THE SILK TREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

‘God only knows where we are on this earth,’ Nicander murmured, a new despair setting in; the further into these fantastical realms they went the more impossible it would be to ever retrace their steps.

They finally shaped course for land, towards a vast, sprawling seaport set in a bay between bare mountains.

On deck for exercise, Nicander and Marius mimed to their new master to be allowed to watch. As they came nearer, a panorama of roofs with upturned corners, spiky monoliths and the occasional grand building with red and gold ornamentation came into view.

Nicander and Marius were held to one side as they came into the wharf. The wafting odour of humanity, cooking and other smells of the city was utterly alien.

The boat gently bumped alongside and with a rising babble men swarmed aboard.

The pair were quickly escorted over the gangway. People stopped and stared then broke into a chatter of excited comment after they passed.

Then it was into a crowded street, pushing through gaping crowds to a courtyard with three carts, each drawn by a huge beast that stood patiently. Their heads had wide, spreading horns that were held low in a crooked curved harness. On one of the carts was a large cage made of ridged wood.

‘I’m not getting into that fucking thing!’ Marius protested.

‘I reckon it’s not so much to stop us, more to keep the others off our backs,’ Nicander muttered.

A crowd was building, some gawping and hesitantly approaching, others reaching to touch their faces.

Nicander hurriedly clambered in. Marius followed and they sat on the rush floor and peered out at the sea of faces.

With a crack of whips they jerked into motion.

Once over the surrounding hills the road settled to a slowly meandering route through fields of rice and grain, meticulously kept with narrow paths between and water channels in dead straight lines.

Workers with wide conical straw hats laboured on, not looking up.

The carts ground on through the flat and never-varying scene, hauled by the docile, plodding beasts.

What would become of them? In a land in which not even a word of the language made sense was there the possibility – as there was in the Roman world – that they could emerge from slavery and make a life? Both were unmarried – was there a woman for each out there who could take to them and their strange ways?

Or was it to be a path ending in miserable degradation, a spiralling down to the dregs of existence and a cur’s death?

On the fourth day the terrain changed into a broad plain between distant mountains and on the following day a yellow haze on the horizon betrayed the existence of a great city.

As they rumbled into the fringes the cart stopped and a cloth was spread over the cage. When they eventually came to a halt the cloth was flung back and Nicander and Marius saw they were in the grounds of an opulent villa.

There were men waiting in silken gowns and exotically coloured vestments, some with halberds, all with blank faces.

They were hustled in through a tiled gate with stylised lions on each side and across an inner courtyard to a large room where they were left in the care of a strapping woman in black and white with three giggling maids.

Before they knew what was afoot they were stripped naked and taken to a large tub where they were scrubbed and pummelled. They were then allowed to recover in a thin gown.

When the women left them the merchant arrived with two others. There was much deliberation but when it was over two girls were summoned. They came with pots and unguents, brushes and sponges and got to work under the stern eye of the merchant.

The first item was their hair. By now it was long – shoulder-length and unkempt. This was combed and gathered into a fetching tail.

Marius’s beard was a magnificent imitation of Neptune, fierce and curly, and greatly admired but Nicander’s was a more modest growth which was neatly trimmed.

Next it was indicated that they should close their eyes and they felt something being smeared on their skin.

When they opened them again it was to see in a bronze mirror that black kohl had been applied making their eyes wild-looking and rounded to an exaggeration.

An attendant returned with folded clothes.

They held them up in puzzlement. A long, featureless length of white linen, edged in red and a loose tunic not too different to what they had been wearing. And finally they were handed a weighty brooch, cheap and worthless.

An exasperated woman shook the tunics at them until they put them on, then held up the length of linen. Confused, Nicander could not think what to do with it but Marius caught on.

‘Makes a passable toga. We wear it like the old-timers did!’ He flung the garment over his shoulder, settling it in front in folds.

The onlookers laughed and clapped, delighted.

‘Well, if this is the uniform around here, I’ve had worse,’ Marius muttered.

Then their headgear was brought in. Tall and ridiculous, it consisted of a low crown-like piece with peacock feathers fastened to flare in all directions. It felt awkward but had a chinstrap to hold it in place. A pair of rigid clog-like shoes varnished in red completed their outfits.

The merchant indicated they stand before him while he inspected them closely. Satisfied, he called an attendant forward and seemed to tell him to carry on.

He proceeded with a mimed lesson in elementary manners. They should keep their silence and stand politely with their hands concealed in their sleeves, their heads lowered. When the merchant indicated, they were to go on their knees and bow, then to rise on command.

If this was all it was going to take to save them from work in the fields, Nicander was willing to go along with it. Marius’s face was set, giving nothing away.

The merchant stood up suddenly, and imperiously rattled off orders. Men scurried away and they were beckoned outside to a carriage. They were motioned in, the merchant climbed in opposite and they set off.

Quite soon they arrived outside the majestic wall of a great complex, the structure gaunt and forbidding with towers at the corners, upturned eaves and shaded lookout parapets.

The gate was flanked by stone lions and well guarded. They dismounted, the merchant positioning them decorously before the carriage, while he went over to the guards. One disappeared inside.

‘I’ve got my suspicions we’re not done with adventuring,’ Nicander said quietly. ‘I believe this rogue is about to sell us up the chain to some patrician for a fat profit.’

At the gateway a tall, acid-faced man appeared. He was dressed in a florid vermilion gown, on his chest a gold-embroidered rectangle of office, on his head a black hat with odd wings each side of it.

The merchant indicated urgently; they obediently went to their knees and bowed to the ground. A barked command and they rose again, placing their hands in their sleeves as bid.

The man approached disdainfully, passing by them once. He returned, stared at Marius’s blue eyes and reached out to stroke his beard. Then without warning he brutally tugged down on it, nearly bringing Marius to his knees.

The legionary spat an oath but Nicander hastily calmed him. His words, though, aroused the interest of the man who asked something in his musical but utterly incomprehensible tongue. Marius smouldered but shook his head. The man tried again in a different, rougher dialect, with the same result.

The merchant anxiously intervened but the official waved him off, and signed to them in a lordly manner to converse together.

Marius turned to Nicander and grinned savagely.

‘A right heap of horseshit, don’t you think, Nico?’

‘Why, not worth the avoiding of the meanest charioteer, I believe.’

The official beckoned the merchant back. They spoke together and he swept away without a second glance.

‘It seems he’s made a sale.’

Two men shortly appeared at the gate. One handed the merchant a folded parchment. He tucked it inside his robe and then impatiently gestured for Nicander and Marius to go with them.