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

by Lewis F. McIntyre

  “Excellency, it is often useful to have two friends who are themselves enemies to each other. They keep each other in balance, another role of Chung Kuo, the Balanced Kingdom,” answered Chao, using the multiple layers of word meanings offered by the Hanaean language. “The Anxi profit enormously from our trade with the Da Qin, and our mutual security in the Da Yuan lands is a joint effort. Our new relationship with the Da Qin would do no more than hurt their feelings. And any war between the Anxi and the Da Qin would not affect us. In fact there have been several that went unnoticed here. Trade was not affected.”

  “Well said, Master Chao, well said. Well, I think I can comfortably invite our Da Qin friends to a personal audience in the spring, if they do not become bored waiting for my return and depart for home. And I think I shall invite Kore-si of the Anxi to that meeting, just to judge his reaction. Now that the decision is made … let us finish the wine, and become outrageously drunk!”

  The bodyguards arrived at daybreak, and found the Emperor and Ban Chao, each wrapped in blankets and snoring by the smoldering campfire, with four empty wine bottles littering the ground. It took quite some effort to arouse the two.

  Back in Luoyang, Aulus received a letter from Lucius Parvus by Hanaean post. Basically, trade was going exceedingly well, and in fact, so well, that they were in danger of depleting their funds: tons of multicolored silk, silver and jade work of the finest quality, even a small quantity of tea, and amphorae of Hanean wine. Deep in the holds were tons of high grade Hanaean iron, prized in Rome for its toughness, ability to take a fine edge when used as weaponry, resistant to corrosion. Parvus expected a twenty-to-one return on investment, less expenses for the ships’ maintenance and the crew’s share.

  Aulus penned a reply, commending Lucius on his fine stewardship, and promising him ten percent on the net return. He advised him to depart whenever weather permitted as they would return via Hanaean vessel. He then attached an encrypted report to be delivered to the Princeps via Senator Longus, and a personal letter to his wife Livia, and invited Gaius to do the same; Lucius Parvus would see to it that the letters would be delivered.

  Gaius Lucullus retired to his cabin, and pulled his locket portrait of Camilla, studying it carefully. I wish I had pictures of Gaius Secundus and Lucia. We will have to have them made when I return. If I return. It has been two years since I last spent a few weeks with them, and it will be another year, maybe more, before I see them again.

  He picked up a bronze pen and a sheet of fine Hanaean rice paper, and began to write.

  My dearest Camilla,

  I hope all is well with you and the children. We have had an unfortunate delay in our diplomatic mission, and we cannot sail with our ships when they depart next month. We will make arrangements to travel on Hanaean ships after our mission is complete, so we should not be delayed more than a few months.

  He stopped writing to consider that; it wasn’t exactly true. If they did not catch the November monsoon, they might be delayed more than a year.

  But it might be more than a year. I wish that I had insisted on time to be with you and the children before I left. I feel like Odysseus on a storm-tossed sea, but it is not Hera that delays my return, but my own pride, the foolishness of putting other things before you, Gaius Secundus and Lucia, who should be the most important people in my life.

  He studied her locket, and tried to picture the children. But the picture in his mind was already two years out of date, and might be four years out of date when he returned.

  I cannot hold you to Penelope’s high standards, for I haven’t been the husband that you deserve, but a stranger who sleeps in your bed for a few weeks once every several years, the man who must be introduced to his children as the father they do not remember. All I can say is that if you wait patiently for me, I will try to do better for you when I return.

  All my love,

  Gaius

  Gaius read and re-read the letter, his eyes burning, then left to give it Aulus for delivery.

  A week later, Antonius and Ibrahim were seated in Musa’s boat with the monk Demosthenes, eating rice with spicy chicken. Musa and Ibrahim’s companions were seated back further, engaged in a board game by themselves. Ibrahim had just returned from his brief abortive foray into his new calling. Antonius laughed uproariously as Ibrahim related how, in the biting cold weather, he had hoisted the Hanaean shepherd aloft and shook him after he had had the temerity to try to beat him, before swearing off forever his dreams of becoming again a shepherd.

  “I would have loved to see his face!” said Antonius, offering a toast to the ex-pirate. “So what are you going to do now?”

  “I think I am going back to Luoyang with Musa. I can join him in his boatbuilding business,” said Ibrahim.

  “That’s more your style, really.”

  “When I was a shepherd as a boy, we were in the desert. While the desert can get quite cold at night, it is nothing like the cold in the mountains here. It can freeze the flesh off your bones,” said Ibrahim. “It makes me shiver to think of it.”

  “I know what you mean. Up on the Danube, we had lads lose hands, feet, even a whole leg, to cold. Called it frostbite, a good name for it. Well, I am sorry, I know you were serious about being a shepherd,” sympathized Antonius.

  “That was not to be your path. You will find another,” said Demosthenes, raising his right hand in a two fingered blessing. He wore the same yellow robe he had worn a few weeks ago when the weather was warm, with chest bare underneath and one shoulder exposed.

  “How the hell do you wear that in this weather?” asked Antonius.

  “If you do not acknowledge the cold, you do not feel it,” answered Demosthenes with a smile.

  “Sounds like Stoic philosophy to me,” he snorted.

  “What is Stoic philosophy?” asked Demosthenes.

  Antonius introduced another bottle of wine and they proceeded to discuss various aspects of Greek philosophy for the rest of the night.

  CHAPTER 48: A DOMESTIC SPAT TURNS VIOLENT

  Ming’s agents continued to monitor the comings and goings of the Da Qin in Luoyang, but their activities were so uneventful that it became an opportunity for the well-paid watchers to play board games and consume a lot of rice wine while staying within sight of the envoys and their companions. Unbeknownst to Ming’s agents, Mithridate’s agents kept similar low-profile surveillance, avoiding their attention… the Imperial Court would take a dim view of Parthian spying inside the Hanaean capital, even if on foreigners. If it weren’t for the board games and wine, however, this would be a truly boring surveillance. The tall one had returned, apparently quickly discouraged in his shepherding aspiration by the harsh weather. He and his four companions were preparing to return to Tianjin with the advent of better sailing weather on the river.

  In the palace compound, the new-found warmth between Ming and Si Huar had begun to fade. He felt increasingly uncomfortable with her insinuating herself into his business and financial dealings, and she felt increasingly closed out of his life again, so soon after he had allowed her into it. And the other girls in the concubinage, resentful at her sudden ascendancy in his favor, now shunned her as she seemed to be losing stature in his eyes. When she was younger, they had regarded her as a naïve country girl and helped her to fit into palace life. Now they saw her as a threat, the favorite concubine who could wield a vast amount of power over them. As that power seemed slipping through her grasp, they seemed intent on making her life miserable.

  “Oh, poor Si Huar! Not warming your beloved Master Ming’s bed on this cold winter night… I wonder who is in there with him instead?” one taunted her.

  She increasingly sought out the company of her brother Marcus. He made it a point to visit the concubinage as often as possible, afraid that his sister had taken the upturn in her relationship with Ming too seriously, and finding the downturn that much harder to take. His visits were a chance for them to converse wistfully in Latin about their trip to Rome, and M
arcus’ excitement about his new posting.

  “I can’t believe my good fortune,” said Marcus excitedly. “Zheng Zhong has learned of my skill in Latin, and has given me the task of developing materials for palace diplomats to use in mastering that and other Western languages!”

  “Zheng Zhong? The Empress Deng’s head of household? What is his connection with that?”

  “He is very close to the Emperor, who consults with him often on affairs of state. Language, he feels, limits our influence, since so few Hanaeans speak any Western language and have great difficulty learning them, even more writing them. Antonius has been kind enough to teach me some Greek, and I have an appointment shortly with Cyrus Mithridates, the Parthian ambassador, to learn his language. But enough: how are things with you?”

  “Oh, ‘harmonious’ in that he is no longer beating or insulting me. But I have served his purpose. He isn’t unpleasant, just cold.”

  “I am sorry. You were happier last month than I had ever seen you since we left Liqian.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think the Fates have happiness in mind for me. I hope your new duties with Master Zhong bring you some.”

  “It is the first time that I saw an advantage in being a eunuch. They have big roles in palace administration.”

  “Just watch with whom you get involved. There is always someone waiting to stab you in the back, professionally or literally! I don’t want to lose you.”

  Marcus then paid a call on Cyrus Mithridates. “Come in, come in, Si Nuo! I have been expecting you., greeting him in Hanaean. “Zheng Zhou told me of your new assignment and your Latin skills. Have some tea, please, and tell me how a simple farm boy from Gansu province came by such language skills.”

  “Thank you, I will take some tea.” He accepted the tea, but as Cyrus had neither seated himself nor offered him a seat, he drank it standing up. Parthian protocols appeared simpler, and a foreign ambassador, even from the Anxi, were inferior in rank to Hanean court members. Which, he presumed, he now was, under tasking from Zheng Zhong. “We are descendants of Da Qin soldiers, defeated in your country at a place called Carrhae, and carried off to Liqian.” He used the Latin word Carrhae.

  Cyrus did not at once follow the abrupt shift from Hanaean to Latin, and answered with a confused “Huh? Where did you say?”

  “I am sorry, the place called Carrhae in the Da Qin language.”

  “Carrhae? Really? We know it in Parthian as Harran, Karra in Greek. But that was a over a century ago!”

  “Our ancestors served as border guards, taking Hanaean wives, but their children, and their children’s children, grew up bilingual. My ancestor at that battle was Marcus Lucius, and my Latin name is Marcus Lucius Quintus, of the fifth generation.”

  “Interesting! We Parthians are very proud of that battle, we inflicted a major defeat on Rome and stopped their advance into our homeland, but I didn’t know there were survivors. So that is how you come to speak Latin. Please let’s be seated.” He motioned to some well-padded, Western-style chairs on the opposite wall. “Si Huar is your sister?”

  “She is. Her Latin name is Marcia Lucia, the feminine equivalent of mine.”

  “Interesting. And do you write Latin as well?”

  “Yes, our forefathers preserved as much of our history and literature as they could. It was all from memory, but they wrote it down so it would not be lost.”

  “I don’t speak Latin, unfortunately, but I do speak Greek. Do you?”

  “I am learning Greek from Antonius, but I am not yet ready for conversation, maybe soon perhaps. I only know the alphabet and a few courteous phrases.”

  “Well, perhaps if we encounter words without an Hanaean equivalent, we can try Greek. And we know the Greek alphabet in Parthia, which will allow you to do homework and study in your quarters. Of course you also write Hanaean as well?”

  “Yes, and we have had excellent training on the finer points of calligraphy, as part of our preparation for Gan Ying’s expedition.”

  “I have just reached the point where my Hanaean friends don’t stop to ask me what I meant to say when they read something of mine!” He gave a hearty laugh through his oily, carefully-curled black beard. He paused and then returned to conversation. “Si Huar is Master Ming’s consort?”

  “She is.”

  “She is now in great favor, I understand. She was very helpful in preparing him for his first meeting with the Son of Heaven.” Cyrus stroked his beard thoughtfully. “So tell me of your trip to Rome.”

  Marcus related the story, the endless delays in Ecbatana and Persepolis, then the long sea trip down the Gulf, finally arriving in Rome.

  “So you met with Trajan himself, then?” asked Cyrus.

  “We did, and he was most enthusiastic about our arrival. And he gave all of us translators papers affirming our citizenship, as it is hereditary, even to five generations. We may no longer look Roman, but we are Romans nonetheless,” answered Marcus.

  “And what became of Gan Ying? How did you come to be separated?” asked Cyrus.

  “He elected to return overland, as he had not enjoyed his sea voyage at all. He said he would prefer a thousand camels to one ship. But he gave us a copy of his report, in case we returned ahead of him.”

  “Interesting. And was this report presented to the Son of Heaven?”

  “It was, by Master Ming.”

  “How did he take it?” Cyrus inadvertently omitted the Emperor’s honorific, normally most impolite, in his surprise at the news of Gan Ying’s report.

  “I don’t know. It was given to us under Gan Ying’s seal, and delivered that way to the Son of Heaven.”

  They then continued on with lessons in Parthian vocabulary and writing. Marcus was struck by the similarities in grammar between Parthian, Latin and Greek. After about an hour, he left with an armful of scrolls to study, and some simple writing assignments.

  Cyrus pondered the news of Gan Ying’s report. He had heard of the meeting between Ming and Emperor He, but did not know that Gan Ying had provided Ming copies of his report. Hopefully, Gan’s bones were bleaching in some Central Asian desert by now, but Cyrus had no way of knowing that he wouldn’t show up tomorrow. He had assumed that any reports returning with Ming would be fragmentary reconstructions cobbled together by someone not versed in foreign cultures, as Gan Ying had been.

  No matter… the Roman mission had to be sabotaged, but how?

  One day in early March, the weather turned warm and sunny with a blustery wind, following a very cold and snowy winter. Marcia decided to take advantage of the day to go into town and shop for new silk robes for spring and enjoy being outdoors without being wrapped up in thick robes. She spent the morning on the eastern side of the city, wandering in parks, tea stalls, and finally in the clothing stalls. She picked out a particularly beautiful pink robe, decorated with birds, trees, and mountain scenes. The dress’ artwork itself was good enough to hang on her wall. She accepted the robe in a rice paper wrapping, and paid the shopkeeper a few silver coins. The old woman beamed her appreciation, and Marcia exchanged complimentary bows with her.

  As she left the stall, she saw her old friends Gaius and Antonius, enjoying lunch in a food stall, and she hurried over to see them.

  They rose to greet her. “Marcia! We haven’t seen you since January!”

  She smiled happily. “I am so sorry! I don’t get to move around the palace much. But it is such a wonderful day! Antonius, how are you?” She extended her hand in the Western style, and he shyly grasped it.

  “Fine, Marcia! Been missin’ our long talks,” answered Antonius. “And the Han-yu lessons, such as I remember ‘em. ‘Mama qí mă. Mă màn. Mama mà mă.’”

  She clapped her hands in glee. “Yer’ve been practicin’! That’s perfect!” she replied in her attempt to mimic his soldier’s fractured Latin.

  “Yer ain’t so bad yerself, domina!” Antonius smiled, getting into the swing of the reacquaintance.

  “An’ I tol’ yer before, I
ain’t yer domina!”

  Everyone settled into a happy reunion, swapping stories and making the past few months seem as nothing.

  Across the street, Ming’s watchers noted Si Huar’s effusively happy get-together with the Da Qin soldiers. After a few hours, they dispatched a runner back to the palace.

  About sunset, Si Huar returned to her quarters in the concubinage with her new dress, full of happiness over the reunion with her old friends, only to find Wang Ming waiting in her quarters, stiff and cold, obviously angry.

  “And where have you been?” he asked.

  “In town, shopping,” she replied with a smile, hoping to defuse whatever he was upset about. “I bought a beautiful new spring robe,” indicating the wrapped bundle.

  “And what else?”

  “I met Gaius and Antonius in town, and we talked for a while. I haven’t seen them in months.”

  Ming smacked the left side of her face with his hand, knocking her head around. As she put her hand to her stinging cheek, a tiny trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth stained her fingers. “I told you not to whore around with the Da Qin soldiers!” he said, chillingly soft.

  Si Huar tried to find her mental quiet place, to endure the beating that was to come. But instead of her quiet place, she found anger at the sudden warming, then refreezing, of their relationship, rage that the abuse of the past ten years was about to resume.

  “You animal! How dare you beat me like that!” She rushed at him, slapping him in return on the side of his face. Though it left a red handprint, it did not draw blood. “I am not a whore and you are not to call me that, ever again!” She picked up her package and hurled it at him. It glanced off, but Ming was taken aback by her fierceness. Never had she resisted him before. He grabbed her by the arm, slapped her again, but she struggled free.