Authors: Valerio Massimo Manfredi
Then came the rain, in torrential bursts. It flagellated the boat with unbelievable fury, as the waves joined in to sweep the deck from fore to aft. The water began to pour from the only hatchway into the bilge.
Daruma approached Metellus, without ever loosening his grip on the railing. ‘I need two strong men at the bilge pump,’ he shouted. ‘I can’t move my men from their stations. Hurry, or we’ll go under!’
‘Rufus, Septimius, to the pump, fast!’ shouted Metellus.
The two men rushed below and started to work the bar on the bilge pump – an exceptional machine, of Roman manufacture, as proclaimed by the brand name. Rufus brought the cloth hose outside and gave the end of it to Publius, who was completely soaked and hanging on to the starboard railing, then went back below and started pumping with all his might.
The pump struggled to expel the water that was pouring in continuously and the two men who were working it took advantage of the rare moments when the storm let up a little to gain a lead. It required enormous effort, and Metellus assigned his men to work in shifts so that the emptying of the bilge was never interrupted.
The storm went on for hours, exhausting the crew, who did their utmost to keep the craft afloat. Every now and then, Metellus would try to make out Dan Qing in the darkness. He never moved, straight as a rod at the bow, and watching him as he gripped the forward railing, Metellus had the strong sensation that it was he who was keeping the boat afloat, he who was guiding them through the tempestuous waves with a mysterious force that Metellus could neither perceive nor understand, but which seemed to permeate the hull and hold the planks and the mast together in that chaos of spray, thunder, wind and lightning. The darkness on board was nearly complete. A couple of lanterns hanging from the stays of the main mast spread a glimmer that made the men’s outlines just barely discernible. They seemed more like phantoms, guided by the shouts of the boatswain, who endeavoured to make himself heard over the din of the storm.
It was some time after midnight when, all at once, a wave much stronger than the others swept the deck all the way to the forepeak and dug Uxal out of the corner he was huddling in, dragging him towards the starboard railing. The planking on that side was not continuous; openings about two feet wide had been made to allow the water to drain off the boat. The old man was smashed against the planks by the force of the current and washed out, although he tried to grab one of the railing posts to avoid falling into the sea. He yelled ‘Help!’ with all the breath he had in him, but it was several moments before Metellus realized what had happened and rushed to his aid.
Uxal was hanging on with his right hand alone, which was slowly slipping. His legs were dangling over the open sea. Metellus seized the old man’s hand the instant before he fell, but a second wave took him by surprise and pushed him out through the same opening. He managed to grab the post, encircling it completely with his left arm, while he continued to hold on to Uxal with his right. He started to call out: ‘Over here! Fast! Over this way!’ But there was such a din, such immense confusion, that his shouts were not heard. A wave washed over the starboard side and ripped Uxal from Metellus’s grip. The old man disappeared amid the foaming waves with an anguished scream. Metellus held fast and tried desperately to grab the post with his other hand. He swung against the boat’s side, trying to achieve enough impetus to haul himself on board, but the waves hit him one after another and his energy was abating with every new surge. He felt the cold embrace of the Ocean pulling him under. He gave one last yell, before sinking beneath the billows, before falling into death’s arms.
At that same instant two steely hands closed around his wrists and lifted him out of the water. Dan Qing was hanging head down, grasping on to the railing posts with his feet. He waited an instant for another wave to arrive, then, exploiting its force, he transferred so much energy to the Roman’s body that Metellus was catapulted over the railing. Metellus grabbed it with both hands and hoisted himself on deck. He watched as Dan Qing gave a backwards spring by heaving the muscles in his back. He flew over the railing and landed squarely on the deck.
Metellus, astonished, managed only to mumble, ‘Thank you.’
Dan Qing acknowledged him with a slight nod, then returned to his place at the bow.
The storm did not begin to calm until dawn, when Daruma and the boatswain counted the survivors in the pale light that filtered through the tattered clouds.
Metellus joined his men. ‘Uxal is dead,’ he said. ‘Why did no one answer me when I was shouting for help?’
‘Commander,’ said Lucianus, ‘everyone was shouting, the sea louder than anyone else. There was no way we could distinguish one sound from another in that uproar. We were all hanging on to something for dear life, numb with cold and dazed with the strain, or else we were down below, pumping out the water. I’m sorry . . .’
‘Poor Uxal,’ said Balbus, who had just come up from the hold.
‘We owe our salvation to him,’ added Rufus. ‘Without him, we’d never have got out of that inferno.’
‘If I ever get back home to Spoletum,’ said Publius, ‘I’ll raise an altar to him in my courtyard and make funeral offerings to his shade every year, on the anniversary of his death. He was a good man and he’d grown fond of us.’
Daruma approached them. ‘I lost two of my crewmen last night,’ he said. ‘You’ve lost a man too, haven’t you?’
‘I did what I could to rescue him but I would have died myself if it hadn’t been for him,’ said Metellus, nodding towards Dan Qing. ‘I still can’t figure out how he heard me and how he managed to grab me by the wrists just as I was about to succumb to the waves.’
Daruma gave a slight smile. ‘Men like him have been trained in a very particular philosophy that makes them capable of perceiving every force that vibrates in the atmosphere and of distinguishing it from a thousand others. It’s extraordinary that he has mastered this skill so young.’
Metellus looked at him in disbelief without knowing what to say, then glanced over at Dan Qing. He had taken off his clothes to let them dry and was sitting cross-legged, dressed only in a small loincloth.
Daruma turned to the boatswain. ‘The wind has abated sufficiently. We can hoist the sail. Now we must ascertain what has been spared by the sea water, dry out everything we can as soon as the sun comes up and regain our strength.’ He went down to the hold and Metellus followed him. ‘Without this pump we would never have made it,’ said Daruma, pointing to the bronze machine fastened to a plank.
‘Two cylinders, the lift-and-force type,’ said Metellus. ‘Made for the mines, but it works well everywhere. Where did you get it?’
‘I want for nothing! It comes from Alexandria but I bought it at Hormusia. Well, then, do you believe me now when I tell you we can’t go west? The monsoon is a constant wind that blows in this direction for six months. No ship can go upstream against the wind, if not by rowing and only for a very short distance. Even someone who isn’t a sailor can understand that. In a few days’ time, a month at the most, we’ll be at the mouth of the Indus. Even if you did decide to go ashore, you’d have to spend the next six months, if not more, rotting in some hole along the coast, amid mosquitoes and mephitic fever, waiting for the wind to change. With no money, no knowledge of the local language and no guarantee that you’ll find passage, since you’re not capable of paying for it. You might be captured and taken as slaves, just to give an example, or end up in some village of the interior, doing a day’s labour in exchange for a handful of rice.’
‘What’s rice?’ asked Metellus.
‘Marsh grain. You’ll be tasting it soon . . . If, on the other hand, you decide to come with me, you’ll see a phenomenal land. You’ll cross the highest mountain chain in the world, the Indian Caucasus, as Alexander’s historians named it. We call it the Hindu Kush. And when we have accompanied Dan Qing back home, I promise you that I will bring you back myself, as I’ve already said.’
‘In six months?’ asked Metellus suspiciously.
‘Well, maybe a bit longer, but it will still be well worth your while. If you attempt it alone, you’ll have to stop frequently to earn your passage from one place to the next. Don’t think that you’ll find a ship that will take you straight to Alexandria, lying out on deck, belly up, enjoying the sun. My proposal is a reasonable one, Commander, the only sensible one, believe me . . . What do you say?’
Metellus sighed. He looked up: the cracks between the planks were pierced by daggers of sunlight. ‘I must consult my men,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you an answer before evening.’
Daruma went back towards the hatch to return on deck. Metellus followed him and emerged into the light of day. Ragged clouds galloped through the limpid sky and the deck planks were already beginning to dry here and there. The clothing hanging out everywhere gave the impression of bizarre supplementary sails. The sea had settled into a gentle roll, and it glittered with myriad reflections under the sun. The curved backs of dolphins swelled the surface; they would sometimes make spectacular leaps from the Ocean and then dive back into the white spume.
Metellus thought, ‘I must return to my son. I must return to do what I promised my emperor. But I must return alive.’ He considered Uxal, sleeping on the bottom of the Ocean, and he felt a lump in his throat. He drew a long sigh and approached his men. ‘As you’ve seen, there was nothing we could do. The wind and the storm have dragged us east.’
‘Where are we, Commander?’ asked Rufus.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Metellus. ‘At a month’s navigation from the mouth of the Indus, I believe.’
‘The Indus?’ repeated Quadratus. ‘But that’s at the ends of the earth!’
‘Not exactly. I think the world is much bigger than we imagine. You’ve just witnessed the vastness and the power of the Ocean.’
‘Well, then, what are we going to do?’ asked Lucianus, in a tone that would have earned him an exemplary punishment under any other circumstances.
Metellus pretended not to hear and told them what Daruma had proposed. ‘It is not my intention to force anyone,’ he concluded at the end. ‘Each of you is free to do what he wants. When we land in India, you can decide whether you want to remain with us or attempt to return on your own. As far as I’m concerned, I think Daruma’s proposal is reasonable. Actually, it’s our only chance of getting home. Late, but alive.’
‘But can you trust Daruma, Commander?’ asked Septimius with a worried expression. ‘We haven’t known him for long. He’s only a merchant, and there’s no one more unprincipled than a merchant, in my book.’
‘I think that Daruma is something more than a merchant. I can’t tell you what, but I feel sure about this. The fact that he took on the responsibility of freeing the prince of Sera Maior and escorting him safely back to his homeland is no small thing. You must understand that Dan Qing is the equivalent of Gallienus, in a much bigger empire than ours. What’s more, Daruma has always held fast to his word and honoured the terms of our agreements.’
‘There are ten of us and we’re armed,’ grumbled Publius.
‘We were wrecks when he welcomed us into his camp. Our weapons would have counted for little if he had decided to get rid of us. I’m grateful to him for not having done so and I’m willing to trust him. But, I repeat, each one of you is free to make up his own mind. I’m not going to shoulder the responsibility of giving orders this time.
‘The only certain thing is that this wind will be blowing constantly east, at the strength we’ve seen, for six months or more. Therefore, the only way we could attempt to get back is by land. But I must remind you that Alexander himself ventured out on the same route five hundred years ago. Twenty thousand of his men were lost in that salty desert, without a blade of grass or a drop of water. And he had an army with pack animals, carts for transporting food and water, native guides. I don’t know what destiny might await a man who decided to venture off on his own in those desolate lands swarming with fierce marauders.
‘The alternative would be to wait on the coast until the wind changes, but that is a risk-fraught choice as well. You decide. You have plenty of time to think it over. If you elect to come with me, you’ll see lands that no one has ever explored and you’ll experience an adventure that you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren about one day. You will be the only warriors in the world to have crossed the two greatest empires on earth, to have reached places that not even Alexander the Great could have imagined.’
A deep silence followed his words. The men had been firmly convinced that they were going home and this option, so unforeseen and unfamiliar, deeply dismayed them. And they were even more dismayed by the option of deciding for themselves, since they had always only received orders from their commander, and carried them out.
It was Quadratus who broke the silence. ‘If you go, I’m coming with you,’ he said without hesitation.
‘So am I,’ confirmed Balbus, the other centurion.
‘Me too, Commander,’ piped up Antoninus. ‘Count on me.’
Lucianus and Septimius consulted each other with a brief glance and communicated their decision. ‘There’s no way we’re waiting until the wind changes. We are the wind! We of the Second Augusta, by Hercules!’
‘Yes!’ exclaimed the others.
Metellus smiled. ‘Then we agree. I’m happy that you’ve decided to come with me.’ He went to catch up with Daruma, but then turned. ‘Ah, I was forgetting. This is the last decision I’m leaving to your discretion. From now on, we’re going back to the old rules: I give the orders, you carry them out.’
M
ETELLUS APPROACHED THE PRINCE
with a light step, stopping at a certain distance. ‘Where I come from, they tell a story,’ he began, ‘that reminds me a little of what happened last night.’
Dan Qing did not answer but a slight movement of his head let the Roman know he was listening.
‘It happened three centuries ago,’ continued Metellus. ‘A great man among our people, a conqueror, the founder of our empire – his name was Caesar – once had to cross a brief stretch of our Internal Sea, at night, in a little boat. But that arm of the sea was patrolled by the powerful fleet of his enemy, who had massed an army on the other side of the straits. Caesar had to reach his own army on the opposite side and guide them to victory, and he decided to attempt the crossing in total darkness and in dangerous waters. When he was halfway across, a storm broke out and his boat was tossed around by the waves like a fragile nutshell. The helmsman was terrified and exhausted, and could not stay on course, but Caesar approached him and said, “Take heart! You are carrying Caesar to his destiny.”