“Quite an unusual skill. I have heard some of the Xiongnu women do take up arms, though not often,” answered Alisher.
“I was taught by Hina. We actually became quite close, like sisters.”
“Hina, yes, she was the one I had in mind! I talked with her last week when they were here. If you trained under her, you trained under their best, and I would not want to be the person trying to raid your camp! She spoke highly of you as well.”
Ibrahim and Alisher went off to inspect the Roman equipment. Their transportation consisted of two camels, two oxen, the covered ox cart, and a good string of horses, with additions from their Xiongnu hosts, consisting of one rambunctious stallion and fifteen mares, enough to give each horse a day off. The stallion kept the mares in line, making the string easier to manage. Only Marcia could ride him, but he was her favorite mount. These were tough Mongolians, good for the mountains, cold weather and rough forage, and able to keep up a good pace. Alisher checked each animal carefully, pronounced them fit, and the cart sound. They could purchase saddles and pack gear for the camels that would allow them to be ridden as well as to carry baggage.
At the end, Alisher made an invitation. “So… when your friends return, would you please invite them to my house in Turfam tomorrow afternoon for dinner? I would like to meet them and let them know what adventures they have in front of them. If everyone agrees, we can close the deal then,” asked Alisher.
“To be sure!” answered Ibrahim. They exchanged directions to his house, and then Alisher strode off to the caravansary alone.
The mention of Aulus’s name and Liqian triggered something in his memory. Back in the caravansary courtyard, he strode toward one of the double doors on the southwest side, and unlocked the chain with a key from a massive keychain around his waist. The dark musty storeroom was packed with sacks, rolls of silk covered with protective cloth, cases stacked to the height of a man, each tagged with a red ribbon, all the goods going to Kashgar and points west.
Just inside the door was a cubby-holed box, partially filled with papers, scrolls, Hanaean bamboo scripts, and other documents. Alisher rummaged through the shelves until he found what he was looking for.
Alisher examined the document. It was a rolled-up piece of paper, sealed with an impressive Da Qin seal, and addressed to Senator Aulus Aemilius Galba in Latin, Greek and Hanaean. He would deliver it to the man in person tomorrow. He put it in his pocket, closed and relocked the storage room doors, and went back to the office.
Gaius, Aulus and Antonius returned about sunset, to share in the news about the caravan, and they made plans to meet with Alisher the next afternoon.
Gaius and Aulus retired to the yurt early after dinner and a long day, having ridden about thirty miles. Antonius stayed up a bit, and found Shmuel sitting alone by the outside fire, looking somewhat morose. He had gone through more bottles of wine than normal, drinking by himself. Antonius decided to sit with him and chat, under the pretext of practicing his little-used and much-abused Aramaic. “Art thou missing Galosga, my friend?” he asked.
“Huh?” answered Shmuel. “Oh, yes, I am. He was a good friend, but I am glad to see him pair off permanently with Hina. She was a good match for him.”
“She was, and the Huyans are a good match for him also. Our world is too different for him. How long didst thou know him?” asked Antonius.
“I was on the Orion, my first little ship out of Tyre, when he joined us in Carthage on some ship from Gades. They had kidnapped him, treated him pretty badly, and passed him on to us in trade. He couldn’t talk to anyone, they didn’t pay him anything, and they pulled ugly pranks on him. I took him under my wing and protected him from the worst of it. But he did not need not much protection. The man was big and very strong. The fire of his anger may start slowly, but it burns brightly.
“One man went too far one night and pulled a knife on him. No one saw Galosga’s hand so much as move, but then suddenly, he had the man by the throat, and his feet six inches off the deck. I had been teaching him some Aramaic, and he said just one word: ‘Drop!’ The fellow dropped that knife, Galosga kicked it to me, and he shook the man like he was a sack of feathers. Then he said one more word, ‘No!’ and dropped him. The man scuttled off. They backed off a bit after that.”
“I believe they would,” answered Antonius, chuckling.
“So he and I became very close, even though we could hardly talk. The rest of the crew called him the dummy. He could understand, I think, more than he let on, but he did not like to embarrass himself. Except with me.” Shmuel smiled and continued. “So when we got to Alexandria, Hasdrubal was recruiting crews and signed us both on to the Europa, for a ridiculous amount of money for a deckhand. I vouched that I would handle any language problems with him, that he was very smart, strong and hard-working, so they took him, too.
“Thou shouldst have seen his eyes in Alexandria! Like nothing he had ever seen in his life, the lighthouse, broad streets, temples, the Library. It wasn’t until he got to speaking han-yu that he could tell me how different his world was from this one,” said Shmuel.
“So what wilt thou do when we go back to Rome? Art thou going home to Galilee?” asked Antonius.
“That is what saddens me. Antonius, I am an outlaw, with a price on my head and crucifixion in my future. I think I will probably drop off in Parthia somewhere. I would love to see my family in Capernaum, but probably never will again,” answered Shmuel.
“What didst thou do?” asked Antonius.
“I was born five years after thy people destroyed our temple, laid waste to our land, raped our women, sold most of us off into slavery, and took our temple treasure and sacred articles to Rome,” said Shmuel bitterly, taking another swig of wine.
Antonius interjected. “Legio XII took part in that fracas, though well before my time under the eagles.”
Shmuel continued. “When I was sixteen, I fell in with a band of zealots that promised to finish the revolution and throw you Roman bastards out. What they actually did was rob and kill a lot of travelers on the road to Caesarea. I shipped out of Tyre as a deckhand to disappear. I am a wanted man, so I cannot go home again.” Another sip of wine and he cast the empty bottle aside.
“When Ibrahim and Yakov headed out to Luoyang to start over as shepherds, I went along. I had done some shepherding when I was young, so I thought I could help. He had been a good skipper, and we all spoke Aramaic. Galosga was going to follow me to hell itself, if that was where I wanted to go, so … here we all are! One big happy criminal family!” he laughed, but a bitter edge.
“And it’s a good thing thou art. Without thee we would be dead! I think I can help thee. I can get you a pardon in return for all that thou hast done for us,” said Antonius.
“How wouldst thou do that?” asked Shmuel.
“When we get to Roman territory, thou art my prisoner, so no one else can take thee from me. When I get to the authorities, I will tell them that thou saved the Roman mission, including the Senator, and that thou hast earned a pardon.”
“What if they do not grant it?” asked Shmuel, encouraged but skeptical.
“Senator Aulus is on speaking terms with Emperor Trajan. They will grant it,” answered Antonius. “If thou wish it, Senator Aulus can get thee citizenship for that deed as well. No one can crucify thee after thou art a citizen!” He paused for moment for effect. “Citizens must be beheaded if they misbehave, as it is more kind!” he laughing, slapping Shmuel heartily on the back. “And if you do misbehave, I’ll do the beheading personally!”
“God bless you!” said Shmuel, thunderstruck at the offer. “Then I could go home?”
“Anytime,” answered Antonius. “He produced another bottle of Turfam wine. “You are empty. A toast to you!”
CHAPTER 70: THE CARAVAN MASTER
The next day, the Roman party left Shmuel in charge of the camp and took the wagon to the caravansary to use the bath house and get new clothes before going on to Alisher’s home. Their H
anaean peasant garb was no longer appropriate for this area and their Xiongnu felts were ripe with sweat, their own and that of their horses.
The caravansary was preparing for the Kashgar caravan’s arrival, opening up shops in the inner courtyard, merchants setting up early to get the best spots. Locals also milled around the stands, vying for local goods and merchandise before the caravan arrived to clean it all out.
The Romans took a soak in the wooden bath, then persuaded the proprietor, with the help of a few copper coins, to close the facility momentarily so Marcia could bathe in privacy.
Refreshed, the group found a stand selling a local garb called a ‘salwar kamis,’ a long shirt over baggy trousers, apparently universal for both men and women here. The difference between work clothes and dress clothes seemed to be in quality of fabric and amount of decoration. They each, including Marcia, bought several sets of linen work clothes, beige trousers and off-white shirts, good traveling shoes, a wide flat woolen hat called a pakool, and a wrap-around blanket.
In addition to the traveling clothes, the men each purchased a nice silk salwar kamis for the afternoon, each choosing a slightly different color trousers, white shirts, a dark sash to serve as a belt, an embroidered dark vest, all intricately and individually embroidered, a plain black pillbox hat and dress shoes.
All of the men went around behind the stall to change into their fancy clothes, then bundled their bulky felts together with their new purchases, and put them all in the waiting wagon bed.
Marcia saw several local women wearing dresses of an unusual style that she found attractive, so she and Antonius went in search of a dress merchant. She found one such dress on a stand fronting one of the stalls built into the wall, underneath the uplifted door. The skirt came with an accompanying white blouse and vest, all of shimmering silk. She lifted the blue filigreed skirt off its hanger and held it against her waist. “Look at this, Antonius! This is so beautiful!”
“It certainly is, domina. Try it on, and the other things with it.”
The proprietress helped her select a set of about the right size, and Marcia took them into the back of the booth where the woman had rigged a privacy screen; local women bought here frequently, and they needed to try things on. Marcia needed to get out of the serviceable but rough winter felts she had worn since Liqian, washed not nearly as often as they should have been.
After a few minutes, she stepped back out.
The skirt was shiny turquoise blue with a white hem, delicately embroidered with red, green and white threads to form flowers and birds. It fell to mid calf, widely flared, and had some sort of silken undergarment beneath. The blouse was plain white shimmering silk, and the vest dark blue, also intricately filigreed. She spun around and the skirt swirled with her. “Pulchra est! This is beautiful!” she cried delightedly in Latin, acting for once like a little girl.
“And so are you, domina,” answered Antonius, then back in han-yu to the proprietress. “How much?”
The woman named a price and Antonius handed her some coins. “Include a hat and shoes as well,” he said. She smiled and put an embroidered black pill-box hat on Marcia’s head at a jaunty angle, and handed her a pair of embroidered silk shoes, whose tips came up in a point. Not very practical for walking, but definitely pretty.
“Antonius, it’s beautiful, but when are we going to wear all this again?” she wailed. “I don’t need it!”
“Sorry, domina, you’re stuck with it. We’ve all got one nice dress rig, and who knows when we might need it again? Bundle up the felts and take them with you before I burn them,” he said. “I don’t get many chances to spoil my bride, do I?” he said with a wink. If these clothes ever got back to Rome, they would be quite the talk, and the price was ridiculously cheap. She was fun to spoil.
“Oh, Antonius! Te amo!” she said, smiling and taking his arm, her old well-worn winter clothes bundled up under her arm.
The now well-dressed Roman party toured the caravansary, admiring the jewelry, cooking equipment, and glazed pottery. Little cooking stalls offered competition to the eatery, roasted goat, nan, melons, and the yellow raisins for which the area was famous. It was, as it almost always was, clear and sunny, and the sun was provided a bit of warmth now in March.
In the afternoon, the Roman party took the cart with their bundles back to Shmuel in the camp, along with some wine and food they had bought for him. They then rode out to Turfam, across a bridge over the river, and up one of several sloping roads built onto the cliff face from rammed earth overlaid with stones and gravel. The road was about twenty feet wide, stone stairs laid on the inboard side for pedestrians. The cart clattered its way up the cobbled surface, swaying and lurching. There was not much on the outboard side of the road to prevent their plunging a long way down to the river below, just a slightly elevated wall that would not stop a panicked horse.
At the top, the city wall grew up vertically from the edge of the cliff face, indented into a hollow square that served as a courtyard in front of the entryway. The road debouched onto the courtyard, the gate on their left. Its massive wooden doors stood open, guarded by a none-too-alert sentry, absentmindedly waving everyone through without looking too closely at any of them.
Inside the wall, they found Alisher’s residence easily enough on the perimeter road, a two story whitewashed adobe building, the second story overlooking the wall. Two rows of neatly cut logs protruded from the walls at the tops of each story, providing both decoration and support. From the roof, black smoke curled up, tangy with the scent of roasting meat.
They tethered the horses to a hitching post and Ibrahim knocked on the red-painted door. Alisher answered. “Come in, come in!” he said, waving them in. “Welcome to my humble house! You have adopted the local dress very well.”
Humble the house was not. The rough whitewashed walls held silk tapestries depicting various Hanaean scenes, while on the floor under their feet lay thickly padded carpets woven with incredibly intricacy, some in blues, golds and whites, others black and gold. Padded sofas and chairs lined the walls, and here and there were statuaries from various countries. Aulus noticed one that was almost certainly Greek, or a very good copy. A bronze horse, with a bluish green patina, its nostrils flaring and mane and tail flying with the wind, was frozen for all time delicately balanced on a single hoof in mid-gallop on a black lacquered table in the middle of the room. And a bronze idol of the god they called Buddha rested somnolently in the corner, smiling beatifically, hand raised.
“Introductions, please,” said Ibrahim. “This is Aulus Aemilius, Gaius Lucullus and Antonius Aristides of the Da Qin army, of whom we spoke yesterday, and my adopted son and business associate, Yakov of Petra. Antonius’ wife Marcia and our traveling companion Demosthenes of Bactria you met yesterday.”
Alisher bowed in the Hanaean style. “Pleased. And Marcia… you look beautiful. You are not armed today?”
“I am off duty,” she replied with a bright smile, with a hint of a polite Hanaean bow.
A tall woman entered the room, wearing a dark blue salwar kamis with a floral pattern. “And this is my wife, Farahnaz. Her name means ‘Joy,’ and she has truly been a joy to me.” Alisher bowed by way of introduction, sweeping his hand before his wife. “Unfortunately, she does not speak han-yu.” Demosthenes took the opportunity, offering a blessing on their house in Bactrian, delighting her. She bowed and took his hand, smiling. Then Alisher beckoned them toward stairs at the back of the room. “A pleasant surprise! Come upstairs, and we can dine on the roof.”
The stairs opened onto a square open area on the second floor, its elegant polished wood floor overlaid with more intricate carpetry. A parallel set of stairs led to the roof through an open hatch, admitting sunlight, reflecting on pastel-colored vases at various point around the room. The second floor was apparently sleeping quarters, with one room at one end and several at the other. Alisher gestured toward the multiple rooms in passing. “These are my sons’ rooms. They are all grown now
with their own homes and families, but my son Jamshid is staying with us. He is taking the incoming caravan back to Kashgar, and rode out to meet them today.”
They climbed to the flat white adobe roof. A raised wall about four feet on the perimeter provided protection against falls over the edge, and over that wall they could see a spectacular panoramic view in all directions… the grassland, with their tents, and some yurts they had not noticed sitting like mushrooms every few miles in clumps of one to five. The east-west highway ran like a brown slash across the grassland as far as the eye could see, and far to the southwest, a faint yellow glare marked the beginnings of the Taklamakan. The Flaming Mountains to the east and the snow-clad Tien Shan range to the north completed the view.
The rooftop was populated with a cabinet and a table under an awning, and weatherworn wooden chairs clustered around a big firepit; a goat on a hand-cranked spit over a glowing fire dropped occasional spatters of grease that hissed as they hit the flames, adding aroma to the air. “I love to come up here to just sit and watch the view. And it is warm enough now to do it during the day, though I fear March has some more cold days for us. It always does. Sit!” He motioned to the chairs in the center, and beckoned to one of the white-robed servants, unobtrusive on the perimeter, who went to the cabinet and extracted some wine and cups. He returned with a tray and distributed them amongst the guests.
Demosthenes exchanged some pleasantries with Fahranaz, then turned to the Romans. “Besides Greek, we speak Bactrian at home. I am pleased to hear it spoken here.”
“You didn’t pass this way when you left Bactria?” asked Alisher.
“No, we went south through Qandahar, Purushapura, and then on to Tibet, for Buddhist studies. I didn’t know Bactrian had penetrated this far north.”
“Mostly in the last fifty years,” Alisher said. “The Han tried to control this area, but it is too far from their center. The local people, myself included, speak Tocharian, but outside our clan, everyone else speaks Bactrian, all the way to Parthia, north to Sogdiana, and south to northern India. So traders use it out of necessity. In Bactria they speak Greek as much as they speak Bactrian, and use the Greek script for both languages. Our King Vima Kadphises in Bagram mints his coins basileus basileon, the King of Kings!” said Alisher.
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