THE SILK TREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Marius sat up, irritated. His head hurt and he resented Nicander’s dig at him about the silver. He wasn’t sure how much was left of their little hoard but it wouldn’t be much, the woman drank like a fish.

The hard fact was that they had no money of their own. They were dependent on a noble lady for their means.

For most of his life he’d been a free soul. The legion couldn’t care less about what the soldiers did out of the ranks and he had learnt many a trick of survival when they had gone unpaid, as so often they did. But this was no hard-arse army camp with only sorry-looking followers on offer, instead he had the run of a town with all the temptations a free spirit could crave – if he could find the necessary. And who knew what other oasis fleshpots there would be on the trail?

It came to him as he strolled outside to squint at the day.

The escort was quartered out of town, away from the gentle folk. He found them at the usual tasks: digging latrines, fletching arrows, mustering stores, checking harnesses.

‘Hey there, soldiers!’ he called. The Chinese he’d picked up was no match for Nicander’s gifted delivery but these were a bunch of rough-neck Central Asians with no need for niceties.

They looked up, curious.

‘Just came to check out what an army camp looks like these days,’ he chuckled. ‘I was a sandal-man m’self just a few years back.’

What was probably a tessararius equivalent came up, wiping a blade he’d been honing. ‘Where you been a soldier?’ he growled.

‘Ma Lai Ssu. Out on garrison at the western frontier.’

‘Aldar the Gokturk. Not Khotan way?’

‘No. I said real western garrison – up on the mountains.’

‘So you seen our camp. And?’

‘Just interested in your weapons. We didn’t go much on bows out there, more your blade. Bit more reliable, like, out in the rocks.’

‘We’re archers.’

‘I saw. Show us your bow – it looks a bit strange.’

One was fetched. Marius recognised it instantly as a Scythian design – not one piece but made of wood and horn bonded together with fish glue in a sinuous double curve. At the ends, the nock was carved out of bone and in the centre the bow was well reinforced with animal sinew.

He took it, careful to handle it awkwardly. ‘Bit small,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Can I have a go?’

‘String it for him,’ Aldar ordered.

‘Show us a shot or two yourself first,’ Marius said diffidently.

The edge of the dunes was the obvious target and a small melon was placed some way up. A quiver of arrows was brought which Aldar threw to one of his men.

He took position fifty feet off and drew smartly. Sighting quickly, the man let fly, but it kicked up sand inches to the left.

‘Well done!’ Marius exclaimed as sincerely as he could.

The man grunted in exasperation and took his time with the next shot. It skewered the melon.

‘Should get it first shot,’ Aldar spat. ‘Bastard enemy not wait for second.’

He retrieved the weapon and handed it to Marius. ‘You go!’

Stepping back in alarm, he gingerly accepted it. It was light and handy, an ideal cavalry weapon but testing the string with his finger he found the draw was formidable.

He’d noticed the arrow was shot from the right-hand side while Roman practice was always the left. He raised the bow, canting it over to emphasise the apparent awkwardness and drew slowly. It was stiff going but he could feel the power in the higher note of the sinew and horsehair string.

The dune was dotted with small clumps of sage. He sighted on one as his mark as he had no intention of hitting the target. He held his breath and loosed – the flight was fast and flat in trajectory, piercing the tuft off-centre. A nice weapon and it seemed he’d kept his eye in over the years.

‘Not good. Another!’ Aldar said.

‘I was near, though, wasn’t I!’ Marius retorted. He’d need a few more to get right back to where he’d been.

He selected another tussock and heard those behind comment on his crazy left-hand shooting, which suited him nicely. This time he scored the centre of the tuft, at least four feet away from the melon.

‘I think you stay with holy song, do better than this to enemy.’

‘One more!’

He let it spray sand only a foot away. ‘Hey! Did you see that – not bad at all!’

‘You frighten him only.’

‘I’m getting better at it,’ Marius said stubbornly.

‘No good. Have to stop. We got work to do now.’

‘Wait!’ He fumbled and brought out some coins. ‘Look, I wager my next one gets closer. Who’ll match my bet?’

He had them. He could see it in their eyes.

The next shot, to general laughter, was off two feet. Ruefully, he paid up.

‘No, I want a chance to get it back. Here, I’ve still got more coin.’

The bet was gleefully accepted but, before he could let fly, there was a sudden stir behind.

‘What’s all this, then?’ came the ill-tempered voice of Colonel Ya.

‘Oh – this Ma sheng. We teach him shoot.’

‘You? Couldn’t hit a sick camel at ten paces! Give me that.’ He seized the bow and strung an arrow.

‘Watch me!’ He made much of settling his stance and sighting up then down several times.

Marius could hardly believe his luck. The man was bringing the arrow down from above on to the target, a showy but useless move that ruined the sight picture until the last moment. The shot was fair however, near centre but a little above the target.

‘See? That’s how a professional does it.’

‘Isn’t this a bit close?’ Marius wondered. ‘I wouldn’t want an enemy nearer than a hundred feet, I’d think.’

‘If you insist then, Ma,’ he grumbled and paced out double the distance. He loosed off, making fair practice, the arrow whistling to thunk in a foot or two to the left. ‘Not bad,’ Ya grunted.

‘I could do better!’ Marius blurted.

‘A holy man handy with a bow? I’ve never heard of it!’

‘I can! I will!’ he said in a hot temper. ‘Look – I’ll put all this down on that I’ll get closer than you!’

‘You’re not serious, man.’

‘I am! And I’ll take anything you lot can put up as well. I can get more from My Lady!’

There was a pause then a babble of excitement.

Ya cut across it. ‘Very well – to teach you a lesson the expensive way.’

He pointed down range. ‘Let’s see what you can do, Ma.’

Marius waited until all bets had been laid, then neatly planted his arrow three inches closer to the target.

An incredulous gasp went up. ‘You lucky – cannot do it again!’

‘I can. But it will cost you,’ he said, taking his winnings.

Ya’s face suffused with red. He took up the bow. This time he scored a foot or so above.

Marius’s arrow was six inches nearer.

‘Steady, sir. Can’t let a holy man best you.’

‘Out of my way, oaf,’ snarled Ya and took his time. Enough for Marius to muster bets from newcomers eager to have a piece of the action.

Ya was now shaking with anger and the hit was a good three feet to the right.

Time to collect.

These were honest soldiers but run-of-the-mill, nothing to set before the legionary who had of all in the cohort been chosen to stand with the best to bring down mighty cataphract Persian knights.

In one quick motion Marius brought up the bow for the last shot. It transfixed the remains of the melon.

He gathered up his winnings and left with a cheery wave.