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

by Lewis F. McIntyre

  As they neared Liqian, Hina made a gift of the small light sword with which Marcia had been training.

  “Marcia, I killed my first man with this when I was fourteen. Use it wisely.”

  They rode back to the encampment, discussing the upcoming trip to Liqian, Marcia’s hopes for her family to still be there, and a lot of very intimate things. “Did you have any sisters, Hina?” Marcia asked. The woman had never discussed her lost family, and Marcia hoped this would not be a bad question for her.

  Hina smiled; she did that more and more these days, no longer self-consciously. “No, I was the baby, with five older brothers. Even … before then… I preferred riding with them instead of working with little girls my age.” But then her darkness settled in.

  “It’s all right,” said Marcia, and she let the rhythm of the hoofs fill the silence for a few minutes. Then “Marcus is my only brother. Would you be my sister, since I don’t have one either?”

  Hina brightened up again. “Can you put up with me?”

  “Gladly.” Marcia swayed gracefully in the Xiongnu saddle to the clip-clops of plodding hoofs. “You and Antonius are so much alike, you two could be twins, born to different mothers many years and a continent apart. Both of you so hard and stern on the outside, and so full of love inside it burns you up,” she said with a laugh.

  “Seems incestuous, your sleeping with your sister’s twin brother.”

  CHAPTER 64: HOMECOMING

  Liqian was a small village of a few thousand people, on the north side of a flat grassland in the shadow of Mt Wudang. The grassland was broken up in spots with orderly rows of tall slender trees, dividing parts of it into rectangular checkerboard patterns; further out, it was treeless. The plain was well-watered by rivers flowing out of the snow-capped Qilian range of mountains to the north.

  The Great Silk Road passed a few miles south of Liqian, but the town was too small to offer much in the way of accommodations. Caravans did stop in Liqian for its one claim to fame, fine red wines made from grapes.

  The Roman settlers found the Hanaen rice wine tasteless, and had acquired some grape plantings from a passing caravan from Shiraz in Parthia. They planted them on the hills to the east of their settlement, to make a fine red wine quite acceptable to Roman palates. Those hills were now covered with carefully tended grapevines, from which they now made both red and white wines. The vineyards bottled the wine in wax-sealed glazed ceramic jars, emblazoned with Hanaean characters on one side bearing the town’s name, and “SPQR” underneath a six-teated she-wolf on the other side, the foster mother to Romulus and Remus.

  The town looked forward to the biennial Xiongnu migration, because those of that ethnicity could renew family ties, marry off sons and daughters, and catch up on clan news, mostly bad now in the years following the battle of Ilkh Bayan. And everyone looked forward to trading various things for fresh livestock.

  Wang Ming was in the provincial capital of Lanzhou, about a hundred miles east of Liqian, in the company of thirty military representatives of the taiwei commander in chief, and they, too, were awaiting the arrival of the Huyan clan. They had reason to believe that the Da Qin would be traveling among them, as it would be almost impossible for them make the trek alone. However, they were under strict orders from the taiwei to approach the clan under a flag of truce, inquire of the Da Qin presence, and invite them to return to another meeting with the Son of Heaven. They were not to detain them, under orders from the Son of Heaven himself.

  Ming had no issues with allowing the Da Qin to come and go as they saw fit, they were of no concern to him. But the bitch Si Huar was his concubine, and he would take her back to Luoyang, regardless of some faraway Da Qin warlord thinking she was his subject. She was Hanean by birth, and his by law. He contemplated ingenious ways to make her life miserable, in revenge for her whoring around, for trying to kill him, and for causing him to lose face.

  The Huyan clan had paralleled the Hwang He River on its western bank from Yinchuan, taking advantage of the good grassland on that side, and followed the river to where it emerged from the mountains past Zhongwei as churning, white-water rapids. They continued east on the plains to Wuwei, where they stopped to plan the approach to Liqian. The clan had done this many times, so there was nothing new, but it would be their last.

  Liqian would greet the arrival of the migration with their customary town fair. The clan would pitch their encampment a mile or so south of town, clear of the town’s herding and farming areas. They would pitch some yurts in the center of town as a bazaar to exchange wares, sit around, tell old stories, and sing old songs accompanied by the morin khuur, the square, two-stringed horsehead fiddle.

  Gaius and Ibrahim assembled the Da Qin group to discuss their strategy. If any place were under surveillance, the translators’ hometown would be the one. Ibrahim would send Yakov along with the clan’s advance team, to assess the situation. If the authorities were actively looking for them there, he would return to warn them, and they would decamp, move off quickly, to rejoin the Xiongnu at some prearranged date and place. Gaius would not risk all their lives for a family reunion, however bittersweet it might be for Marcus and Marcia to come this close and not see their family. Some letters, written in Latin and delivered through the Xiongnu to their parents, would have to suffice, expressing their love and assuring them that they were alive and well. And the Xiongnu would accept a letter back in return.

  On the other hand, if the town were quiet, then a meeting might be arranged, best done here in the camp. They wanted as few townspeople involved as possible, because tongues would inevitably wag, and the authorities would eventually learn of their presence here and be in hot pursuit. There was only one road west, with the rugged Qilian mountains on one side and the desert on the other.

  Antonius had written a rather cryptic letter in Latin for Marcus and Marcia to their family and sealed it with a red wax seal embossed with the six-teat she-wolf. He signed using his last name, which he was sure the Han authorities neither knew nor could pronounce.

  Yakov rode in with the advance team, and after a few discrete questions found that there no authorities in town, no one inquiring of the Da Qin, no strangers. Just the regular outsiders who came in from neighboring villages to take part in festivities. So Yakov then executed the next step.

  It was the custom of the advance team to visit many of the houses to inquire of their interest in trade goods, so that the clan could have an ample supply of the items most in demand. So a visit to the Liu Shiu family, as their surname was pronounced in han-yu, would not be unusual, and Yakov could slip inside for a brief private conversation. That was likely to be emotional and should not be held where others might see. They arranged that call to be the last.

  When they reached the house, a matronly plump woman in her fifties answered the knock, her black hair tinged with gray, done up in a bun. She was dressed in black peasant clothing of no particular shape.

  She said curtly “I am not interested in anything,” and turned to close the door.

  Yakov could see Marcia’s face distinctly in the woman’s fine oriental features, delicate epicanthic folds that narrowed her eyes without imparting too much of a slant. But Marcia certainly got her blue eyes from her father, this woman’s were brown. He spoke his carefully rehearsed Latin phrase: “Ave, Vera! Hail, Vera.”

  She squinted at him suspiciously: “Quis es? Te non cognosceo! Who are you? I don’t know you.”

  Yakov returned to han-yu and said, “I am sorry, that is all the Latin I know. I have a message from some people very special to you. May I come in?” He handed her a scroll sealed with the stamped figure of a wolf.

  Still suspicious, she beckoned him in. She looked long and hard at it.

  “Is your husband home?” asked Yakov.

  “No, he passed away last year.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” She kept fingering it, trying to guess the contents.

  Obviously Roman, the young man had used Latin, so... w
hat? Finally she broke the seal and rolled it open. There, written in a fine uncial script was a letter she had waited a decade to see:

  “Dear Marius Lucius and Vera Lucia,

  We hope this letter finds you in good health. I have had the pleasure of traveling with acquaintances of yours, M. et M. L., who send their regards and would like to see you at the earliest opportunity.

  A. Aristides,

  PP, Leg XII Ful I Coh

  Vera Lucia put her hand to her chest, and suddenly felt very faint. There was a roaring in her ears, and the whole world seemed to come to a focus on this fine piece of paper in her hand. ‘M. et M. L.’ could only be Marcus and Marcia, her long lost children. In the company of a Roman centurion. She was Hanaean, but she had been around things Roman for the thirty years she had been wed into the Lucian household. The man’s script was good, and the abbreviations after the man’s name were familiar. Why had her children not written personally?

  All of a sudden the horror of that day came back to her, the men holding her husband at bay with drawn swords, Marcus fighting, being beaten, Marcia and herself screaming as the two were taken away by force, to serve some purpose, somewhere, and nothing heard afterwards. Were they dead or alive, free or in jail? Now this…

  “Young man, if this is a trick, we will run the whole encampment into the desert!”

  “It is no trick, Vera. Marcia asked me to give you this.” He handed the woman a small pin. “Marcus and Marcia have escaped from Luoyang, but are in considerable difficulty with the authorities, so communication must be careful. They are in the Xiongnu camp with Antonius, the letter’s author, and with a Roman legatus and a Senator. We have transportation if you wish to go there. But do not tell anyone of this until we are gone.”

  The pin was a gift she had given Marcia on her tenth birthday. She turned it over and over in her hand, tears running hotly down her cheeks. “Yes, let’s go,” she said, clutching the pin firmly in her hand.

  Yakov’s horsecart was waiting outside, loaded with cases of wine. They helped Vera in, then Yakov clicked the two horses into motion and they clattered off to the encampment. Vera kept staring at the pin, expecting Marcia to materialize from it.

  They reached the encampment, perfunctorily challenged by Hina’s arban gate guard. Yakov rolled up to the Da Qin yurt, dismounted and helped Vera down and into the yurt. Inside were Marcus and Marcia, flanked by the whole Da Qin contingent and a tall woman.

  All were dressed in nearly identical style, Xiongnu beige winter felt coats over shirts, and black breeches stuffed into tall riding boots. All were armed with swords and daggers.

  Amid great shout of “Mother!”, “Marcia!” and “Marcus!” the three collided in a loud, tearful hug. There was not much talking, just patting of backs, sobbing and kissing, as ten years of separation fell away. In the course of this, they learned they had missed their father by a year, with his unfortunate death. After about five minutes, they finally separated. Marcia spoke in han-yu, “Mama, not everyone in here speaks Latin. We use han-yu so we can all talk, but we will speak Latin together later, when it is just us, all right?”

  “Fine. But Marcia… you are armed? Are you a warrior of some kind?” Marcia had both a bow and sword crossed across her back, her dagger on the right side. And her small body rippled with new-found strength.

  “Becoming one. My friend, Hina, she is Xiongnu, she is the warrior, and soon to be, well, sort of a centurion among them. Commander of a hundred men. She taught me what little I know of fighting.”

  “She doesn’t do herself justice, Vera Lucia. She is the best fighting woman in the camp, after me,” said Hina, proud of her protégé.

  “I am the only fighting woman in the camp after her! Introductions, now! I will save the best for last. Mother, this is Senator Aulus Aemilius Galba, who leads this expedition, and legatus Gaius Lucullus, hopefully to command a legion when we get back. Yakov whom you met, Ibrahim, Galosga, Shmuel our rebel, and Demosthenes, they all saved our lives.” Each nodded in turn as they were introduced. “And now for the best part, Mama, my future husband, if you approve, Antonius Aristides, primus pilus Legio XII Fulminata!”

  “Future husband! Really!”

  Just then the happy reunion was disrupted by one of Hina’s men bursting in, running up to her. “Han soldiers on horseback, flag of truce.”

  “Excuse us,” Hina said, and she exited the yurt at a clip.

  “What is happening?” asked Vera.

  “Nothing good,” answered Antonius. “There’s a price on our heads. You stay inside with Marcia and Marcus.” Marcus drew his sword and held it ready.

  The Hanaean troops pulled up by the encampment perimeter and remained on horseback. There were about thirty, all military except one well-clad civilian. The shanyu approached them on foot. The commander of the Hanaean squadron greeted him. “Long live Shanyu Bei of the Huyan clan. I bring you greetings from the Son of Heaven, who wishes you the best of good fortune on your journey to your new home in the Altai Mountains”

  “He is the reason we are making the trip,” answered the shanyu, acidly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “We have reason to believe that there may be a party of Da Qin traveling with you. We have a message for them.”

  The Da Qin party was gathered out of sight in the center of the compound, but well within earshot. Marcia had left her mother’s side to stand alongside the men. At the last phrase, each of them, including Marcia, drew their swords simultaneously, the hissing of steel reaching the squadron commander’s ear. “You may put back your weapons, please. The Son of Heaven has pardoned you, and ordered that any who harm you are to be executed. That is my message.”

  Aulus looked quizzically at Ibrahim, Gaius Antonius and Aulus. “Can we trust the bastards?”

  “Does it matter?” answered Gaius. “Thirty men are not going to run down a thousand Xiongnu today, and if they intend to take us tomorrow, they’ll come back with what they need. Let’s go see what they have to say, since they know we are here.”

  Aulus and Gaius strode out to stand beside the shanyu. “I am Senator Aulus Aemilius Galba, representative of Imperator Caesar Nerva Traianus Divi Nervae filius Augustus, Optimus Princeps,” Aulus intoned Trajan’s full name and titles in Latin, then in han-yu, “Emperor Caesar Nerva Trajan son of the Divine Nerva, the August one, Best Ruler,” which came off well despite his Gansu country dialect.

  “I see we will have little need for translators,” said the commander, turning toward Wang Ming. Then back to Aulus, “You speak very well. May I commend you?”

  “You need not. Please state your case,” answered Aulus. He saw no merit in being polite. He hoped to goad them into showing their hand early if this was a trick.

  “The Son of Heaven sends his respects, and would like to offer you his hospitality to resume the discussions that were so unfortunately interrupted last spring.”

  “You may tell the Son of Heaven that we have experienced his hospitality, and that of the shanyu here, and of the two, I much prefer shanyu Bei’s. He has yet to sentence us to death, which was the cause of that ‘unfortunate interruption.’ I will, however, convey his respects to Emperor Trajan upon my return to Rome, and if he so wishes, my emperor may send a return delegation. I hope they fare better in Emperor He’s court than did mine. I presume that I am in fact free to return to Rome, or is your intent to drag me back to Luoyang in chains like a common criminal if I refuse his offer to return voluntarily?”

  There was brief but audible intake of breath by the commander at the mention of the Emperor’s personal name, a great and potentially fatal insult. Aulus had made that choice knowingly and willingly. But the commander recovered, and continued, “You are under the Son of Heaven’s personal protection in whatever you choose to do.”

  “Tell the Son of Heaven that we respect and appreciate his offer, and are forever in his debt. We will, however, return to Rome, and give our Emperor a favorable report on his great kin
dness.” Aulus had indeed mastered some of the intricacies of Hanaean diplomatic language.

  “A significant amount of gold and silver was found in your quarters after your departure. The Son of Heaven wishes you to know that it will be returned to the next delegation from your great nation, to do with as they see fit. I thank you, sir, and you are free to go about your business. Please accept a record of safe passage for the rest of your journey.” A black–clad soldier scurried up to Aulus to put a sealed Hanaean document in his hand, then the commander whirled his horse about and the group rode off.

  “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch, did Emperor He just pardon our asses?” hissed Antonius, as Aulus and Gaius came back and the riders vanished in the distance. Marcia quickly translated the document, confirming it was indeed their safe passage under the orders of the Son of Heaven.

  “Looks like it, and they aren’t going to spend the half million sesterces we left in our quarters, either. An unexpected touch of honor there.”

  “Looks like it,” said Gaius. “Well, let’s get back to the family reunion.

  Inside, Vera was distraught. Marcia walked up and hugged her. “I was so afraid they were coming for you and Marcus, and I would lose you both all over again,” her mother said.