THE SILK TREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Nicander choked, ‘So close! So help me, we were so close to… It’s our own fault,’ he went on miserably. ‘We should have got away while we could.’

He and Marius sat cross-legged on the deck, prisoners, their hands bound behind their backs.

The captain’s fears had not been misplaced: pirates had boarded under the cover of the last of the fog and overcome the crew before any defence could be mounted. They’d then systematically ransacked the ship, screaming in delight at the discovery of the treasure.

An island appeared on the horizon and they drew closer then anchored. White beaches overhung with palm trees quite different to those of Arabia, verdant growth and a lazy surf seething across offshore reefs.

The prisoners were manhandled into smaller boats for the trip through the breakers to the calm of a lagoon and then with a hiss of sand they came to a stop on the beach.

They were prodded into the undergrowth and made to take a path which led to a clearing and a stockade.

Inside it was a mire of squelching mud that stank of human waste.

Nicander’s stomach churned.

‘Put up a brave face, Greek,’ Marius growled. ‘Else they’ve won, haven’t they?’

The legionary glanced contemptuously at the other prisoners. One wept, some stared into nothing, trembling and uncomprehending like whipped dogs.

‘Whatever comes, take it like a man. Who quails knows defeat!’

‘Yes, Marius,’ Nicander said, drawing on the man’s strength to rise above his fears and dread.

The gates were swung wide and a fat dark-skinned man dressed in a multicoloured cloak came into the stockade. He paused, grimacing at the smell.

A village headman encouraged him on, then six warriors forced the prisoners to line up.

The man inspected them, feeling a muscle here, rolling back an eyelid there. He chose three – then came to Nicander who looked past the impassive black face, trying not to catch his eye.

He moved on to the next. Marius. He paused… and jerked his thumb with a grunt of satisfaction.

The legionary was taken away, into slavery, head defiantly held high.

Nicander felt a lump in his throat threatening to choke him. He would never see his true companion and comrade again in this life.

The situation beat in on him; Marius was gone and with him the one rock of sanity in this rabid existence.

Then his friend’s strength reached out to him one last time. Nicander clamped a ferocious hold on his emotions. Yes! He would face it like a man. For Marius’s sake!

Wearisome days followed one on another. Nicander came to know every inch of the compound as he paced it out, round and round. He avoided the other prisoners, who had descended into feral bickering.

At one point he found his mind floating, ignoring bodily sensation, taking delight in a butterfly’s erratic fluttering, the regularity of shadows.

In this out-of-world state at first he did not register that coming through the gate was a bruised, bloody but most definitely unbowed Marius.

His eyes focused on the unbelievable sight and then he hurried to him, stopping shame-faced before he gave away his true feelings. ‘M-Marius!’ he cried. ‘You’re here!’

‘Ah, well. Seems I didn’t make a good slave,’ he growled through split lips. ‘The bastard made sure he got his money back, though.’

He bent and stretched painfully. ‘You look in good shape still. Anything happened?’

‘N-no,’ Nicander replied, unable to manage more.

‘Well, don’t get your hopes up, we being together again. I saw a big nob come in a ship. He could be after slaves – then we’d be off the same way.’

It was an unbearable thought and when they were lined up once more Nicander was frozen with dread.

This time the buyer was a mild-featured Oriental who went up to the line and sliced an arm down, then nodded at the right-hand division of five – which included them both.

The slave ship was a large dhow. They were chained to the side but at least being the last on they were close to the hatch and fresh air.

With no view outboard there was no clue as to where they were going. But the name of their destination would be meaningless. They were in a universe entirely unknown to civilisation: lands and peoples that existed in ignorance of the Roman world, every element and detail of their living different and disturbing.

Once there was a blow and as the ship heaved and rolled, rain mixed with salt spray soaked them through the hatch. They endured, Marius visibly fighting down his demons – if the ship sank, in chains, they would be dragged down to the depths.

Then came the calms. The sun beat down unendurably. One of the crew threw sacking over the hatch which provided some shade. The still heat stayed, their torment not even relieved at nightfall.

Were they headed into the fabled boiling sea?

Finally it seemed they had arrived at their destination and they were brought out on deck. Nicander peered ashore at a sizeable town set in a bowl of surrounding mountains. There was a staggering amount of green vegetation. Covering every inch of the steep countryside it came right down to the edge of the water in a wild explosion of growth.

Unloading began immediately. In some pain from cramped limbs they were taken to a wooden jetty, then the group was roped together and led off into the interior.

What was this land? To one side a monument like a highly decorated spike reared up, on the other an exotic temple with yellow-robed priests gave out a sepulchral boom of some giant bell. The houses were utterly different, on stilts clear of the earth. The people, whose strange oriental features seemed to Nicander to be each and every one the same, wore simple loincloths and a wound headdress. There were dark pigs of mysterious breed roaming, monkeys and numberless yellow dogs. Above all there was an odour of rotting vegetation and animal sludge.

They were brought to what seemed to be a slave market and forced to squat, still roped, while account was made of their existence. Then they were led off to an adjacent barracks where they were confined.

Mercifully they were unbound and Marius began to exercise in the army way. Nicander joined him but fell out panting when Marius pressed the limits. ‘Just to feel I’m alive after that fucking sea,’ he said with feeling.

‘I’m guessing the slave dealer who bought us from the pirates is now going to cash in,’ Nicander said in a level voice.

In the morning Nicander and Marius were taken into the forest, and made to wash under a waterfall. After they finished they were given a waistcloth – a simple front and back flap joined by a string – and a plain cap.

Their cast-off clothes disappeared, one more step had been taken on the path of losing their past, their identity, their being.

Nicander gave a half smile. They would be put up for sale before very long. ‘Marius. Could I give you some advice?’

‘Don’t you always, Greek?’

‘Well, it’s like this. If you remember back home, there are two kinds of slave. Those who work their lives away in the fields and those taking it easy in domestic service. I know what I’d rather do. I beg of you, Marius, do try to be docile and biddable and you’ll have a chance of being chosen for service instead.’

They were paraded around a small enclosure in a line. On one side were the buyers, eyeing them professionally. Occasionally one of them would indicate an individual to be brought for closer examination.

They circled again. Nicander lifted his chin, imitating the dignity of Marius in front of him.

A cane came out and tapped Marius smartly on the shoulder. He was taken out of the line and to the prospective buyer.

In a surge of desperation Nicander left the line and ran to the elderly oriental in a full-length silk gown, whose eyes widened with astonishment. Nicander flung himself on his knees and mimed a heartfelt plea to be kept with his friend.

There was a torrent of jabbering. For a long moment the man stared down at him then imperiously gestured at the slave-keeper.

They would go as a pair. They were now the property of the man in the silk gown to do with as he wished.

He spent some time inspecting them, peering into their faces, especially that of Marius, whose pale-blue eyes seemed to fascinate him. Delicately he reached with his cane and lifted the front of his waistcloth, revealing the white skin of his loins. Satisfied, he let it drop and asked a question in a strange, song-like language.

Marius shook his head and the man repeated it several more times in different ways. At the incomprehension he smiled sadly but seemed satisfied with his purchase.

While the rest of the human cargo lay in the pit of an open hold amidships they were granted a small compartment in the bows, sheltered from rain and sun. It reeked of dried fish but it was out of the merciless sun and even had two circular holes in the side for fresh air.

There were two other two ships in their argosy – an exceedingly strange sight with their high square poop decks, flat ornamented sterns with a central rudder and a hull curved fore and aft. Most peculiar were the sails, a single rectangular one on both masts but with many rigid horizontal battens across them. A red flag with curious black markings was at the masthead of each.

Nicander and Marius were regularly allowed on deck for exercise.

They were well fed, too. At mealtimes they were given a bowl of rice, topped with small pieces of meat and vegetables.

It was not until they had been at sea for several days that Nicander tumbled to why they had been given special treatment.

‘It’s because we’re a rare breed, different to these we see around us. See how they’re all black-haired and have those foreign eyes? Flat noses and dark eyes, every one. We stand out a bit – especially you, Marius.’

He fiddled with the new clothes they’d been issued, loose baggy trousers and a simple round-collared tunic that opened in the front and was held by a small sash. On their feet they had sandals with a sole of dried rushes.

‘But that’s good! If we’re prize breeds we won’t be worked to death on a farm, we’ll be shown off at feasts and such!’

‘Or we could be thrown in as gladiator meat. The crowds’ll go crazy to see the end of a pair of ugly outlanders.’