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

by Lewis F. McIntyre

  “I am not that stupid, my friend. I have witnesses to connect you to me in a hundred ways. I can show how you tipped the ships, your own and others, to me, how much you got from me and from the piracy clauses in your contract,” he paused for emphasis. “And I know where the money went, and how your books balanced so you never showed a profit where none should exist. I know where your banks are, I know where all of them are. And if I should die or be captured, it is all written down, and my most trusted agents will ensure its delivery to the proper Roman authority. If I go to the cross, you go with me. And your family, your most respectable wife and children, will wind up on a Roman slave market.” He released his hold on the man’s throat and pocketed the stiletto.

  The man came to his feet, nervously adjusting his robes, wiping the blood from his throat. “I did not mean to imply that I would betray you, Ibrahim,” he stammered. “I meant to protect us both. If I erred, I erred on the side of protection.”

  “You did not protect yourself by killing that young man. You attracted more unnecessary attention. Had you killed the centurion as well, in the confines of a Roman army fort, the Roman interest would have become insurmountable, even more so than in the wake of your debacle with the four patricians. There is to be no more killing. We must keep our eyes firmly on our next target, Galba’s new India traders. Do you understand?” he repeated. “No more killing.”

  “I understand.”

  He returned to his seat, and waved his left arm expansively. “Be seated, my friend. Yakov, Jeshua. A chair and some fine wine for my co-conspirator.” A gracious smile covered his lips, as the two bodyguards produced a chair, wine and brass goblets from behind a half-burned roof timber. “A nasty cut on your neck, my friend. You should have it looked at very soon. Things get inflamed quickly here in Alexandria.”

  CHAPTER 9: MYOS HORMOS AND A VERY BAD DREAM

  Gaius and Antonius stayed at Aulus’s inn for a week while they made preparations for the journey.

  Gaius started several letters to his wife, all discarded, a waste of expensive papyrus paper. He decided to procrastinate further until they were in Myos Hormos.

  In the meanwhile, Antonius went about the travel arrangements. Being on imperial orders, the centurion found it only moderately difficult to obtain the necessary passes for the Imperial Post for themselves, and another set for the Hanaeans. On the seventh day, he returned to Aulus’ inn grinning, bearing the fourteen passes, with Trajan’s and the Governor’s signatures. “Here we be, me Excellencies! Signed an’ official an’ everythin’!” Aulus took those intended for the Hanaean party and gave them to Lucius Parvus, his administrator, for delivery.

  The party celebrated with a final all-night tour of the entertainment of Alexandria.

  The following morning, Aulus’ party departed on the Post riverboat down the Nile to Thebes, the Hanaean party to follow later. There they left the boat for a military convoy over the Eastern Desert road to Myos Hormos, stopping briefly to pick up pre-positioned chests of gold and silver from the customs office at Coptos, the emperor’s gift for the Hanaean king, and financing for trading enroute.

  Aulus did not look forward to returning to Myos Hormos. He spent as much time there as he did in Rome or Alexandria, but he never found much to like about the disorderly town, made up of tumbledown mud brick buildings staggering around meandering alleyways. The smell of charcoal and dung cooking fires mingled with the smell of garbage and human waste. Myos Hormos had grown enormously in the past century, but without regard to any form of planning, sanitation or esthetics. And the weather was awful, especially now in the spring.

  At the post station, Lucius Parvus rented a wagon and drove them a few miles along the road to the crest of a hill looking down into the Red Sea for their first view of the area. Although just a bit past dawn, already the heat lay oppressive on the bay, the sea steaming in the still, sultry morning. A hot wind blew in from the Arabian desert across the Red Sea, boiling humidity out of the Red Sea to deposit it like a wet, hot rag on the dirty face of Myos Hormos. Sprawling below them was a swarm of ships entering and leaving the port, mostly the triangular-rigged, low-slung native dhows, and a few larger ships. Aulus, sweating profusely, pointed at a shipyard about a mile away, where three huge hulls lay nestled against the dock, only one rigged with masts. “Our ships! They are nearly complete. Are they not fine, truly fine?”

  Gaius smiled at his cousin. He too was feeling the heat and humidity. “Fine indeed. But where on earth do you find so much lumber here?”

  Aulus pointed seaward at a freighter laboring southward towing a bundle of logs larger than itself. “See there? Lebanese cedar, the best shipbuilding timber in the world. Trekked overland across Judea and floated here under tow.” A battered bireme galley, looking like it had seen one too many combats, labored out into the channel to intercept the ship. “That boat will take it in tow and bring it into port. That’s one of our timber lighters. We got them cheap, retired from the Navy because they’re liable to sink if they stay out more than a couple of hours. The boat is cheaper to replace than to repair.”

  “I’ll bet rowing is hell inside that hull on this very hot day,” said Gaius.

  “To be sure. It is like this most of the time, stinking beastly hot and ghastly humid. Like the desert after a torrential rainfall, they say. And plenty of flies and mosquitoes,” said Aulus, slapping at a swarm of tiny black midges around his arm. “Let’s go down to our quarters, Lucius, and wash the desert off these good soldiers of Rome. Then I want to visit my ship. You and the other servants bunk up in the servants’ quarters, refresh yourself and meet me at noon with the cart.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Lucius, clucking the mules into motion down the hill.

  The road wound downhill steeply, requiring Lucius to apply the brakes several times with a squeal to keep from overrunning the mules. They drove past several nondescript houses and stopped in front of a large stone structure at the entrance to the shipyard.

  “This is it, my lordships,” said Lucius, dismounting from the cart with a leap.

  The reddish tan sandstone structure was in the style of a Roman domus. Two scraggly brush plants contributed a sickly bit of grey-green color to the entranceway, which opened into the atrium with a nicely made pond gracing the center. Some greenery throve here and there in pots, paintings and frescoes decorating the walls. The massive walls did nothing to attenuate the oppressive heat and humidity, which wafted in with the hot damp air. Inside it was quiet, punctuated only by the droning of a particularly large fly somewhere.

  A dark-skinned Nubian appeared, clad in a long flowing white robe with a cylindrical hat. He bowed and passed his hands over his face and chest in a gesture of obeisance and muttered his greeting. “Salaam, lordship. And lordships,” he added, bowing in the direction of the other men. “Welcome. My name is Salawi, and I am head of this household. Did you have a pleasant journey, Lordship?” he said, in rather excellent Greek. Salawi’s face was a shiny dark brown, almost black, the color of dark polished leather. His white teeth shone behind a full smile, and he seemed to give the impression of energy and efficiency.

  “We did, indeed, Salawi. In fact, it was so pleasant that I am most glad that it did not extend another day in the desert. You seem to know me, but just to make sure, I am Aulus Aemilius Galba, guest of Aelia Isadora and Aelia Olympias, who have so generously given us their permission to stay here until our departure. This is my cousin, Gaius Lucullus, legate, his companion, Antonius Aristides, and my administrative servant, Lucius Parvus, whom I am sure you have met before. My other servants are outside, awaiting your household’s directions to their accommodations.”

  “I am most pleased to be at your service, my lordships,” Salawi said, bowing yet again. “May I offer you some wine?”

  “Water, please, after the desert, and a bath,” said Aulus, removing his sweat-soaked kefira from his head. “Lucius, you have done well this trip. Have the boys bring up the baggage, then they are free of
duties. I want to bathe, meet with our hostesses, and visit the ship, then you too are done for the day.”

  Salawi returned with a silver tray holding six Egyptian glass goblets, each pearled with moisture. Aulus took his while Salawi handed out the remainder. Aulus took a sip, savoring the cool freshness, wondering where in this god-cursed heat the water was kept so cool, and fighting down a temptation to bathe in the chilled drinking supply.

  “Thank you, Salawi. Are the Mistresses Isadora and Olympias here?” asked Aulus.

  “We have sent runners for Mistress Isadora at her residence. I expect her by mid-morning. Mistress Olympias is overseas on business.”

  The Romans retired to their quarters and stripped off their sweat-soaked tunics. They reassembled in the atrium with towels about their waists, where Salawi was waiting with wine to lead them to the bath in a room on the far side of the atrium. The bath was tastefully tiled and ringed with perfumes and oils on shelves, the water warm.

  After a lingering soak, the group returned to their rooms to change into the lightest tunics they had, and returned to the atrium as a stately, black-haired matron swept into the room, leaving the whiff of expensive perfume in her wake behind her billowing white silks. She took Aulus in an affectionate hug, kissing him on the cheek. “Welcome back, Aulus Aemilius!”

  “Aelia Isadora! So pleased to see you! Our ships are well?”

  “They are well. The Europa’s masts are stepped, she’s being rigged and is almost ready for sea trials. Hasdrubal is back, overseeing the final fitting out with your navarklos, Captain Demetrios. We will step the others after her sea trials, in case we need to make modifications.”

  “Your shipyard does fine work. There’s no other shipyard here that could accommodate ships of that size.”

  “They were a challenge to my shipwrights, but they are the best on the Red Sea.”

  “Here is confirmation from your Alexandrian bank that we have deposited the agreed-on sum. I don’t need to inspect your work, Isadora. We have done business before.”

  “I had word from the bank that you had done so. I brought the lien on the Aeneas to release to you. You can have your flagship back.” She handed him a scroll, her eyes dancing with glee. “It has been a pleasure owning her, if only as collateral.”

  “It was a good thing government funding came through. Even after the Senate passed it on Trajan’s request, there was always the fear that it would be cancelled, and I would lose my flagship trying to build ships I didn’t have money to complete.”

  “We would have worked something out, Aulus Aemilius, I would never have taken your flagship. We all knew the urgency of your gamble. Someone always wants into our shipyard unscheduled, and your reserved time would not have stayed open long if you had to give it up. But my financial manager is a stickler for paperwork, so the mortgage was necessary.”

  “What is Aelia Olympias up to… overseas?”

  “She is stealing one of your ideas, Aulus,” she said, relaxing the formality. “She wintered over in Muziris to open our own warehouse as you did so wisely a few years ago, to buy cheap during the off-season.”

  “Imitation is sincere flattery. Oh, but I am rude. These are my traveling companions, Gaius Lucullus, legate, and Antonius Aristides, centurion. Gaius is my cousin by my marriage to the beautiful Livia, and Antonius is a long-time companion of his, both from the Twelfth Lighning Bolt up in Syria. Gentlemen, this is Aelia Isadora, she and her partner Olympias are the two richest shipping magnates in Egypt.”

  Gaius took her hand in both of his, “At your service, my lady.”

  Antonius was a bit more intrusive, though with all seriousness, “Charmed, me ladyship, and beggin’ yer pardon, but how does a woman find herself in such a line of work?”

  “You mean, what the hell are women doing in the shipping business?” she said in mock firmness, her eyes twinkling as Antonius came as close to blushing as he ever did.

  “No offense, me ladyship… I’m sorry.”

  She laughed, a hearty deep laugh. “No offense, my good Antonius. You are not the first man to ask that question. In fact, some people think that every ship lost at sea, or every sailor swept overboard, is the gods’ retribution for such an affront to the divine plan as us. Though ships and men have been lost long before I and Olympias took over our late husbands’ business. And that is how it happened, Antonius… they started the business thirty years ago as partners, and we both took a great interest in how it was run, helped manage the books and schedules while we were raising our families. About fifteen years ago, they were both lost at sea, and we were surprised that their wills named us as joint co-heirs to the business. So we began by staring down the men, convincing them that we, not they, owned the business and had the final say. Some took more convincing than others.” She sighed, then continued. “We both miss our husbands, they were wonderful men, but they put a great deal of trust in our business acumen, and we have tried very hard to not betray that trust. Thank you for asking, Antonius, and I assure you again, no offense taken.”

  “I am impressed, me ladyship. Truly.”

  “I understand it takes a lot to impress a centurion,” she said, taking his hand with a smile.

  Just then, Lucius Parvus arrived with the cart, and they took their farewells.

  Lucius drove the cart to the dockyard where the Europa lay, nearly fully fitted out, with the Asia and Africa still under construction. The dockyard was silent and largely deserted as were the ships in the noonday heat. The trio made their way up the gangway. A big, bearded man in multicolored Phoenician dress hailed Aulus, and seized him in a familiar bear hug. “Aulus Aemilius, my good friend, what a pleasure to see you again. Salawi sent word that you had arrived. I trust you had a pleasant trip?”

  “Pleasant enough. A journey more pleasant when completed,” answered Aulus. “My friends, you must meet our sailing master, the great Hasdrubal, finest of the fine line of Phoenician sailors, whom I personally chose to command our merchant squadron. This is my cousin, Gaius Lucullus, legate of the Legio XII Fulminata and his centurion Antonius Aristides.”

  As Hasdrubal’s eyes fell on the centurion, his heart thudded hollowly in his chest. Like that crucifixioner’s hammer so many years ago, thud… thud… thud… thud. He struggled to remain expressionless while his mind spun wildly through scenarios that could link a drunken centurion in an Alexandrian dive to the richest merchant in the Indian trade. Did he, does he recognize me? Oh, gods, is this a trap?

  “Hasdrubal, are you all right?” asked Aulus, concerned at the change in expression in Hasdrubal’s face.

  “I am sorry. It is the heat,” said Hasdrubal, then fixating the centurion with a penetrating gaze, “Pleased to meet you. Have you and I met before?” Better to confront this head-on than to stumble blindly in the dark.

  Antonius returned the intense scrutiny. “Aye, captain, I have heard so much about ye, it seems that I must know yer by sight as well, but I cannot place where we may have met.”

  This man is either a total fool or an excellent actor. “Perhaps we have met in a previous life. You know, some Greek philosophers believe we live our lives over and over again, transmitting our souls at death to another person, creature or deity. That belief is particularly strong in India. They believe that often, when you feel that you have met someone but cannot remember where, that you two have shared a common experience in a previous life.” Or a dive in Alexandria.

  “Perhaps so, me good sir. Perhaps so.”

  Hasdrubal toured the Europa with the men, with Aulus pointing out the similarities and differences from the ship they had visited in Alexandria. Most significantly, she was rigged with the controversial third mast. The Europa was more heavily armed, as well. She was fitted with eight five-foot ballista on swivels, four on a side.

  But while Hasdrubal toured the ship, pointing out the features of the ship which he knew so intimately, his mind grappled with the task at hand, determining if this was coincidence or a trap, and if th
e latter, who set it and how to avoid it.

  The coincidence was that these two just happened to wind up shipping with the richest victim he and Ibrahim had ever staked out. Just coincidentally one of them is related to him. What was it that Aulus Aemilius had said? Cousins. After the centurion had just chanced to blunder into one of the few face-to-face meetings Ibrahim and he ever dared to have, with just the right code word to attract Ibrahim’s attention. And a crock about a report of the deaths of four highly-placed citizens that he himself had ordered robbed and killed. Luckily, the report on that incident stolen from the officia had not added up to what Aristides had said... indicating he must have been onto much more than he let on, but what? How much?

  The group went on touring the ship, Hasdrubal pointing out incomplete work, or work that had been done improperly and needed redoing. But he was speaking by rote, having prepared this tour for days. His mind was not on the task, but on Antonius.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, could it have been in Alexandria?” asked Antonius, as they rounded the bow of the ship.