The Silk Tree Read online

  Raising his cup he finished the wine in one. ‘Gentlemen, for the sake of the entertainment it brings to my lonely existence, I shall assist you. Shall we begin with your names, you being so evidently in possession of my own?’

  ‘Ah, Nicodorus of Leptis Magna, merchant. This is Quintus Carus Marius, legionary, late of Rome.’ Nicander went on, ‘The silk trade in the Empire, sir. We’re aware at the first hand how this is cruelly hurting our sovereign lord in the outgoing of his treasure and revenues.’

  ‘Your six tons of gold a year, yes. I would have put it nearer eight.’

  ‘Our plan, sir, is to bring silk itself to Constantinople.’

  There was an irritated wave of a be-ringed hand. ‘That’s a nonsense, Mr Nicodorus. You’ll know the Persians would not countenance any interference in their comfortable relations with the producers!’

  ‘No, sir. We mean to mount an expedition to bring back the seeds of the silk tree and grow it in our own land! We will then be independent of imports and thumb our nose at the Persians, and who’s to say – may we not look to export to the world?’

  John the Cappadocian slowly sat back and looked at them, each in turn, his glance first speculative then covetous. ‘Might I be told how advanced you are in this … adventure?’

  ‘It were better we left details to after our consultation with you, sir.’

  ‘That’s not quite what I meant …’

  Nicander picked up on it immediately. ‘That is to say, we have no other interested party, none we have discussed the matter with.’

  ‘I see. Mmm … a novel and, I’m obliged to say, intriguing idea. Yet there are difficulties. Do you wish to hear them?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘The first is that if your intent is to farm silk and sell it on the open market, pray be disabused of that notion. Justinian will never allow an industry of such wealth to remain free. He will of a surety seize it for himself and create a state monopoly.’

  ‘Ah. Then—’

  ‘You will be compensated, no doubt. But the greater difficulty is in the getting of the seeds. As I understand it, silk comes from Sinae or Serica as some would call it, the land of the Seres people. This is at an unknowable distance beyond even the Persian frontier. Cloud-piercing mountains have been mentioned, I believe. To reach it, therefore, your expedition cannot but enter upon the lands and territory of King Khosroe of the Sassanid Persians with whom, let me remind you, we are currently bound with a fifty-year treaty of perpetual amity.

  ‘He will naturally resist any Roman attempt to break his hold over the silk trade and if your party is armed, as it must assuredly be, then it will mean war. The Emperor is sorely distracted by the loss of Rome and would never contemplate another Persian war, no matter what the advantages. I cannot readily see how you will overcome this, gentlemen.’

  ‘We’ll go around them.’

  ‘March a small expedition into the very lair of the Goths? I rather think not.’

  Nicander replied hastily, ‘Then we go in disguise! Just we two, honest merchants about our business.’

  ‘And be instantly taken up as Roman spies? Your Persian is an epicure in the arts of torture – the very least you might expect is to be impaled through the anus and raised on high as a caution to us all.’

  John the Cappadocian smiled serenely. ‘However, I like the conceit of disguise, on reflection it merely needs refinement. I can well see how it might be handled.’ He steepled his hands.

  ‘Please go on, sir,’ Nicander said.

  ‘Then it is this. A brace of devout and intrepid gentlemen of god, of whatever species they may be, might without excessive hindrance pass through the lands of Zoroaster about their holy mission.’

  ‘Be buggered to that! I’ll not prat about like a poxy monk for any man!’ Marius burst out.

  ‘Did I say you must? You asked me for advice, I’m laying out the alternatives, wherever they might lead …’

  ‘Yes, yes, please continue, sir!’ Nicander spluttered, glaring at Marius.

  ‘So, you do not propose to go in the nature of a military expedition. This will greatly reduce expenses and will be looked upon favourably.’

  Nicander brightened.

  ‘Yet the sum needed will remain substantial.’

  ‘For our travel needs?’

  ‘Not so. You will be begging your way in the usual fashion and, of course, living frugally. No, I was more thinking about far kingdoms and strange peoples. I would find it singular, indeed, should your way be not greatly eased by the judicious laying out of inducements.’

  ‘Bribe our way out of situations.’

  ‘That is not the customary term, but it will serve. And naturally when in the fabled land of the Seres, will not your persuasion to loosen their grip on a trifle of seeds be in the nature of things golden?’

  For the first time it was all looking possible. ‘It does appear we have a basis for moving ahead on the project,’ Nicander replied. ‘What do you think are our chances – with Emperor Justinian, that is?’

  John the Cappadocian eased into an oily smile. ‘Why, I would have thought quite positive. The idea will, without a doubt, attract his interest and a few hundred thousands to him is neither here nor there. With my considerable help you will gain his attention in this.

  ‘You will, of course, be presenting a costed estimate based on a comprehensive plan with distances, timing and good evidence of your knowledge of the impediments to be encountered. Whether he will consider you yourselves as suitable for the expedition will depend on your credibility, otherwise you will be thanked with a pittance for your suggestion and others will be appointed.’

  ‘I understand, sir. We’ll begin work on it immediately! There is the question of gaining audience with His Imperial Majesty. How …?’

  ‘The usual sanction is to petition for a hearing, but this requires you state your business first with the referendary regulating such access. I do not recommend this course if you desire discretion in the matter of your idea.’

  His flabby brow furrowed. ‘The Master of the Offices is the untouchable Peter the Patrician, who would never countenance private access, still less the wooden-headed Marcellus, Count of Excubitors and not a man to cross.’

  He reflected for a moment. ‘I fear our greatest obstacle, however, will be the cunning and entirely corrupt Peter Barsymes, whose reptilian hide is as slimy as his manner. You will know him as the Count of the Sacred Largesse – Emperor Justinian’s privy treasurer.’

  The ‘our’ triggered a sudden thrill in Nicander.

  ‘No! Leave this to me. The matter is too delicate for precipitate action. Do prepare your plan, return with it and we shall discuss it together. I will ensure it reaches the ear of the Emperor, do not doubt it.’

  Heaving himself upright he leant across, holding their eyes. ‘Meanwhile – trust no one! Speak not to a soul, distrust the very walls. The palace is an evil place, where behind a genial manner every man’s hand is set against his brother, where a father sells his daughter for power and gain, and worse that I cannot speak of it. Go now, we’ll meet again when your plans are ready …’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nicander fought down his exhilaration. From utter despair to the situation now – when anything seemed possible!

  ‘I really do believe we’re on to something. I reckon at the very least Justinian will reward us handsomely.’

  Marius merely grunted in reply.

  Nicander allowed his thoughts to roam. Their spoils would probably be vast: this was no less than the saving of a king’s ransom in gold at a time when the Byzantines needed all the wealth they could find to preserve the country’s borders against the tidal surge of barbarians.

  It seemed so unreal: this wretched squalor and the talk of gold and empires in which he was a central player.

  He glanced at Marius, who now had a brooding expression.

  ‘I do think that notion of going as monks makes a lot of sense, don’t you? On the way back we can e
ven hide the seeds in a holy relic or some such.’

  There was another ill-natured grunt.

  Nicander sighed; he was not going to let Marius’s mood spoil the moment.

  ‘So. A plan. It’s got to be a good one, credible and appealing to an emperor. How do we start?’

  Marius sat unblinking, a scowl now darkening his face.

  ‘We’ve first got to work out a route that takes us past the Goths and other foul heathens. And to make us sound credible we have to know in detail what we’re talking about. This will, as well, tell us what’s ahead so we can plan for it, put it in the costings. Where do we get such information? It has to be from impeccable sources and as comprehensive as we can manage. Of course! The library, right here in the city! All the knowledge of Serica and the East … it must have everything.’

  There was still no response from Marius and Nicander was beginning to be irritated by his sullen attitude. Did he not see the scale of the task?

  ‘Be in classical Greek or legal Latin, naturally,’ he went on, ‘Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Only thing is, so much to get through.’

  Suddenly Marius got to his feet with a venomous glare and stormed out.

  The next morning Nicander was vexed to see Marius’s mood was still there but he decided to let whatever was riding the man pass in its own time.

  He took up his satchel. ‘I’ve had a few thoughts about topics to investigate. I don’t have to tell you that I have to be disciplined in this or I’ll not cover the ground in time. So I’ll be off, then. Don’t know how long I’ll be.’

  But just before he reached the door Marius thrust himself across it, barring his way. ‘You don’t fucking need me now, do you!’

  Nicander stopped in his tracks, taken aback by the outburst.

  ‘Admit it!’ Marius snarled. ‘All your grand plans, prancing off to a library – you don’t want an old caligatus getting in the way, spoiling your pitch! I’m no fucking use to you any more, right?’

  ‘Why—’

  ‘So what do I bloody well do? Hey?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘See! I saw you with that scumbag John the Cappadocian. He only spoke to you, didn’t he? Didn’t say shite to me. You’re going off to speak to Emperor Justinian yourself – can you see him giving me the time o’ day? No way!’

  ‘It’s not like that—’

  ‘I’m a shame to you! To drag about and act dumb all the time – you don’t have to fling it in my face, I know.’

  ‘Marius—’

  ‘You’re going to dump me. But have the guts to tell me first!’

  Nicander sat down slowly. So that was what was goading him.

  ‘I’ve no intention of getting rid of you, Marius. In this venture you’ve equal shares with me.’

  The legionary breathed deeply. ‘Listen to me, Greek. Don’t you dare patronise me. You go out of that fucking door without you swearing on all that’s holy that you’ll not betray me … you won’t find me here when you get back!’

  In a rush of feeling Nicander realised that he was about to challenge fortune for the greatest stakes of his life yet he had not a single one to trust, any to whom he could safely open his heart, lay out troubles and frustrations, share the burdens – except this bear of a man with his strong, uncomplicated views.

  He stood and clasped Marius’s hand. ‘We’ve gone through so much together …’ He paused, aware that a lump was forming in his throat. ‘And in what lies ahead I want you with me. I’ll swear, if you insist, but I allow before all that you’re my true friend and … I could never let you down.’

  At first there was no reaction. Then the other big hand came out and a smile surfaced. ‘Friends. Yes. You and me, Nico – that is, Nicander,’ Marius added with a self-conscious chuckle.

  ‘No, m’ friend, it’s Nico.’ He grinned. ‘But only from you!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  In a haze of excitement Nicander stepped out along The Mese. His destination was the public library of the Emperor Julian of two centuries before – since the destruction of the Library of Alexandria, the acknowledged centre of learning of the civilised world.

  Their great venture was now under way!

  At the Forum of Theodosius he turned right towards the arched aqueduct of Valens. Where it met the rise of a hill there was a modest basilica, opposite the grander buildings of the university and overlooked by the Praetorium.

  A number of stalls outside sold knick-knacks: stylus and wax tablet sets, finger guards and offcuts of parchment. One of the industries in the library was the copying of decaying papyrus documents to vellum, prepared from more long-lasting animal skins. With a few of his precious remaining coins, Nicander purchased several small pieces on which to make notes.

  The library had the reek of ages past. He made his way inside through an old-fashioned columned doorway passing rhetors, grey-and-black robed learned scholars. An open space filled with desks stretched ahead to an apse and a dais with a pulpit-style desk where the stern literary steward sat.

  There were three open floors with an endless warren of scroll nooks in the lower, broader shelves for the codices in the upper.

  Nicander found an empty desk and looked about at the scores of students perched on stools working silently. They took no notice of a newcomer but an assistant steward quietly appeared at his side. In low tones he explained the structure of the library and Nicander was soon at a well-thumbed index.

  The first thing he wanted to equip himself with was all there was to be known about silk. The ancients would have what he sought!

  He asked for a well-remembered tome of his youth – the Naturalis Historia of the elder Pliny, who had lost his life on the seashore of Pompeii as the volcano rained destruction.

  Several volumes of the work arrived. Sections on geography, nature, more.

  In a dissertation about silk at origin, Pliny’s view was that it was nothing more than an insect’s lidle weaving of a cocoon. A commentary below by another declared that it was in fact the hair of the sea-sheep.

  Nicander asked for a further volume. It got worse: this one mentioned that in far Sinae gigantic spiders were held prisoner in cages and spun silk while being fed on condemned criminals. Yet another reference stated that silk was scraped from the underside of the common mulberry.

  It was deeply unsettling. How could the ancient scholars disagree so?

  He found his eyes focusing on the literary steward. Taking his courage in hand, he threaded his way between the rows of desks.

  ‘Learned gentleman, I have a question.’

  The august figure frowned.

  ‘Sir, I’m engaged in the writing of a paean to beauty, in particular to that of man-wrought silk, and I rather thought it would lend a pleasing turn to the conceit if I were to make reference to its origin.’

  The man’s face cleared, apparently satisfied that he was to be troubled for no less a reason than the sublimity of a poem’s creation. ‘Why, surely you’re aware it grows upon the silk tree?’ he replied in ponderous tones. ‘The authorities are clear on this.’

  ‘As I thought, sir. But Pliny and some others would have it otherwise.’

  ‘Your minor scribblers are never reliable. As to the good Pliny, there have been instances where regrettably he has been found to be in error and his observations in this case are not to be relied upon. The more substantive of the classical authors are the authorities you will wish to consult. The Virgil Georgics spring to mind – as does the Phaedra of Seneca the Younger.’

  In a wash of relief Nicander found among the heavy-going homilies of Virgil that silk did indeed originate from trees, and in fact there was a mention of a fine-tooth comb of special design used by the Seres to harvest the precious substance from the leaves.

  He then turned to the Phaedra, a gruesome play of taboo love, suicide and a cruel man’s relentless will, persevering until he came across a reference to silken garments won from the silk tree in far away Serica.

  He cou
ld now move on to the next objective: where was Sinae and how to get there.

  Accounts by travellers would no doubt reveal what he needed and he busied himself at the index. The first he decided to consult were the reports of the envoys of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus to the mysterious Seres. They would be a logical beginning to his reading, even though they had been written a good three centuries earlier, in the period before the Roman Emperor Valens had been slain by the Persians and their entire access to the East cut off.

  The assistant steward brought the work. While filled with exotic details of impossible beasts it was written neither by merchants with an eye to the practicalities nor a geographer, or even a military man concerned with where they were. And it was plain that this was not an official mission, only a half-hearted attempt to open communications, which was admitted to have failed.

  Nicander pored over more accounts. The revered historian Ammianus Marcellinus was the most detailed. He had compiled a picture of Scythia – and Serica beyond – but it was a wild tale of Syziges and Chardes, Alitrophages and Annibes, in wearisome succession, together with dogmatic assertions on climate and terrain that made no sense. But Marcellinus did confirm the production of silk originated from a soft fine down spun into thread, gathered from the trees while the leaves were continuously moistened.

  The rest just spoke of dragons and gryphons. Nothing on the location of the land of Serica.

  Once again Nicander made his way up to the pulpit. This time he was awarded a look of benevolent indulgence.

  ‘Sir, you were entirely correct in the particulars concerning the source of silk. Yet my enquiring mind thirsts to know more – where in the world is this Sinae, that gifts man with such beauty?’