The Tortoise in Asia (26 page)

“Why do they have those black markings on their faces?”

“It's our custom to have envoys surrender their credentials and have their faces painted before they enter a Sharnyu's tent.

“The Han are sure to march against us after their envoys return. It's a long way for them to come though; so their army won't be that large. However, I've broken with the King of Sogdiana, so there could be some danger from the Sogdians too, although they're useless in battle. I had his daughter killed, the one he sent me for a wife.

“Too bad, she was good looking, ha ha ha. I did it to make the split clear. I don't need him any more. I'm powerful enough now to collect tribute from the Sogdians direct, the rich weaklings. That gives me much more than the King ever paid.”

“How do you plan to deal with the Han army?”

”I will let them attack us. We will defend behind the fortifications and sally out. They had better be strong, Roman. You and your men will be under attack too. Don't expect any quarter from the Han.”

“Don't worry Sir. The walls are thick and the palisade'll be hard for them to get over.”

Marcus has no idea of the fighting capabilities of the Han or their numbers but doesn't want to be equivocal in front of the Sharnyu. Besides, what he's seen so far of the Hsiung-nu in battle gives him assurance.

“They will take a while to get here – have to get over the mountains. But get your men ready anyway.”

He comes over and puts an arm around Marcus' shoulder.

“Roman, you and I are comrades now. I look forward to seeing your men fight again. Together we will smash the Han like we did the Wusun. You'll see, ha ha ha.”

The prospect of action is exhilarating, spiced by the expectation of facing an unknown enemy. And what a relief it'll not be against the Sogdians. Marcus' faith in Roman fighting ability has returned, but without the erstwhile arrogance that sometimes strayed into hubris. And it's good to have the confidence of the Sharnyu. He leaves the tent in an upbeat mood and goes to share the news with his comrades.

F
ar away from Sogdiana, on the eastern portion of the Road and past the great mountain barrier is a lonely outpost in the wilderness. It's built of mud brick in a low lying oasis on the northern reaches of the Taklamakan desert. In that region, every few kilometres, rammed earth beacon towers, four and a half metres high, rise out of the sands and extend like a necklace all the way to the frontier of the Han Kingdom. Whenever danger breaks out, each tower signals to the next – wood fires at night, black smoke from wolf dung in the day. Arduously collected from the wilds, the dung produces a colour not only aesthetically pleasing but distinguishable from normal fires.

Inside the multi-towered fortress, a hastily called meeting is in progress between Gan Yen-xu, the Protector -General of the Western Region and Chief Commandant of Cavalry and his second in command, Colonel Chen Tang who's in charge of military operations. Both are relatively young, Gan a few years older than Chen but still in the vigorous part of middle age. The Emperor knows of the hardships facing anyone in the wild west, so remote from civilization that only the hardiest can cope.

The climate at Gaochang is difficult enough in winter but next to impossible in summer. Heat, glancing off the Flaming Mountains bordering the oasis, is hot enough to cook without a fire. It's now autumn, the season that's meant to tame the heat; but here it reduces it only by a few degrees.

The garrison town is there to discourage the Hsiung-nu from raiding the Road. Although the Confucian scholars in the capital at Chang-an consider the trade it facilitates to be somewhat parasitical, the more pragmatic Emperor considers it a significant benefit, worth protecting.

As this is a private conference, it's held in an ante room just off the main hall. Although small, the room has high ceilings supported by wide, rough-hewn beams. A window at eye level looks out onto the central courtyard which is paved in cobblestones, sun-drenched and empty. The occupants of the fortress are all inside the thick walls trying to avoid the heat. It's said that the only way to be comfortable is to lie in a cold bath. At least the water from the underground aquifers is protected from the savagery of the sun.

The two leaders are dressed in floor-length robes of dark silk, with compendious sleeves that hide their hands, and sometimes other things less benign. The generous folds of the garments give the wearers an air of serenity, of calm haughtiness that requires no effort to impress. The smooth comfort of the silk speaks of the sophisticated pleasures that only a highly evolved civilization can bring. Especially important are the flat-topped, round hats with sable tassels which are believed to provide a cultivated appearance, far superior to that of the barbaric Hsiung-nu who're content with wild fur hats.

They sit opposite each other cross-legged on silk rugs patterned in sinuous dragons of gold on an azure background. Their wide garments spread across the floor in equilateral triangles, solid and stable. A female slave serves tea on short rectangular tables of red lacquer, one for each. Gan has had the leaves specially brought from Chang-an where the beverage is drunk, although not with any great popularity. It's really for the avant garde. Two male slaves in dark cotton tunics try to cool the air with silken fans, largely in vain.

At least there're no flies, thinks Chen who comes from the East. A product of the military establishment, he's thin and angular, of a somewhat choleric and impatient disposition, not at all interested in philosophy or literature – too pragmatic for that. He takes a noisy sip of tea, clear with nothing added, and says,

“The envoys we sent to Jir-Jir have returned. He treated them with insolence – unforgivable. It's an insult to the Emperor. They report that his tribe is permanently established at the Talass River. Now they're in a position to raid the Caravan Road. Already he's sent out a party to attack one of our caravans. We can't let this continue. Also it looks as if he's spread his power into Dayuan so he can interrupt our supply of heavenly horses. This demands an immediate military response.”

Gan takes time to reply, gravely nodding his head, which is round and full-faced, in the manner his countrymen deem propitious for wisdom and power. He has a kindly and reflective demeanour, suggesting a life experience beyond what could be expected from a man whose beard is not yet grey.

“Yes, I agree with you, but we need to ask permission from the Emperor before we send an expedition. The mandarins have made it very clear that His Majesty is cautious about military entanglements, especially with the Hsiung-nu.”

“Protector-General, if we do that it there'll be no end of delays. You know how bureaucratic the Palace is. Also, those skinflints in Chang-an will never approve the expenditure. We must act now or Jir-Jir will consolidate his power. If that happens he'll cut the Caravan Road, just like his ancestors did. You know how difficult it was for Wu-di to open it up. And also how important the trade is. We can't allow the work of a hundred years to be undone just because we wait for the eunuchs to make up their minds.”

“Colonel, I appreciate the danger just as much as you do, but the issue has a diplomatic dimension as well as a military one. If we attack Jir-Jir without the Emperor's knowledge, let alone approval, we do so in ignorance of any arrangements he may have made with the Hsiung-nu in general, with neighbouring tribes for instance. Besides, we need the protection of authority in case we run into difficulties with Jir-Jir. He is a formidable warrior and he may have allies now. I know that will mean delays, but even if he moves against the Caravan Road it will not be too late to roll him back, or even destroy him. Caution is the wiser course here. Any rash action, no matter how enticing it seems at first instance, will be regretted. We must seek approval first.”

Chen, feeling the anger boiling his head, says, “We are so far from Chang-an, the Court will never …”.

Gan's face begins to go white and he doubles over in pain, knocking over the precious celadon vase on his table.

“What's the matter, Protector-General?”

“I don't know. I feel sick in the stomach. Please, let's end the discussion. I need to lie down.”

❧

Over the next few hours, Gan's condition worsens. He's wracked with vomiting and severe stomach pains. Chen visits his bedroom to check on him.

“Protector-General, how're you feeling? What does the doctor say?”

“I feel terrible. Whatever this is makes me very weak. Too weak to move, can't even think straight. The doctor has given me some tiger powder and ginger. He thinks it's a bad case of stomach poisoning but can't be sure. If he's right I should be better in a few days. In the meantime you take over command.”

As Chen leaves the room he wrestles with the issue of the Hsiung-nu. The Protector-General is advocating the conventional approach, the safe way which could not be criticised. But the waste of time is intolerable. Gan's incapacity affords an opportunity. He must seize it now, whatever the risk. So, he does something almost unimagineable, out of character for a Han official. Only remoteness from central authority makes it possible.

He goes to his room alone; not even a slave is around. Shutting the door, he walks over to his red lacquer writing table, low and wide, and sits down quietly, cross-legged on the floor, thinking for a moment. Reaching into a box nearby, he takes out an array of flat, thin bamboo slips and carefully places it on the table. The slips are tied in parallel with two horizontal lines of hemp string threaded through holes drilled in the bamboo. It's the common writing material employed in this remote area which is too rough for parchment.

He selects a brush from a clutch in a cylindrical pot. It's his favourite, the one with a centre of stiff wolf hair inside a belly of soft goat. The tip is sharp and the belly holds a generous amount of ink. He picks up his ink stick, of pressed pine soot, and grinds it slowly on a black stone carved with dragons. The shavings pile up in the hollow. Adding a few drops of water, just enough to make the ink flow smoothly but not so much that it bleeds, he's ready to start. However he sits quietly for a minute, eyes closed. Training by expert calligraphers requires him to be deliberate, unrushed.

With back upright and face impassive, he dips the brush into the ink and rolls it to a point on the ink stone. Holding it comfortably at right angles to the bamboo slip he begins to write a letter, the characters flowing rhythmically down from the top in free and confident strokes. It commands himself to lead an expedition against the Hsiung-nu at the Talass River and recruit auxiliaries from the vassal states in the Western Region. He signs it “Han Di” (Emperor of the Han). When he has finished he lets the ink dry and calls in his second in command.

“We've received an order from the Emperor that must be communicated immediately. Here it is. You are to take it around personally to all the officers above middle rank; also the heads of the vassal states. You can get the list from Major Li.”

The man salutes and departs with the document. Chen gives a sigh of finality and tries to quell the anxieties that are rushing around in his head about the enormity of what he's just done.

❧

The doctor's diagnosis is correct and Gan recovers in a few days. He hears of the order and is furious. He knows it's a forgery. That such a command arrived just when he was sick is simply not credible. He summons Chen to the anteroom.

“What have you done? You know it's a capital offence to forge a document in the Emperor's name. It's an act of treason. There's nothing worse. How could you do such an insane thing? You must stop the mobilization right away. Send out a countermand. With luck, maybe the forgery will go unnoticed.”

Chen is relieved that Gan doesn't accuse him of poisoning. He didn't do it but the circumstances could look suspicious.

“Protector-General, it's too late. The order's been circulated. It could only be revoked by another forgery. Any countermanding would be so odd – would make things a lot worse. It would be sure to be reported. Anyway, I'm sure somebody's already informed Chang-an. I'm sorry to say we're both involved here. Our best way forward is to attack the Hsiung-nu and win a glorious victory. We can do it. In the glow of that we'll be forgiven and rewarded. Have faith Sir, you'll see it'll turn out all right.”

“You should have consulted me, Colonel. You've put both of us at great personal risk by your impetuous action.”

An uncomfortable silence fouls the air while neither knows what to say. Chen respects his superior, believing him to be a well-intentioned man, although he doesn't admire his indecisiveness. It seems he always has to be pushed into a decision. It would have been impossible to persuade him to support the mobilization without going through the tortuous approval process. Anyway, he doesn't want to exacerbate the situation, and he has what he wants.

Gan also wants peace. They're both in a remote and isolated outpost, in charge of completely different domains – him the political, Chen the military; it's best to get along. Besides, he has confidence in Chen's expertise, notwithstanding his volatility in other matters. Maybe Chen is right; they could win glory and be forgiven.

“I suppose the die is cast. At least I agreed with you that it's in the interests of the State to meet the Hsiung-nu threat. I would've preferred the safer course of getting the Emperor's permission, but obviously that's not possible now. All right, we mount the expedition. Get ready. I'll go with you.