Marcia moved a stool into the bedroom and sat beside Antonius, holding his hand.
Demosthenes returned to Mama Biyu’s store. “Something bad has happened, Mama. An-Dun is badly hurt and I need more medical supplies if you have any, still more vinegar, bandages, sutures, especially fever medicines and broths.”
“What happened?” she asked, her face full of concern.
“We were raided while I was here earlier, by bandits. Our group killed all of them, but An-Dun took an arrow in the stomach. I got it out, but he will probably get feverish and that could kill him.”
“You got it out? Yourself?”
“Before I was a monk, I was a medic.”
Mama Biyu got a bundle of various things together, and then said, “I am going with you.” She went out the back of the store to where a horse and a two-wheeled cart stood. “Get in!” she ordered.
Demosthenes climbed up onto the seat beside her and she clucked the spirited grey into a brisk pace.
“Do you know where it is, Mama?”
“Of course I know where it is. It is my house! My husband built it for us to get away from town, but after he died, I never went up there again. I let hunters use it when they want.”
About fifty yards before the turnoff to the house, Demosthenes asked her to stop and he dismounted. Cupping his hands around his mouth he yelled, “Halloo! It is me, Demosthenes, with company, it is all right!” He got back up and Mama clicked the horses on.
“Antonius had set up a security plan, which is why they knocked down the bandits so easily. But everyone will be jumpy now, and I don’t want to take an arrow myself.”
They pulled into the yard, and Mama surveyed the dead men. She took the headband off one and examined it carefully. “These are the Black Headband gang that has been raiding up and down Shaanxi Province. They are very bad people! Soldiers have not been able to catch them.”
“One of our people said they were going to use this as a hideout to raid Tongchuan.”
“We are very much in your debt. Far from bringing bad things onto our town, you prevented something very bad.” They went up the steps. “These posts need painting badly. And everything else,” she said, feeling the peeling red flecks of paint on the column.
“How is he doing?” asked Demosthenes as he entered the living area.
“Sleeping peacefully. Marcia is with him.”
“This is Mama Biyu, who has been so kind as to take care of us. These are the people I told you about this morning, Ib-him and Yak the pirates, Simul a rebel from the far west. Gisga, no one knows where he is from, including himself. Gawba and Gais, of the Da Qin. And this one is Si Nuo, of Liqian. Si Huar is sitting with An-Dun.” Each nodded in turn as they were introduced, and Marcus gave a formal Hanaean bow.
Mama Biyu stretched herself out to her portly five feet, and bowed formally as well. “You have done a great service to Tongchuan. The Black Headband gang has been a scourge to all of Shaanxi, and you kept it from falling on our town again.”
Mama Biyu took charge of the domestic affairs, preparing for dinner while the men buried the dead and tended the new horses. After dinner, she joined Marcia at Antonius’ bedside. Marcia was speaking rapidly and softly to him in a language Mama Biyu didn’t understand.
“May I sit with you, Si Huar? My name is Xian Biyu, people call me Mama.” she asked. Mama Biyu had never had any daughters, and she felt very matronly toward the distraught girl.
“Please.”
Mama pulled over a small chest and sat. “What is that language you were speaking?”
“It is the language of the Da Qin. It is called Latin. He is Da Qin.”
“I don’t understand it, but you seem to speak it very well.”
“I speak both Latin and han-yu. We are descendants of Da Qin.” She showed Mama Biyu her eyes. “It is why I have blue eyes, from my Da Qin ancestors.”
“How did you get involved in this at such a young age?”
And so Marcia related the whole tale of her life, from Liqian to the Gan Ying expedition to Rome and meeting with their ruler, the return trip by sea, the false charge of infidelity and attempted murder. All that she had bottled up inside just poured out like water. At last she finished, telling of her love for An-Dun, and her fears that he would be taken from her so soon after they had come to know love.
Mama Biyu also knew heartbreak; she had buried five sons due to a fever that nearly killed her as well, and lost her sixth son to a far-off war. But now was not the time to share those stories with Si Huar.
“We will make him better, Si Huar, you and me… together.”
Si Huar smiled for the first time since she had seen Antonius’ prostrate body, and blinked back tears. “Yes, we will, Mama, yes, we will!” She responded warmly to Mama Biyu’s motherly concern.
Mama Biyu went back in the morning in the oxcart with Si Nuo to get more furniture and supplies. If anyone asked, she would be restoring the tumbledown retreat. While in her store, she rummaged around in her living quarters for a chest containing memorabilia, found what she was looking for, and added it to the stack of clean linen for bandages, willow bark and poppy juice painkillers, and several herbs to help with fevers.
When she got back, Antonius was feverish and delirious. Marcia was going about in a business-like manner, keeping cold compresses on his head, but she was not fooling Mama Biyu. She knew that if Si Huar didn’t stay busy doing something, anything, she was going to break down completely. “Here, see if we can get him to chew the willow bark, it will help with the pain. I will brew up some herb tea that will help the fever.”
Antonius, though unconscious, was not totally unaware of his surroundings. Occasionally his consciousness would swim up near the surface and he was aware of women’s voices, Marcia’s and someone else’s, sometimes in Latin, sometimes Hanaean. He was aware of a great pain in his stomach, then he would descend back down into blackness again.
Demosthenes had swaddled Antonius in a makeshift diaper, as the man had no control over his bodily functions. Near the end of the day, he had an odoriferous bowel movement. Marcia notified Demosthenes, who unwrapped him to check the content. Smelly it was, but not putrid; brown, but no sign of blood or pus. “Smells like shit, but the good news is that is all it appears to be, his bowels may be intact. Go outside, Marcia, I will clean up the mess.”
“Like hell I will! I’ll clean him up. You get me a fresh diaper and take the dirty stuff out!” She rolled Antonius on his side and began cleaning the mess with determination. Mama Biyu joined in, bringing a fresh bowl and more rags.
Antonius remained feverish through the night, but the delirium passed. The incoherent muttering and thrashing went away, and the next morning the fever was gone. He remained peacefully asleep, Marcia’s head nestled on his chest. She had not left his side for over a day and a half. Mama, who had slept on one of the cots she had brought, looked in and smiled at the sight with Demosthenes. “I think he’s going to make it,” said the medic.
“He already has,” answered Mama.
Around noon she gave Marcia a package. “I have something for you. Open it.” Marcia opened the rice paper wrapping and pulled out a wig with long black Hanaean-style hair. Each strand of hair had been worked through a cloth mesh and tied off. It must have been very expensive and taken forever to make.
“Mama, it is beautiful! Where did you get it?” asked Marcia
“When I was a young girl, I was taken with a fever that caused my hair to fall out, and what was left was very thin and straggly. My mother got it for me so people would not laugh at me. It is just strands of hair. You can do anything to it that you can do with your own hair, curl it up in a bun, whatever you want to do. Till your new hair grows back.”
Marcia tried it on. It fit perfectly. Marcia hugged the woman and put her head on her shoulder, “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much! You have been so kind.”
About an hour later, Antonius awoke, one eye popping open, trying to focus. After a
minute, he moved his head and recognized Marcia. “What happened, domina?”
“I think yer tried ter break somebody’s arrow but it didn’t work,” she said, laughing with tears of joy in her eyes.
“Arrow. Gods, yes, I remember, I thought I was dead!”
“You came too close to that for me, carus meus. Too damned close.” She leaned over his bed and gave him a big hug. “Quit ogling my breasts under my shirt, Antonius! We’re back to being celibate for another few days till you’re better.”
He slapped her buttocks playfully under her trousers. “Sure?”
“Sure. And you know what you said, about loving meaning you would die for someone?”
“Yes.”
Marcia kissed him gently on the cheek. “You don’t have to prove it, I’ll take your word for it. I’d miss you if you died.” She cuddled up against his battered body as best she could, with everyone standing around.
Demosthenes, on hearing Antonius’ voice, had rushed into the room, followed by everyone else crowding into the bedroom. “Looks like he’s better,” said Demosthenes.
“Fondling Marcia, yes, he’s going to make it!” said Gaius with a smile. “Good job, Demosthenes, damned good job!”
CHAPTER 59: TRAVELING NORTH
Antonius spent several days recuperating reluctantly in bed. He had, however, insisted on being in the nightly planning councils. “So if I can’t get outer this damned bed, just haul yer butts inter me bedroom and hold it here. If yer all gotta stand, maybe the meetings will be shorter!” grumped Antonius to Gaius. And so they all did, but they brought stools, so the meetings weren’t any shorter.
Mama Biyu was the only source of local knowledge, and since she already knew almost everything about them, they accepted the risk of having her take part in the meetings. She suggested that they continue north, and offered an itinerary, since they now would be traveling with the horses they had liberated from the bandits.
“About a thousand li north of here, the Huang He River bends again to the west and marks the northern border of Han territory. To get there, take the road north, and in two or three days’ ride, you should reach Yanzhou. Four or five days later will put you in the area of Baotou on the northern side of the river. After that you’ll be out of reach of the authorities, unless they want to send a small army after you into Xiongnu country. The Hans had a big one there once, but ten years ago, they mostly killed or drove off the Xiongnu in the last war and then pulled their army back. The Xiongnu that are left are in small bands now, mostly harmless, but they will still fight to defend their territory. My cousin Xian Bohai has contacts in Baotou who deal with some of the Xiongnu, and he speaks the language and knows some of the chieftains.”
“What do we do when we get there, Mama?” asked Ibrahim.
“If they like you and are going that way, they will guide you west for a long way, and you will be safe from Han authorities. And the further west you go, the more western the people are, and your faces won’t betray you.”
They now had six horses compliments of the dead bandits, short sturdy Mongolians with great endurance, able to live off the land. Mama Biyu got them a four-passenger cart with a closed canopy to keep the weather out, and four more horses, enough for all to ride if necessary, and spare animals if the cart was in use. She found a peasant family who gratefully accepted their oxcart and oxen, and made sure the travelers had plenty of clothes, bedding, food, medical supplies and herbs, and rice wine. How Mama Biyu did all this while attracting no attention they did not know; she had her ways.
Since none of the ten had ridden in at least a year, everyone decided to refresh their riding skills. Galosga pointed out: “I never ride, never see horse before this side of water. None at home.”
“Really?” Ibrahim. “No horses at all, or just none tame?”
“Never see any, wild or tame. Here I see people ride, so yes, I learn, you help.”
The next interesting discovery were the stirrups on the saddle, heavy leather straps with an iron bar across the bottom. “Those are called ma deng, ‘horse something-or-other’. I don’t know the Latin word for it,” Marcus said.
“There may not be a Latin word for it. I’ve never seen such a thing before. Looks like a good idea for getting on, but why so heavy? Once you are on, they would just be swinging back and forth, banging your legs and the horse,” commented Gaius, in Latin.
Marcus chuckled, also replying in Latin. “You keep your foot in them while you are riding. You are serious…you really don’t have these back west?”
“Never saw one before in my life.” All of the westerners shook their heads in the negative.
So Marcus demonstrated, swiftly mounting the horse in one easy motion, then with his feet firmly in the stirrups, demonstrated the ease with which he controlled the animal, dancing it around in tight turns, getting it to rear and paw the air while he easily kept his seat.
They each eventually mastered the stirrup. Galosga began his riding lessons, working up to a nervously stiff but steady canter after a few hours, and learning how to care for his beast. Everyone discovered how hard riding is to a butt not used to it. They rode an hour or so each day, following the lightly traveled road up the mountain and back down, both to toughen their rears and develop bonds with their mounts.
Ibrahim’s ransom money was holding out well, but since it was a significant sum, it seemed prudent to divide it up among them, a lighter load and more secure distribution. To keep clinking coins in the saddlebags from attracting unwanted attention, Ibrahim used a smuggler’s trick: they melted beeswax in pots and dropped the coins in them, and after they cooled they wrapped the wax blocks in rice paper. Not only did this keep the coins from clinking, but a casual inspection would show only beeswax, though the weight might give them away if hefted. If they needed some coins, they could just carve some out with a knife, and pat the wax back.
Demosthenes pronounced Antonius fit to travel, with no fever for the past several days. However, he was to spend the first few days in the cart, which provoked more grumping, but finally acquiescence.
Xian Bohai arrived with Mama Biyu for dinner the last night, his horse prancing and tossing its head as he pulled up in the front yard. He was about forty years old, five feet or so, lean and wiry with skin like yellow leather from many years out of doors. He sported a dashing long mustache whose black strands hung down six inches beside his mouth, ending somewhat below the chin. His riding hat covered black hair ending in a long braid, thrown over his shoulder and down his breast. He seemed utterly at home on the back of his lively black horse, much taller and much more graceful than their Mongolians. Dressed for action, he had a sword and a bow crossed on his back, with a quiver of arrows slung on the saddle pommel.
“So these are the great criminals I am supposed to sneak out of the Middle Kingdom. An unlikely looking lot, they!” He said with a big laugh as he scanned everyone clustered on the porch. “The columns look nice, cousin Biyu, when did you repaint them?” he said, changing the subject, admiring the freshly-painted porch and elegantly bright red columns.
“You can thank your passengers. They insisted on doing something for me!”
Bohai slipped out of the saddle, fluid like quicksilver pouring from a ladle, befitting a man whose saddle was also his home. “Well, it looks like they don’t expect something for nothing then, that’s a good sign. Who’s in charge of this motley crew?”
“That be Ib-Him,” volunteered Aulus. “I Gawba, this one Gais, An-Dun, Si Huar, Si Nuo, Dim, Yak, Gisga, and Simul.” Each bowed as he was introduced.
“Good, you speak passable han-yu. How about the others?”
“We all speak some,” said Ibrahim, warming to the man’s blunt humor. He extended his hand, and Bohai took it in a firm grasp. “Everyone in charge of something, but I am head thief, pirate, so I lead lawbreaking part.”
Bohai guffawed. “I’ve heard you did a good job of lawbreaking. Did you really insult the Son of Heaven and get out with your
heads still attached?”
“Seem so. Gawba tell that story, he was one who did,” Ibrahim said, smiling.
“Over wine, after dinner, we tell. Over much wine!” said Aulus.
“And six dead Black Headbands. I want to hear that story, too, over still more wine. We ride with hangovers tomorrow at first light!”
Bohai enjoyed the stories of their imprisonment and escape, and then it got around to their trip across the Indian Ocean in Asia and Europa, Aulus’s relentless pursuit, the firefights in Galle and in the Straits of Malacca. Although he had never been on a ship, nor even seen the ocean, Bohai found this fascinating, and he had his own stories to tell. The rice wine had flowed freely, but they were in fact up at first light, hung over as promised.
After saying farewell to Mama Biyu, they set out down the rough mountain road back to Tongchuan. Mama Biyu wiped away a tear as she thought of her long-dead son.
Bohai broke them up into three groups, separated by about half an hour, smaller groups attracting less attention than big ones. Aulus, Gaius and Ibrahim rode in the lead with Bohai. Galosga and Demosthenes rode in the middle with the cart, Shmuel driving with Marcia and Antonius as passengers, the spare horses in trail. Marcus and Yakov brought up the rear. There was at least one fluent han-yu speaker in each group.
The men’s hair had begun to regrow, but they wore riding caps to conceal its still sparse length, and Marcia was wearing her wig. All of the men except Galosga, who oddly enough had no facial hair, had begun beards, Ibrahim’s its usual salt-and-pepper, Aulus’s streaked with white, everyone else’s dark.
The plan was to ride till around noon, then switch off two of the riders. As they cleared Tongchuan and the road opened up to the north, Bohai challenged the lead group. “Let’s see what you are made of!” he cried as he tsk’ed his horse into action and kneed the stallion to a burst of speed, taking off in a cloud of dust. Aulus, Gaius and Ibrahim laid low about the horses’ necks and did likewise. Gaius slapped his horse with the reins to urge more speed, as did Aulus and Ibrahim, though Bohai rapidly outdistanced them. It was an exhilarating ride in the clear early morning air, and eventually, they caught up with Bohai under a tree, his horse drinking water from a small creek. “Not bad. Those little Mongolian ponies can’t keep up with Longma, no matter how hard you ride,” he said with a smile, slapping the black horse’s graceful black neck. He is a doyuanmo from Da Yuan, a heavenly horse indeed! Still, you put all you had into it, so good work!”
The Eagle and the Dragon, a Novel of Rome and China Page 44