite as mysterious to them as our party was to you a few years ago, mysterious men from a place of myth. This is Yi Ren, the owner.” Several others workers from the back, clad in light clothing, stepped into the foyer to view the mysterious Da Qin strangers.

  Marcus introduced the three in turn.

  “Yi Ren manufactures bows and crossbows here, along with arrows. The crossbows are under contract to the urban cohorts. The public are not permitted to own them. He also manufactures bows, which civilians use for hunting. Let me show you his work.”

  They passed through the bamboo screen to one of the back rooms, where a cluster of two dozen or more C-shaped unstrung bows hung from two parallel strings between the walls. They had narrow, leather-bound handgrips in the middle, flaring widely on either side into wide limbs tapering to a fine tip. Each was tagged with an inscription in Han-yu. Yi Ren picked up the outermost and laid it on the table, chattering away while Marcus translated. “This is a wood composite bow, made of layers of mulberry and bamboo, wrapped in silk and then lacquered, more silk, then more lacquer. The dangling bamboo indicates the owner’s name, and the date for pickup… it takes considerable time to cure. These are all ready for pickup.”

  Yi Ren took down a bowstring hanging on the wall and expertly strung the bow. Without effort, the C-shape reversed itself into a recurved bow. He picked it up and plucked the string, causing it to emit a throbbing hum. He grabbed a quiver of arrows and stepped through to the backyard, leading them to a small archery range with an array of targets. He put on a thumb guard, nocked an arrow, aimed high to draw the bow and lowered it to the target fifty yards off. He released the arrow to land squarely in the circular bull’s eye.

  “Nicely done!” said Antonius, and Yi Ren offered him the bow, quiver and thumb guard. Antonius took it and examined it carefully. It seemed similar enough to the familiar Roman military arcus that he would probably not embarrass himself, though it had been a year since he last used one. Without fitting an arrow, he drew the bow several times to get its feel, then nocked an arrow, aimed and fired, hitting the target well off center. Yi Ren offered him some advice on his grip, then he drew again and this time came within a few inches of Yi Ren’s arrow. The bowmaker clapped delightedly.

  “I want to show you something which will really impress you,” said Marcus, leading them back inside to the entrance of another room. Yi Ren at first shook his head negatively, and they conversed rapidly. Then Marcus turned back to Gaius and Antonius. “These are military weapons that you shouldn’t even see. But since you are Da Qin guests of Emperor He, he will demonstrate one to you. But you may not touch it.”

  Yi Ren stepped behind a blanket and returned with an odd-shaped crossbow. Antonius had seen hand-held crossbows, but this had an odd square hump on the stock, and some sort of u-shaped handle projecting forward from it. Yi Ren went back to the archery range, took ten unfletched arrows and loaded them into the hump, acting as a magazine. He braced the crossbow against his thigh, pulled the handle back, rotating the magazine to cock the weapon and load an arrow. He returned the handle to the forward position, and the weapon launched its arrow to strike home. He pulled the handle back again, reloading and firing, repeating in a smooth rhythm like a smaller version of the polyboli on the ships. Within thirty seconds, he had fired ten rounds into the target, each hitting with a solid thunk within inches of center.

  He smiled, bowed, and returned to the building to replace the weapon while Marcus explained. “The Hanaeans call that the lian-yu. I don’t know the Latin word for it, or even if you have something like that.”

  Antonius answered, “It’s a kinda hand-held ballista, but like nothin’ I’ve ever seen. The handcarried ones we have take as long to cock for one round as it took Yi Ren to get off ten. I’d give anything to take one of those … lian-yu?... apart and see how it works.”

  “Not likely,” smiled Marcus, as Yi Ren returned. “These are state secrets, yo
u are lucky just to have seen it. I wouldn’t talk about it back in the palace.” He turned to Yi Ren, chattered some more, and the old man’s face lit up again in smiles.

  Antonius reached into his pouch and pulled out a silver denarius. He pressed it into Yi Ren’s hand, and said “Souvenir, Yi Ren. We be thankin’ yer very much.”

  They left the archery factory and stopped by a pharmacy, but Antonius could make out few familiar medications, and Marcus couldn’t translate the Hanaean names, so after a few minutes, they resumed wandering, visiting silk vendors and tiny food and pastry shops. Each shopowner was delighted to have the famous Da Qin visit them, and many seated them and ceremonially served hot cups of tea, welcome on a cold day.

  As the sun began to settle low over the western wall of the city, they began their way back to the Canglongmen Gate and their quarters in the palace. A hundred yards away, five Westerners, clad like them in Hanaean clothing, were making their way toward them… a tall man, pockmarked with a salt-and-paper beard, and an equally tall bronze-skinned individual, a short slender man with pointed beard and nervous disposition, a bulky black-bearded man, and a fifth they did not recognize.

  They had not closed half the distance to the group before the five Westerners became aware of their approach, and a few seconds later, Ibrahim’s booming voice called out them: “Gaius, Antonius, Marcus! Salaam to you, good friends!” The noisy exuberance drew puzzled stares from the Hanaean shopkeepers and pedestrians, not used to such unrestrained outpourings of emotion. The two groups closed quickly to exchange handshakes and embraces.

  Antonius asked. “So yer really serious about becoming a shepherd! When did yer get here?”

  “I am, and here I am. By the way, this is my friend Musa about whom I told you. He has contacts that can help me buy a flock and grazing rights. We had just left a bit of a tavern, so let’s go back there. The wine is on me.”

  They turned to follow Ibrahim’s entourage, to the bewildered stares of the Hanaeans at the sight of such a large gathering of Westerners.

  “When did you get in?” asked Gaius, striding alongside Ibrahim. I wonder what the bastard is up to? Shepherding, yes that is what he said. But really?

  “A few days after you did. The news of your arrival spread all over town. They call Rome Da Qin, some sort of mystical, mythical land of magic and monsters. Having you here is quite exciting.”

  They reached the tavern, and Musa chatted with the shopkeeper, who went back to get more chairs for the three new guests. “This is it. The rice wine is excellent, a bit like white wine but drier and more crisp.”

  The shopkeeper returned with a large bottle and eight small ceramic cups, white with blue Hanaean inscriptions baked into the shiny glaze. He poured a cup for each. Ibrahim raised his in toast: “To our most unlikely companionship! So where are you staying?”

  “In the South Palace. Nice accommodations,” answered Gaius, sipping his wine with a smile.

  “And Aulus Aemilius, he is well?”

  “He is ecstatic to be here. He and Ming are making the rounds of administrative offices, lining up people to meet. We can’t stay out too late because I don’t have any idea what tomorrow’s schedule might be, and if it involves meeting Emperor He, I’d rather not have a hangover!” laughed Gaius, but offering his now empty cup for a refill.

  “And the girl? Marcia, your sister?” asked Ibrahim.

  “Marcia’s back to being Ming’s full-time concubine, but I hope to see her in the next few days. She is no longer part of our party,” answered Marcus, his tone implying he didn’t want to talk about it any more.

  “And where are yer stayin’ here?” asked Antonius, also proffering his glass for a refill.

  “On Musa’s boat down by the waterfront. Not as nice as your accommodations, but cheap enough.” Ibrahim turned to Musa and chatted with him in Aramaic, then Musa explained to Marcus in Hanaean where it was. “I am sorry, my friend Musa does not speak Latin or Greek. We have to use Hanaean as our lingua franca.”

  Marcus explained, “The boat is at the docks just outside the southern Pingchengmen Gate on the waterfront. I know the area.”

  On the street outside, two Buddhist monks panhandled their way along the street.

  “Strange fellows, those!” said Antonius. “Have yer met them yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, we have. Musa says it is good luck to give them money.”

  “Yes. The one we met spoke Greek, a Bactrian. A big world and a small one at the same time, ain’t it,” said Antonius.

  “Both together, indeed!” answered Ibrahim, and they talked, ate and drank for another hour, catching up on events, before Gaius signaled the end of festivities, and they headed back along the darkening streets as lamplighters fluttered about like fireflies, lighting paper lanterns.

  CHAPTER 42: COMPETITORS

  Aulus was acutely aware of the fact that he had now only a single interpreter, and that he had let Marcus take Gaius and Antonius out sightseeing. That left him at the mercy of Wang Ming’s rudimentary Latin.

  Ming had escorted Aulus on a number of courtesy calls that morning, some inside and some outside the palace, to meet various officials whose names he would not remember and whose titles Ming could not translate in his rudimentary pidgin-Latin. They were apparently important enough for Ming to introduce him, but the only one important enough to remember was Bai Wei, some sort of scheduler for the Emperor, perhaps his personal secretary, chief of staff, chancellor or something along those lines. As Ming put it, “He tell when come see Emperor He.”

  He led him to yet another office. “You like next, he maybe talk to you. He from Anxi.” He knocked and entered. A man with Western features and a carefully coiffed beard, clad in a bluish green silk cassock over a pair of white pants, rose, saluted and bowed elegantly to Ming. Ming returned only an acknowledging head nod, which was all he ever did for a foreigner’s salute. They exchanged greetings in Hanaean, then the man turned to Aulus and introduced himself in Greek. “I am Cyrus Mithridates, envoy of Ctesiphon. Pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand.

  Aulus hesitated a moment and extended his own in return; they shared a mutually reluctant handshake. “I am Aulus Aemilius Galba, envoy of Rome. You are far from Parthia, Cyrus. Have you been here long?”

  “Long enough to master the language. I have been the envoy of Pacorus II for about ten years now. Welcome to this strange and wonderful land!”

  Ming interrupted, and excused himself. “You two able talk, I go. Gai’s, you get back to room alone?”

  “Yes, yes, no problem, Ming, thank you for the many introductions this morning.” Aulus gave the obligatory farewell salute, and got his perfunctory head nod in return. Ming left.

  Cyrus gestured to a chair. “Sit, sit. It is a pleasure to have someone to talk with, even if in another time and place we might be sworn enemies. I remember well how alone and lost I felt when I first came here.”

  Aulus took a seat. Cyrus summoned a servant, spoke to him in Parthian, and sat down on a divan facing Aulus. “I sent for some tea. And I presume you would want some also.”

  “Thank you. You have been here ten years? How long has Parthia had such close contact with Hanae?”

  Cyrus chuckled softly. “Over two hundred years. Remember we are almost neighbors, and the trade route you call the Via Serica, the Silk Road, runs through my homeland. We have had diplomatic and trade relations for a very long time.”

  The servant brought two cups of steaming hot tea, and Aulus took a sip. “How do you feel about your sworn enemy joining you here?” he said with a smile.

  “Competition sharpens the wits,” replied Cyrus. “I understand you have some very good translators with you. Interesting.”

  “Rather a piece of luck.” Aulus paused, smiling, not wanting to reveal too much without knowing what Mithridates knew.

  “How did you come by them?”

  “We Romans get around.” Aulus did not want to reveal that the Hanaeans had indirectly provided
them.

  Time to get off this subject. “This tea is excellent. I think we in the west could develop quite a taste for it.”

  “It is becoming popular in my home as well, but slowly. The Hanaeans maintain a monopoly on its production, so every outgoing bail must pay an enormous tariff and make its way slowly and at great cost by land and sea. It’s quite a luxury at home.”

  Aulus had had many business dealings with Parthians, Rome’s fierce competitors in Asia Minor, and had found that managing information was the key to success in dealing with them. Conceal what you know, and ferret out what they know. The victory always seemed to go to the one who managed to stay one or two steps ahead of the other, knowing one or two things the other did not. Right now he wanted to know what Mithridates knew, for he certainly would try to sabotage any relationship between Rome and the Hanaean court before it could emerge.

  They kept the verbal sparring match going for the better part of an hour, making small talk about various seemingly inconsequential subjects, probing each other without appearing to pry. At the end, Aulus hoped that what little he had learned exceeded what he may have inadvertently given away.

  “So, Cyrus, it has been a pleasure,” said Aulus, placing his teacup on the low table in front of them, “but I must return to my quarters. I am expecting my miniscule entourage to return from their tour of the city at any minute.”

  “The pleasure has been mine. I hope we can resume this conversation sometime soon.” Cyrus extended his hand, and Aulus returned the handshake firmly.

  Gaius and Antonius returned to their suite a bit after sundown.

  “Guess who’s in town, cousin?” announced Gaius with a smile.