They ate before nightfall: boiled marsh grain with pine nuts and pieces of squab that had been prepared by the prince’s cooks in the village. The men still had the spoons that Uxal had carved for them and they consumed their meal hungrily, stopping now and then to steal a look at Dan Qing, who brought tiny quantities of food to his mouth with his sticks. Metellus had tried to use them once or twice with little success, and had gone back to the wooden spoons that his soldiers used.
An hour after darkness had fallen, Quadratus cautiously left the forest and reconnoitred the trail to make certain that no one was around. He reported back to Metellus, who gave the men their marching orders: they all set off on foot, leading the horses by their halters as though they were simple pack animals.
The dirt path was well trodden, its few rocky stretches worn by thousands of years of passage. The breeze barely ruffled the leafy boughs of the thick forest which extended along both sides of the road. The moon had not yet risen and they advanced very slowly to allow their eyes to become accustomed to the darkness.
The men chatted softly to keep each other’s spirits up in that atmosphere which became gloomier and more foreboding with each step they took; every tree, every spur took on a threatening appearance.
‘Commander Metellus,’ said Balbus, ‘has decided to adopt the same strategy as when we were escaping from Aus Daiwa, journeying by night and covering less ground but staying out of sight.’
‘The Flying Foxes would have to have eyes like cats,’ added Quadratus, ‘to be able to spot us on a night this black.’
‘They’ll be headed after the fake prince with the Chinese escort anyway.’
‘Well, probably so, but the commander is no dupe, that’s for sure. He’s just hoping the trick will work long enough to give us a good start.’
‘Just five more days,’ said Balbus, ‘and we’ll be on our way back. Can you believe it? I’m counting every moment that separates me from home. Have you ever been to Spain? To Saragoza?’
‘Don’t think too hard,’ replied Quadratus. ‘Anything could happen before we get home. Do you have any idea of how far away we are? Can you imagine what we’ll have to deal with on our way back? Did you see how worried the commander looked when Daruma went off on his own? He’s thinking that the old guy won’t show and that we’ll find ourselves in the middle of this endless country with no clue about which way to go.’
‘That won’t happen. In any case, the prince would send someone back with us. After all, he owes it to us that he’s come this far.’
‘Well, I hope so. I just can’t shake this feeling that something will go wrong, and I’ve never seen Commander Aquila so troubled.’
A long howl echoed from the mountaintops, a kind of lament that greeted the slow rising of the moon from behind the peaks. A wolf, perhaps, or maybe a jackal, or some other unknown animal from this land so full of surprises.
They marched accompanied only by the sounds of the forest and by the rustling of the leaves at every gust of wind. In the distance, over the tops of the mountains, they could see lights flashing and illuminating enormous black clouds from inside the lurking storm. The dull rumbling of thunder reached their ears from time to time, dashing against the sides of the valley like waves.
Prince Dan Qing advanced with Metellus at the head of the column all night in silence, matching their pace to the sharp rise of the mountain trail.
Dawn surprised them at a little clearing dotted with tiger lilies and marvellous blue flowers similar to gentians. Metellus ordered his men to retreat to the forest and find a place in the shade of the thick vegetation to rest for the day.
THEY ADVANCED for four days, resting as soon as the sun appeared and marching at night by the ever lighter glow of the waxing moon. The forest was intensely scented and populated by flowers they had never seen before, with fleshy petals and gaudy colours. That stretch of the mountainside was practically deserted. They rarely encountered other wayfarers, and only in the hours that preceded the dawn or just before sunset: woodsmen bent under loads of enormous bundles of sticks gathered in the forest, or shepherds leading their flocks towards mountain pastures.
On the morning of the fifth day, the monastery came into sight on the slope opposite a deep ravine, perched up on a rocky peak. It was a massive complex, with a tower at each of its four corners, the same grey colour as the surrounding mountains.
Towards the east, the mountain sloped down towards wooded hills which descended towards the plain. The place seemed like a peaceful, serenely isolated retreat. It stood out against an opal sky which was paling into the rosy hues of the aurora. The mighty structure was surrounded by green fields dotted with colossal trees, solitary giants whose bulk seemed conspicuous even from that distance. It was a celestial castle, an abode of the spirit whose existence Metellus would never have been able to imagine. A similar construction in such a dominant position in his world would have been a gloomy fortress, posted with armed men and war machines.
‘Who lives up there besides your master?’ he asked the prince, who was absorbed in contemplating that sublime vision.
‘A community of monks who spend their time in meditation and study, in the education of the spirit and the body, in the search for universal harmony. Master Wangzi is their spiritual guide, but they venerate him as if he were their father, admire his ascetic gifts and love him as a person.’
‘What is a monk?’ asked Metellus.
‘A person who chooses to separate himself from the society of men to become an intermediary between the Earth and the Heavens. A man who makes searching for his true self and for the higher forces of the cosmos his reason for being. A humble man who does not pretend to be the repository of truth, but embodies the desire to seek the way and to walk the way, along with whoever is willing to follow. This man, for me and others like me, is Master Wangzi. If it had not been for him I would still be a prisoner of the Persians and my mission would have no chance of success.’
‘How did he know you were a prisoner?’
‘Before I left, I came here in secret to bid him farewell, and I promised him that I would be back before the year was out to tell him of my experiences. When he saw that I hadn’t returned after a year, nor after two, and he realized that power was passing from one hand to another at Luoyang, he activated all of his contacts in China, in India and in Persia itself, to learn what had become of me. When he had located me, he sent two messages, one to me and one to Daruma, to organize a meeting between us. It was almost a miracle, and this made me think that the Heavens had destined me to bring peace back to the Middle Kingdom and to restore the state.’
Metellus said nothing.
‘Let us go forth now,’ exhorted Dan Qing. ‘I can’t wait to see him again!’
‘Not yet,’ replied the Roman. ‘We’ve got this far unscathed because we have followed my plan rigorously. It would be foolish, now that we’ve nearly arrived, to let ourselves be swept away by impatience. I’m surprised at you, Prince. Patience should be one of the fundamental virtues of your education.’
‘It’s not a question of patience, Xiong Ying,’ retorted the prince. ‘The ravine that separates us from the castle can only be crossed using a rope bridge. An endeavour difficult enough by the light of day. By night it would be suicide.’
‘We’ll have the moonlight,’ replied Metellus.
‘The moon is not enough. Her light is too dim to illuminate the bridge.’
Metellus stared into his eyes. ‘All right,’ he replied. ‘How far is it from the bridge to the castle?’
‘Two hours of marching,’ replied Dan Qing.
‘That’s an acceptable risk,’ replied Metellus. ‘But we’ll cross the bridge tomorrow at first light. The sun is too high now.’
‘As you wish,’ replied Dan Qing, and melted back into the forest.
Some time later, Metellus saw him absorbed in meditation with his legs crossed, his back straight, hands one upon the other to form a circle with his arms. He remaine
d immobile in that position the whole day and before night fell he appeared before Metellus suddenly, as if he’d materialized from another world. ‘I’m ready,’ he said. ‘Let us go.’
‘Let us go,’ repeated Metellus, and signalled to his men to prepare for setting off.
His two centurions drew up alongside him: Sergius Balbus and Aelius Quadratus. Quadratus, higher in rank, spoke: ‘Commander, I propose that we don our armour. Once we enter the castle we will be in a closed place, susceptible to an ambush.’
Metellus smiled. ‘That place is a refuge of the spirit, Centurion, an oasis of peace inhabited by pious men who have given themselves over to meditation. Our arms must never be shown. If it makes you feel better, you can carry your sword beneath your cloak.’
‘May I tell the others to do so as well?’
‘Yes, as long as you keep them hidden.’
Quadratus nodded without great conviction. It was hard for him to believe that an apparently impregnable fortress was only a place of meditation.
They marched off just after sunset, a flaming sunset that set afire the cirrus clouds scattered throughout the immense vault of the heavens, and then pressed on until they found themselves before the rope bridge.
Metellus went to see whether they could cross it immediately, despite the dark, but he risked falling into the abyss and turned back to tell his men to wait for dawn.
23
AT SUNRISE, DAN QING was the first to advance along the rope bridge, a structure as fragile as it was daring, flung across an abyss thick with vegetation from which the intense aroma of musk flowers rose. An invisible torrent rumbled far below, flowing fast between rocks and boulders. He walked backwards, holding his horse by its halter, after having blindfolded it. He could thus keep the animal in the centre of the bridge, distributing its weight in the best way possible.
When Dan Qing had arrived at the other side, Balbus went next, imitating the prince’s example. Severus, Publius, Rufus and the others followed, one after another in the same manner, followed by Quadratus at a certain distance.
Metellus was the last to cross, along with his horse. At every tiny oscillation, the animal, despite being blindfolded, showed signs of nervousness and fear. Metellus realized that the slightest side-step would unbalance the bridge and throw him into the damp, sweetly scented abyss that yawned beneath him. But he trusted in the protection of his ancestors, who had always been propitious. They would certainly not abandon him now, with so little time remaining until he could start back home again. When he finally set foot on solid ground, he felt as if he had overcome the very last obstacle, and it didn’t even occur to him that he would have to face the same difficulties, perhaps even worse, on his way back.
‘All is well,’ he said. ‘And now on to the castle.’
Dan Qing removed his horse’s blindfold, as did the others, and the men mounted their steeds and rode towards the monastery.
They found themselves on a brilliantly green high plain, scattered with purple crocuses and spikes of white flowers that looked like asphodels. In the distance, to their right, a herd of deer grazed tranquilly under the vigilant gaze of an old male with enormous horns. Flocks of birds took flight as they passed, escaping the great oaks that rose majestically at the edge of the meadow in the fluttering early morning mist.
Metellus urged on his bay and neared the prince. ‘Everything seems calm,’ he said. ‘It would appear that all has gone well.’
‘By this time they will have seen us,’ replied Dan Qing. ‘Soon my master will come out to greet us, I’m certain of it.’
The climbing sun illuminated the bastions of the majestic structure and the statues of two griffons on top of the highest tower. The main gate slowly began to open and a tall, slender figure stood out against the light at the centre of the opening.
‘Is that him?’ asked Metellus.
Dan Qing shook his head without removing his eyes from the dark shape that stood at the centre of the gate and replied, ‘No.’
‘Did your master know of our arrival?’
‘I don’t think so. There was no time to inform him.’
‘Could there be any danger?’
‘I don’t know. We’ll find out soon.’
‘I’ll go ahead with a couple of my men. I’ll make myself understood.’
‘No. There’s no reason to fear. Master Wangzi may be intent on his meditation, or may be teaching the novices. In any case, it would make no difference.’
He hadn’t finished speaking when the low, prolonged sound of a horn blared from one of the towers and echoed repeatedly on the slopes of the surrounding mountains.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Metellus again.
‘Nothing. It’s the signal for prayer. Life in the monastery is measured by these sounds.’
‘Do you know that man?’
Dan Qing continued to advance without answering, then said, ‘There’s something familiar about the way he looks, but I can’t make out his features against the sun.’
Metellus noticed a certain apprehension in his usually imperturbable gaze.
They were now just about a hundred feet from the gate and Metellus gestured for his men to stay alert, but at that very instant Dan Qing spurred on his horse and rode straight towards the gate. Metellus set off after him and caught up in time to hear him say, ‘I’m a disciple of Master Wangzi. Please announce my presence. You can tell him that the person he has been expecting has arrived.’
The tall, slim figure bent into a deep bow. ‘Every passer-by and every pilgrim is welcome between these walls. The master is meditating at this moment but I will announce your arrival as soon as possible, so that he may receive you.’
Dan Qing considered him for a moment in surprise, as if something were escaping him, but the youth who had come to welcome him gestured graciously towards the inside of the monastery, saying, ‘Enter, please.’
Dan Qing went in, followed by Metellus and his men, but every now and then he seemed to be casting a furtive glance at the monk who preceded them.
‘How is the master?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ replied the other. ‘Thanks to the Heavens. But who are these foreigners who accompany you, if I may ask?’ he said, gesturing at Metellus and the others.
‘They are my servants. I made a long journey westward, and it is from those lands that they come: from Taqin Guo, the great Western empire.’
‘Taqin Guo . . .’ repeated the monk. ‘Very few men have gone so far and returned to tell their tale. They say that the distance is enormous . . .’
As they crossed the large slate-covered courtyard, Metellus took a look around. There was a busy coming and going of men with their heads shaven, dressed in long, wide-armed tunics. Some carried fruit in wicker baskets, others bore musical instruments. He noticed that Dan Qing turned every time one of them passed, following them with his eyes.
‘Here is the master!’ said their guide all at once, indicating a priestly figure wearing a long ochre-coloured tunic, standing at the top of one of the two rear towers of the castle, which was covered by wooden roofing. ‘I will go presently to announce your arrival and that of your round-eyed servants.’
Metellus noticed that the monk was attracted, or made curious, by his appearance and that of his comrades. Evidently, he had never seen anyone who came from the West. He would certainly have liked to ask more questions about them, but probably held back so as not to seem tiresome or discourteous.
They had reached the opposite side of the courtyard, where several doors led to interior rooms. Dan Qing met his escort’s eyes once again. ‘I have the feeling that I’ve seen you before.’
‘That’s certainly possible,’ replied the youth. ‘It’s not the first time that I’ve come to this monastery, and if you are a disciple of Master Wangzi, it is very probable that we met some time ago in this very place. Please take a seat. I will have tea brought, if you would like to share a cup with me.’
‘I would gladly have some.
They make excellent tea here in the monastery, if I remember well.’
The young man nodded his head to accept the compliment and motioned towards the entrance.
Dan Qing glanced over at Metellus and the youth noticed his gesture. ‘Your servants will be served refreshments as well, naturally. One of the brothers will accompany them to the servants’ quarters,’ he said, beckoning to a monk who was approaching them.
Dan Qing nodded to Metellus, indicating that he could follow the other monk, and Metellus nodded his assent. He made a bow and went off, followed by his men, who were holding the horses by their reins.
Dan Qing entered a room which he had already visited during previous visits, and he felt reassured by the strong sandalwood smell of the furniture and the fragrance of tea brewing in the nearby kitchen. The hospitality of that sacred place required that tea be ready at any hour of the day, from the first light of dawn until late at night, so that wayfarers and visitors would be welcomed by the warmth of that refreshing beverage. The monk disappeared for a moment and returned with two steaming bowls on a tray, which he set down on a red lacquered table. He sat opposite the prince, served him and then took the other cup and brought it to his lips.
Dan Qing noticed his eyes over the rim of the fine light blue ceramic and he felt his gaze pierce him. He took a sip himself and said, ‘My name is—’
‘Dan Qing,’ completed the other with a deep bow. ‘My Prince.’
‘Then you know who I am . . . but you haven’t yet told me your name.’
The youth continued to stare with a gaze that, under any other circumstances, would have seemed brazen if directed at a prince of imperial blood, but was not out of place in that refuge of the spirit, where humility reigned. ‘Do you truly not recognize me?’ he asked with a suddenly serious expression. ‘Can it be that the memory of your cruelty has become so unbearable that you have succeeded in cancelling it from your mind?’ Saying thus, he leapt to his feet. ‘Must I open my tunic and show you the mutilation so that you remember?’ he shouted.