Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

‘Nico, you’d better have this act worked out pretty good, or we’ll be in big bother with Yi.’

‘I have something in mind. Don’t forget, I’m a Greek.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘Saving your presence, Marius, we Greeks are the origin of civilisation, creating high culture even before you Romans hacked down your first barbarian. Then we were overmastered by you lot, who admired us so much you imported us in quantities to entertain you.’

‘So?’

‘Well, then we had us Greeks and our delicacies and refinement, being asked to lay it before those whose sensibilities are, should we say, yet to reach full flower.’

‘What’s your point?’

‘It is to say that we found a way to do it. Every time we were told to declaim a noble piece of art to such… we put on an act! One calculated to please. It never failed.’

Heading off an angry retort Nicander went on quickly, ‘So here we have a culture without philosophy, science and poetry. And we Greeks – and I count you as an honorary Greek, Marius – will go before them and give them what they want.’

‘Ha! Not me! I’d rather die in a ditch than take on pansy Greek ways! No act – I’m a Roman, bugger it!’

‘Marius, I don’t think you have a choice…’

Their ‘togas’ were now trimmed with purple, a capital offence in Rome. They contrived a pair of sandals each. Yi grinned at these; the Chinese would regard it as a shameful display of the naked foot.

Their hair was dressed to fetching curls, and they wore ‘laurels’, woven from the leaves of the tao chu tree. Yi insisted they use women’s white facial powder, which together with the kohl made them fearsome foreign devils indeed.

‘Are you prepared yet?’ Yi nervously blustered. ‘Hao presses me, the villain, and I can’t hold off for much longer.’

‘We’re ready, Beastmaster. Tomorrow night?’

‘Right! If it doesn’t…’ He made a cutting-the-throat motion, glared at them both, and stalked off.

They were taken along myriad passageways, past ornamental gardens and ponds of golden fish and into a high antechamber. The hum of conversation came from a larger room nearby.

The guards in the doorway were dressed in flowing full-length russet gowns over which they wore long purple surcoats with enormous sleeves. Each had a sword held upright in a ceremonial scabbard nearly half their height.

Nicander marvelled at the workmanship, the sense of style that was so alien, yet so elegant.

Then his mind snapped alert. He would soon be going on before this emperor and his full court.

Yi was nervously tapping his side. Marius stood grim-faced in his Roman costume.

An ill-tempered bellow erupted above the chatter and noise.

‘Get ready!’ Yi hissed.

The conversations died, replaced by a scraping of furniture, then silence.

Nicander peeked into the room. It was in shadows, lamps glimmering warm and gold but enough to see the audience. In the centre of the far side was a raised dais, shrouded in yellow muslin. On either hand were opulent figures in luxurious silks and elaborate headgear. Their jewels picked up the light in a dazzling display.

Yi scuttled in with a well-practised welcome and the patter of an introduction, then called out loudly in Aramaic, ‘Now, the foreign devils!’

At a signal from Yi, Marius marched in and halted, looking about him as though affronted. ‘I’m a Roman and proud of it!’ he roared, daring any to deny it.

To the side Yi translated with pop-eyed histrionics.

There was absolute silence and some of the ladies recoiled at the fearful sight.

‘Tremble all who see me, you bastards!’ bellowed Marius.

Whatever was translated brought a sudden snort of mirth from behind the curtain, which was instantly followed by a general tittering.

‘Is there any witless bugger here wants to argue?’

Marius paced about, glaring first at one individual then another. They jerked back in fear.

Yi rolled his eyes and burst into animated commentary which brought an excited buzz and laughter.

This was Nicander’s cue. ‘Hey ho, old friend!’ he said airily, as he strolled into the centre of the room.

Marius looked at him. ‘Hello, you old bastard,’ he boomed. They faced each other and began a complicated ritual of greeting, loosely based on the Moorish touching of head, lips and heart repeated several times.

Yi gabbled away and it brought a sudden roar of laughter.

‘Shall we eat at a tavern?’ Nicander suggested. This was relayed on; there was an immediate silence of anticipation.

‘Where?’ said Marius, shading his eyes and looking about him. This was met by another roar and those at the back pressed forward eagerly to see.

Yi gestured impatiently; a table and two stools were brought in.

‘Ah. We’ll go there.’

Nicander and Marius sat with much ceremony.

‘Serving boy!’

Yi scurried up with a slate, bowing and scraping.

‘Do you have any beef?’

Yi ‘translated’, his horrified eyes wide, while the audience convulsed at this reference to actually eating a lowly beast of burden.

Yi turned back and shook his head sorrowfully.

‘Then we’ll have lamb.’

In his aside Yi could hardly contain himself and the room bayed with laughter.

He turned back in mock solemnity and shook his head again.

‘What a useless tribe of shite-hawks. Then we’ll have something else,’ Marius said loudly, banging the table.

Yi’s translation brought a mix of hesitant laughter and apprehension. He beamed and made a quick exit.

He reappeared grandly bearing their repast, miming avoiding the ‘stench’ of a giant, swollen rat. There was a hiss of indrawn breath and the room fell quiet.

Nicander and Marius looked at it gleefully, rubbing their hands in delight.

Yi then solemnly presented them with oversized chopsticks which they accepted with every expression of politeness, and set to. The rat was a cunningly crafted imitation but the audience was unaware of the deception. Nicander swiftly secured the rear end of the rodent and brought it to his nose to savour its aroma.

Annoyed, Marius snatched it back, his lack of command of chopsticks ensuring it fell to the ground. He then picked it up in his hands and began stuffing it in his mouth, ignoring the cries of disgust that came from all sides.

Nicander leapt to his feet crying ‘foul friend!’ and wrenched out a small wooden sword concealed under his toga.

Yi’s commentary brought hoots from their audience.

Marius dropped the rat and reached for his wooden gladius and they joined battle, threading between the delightfully horrified onlookers until they could make their exit.

‘Yes, well then. I agree – you did a fair job.’

Gruffly, he went on, ‘And the Dragon Throne sees fit to command our presence again tomorrow night for a repeat performance.’ He sniffed as though it happened for every act. ‘More guests – probably wants to show off his new diversion.’

Downing his rice wine, he relented. ‘Knew it’d go – there’s been nothing like it in the whole country. Kuei laos don’t grow on trees this side of creation. Well now, why don’t you sup with me. I’ve a line to the Emperor’s kitchen and get the leftovers. Mouth-smacking stuff, all you can eat – that is, if you can stand rich food!’

That night they dined on fish maw in broth, pork-stuffed eggshells, fragrant duck and a wondrous array of many other delicacies.

‘That kind of vittles I can stomach,’ Marius declared, flopping back contentedly.

Nicander had been giving some thought to their situation as they ate. It was all very well being treated like this but in the last resort they were slaves. And their situation could change as easily for the worse, and the key to it all was Beastmaster Yi.