Stone knew why. It was because she felt his warmth. His body should have cooled by this time. She was about to realize that he was alive.
She looked at his face. She put her ear to his mouth, to listen for his breathing.
“I am not dead,” he whispered. “My plate protected me.”
She stared at him. She put her hand square against his neck, feeling the pulse there. She seemed uncertain how to react.
“Nor even wounded,” he whispered. “I pretended to die, so that I might return to my wife, who is as lovely as you, and was once a slave, like you. I love her.”
She put one hand to her hair, in a mannerism startlingly similar to Seed’s, as if assessing who might be more lovely. This girl was not beautiful, being rather too plain of face and spare of body, but surely loved the suggestion that she might be. Now she had to decide whether to tell the warriors that one enemy body was alive, and sacrifice the one who had complimented her, and be the cause of one more death, or to let him be.
“I would have done the same for you,” Stone whispered.
That decided her. She passed her flat hand across his face, as if closing the eyes of the dead. Then she checked the rest of his clothing, removing his good cape, armlets, bracelets, collar and shoes. She stood and deposited these things in the pile, then spoke briefly to a male slave. She went on to the next body.
Two male slaves came. One took hold of Stone’s arms, the other his legs. They lifted him and carried him unceremoniously to the wagon. Then they swung him and heaved him up onto the pile of bodies in the wagon. He landed, rolled, and came to rest sprawled amidst cool, partly naked corpses. Already the smell was hardly sweet, though the bodies had hardly begun to decompose. His emotion was not horror; rather it was relief. His ploy with the slave girl had worked, and she had told the males to keep the secret. He had been processed through as a corpse.
He lay unmoving, afraid that any twitch could be observed. Soon another body was tossed up, and it rolled and came to rest partly on him. That protected him somewhat.
As evening came, a driver hitched up two horses and got on the front of the wagon. Someone else joined him. He drove down the street, which seemed to have been cleared of bodies. The front gate opened, letting the wagon out. It rolled on through, leaving the town behind. There was another horse leading the way, Stone realized; he heard its hoofbeats ahead, now that the noises of the town were gone. That would be either a Chinese or a Wu-Sun warrior, directing the operation.
The wagon left the road and cut across a field. The wheels bumped across stones and ruts, making the piled bodies bounce. Stone would have extricated himself from the pile, jumped off, and run, but he was afraid the horseman was watching. He could yet be hunted down and killed, if he were spied alive. If only the wagon had gone out alone! But of course there was a supervisor along, and the driver would take along a slave to dump the bodies off. No free person did any work that he could make a slave do. So Stone bided his time, hoping for his chance.
As he waited, he realized that even if he got free without trouble, it would not be easy. He was not heavily clothed, after losing his cape and boots, and the night was already cooling, and it would be a long trek barefoot to rejoin his clan and family. Assuming that they remained where they had been. More likely they had gotten news of the slaughter, and were moving out, fleeing the wrath of the Chinese. He would likely perish of exposure, exhaustion and hunger, trying to reach them as he was.
Yet what was there to do but try? Perhaps he could forage for food and clothing, and get by. If only he had been able to save at least a knife, so he could kill a sheep and have meat and fur for a crude shawl. But his life and blood-soaked robe and trousers were all it had been possible to salvage, thanks to the kindness of the slave girl he had flattered.
The wagon came to a gully and stopped. This was where they would dump off the bodies, for the wolves and vultures and ants to feed on. He hated the thought, but he might be able to salvage something from those bodies. Any remaining tatters of cloth, or anything that the slaves might have missed. It was gruesome, but possible.
The horseman spoke, in a language Stone couldn’t follow. The ones on the wagon answered. Stone stiffened. One was a female voice! The driver had brought along a woman.
And the woman was a slave. She came to the rear of the wagon and began pulling at bodies. One slid as she tugged at a foot or arm, and finally rolled off, hitting the ground with a thunk. She hauled at another, bringing it down. Then she put her hand on Stone’s bare ankle. She squeezed, feeling its warmth, then let go.
It was the slave girl he had spoken to! He couldn’t see her, but only she would be so sure of him. She must have volunteered to come along for this distasteful chore, replacing one of the men. She knew about him. What did she have in mind?
Meanwhile the man was working similarly on the other side of the wagon. The horseman was silent, perhaps watching.
Another body slid, rolled, and thunked down. And another. Stone was now mostly uncovered.
The slave girl moved to the side, and more bodies fell. He could hear her grunting as she labored to get them down, for each was heavier than she was. The driver helped her with some. Every so often the horseman would rap out a command to make them hurry, when they seemed slow.
She returned to Stone’s side. He saw that she was now wearing a cape, being no longer naked. No danger of stealing anything here! She paused, reaching inside her cape—and brought out a knife. Was she going to kill him herself?
She laid the knife down beside him. Then she hauled on another body, grunting again. She was letting the horseman know how hard she was working. And she hadn’t let him know that there was a live body here. One that was now armed.
Stone grasped the knife. It would be invaluable for his foraging. But first he had to get away from here. He did not want to hurt anyone.
The girl and driver hauled off the last body. Only Stone was left. Now he had to go. Should he let them just haul him off to thunk on the ground, and lie there with the other bodies? Or should he jump down and run, hoping that the horseman wasn’t looking?
He decided on running. He rolled himself to the edge of the wagon, and got ready to move.
But the girl was there before him, blocking his way. She shook her head quickly no. She made a gesture with two hands, as of drawing a bow.
Oh. The horseman was a bowman. Stone could not hope to escape an arrow. So he would have to go the dead meat route. Now he could see the man astride his horse, facing away, not deigning even to watch. But any good steppe warrior could track by sound as well as by eye. He would know the moment anything unusual happened.
The horseman spoke again, urgently. He was of the Western physical type, large, with the edge of a red beard showing. The girl did not haul Stone down. Instead she grimaced and went to the horseman. Stone saw the man dismount and turn toward her, grabbing for her cloak. No question what he wanted. She was a female slave, bound to do the man’s bidding, if he owned her. But that did not seem to be the case. She must have gotten him to agree to let her take a male slave’s place by indicating that she would be amenable to his desire. Now it was time to deliver. Apparently a female slave could deal on her own to that extent, agreeing to pleasure a man without telling. If a man raped another man’s slave, he would be in trouble with the owner, so this was worth his while.
Stone turned his head, risking a look at the wagon driver. This was a male slave, perhaps one of those who had lifted Stone to the wagon. That would mean that he knew of Stone’s condition. The man was staring at the scene by the horse, his face frozen with repulsion.
Suddenly Stone understood. The driver and the slave girl were lovers! The girl had helped Stone, and she had brought him a knife. Now he knew what she wanted of him. Her own escape, and that of her lover! It he ran away now, while she was distracting the horseman, not only would he be leaving her to something she did not desire, he might be getting her in worse trouble. He doubted he could run
away without being spotted, even when the Wu-Sun was focusing on the girl. If he did, the horseman might make a body count, and realize that one was missing. Then the slaves would have to try to explain how they had lost a body. That could cost them their lives, on a day like this.
The warrior tore open the girl’s cloak. But as his head turned, his blue eye caught sight of Stone, still on the wagon. He grunted with surprise, pushing the girl away and reaching for his bow. She grabbed hold of one end, preventing him from using it. He struck her, knocking her to the ground. He lifted his bow, reaching for an arrow. The male slave stood frozen, not daring to act even in this extremity, or perhaps knowing the futility of the attempt. Slaves were not noted for initiative.
Stone had no further choice. He scrambled up on the wagon and lunged for the bowman, using the height of the wagon to give him a high takeoff point. He leaped right into the bow with its lifting arrow, stabbing forward with his knife. Then his body struck the man’s head and shoulder, bearing him down. There was a horrible scream.
Stone scrambled, trying to get free of the Wu-Sun before the warrior got organized. Then he realized that the man was not fighting him. The knife had driven deep into his chest, and he was dying.
Stone reached, took hold of the hilt of the knife, and pulled it out. The warrior twisted on the ground, blood spouting from his chest and his mouth. Stone could not stand to let even an enemy suffer needlessly. He jammed the knife into the man’s throat, stopping the blood from going to the head, and death followed immediately.
He looked up to see the slave girl watching. “Take his clothes,” she said. “And the wagon. And us. You said you would.”
It was true. Stone had meant it only as flattery, but it constituted an offer. She had done her part; in fact she had done more than enough. While her lover had gone along, passively. Stone would have wondered about that, if it hadn’t been so similar between him and Seed. She had always been the one to take action, while he had always gone along. Only when he was alone and in trouble, as now, did he take firm action—and even so, he had really been following the slave girl’s lead, once she decided to help him. She might not be as lovely as Seed, but she was similar in the other respect. Her lover had chosen well—or perhaps been fortunate in the woman who chose him.
He gave her the knife to clean and keep, and got to work on the Wu-Sun’s clothing. There was a toughened leather vest which would have stopped the thrust of the knife, if the man had not opened it in preparation for his encounter with the girl. There was a military hat, and good boots. The man was larger than Stone, so it was easy to use the clothing. He wiped off some of the blood by rubbing the vest on the turf, and put it on.
When he was dressed, he did something else he found distasteful. He used the warrior’s knife to carve into the man’s face, mutilating it beyond recognition. Then he hauled the bare body into the gully, and piled two other bodies on top of it. Now it would be difficult to tell that this had not been another enemy cavalryman. Others would not know the exact body count. They would assume that the warrior had gone elsewhere, perhaps even stealing the wagon and slave girl.
Stone mounted the horse and took the reins. The girl and her lover got on the wagon, as they had been before. They started off. It was now dusk. They would have to ride through the night, but Stone knew the way, even in the dark.
Stone spied another wagon, with its accompanying horseman. He barked a command, and the empty wagon drew to the side to let the loaded one pass. The other Wu-Sun warrior saluted him and rode on. Stone breathed again. They resumed their motion, and soon left the established trail, heading for Hsiung-Nu territory.
Stone had a strong feeling of déjà vu, as if he had done something like this before, though he was sure he hadn’t. He had never been in an actual battle, and never brought home slaves to free. Yet, somehow, it was as if he had.
That reminded him of what he had to do. He turned to the couple. “You are no longer slaves, as of this moment,” he told them. “I will take you to my clan, where you may live as free people if you wish, learning our ways, or you may go elsewhere. My family will help you as much as you need. I know my wife will, because she remembers. You will be safe from molestation. You have given me my life; we shall give you yours. Is this fair?”
“Yes,” the girl said, and smiled. They rode on through the night, satisfied.
The Hsiung-Nu had once had an extensive steppe empire, but the determined actions of the Chinese generals of the Han Empire fragmented them into factions and set them to warring against each other. They were of diverse racial stock, Mongolian, Turkish and Iranian. Some of the western clans may have merged with other steppe fragments to form a new people, called the Huns, who lived in the region of Lake Balkhash and west, still menacing the Silk Road. They were at this stage unknown to the inhabitants of Europe, but this was to change.
Later the expanding empire of the Eastern Goths—Ostrogoths, originally from the Scandinavian region—encroached on the territory of the Huns, provoking them into conquest. The Huns destroyed Goth power and drove many other tribes before them. These tribes entered the Roman Empire, and were responsible for breaking it apart. The Huns themselves invaded Europe. They were in the end repulsed, but the Roman Empire never recovered its former power, and Europe was set on a course which became recognizably modern.
Thus it may be said that the civilized Etruscans led Rome into empire, and the uncivilized Huns drove it back into barbarism. History, however, is more complicated than that.
CHAPTER 16
* * *
T’ANG
Perhaps China’s greatest dynasty was the T’ang (Tang), which originated in A.D. 618. It was founded by Emperor Kao Tsu of the Li family with the capital at Changan (Chang’an or Ch’angan) on the Wei River in north-central China—one of the great cities of history. There were about one million people within its walls, and another million outside them. It was laid out as a perfect rectangle, to reflect the shape of the land of the gods, six miles east-west and five miles north-south. The streets were laid out in perfect parallels, with the central thoroughfare leading from the main entrance on the south, the Vermilion Gates, north to the Imperial City in the center. There were more than one hundred neighborhoods, centers of business, art, religion and residence.
The emperor was called the Son of Heaven, and was regarded as virtually divine. The politics of the Imperial court were, however, somewhat less loftily laid out.
LOTUS Flower stood before the Kan-yeh-ssu convent, daunted. This was a wing of a Buddhist monastery, holy and beautiful, but also formidable for a girl of twelve.
“It will be all right,” Ember reassured her. “It is an honor to serve in the Son of Heaven’s household, and you will learn much. It is also an excellent business connection—and we do need that.”
Lotus knew it. Her mother Crystal was a scribe with a small printing shop, and her father made beautiful print blocks for it, and her grandmother Ember did her best to run the business efficiently. But they were Buddhists of northern lineage, of a minor Shansi clan, in a time when Confucianism and the Four Great Clans were dominant in government. Consequently their once-successful business had dwindled, and if they did not soon find Imperial favor, they would be impoverished. This service of Lotus’s represented an avenue to such favor. It was this responsibility, as much as the job itself, that frightened her.
“Oh, Lotus, we wish we did not have to do this!” Ember said, hugging her tightly. “But it will only be for a year, perhaps, and we know you will be well treated. Never forget how we depend on you.”
“Never,” Lotus agreed, trying to stifle her tears. Then they went on into the convent.
The head nun was gracious. She wore a saffron robe and a cap over her head. “Yes, we expected you,” she said. “You must understand, this is highly unusual, but it is the will of the Son of Heaven.”
“We understand,” Ember said. “My granddaughter is discreet.”
“An excellent quality.
” The nun turned to Lotus. “You are to serve the Lady Wu Zhao, who has been recalled to the palace, though she is presently a nun. She was until two years ago a courtesan of the Son of Heaven, and retired here when he died. You will obey her implicitly, and never speak of her business to others. Do you understand?”
Lotus forced her tongue to operate. “Yes,” she said faintly.
“I will take you to meet her. If she finds you acceptable, you will return here to bid parting to your grandmother, then will remain with the Lady.”
“Yes,” Lotus peeped.
She followed the woman down a hall to a plain chamber. There stood a woman in a saffron robe, with a hood pulled close about her head to shroud her face. Lotus hastily bowed—and lost her balance, almost falling. Horrified, she righted herself. She hadn’t even been introduced, and she had already made a mistake!
“Please,” the woman said to the nun. “Let me talk to her alone for a moment.”
The nun withdrew. The woman approached Lotus. She drew back her hood to reveal finely formed features. “You are Buddhist? Shansi? Of good family?”
Lotus, too choked to speak, nodded her head.
“And you feel shame.”
Lotus nodded again.
“I am to appear at the Son of Heaven’s court,” the woman said. “See my head.” She pulled her hood off so that her full head was exposed.
Lotus stared. The woman was completely bald!
Zhao smiled. “It is the style of a Buddhist nun. Did you not know that?”
Lotus struggled, and managed to speak. “Yes, Lady. I just thought—”
“That I would grow my hair back, when I left the nunnery. Certainly I will. But that will take time. Meanwhile, should I appear before the Son of Heaven like this?”
Isle of Woman (Geodyssey) Page 36