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

by Lewis F. McIntyre

  “Everyone still in agreement on the basic plan?” asked Aulus, half hoping that someone might come up with a more viable alternative. No one offered any.

  “I believe the protocol will be that Marcia will go in first, then Antonius. When you go in, we will enter right behind you. I expect the guards may try to force us out or down into a prostration. If they succeed, I will address the emperor from whatever position I am forced into, otherwise, I will address him standing. Make sure you don’t have so much as a needle in your military kits, as I understand any weapons in the vicinity of the emperor is cause for instant death,” cautioned Aulus.

  “We are good, sir. Swords and daggers locked away.”

  “I’ll be wearing the parade helmet Commodus gave me for graduation. It seems fitting. I gave it an extra coat of polish last night.” The bronze helmet with its bright red longitudinal horsehair plume glinted in the morning sun as he manipulated the chin straps. He wore a leather breast plate, decorated with several silver phalarae awards he had earned for valor in various campaigns. Red leather pteryges formed a skirt protecting his thighs, and he wore a bright crimson army cloak.

  Antonius was in his centurion’s best parade kit with a bright steel helmet mounting a lateral horse hair plume of alternate red and white bands, and bright lorica segmentata plate armor heavily laden with his own very numerous phalarae, and his red sagum cloak.

  Aulus wore a bright white toga with broad purple laticlava stripe of Senatorial rank, while Marcus wore Gaius’ plain white toga over an equestrian tunic with two red narrow strips. Marcus’ posture was distinctly Roman, though he was distinctly ill at ease managing the folds of his toga, in fear of it coming undone at some inopportune moment. He moved as little as possible, grasping it firmly in his left hand.

  “You look properly Roman, Marcus. You should wear a toga more often,” said Aulus, producing one more bottle of Italia’s finest. “I think we should share one more glass of wine, to toast our ill-fated expedition,” announced Aulus. “It is a bit early, and I don’t want to go into this horrible mess inebriated, but I think one glass might steady our nerves.”

  “Fer me, I’d take the whole damned bottle,” grunted Antonius.

  The waiting, like that before battle, was the worst part. Gaius and Antonius, having experienced this many times before, knew how to keep the gut-wrenching fear from taking hold. Aulus and Marcus were learning it for the first time.

  About noon, two attendants entered the room. They stared quizzically at Marcus, their fellow countryman, clad as a foreigner, and exchanged a few words with him. “It is time,” said Marcus.

  They were escorted to the anteroom of the throne room, where Marcia was waiting under guard by two soldiers. They caught her eye, but it seemed inappropriate to speak. Shortly, the Minister of the Household emerged. He, too, looked askance at Marcus’ unusual attire, but also overlooked it. He chattered rapidly with Marcus, who then said, “Marcia is to go in first, then Antonius.”

  “Right. But then we all go in. No need to tell him that, however. It will ruin his day,” joked Gaius.

  The massive door swung open, and Marcia was escorted in. Inside, they could make out the lamps, and rows of robed councilors seated in two parallel rows.

  “The emperor is seated on a dais at the back of the room,” said Marcus in a whisper. “He is separated from the councilors by a moat of water.”

  The attendants beckoned Antonius. Aulus swallowed hard to clear the lump in his throat. “Let’s go!”

  All four strode past the aghast attendants and entered the throne room, fully erect. Their eyes had barely adjusted to the dim interior when two guards by the door attempted to seize them and wrestle them to the ground. They seized Antonius first, and were most unsuccessful, one sent sprawling. There was a rustle of concern among the councilors in the room at this most untoward and threatening behavior, and the attendants could be heard calling for more guards. Marcia lay prone, face down on the blackened stone floor, alone.

  The guards, backed by additional ones from the outside, resumed their efforts to quell the unruly intruders, when the emperor motioned them aside with his hand.

  Aulus looked the emperor straight in the eye, and began his speech without introduction, fully expecting to feel the cold steel of a blade pass through him before he finished. “Your Excellency, it is the custom and law among our people that every person accused of a crime have available representation before the court. I represent Marcia Lucia, cives sine suffragio, a non-voting citizen of Rome, under the protection of our Emperor Trajan, and also, Antonius Aristides, primus pilus of the Legio XII Fulminata, both envoys of that same Emperor and accorded the rights of emissaries throughout the world. Please advise me of the charges against my clients.”

  Marcus began translating when a voice was heard. “That won’t be necessary.”

  They were puzzled at the source of this well-spoken if slightly accented Latin, when the voice continued. “I have made a point to learn your language.” It was Emperor He himself. “What is the purpose of this unseemly entrance into my court?”

  “We seek to defend Marcia Lucia, known to you as Si Huar, against false charges of attempted murder and infidelity, and Antonius Aristides of equally false charges of illicit relations with her.”

  Emperor He pondered the insolence. Fortunately, no one present in court could understand the Latin they were speaking. He had another minute or so to force obeisance and display his power over the Da Qin, or the court would perceive him as accepting defiance. That could not be allowed, as it would mark him as weak and lead to his decline and overthrow.

  He pondered briefly the cause of this insouciance. Had someone in his court put them up to this trap? One of the Excellencies perhaps, a Minister, or perhaps an ambitious but more lowly person? Or did this come from the Da Qin on their own?

  One advantage of the dangling baubles from his crown was that they concealed the direction of his gaze. He glanced at the Minister of the Household and noted that he was downcast and visibly distraught. He was responsible for the highly-scripted reception of foreigners in the court, and this was obviously not following his script. And all the Excellencies and Ministers were visibly shocked, not least Ban Chao, whose project this was.

  No, more likely the Anxi ambassador had been right, the Da Qin were power-hungry to rule the world, challenging his authority here in his own court over the concubine of a mid-level court official with a taint of Da Qin blood in her veins. He did admit to a bit of admiration for their courage, but they must be brought to heel now.

  “It is the custom and law of this land that you enter my court with due respect for me and for the Hanaean people! Whatever customs you follow in your own lands do not apply here. On your knees now, Romans, or accept the consequences of your actions!” This Emperor He spoke with just enough emphasis that the meaning would be clear to his court, if not the words.

  Marcus rose to the challenge. “Marcia, stand up. We are Romans!” She rose shakily to stand with her brother, likewise meeting the emperor’s gaze. Aulus continued to look the emperor in the eye, neither blinking nor saying anything.

  Then Emperor He said loudly, “Remove them to the North Palace for execution!” Twenty-five beefy guards had filtered in during the confrontation, awaiting orders. They moved swiftly, drawing swords with a metallic hiss, surrounding the five Romans. Chains were produced, and they were shackled and led away.

  CHAPTER 52: LOVE BEHIND BARS

  The Romans were marched in chains out of the palace to the Xuanwumen Gate on the north wall of the palace compound, crossing a bridged walkway connecting the South Palace to the North Palace Compound. They continued to the North Palace, used by the emperor to address the masses in its huge pavilion… and also to conduct public executions. At the back of the palace was a small prison hewn from the rock foundation, its heavy door standing open. Two guards at the entrance snapped to attention as the party appeared, took the prisoners and hustled them down a long i
nterior tunnel to a barred cavern at the end, strewn with straw. The five Romans were unmanacled and shoved roughly into the cave. The guards slammed the bars shut, securing them with a stout-looking padlock. The two guards returned to their posts at the mouth of the tunnel, closing and barring the outer door, then sat down and lit smoky lamps by their table.

  The Hanaeans did not waste resources caring for prisoners awaiting execution, just a slop jar for their bodily needs and nothing else. The guards at the top of the tunnel were barely visible from the cave-cell, far back and right-angled off the tunnel.

  Marcus called to them in Hanaean, but they did not acknowledge him.

  “Well, that went about as expected,” said Gaius. “I didn’t think anything could make that last cell look better, but it was a first-class mansio hotel compared to this. Marcus, did you pick anything up from our escorts about what is going to happen to us?”

  “No, nothing. They chatted among themselves, but nothing consequential. We apparently shocked the entire court.”

  Marcia began to sob. “I… I am so sorry… I involved you in this. Now you are going to die with me. And …I am so sorry.”

  Antonius gently put his arm around her shoulders. “I think Wang Ming had more ter do with this than yer did, Marcia. And yer didn’t involve us in this, we chose ter do it. We weren’t goin’ ter let yer die alone. At least now they know what Roman honor looks like.”

  She turned and embraced him, her body shuddering uncontrollably as she sobbed against his shoulder. He stroked her back soothingly. “Be careful, domina, yer goin’ ter rust me armor if yer keep that up!” They were all still wearing their uniforms and togas from the morning. Gaius had even kept his old Gallic helmet, tucked under his left arm during the court. Antonius’ helmet had been lost in the scuffle.

  Aulus spoke up. “Antonius is right, Marcia. It was our unanimous decision to challenge the Emperor. If he was going to kill you, he was going to have to kill us all. He made it easy by insisting we crawl into the court on our bellies. I think Trajan would have approved of what we did, though he will never know.”

  They settled into the cell. In the interest of Marcia’s privacy, the slop jar was set far back in the corner, a good place, as it stank from previous users. Everyone sat around pretty much in silence.

  Gaius and Antonius found a corner where they could observe the guards. Old military habits called for monitoring for means of escape, however futile, clad as they were in Roman garb with Western visages. They wouldn’t get far. But it helped pass the time. The guards whiled away the afternoon on some sort of board game, seated across from each other at a small table under a torch. Every once in a while, the prisoners could hear laughter or groans, or what might be some sort of Hanaean profanity, and the pieces would be removed from the board with a clattering and clinking sound and set back up. About every hour, one or the other would come back to tug on the padlock, but they otherwise ignored their prisoners.

  After several hours, there was a knock on the entrance door. One of the guards stood up, went to the door and slid a window open. There were some words exchanged, and the guard lifted the bar to open the door.

  Gaius and Antonius watched carefully. Was this the execution party? Was this, in fact, the last few minutes of their lives?

  No, it was just the relief watch. The guards talked back and forth a bit, then one of the oncoming guards came back to count the prisoners, tugged on the padlock, and went back up. They exchanged more pleasantries, and the off-going watch departed. The inside bar fell back in place with a thud. The oncoming watch had come in carrying lanterns, and what little light Gaius had seen from outside indicated it was about sunset. “I am guessing they change shifts every six hours or so, Antonius.”

  “I agree, Gaius, ‘bout sundown, me thinks.”

  The guards produced some bowls of food, and the garlicky smells reminded the Romans they hadn’t eaten or drunk since before noon. “Wonder if any of that chow is fer us back here,” mused Antonius.

  It wasn’t. The guards finished their meal, produced a bottle, and began their own board game. “I guess since they figger they’re goin’ ter kill us, they don’t need ter feed us. Waste of food.”

  The guards continued the lock checks. Gaius had counted them, and guessed they were about hourly.

  There was another soft knock at the door. A guard got up and admitted one of the yellow-garbed monks. The monk produced a begging bowl and got the usual copper coins from each guard, smiling and bowing, then he gave them a bottle. They then pointed back to the cell area. One guard raised five fingers and made a gesture indicating that one was a woman, and laughed. He apparently approved of Marcia’s appearance. The monk smiled in return and came back to the cell.

  It was Demosthenes. His eyes went wide in recognition, and so did those of Aulus, Gaius and Antonius. Demosthenes spoke quietly in Greek, with no apparent recognition in the tone of his voice. “Do not let on that you know me. I bring you food. It is a service we do for condemned prisoners.” He produced a tray with bowls of rice, some vegetables and a flask of water.

  “Thank you. We thought they were going to just starve us to death,” said Antonius with a smile.

  “It is why we feed you. They do not feed condemned men. What have you done? The guards say you are to be beheaded in a public execution in five days!”

  “I guess our first meeting with Emperor He did not go well. Sorry!”

  “There is a rumor in town that you insulted him horribly.”

  “It seems we did.”

  “I must go now. I will try to come every night until…,” he left the sentence unfinished.

  “Thanks for the food,” said Antonius.

  Demosthenes left, and talked briefly with the guards. They let him out, and the door shut behind him, followed by the thud of the bar. The guards went back to their board game.

  “Well, that was unexpected.” Antonius passed the food around. It wasn’t much, but was enough to quell the hunger pangs. “Looks like those monks do get to go everywhere!”

  “Interesting!” said Aulus. “Have you two figured out how to get out of here?”

  “Not really, cousin Short of breaking down our iron cage, overpowering two guards with weapons we don’t have, and changing ourselves into inconspicuous Hanaeans, I can’t think of one,” answered Gaius, grasping one of the inch-thick wrought iron bars in his hands. “Demosthenes says we have five days.”

  “Well, they told him more than they told us,” groused Marcus.

  They finished eating, and passed the water bottle around. “Save some fer tomorrow,” cautioned Antonius. “We’ll be getting’ thirsty again before he comes round again.”

  Their stomachs full, and nothing left to do, they fell silent for a bit. Gaius and Antonius had stripped off their heavy metal armor to just their tunics. Gaius periodically looked at his tiny portrait of Camilla on its thong around his neck, caressing it with his thumb, trying to make out her features in the darkness, wondering how she would feel when he simply never, ever returned.

  Talking about their eminent demise seemed to take the sting out of it, huddling together in the center of the cave. All but Marcia had either a woolen toga or army cloak, which they wrapped around themselves against the growing chill. She sat next to Antonius in her silk dress, and he shared his cloak with her.

  “I wonder if you feel the pain when you are beheaded?” asked Marcus.

  “I suspect not much, if the headsman is any good. It will rip through yer spinal cord, probably more of a shock than anything else,” answered Antonius, his medical expertise coming up. “If he misses, and that happens sometimes, it’ll hurt like hell.”

  “Should we take the aconite you gave us?”

  “Up to you. Aconite can take a couple of hours of diarrhea and vomiting. Me, I am goin’ ter bet on a good headsman.”

  Aulus injected a philosophical thought. “What about after? What do you think we will find – on the other side?”

  “Well,
the Epicureans think there are no gods, that we are all random atoms, and when we are gone, it’s all over. You get what you can out of what life presents, no more. Carpe diem, they say,” said Antonius, switching to scholarly Latin, surprising Aulus.

  “Our centurion, the philosopher!” exclaimed Aulus.

  “I guess I don’t need to worry about appearances anymore,” replied Antonius.

  “Continue, please!”

  “Most believe that we linger on, like an echo. That we have some memory of ourselves, but just progressively fade away.”

  Gaius interjected. “The Christians believe that your spiritual being is immortal, and your body just temporary, that you go to a place of eternal reward or punishment as you deserve.”

  “Brr, I’ll pass on that one, Gaius. I can think of too many things I did that I’d rather not have done, to think about paying for those errors for all eternity. I think I’d rather linger on as a fading echo,” said Aulus.

  Antonius resumed, “Plato believed in reincarnation, and so does our Buddhist friend Demosthenes. Whatever the gods are, I think they exist, and have a plan, and I don’t think they do anything by chance, the way the Epicureans think. You won’t see too many Epicureans in the battle line, and anyway, they are way too fat!” Everyone laughed.

  “So what is their plan for us?” asked Marcia.

  “Damned if I know. What do the Hanaeans believe about the afterlife, Marcus?”

  “Mostly it is about this life. You are supposed to live your life honorably and create order in the world around you. That is the gods’ plan. We disrupted that order, in their mind, so… here we are!”

  “Oh, well. It is getting cold, so I think we should try to catch some sleep. We have five days, according to Demosthenes, to solve all the problems in the world.”