But Timonides frowned now as he watched his son taste a pinch of pepper at a spice seller's stall. Nestor's craft had slipped of late. Too much salt, not enough oil. Delicacies such as cow's eyes and sheep's testicles overcooked and ruined. Did the boy, in his strange way of thinking that was both simple and complex, sense that they were trying to get out of Luoyang?
Primo finally appeared in the crowd, looking cross and anxious. And he was alone. When he neared his two friends, he glanced over his shoulder before saying quietly to Sebastianus, "Bold Dragon is dead. His headless corpse was found floating in the river."
"Ming discovered our plan."
Sebastianus immediately thought of Little Sparrow, who had never come back to his bed after the night of Bold Dragon's visit. He had inquired about her, but had been met with blank responses, as if she did not exist. He was not in love with her. His feelings for her were always of the moment. While his body was with the girl from a northern province of China, his heart was always with Ulrika. But still, her absence had made him wonder.
And he wondered now if her disappearance at the same time Bold Dragon was killed was no coincidence. Sebastianus had been warned about being kind to the pleasure-girls. They could be grasping and jealous, the eunuchs had cautioned. They wove intrigue among themselves, during their long days of boredom, with each one striving to rise in rank above the others. Had Little Sparrow overheard his secret conversation with Primo and Bold Dragon, and then reported it to someone on the emperor's staff? She would have been richly rewarded, he decided, for warning the emperor of their plan to escape.
Sebastianus hoped that whatever Little Sparrow's reward for her treachery, she was enjoying it. Because now it was going to be impossible to get out of Luoyang.
"Master," Timonides wailed, "tell the emperor what he wants to know."
"You cannot do that," Primo hissed. "To divulge Rome's military extent, strengths, and weaknesses would be treason."
"And if we never leave here?" the astrologer snapped. "Caesar would understand."
"Or send us to the arena."
"Look!" Sebastianus said, pointing. They saw Noble Heron riding toward them in his familiar red and gold carrying chair.
The high official stepped to the ground. "Esteemed guest," he said to Sebastianus with an elegant bow. "It is my humble honor to inform you that the Lord of Ten Thousand Years intends to make a journey around the countryside to introduce his new empress to his vassal peoples."
A few weeks prior, Ming had been persuaded by his mother the dowager empress to elevate his consort, Ma, to the lofty position of empress. Luoyang had exploded with celebrations. Ma was popular with the courtiers, and the citizens of Luoyang loved what they had heard about her. Sebastianus himself admired the young lady, who was humble and solemn for one so elevated. The other imperial consorts and princesses were all surprised at how thrifty she was, as Ma often wore less expensive silk, and without elaborate designs. Emperor Ming consulted her often on important matters of state.
Noble Heron continued, "The Lord of Ten Thousand Years wishes to show his love and respect for his empress in front of his subjugated peoples, and to allow them the privilege and honor of paying homage to her. As part of the continued celebrations marking her crowning as empress," he said, nodding toward the many colorful paper lanterns that still decorated the market square after weeks of festivities, "the entire royal court will set out upon a journey to visit the countryside, and the Lord of Heaven wishes to invite his guests from Li-chien to join the happy journey."
Sebastianus and Primo exchanged a glance, each thinking that the festive journey most likely had more to do with parading the powerful presence of the Han Family and to gather intelligence on possible rebellions. It was well known that North Xiongnu continued to be a constant threat to both Han and her ally South Xiongnu. Although Emperor Ming engaged in a variety of military and economic tactics to try to maintain peace with North Xiongnu, the peace was shaky. A show of might was called for.
As they watched Noble Heron ride away, Sebastianus said excitedly to his two companions, "My friends, I believe this is the opportunity we have been praying for."
33
T
HE FIERCE HORSEMEN LINED up to face one another on the grassy plain, a hundred to each side, their husky mounts—the famous steppe horses with dense fur coats and thick skins, and known for their endurance—spirited and eager for the fray. The riders wore tall felt hats, leather trousers, and sheep's wool tunics. They called themselves Tazhkin and considered themselves to be the hardiest people alive because their ancestors came from a harsh realm at the southern edge of the Gobi Desert. It was said that, in combat, the screams of these warriors so curdled the blood of the enemy that they dropped dead before a single dagger was thrown.
And yet, somehow, Emperor Ming's father, the great Guangwu, had managed to defeat the Tazhkin with his forces and turn them into allies of the Chinese empire.
A great crowd stood along one length of the plain, men and women of the Tazhkin, but Chinese, too, from Ming's enormous retinue. The emperor himself was not in view, but rather was ensconced within his heavily guarded pavilion, as it was discovered that his wife was pregnant, and her many advisors cautioned that for her to look upon combat would instill a violent nature in her child.
But it was not truly a battle that was about to take place, it was a game. They called it "polo" and it was played by two teams of a hundred horsemen each, and consisted of swinging long sticks at a leather ball as the riders galloped at reckless speeds across the grassy plain.
Sebastianus stood with his companions in the boisterous crowd, waiting for the game to begin. He knew now why they had been invited along on this inspection tour—so that Emperor Ming could further demonstrate his power by parading his "guests" to his subjugated peoples, men from fabled Li-chien who served a powerful ruler—but not as powerful as the Lord of Ten Thousand Years.
In every province, village, and territory they visited, Sebastianus had observed the emperor with his advisors sitting beneath a magnificent red and gold canopy, surrounded by servants and guards, conferring quietly. Sebastianus listened at campfires as he made the acquaintance of strangers. He told Primo to talk with local soldiers. If an uprising were fomenting against Emperor Ming, proud warrior clans chafing under the yoke of the Celestial Ruler, Sebastianus wanted to know. An outbreak of war would be their opportunity to escape.
When Sebastianus had once considered simply asking the emperor's permission to go home, Noble Heron had warned him that such a request would be a great insult to the Heavenly Lord, as it would tell the world that the emperor's hospitality was lacking, for why else would guests wish to leave? In order to save face, the Lord of Ten Thousand Years would have to counteract by increasing his hospitality to the foreign guests by making their stay in Luoyang even more luxurious. And they would still be prisoners.
And now the tour was over, tomorrow they were to return to Luoyang. Both Sebastianus and Emperor Ming knew that the Romans' usefulness had come to an end. Both were weary of the novelty of this first meeting between east and west. Sebastianus suspected that Ming would be pleased for them to leave, to return to Caesar and inform him of the might and power of Emperor Ming. However, to allow the Romans leave would cause Ming to lose face. To allow them even an avenue of escape, no matter how cleverly staged, would be perceived as a weakness of the emperor's security guard.
And so they were at a stalemate, and Sebastianus was at a loss to find a solution.
At his side, standing in disgruntled silence, Timonides watched the polo match with a jaundiced eye. An idiotic way to pass the time, he thought as he marveled at the fever-pitch frenzy of the spectators who screamed and jumped up and down and cursed and cheered. Chariot races were so much more civilized. Timonides could not wait to get back to his own world. He was looking forward to the fame they were certain to enjoy in Rome. There would most likely be a triumphal parade in their honor, and feasting that would go o
n for days. Rice and noodles were all well and good, but he missed sinking his teeth into a loaf of good hot bread dipped in olive oil.
Nestor exploded with laughter and clapped his hands. It made the old Greek's heart expand with love to see his son enjoying himself so. He knew that Nestor did not grasp what he was watching, that there were points to be won and prizes to be had. The boy just liked watching the horses thundering back and forth amid the shouts of the riders. And after all it wasn't necessary for Nestor to understand the game because Timonides knew that his son's simple mind was now a repository of countless recipes for exotic dishes that were going to make him very popular in Rome.
We will open an eating house near the Forum and people will come from miles around for a taste of fabled China. Senators will sit at the tables of Timonides the Greek. Perhaps even the Emperor himself ...
The polo game ended and the visitors from the west—who bore the extreme distinction of being guests of the Emperor of China—were invited to dine in the tent of the Tazhkin chief. Ming and his empress, and their entourage of over five hundred, dined separately in a collection of red and gold pavilions that made up a small village. Sebastianus and his friends were not part of that elite, unapproachable clique.
The banquet put on by Chief Jammu was surprisingly sumptuous, with expensive delicacies and costly wine that flowed freely. As Sebastianus and his friends sat cross-legged on elegant carpets and dined off brass plates, it was apparent that this was a wealthy tribe. Jammu's many guests, the heads of noble families, were healthy and well dressed. The men wore tall hats made of colorful felt, with sheepskin vests and woolen trousers, while the women wore pantaloons beneath long silk shifts. Maidens covered their faces with veils while the wives of prosperous men festooned their foreheads with gold coins. Many villages and settlements the emperor had visited were inhabited by farmers barely making a subsistence living, but these Tazhkin, with their platters heaped with meat, and goblets brimming with wine, were wealthy.
From what? Sebastianus wondered.
The usual dancers and musicians, jugglers and acrobats were brought out to entertain the men from the west, while Sebastianus tried to describe Rome to Chief Jammu—now with the aid of a fourth translator who spoke Chinese and Tazhkin, so that Sebastianus wondered how accurately his information was being conveyed, going through four men as it did.
More wine flowed and the music grew louder until Chief Jammu—a large, barrel-chested man with missing teeth and bronze skin—began to boast about something Sebastianus could not comprehend. The translators, it seemed, grew less skillful the more the wine loosened their tongues. And so when he hefted his large frame from the carpet and gestured to his guests, Sebastianus and Primo and Timonides had to rise with him and wonder where they were being taken.
Outside, they found imperial Chinese guards standing watch, as they had done since leaving Luoyang—a constant reminder to Sebastianus that he and his companions were prisoners—and they fell into step behind the small group as the chief led them through the chilly spring night.
They arrived at an enormous tent, even larger than the one in which they had dined and been entertained. It glowed from within and was guarded by Tazhkin soldiers, who snapped to attention when they saw their chief. Sebastianus could not imagine the purpose of so large a tent, or why it was guarded, and he suspected that he and Timonides and Primo were about to be shown the tribe's treasure. He imagined gold and gems as the chief bent his tall frame to step through the opening.
They followed, with Timonides making sure his son did not bang his head on the wooden door frame, for Nestor was taller even than the Tazhkin chief. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light of the interior, the visitors from the west frowned at the sight before them. "What is this?" Timonides asked, taking in the rows of tables that appeared to be covered with balls of white cotton.
They were led closer, and saw that the "cotton balls" were lined in rows and pinched between long wooden dowels, thousands of them, lying on the racks like snow. Through the translators, the visitors learned from Chief Jammu that what they were looking at were the cocoons of silk moths. The man from Pisa, who spoke Persian and Latin, explained that the special moths were husbanded like cattle or sheep, nurtured and protected until they lay their eggs on specially prepared paper. When the eggs hatched, the newborn caterpillars were fed fresh leaves, and after one month were ready. A wooden frame was placed over the tray of caterpillars and each began spinning a cocoon, attaching it to one of the long dowels in the frame. Within three days the caterpillars were completely encased in their cocoons.
The caterpillars were then killed by heat, and the cocoons were soaked in boiling water to soften the silk fibers, which were then unwound to produce continuous threads.
The guests followed Jammu as he boastfully described this process, and Sebastianus knew that he was omitting certain steps because it was illegal for anyone other than silk farmers to know the secret of making silk. So carefully guarded was the secret of manufacturing silk, in fact, that it was a death sentence to even try to smuggle a single silkworm out of China.
It took five thousand silkworms, Jammu bragged through his missing front teeth, to make one silk robe. Which was why, Sebastianus and his friends knew, silk was so costly in Rome, especially as it must pass through so many middlemen after leaving China, with each raising the price in order to make a profit. Were this secret ever to make it back to Rome, along with moths to start a small silk farm, the lucrative business here in China would dry up.
At the conclusion of the tour, the visitors were treated to a dazzling sight: rows of racks holding harvested silk that was awaiting only to be woven and dyed and made into scrolls, wall hangings, kites, clothing. The long silky filaments, bundled so thickly that they resembled a woman's tresses, glowed like white gold in the flickering torchlight. Sebastianus and his friends were speechless at the sight of the gossamer strands, worth even more than gold or the rarest of gemstones.
Thanking the chief, who was now swaying on his feet, the men from Rome retired to their tent to rest up for the journey back to Luoyang. They could not get the sight of that luxurious silk out of their minds, and as they undressed, Timonides said quietly, "Master, if we could obtain some of those worms, those cocoons, and take them back to Rome, we could be wealthy beyond measure."
Sebastianus pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it down. "The punishment for smuggling silkworms is death, my old friend. It isn't worth it."
"But still," Timonides said wistfully. "We would be the most famous men in Rome. Nestor and I could buy ourselves a villa, a comfortable retirement ..."
"You will always have a home with me. Go to sleep, old friend. We have just one day to find a weakness in the emperor's security, and then we are prisoners in the city again."
When Sebastianus doused the lights and the tent was in darkness, and presently both he and the astrologer were snoring, Nestor lay on his pallet staring up at the ceiling.
For a long time now he had sensed that his father was unhappy, and Nestor loved his Papa very much. He had sought ways to please him, had searched for gifts in the marketplace, but nothing had shone for Nestor. A gift for his Papa had to be special.
He thought of the silken threads in that big tent. They would make Papa happy. He could buy a villa. Papa would be comfortable.
Nestor crept from his tent and loped swiftly and silently through the sleeping camp. He remembered where the shining hair was because it was in the biggest tent, which stood silhouetted against the stars. He saw the guards at the entrance and would have walked right in, but then he saw their spears and he wondered if they were hurtful men. So he went around the side, searching the perimeter of the enormous structure made of goatskins and felt, until he was on the other side, and there were no men with sticks here.
The tent was well anchored into the hard ground, but Nestor was big and strong and he was able, after much grunting and groaning, to lift the staked wall and crawl under it. By
the light of the few torches that glowed inside the tent, he saw the beautiful white filaments, bundled like a lady's hair, hanging from pegs.
Nestor helped himself, curling his big thick fingers around the clump of silk strands, and then he paused to look at the white cocoons spread out on tables. He wanted one of those, too. Another gift for Papa.
Nestor was so intent upon reaching for a cocoon, trying not to break it or disturb the tiny caterpillar sleeping within, that he did not hear the guards enter the tent, was not aware of their presence until he turned around.
Nestor thought that if he smiled at the men with the clubs, they would not hurt him.
IT WAS THE FINAL game of the week-long polo match, and tension and excitement filled the air.
Timonides searched the crowd. Where was Nestor? He would not want to miss this game.
"What is that?" Sebastianus said, pointing out onto the field where the two teams were lining up with clubs.
Timonides squinted out over the sparse grass. "It's the ball—" He gasped. "Great Zeus!" he cried.
Sebastianus and Timonides ran out onto the field, where Nestor's head rose out of the ground. They saw the packed earth around him and realized in horror that the simpleton had been buried in a deep pit up to his neck.
Before Sebastianus and Timonides could reach him, horsemen rode up and barred the way. "You must stop this!" Timonides cried. "My son has done no wrong!"
Sebastianus turned and dashed away from the field to the canopy beneath which Chief Jammu and his military aides sat on wooden chairs. When Sebastianus demanded to know what was going on, the chief said, "The man was caught in the Silk House stealing from us. He had silk in his hands, and a cocoon. The punishment is death."
"But he didn't know! Nestor has the mind of a child!"
The Divining Page 26