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

by Lewis F. McIntyre

  Mama and Marcus came over to see what was going on. “How are you, dear?” said Mama, looking very concerned.

  “Antonius just checked, and said I was healing fine. Tired and sore, but all right.”

  “What on earth happened to you? Antonius and Hina told me you had been in a fight with a bad man… and killed him?”

  “That is right, Mama. He was a bad man at court. I was assigned to him as his concubine when we got there, and he was not nice.”

  “But you were only twelve! That’s too young!”

  “I had to grow up fast. I told you about the trial, and about our escape…”

  “Yes.”

  “He was the man who made the false charges. He was with the troops who came the day before yesterday, I guess to take me back. I wasn’t going. He didn’t like that.”

  “So he cut you?”

  “We cut each other quite a bit. I ….” She turned to Antonius, “Does she know…?”

  “She knows she must not talk about it to anyone. Go ahead,” said Antonius.

  “I … in a fight, you really don’t remember much, it was all a swirl, but when it was over, Wang was on the floor, and I had killed him.” Turning to Hina, she said with distress, “I was a mess! I did everything wrong, and forgot everything you taught me!”

  “Your first real fight is always a mess, but it looks like you did fine. You remembered to be the one left standing, and that’s the only rule that counts.” Hina smiled and patted her arm. “You and I can talk about this later. Mama, that is what happened, and she put up a very good fight, I wish I could have seen it. He was quite a bit bigger than she is, and she took him down.”

  “Was he a bad man, then?” Mama asked.

  “Not always, but sometimes, and very bad yesterday,” answered Marcia, settling back into the soft pillows.

  “Just remember what we talked about, if anyone comes around inquiring, he came back looking for Si Huar, she wasn’t there, and he left,” said Antonius. “Don’t mention his name or admit you know it. You don’t know where he went, but you thought he might be going east. Remember, he was an official in the court, and people may be wondering what happened to him. They don’t play nice, as you learned ten years ago, Mama.” He had carefully rehearsed this cover story with Ibrahim yesterday, and then with Mama. She had to follow it.

  Shanyu Bei came in to check now. Antonius had also told him what happened, as it affected his clan. He was happy to see she was doing well. “How was the fall from your horse yesterday?” he said with a chuckle.

  “Fall from a horse, I… oh, yes, stupid of me, I took a careless chance riding too fast!” A big grin brightened her face.

  “Happens to all of us,” he said with a toothy smile. “Get well soon! Is the wedding still on, Antonius?”

  “I’ll confirm tomorrow, but looks like it’s still on. She’ll be fine.” Turning to Marcia, Antonius said with mock reproof, “Try to stay on your horse, next time.” She giggled.

  The next day Marcia was up and about. Hina wanted to take her back to the house, to ‘exorcise the demons,’ if she felt up to it. Marcia agreed, and they rode slowly back.

  Marcia felt quite a bit of trepidation as she climbed the old stone stairs again, as though Wang might jump out from behind a bush and grab her again, but she quelled her fear. Inside was much the same as the other day, but the rug she had known from childhood was gone. She remembered that both of them had bled out on it. Other than that, everything was the same. She went over to her father’s chair and set it to rocking.

  Hello, Papa.

  Hello, Marcia.

  That thing I wanted to talk to you about…

  Your learning to fight?

  You approve?

  I couldn’t have done better myself. Is that Hina with you?

  Yes. My sister.

  She is a good sister, she taught you well. And don’t worry about Wang Ming anymore. His spirit will never bother you again. No one beats my daughter and gets away with it, this life or the next!

  Thanks, Papa! Are you coming to the wedding?

  I wouldn’t miss it.

  The rocking chair seemed to be gently rocking by itself. For a minute she could see him, tall, lanky, bronzed skin furrowed by lines, crinkles around his barely Asiatic eyes, straight nose, pointed chin. And piercing blue eyes, just like hers. She bent down to kiss him, but her lips caressed nothing but air.

  That’s all right, Marcia, I felt that anyway. Memento…”

  “Yes, I know, Papa, Romana sum. I am a Roman girl. See you in a few days at the wedding.

  “I’ll be there.

  The rocking chair slowed to a halt. Hina was watching intently. “It’s all right. You’re not the only one who talks to the spirits of dead loved ones. That was my father Marius, and he and I were having a chat,” said Marcia.

  Marcia went back to her toy box, picked up some suitable offerings, and placed them on the altar for the household lares. She bowed her head and said some prayers. Then she took Hina on a tour of the small house, showing off her and Marcus’ rooms. Like her own, her mother had kept it ready for his eventual return. She went in to her parents’ room, but noted with great dismay that the bed was missing. “Oh!,” said Hina. “That was supposed to be a surprise. So try to be surprised when you see it again.”

  “Bed? Where in the hell are we going to put a bed in a yurt, Hina?”

  Hina smiled knowingly. “Don’t ask any more questions, Marcia.”

  The wedding came a few days later. Antonius removed the bandage, but left the stitches in. Nothing would show to reveal her wound. Fortunately, the weather continued unusually mild for late November, as the Mediterranean clothing of the Roman wedding would not be suitable for an Hanaean winter.

  Galosga had returned with three deer draped across the back of his extra horse. It was the tradition of his people that the bride and groom exchange gifts, venison from the groom, and selu from the bride. Selu didn’t grow here, he had substituted a sheath of wheat. The deer were roasting alongside the goats in Ibrahim’s sewan tent, slowly turning on spits over firepits, emitting mouthwatering smoke over the crowd. The sewan was packed with tables holding bowls and white bottles of Liqian wine, sacks of kumis, and more bottles of Hanaean rice wine.

  Hina acted as sister to the bride, while Gaius would act as brother to the groom. Hina’s arban would be the escorts, required by Roman custom to carry the bride to the new domicile. It was Xiongnu tradition that the father of the groom provide the couple a yurt, and Bei had taken that role, providing them their very own yurt and a camel to carry it. They could consummate their marriage in privacy! Mama had put her own bed inside the yurt as the ān chuáng wedding bed, covering it with new red bedsheets and decorating it with fruits, nuts, dates, persimmons, and sprigs of leaves. The bed would be going back to the house when they left because it was far too big to travel, but it was theirs until the migration resumed.

  Marcia wore the wig provided months back by Mama Biyu, and Hina, under Mama’s supervision, combed it four times in the Hanaean tradition the night before, for togetherness to the end, for a hundred years of harmony, for a houseful of children, and for longevity. The two women then fussily but carefully arranged Marcia’s black tresses in the correct style with a proper bun. Mama prepared little cakes for all of the Da Qin party, Hina’s arban, and everyone in the shanyu’s yurt.

  The wedding day arrived. Aulus had written up the contract, laying it out on a table weighted by a stone against an errant gust of wind, awaiting signatures from all who wished to sign, in whatever language they wanted to sign it in. Everyone else crowded in behind as Bei ordered a horn blown, and silence fell on the encampment.

  Antonius and Marcia walked up to the table, flanked by Hina on Marcia’s right, and Gaius Lucullus on Antonius’ left. Antonius and Gaius were clad in chalk-white togas, as was Aulus. Marcia wore the cream-colored tunica recta with the flammaeum orange veil, a girdle about her waist fastened with the Knot of Hercules, all give
n to her by her mother. Hina wore a red silk robe over her black felt pants. Mama beamed proudly, beside Marcus in his own toga.

  Aulus rose to speak before the crowd in han-yu. “Is there any nation that we have missed today? This is the most unlikely wedding I have ever officiated.” A titter ran through the crowd. “I have taken the omens, and they are auspicious, as they should be. If any two people were fated by the gods to be joined together in harmony and peace, it is Antonius and Marcia. Let us call upon all the gods of all our people to bless this couple: Shangdi, of the Han people, Tengri of the Great Blue Sky of our Xiongnu hosts, Adonai of our Jewish partner, El of our Arab friends, Buddha of our heroic Demosthenes of Bactria, and Se-lu of Galosga, the ancestral mother of his people. Finally I call upon all our Roman gods, especially Jupiter Optimus Maximus, Juno, the goddess of marriage and women, Bona Dea, the goddess of fertility, Fortuna, who has smiled upon this pair more times than I can count, Venus, the goddess of love, who has also blessed them, and Vesta, the goddess of the hearth. Now let us pray silently, in our own languages and customs, to these deities for Antonius and Marcia.

  A hush fell upon the crowd. Antonius was lost in thought at the unlikeliness of this union. Was it just a year and a half ago, when he would stand by the rail of the Europa, watching the bow wave cresting like a team of horses racing the ship in echelon? Afraid she would come, and he would stammer and embarrass himself? Afraid she would not, and he would miss the company of a woman who had no business associating with him? He remembered teaching her his soldier’s Latin, and all its profanities, her teaching him his first words of han-yu. He remembered missing her, after Wang Ming had taken her back to the Asia, and his fury, discovering that he had beaten her. At no time did he ever think that this unlikely friendship would end in a wedding like this, before thousands of people on the way out of the land of the Han. Yes, thank you, Fortuna. And all of you gods.

  Aulus was speaking again, reading the contract, but the words were not reaching Antonius in his reverie. Gaius and Hina went forward, along with Mama and everyone in the party, to sign it. Gaius and Hina returned to each present an iron ring to the bride and groom. Antonius fumbled with the ring, fitting it on the third finger of Marcia’s left hand, she smiling shyly. Then she fitted her ring on his finger, and intoned the ancient words “Ubi gaius est, gaia sum.” Gaius, not the ubiquitous Latin first name, but the ancient meaning of generic men and women. ‘As you are my guy, I am your gal.’ And with that, they were wed.

  Everyone cheered, someone put a bottle of Liqian wine in Antonius’ hand, he raised it in toast and everyone cheered again. Then Hina’s arban, acting as escorts, lifted Marcia up between the shoulders of the two biggest men, and the rest surrounded Antonius, following Marcia to the nuptial tent. They carried her into the yurt, smiled, bowed, and left, closing the doorflap behind them. Marcia and Antonius were on their honeymoon.

  Antonius reached out and took Marcia’s hands in his. They smiled and just kept repeating “husband” and “wife.” Then he got down on one knee, fumbling with the complex Knot of Hercules while she stood looking down at him. After a few minutes she smiled and said in mock impatience, “Aren’t you ever going to get that damned thing undone?”

  “I’m doing my best, domina. Anyway, tradition says yer supposed ter be protesting, demanding more time.”

  “That tradition is for virgins, which you and I are certainly not! I’m protesting that I want you on top of me very soon, ravishing me in the manner I have come to enjoy!” She caressed Antonius’ big shoulders and ruffled his hair, doing nothing for his concentration.

  The knot finally fell away. He lifted off the flammaeus off her shoulders, then the tunica up over her head. He shed his bulky toga, and Marcia did the honors for his tunic. They drank in the sight of each other’s nakedness, which had been a rare luxury to them. Antonius reached and cupped her injured breast very gently. “Is it all right? Not sore?”

  “Not sore. Don’t get too energetic on that side, or you’ll tear my stitches.”

  “I won’t”

  Marcia was a slender girl, but her size concealed taut power that she had gained over the past six months. Gone was the slight palace softness that had cloaked her body when they started this trek. Her stomach was hard and lean, with just the barest of bulges below her navel, indicating her womb, then plunging downward, curving inward to the pubic line, where it disappeared into black curly hair, resting on well-defined thighs and calves able to run for miles. Taking his gaze up to her shoulders, they were wider than her slender hips, her biceps not bulky, but showing clear muscular definition. Her breasts were firm, ending in small nipples behind dark aureoles.

  Antonius lifted her wig off gently, fumbling with the pins holding it in place. He mussed her short hair, which he had begun to like, causing her to laugh.

  Living with ten people in a twenty foot yurt, nakedness amongst themselves had been common but not sensual. Everyone generally ignored various exposed body parts and bodily functions, the only means for privacy in such close quarters. And at night, when Antonius and Marcia came together to share the pleasures of each other’s bodies, the two were usually partially dressed and careful to not awaken the others with their scuffling and sighs. The ability to just drink in the sights and smells of each other’s naked bodies was a rare treat.

  Antonius reached behind her back and drew her to him. This girl was the toughest and the gentlest, the hardest and the softest person he had ever known. Their lips met in a deep kiss, each other’s tongue searching for its companion.

  They consummated their marriage with great abandon and gusto. Several times.

  CHAPTER 67: ONE MOVES ON, ONE STAYS BEHIND

  While Marcia and Antonius enjoyed the privacy of their own yurt, and the townspeople and the Xiongnu got rip-roariously drunk in the encampment, Mama and Marcus returned home for some quiet time together, a little before sunset. He helped her up the steep walkway and into the house, lit a fire in the oven/fireplace on the back wall, while she set about preparing him tea. He went into his room, looking around its familiar environment so long unseen. He shrugged off his toga and hung it back up on its hanger where it had been for ten years, scattering a fine patina of chalk dust on the floor. His simple Roman tunic was a bit light for the gathering chill of evening, so he rummaged through the chest for other clothes left behind ten years ago, and changed into an Hanaean-style wool shirt and linen pants. Experimentally, he stretched himself out on his bed. Yes, everything was as it had been. Almost.

  Mama called from the common area, “Marcus, I made us some tea.”

  He took a seat at a stool around the big raised table in the center, where Mama had placed a small steaming cup of tea. The fire crackled in the back wall, shedding light and heat, as a cast iron kettle chuckled and steamed. Yes, he was home. “Thanks, Mama. It has been a long time.”

  She touched his hand, her almond eyes staring into his blue ones, and smiled wistfully. “Too long,” she said. Inside, she was wrestling with the fact that she would be losing her children again, this time forever, as they headed west. Marcia, so happily wed, could not stay, and she did not want to beg Marcus to stay, however strongly she wished he would. At least she could die at peace, having seen what proud, strong people her children had become. “So tell me all about Luoyang,” she asked her son.

  Marcus did tell her, about the beautiful city, the palaces and parks along the Luo River. He talked a lot about Marcia, how they had been strong for each, “The rock and the pebble,” she used to call themselves. The long two-year trip to Rome, the magnificent city dwarfing Luoyang, the new immense Flavian Amphitheater and imperial palaces on the Palatine Hill overlooking the Circus Maximus, the meeting with Emperor Trajan. Then the long trip back, the magnificent ships, the hijacking, reluctant alliance, and ultimately friendship between Ibrahim the pirate with Gaius and Antonius, and Marcia’s budding friendship with Antonius.

  Then about her departure to the Asia with Wang Ming and isola
tion so complete her own brother barely caught a glimpse of her, and finally the return to Luoyang… the trial, the death sentence, jail, the escape, and the long trip home.

  Mama listened intently. Marcus had omitted only one thing, his castration. He had not shared that story with her, nor with his traveling companions, and never would.

  It was getting dark, and it was Mama’s custom to retire early, so she bade her son goodnight, kissing him gently on the forehead, and retired to Marcia’s room… her own bed being in joyful use right now by the newlyweds. “I am going to sit up a while, Mama,” said Marcus, lighting a few oil lamps. “I think I want to read some of Papa’s scrolls.”

  Marcus went over by his father’s chair. He remembered Marcia telling him of her imagined conversation with him. He gently set the chair rocking. Hello, Papa.

  Hello, son, welcome home. The mind could play tricks, but this did seem almost real.

  Do you mind if I sit in your chair now? The rocker had been reserved for the paterfamilias, off limits to everyone else.

  You’re the man of the house now, it is yours to sit in.

  Marcus remained standing. I guess I am – sort of.

  There was a long silence, then: Marcus Lucius Quintus, I am going to tell you this once, and once only. Father never used Marcus’ full name unless he was angry with him. What happened to you ten years ago was cruel and unjust, but it is over and can’t be undone. Testicles predispose you to manhood, but they do not make you a man, your actions do. You are more of a man by half than many that have a fully-functioning pair, and I am very proud of you. Now sit yourself in the man’s chair now before I get really upset with you.

  Yes, sir! Marcus took his seat. Thanks, Papa, I have a real hard time talking about that…

  Understandable.

  Marcus rummaged through the scroll basket and picked one out, the Annales by Ennius. Of course it wasn’t the authentic Ennius… soldiers did not carry a library along with them in the field. When his ancestors settled here five generations ago, they decided to record all they could remember, to preserve their Romanitas. Memento, Romani sumus, Remember, we are Romans, they said to each other. They set up a senate, elected consuls, and the educated ones wrote down everything they could remember, stories, Plautus’ plays, and of course, Ennius’ history. Every Roman schoolboy had been drilled in his Annales, having had it beaten into their heads by their tutors at an early age. It was all the founding myths of Rome, how they had cast out their king, set up in place the res publica, the public business, insisting that leges non reges habemus: we have laws, not kings.