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

by Lewis F. McIntyre

  She went up to him. His breath was bitter in the morning, but hers was probably no better. Softly, she said to him, “I am sorry for last night. I said some nasty things to you.”

  “No matter,” he answered, but without his characteristic smile.

  Marcia reached for her shield and sword on the hanger, and slipped her arms through the straps to fit it on her back.

  “So yer going ter do it.” He stated this, not as a question.

  “Yes.” Her heart thudded, fearing that this would kick life back into the embers of last night’s argument.

  “Why?”

  “Carus meus, once I watched you take an arrow in the gut, and nearly die, while I was off helpless, hiding in a cave. I told you that I don’t ever want to feel helpless again. That is why I learned to fight from you and Hina, and that is why I have to do this now. It’s what I have to do.” She watched him intently, hoping that he would understand.

  “They are going to try you mercilessly, Marcia. And I can’t do anything ter help yer. And they may not even give you a chance, just throw you out. You understand that?” She studied his eyes intently, seeing that he was genuinely concerned. She nodded.

  “Please, if it looks hopeless, just come back ter the yurt and wait fer us. Don’t fight a hopeless battle with them.”

  “I promise.” She hefted her sword in its scabbard behind the shield, secured the straps in front, and strung her bow. That too, disappeared into the shield, and she strapped on her dagger at her waist. Antonius did likewise. They turned to face each other, and he took her by the shoulders and finally smiled, lighting her heart. “Yer look fearsome enough, domina. Go show ‘em what yer made of!” He kissed her tenderly on her forehead.

  The eight showed up at the appointed place a little after sunrise, even Dim casting off the last vestige of his monkhood; he had joined Antonius; training exercises months ago. Everyone wore the loose-fitting salwar kamis except Marcia, wearing the more tightly-fitting Xiongnu summer felt. She preferred that because the looser salwar might distract her, and she had no intention of being distracted this morning. Her gut tightened, the way it did whenever she faced a challenge like this.

  Jamshid greeted the eight, and introduced them to his regular guards. Speaking in han-yu, he said “These Da Qin volunteered to help our guards so you get more time off. Three are experienced soldiers, and all are veterans of many fight. They not speak yue-zhi, so speak han-yu please so understand. We let them show us what they do, see if good as they say.”

  All of the men were looking intently at Marcia, obviously wondering what the hell she was doing here dressed up like a fighter. One of them, a bearded man clad in black, pointed his finger at her and said, “Who’s that, a twelve year old boy or a girl?” Everyone guffawed. There was a chorus of catcalls, rude gestures, whistles and what were probably obscene comments in yue-zhi.

  Antonius had tried to explain last night, as Hina had also explained months ago, that men will not easily accept a woman as a fighter. This was her challenge to meet; no one could do it for her. Or she could just go back, beaten before she had a chance to try.

  Marcia waited until the hubbub died down, then accepted the challenge pleasantly. “My name is Marcia Lucia, wife of Antonius Aristides. And yes, I am a woman, despite the fact that he is of Greek descent!” That brought guffaws from the group, as she poked fun at the Greek reputation for pederasty which had reached even this far east.

  But the man in black was not amused. He loudly proclaimed, in fairly decent han-yu, “I am not trusting my life to a goddamned Hanaean bitch!”

  Marcia walked up to face him at arm’s length, hand on hips, legs spread, her Xiongnu hat at a jaunty angle. She was still slightly smiling, though her heart was pounding. Why did this have to be so hard? Then she said, politely but firmly, loud enough for all to hear, “My name is Marcia Lucia, not ‘goddamned Hanaean bitch’.”

  It got very silent. Marcia fixed her eyes on his, but out of the corner of her vision she could see everyone break ranks to circle around them, anticipating an impromptu fight. She sized him up; he outweighed her by fifty pounds, taller by six inches. She was anticipating a rush, but she saw his eyes glance briefly to her right, and heard his dagger hiss out of the scabbard. “You’ll piss yourself at the sight of steel, bitch!”

  A flick of his eyes betrayed his next move, a swipe across her midsection which she evaded with a nimble back step, letting the blade pass harmlessly through air. She drew her own sword with her right hand, her dagger with her left and crouched for the fight. She was vaguely aware of the crowd yelling and cheering... not for her. Time to be loose now, girl, be ready! Time to be the cat!

  She saw his next strike coming also, this time from right to left. He again failed to connect, leaving himself extended and off-balance. She slammed her sword down on his blade, sending it clattering along the rocky dirt. She then brought the sword tip up to the hollow at the base of the disarmed man’s bobbling Adam’s apple. She hissed softly, so only he could hear. “The last man to try to kill me is buzzard food. Do you want to be next?” She applied a little pressure to make sure he understood, dimpling the skin but not drawing blood. Then, louder so everyone could hear, she repeated, politely with a slight smile. “My name is Marcia Lucia. I don’t believe we have been introduced. Your name?”

  “My name ..is…Farhad.” A very long pause. “…Marcia.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Farhad!” She withdrew the sword from his throat to trail position, sheathed her dagger, then returned the sword to its scabbard with a solid thunk.

  She retrieved his dagger, handing it back to him hilt-first, then said, again loudly so everyone could hear, “Thank you for the practice!” She turned her back to him, showing appropriate disdain for any remaining threat, and went to stand beside Antonius.

  Antonius took her hand in a little squeeze, and whispered, “You did well, domina.”

  “Thank you, carus meus. I never did that stroke with a real sword. I was hoping I didn’t take off his hand!”

  Antonius chortled. “That is good, he is the head of Jamshid’s guards!”

  “Oh!” She felt her gut tighten again, realizing she may have just made a very bad mistake. Good choice, that!

  Jamshid invited any others to challenge Marcia. There were none. They went through several hours of exercises, archery on foot and on horseback, some sword drill, dagger work, and hand-to-hand against Jamshid’s men. Marcia did well in all except the hand-to-hand. She held her own as best she could, but men had the advantage over her in size and weight. Nevertheless, she could punch and take a punch, and never quit until she was hopelessly pinned down. The Roman soldiers found the men average but enthusiastic fighters and brawlers.

  Before lunch, Jamshid broke off the demonstration. “I satisfied they good enough,” he said, to a rumble of assent and affirmative head nods. “Pick one of the Da Qin as partner.”

  One by one, the seven men were picked, beginning with the massive Antonius and ending with the older Aulus. Marcia’s heart fell as each choice passed her by until she stood alone, but she had one last card to play. She walked up to Farhad, and quietly announced: “Farhad, I want to earn your trust, and there is much I have to learn from you. May I be your partner?” She looked him squarely in the eye, hoping she did not sound pleading.

  Another silence fell on the group as they awaited Farhad’s response. He looked her in the eye and said, “Yes. But carry your own weight.”

  Marcia extended her hand, man style. It hung there in the space between them for several seconds. Then he clasped her arm by the wrist, and she his. “Don’t let a man get close enough to fight you with his hands. You’re no good at that,” he said with just the wisp of a smile.

  The addition of eight to the twenty-man guard team was a welcome improvement. Farhad, the head of guards, briefed their organization. The watches would consist of four two-person teams, one Da Qin per team, one team in the van, two flanker teams on either side, and one in t
he rear. The day shift would begin an hour before departure and last till the nightly stop, the night shift from an hour before the stop until departure, to give a little overlap during the dangerous dawn and dusk periods. Going from ten to fourteen teams meant each team had a day watch, a night watch, and the third day off.

  A few hours ahead of departure, Marcia and Farhad pulled their first watch together, Marcia on a black stallion, Farhad on a dun mare. They both wore black scarves around their necks and lower face against dust. “Lroud pid tao, peace be upon you,” she greeted him in halting Bactrian.

  “Lroud pid tao, peace be upon you also. That is a lot of horse there. Are you sure you can handle him?” he answered in rippling Bactrian.

  She patted the animal gently on its sleek neck. She hadn’t understood all he said, but she caught the word ‘horse’. She reverted by back to han-yu. “Sorry, that is all the yue-zhi I can manage right now. The horse, yes, men find him headstrong and willful, but he likes me. Whatever I want him to do, he’s doing it before I tell him. His name is Excelsior, ‘Ever Onward’ in Da Qin. Anyway, I thought you would feel better if I brought a pair of balls with me, even if they aren’t mine!”

  Excelsior nickered happily, pawing the ground. He liked the attention, and Farhad snorted at the joke. “Not bad, not bad! Let’s ride, I want to be a few miles ahead before the caravan gets started. Keep it at a trot, it’s going to be long day, and I don’t want to wear the animals out. Hyuu!”

  Behind them, the caravan began loading up the animals and wagons with green-tagged baggage for Kashgar, exiting through the south gate to line up with the rest. After an hour or so, Jamshid blew his horn, and the caravan began to move out. Townspeople once again turned out to watch the early morning departure, their children waving excitedly at the people and the animals. The caravan was on its way.

  The road wound through a green grassland oasis west of Turfam, then south to the low foothills of a tongue of the Tien Shan Mountains jutting out into the desert. Marcia and Farhad had been idly chatting till well past noon, Turfam now miles behind them. Farhad found her life fascinating, that she had gone all the way west once, come back by sea, and was now going west again. Perhaps he had underrated her. “So are you going to join the Da Qin army when you get home?” He was only half-joking, such things might indeed be possible there.

  She laughed. “No, Farhad, I don’t think they’re ready for that, and I want to be Antonius’ devoted Da Qin wife, making babies for him. I am looking forward to that, I’ve had enough adventure.”

  “Well, I am sure that you will do that very well also. So how did you learn to fight? You surprised me. You were better than I expected.”

  “Antonius and another woman taught me. Antonius wasn’t happy about it at first, but he has gotten over it.”

  “Have you been in many fights?”

  “Just one.”

  “And how did it turn out?”

  “He’s dead.”

  They rode on quietly for a while. Then Farhad picked up the conversation again. “The men don’t want you on the team. They don’t trust a woman in a fight.”

  “I know. I expect to earn your trust, and theirs.”

  “It won’t be easy. Now we are out of Turfam, let’s keep an eye open for trouble.”

  The gravel-strewn road rose gently up through sparse sagebrush to a pass through the foothills. From that vantage point they could see an incredible distance. Far to the east, across expanses of barrenness, one could see thirsty grasslands suckling much needed moisture from the first rainstorm of spring, billowing white clouds with shadowy gray bottoms against the darkening eastern sky, purpling above a skirt of hazy rain. To the north, the rugged white-capped Tien Shan Mountains rose to staggering heights even at a distance of fifty miles, the gold of the evening sun on their flanks contrasting with black cliff shadows. To the south, the landscape gave way to the Taklamakan desert, a vast sea of sand slowly ebbing and flowing in the wind at a pace measured in days to weeks. The pass ahead led into rugged black mountains, following a twisting pass, but the road itself did not appear difficult.

  Jamshid called a halt for the night, and drivers began unloading the animals while others set up tents. Marcia and Farhad groomed their horses for the night, washed the dust from their faces and hands, and found the rest of the guard detail. The off-duty teams had prepared meals for the off-going day watch.

  The next morning, the caravan cleared the pass and descended back down to the arid plains. Marcia and Farhad had the night watch. She should have had the next two days off, but Farhad informed her that he needed her to fill in on another team the next day. And at nearly every one of her next days off, Marcia was called on to ride with other partners to ‘fill in for people taken ill or injured,’ until Farhad no longer bothered with an excuse. Most of her partners barely tolerated her, others went out of their way to make the duty miserable. Aulus, too, was often tagged for these extra duties. She knew that Farhad, however nice and apologetic he seemed, was playing them both. She resented it, but said nothing.

  Marcia was beginning to feel the wear, especially when two back-to-back night watches meant she had to sleep during the day while in transit. She tried sleeping in the jolting, jerking wagon just once and found it miserable, constantly awakened by each lurch and bump. She found that the camels Claudius and Claudia, on the other hand, had a soft, swaying gait that lulled her to sleep. Riding a camel felt like sitting in a rocking chair, with a sliding roll forward, then a gentle bowing up and a rock backward. It could be very soothing, and with the increasingly warm weather, she easily went to sleep riding. Fortunately, the camel tended to follow the animal in front, so Claudius and Claudia kept to the track, whether its human baggage was awake or not.

  Outside of Kucha, Marcia and Aulus stumbled back to their yurt from a day watch, well after dark. Their partners had delayed them long enough that they had missed the courtesy meal the off-duty watches prepared for everyone else. The rest of their party had retired early, but left the fire banked.

  “Marcia, I have some nan in my pouch and a little wine left over in my winesack. Would you join me for a bite before we retire,” he asked her in Latin.

  “I’d love to, Aulus Aemilius. The bastards are making sure we don’t get to eat, as well as not sleep,” she said, settling onto a stone set up by the fire. “I understand why they are putting me through hell, but why you? You’re old enough to be their father.”

  Aulus handed her a some nan and the winesack. “In fact, I am old enough to be their grandfather. That’s their problem, that and I am not a very good fighter.”

  Marcia took a sip of wine and wolfed down the bread. “Not true! Gaius said you did very well at Tongchuan, killed one of them.”

  “He is very kind. I was terrible.”

  Marcia laughed. “First fights are like that,” she said, remembering her own with Wang Ming, and what Hina had told her.

  “Maybe. But be careful, some of them really don’t like you.”

  “They have made that clear…because I am a woman,” she said, taking another sip of wine and handing the sack back.

  “Yes, and because you are better than most of them.”

  “Are you going to quit? That’s all you have to do, just not show up tomorrow.”

  “No. Are you?”

  “Wouldn’t give the bastards the satisfaction. I am going to win this one. Well, we need to be in the saddle before sunup, so…” She extended her hand, then changed her mind and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him down so she could give him a peck on the cheek. “See you in the morning, Senator!”

  Several weeks later, outside of Gumo, guard duty suddenly became more than routine. Marcia was riding flankers again with Farhad, engaging in small talk, when it happened.

  “Yes and … wait. Do you see that over there? Behind the hill, a little dust cloud?” she said.

  “Probably a dust devil,” he answered.

  “I’ve seen it several times now. It’s lasted too l
ong, and there’s not much wind.”

  “Let’s go check it out. Men riding this far off the road will not be up to any good. They are probably bandits, scouting us to pick off stragglers, rustle animals.” They clucked their horses into a brisker pace, holding their bows by the grip with arrows ready to notch.

  The dust was coming from a band of ten mounted riders, all clad in baggy black Hanaean garb, heads wrapped in cloth so that only their eyes were exposed. “They look Han from their dress, and far from home. That means trouble. We’re going to pull up about seventy-five yards from them, let them know we’ve seen them, and hope they wander off for easier pickings. Be ready!” Farhad directed.

  As they closed the distance, Farhad hailed them in han-yu, but one of the gang unleashed an arrow that buzzed wickedly through the air between them. Marcia didn’t wait for directions; she hurriedly said, “You take the front, I am going to flank them on the left, ride around behind them to draw their aim off you. Hiyaa, Excelsior! Ride, boy!” Excelsior whinnied excitedly, and set off at a dead run gathering speed, his hooves drumming rhythmically. Farhad yelled something behind her, but she didn’t hear what he said.

  Riding into her first combat was exhilarating. She leaned forward in the saddle, pressing her thighs tightly against the animal’s heaving sides, rising slightly in the stirrups to the rhythm of his thundering hoofs as dry brush flew by at a dizzying speed. Thus balanced, she let go the reins, notched an arrow, aimed and fired, then another and another, some, she thought, striking home. An arrow buzzed over her head in response, followed by a second. Marcia rolled far over to shelter on the other side of Excelsior’s flanks, hoping against hope she didn’t fall at this speed. She could smell Excelsior’s sweat, feel his chest heaving with each breath, the dust, pebbles and clods of dirt flung up from his hooves stinging her face. Hoof beats drowned out all sound. Secure in her grip, she leaned forward to peer under the horse’s throat heaving up and down above her head, notched an arrow and let it fly, then several more from this position, until her legs began to burn from the effort of holding her weight. She grabbed the pommel and pulled herself back upright, finding herself just twenty-five yards from the group, slightly to the rear.