Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

Nicander concentrated, trying to take in how it all related. The frigid regions in the north were at the top and the burning deserts at the bottom. He’d heard that the limits to the world were impassable snow and ice in the north, warming by degrees until in the far south the heat reached the point where the sea itself boiled. He could see how the mass of Africa curved down and around to connect with south-east Asia on the other side, enclosing a vast inland sea with Taprobane in the centre.

The Seres. They were over to the right, past mountain ranges, deserts and vast empty spaces. Over one hundred and twenty of Ptolemy’s longitude degrees, which when brought to real terms was a distance to be measured in thousands of miles!

The steward pointed out that in addition to this world map there were separate regional descriptions on other sheets.

Fighting weariness, Nicander took in the one of the extreme Orient. There indeed was Serica, the land of the Seres, the other side of an impassable desert. Before it was Scythia, the inner home of shadowy tribes so savage and bloodthirsty that it was said the Huns and Goths were fleeing before them to fall on softer civilised peoples.

This map divided the Scythians into the Western hippophagi , the horse-eaters and the Eastern anthropophagi , the man-eaters. The rest of the sheet was vacant space – was it because travellers never returned from there to tell the tale?

Nicander was about to give up when the literary steward entered the room holding a large, brightly coloured map. ‘I came to bring you this,’ he said with pride. ‘It is lately produced and contains all we know of our place in creation.’

It was the work of the cartographer Cosmas Indicopleustes. His map was apparently constructed on an entirely new theoretical principle. Nicander tried to show enthusiasm as the steward explained that this was based on a sensible flat earth and was in the form of a rectangle with raised corners supporting a curved heaven. And modelled after the design of the tabernacle of Moses and being divinely inspired, it could obviously be relied upon.

But it completely contradicted all other sources.

Night was drawing in as Nicander headed back, bitterly disheartened. His meagre notes offered virtually nothing on which to begin laying down detailed plans for an expedition and he’d seen little to suggest there was anything of value left to discover.

As he passed by the Nymphaeum, several prostitutes waved gaily at him but he had no taste for playful banter and trudged on, ignoring the insults that followed him.

In effect he had established three things only: that silk was indeed harvested from the silk tree, that the land of the Seres was all but unknown and that it was at a staggering distance, in an uncertain direction through barbarian hordes of unimaginable ferocity.

Now he would have to face a trusting Marius waiting for answers.

The seediness of their living quarters drove in on Nicander.

Marius looked up from the table. He was fashioning something in leather, his hard, capable hands sure and swift.

‘A bloody long time!’ he growled and got up to check a pot. ‘I’ve had a mess of lentils going since sundown.’

Nicander did not enjoy such crude Roman peasant fare but knew his friend had a fondness for it. He took his bowl and ate with as much relish as he could muster.

‘So how did you get along, then? Read a hill o’ books and things, I suppose.’ Marius was literate in Latin but only painfully so.

Nicander sighed. ‘Quite a few.’

‘Well?’

‘I found the subject very complicated,’ he mumbled. ‘A lot of things to take in.’

‘So hard going, then.’

‘It was, yes.’

‘I thought of a way to find out about Seres.’

Nicander bristled. ‘What?’

‘Calm down, I couldn’t spoil your fun with the books, could I?’

‘Then please tell,’ he said sarcastically, ‘just what is it that’s better than research in the greatest library on earth?’

‘Fellow down the street I know. Back with his family after a long trip. I met up with him today.’

‘This better be good!’

‘Interesting job he’s got – camel wrangler with the silk caravans as trade across Asia with the Seres. Just asked him how far, like, what direction you go in.’

Nicander sat back. So simple – so obvious!

‘Well – what did he say?’

‘Not a lot, he couldn’t. Like ’em all he only picks up on the caravan this side of the border, that’s Nibilis for him. See, the Persians don’t allow crews to go through their territory, they might learn something, so they has their own.’

‘Oh.’

‘That’s not all. He says that they’ve foreigners – Sogdians or something – taking charge of their caravans up to there, come from way into Asia and he often talks with ’em while they hand over. What they told him is that no one at all goes the whole way.’

‘They must – how do we get the silk, then?’

Marius chuckled grimly. ‘Hey now, and you’re a merchant and haven’t picked up on it!’

‘What, damn it?’

‘Why, just that it’s all organised between ’emselves. Freight gets loaded, taken on to another town, sold in the market where there’s a profit. Then the new owner sends it to wherever he’s heard there’s a good price, and so on. Who knows how many changes. That’s why it’s so bloody expensive to us, everyone adding their profit on top, and why nobody knows where the stuff ends up or comes from. So, Nico, there’s no one sending silk from Sinae to Constantinople – no one at all!’

‘And nobody who can say where the caravan’s been or going.’

‘No. Crews change at different places – he said his friend goes on another stage with the caravan across the plains in camels and when they come to the mountains hands over to others with oxen and donkeys. He thinks there’s a mighty desert beyond but he’s not sure.’

Nicander put down the unfinished lentils.

Marius gave an awkward smile and picked up what he’d been working on. ‘For you,’ he said, almost apologetically, ‘Try ’em on. Need to impress His Nibs, won’t we.’

It was a pair of sandals of the carlatina pattern, a single piece of leather used to create a soft-soled sandal with a pleasing openwork cross lacing. ‘Why, these are wonderful, Marius. And – and just the thing to go before an emperor,’ he finished lamely.

‘Right. Well, can’t sit about, what next?’

Nicander knew he couldn’t put off telling him the truth.

When he had finished, the big man said nothing, his face set.

‘So it’s come down to stupid fairy tales and maps which don’t agree and now with what you learnt from your friend…’

They sat wordless for a long time.

‘A hit o’ wine?’

‘No, Marius. I’m not in the mood.’

‘And as for our greasy friend John the Cappadocian,’ Marius rasped, ‘I think the bastard knows more than he’s telling us.’

Nicander grunted agreement. He wasn’t looking forward to facing him but could there be something they’d missed?

John the Cappadocian greeted them with irritation. His eyes were bloodshot and his robe stained.

‘You’re finished so soon? I expected something of a proper plan, decently put together.’

‘There are difficulties that have arisen. Sir, we need your advice.’

Swearing, John cleared the table with a sweep of his arm. ‘Sit down.’

The sound of the smashing pottery brought a slave running.

‘What is it, then? Am I to be disturbed for every little problem you meet?’

‘Silk does grow upon trees, sir, I now have sufficient confirmation of that.’