Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

Then, piercing the night, came the pure sound of trumpets, followed by shouts of command up and down the line of guards.

Flares blazed into life at the gateway to the palace as Emperor Hsiao Ching of the Eastern Wei dynasty appeared in all his glory. Resplendent in his dazzling yellow robes embellished with the five-clawed imperial dragon, he gazed out on his people. A giant drum began pounding and all along the line of guards, kindled torches were raised in a stunning spectacle.

The chariot ground off, the imperious figure of the Emperor looking neither one way nor the other. As he passed, his subjects fell prostrate and the air was wreathed with the fragrance of incense.

At the steps of the temple the Emperor dismounted. Officials and noble families quickly knelt in obeisance. He progressed up to take position at the altar, then turned and faced the multitude.

On one side of him Grand Chamberlain Kuo held the jade-bound Book of Wei , a compendium of proverbs and rules of the dynasty that came down from centuries past in the country’s long history, written in antique characters revered for the excellence of their execution.

On the other, First Eunuch Yuan prepared the instruments of sacrifice.

Ying Mei could sense the guarded hostility in the two men. She knew her father resented the privileged access the eunuch had by reason of his personal attendance on the Emperor; he suspected that much of what he counselled was being overborne by Yuan to advance his own interests.

‘My loyal subjects – listen now to your Heavenly Lord’s words!’ A spreading sigh came from the people who flung themselves down again in kowtow.

‘We are gathered to offer sacrifice in order to gain the smile of benevolence from heaven in our need and…’

He finished and motioned for the people to rise, then beckoned to the Grand Chamberlain. Kuo stepped forward and opened the precious book. In a commanding voice he read the passages he had painstakingly selected, nodding in satisfaction at the humility and trust they were evoking.

A bronze libation vessel was brought forth; three-footed and of great antiquity, it was filled with precious wine and placed before His Imperial Majesty. With the utmost dignity, he raised it and drank, first to the heavens, then to the august earth, and finally, to the ancestors – and it was time.

At a discreet signal, a small pure-white goat was led out, bleating piteously in its anxiety. The creature was pinioned in front of the Emperor. A reverent hush descended on the crowd as the sacrificial knife – jade, with an obsidian blade – was presented to him. He raised it high, chanting sacred words known only to gods and emperors, and in the expectant quiet brought it down.

But the sacrifice was fumbled by the old emperor.

The kid screamed and kicked. In place of a clean slice across the throat the wound tailed off on one side. Spurting blood splattered those nearby as the animal, frantic with pain, went berserk. Unnerved, the Emperor stabbed and slashed until the creature finally gave up its life.

When it was over the Emperor stood before his people, bloodstained and hesitant. Trembling, he was unable to take the ancestral Book of Wei in his hands. The Grand Chamberlain held it for him, expressionless, while he feebly pronounced the sacred words.

The omens could not have been more dolorous. The Emperor mounted his chariot and moved off, a diminished figure. Down the torchlit way there was no doubt of what had passed: instead of the full-throated roar of acclamation due an emperor – Wan siu! Wan siu! Wan wan siu! Live ten thousand times ten thousand years! – there were only thin and fitful cries. The act of intercession and reassurance had failed.

The captain announced that they would raise Taprobane in a day or so, save no monsters of the deep should appear in the meantime.

‘We’re never going to get away, not with those two around our necks,’ Nicander said bitterly. ‘And Taprobane – what in Hades is it like? Do they speak half-decent Greek? Or Latin? If we make a run for it, how do we survive without means – let alone get back to any kind of civilisation!’

‘You want me to tell you?’ Marius said.

‘You’re not saying we should give up, turn ourselves in?’

‘No, sort it out now. They’ve got their orders. Get the seeds at all costs, then get rid of us.’

‘You mean…?’

‘After they find out it’s all a fast one, their only chance of clearing themselves before Justinian is to scruff us and make sure we front up to him to explain ourselves. Nothing else will save ’em. This is all to say that either way, in Taprobane we’re finished.’

‘But-’

‘No. That’s it – we’re gone. Unless we solve everything in one hit – even to lay our hands on the gold.’

‘I know what you’re going to say, Marius, and-’

‘We get in first. Knock ’em on the head and our problems fly away.’

Nicander’s world shrank to a single focus. He was being asked to kill. When a human life flickered to its end under his hands, could he coldly just move on?

His rational self told him there were times when there was no other recourse – on the battlefield, defending oneself – but could he be like Marius, who he’d seen with his own eyes arrive at the decision to kill a child and then act on it? It had undoubtedly saved them all from the Ostrogoths but he feared he could never bring himself to do it.

‘Marius, I’m not sure I could do it. Kill someone, I mean.’

‘Barehanded? Yes, it can be tough for anyone not used to it.’

He edged toward the bulwark and furtively used his chlamys to shield a crude seaman’s knife, its haft bound in worn rope but with a stout blade and wickedly sharp.

‘Take it. Go for the throat and make it a good ’un.’

‘Marius-’

‘Don’t worry about me, I’ve got a hatchet.’

‘You… you don’t understand,’ Nicander said piteously. ‘It’s that… you have to believe me, I can’t go up to someone and… and… just kill them!’

‘Do it right, they won’t feel a thing.’

‘No! I can’t…’

‘What do you mean, you can’t do it?’

‘The knife, the… the blood… kill them, that is.’

‘You might not like it, but there’s times when you have to, Nico!’

‘I – I know, Marius. But… but I really can’t,’ he ended miserably.

Marius breathed heavily. ‘If you don’t do your bit, where are we going to be? I can’t take both of ’em at the same time.’

Nicander said nothing, his eyes pleading, but he took the knife.

‘Look, we do it after the captain and watch turn in about midnight. Gives us time to heave the bodies in the sea after. And if you’re worried about being caught, don’t be. We’re holy men, we’d never do a thing like that,’ he added. ‘Get some kip while you can. I say it has to be tonight, we haven’t time else.’

Sleep would not come for Nicander. Brutal scenes of murder and death preyed on his imagination.

At last the captain did his final turn around the decks and disappeared. In the enveloping blackness of night the vessel settled into a creaking peacefulness.

A single lookout took his position right aft. He was staring away over the stern lost in thought – they had the ship virtually to themselves.

Marius whispered hoarsely, ‘Now’s the time! Are you ready?’

Nicander felt for the knife in rising panic.

‘Good. Let’s go, Nico.’

He started silently forward but Nicander was frozen to the deck.

‘Come on,’ Marius snarled, gesturing savagely. ‘We’ve not got long!’

Nicander couldn’t move.

‘Right! You’re leaving it all to me, you scumbag! Well, I know what has to be done and I’m going to do it. I’ll take both of ’em on, be buggered to you, Greek!’