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

by Lewis F. McIntyre

  On a small table, a washbasin and a ceramic jar was provided for washing. Behind a folding screen was a toilet with indoor plumbing. A large cabinet, complete with carved dragons cavorting along its sides and top, provided storage for their clothing. Their personal chests were on the floor in each room. It was, in all, the most stunning accommodations they had ever seen, but with the theme of elegant austerity that had marked the outside of the building.

  Antonius was impressed. “Hmm, maybe we are the barbarians they think we are. These are nice quarters!”

  Marcus smiled. “Dinner’s at the twelfth hour. Give yourself time to freshen up. The bath is on the first floor to the back, and keep your hands off the girls! They are there to give massages and wash your back, not service your private parts!”

  CHAPTER 38: FELLOW COUNTRYMAN

  No one in Tianjin was more fascinated by the two big western ships than Ma. His name meant “horse,” given to him by the Hanaeans because of his size and strength, and because it was as close as they could come to his real name, Musa. But that was a name he used only with the few countrymen from Arabia who washed ashore in this faraway port from time to time. Perhaps five that he could remember, in the twenty years that he had lived here.

  The ships were clearly Roman, with their triangular topsail, but twice as big as any such ship he could remember from his youth, comparable to the larger Hanaean chuan, and thousands of miles from their home waters.

  Ma hailed the crewmen in Aramaic as they came off the ship. They were glad to find someone with whom they could talk, though his speaking skills in his birth language were rusty from disuse. Musa introduced them to good bars, eateries, and the better brothels, to Hanaean rice wine, and to Tianjin’s unfamiliar, but very good foods. The sailors, in turn, told him about the adventures of the Asia and Europa, the great pirate captain Ibrahim bin Yusuf, and his unlikely alliance with the Romans Lucullus and Aristides.

  So it came as no surprise that in a few days, Ibrahim and Yakov visited Ma’s boatbuilding shop. “Hello, brother, art thou well?” Ibrahim inquired in Aramaic.

  “Quite well! I am Musa bin Ishmael, and thou art Ibrahim bin Yusuf, I presume?”

  “I am he, and this is my trustworthy assistant Yakov. Our crewmen have been quite pleased to find someone here with whom they can talk, and to guide them to good places.”

  “It has been a pleasure. Thou hadst quite the adventures, I hear, in getting here.”

  “More than a few.”

  Musa took off his work smock and put away his tools, stepping back from the boat he was constructing.

  “Wouldst thou two do me the honor of joining my family for lunch?”

  “I would be most honored,” replied Ibrahim.

  The two ducked under a doorway screened by a cloth blanket, into the living quarters at the end of the boat shop. A woman of about thirty beamed a smile at his entry. They exchanged some words in han-yu, then Musa made introductions. “This is my wife Mei Ling, and my children Wo Fan, Han Ju and Kuei Ling.” The boys ranged from eight to about fifteen years old.

  Mei Ling brought bowls of rice, some soup and bottles of warm rice wine. He picked up the chopsticks and demonstrated how to use them. “They are tricky at first, but you either learn to use them or eat with your hands.”

  Ibrahim clumsily tried to follow Musa’s demonstration, and eventually managed to get some rice into his mouth without getting any on his robe.

  “So how did you come to wash up on this foreign shore so far from home?”

  “Well, depending on whether you ask me or the captain, I walked off, or was thrown off, a freighter in Palembang twenty years ago, after I questioned too many of his orders. I got press-ganged onto an Hanaean ship going north, and wound up here. After a while as deckhand, I decided to try my carpentry skills in this boat shop. I build boats the Hanaeans call sampan, “three boards.” That pretty much describes the construction. They come in all sizes, from ten foot poleboats to seventy footers with chuan-rigged sails. The locals like my work.”

  “How did you come to be married?” asked Ibrahim.

  “I frequented the brothels. Mei Link had the misfortune to be the youngest daughter in a large family, and they had sold her to a whoremonger at a very young age. I always treated her nicely, I became one of her ‘specials,’ and after I set up shop, I got the brothel master to sell her to me. It’s been a good life for us, for her especially; most of her friends did not end up so well,” he smiled, obviously content with his life. “So what are your plans?”

  “I want to be a shepherd,” answered Ibrahim.

  Musa spewed wine as he choked uncontrollably in mid-swig. “Sorry! I must have misunderstood… a shepherd?”

  “A shepherd. What I did as a boy.”

  “From what I understand, you are one of the richest, most successful pirate captains in three oceans, and you want to be a shepherd?”

  “I do”

  Ibrahim explained his disgust at his latest doublecross by Hasdrubal, and his desire to settle down and to finish his life the way Musa lived with Mei Ling, raising sheep and children. This path had been closed to him all his life.

  “Well,” said Musa, “I can understand why you would do that, but there is no money or status in sheep-herding.”

  “The Romans paid me a ransom in exchange for seeing them to their destination, so money I have, and the gods can have my status. Here, I can be free to do what I want to do, what I did as a boy, to live outdoors with no threats other than wolves.”

  “Well, if you want to be a shepherd, you will have to go west. The land here is spoken for… every square inch is devoted grows food for people, and there is no room for grazing. West of Luoyang, into the grasslands, that is where you must go to raise sheep. If you are serious.”

  “I am. How far away is Luoyang.”

  “Up river, about three hundred and fifty miles. By boat, ten days to two weeks, against the wind and current.”

  “Mmmh.” Ibrahim stroked his beard. This was much, much further than he had expected to have to travel. He concealed his huge disappointment. Passage he could buy, but when he got there, he did not know the language, customs, writing, anything necessary to get started.

  He wasn’t good enough to fool Musa, who understood at once what was going through Ibrahim’s mind. “I have business in Luoyang with one of my customers, who is special-ordering a large boat, and he has been wanting for me to go over the design with him. I have been putting this trip off for months, but you gave me the excuse I need. You can travel with me, if you like.”

  “What about your business here? You cannot just drop everything and take off like that, can you?” asked Ibrahim.

  “I have an assistant, a Mongol, who manages the shop and keeps the boat construction moving, and my two older sons are capable men. Mei Ling runs the family, and she is used to me being gone on long trips. Would it be just you two?”

  “And maybe two others.” Shmuel had formed a close tie with Ibrahim and Yakov, and claimed some shepherding experience as a boy. And Galosga and he were inseparable. If Shmuel were to jump into boiling water, Galosga would be right behind him.

  “I have a nice thirty-foot sampan, which should handle the five us quite well. Let me show it to you.”

  He led the two to the waterfront at the back of the shop. In the misty rain, his boat bobbed on the water. As he had said, it was square on both ends, odd by Western standards, with the stern three times wider than the bow and much higher; the whole boat sloping down to the bow. Two of the odd-shaped chuan-rigged sails were secured in place, and a long steering oar protruded aft of the stern. Amidships between the two masts was a barrel-shaped passenger compartment.

  “This is one of my best sailing sampans. She sails very close-hauled, with a retractable keel for shallow water. We will be going to Luoyang along the Huang He, the Yellow River so named because it is so silty. When do you want to leave?”

  “Whenever you are ready. I do not want to inconvenience y
ou.”

  “No inconvenience. I will post a letter to my customer tonight, and it will arrive several days before we do. I will help set you up in the sheep-herding business, and see you off.”

  Ibrahim brought out his purse. “Let me reward you handsomely for this.”

  “No reward is necessary. When I came here there were people who helped me, and I had no money to offer them. Otherwise I would have wound up as someone’s slave. In this country, li, social balance, is very important. So, no reward… put away your purse.”

  CHAPTER 39: A VERY UNHAPPY RELATIONSHIP

  Wang Ming had booked the envoys’ passage to Luoyang on a luxurious river chuan, about a hundred feet in length, high stern sloping steeply down to the bow, with three rhomboidal, heavily battened sails. She had individual cabins for each passenger, and a warm bath amidships aft of the galley.

  After touring the river chuan, Aulus, Gaius, Antonius and Marcus returned to the nearby Europa to say goodbye to their shipmates from the long cruise while their baggage was shipped down from the inn. The four were dressed in Hanaean clothing, baggy pants, knee-length smock and woolen robes, well-suited to the damp cold weather.

  One of the first to meet them was Ibrahim, who embraced each with a big hug and kissed them lightly on the cheek in Arab style. “You three look like you are going native,” he jested, though he was similarly dressed.

  “This chill October makes a mockery of Mediterranean clothing,” said Gaius.

  Ibrahim announced the news: “I was fortunate enough to meet a fellow countryman who has lived here for many years. ”

  “How in the hell did he wind up here?” asked Antonius.

  “Musa was stranded here twenty years ago, married, and learned Hanaean from his wife. He opened a boat shop around the corner and knows his way around. He has business of his own in Luoyang, and will take me and Yakov on his boat, and Shmuel and Galosga as well, , near where shepherding country begins.”

  “Argh,” growled Antonius, but with a smile, “I thought we were rid of yer Arab ass. I understand Yakov, but Shmuel and Galosga? I didn’t think they were that close to yer.”

  “Shmuel wants to help with the shepherding. He did that when he was young, and he and Galosga are inseparable,” replied Ibrahim. Ibrahim’s Latin had improved considerably over the past few months, and he had no trouble with Antonius’ speech.

  “Well, I am going ter have a talk with them. They need ter go back home in April!”

  And he went off to talk to them, to no avail. Galosga feigned difficulty in understanding him, and Shmuel said they wanted to see the new land. Antonius warned them that they were on their own, and if they missed the April sailing from Tianjin, they might very well spend the rest of their lives in Ch’in. They accepted the risk. He was seriously concerned for them, but he would not order them to not go.

  He rejoined Ibrahim a bit later, Gaius and Marcus having gone off to see the captain, navigators and some other crew members. “No luck. They claim they just want ter go sightseein’. Damned fools are liable to wind up stuck here for the rest of their lives.”

  “I will do my best to help take care of them. Shmuel will be in my employ. He knows sheep, so he will teach both me and Galosga their ways. So it is not like they will be completely on their own,” said Ibrahim.

  “Take good care of them, I’m really close to those two lads. Here, I want ter give yer a gift.” He pulled out his Roman army dagger, with the abbreviation “ANT ARIST PP LEG XII FUL” carved into the hilt. “This was given ter me when I stood up as primus pilus for the XII Ful. It’s my initials, PP for my title, and the legion. Every time yer look at it, yer can remember how many times I wanted ter slit yer throat with it when we first made our acquaintances.” He put the dagger back into its sheath, and extended it hilt-first to Ibrahim.

  “I am truly honored, Antonius. I don’t want to leave you without a blade, so please accept my own humble one in exchange,” he said, presenting his own dagger. A humble blade it was not. The sheath was jeweled and beaded leather, the blade a rare and expensive watery Damascus steel that held an extremely sharp edge. The ivory hilt was engraved with flowing Nabataean script.

  “My crew gave me this a few years ago. The script reads “Tooth of the Serpent,” the name of the blade. Wear it well, and try not to cut yourself, it is very sharp,” he said.

  “We Romans know a bit about steel, so I don’t think I will. Seriously, I am truly honored. I never thought I would ever consider you friend, but you are.”

  “We have saved each other’s lives several times now. What may come in Luoyang?”

  They took their farewells of the rest of the Europa, and returned to their ship, the Xue Long Snow Dragon. Wang Ming and Marcia were the last to board in the morning, just before sailing on the high tide. She walked ahead of Wang Ming, her eyes focused on the deck in front of her, till she passed by Gaius and Antonius. She looked up, gave the faintest flicker of a wordless smile, and resumed her downcast gaze the remainder of the way to their cabin. Ming was expressionless and said nothing to the two.

  “Mmmh. He has her cowed. That’s not the same lady we knew,” said Antonius.

  “To be sure. Marcus said he was a pig, and I can see why. It is unfortunate… she is a bright and witty woman.”

  Inside the cabin,Wang Ming’s expressionless face turned dark.

  “Did you think I did not see you leering at the Roman barbarians, Si Hoar?” He used her Hanaean name, ‘Western Flower,’ in a voice loud enough to be intimidating but not so loud as to be heard outside the cabin.

  “I was not leering, Ming, I was but …” Her answer was cut short by a slap to her cheek.

  “Do not argue with me! You have had airs about you since you returned from Rome, believing you are something special, with that worthless scrap of paper the barbarian king gave you. You lust after those Roman soldiers because you are the spawn of Roman barbarians and Hanaean sluts who could find no proper husbands! You are a whore and the daughter of a whore!” He slapped her hard again and she tasted blood.

  Whenever these beatings began, she long ago had learned to retreat to a quiet spot, memories of her childhood before they took her away from her family and Liqian. Protestations were futile, they only made him beat her more. She closed him out, but this time she was surprised to find her quiet spot filled with memories of Antonius and their long talks. Such a delightful, awkward man, so embarrassed when he feared he might have offended her… the way he called her domina, ‘lady,’ placing her above him. Those were the only moments she had conversed with a man as equal in her entire adult life. She cherished those days on the Europa, when she thought she was at last rid of Wang Ming and his hatefulness. But that was not to be: the Asia had caught up with the Europa, and Wang Ming had caught up with her.

  Wang Ming usually avoided leaving marks, but his anger surged with her acquiescence and he hit her solidly on the side of her face with a balled fist, sending her sprawling. The pain shocked her out of her quiet spot. He grabbed her roughly up, threw her on the bed, and hoisted up her silken skirt. He dropped on top of her, rutting like a goat until he grunted and spent himself. He then collapsed on top of her and fell asleep. As he began to snore, Marcia carefully slipped out from beneath him, to lay beside him in bitter silence as the ship began to rock gently and move away from the pier.

  The next day, Marcia again briefly left the cabin, passing by Gaius and Antonius without acknowledging their greetings. But her downcast gaze could not conceal the blackened left eye.

  “Marcus is right, the bastard’s a pig!” Antonius was turning purple with anger at the thought of that gentle person being so roughly handled.

  “There’s nothing you can do, Antonius,” said Gaius, putting his hand on the centurion’s shoulder. “She is his concubine, like his slave. If he wanted to kill her, that is his right. It is unfortunate, but there is nothing we can do that wouldn’t make it much worse for her. Let it be.”

  Antonius let it be, but not
easily. He stayed in his midships cabin most of the trip, hoping he would not meet Wang Ming, or worse yet, hear him beating her. He didn’t think he could let it go, no matter what came of it.

  Gaius confided the incident to Marcus, and he confirmed that Ming beat her frequently. “He usually doesn’t leave marks, though. People in the court disapprove of that as poor etiquette, making a dispute with his concubine public. Unseemly.”

  “Unseemly! What do you think set this one off?” asked Gaius.

  “Who knows? He is likely just jealous of you and Antonius paying attention to her. He has a wife and about a dozen concubines. I hope he will pick another favorite some day.”

  “What would happen to her?”

  “Nothing. Rejected concubines just stay on in court, getting old and crotchety. Some get bitter, but Marcia certainly won’t miss his attention.”

  Gaius and Marcus stood by the rail watching the shoreline slip by. A northeasterly breeze favored their course, and the boat followed the river without tacking. The coastline was lined with dikes, and beyond the dikes, the country spread flat and treeless as if it had been planed smooth as far as the eye could see. On the vast plain, hundreds of workers busied themselves in the chilly weather, dredging irrigation ditches, tilling the fields under for winter, burning residue, and spreading winter fertilizer, which filled the air with its tang.

  The river was alive with traffic, from little sampans polling along the shore fishing, to bigger boats going upstream and down, some with sails, some with oars.

  Marcus looked lovingly at the countryside and the brown muddy river. “The Yellow River is the blessing and the curse of Ch’in. Like the Nile, it floods and makes the land incredibly fertile. But unlike the Nile, it has no schedule. It floods when it chooses, and devastates the land when it does. In some places the river level is higher than the land behind those dikes. We try to control it, but the river has a mind of its own. A century ago, its mouth used to be on the other side of the Shandong Mountains south of here. Then in one rainy season, it changed its mind, and came out this side where it is now.”