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

by Lewis F. McIntyre

  Antonius approached a librarius. “Lad, I’d like ter be getting’ information on shippin’ through the Red Sea.”

  The librarius, a blond-headed youth of perhaps nineteen, did not appear to shave regularly as yet. But he came alert at Antonius’ words, looking up from the pile of wax tablets on his small desk. “Are you embarking at Myos Hormos or Berenice?” he asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” answered Antonius.

  “We can get you down the Nile and overland to either port. We have passes for the Imperial Post riverboats as far as Thebes, then caravan passes across the desert on the new road. You can make your own arrangements, of course, but this is safest, fastest and cheapest. It’s how we keep up the garrisons there.”

  “What about shipping out from there ter, say, Sabaea?” asked Antonius.

  “You’re pretty much on your own for that, sir. What few troopers as come and go there, go by way of the merchants. Go down to the Western Harbor, and find the Tavern of the Bull and Dove. Bull and Dove is at, lessee, the Street of the Lampmakers and Avenue of Astarte. Sort of behind the temple of Poseidon, about three blocks. Just ask. Everyone knows where it is. The merchants hang out there and they have some sailing schedules posted. The best of the lot is Hasdrubal, a convoy master from Tyre. III Cyr tries to make most of their arrangements through him. He’s expensive but supposed to be first-class...”

  “Anyone to avoid?”

  “A devil named Ibrahim bin Yusuf. Unfortunately, no one seems to know just what he looks like, except he’s pock-marked. Been wanted since before I was born, and the price on his head gets bigger every year. Took four passengers on a little outing south of here on the Red Sea a few months back. Of course, they never did make their destination. The men were found floating off the beach, face down; the other two was wife and daughter to one of them, never seen again. Probably slaves to some Bedouin now. They was a patrician family, too. Real high-born. If you hear the name, just let the urban cohort know right away, though he’s almost certain not to be seen in a place like the Bull and Dove.”

  “Keep it in mind. I be off now.”

  “Well, when you get more information I can get you there easily. Good luck downtown.”

  A niggling doubt intruded in Antonius’ mind. It almost seemed like he knew exactly what to tell me, as though he had rehearsed just that answer. Who, what, when, where. But no, he is just a young enthusiastic lad, wantin’ ter show off what he knew.

  Antonius knocked on the door, interrupting Gaius’ revery. Gaius opened the door, still wearing just the towel, and Antonius immediately noticed his sad expression. “Excuse me, sir, did I interrupt somethin’? Yer lookin’ glum, sir. Bad news?” he asked with a look of concern; Gaius seldom allowed bad emotions to show.

  “Oh, no, Antonius, concerned about my family, that’s all. I won’t be seeing them for a while.” He cleared his throat. “We have an appointment with the legatus at mid-morning tomorrow, and Senator Aulus Aemilius would like us to meet him at his country taberna this evening. In the meanwhile, I thought I would visit the Library here. An opportunity to learn something about the Hanaeans there, I am sure. Would you care to join me?” He seemed to be regaining his usual good humor.

  “I’ll be checkin’ on some travel things in Alexandria, sir, or I’d be glad ter join yer. But we can ride in an’ back tergether. As fer the Senator, such things make me uncomfortable, I think I’ll just return to the fort, if yer don’t mind.”

  “Nonsense, Antonius. The three of us are going to spend a lot of time together for the next year or two, so you might as well meet him now as later. You’ll find him a most affable sort of person.” Gaius shrugged on a fresh white tunic.

  Antonius grumped, but acquiesced.

  They walked over to the stables to check out horses and set out for Alexandria, the fresh cool seabreeze in sharp contrast to the broiling desert heat that they had endured in body armor for the eight hundred mile trek from the Twelfth’s camp.

  “So you think you’ll learn something about the Hanaeans at the Library, sir?” he asked Gaius as they rode along.

  “They have hundreds of thousands of books, from every language. If it’s written down, it’s in there.”

  “And if yer can find it, sir.” Antonius chuckled.

  “Yes, and I am hoping they have assistants for that.”

  “Just be careful how many questions yer ask, sir. Someone might notice, someone we don’t want ter meet.”

  “To be sure. Good counsel, centurion.”

  Alexandria loomed into view shortly, alabaster white against the deep Mediterranean blue, its famous lighthouse on Pharos towering over the city. As they watched, the top of the lighthouse flashed briefly but brilliantly, and within a minute, it flashed again, and then again, piquing Gaius’ curiosity. “I wonder how it does that?”

  “Don’t be knowin’ sir, but they got real marvels here, temple doors what open by themselves, some little steam engine that spins so fast yer can’t see it.”

  They entered the western Moon Gate to the Canopic Way, the two mile colonnaded thoroughfare through the center of the city. The main thoroughfare was easily fifty paces wide, broader by far than the most spacious avenue in Rome, with carts, wagons and horses, and an occasional camel, proceeding with an order that would never be found on a Roman street. Opposite the Library, they found a livery for the horses.

  “All right, Antonius, you go your way - what did you say, the Bull and the Dove? – and I’ll go across the street to the Library. Be back here about sunset.”

  “Right, sir and enjoy yer visit.”

  Antonius dived into the city stews north of the Canopic Way. He had not liked turning down Gaius’ offer to join him in the visit to the great Library. But he was Gaius’ centurion, and first things first… he had to get a feel for the details of the first part of the journey, let the legatus deal with what they would find when they got there.

  The streets were narrower by far than the broad thoroughfares of the ‘uptown’ Alexandria, and not paved. Water from discarded baths, night pots and the gods only knew what else, pooled in muddy puddles in the streets. Drunks staggered across the streets or dozed in alleyways, although it was just after noon. Vendors hawked their wares under tents in a many languages... some Antonius understood, some he recognized, and some he had never heard before. He rounded one corner onto Astarte Street, and two men erupted from the doorway of a bar, landing in the fetid mud with a splash. As a crowd gathered, they both came to their feet facing off against each other with short daggers. On the periphery of the crowd, he heard men begin to take bets on the two...”The short fat one, five to one. I’ve seen him fight...”

  Antonius pressed on, not glancing backward at the sounds of the fight. Further up the street, women of every race were propositioning passers-by from the balconies of apartments on either side of the street, ranging in age from barely children to well past matronly, from flaxen-haired Germanic-looking maadchen to ebony Nubians. Well, at least he could tell Lucullus that he got in to see the whorehouse district.

  At last the neighborhood improved a bit as the alley opened out onto the Street of the Lampmakers. The peddlers in human flesh and misery gave way to vendors in pearls, wine, glassware and fine cloths. A shabby merchants’ taberna loomed into view, a wooden signboard with a faded painting of a bull and a once-white dove announcing it as the Bull and Dove.

  Antonius entered the swinging door, his eyes blinking in the dark. He took a rough chair by a table near the rear. This kept his back to the wall, and his eyes on the bar and the front door. Next to him was a rough curtain of dark cloth, that might once have been red, and in the candlelight behind, servant girls washed dishes. The smell of charcoal and cooking mingled with stale wine and Egyptian barley beer. To his left, some well-dressed men in Arabic garb argued explosively in Aramaic two tables over, their hands gesticulating violently. Other patrons in shabby garb sat alone or in small quiet groups, one fondling a girl who appeared to be a profes
sional.

  “Wine or beer?” a servant asked, giving the table a perfunctory wipe with a filthy rag.

  “Wine. Watered by half.” Keep yer wits about yer. This place smells like trouble.

  “Sure.” The servant, a skinny type from somewhere in Asia Minor, returned with a bowl of red wine, Egyptian style. Antonius tossed some copper coins on the table. “I understand this is the place to come for shipping information,” asked Antonius.

  “Shipen... Inform? No speak...much Greek.”

  “That’s all right. Nothing.” The boy just speaks enough Greek to serve the customers, Antonius growled to himself. “All right,” he repeated again in Aramaic, waving him off. Should have spent more time learning that accursed Aramaic. This don’t seem like much of a merchants’ shipping office, just yer basic dive. Think the kid just steered me wrong. I’ll just have some wine and move on to see the sights in town. Shoulda gone ter the Library.

  A weasely-looking man slipped out of the shadows, and took a seat opposite him at the table, uninvited. “Looking for shipping information, are you, my Lordship?” He said in Greek, with a rasping Nabataean accent.

  “Off with you. I am just enjoying some afternoon wine,” Antonius replied.

  “I can get you a day trip for you and girlfriend. I can get you girlfriend if you have not. Very romantic… and cheap.”

  “Not interested. Bugger off!” Antonius was getting distinctly annoyed. Weedlers like this are tryin’ ter set yer up fer bein’ robbed or kilt. He put his hand on his dagger, loosening the strap on the thigh sheath.

  One of the well-dressed men who had been arguing loudly turned slightly to watch the exchange. Dressed in the thick white robes of the Arabian style, he had a green headcloth which draped to his shoulders, an intricately braided headband holding it place. He barked something to the weasel in a language Antonius did not recognize; the weasel gave him an irritated look and scuttled off to find someone else to annoy.

  The man turned to Antonius and smiled widely. “My apologies to you, great sir. Such scum bring great disgrace on the good merchants here at the Bull and Dove.” He spoke nearly flawless Greek, with the slightest of accents that was difficult to place.

  Antonius was only slightly grateful. More than once, he had seen such weasels used to earn someone’s trust in such situations, trusts quickly betrayed.

  “He paddled off quickly when you challenged him. He must know you. Are you in the shipping business?” inquired Antonius.

  “I own but a few antiquated craft that ply only the safest of waters. But I would be happy to put these vessels at your disposal, if it is within my capability to ascertain your destination.”

  “I get seasick easily. I actually was just sightseeing, and this looked like a place for a quiet bowl of wine. A cut above the places on Astarte Street.”

  “Are you with the III Cyrenaica?”

  “What makes you think I am under the eagles?”

  The Arab laughed pleasantly. “You are either in the army, or you are a gladiator, and that is not a popular sport here in Alexandria. Or maybe an oarsman on a trireme. No one else has such a physique! And judging by your age, I would expect you to be a centurion, maybe a senior one. I know most of the Third’s centurions, and don’t recognize you, so I presume you are new. May I refill your bowl to welcome you to the finest city in the world?”

  “You’re very observant. I’ll take another bowl, watered, please.”

  “So from where do you hail?”

  This guy is good, too good. A Parthian spy, perhaps? “Up north. Vindebona on the Danube in Noricum with the XX Gemina.” All the better for being partly true. Just not recently. Skip the more recent tour opposite Dura Europos on the Syrian border.

  “I understand it is quite cold up there.”

  “In the winter. Sometimes cold enough to freeze the river over. But the summers are nice. Rough country, the mountains come right down to the river’s edge, thickly forested on both sides.”

  “When did you arrive?” asked the Arab.

  “Just yesterday. But forgive my rudeness. I have quite forgotten your name.” Forgot nothing! The bastard never gave it, just been pumpin’ me for information.

  “Oh, but please forgive me. It was I who forgot to introduce myself, I am Ibrahim.”

  Antonius went cold inside and struggled to bring his breathing under control, not betraying his recognition of this name. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.” In the dim light, he could make out a pock-marked face behind the wiry gray and white beard. Somehow, he had expected someone more obviously evil, more like the denizens of Astarte Street, than this urbane and obviously highly-educated Arab. And he certainly hadn’t expected him to give his real name. No wonder this man had so easily lured a patrician family to their death. If he was this man, if that story were true. His mind spun, as he sought a way out of this dilemma. His senses tingled, remembering what the lad had said: Go to the Bull and Dove. Find Hasdrubal and avoid Ibrahim. Had that innocent-looking lad just set him up, and for what purpose?

  “Ánd your friend?” asked Antonius, nodding at the second man at Ibrahim’s table.

  “He is a fellow merchant, but wishes to remain anonymous. We are supposed to be competitors, but sometimes we collaborate on the side. It would not matter to you, but walls have ears in this place. You understand, I hope.” The second man looked at Antonius and nodded politely, saying nothing.

  Antonius took the man’s face in at a glance, while trying not to appear to pay him too much attention. It may be important to remember what Ibrahim’s anonymous friend looked like. Black beard, dark hard eyes, square leathery face, like someone who spent a lot of time in the sun. Fortyish, medium build and stout, not gone to fat. Cowl covering his head, apparently not wanting to be recognized.

  “And you are…?” asked Ibrahim.

  “Antonius.” He had to offer him something to keep the conversation going, then find a reason for getting the hell out of here and back to the safety of the camp, without revealing his suspicion of the man’s identity. “Forgive my evasiveness, my good Ibrahim. I wished to know with whom I spoke. How did you come to be such a wealthy merchant prince?” When in doubt, flatter. And Greek is such good language for flattery.

  “My father was a sailor, who died several years ago leaving me my poor flotilla.”

  “So…. to where do you sail?”

  “Here and there. I carry people and cargo as best as I can handle.”

  “Any trouble with pirates?”

  Ibrahim’s eyes grew sharp as he returned Antonius’ gaze. “No more than any other merchant. I have lost some ships and crews, of course. Most sad,” said Ibrahim with smile.

  “Some passengers, too?” Watch his reaction.

  “There have been some passengers lost, yes.”

  “On one of your ships?”

  “No, on a colleague’s ships. Very sad. A lot of attention from the authorities on us poor merchants, as though this were our fault.”

  “Hmm, sure did attract attention. Especially since they were very high-born family, close friends and relatives of Trajan himself.” A crock of manure, that bluff. Will he buy it? “Understand the emperor was real put out. Wants to know what’s going on down here in Alexandria, personal report and all.” Give the line a good tug, see if he bought it.

  The waiter came up, noting Antonius’ empty bowl. “Another, sir?”

  Antonius affected a small slur to his speech. “Yes. But this will be my last, as my purse is running low and I must be back in camp by nightfall.” Pretend to get a little drunk, then give him a reason to let me walk out of here alive. Hm, yes, maybe this will work. “

  “Oh, do not worry, my good Antonius. It would give me great pleasure to buy you this next bowl.” The Arab laid a leather bag on the table. Several silver denarii spilled out through the bulging open mouth. He casually picked out four denarii with his fingertips and separated them from the rest. When the waiter returned with the bowl, he slid them across th
e table. “This bowl is on me, for Antonius, my good Roman friend. So…when may this report go out?”

  “No idea… I just got here, and picked this up from conversations with my messmates today. Expect a lot more attention, especially if any more Romans start disappearing around here.” There, that might let me get back safe. Or not. Antonius finished his bowl of wine, noting that it was not watered, then stood up. “I need to be getting back.”

  “Please sit down again, Antonius. At least let me buy you another drink. Waiter! another!” he gestured at the skinny servant, sliding more denarii across the table.

  Alaia jacta est. The die is cast. If he buys this crock, I get to see daylight tomorrow, and explain all of this to Lucullus. Or wind up in some Alexandrian alley, my purse and dagger gone, my throat cut, no one knowing what happened to me.

  Ibrahim sat silently, stroking his beard, his eyes turned inward for a moment.

  “No, thank you, my good friend Ibrahim, I must be back before sundown. By the sun’s angle, there’s perhaps an hour’s worth of daylight left.”

  Ibrahim rose with him, bowing to him graciously with his arms spread wide in supplication. A huge gold chain around his neck swung free, glinting in the late sun streaming through the door. “It is a pleasure to talk with one as astute as yourself. I look forward to our next meeting.”