Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

Before they knew what was afoot they were stripped naked and taken to a large tub where they were scrubbed and pummelled. They were then allowed to recover in a thin gown.

When the women left them the merchant arrived with two others. There was much deliberation but when it was over two girls were summoned. They came with pots and unguents, brushes and sponges and got to work under the stern eye of the merchant.

The first item was their hair. By now it was long – shoulder-length and unkempt. This was combed and gathered into a fetching tail.

Marius’s beard was a magnificent imitation of Neptune, fierce and curly, and greatly admired but Nicander’s was a more modest growth which was neatly trimmed.

Next it was indicated that they should close their eyes and they felt something being smeared on their skin.

When they opened them again it was to see in a bronze mirror that black kohl had been applied making their eyes wild-looking and rounded to an exaggeration.

An attendant returned with folded clothes.

They held them up in puzzlement. A long, featureless length of white linen, edged in red and a loose tunic not too different to what they had been wearing. And finally they were handed a weighty brooch, cheap and worthless.

An exasperated woman shook the tunics at them until they put them on, then held up the length of linen. Confused, Nicander could not think what to do with it but Marius caught on.

‘Makes a passable toga. We wear it like the old-timers did!’ He flung the garment over his shoulder, settling it in front in folds.

The onlookers laughed and clapped, delighted.

‘Well, if this is the uniform around here, I’ve had worse,’ Marius muttered.

Then their headgear was brought in. Tall and ridiculous, it consisted of a low crown-like piece with peacock feathers fastened to flare in all directions. It felt awkward but had a chinstrap to hold it in place. A pair of rigid clog-like shoes varnished in red completed their outfits.

The merchant indicated they stand before him while he inspected them closely. Satisfied, he called an attendant forward and seemed to tell him to carry on.

He proceeded with a mimed lesson in elementary manners. They should keep their silence and stand politely with their hands concealed in their sleeves, their heads lowered. When the merchant indicated, they were to go on their knees and bow, then to rise on command.

If this was all it was going to take to save them from work in the fields, Nicander was willing to go along with it. Marius’s face was set, giving nothing away.

The merchant stood up suddenly, and imperiously rattled off orders. Men scurried away and they were beckoned outside to a carriage. They were motioned in, the merchant climbed in opposite and they set off.

Quite soon they arrived outside the majestic wall of a great complex, the structure gaunt and forbidding with towers at the corners, upturned eaves and shaded lookout parapets.

The gate was flanked by stone lions and well guarded. They dismounted, the merchant positioning them decorously before the carriage, while he went over to the guards. One disappeared inside.

‘I’ve got my suspicions we’re not done with adventuring,’ Nicander said quietly. ‘I believe this rogue is about to sell us up the chain to some patrician for a fat profit.’

At the gateway a tall, acid-faced man appeared. He was dressed in a florid vermilion gown, on his chest a gold-embroidered rectangle of office, on his head a black hat with odd wings each side of it.

The merchant indicated urgently; they obediently went to their knees and bowed to the ground. A barked command and they rose again, placing their hands in their sleeves as bid.

The man approached disdainfully, passing by them once. He returned, stared at Marius’s blue eyes and reached out to stroke his beard. Then without warning he brutally tugged down on it, nearly bringing Marius to his knees.

The legionary spat an oath but Nicander hastily calmed him. His words, though, aroused the interest of the man who asked something in his musical but utterly incomprehensible tongue. Marius smouldered but shook his head. The man tried again in a different, rougher dialect, with the same result.

The merchant anxiously intervened but the official waved him off, and signed to them in a lordly manner to converse together.

Marius turned to Nicander and grinned savagely.

‘A right heap of horseshit, don’t you think, Nico?’

‘Why, not worth the avoiding of the meanest charioteer, I believe.’

The official beckoned the merchant back. They spoke together and he swept away without a second glance.

‘It seems he’s made a sale.’

Two men shortly appeared at the gate. One handed the merchant a folded parchment. He tucked it inside his robe and then impatiently gestured for Nicander and Marius to go with them.

Inside the gate it was a different world. Ordered, a sense of ancient peace – but also menacing in its alien mystery.

Nicander and Marius were hurried along a confusing maze of alleyways into a wide courtyard. The reek of horses left no doubt where they were but as they entered a dark passage at the end they were startled by a sudden roar of some wild beast and the agitated chatter of monkeys.

Cages extended into the gloom, some with giant snakes slowly uncoiling, others with creatures they’d never seen before.

Their escorts stopped at a door set apart from the animals and entered, pushing Nicander and Marius ahead.

A small, remarkably ugly man sat at a table spread for a meal. He looked up in annoyance but after a heated exchange the escort left.

The man raged across the room to Nicander and Marius. Because of a crooked back he could not stand straight and craned his neck sideways to peer up at them.

He threw out a torrent of words then pointed to a side room.

When it was clear they didn’t understand, he grabbed Marius, rotated him to face the room, then booted him hard in the rear.

With a snarl of rage Marius turned on him.

But in one catlike move the man leapt aside, his hand flinging over his shoulder and coming back with a small but vicious whip.

‘Come on, Marius. The ringmaster here wants us in that room,’ Nicander intervened.

It turned out to be a small sleeping area, and for want of chairs they sat on the bed.

The man took his time finishing the meal, burping with satisfaction.

Then they were summoned with a hectoring, animal-quelling roar.

Twisted back aside, the man was different to the others. His eyes were like their own, round and without the upper fold and he had a close-trimmed beard. Was he a tribesman from the outer lands?

Nicander and Marius stood uncertainly while he looked at them in puzzlement. At length he stepped back and barked something.

It was in no language Nicander had come across in his years of merchantry and he shook his head. The man tried again, this time in a rough patter that sounded for all the world like heavily accented Persian.

Then again – and unbelievably he was hearing Aramaic, the lingua franca of traders in Syria and Anatolia!

Stammering in his eagerness he managed, ‘I’m Nicander of Leptis Magna. What is your name, sir?’

The man glowered in triumph. ‘Hah! Knew you were foreign devils, soon as I clapped eyes on you.’

‘What are you doing here, where are you-’

‘Calm down, Nicandorus whatever. Bugger, but I’m rusty in this barbarian lingo! But thank the gods we can talk – we’ve one pile o’ things to get done.’

Marius grabbed Nicander’s arm. ‘What’s he say? Tell me, for God’s sake!’

‘You speak Aramaic! H-how is this possible?’ blurted Nicander.