The Tortoise in Asia

by Tony Grey

  ❧

  The march starts up again.

  One by one, oases come and go, each struggling to survive in the grim Taklamakan. They’re like knots unevenly tied in a long string. There would be no crossing without them. It’s just as well that whoever is navigating knows which track to follow. The Road is in its mischievous mood, leaving false clues to lead the unwary to perdition. Since time before reckoning its heartless fraud has claimed many victims, desperate men walking into endless wastes, their hopes becoming more and more frantic until thirst overwhelms them and they lie down to die in the cruel sand. Spurious paths are not the only delusions. Shimmering blue sheets on the distant sand near the horizon beckon the visitors, promising life – giving water only to fade into nothing on approach.

  Suddenly a frisson spreads through the troops like the stirring of poplar leaves. A black plume is rising from the beacon tower just ahead, straight as a pole. A halt is called and the leaders hurry to Colonel Chen’s chariot. Kang brings Marcus over. The commander of the beacon tower is summoned.

  “Commander,” Chen says, “Which direction did the signal that set your’s off come from?”

  “Due west, sir.”

  “That settles it. Other Hsiung-nu tribes have heard what happened at the Talass River. They’re probably heading to Gaochang. With us away, the fortress is weakly defended. The dogs have always wanted to eliminate that thorn in their side. If we have to we’ll send the cavalry on ahead but we’ll need the infantry if we’re going to chase them off.”

  Order a march at the quickest pace,” he says to his second in command.

  “They’ll be a lot faster than us, probably ride all night. At least we’re ahead, impossible to know by how much. And they’ll have to go out of their way to pass us by – won’t want to run into us. If we make good time we have a chance of getting there soon enough. The fortress should be able to hold out for at least ten days.”

  Gan is horrified. “My wife and daughter are there. We must make it.”

  Despite the arguments in the past and their contrasting personalities, he’s relieved that Colonel Chen is here. There’s a time when aggressiveness is worth more than his kind of mildness and it’s now. But he’s still hideously worried, struck silent by the enormity of the peril. He always knew the dangers of the West but until now they were not as immediate, or personal. All he can do is remain silent, leaving everything to Chen, and hope. It’s hard to keep his apprehension under control, especially as he has no role to play in the drama to distract him.

  Gan is not the only one worried; most of the army have families at the threatened outpost. The anxiety pushes everyone to a heart-thumping focus on getting there before it’s too late. The foot soldiers pick up pace, more than they, even the officers, think possible. Although they’re not particularly concerned, the Romans have to keep up. Fortunately their condition allows it, uncomfortable though it is.

  Marcus wonders if they’ll they meet any familiar Hsiung-nu faces, any of the old crowd. There was never a lot in common – but they were the ones who provided that first taste of freedom. Odd, this life as a mercenary, switching sides. Not like being in a national army. Anyway the remnants of Jir-Jir’s force may not be part of this group. He hopes so. A soldier working for hire doesn’t have a choice but he has a preference.

  Chen demands an even faster march. Without demur, the men push their speed past what they’ve ever dreamed of, like athletes in the finals of the games at Olympia where pride of city state rests on their performance – only more so, as the lives of their loved ones are at stake. Determination is overcoming pain, leaving it behind without a thought. It’s still a race they can win; they just have to arrive before the fortress is overwhelmed. Much depends on the tenacity of the small force there, but, as everyone knows, it can’t hold out for long. Each beacon tower they pass has a black plume. Thoughts of the savagery that’ll take place if they’re late scream in their brains. Although Kang has no family in the West, his natural empathy shines through. It’s reflected in his subdued demeanour, quiet and tense, facial muscles unmoving.

  While Marcus and his cohort are understandably disengaged from the anxiety, they can’t help but notice the grimness in the faces of their new comrades. They too feel the tension in the air as the march quickens.

  ❧

  The army descends into a widespread depression that concentrates the heat like the pit ovens people use out here. But the pace doesn’t slacken. On the left, the Flaming Mountains appear. Anxiety linked to hope rises like an ocean swell as the rammed earth walls of Gaochang come into view. Yak tail banners are moving jerkily on the horizon. The Hsiung-nu are surrounding the town; they’re probing to find a weakness to breach. But they haven’t found one yet, although the battering rams have partly dislodged sections of the wall. The garrison is holding out, but under extreme duress.

  Marcus can see Han soldiers on the top of the walls pouring hot oil and boulders onto the attackers and shooting them with crossbows, but they’re being thinned out with salvos of arrows shot from below. Men are tumbling down in clusters. The reinforcements have arrived in time, but only just.

  Chen has decided on a plan of attack while they marched, mounted scouts having gone ahead and reported on the disposition of the enemy. He orders a halt and calls the commanders together. Marcus is required to attend. The Romans are to support the Han infantry on the right wing. There’s to be no retreat under any circumstances. Every man must fight to the death.

  As the relief army approaches, some of the Hsiung-nu react, but the main force is slow to abandon the siege. They’re like flies feeding off a carcass, reluctant to leave even in the face of danger. Eventually though, they turn away from the town and confront the Han as their cavalry charges towards them across the hot plain. Most have already discharged their arrows so only a small hail of missiles descends on the Han. The besiegers draw their swords and a melee of slashing and shouting erupts across the plain.

  The allied infantry begins its attack, swarming across the stony sand into the oasis. Marcus leads his men in the Testudo formation, a battering ram smashing into the enemy cavalry. Arrows bounce off the scales like hail. The horses shy away from what seems to them a giant monster. Nearby Han soldiers are amazed by the sight. So are the Hsiung-nu, who fall back momentarily. They think something supernatural is attacking them, a colossal monster with a hundred feet. They recover though as soon as they make out the individual soldiers, but still retreat.

  Romans call the formation a Testudo, their word for tortoise, because the interlocking shields look like the scales that form the creatures carapace. It lumbers over the land like a tortoise, slowly and exorably, its shell designed to protect it against predators.

  Fierce hand to hand fighting swirls around the fortress, neither side prevailing. Collapsing the Testudo, the Romans cut their way forward with thrusting gladius and push the enemy back. The Han cross bows begin to have effect and the Hsiung-nu take heavy casualties. But they have a lot of fight left in them. Still mounted, they swing their long swords at close range with animalistic fury. Their resolution stops the Roman advance.

  Marcus is at the front of the cohort with Gaius beside him. They carve a salient into the enemy mass and the Romans begin to make progress again. In the heavy fighting, three Hsiung-nu gang up on Marcus, separating him from his comrades. He fends them off but one of them lands a blow on his helmet knocking him out temporarily. He falls to the ground and while he’s recovering his senses the Hsiung-nu move in to finish him off, their horses stamping impatiently. His shield dropped, he rolls over on the ground and uses his short gladius to parry the slashing swords coming at him from all sides. Desperately trying to save himself he fears he’s done for. All he can do is keep rolling, present a moving target until finally someone gets him.

  Gaius sees his friend through the chaos. He rushes over and, standing over him, smashes the first Hsiung-nu’s horse with his shield with such force that the animal is stunned. The blo
w, which only Gaius could deliver, causes its rider to lean over, almost breaking the bond between horse and man. Seizing the vulnerability, the Roman runs him through. He does the same to a second. Marcus gets up, pulls the third one off his horse and stabs him with Owl’s Head.

  “Thanks Gaius” Marcus yells and runs back to the fray.

  After three hours, about as long as soldiers can fight at peak form, especially in this heat, the tide turns and the Hsiung-nu begin to flee. Most escape around the back of the fortress and gallop off into the desert, yak tail standards sinking into the sandy horizon. It’s a complete victory and Gaochang is spared. But everyone knows what a close call it was. A few more days on the Road would have sealed the fate of the town and all the families in it. The uncertainty is likely to have titillated the heartless Communicator.

  As the Romans trickle back towards the place where their camp is to be set up, Marcus seeks out his saviour.

  “Gaius my friend, thanks for what you did out there. You saved my life. I owe you. If we were back in Roman territory you would get the corona civica for that. No doubt. Absolutely no doubt. Here you just get my thanks – for ever.”

  He gives the big man a long hug.

  “Marcus you would have done the same for me. You don’t owe me anything. Life-long friends don’t owe each other. Let’s have a drink.”

  “Good idea. I need it.”

  They take a swig of the Hsiung-nu poison from a leather pouch Gaius has carried with him. The strong liquor hits their throats in a pleasant jolt.

  ❧

  The next day, Chen summons Marcus to the fortress. When he arrives he’s led to the great hall; its mud brick walls and high ceiling give some respite from the heat. Outside it’s intolerable. To conserve the cool, the windows are small, letting in only a miserly amount of light. No one wants to add the heat of torches so the hall is sombrely dark.

  Gan, Chen and Kang are there, sitting cross-legged in silken splendour on a polished wooden dais at one end of the rectangular room. Gan is in the middle on a slightly raised rostrum. Military banners flank the dais like poplar stands. The hall is full of people, all silent and impassive, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor. A space of at least five paces separates the dignitaries from the audience. Gan gives Marcus a slight nod which seems friendly and a sentry takes him down one side.

  After several rows, he sees women, presumably wives and daughters. They’re sitting about a third of the way back. One particularly is noticeable – a pretty girl who seems around twenty. In a few steps he gets a good look at her, more like a stare. It seems she notices him; perhaps there’s a suggestion of friendliness. Probably it’s just his imagination.

  She’s sitting in the row behind the one he’s is led to, beside an older woman, probably her mother. Several rows are taken by women. The rest of the hall is occupied by about two hundred officers. There’s no indication what the occasion is, but undoubtedly it’s important.

  After a silence long enough to be eerie, Gan begins to speak, announcing that this is to celebrate the great victory at the Talass River and the saving of Gaochang.

  “It’s also to honour the courage of our soldiers. As the representative of the Emperor in the Far Western Commanderie, I’m authorised to award honours for bravery and will do so today.”

  A number of men come up one by one to receive awards. Marcus hears his name called. Somewhat bemused he walks up to Gan.

  “You and your men were observed to fight well in the action at Gaochang. I’m pleased to declare that henceforth you’ll be officially integrated into our army. You Romans will be given permanent residence here and appropriate accommodation as soon as it’s built. In the meantime you’ll continue to live in your tents”.

  Kang seems pleased, Chen inscrutable.

  Marcus mumbles a thankyou and returns to his seat, looking at the girl again but trying not to be obvious, which of course he is.

  After the awards ceremony has concluded, a name is called out and a soldier comes forward, looking dejected. Chen says

  “Wu-Jiang, it’s been reported that at the Battle of Gaochang, you showed cowardice in the face of the enemy. You turned and tried to run away. This is particularly disgraceful since we were trying to save our families. For that you’ll be punished with ten years’ imprisonment.”

  Marcus remembers Wu-Jiang who was in a unit fighting alongside the Romans, in fact got to know him a bit afterwards. The report is wrong. There must be some mistake.

  Before Chen has finished his criticism, Marcus leaps up as if stung by a wasp and quickly walks to the front.

  “That’s a false report, Colonel Chen, completely false. I was there at the time and saw Wu-Jiang. He did fall back with some of his men, that’s true. But it was only a feint to draw the Hsiung-nu in. As soon as they were extended, he attacked with great courage and routed them. Instead of being condemned he should be given an award for bravery.”

  Chen’s face tightens and his long sleeves twitch. He says in a loud voice, almost a shout,

  “How dare you interfere with our proceedings. This has nothing to do with you. You’re a foreigner. Be silent and sit down or you’ll get into trouble. Wu-Jiang must be punished for what he did and that’s all there is to it.”

  “But Colonel Chen, the report you’re basing your decision on is wrong. The facts don’t support it. I don’t know why someone would say such a thing. I can only suspect there was a personal motive behind it. Anyway Wu-Jiang is not a coward. He’s a brave man.”

  “Be quiet”

  “I cannot just stand by and see an innocent man condemned. I implore you to at least order a formal investigation into the case. Give Wu-Jiang a chance to defend himself, bring forward witnesses who saw what happened. I’m one. There’s a great injustice being done here.”

  “You’ve gone too far, mercenary. I’m satisfied with the verdict. It’s not your place to question it. You’re a foreigner, foreign, foreign, foreign,” he says jabbing a finger that suddenly jumps out of his sleeve like a striking snake. “You’ve insulted the Empire. Cheng – Jing, arrest this man.”

  Marcus is stunned. Like a puddle of winter water in a flash freeze, he’s suddenly changed his state – once again. Just a few words did it, words which he need not have spoken. Or was there a necessity standing in wait for the time to act? However fast the reversal happened, its cause lay in the past, in his wounded soul. He takes a deep breath and stands tall. As two soldiers lead him down stone stairs to the dungeon he feels strong and clean, as if he has just completed a healthy exercise and washed in the Pierian spring.

  CHAPTER 18

  He’s pushed roughly into a small lightless cell. Nothing is in it except a bucket in the corner, no bed, no chairs, just a blank mud brick enclosure with no windows. The door slams shut with a harsh rattle and a key scrapes in the lock. He’s been deprived of his liberty before but never locked up. On one level it’s frightening, being alone in the dark with no idea for how long – people grow blind without light after a while, but on another, its horror is assuaged by the events in the hall. His sprits soar out of the cell as he savours the one thought that comes to him over and over again. He’s done what was needed to placate the Eumenides. Now he can breathe without a clamp on his heart. Deep down at the spiritual level he feels a new sense of freedom. He doesn’t care about his incarceration. It’s sure not to last long; something will happen to release him.

  The night passes well, though he has difficulty sleeping on the stone floor. The torturing birds don’t appear. While the tormentors didn’t come every night, the threat was never absent. This time is different; he knows they’ll leave him in peace now.

  When he wakes up, the warden comes to move him to another cell – doubtless at the behest of Kang. At least now there’s a small window, simple but reasonably comfortable bedding, a small wooden chair, and visitors. Gaius is the first, bringing his books. And with him is Ting Ting. As soon as he puts him down, the little dog rushes around Marcus wagging
his curly tail and making squeaking sounds. The warden brings in some straw and tosses it in a corner. He seems a bit friendlier than he was last night. Gaius says;

  “Marcus, we’re doing all we can to get you released. Not much we can do though. I spoke to Kang. He’s sympathetic. That damn colonel’s an idiot. Shit, he should know we need you if we’re expected to fight for them.”

  “Thanks for that Gaius. I want you take charge of the cohort until I get out of here. Be sure to keep the men busy. I don’t know when they’ll release me, but I can’t see it’s in their interests to keep me in forever.”

  “By the way Marcus, why did you have to antagonise him like that? So what if one of their men gets falsely accused. We don’t owe them anything.”

  “I felt I had to do it, as simple as that.”

  “All right, your decision, but it seems odd to me. Anyway, we’ll do all we can to get you out of here.”

  He hears the scratching of a key and the clank of the door opening. Ting Ting barks furiously and runs to the door. Kang appears. Gaius says hello and leaves.