One day the prince approached Metellus as they were making their way up to a pass where they had decided to make camp, a saddle between two rocky hills. ‘It’s time for you to equip yourselves with full suits of armour,’ he said. ‘The sooner the better.’
‘Why?’ asked Metellus. ‘We’ve had no problems until now in our light gear.’
‘Because we’ve almost reached the border of China. We must be ready for anything. At our next stop, we’ll be able to buy whatever you need.’
Metellus shook his head. ‘I don’t think we need anything. My men would never use weapons that they’re not accustomed to, while they know they can rely completely on their own arms. Don’t worry. We have our mail coats and all the segments of our loricae, ready to be assembled. We can make our own shields and helmets if we find a blacksmith’s shop. But how do you know that we’ve arrived?’
‘Do you see those two formations on either side of the pass?’ Daruma broke in.
Metellus had no time to answer. He watched as Dan Qing galloped off towards the spot Daruma had been pointing at. The prince leapt to the ground and bowed several times before an object that Metellus couldn’t quite make out.
Only when Metellus had drawn closer was he able to see what it was: at the sides of the pass were two gigantic stone sculptures carved in the rock, in the shape of winged monsters in a terrifying pose.
Daruma looked into his eyes and exclaimed, ‘Welcome to the Empire of the Dragons!’
18
THEIR FIRST STOP IN Chinese territory was in a caravanserai where convoys carrying silk habitually stopped. It was a square-shaped construction with four towers, one at each corner, and a four-sided portico inside. A fountain set in a basin of carved stone stood in the middle. The inn was well served by a mill, a bakehouse, a forge and a sawmill, located on its sides. The first and last were fed by a torrent that descended from the mountains; its clear, rushing waters kept the mechanisms turning at a fast, constant rate. Severus and Antoninus were fascinated by those ingenious machines, and drew closer to watch them working.
Metellus joined Daruma, who was negotiating with the man in charge of the four shops to obtain use of the forge for the two Roman fabri. He also bought horses for everyone.
Publius and Rufus were assigned the job of reassembling the lorica segments and checking the coats of mail. Lucianus mounted the javelins on their shafts, and when Severus and Antoninus had returned from their round of inspection, he instructed them to make shields using wooden boards from the sawmill, and to forge new helmets. Metellus stopped later for a look and lingered to talk with Severus, who was making the shields. He was building them in his own way, in wood and iron.
During the days they remained in the caravanserai, fortifying themselves for what lay ahead, Metellus and his men began to form an idea about the world they were entering, its rules and customs, its currency, the people’s habits and ways of dressing and even their religion.
There was in fact a small sanctuary on the premises, built of wood and painted in bright colours: flame red, white, ochre yellow and green. A holy man, a priest or a soothsayer, perhaps, delivered oracles to the travellers who consulted him. Sitting on his heels, in the typical posture of the Chinese, he tossed bones with incomprehensible markings on to the ground. They were mostly animal shoulder bones, whose flat surfaces were suitable for drawing magical symbols.
‘It’s called ashagalomancy,’ explained Daruma. ‘Reading bones. Depending on how they fall, one face or the other comes up and the seer draws his conclusions from the symbols carved into them. Dan Qing is an expert in this art. He was taught by his master, the venerable Wangzi.’
‘Dan Qing . . .’ murmured Metellus. ‘It seems like a century has passed since he leapt on to our boat and yet I still know nothing about him. What concept of power do these people have that prevents a ruler from exchanging even the most modest conversation with a common person?’
As he spoke, he was watching the prince ride up the side of a chalky hill that stood behind the caravanserai.
‘I don’t know much about him either,’ admitted Daruma. ‘But I’ve heard stories that hint at something quite unpleasant, some unmentionable secret, hidden in his past. In this country, supreme power is often associated with forms of cruelty that you and I can’t even imagine.’
‘Power is the same everywhere, but I can see that this land is very different from my own. What is it that you mean exactly?’ asked Metellus.
Daruma smiled. ‘Well, for example, when the great emperor Huangdi ruled over this kingdom, he decreed that all the schools of philosophy should be closed and all books burnt, except for a single copy of each, to be preserved in the royal library. A certain number of wise men, philosophers and writers, expressed their dissent . . .’
‘And?’
‘Well, Huangdi had them buried alive, all four hundred and sixty of them, in a common grave.’
‘I can see how having to carry out actions of that sort would make even the most communicative ruler a bit sullen,’ replied Metellus sarcastically. ‘But what’s most difficult for me to understand is how a philosophy as advanced as the one you’ve described to me can reconcile itself with such a profoundly cruel exercise of power. You know, the best of our emperors was a philosopher himself. His name was Marcus Aurelius Antoninus and he was a wise, austere and valiant prince.’
‘I believe that his fame reached as far as China, where they call him An Dong,’ replied Daruma.
Metellus looked back towards the hill and saw the silhouette of Dan Qing on his horse, scanning the horizon and the forest-covered mountains that followed one another like the waves in the sea, sloping down towards other plains, other rivers, other mountains. This world seemed to have no end.
DARUMA HIRED some porters, a couple of camel drivers and a Chinese doctor, and then they set off again. They marched for a few days until they found themselves in the middle of an oak forest, a place sufficiently isolated for the men to don their armour. They soon looked just like they had when they were on duty in their own units.
Sergius Balbus reported to Metellus, who was awe-struck. The senior centurion’s gear was perfect down to the last detail: the insignia of his rank, the horsehair crest on his helmet and the command staff. ‘Drawn up in full battle order, Commander,’ he proclaimed.
Metellus nodded and inspected them one after another, slowly, looking each man straight in the eye and observing every characteristic of his combat gear, from helmet to large square shield, perfectly reconstructed and even freshly painted, as was the custom the day before a battle. In the gleaming eyes of those veterans he saw a pride and emotion that brought a lump to his throat.
At the end of that brief military rite, Metellus stopped in front of the two fabri, Severus and Antoninus, to congratulate them. ‘I see you haven’t forgotten your trade.’
Antoninus stepped forward. ‘We have something for you, Commander,’ he said, and uncovered the breastplate they had hidden under a cloak. Fashioned for their commander and befitting his rank, the anatomical lorica was made of burnished iron, with the image of a gorgon carved in relief at the centre of the chest. Next to it was a brand-new helmet, made to measure in the caravanserai forge.
It was perfect, and polished as though it had just been crafted by a master armourer, and it took Metellus’s breath away. ‘But . . . how did you manage . . .’ he murmured.
‘We’ve been carrying it under the asses’ pack-saddles, half each, and we polished it up for you at the forge. You should have seen how shocked those barbarians were!’
‘Incredible!’ replied Metellus. ‘Help me to put it on.’
Antoninus lay it on his shoulders and Severus fastened the straps at his sides. Metellus could not help but remember the last time that someone had helped him to put on his armour. It had been in his own home, in Edessa, under the portico of the peristyle, as he was leaving to go to the emperor’s staff meeting. The home he had never returned to, that he would certainly find
dark and empty – or occupied by strangers – if he ever managed to set foot in it again.
He sighed, then put on the helmet that Severus was holding out to him, and he appeared before his little army with all the imposing dignity of his rank. The long marches had toned his body as in the best of times; the muscles of his arms and legs were sculpted by months of continuous exertion and tanned by the sun of the Ocean and of the lofty peaks of the Caucasus of India.
Quadratus approached him, visibly moved. ‘Salve, Commander!’ he said, stiffening into a salute. ‘We await your orders, as always. If only we had our eagle!’
‘The eagle is here, in our hearts,’ replied Metellus, ‘and will instil us with courage, as it has in the past. We have defied the fury of the Ocean, the vortexes of the Indus, the tempests of the Paropamisus, and we are now only a step away from concluding our mission. As soon as we have accompanied Prince Dan Qing to his destination we shall finally begin our return journey. I am certain that we will see our homeland again, all of us, together, and I am sure that our return will make many tremble and others rejoice.’
He turned to allow them to file past in marching order and found Dan Qing directly before him, staring into his eyes.
‘What I have seen is impressive,’ said the prince.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Metellus.
‘I have never seen soldiers wear their armour with such pride, or show such a bond with their commander, and so much respect at the same time.’
‘Where I come from, no officer can exercise command unless he has earned the esteem and respect of his men. You cannot give orders unless you have proved that you can carry them out. You cannot demand any sacrifice from your soldiers unless you have shown that you are capable of enduring the worst sacrifice yourself. These are the men charged with your personal safety, and I can assure you that none better exist.’
Dan Qing nodded and touched his right palm with his left fist, a gesture of leave-taking that nonetheless avoided contact – it was certainly nothing like the vigorous shaking of hands that Metellus was accustomed to. The Roman replied with a nod of his head and gave orders to begin the march.
They advanced for several days along solitary trails through countryside scattered with bushes, pine shrubs and rattan cane, among which tall, majestic trees would rise every so often, where a depression in the rock held a thicker layer of fertile soil.
As time passed, the vegetation became denser and more luxuriant and streams of clear, quick-flowing water appeared, bubbling between towering rocks and over sparkling gravel beds. They began to see animals as well, mostly brightly coloured monkeys. Their fringed coats were golden and swayed to and fro with their every movement, while their legs were brown, as if they were wearing trousers of another colour. A big male crept close, until he was just a few paces away from them, and considered them with his old philosopher’s face, his snub nose, his small, shiny eyes like pin points.
Here and there the rock faces along the banks were carved with figures of animals – deer, bulls, ibexes with huge curved horns – and hunters in the act of tracking their prey with bows and arrows. There were magical symbols at times as well, so ancient that not even Daruma knew how to interpret them. This civilization seemed to be rooted in the very origins of mankind.
The caravan proceeded in single file given the narrowness of the valley; it was without doubt a tedious and difficult route, but for this reason it was little frequented. Before long, Metellus noticed that Daruma seemed nervous, continually glancing about and sometimes stopping as if straining to hear. Dan Qing as well would spin round suddenly, even if only at the rustling of the wings of a bird frightened out of the forest by the intruders’ approach.
It felt as if they were entering enemy territory rather than the homeland of their travelling companion. The general edginess spread to the men. Rufus and Publius, who had ventured into the forest, alerted by a strange noise, shouted out in fright as they found themselves face to face with a creature that proved to be completely innocuous. It was a kind of bear, with a black and white coat and spots on his face that resembled a mask.
‘Have no fear,’ said Daruma, who had run over at the sound of their shouts. ‘It eats only cane shoots.’
And yet even Metellus could not shake off the feeling of a foreign presence. He was a veteran of years of combat in the forests of Germany and Pannonia, and his instincts kept him on edge and prevented him from relaxing, even when the others seemed tranquil. The sudden flight of a flock of birds, the sound of twigs breaking under the paws of a fleeing animal, the haunting, insistent cry of a night bird: everything increased his tension, and he ordered his men to proceed with their weapons to hand. Dan Qing seemed more at ease again after a while; his gestures were calm and measured but expressed constant and continuous surveillance, along with the potential for instant reaction.
He wore a sword as well now, hanging from his belt, a weapon that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere; none of them could even remember where or when they had first seen it at the prince’s side. It was longer than the legionaries’ swords and the hilt was marvellously engraved with refined craftsmanship.
All at once Severus, who was scouting with Martianus about a hundred feet ahead of the rest of the convoy, shouted, ‘What was that? Did you see it? What was it?’
Metellus spurred on his horse and caught up with them. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘A bird!’ shouted Severus, opening his arms wide to approximate the wing span. ‘A bird as big as ten eagles!’
‘A monster,’ confirmed Martianus.
Metellus rebuked him: ‘Oh, come now. No such animal exists.’
He hadn’t finished speaking when a sharp swish was heard and an enormous shadow crossed over the ground, looking like the wings of a gigantic bat. Metellus raised his eyes instantly, but saw nothing more than a confused shape flying off over the thick foliage of the trees.
Dan Qing drew up. ‘What was it? What did you see?’ he asked with apprehension.
‘The shadow of a giant bird crossed our path,’ replied Metellus. ‘Twice. The first time, Severus and Martianus saw it, and I myself the second time.’
‘How could you tell it was a bird?’ asked Dan Qing.
‘Yes, how could you tell?’ gasped Daruma, who had ridden up on camelback.
‘In the sky there are only clouds and birds,’ replied Severus. ‘And since I’m certain it was not the shadow of a cloud, it must have been a bird. The shape of the shadow looked like a bird. The commander saw it as well.’
‘Are there creatures so large in this land?’ Metellus asked Daruma.
Daruma hesitated. ‘We are in the Empire of Dragons, don’t forget that.’
‘We also heard a slight rustling sound, like a swish of air,’ added Martianus. ‘But it was just for an instant. When I looked up to the sky, whatever it was had already vanished beyond the edge of the ravine.’
‘I fear that our arrival has not passed unobserved,’ said Dan Qing. ‘Perhaps what you saw was someone spying on us . . . from the sky.’
‘Someone?’ repeated Metellus, stunned. ‘What do you mean by “someone”? A god? A demon? A winged dragon?’
‘A man,’ replied Dan Qing darkly. ‘And now he knows we’re here.’
The prince was quite uneasy now, eyes darting to every leafy bough. All at once, a barely perceptible noise was heard and his sword flashed through the air. A pine cone falling from a tree hit the ground, cut neatly in two, while the squirrel responsible for the false alarm fled squeaking, leaping from one branch to the next.
They all looked at Dan Qing in amazement as he sheathed his sword in a gesture of incredible precision.
‘From this moment on, we must proceed with the utmost caution,’ the prince said. He then remounted his horse and resumed the journey at a slower pace.
Antoninus, who was marching alongside Rufus, whispered, ‘I told you, he’s not a man. He must be a god, or a demon.’
Metellus approached Darum
a. ‘What was the prince referring to when he said it was a man . . . I mean, that the shadow that flew over our heads was a man? He can’t expect us to believe that men can fly in this country.’
‘I don’t know what he was referring to. I have heard strange rumours lately. What I can say is that the knowledge of this people is very advanced. Their civilization is over two thousand years old.’
‘I’m tired of these mysteries and of him acting as if he were some kind of god. I can’t wait to turn back. How much further is it now?’
‘I can’t say precisely. We haven’t taken the usual route. We’re journeying along the bottom of this ravine to stay out of sight, but I think I know where we’re headed. Let’s go on now. Try not to worry any more than necessary.’
They proceeded along the steeply sided wooded valley that bordered the torrent for four more days without anything strange happening. The tension abated and no one thought any longer about that mysterious shadow that had crossed their path. On the evening of the fifth day, when everyone seemed to have nearly forgotten the episode, a suffocated cry suddenly made them all snap to attention: one of caravan drivers tumbled to the ground, run through by an arrow. Another dart whistled past Antoninus’s head and stuck fast in a tree trunk.
‘Take cover, men!’ shouted Metellus. ‘Protect the prince!’
Before he could finish giving instructions, a barrage of arrows flew through the air, striking more men of the caravan and piercing the shields of the legionaries, who had raised them in their defence. A swarm of armed men dressed in black rushed out of the forest and fell upon Dan Qing and his defenders, swords drawn.