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

by Lewis F. McIntyre

  “Yer uncle Mercator... was a merchant? How did yer wind up in the army then?”

  “Well, I guess I liked to fight a lot. I didn’t handle being orphaned very well and resented the other kids with parents. I was a hellion, and my uncle Mercator finally sent me off to an old retired soldier, Commodus, who had commanded the III Gallicae, back when it really was in Gaul. He ran a military school for us wealthy ne’er-do-wells, spoiled rich kids who needed his approach to discipline... a major drawback to the upper classes, Antonius. Our children turn out terrible!

  “So anyway, he had no qualms about beating any of us who didn’t snap to his orders. It didn’t make any difference whether it was Greek grammar, mathematics, sword drill, or athletics...you did it his way, or he put you on your butt. It was just what I needed to keep me from feeling sorry for myself. Some of the other kids didn’t fare so well. He just returned them to their parents and refunded them their money. He wouldn’t waste time on kids who wouldn’t try. So when I turned seventeen the army seemed natural. Uncle Mercator funded my stipend when I joined, because I had no inheritance. I guess if it hadn’t been for the army, I would have been one more broke high-born snot, sucking wine neat in the dives and telling the whores how much money I was going to inherit... someday. Hustling business deals on the docks at Ostia.”

  “Somehow, I don’ think so, sir. Yer far better than that. Yer know, we watch the orficers an’ we sees some good ‘uns an’ some bad uns. Yer one of the good uns. Yer take care of yer troops, an’ yer care if they has a dry place ter sleep, an’ yer lissen, when we tell yer how we think we should deploy. Yer allus lookin’ down that patrician nose at us... but it’s as big an act as me vulgar Latin. Yer trouble is...yer really care about people. An’ people care about yer... that makes yer a great orficer.”

  Gaius was silent. He had never wondered if his men liked him or not. He assumed they did not, except maybe for gruff Antonius. He didn’t think they hated him. He knew they respected him, and maybe feared him. But the idea that they actually liked him touched him deeply. Especially since the lives of so many had been summed up in a brief papyrus letter to a parent, a brother or sister, or even to a live-in harlot. “From Gaius Lucullus, vale! Your Lepidus, or Marius, or Cornelius was a noble Roman soldier who died valiantly...” He didn’t have to write them, but he did, and how many had he written? The muster roll of a cohort of dead Roman soldiers, men who had died under his command. And in each, he gave some personal detail of the man for his family. The idea that these men felt affection for him...Gods curse it all, he had loved each of the hard-headed lot like a brother! His eyes grew hot and moist. “Thank you, Antonius... that means a lot to me.”

  The following day, Marcia sought out Antonius, standing alone by the rail. She stepped up beside him and put her elbows on the rail, her white Roman stola gown rippling in the brisk wind, along with her long black hair, now undone. “Hello, Antonius, may I speak?”

  “But of course. I am afraid I offended you yesterday, and I want to apologize.”

  She laughed, a beautiful laugh like a bell. “My goodness, I wanted to apologize to you! I was terribly rude yesterday.”

  “Well, I’ll accept yours, if you’ll accept mine. There was something you didn’t want to talk about, and I intruded.”

  “You didn’t know. It is hard for me to talk about… Ming. To answer your question yesterday, he sometimes wants me around all the time, and then wants nothing to do with me for weeks. It is good for me to be away from him for a while.” She said this while staring out to sea. Antonius could see she was having trouble talking about this.

  “I am sorry,” said Antonius.

  “There is nothing I can do. Thank you for accepting my apology, I must go now.”

  “To be sure. May fortuna smile on you.”

  She smiled. “I don’t think fortuna speaks Hanaean! But thank you.” And she left.

  The ships pressed southward, day after day at a snail’s pace. Gaius, Antonius and Marcus met frequently to chat, but Marcia remained in her quarters.

  As they sailed south, the humidity and temperature moderated. After two weeks they rounded Dehalak and turned eastward through the straits to moor at Eudaemon Arabia.

  CHAPTER 16: TO THE OPEN SEA

  Mostly weathered mudbrick huts and a few modest administrative buildings, Eudaemon Arabia was important as the last jumping off point into the Indian Ocean. Here, ships came to await the coming of the June monsoon to carry them to India, their holds laden with gold and silver. Here, the ships replenished food and water for the long weeks at sea, and the crew sought out gods to guarantee their safety, or easy women to ensure one last memorable port of call.

  And here again the ships returned in December, the fall northeast monsoon blowing them back laden with spice and silk, cinnamon and pepper, ivory and animals for the Roman games. One by one they staggered back to port like drunks from a binge, heavy-laden, sails in need of repair, hulls leaking, masts jury-rigged after storms, to be repaired and dispatched up the Red Sea. The port earned a steady income servicing this trade, and a few people became very wealthy. But the streets were not paved with gold, though Sabaea was the legendary ‘Land of Sheba’ celebrated in Judean and Arabic legends about an ancestral monarch named Solomon.

  There was an imperceptible Roman presence in Eudaemon, a praetor externa and a tiny staff to represent Roman interests with the ruling Homerite kingdom. The emissary had a few retired soldiers as guards, highly polished to add a touch of class. The residence was a whitewashed building at the end of a road lined by a colonnade of palms. The rear of the mission opened out onto a white beach, where the endless surf rolled in restlessly from the East.

  Aulus, along with Gaius, Antonius, Hasdrubal, Wang Ming and the five Hanaean translators, arrived there shortly after the ships docked. Two of the guards stood at stiff attention beneath the golden eagle clutching the SPQR logo in its talons above the doorway, their lances blocking the entrance. Two bronze Roman she-wolves, their teats swollen with milk, were caught in mid-stride on marble pedestals either side of them.

  “Senator Aulus Aemilius Galba of the Indian Ocean Flotilla, to see the Ambassador!” announced Aulus, in a commanding voice.

  “Enter, sir, you are expected!” The lances snapped vertical and the two sentries rendered a crisp salute as the group entered into the cool interior. A fountain bubbled in the atrium, and the polished mosaic floor glistened with scenes from the Aeneid. The ambassador entered, clad in a fresh white toga, with a wide purple stripe.

  Aulus embraced his old friend. “Marcus Pomponius, vale, you old devil! And how did you get such a desirable posting, on your way to power and influence? Most people would open their veins in their baths before coming this far for duty! Allow me to introduce you to my party: My cousin Gaius Lucullus, his centurion Antonius Aristides, both of Legio XII Fulminata, and my shipping master, Hasdrubal of Tyre.”

  Aulus then introduced the Hanaean party. “I believe you met our Hanaean party a few years ago. Wang Ming is our Hanaean delegate and this is his woman Marcia Lucia, sister to Marcus Lucius, both translators, along with Titus Porcius Quintus, Marcellus Albus Sextus, Pontus Valens Quintus, and Marcus Lucius Quintus, also translators. They may not look Roman, but then these days, who does anymore? Wang Ming is returning home with us, but knows only a little Latin. Best talk to him through Marcia Lucia.” Wang Ming bowed to Marcus Pomponius politely, but said nothing, standing with his hands in his wide sleeves, out of sight across his chest. Marcia Lucia was clad in an Hanaean silk robe, decorated with flowering trees, silent, eyes downcast.

  “Pleased to meet of all of you, for the second time” said Marcus Pomponius, beaming broadly and clasping each of the Hanaeans’ hands in turn firmly in both of his. He turned to Aulus, “Aulus Aemilius, yes, we met these people three years ago, washed up on our shores when their Parthian captain sailed off without them. They found us here, thinking they were in Rome. Which they were not,” he said with a chuckle. “But
we got them there anyway.” Marcus Pomponius paused, then continued, smiling at the group. “It is amazing how well they preserved their language and traditions from generation to generation. You know, they can recite more of Ennius and the plays of Plautus than I can. And they learned them all from scraps of memories written down by their ancestors, not the original books!”

  “Interesting. I happen to have a set of Plautus’ plays on my ship. I shall give it to them as a gift,” offered Aulus. “I was in the Senate when the whole delegation was honored. Their story is truly remarkable.”

  “It made me proud to be a Roman, what they did.”

  “So… how did you come by this fine assignment?” asked Aulus.

  “Well, this isn’t bad duty, if you like independence. I get to meet the wealthy merchants like you, and occasionally do one of them a big favor... like get them into the shipyard for repairs ahead of everyone else! Those favors do pay off later, you know!” He laughed heartily. “How was your trip down?” he asked Aulus.

  “As miserable as ever. I wish we could have just flown on a bird over that horrible piece of water. Not until we cleared Ptolemais of the Hunt did the steamy heat leave us. The escorts slowed us down, but these new ships promise to be fast. I am looking forward to getting into the open ocean and bending on all their sail. But now, perhaps lunch?”

  CHAPTER 17: HIJACKED!

  Antonius thought about going out to town with the crew the day before departure, then reconsidered. Gaius had retired with Aulus to the embassy to write their final letters to their wives, so Antonius just loafed around the silent ship with the in-port crew.

  He was surprised to find Galosga, part of his security force, sitting cross-legged on the deck in the forward part of the ship. Galosga was always incommunicative and standoffish; many of the crew thought him a deaf-mute or slow-witted. However, he could understand a little Aramaic, if it was simple and spoken slowly and clearly, about as well as Antonius himself spoke that language. “Why thou not in town, drink, women?”

  Galosga smiled, “No want. Drink no good. Make head hurt. Women, no money.” Antonius was intrigued with the man, for he seemed so different, as though drinking and whoring were foreign to him. “Why not you?”

  The question seemed innocent. And why not me? Before he left Syria, an afternoon’s carouse was a welcome diversion. He remembered fondly the farewell that the other centurions had put on for him in Syria, the night before he left on this trip. Drinking silver denarii from flagons of wine while the rest of the centurions clapped and chanted “Bibe, bibe, bibe! Drink, drink, drink!” at an increasing pace, until he displayed the denarius in his wine-soaked teeth. But that was different there. Those were his friends and equals, lives owed each other in mutual debt, shared tents and meals and storms and fears and fights and narrow escapes, from the Danube to the Jordan. These sailors had their shared experiences too, but they were not his, and his not theirs. Maybe some day, but not today. He replied, “Not my people.”

  Galosga nodded his head, “Not mine.”

  Good explanation, as good as any.

  Antonius tried to find out more about the stranger’s home, learning that he had lived in wooded mountains far from the sea, but Antonius could not figure out where. Ending the conversation, Galosga spread out a blanket, distributing around him the contents of a leather bag from around his neck. They were mundane items: some animal bones in one corner of the blanket, some dried herbs in another, a sealed animal horn. Galosga took his knife from a belt sheath, and began to mash the dried herbs in his hand with the knife.

  Antonius stared at the knife. In Noricum along the Danube, delicately fluted stone arrowheads and spear points were a frequent find as the legionaries dug ramparts for their camp. He had seen dozens of these tools, alone or intermingled with the bones of men or animals. But he had never known anyone, even the primitive tribes of the far north, who used anything other than metal tools. And he had never seen a stone-bladed knife attached to a handle, ready for use.

  Antonius reached across the blanket to touch the knife, which Galosga handed to him. Antonius examined it carefully, turning it over and over. The stone blade seemed of recent manufacture, for the flecks on the side appeared fresh and the blade quite sharp. The blade was short, perhaps three inches, and securely attached to the wooden handle by sinew. The proportions seemed odd, for the handle was nearly twice as long as the blade and slightly curved. But when he hefted it in his hand for carving, it balanced perfectly. He returned the knife, “You make?” Galosga nodded. “Make another?”

  “Cannot. No have...,” he used his own language. “Dawisgala.”

  “Dawisgala? Tool? Stone?” said Antonius, repeating the foreign word as best he could, and the Aramaic words slowly and carefully. Suddenly Galosga’s face lit with understanding, and he shook his head affirmatively, “Stone!” It appeared to be some kind of a flint.

  Galosga continued his preparations, and indicated that Antonius should sit beside him. The centurion smoothly seated himself into a cross-legged position next the man, aware that this was some type of religious ceremony. He watched in silence as Galosga opened a moss-filled animal horn and blew in it until a wisp of smoke curled up from inside, then filled the end with the dried herbs until they began to smolder. He fanned the horn with a large feather to spread the pungent smoke, while chanting rhythmically in his own language.

  Galosga handed him the horn, and Antonius repeated the motions respectfully, imitating the rhythm of the chant, if not the words, then handed the horn back. Galosga set the horn down to continue smoldering. “For good trip,” he said, smiling.

  Well, I’ll be damned. The man’s praying for a safe journey.

  The two sat in silence for a while, just contemplating the smoke as it curled up out of the horn. As the last wisp was tugged away by the afternoon breeze, Galosga put a wooden cap over the horn, and picked up the paraphernalia on the blanket “I thank thee,” he said, with great care to say the Aramaic words just right.

  Antonius nodded, “And I thank thee, Galosga.”

  Antonius took his leave for dinner and retired to his quarters. Since Gaius and Antonius were the senior passengers onboard the Europa, they had been given the spacious master’s cabin to share. Antonius broke out a flagon of wine from the wine rack and poured some. Arrgh, if I don’ feel right sharing me last night in port with me mates on the ship, I’ll share it with mesel’ an’ a fine bottle of wine. He kicked his feet up on the other chair, and watched the sun set through the open windows of the cabin.

  About ten that night, Gaius Lucullus, Marcia and Marcus returned with the captain Demetrios, and the in-port crew became active, making the necessary preparations to get underway at daybreak. The ships became alive with the sounds of boxes being opened and closed, cargo shifted, sails shaken out and checked, and lines checked for tension.

  About midnight, the off-duty crew began to return, the shouts and songs of drunken men echoing up the pier as they staggered back. Antonius watched the swarm of men attempting to find their ship on the pier, dimly lit by guttering torches. There were some loud splashes and cries for help, as sailors mistook the pier side for the ship. Others, their arms about each other’s shoulders, made it to the gangplank. However, the wiser ones crawled, rather than walked, up the narrow board to the ship.

  Some of the sober in-port crew were dispatched dockside to help their shipmates aboard, but an hour later, there remained a stubborn bundle of bodies snoring on the dock, unresponsive even to blows of a club. Two other sailors reeled about the dock, unable to climb or be helped aboard. Finally some ingenious crewmen swung out the cargo boom with a net overside. The dockside crewmen loaded up the sleeping drunks, and manhandled the two ambulatory drunks into the net as well, to be hoisted aboard to the cheers of their shipmates. They swung the bundle into the forward cargo hold, where its payload could sleep off their overindulgence out of the way of the morning deck crew. Antonius chuckled, then turned to Gaius. “Looks like they had
a fine night tonight.”

  Gaius laughed also. “Just remember, Antonius, these will be sailing our ship tomorrow!”

  The thought was a sobering one... so to speak. There would be some agonizing heads tomorrow, sweating off their hangovers in the broiling sun.

  The convoy got underway at daybreak, some of the crew moving decidedly slower than usual. By midmorning, the ships had formed up in their escort formation, Tigris and Nilus taking their turn in the van, and Euphrates in rear guard. The ships flew colored pennants, so that they could be easily recognized from miles away. The three warships each flew a long, thin pennant from their mastheads, the Nilus green, the Tigris blue and the Euphrates yellow. The merchant ships flew large square flags, the Asia’s flag white, and the Africa’s black. The Europa’s red flag snapped smartly in the stiff breeze over the heads of Gaius and Antonius.

  The first leg was southeast, to the headlands on the African coast of Far Side opposite Arabia. Then, as on the long leg down the Red Sea, they sailed by day, and anchored off sheltered harbors by night. However, the galleys set a much better pace, with one bank of rowers in the morning and another in the afternoon, sailing only in the heat of noon.

  On the morning of the fifth day, the galleys got underway with greater than usual eagerness as the convoy left the African continent behind them. A hundred or so miles over water lay the big island of Socotra, where the galleys’ escort duties ended. A double bank of rowers kept up a steady pace on the galleys, and the three big ships finally began to sail with more speed, deploying their topsails. The ships heeled a bit, meeting the swells with an abrupt impact that sent a shudder through the hull. The convoy opened their interval a bit, and a few hours after sunset, a baleful fire-lit glare loomed on the horizon, the lighthouse of the naval station at Veni Etiam. Somehow the name seemed appropriate after such a long journey. It meant, “I made it this far.”