Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

‘What if we don’t make it to Taprobane soon?’ Marius grunted.

‘Only two choices: keep on or stop for the night.’

In the dark they could find themselves in trouble, perhaps careering onto a reef. It was decided that when it became too dim to see down into the depths they would drift until morning. Probably the fog would be gone by then anyway.

Evening drew in. After their exertion at the oars they felt the fog’s clammy embrace keenly, condensation soaking their thin clothes until they shivered with cold. Pangs of hunger increased their misery. It became a trial of endurance.

During the night Nicander realised that by drifting they had lost their sense of direction. When they resumed the oars in the morning would they be on course, or heroically making for the boiling sea? Other horrors reared up in his imagination – sea monsters, a terrible storm, making landfall on a cannibal shore, a giant whirlpool from which none ever returned.

Dawn came at last: the fog was still all about them and as the light increased, their world seemed exactly as it was the previous day. The depths were innocent of sea bottom and there was a deathly silence.

With nothing to give a clue to direction they were helpless. Even if the fog lifted, would it disclose the same never-ending seascape?

He felt the prick of desperation. Without a scrap of food or anything to drink they would be unlikely to last long in this watery wilderness.

The sun rose – and the fog began thinning. The warmth was restoring but what would they see?

The mist began burning off in the tranquil calm.

‘A ship!’ he screamed, standing up.

By the gods, they were saved!

‘Wave, wave!’ Nicander urged in a delirium of relief.

‘That, Greek, is our own fucking ship,’ Marius said dully.

Nicander stared. They must have gone in a complete circle during the night. ‘If we don’t… we won’t survive in this pawky boat,’ he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the distant vision.

Without waiting for comment Marius took to the oars and began pulling to the ship.

By the time they reached it the side was lined with excited figures.

‘Where’ve you been to, you madmen?’ the captain blustered as they were helped aboard.

‘Oh, Marius here was touched by the sun, wished by all means to be off the ship,’ Nicander told him. ‘He got in the boat and tried to get away. Just in time I leapt in and have persuaded him to return.’ He looked around apprehensively for the compulsors.

The captain glared at them. ‘You’ve caused a lot of trouble for us.’

‘But we did return, didn’t we?’ Nicander said innocently.

‘Yes, but the other boat, it still searches for you.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry for that, sir, believe me.’ If there were souls out there at peril of their lives looking for them he did indeed regret it.

‘It is not safe to be in this place, not moving. The fog, it soon goes.’ He paused. ‘They are yours, those in the boat.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Your servants. They insist to go in the other boat to look for you, would not let our sailors to take it.’

‘You mean…’

‘I cannot wait! It is dangerous to linger. I must sail on. You understand?’

Nicander and Marius caught each other’s eyes.

Head hung, Nicander replied, ‘If by this it is the means of saving the many we must concur. Do your duty, Captain.’

The sail rose on its yard and catching the slight wind there was a growing ripple at the bow as it gathered speed.

For long minutes the two looked back with grief-stricken faces.

Nicander broke the silence. ‘Captain, you say it was only our two attendants in the boat, and they were insistent on this? I must beg of you, do allow us to check the contents of our chest. It is an unworthy thought, but not impossible, that they took advantage of our absence to seize the precious scriptures and baubles therein and make their escape. To settle our minds on the matter, might we…?’

It was brought to the privacy of the captain’s cuddy and they were left alone.

‘I – I can’t believe it!’ breathed Nicander, as they spilt out the contents of several of the leather bags to the table, the gold glittering in heart-catching splendour. ‘We have it! It’s ours!’

There was row after row of the bags and a papyrus cylinder that yielded a hoard of diamonds. ‘In case this Byzantine gold is not accepted,’ Nicander said with a huge grin, as he lifted the coins in his hands and let them cascade down.

Marius stood speechless, hypnotised by the wealth on display.

‘It worked!’ he breathed finally, fingering the treasure with a childish glee. He looked at Nicander in wonder. ‘It bloody worked!’

‘It’s ours to do with it whatever we want,’ Nicander whispered. ‘There’s enough here to capitalise, why, an entire chain of incense importers. We get to Taprobane, get on the first boat back to Arabia… and let life start again!’

By the time a tinkling bell had marked the Hour of the Snake in Yeh Ch’eng, rumours were abroad and tension and fear in the air. From behind the filmy screen of the Throne Room, a strict decree was issued. Any who showed by word or deed that they doubted imperial powers to safeguard the land, or made reference to the motions of the warlord Kao Yang, was to be severely punished.

The palace conducted its business as usual but just before midday the sharp triple-strike of the gong brought a summons to the Throne Room for urgent news.

‘Report!’ Chancellor Kuo demanded to a prostrate imperial messenger.

‘Honoured sir, I have an advice from General Wu.’

‘Well? Speak!’

The man crouched closer to the floor and looked up fearfully. ‘General Wu – he tells that the usurper Kao Yang has split his forces and it is now clear that this must be a move to surround Yeh Ch’eng.’

‘And?’

‘Sir,’ came the trembling voice clear into the silence. ‘He begs that the Son of Heaven is beseeched to leave the city this day as he cannot be certain of victory when he confronts Kao Yang tomorrow on the plains before Yeh Ch’eng.’

There was a chill of horror in the room. No one dared move. The Grand Chamberlain turned to the gauze and bowed silently, waiting.

Finally, the Emperor spoke. ‘The herald has done his duty and we are appreciative of his efforts. We award him one sycee of silver, of value not greater than ten wu chu .’

Kuo nodded to the Chamberlain for palace revenue.

First Eunuch Yuan stepped forward and kowtowed. ‘Great Majesty, this man stands in breach of the imperial decree forbidding talk of that traitor.’ He paused significantly. ‘There can be no exceptions. He must be punished.’

Smothered gasps and sighs left no doubt about the sympathy of the court.

‘Beat him,’ the Emperor said in a subdued tone.

Yuan’s face distorted with a snarl as he took a rod and crossed to the cowering figure. He thrashed the messenger in strong, aimed blows. The man whimpered and writhed, still crouched in obeisance. Blood seeped through the back of his robe.

‘Enough!’ the Grand Chamberlain snapped.

The herald scrambled to crawl away and the hall quickly began to empty as the courtiers backed out with profuse bowing and ceremony.

The Grand Chamberlain was left alone with his Emperor. ‘Great Lord, the news is painful.’ Kuo had uneasily noted that the promotion of Kao Yang from warlord to usurper had not in any way been challenged.

‘That Kao Yang has seen fit to ignore my mercy is his own failing that he will live to regret.’

‘Nonetheless, sire, General Wu counsels a prudent withdrawal of the Emperor to a place of greater safety.’