by Tony Grey
“My Roman friend, the battle of Carrhae has cast a curse on both our countries. The Caravan Road is spreading it far and wide like a disease. It’ll cause trouble for a long time to come.”
While the news elicits some interest, what they talk about next is far more compelling. Orodes and concerns about succession in the Parthian Empire are far away, but something is starting to happen right here, near this part of the Road, something that could change their lives.
CHAPTER 9
Lushan, a flamboyant Sogdian merchant just arrived with his caravan, is holding forth in front of an attentive audience. He’s got them spellbound. A picture of what Romans think of the East, he’s a vision of colour and panache. His silk tunic, as blue as lapis, is open to mid chest and gathered by a silver- studded belt. Pearls trim the edges of the garment. Still strange to Marcus, the fabric seems like the surface of a pool, capturing the light and freeing it. He’s embarrassed as he’s caught staring at it – mesmerized by its beauty and the memory of its battle role.
The Sogdian has a narrow black moustache, drawn above his lip as if by an artist’s crayon. Its precision suggests more personal grooming than could ever be contemplated by a Roman, even if moustaches were in fashion. He’s wearing a conical hat, shorter than the type worn by the magi, with silver plaques at the bottom. Loose yellow trousers are stuffed into sharp-toed boots that rise almost to the knee. His well modulated voice is pleasantly refined. Opulence and sophistication seep out of every pore.
“There will be a lot of trouble on the border soon I am sorry to say. Worse than anything in Parthia. Political waves in the East are building up to a crest that threatens to break over the Caravan Road. A deluge could come at any time.
The King of Sogdiana wants to push back the Wu-Sun who have been harassing our people for years from the East. He has entered into a risky alliance of convenience —”
One of the merchants interrupts,
“Not with Jir-Jir of the Hsiung-nu surely?”
“Yes, with him. I know it is dangerous, but what choice does he have? The Hsiung-nu have defeated the Wu-Sun before. They are traditional enemies, even though they speak the same language and look like each other. We made a treaty with Jir-Jir and sent him three thousand camels and a lot of our horses from Fergana, you know, the ones that gallop so fast they sweat blood. Hopefully that and the subsidy we pay will persuade him to keep to the bargain.”
Marcus is intrigued. A flicker of an idea begins to form in the bottom of his brain, stone cold for so long. But first he needs more information.
“Tell us more of what’s going on”.
“We Sogdians are a commercial people, peaceful and rich. The Caravan Road has blessed us with trading opportunities and we concentrate on these, not fighting battles. Art and science and cultivated living are imperatives for us, not soldiering. We are no longer trained in war like the nomadic tribes around us, the Wu-Sun for instance. They are constantly raiding us, swooping out of the desert like a foul sand storm into our cities, stealing our goods and raping our women. Our section of the Caravan Road is no longer safe. There is a danger it will actually be cut. You can imagine what that would do to our commerce.”
The other merchants gasp. That’s what their class has always feared. It’s forever been a frightful possibility since the Road was opened up and cleared of the wild Hsiung-nu. Cutting the Road would bring ruination to not only the caravaners but to all the people for huge distances around who rely indirectly on the income from it.
Lushan continues, “We are sick of it but can’t stand up to them. So we need Jir-Jir – he is the tribal leader, called a Sharnyu by the way. It means Son of Heaven.”
Marcus asks about the Hsiung-nu. Lushan says, “They are a fierce nomadic people who dominate the Eastern steppe which the Caravan Road runs through. They are traditional enemies of the Han who live to the south east, past the great mountain barrier.”
He explains how the Han are a good deal more sophisticated than the nomads, how they look similar but speak a completely unrelated language, how they have a legendary empire that extends to the great eastern ocean, how they have sent their armies against the Hsiung-nu to open up the Caravan Road, how people say the Road actually begins at their capital city far away in the east, and how nobody he knows has ever been there.
The others at the table point out that the Hsiung-nu can’t be trusted, that they’re essentially raiders who prey on the sedentary affluent. If the region is stirred up business will suffer. Marcus barely listens to the voices, now a babble as the merchants interrupt and talk over each other. He’s never seen them so excited. They all parade the horrors of warfare boiling over into Parthia and interrupting the flow of commerce. Everyone of them is staring at the face of financial catastrophe.
As the group breaks up, he takes the Sogdian aside and says, “Can I speak to you confidentially about a sensitive subject?”
Lushan nods.
“Do you think there’s any chance the chief of the – how do you pronounce it?”
“Shoong noo”
“… Would he hire a few Roman soldiers as mercenaries?”
“Yes there is every chance. When he was on his way to Sogdiana a cold snap hit his tribe and wiped many of them out. I’m sure he would welcome some reinforcements. The King is paying him well so he has money. What do you have in mind?”
“I’m in charge of a cohort – a hundred and fifty men. I’m sure they’d follow me in an escape if we had somewhere to go. We can’t go back to Rome; it’s too far. But Sogdiana is a separate country and if we joined the Hsiung-nu, the Parthians wouldn’t dare try to recapture us. I don’t know what life would be like out there but it would have to be better than here. At least we’d be free. And there’d be action – beats the boredom we suffer from now.
“Would you be willing to help? My men and I have been able to hide some money – Roman currency. Is it of any use to you?”
Always with an open mind when there’s a chance of making money, the merchant’s eyes light up.
“Yes it would be. I can have it exchanged on the western part of the Caravan Road, but you need to appreciate there would be a significant exchange loss that far from Roman territory. So your denarii will not be worth as much as you might expect”.
“That’s all right. I understand.”
After a short negotiation they agree upon a sum. No chance of losing Lushan’s interest should be taken by being difficult. Besides, Marcus is too excited by the prospects to waste time bargaining, and it’s not a worthy thing anyway in his opinion.
Virtually all of the money saved will have to be used. What an end to his get – rich campaign! Not only did the expected plunder never materialize, but now he has to spend what little wealth he has to buy his freedom, an asset he had before in abundance.
“I will have to find a way to speak to Jir-Jir personally since he will make this sort of decision himself. Right now he and his tribe are in the steppe north of Samarkand. That is our largest city. You will have to give me half the fee up front and take the risk that I will not be successful. If I fail, you will save the other half“.
There’s no choice. He must take the chance. Of course the merchant could take the money and disappear, but, judging by the respect the others show him he’s a man of good repute. In any event the prospect of earning the other half would be an incentive to keep to the bargain. Another risk is that Lushan could return from Jir-Jir full of good news which he could say justifies a price increase. But all opportunities to extract more money can’t be avoided. In any event, the potential reward of escape outweighs monetary considerations.
Lushan says “We have to wait until my caravan is ready to head back to Samarkand. I have to hire armed guards. It’s too dangerous to go alone or in a small party. Desert bandits would pick us off like sheep in wolf territory. I don’t even know how to wield a sword – ha ha ha. But I can pay others to do that. I suggest we meet again in three days. Make sure you bring the cash.
”
Excitement burns off the fog of depression as Marcus returns to camp. He calls together the officers of his cohort in a secret meeting at his tent after dark and explains the plan.
“For this to work, it can only apply to a small number of men – our own cohort, nobody else. Don’t tell even the others in our cohort until I give the word.
“I hope to conclude the arrangements with Lushan within a week. We’ll have to put up all the money ourselves for now but we can get the rest to do the second payment. Gaius, you work out a fair arrangement. I’ve asked Lushan to get the Hsiung-nu to send a contingent to meet us on the Caravan Road at a discreet distance from Margiana, if we can do the deal”.
His comrades have not been so lively since the capture. It’s like seeing colour return to the cheeks of a dying patient. A hopeless condition has been reversed by a miracle.
“This is great, Marcus, Gaius says. “The money’s no problem. Nobody’ll care. We’ve got to get out of here, that’s all. The main thing is to keep everything secret. Let’s give the bastards a surprise, ha ha ha.”
The men are keen to organize the details. Suggestions and counter suggestions keep the discussion going well into the night. Nobody wants to go to bed.
Expectation and tension, almost too much to bear, dominate the days until the meeting with Lushan. They meet outside the Margiana inn. Marcus suggests they go for a walk nearby in the wooded parkland bordering one of the delta’s arms. Flocks of long-billed egrets are taking refuge from the sun in the trees, standing motionless on the branches like white lilies. Too hot to care, they’re unperturbed by the strolling conspirators.
“I have good news,” Lushan says. “The caravan leaves tomorrow and I can be in Samarkand in three weeks. From there I can ride to Jir-Jir’s camp in a couple days. There is a Hsiung-nu officer in the Sharnyu’s’s army I met at the palace of the Sogdian King. He was in charge of the negotiations for the military aid. I am confident that he will pave the way for me to meet Jir-Jir. I arranged a personally lucrative trade deal for him while he was there. Have you brought the money?”
Marcus hands over three small sacks of coins. Lushan takes them with a gracious bow, not looking inside.
“Don’t you want to inspect the money?”
“It is unnecessary. I trust you. Besides you are too intelligent to cheat me at the beginning of our grand enterprise, which can only be successful if we work together. I will contact you when I return. We will meet at the same place.
“Make sure that you are ready to leave quickly as the Sharnyu is an impatient man. If he has made up his mind to take you and your men on, he will insist you come over immediately. He might change his mind if you are later than he expects. Then you will really be in a fix.
“You will have to find a way to bring your military equipment. The Hsiung-nu won’t have weapons for foot soldiers like you. They are cavalry people”.
He nods; the requirement is obvious. He gives Lushan the Roman salute and heads back to camp, his heart thumping so hard it lifts his tunic.
The estimated period of time passes wearily and stretches into lateness that has everyone on edge. Tempers are stoked up and hard to control; petty comments seem to take on an importance they shouldn’t.
The plans are laid, rehearsed ad nauseam. There’s nothing more to be done. The conspirators try to quell their anxiety by reminding each other that time estimates involving the Road are always imprecise and Lushan might be detained at the Sharnyu’s court for longer than expected. Marcus allows no negative talk.
His anxiety builds though, and as it’s descending into despair, one of the guards, a Sogdian, approaches him as he’s on his hands and knees making mud bricks. Ensuring that nobody is watching, he leans over and says in Sogdian,
“Your friend has arrived. He wants to see you when you finish work.”
Showing no sign of a jumping heart, Marcus looks up, nods slowly and goes back to work. It’s hard to wait for the remainder of the working day; hard to concentrate fully on his trivial task. As soon as possible he goes to the parkland beside the water.
Lushan greets him effusively with a hug, his short conical hat slipping sideways. A broad smile pulls his pencil moustache to its full width.
“My friend, I have been successful in pressing your case. Jir-Jir is willing to hire you and your men. He says, though, you will have to prove yourselves. If he judges you not up to the mark he will sell you all to the slave traders on the Caravan Road. He is a man without mercy, so be warned.”
“Thank you Lushan. I’m very grateful for your efforts. I’m sure Roman fighting skills will satisfy even the most demanding Hsiung-nu. Did you discuss the terms of our engagement?”
“I mentioned the subject but the Sharnyu said it must wait until you arrive and prove what you are capable of. You will have to take the chance. However, he is a shrewd man and, although extremely tough, will want you satisfied. On the other hand he is known to be capricious and given to bouts of temper, particularly when stoked up by drink. Are you willing to go ahead with this? To be fair, I cannot guarantee what will happen to you once you are in his power.”
Venturing so far into the unknown East and joining up with savage men are at the extreme end of the risk spectrum. Their culture would be as far removed from Roman norms as war from peace. He could be leading his men from misery into catastrophe, even death. However, his officers all agreed that the prospect of freedom so outshines other choices that even to consider them would be cowardly. There’s not a man who hasn’t suffered the pain of humiliation to the core. Any risk is worth taking to get rid of that. As is so often the case when desire for change is extreme, hope is energised to minimise the fear of consequences.
The walk with Lushan among the quiet trees is exhilarating. He feels the caress of the goddess Libertas for the first time since Carrhae. True, he’s still a slave, but her touch of freedom can be subtle, expressed in simply making a choice. And he’s done that. His life force, drained so completely after that fateful battle, is coming back, flowing warmly through his veins and restoring his confidence.
“Of course we’ll go ahead. We’re committed. Assuming we can get onto the Caravan Road in the night, what then?”
“As you requested, the Sharnyu will send a detachment to meet you on the Caravan Road at a landmark I will give you. It is a half day’s march from Margiana. The Hsiung-nu don’t want to encounter a Parthian patrol if it can be avoided. They will bring spare horses for your men to ride. That will speed up the journey to their camp. It is just as well you will be going soon because Jir-Jir has decided to take his tribe to the Talass River on the other side of the Jaxartes, a long way east”
“Most of my men have never ridden a horse”.
“They will just have to learn on the spot. Anyway, as long as the horses don’t go faster than a trot, they should cope.”
It doesn’t take much thought for Marcus to realise the critical time is the first twenty –four hours. It’s vital that they get as much of a head start as possible before the Parthians realize what’s happened.
“That seems fine. We’ll work to that plan. What’s the next step?”
“I will send a fast riding emissary to tell Jir-Jir of your decision. We will have to take the chance he will get through. I know a man who will do it for money – not much since he is a daredevil. He loves risks – any chance to prove himself.
“The Sharnyu will send his escort to you as soon as he is informed. This will mean you should time your escape for two weeks from now. I will give you a more precise date next week. Just be ready.”
It’s easy to like this sophisticated man, with his genuine friendliness. Surprising really, to find resonance in a foreign voice. Who would have thought a year or so ago, of counting a barbarian as a friend? It takes some getting used to. But somehow it seems natural now.
“That’s excellent. I’ll come back just before the escape with the rest of the money. Let’s keep in contact.”
; ❧
Everything seems to be propitious for the escape, but there’s one obstacle. While Parthian security is lax, it’s not non existent. At night, squads of four soldiers patrol the perimeter of the camp at intervals.
One must be taken out, but silently, so none of its members can give the alarm. He’s ascertained that if that’s done, a sufficient gap would open up to allow the cohort to slip through unobserved and head for the Road. He details Gaius and two others to join him for the job.
They spend the time before the appointed day training how to get close to the guards without creating suspicion and how to kill them in the dark with no sound. Footwork is important; they must maintain their balance at all times, feet directly under shoulders, taking small steps to get into position. Movement must be quick and smooth so as to avoid a scuffle. Speed is essential, with the number of separate motions required to get to the throat kept to the minimum. Any clumsiness will give the targets a chance to cry out.
Marcus will lead the mission, for the responsibility can’t be delegated. One slip and the whole enterprise will fail. It’s vital that it run without a hitch. All in the little task force are keen to practise, even until they’re sick of it, and beyond, until there’s no danger of a mistake.
Time passes and merges into a heart throbbing present, the day before the planned escape. All along, tension has been building up. Freedom’s in the air, but so is the risk of failure. Despite the practice, something unforeseeable can intervene. Killing four men without setting off an alarm is no trivial matter; the human factor is often unpredictable. And after silencing the targeted squad, the others could somehow be alerted, even though they’ll be some distance away. One hundred and fifty Romans will be there also, in the dark, moving through the gap. They must be silent too. Fortunately Roman discipline will help, but nothing is certain.
