horsemen long since gone, to build his small*1 campfires and keep the worst of the chill away until he rolled up in his blanket of felt and slept until the break of each dawn, which would bring a greater chill stirring him to waking. He would eat cold horsemeat, washed down with a draft of strong-tasting water from the goatskin sacks that served as canteens and ride on. Often he would have to stop and lead his shaggy-haired horse over the rougher spots, marveling at how the little beast could eat almost anything and still keep its strength. The finest steeds from the imperial stables of Rome would have starved to death in the first week if they had to subsist on the same diet of some of the wild beasts of the high plains of Asia.
Standing before the portal, he called out in the language of Chin. It was close enough so many of the watchers could make out what he was saying: 'I bear a message for the King of Tzin from the Tribes of the Yueh.' Holding a scroll above his head to the watchers on the towers, he hoped this might lend emphasis to his words.
The great gates swung open on iron hinges which were kept oiled to keep the rust away and squeaking under the strain of their massive weight. They opened and Casca was told to enter with a wave of a lance.
Entering a courtyard, he was greeted by a contingent of armed pikemen and archers carrying the strange curved bows of laminated horn and sinew that could drive an arrow four hundred yards with killing efficiency and could wound at eight hundred. The bowmen wore wrist guards of wood and ivory to protect their gut strings. Silently they stood in the ranks, orderly and disciplined, watching through dark intelligent eyes.
Casca was brought to the commander, Sung Ti Aman. Taller than his subordinates, he looked with distaste at the barbarian before him, wrinkling his nose at the high odor that came his way from this rider.
Nevertheless, he performed the prescribed rules of etiquette required to be given to any messenger from a chieftain of another tribe.
Casca took his place downwind from Sung Ti Aman who, after making the usual courteous inquiries, requested to see the scroll bearing the words of the Chief of the Yueh-chih.
The scroll had been written by a learned man living with the tribe who had left the realms of the Chin because of legal problems. The calligraphy was properly done and sophisticated enough in style that it gave the words written a degree of worth.
Food was brought, brown rice and vegetables artistically arranged to please both the eye and the palate; delicate morsels of river fish on bamboo spears in thin sauces tasted like paper to Casca after his long diet of raw meat and millet, but it was more filling than it appeared, the rice settling comfortably in his gut.
The commander made a gift to Casca of a clean tunic and trousers; anything to get rid of the odor of the damp sheepskin.
Sung Ti perused the contents of the scroll, pondering how best they could be transported to the court of the Son of Heaven. The regular courier service was not due for another fortnight and he was too short manned to send any of his men the long way. The next imperial courier station was two hundred miles to the south.
Casca was shown to the quarters kept for guests and basins of water were brought to him, to clean himself if he was so inclined. He was. After washing, his face felt like the ass of a newborn babe, lighter in color from the wind-burned cheeks and brow. Putting on a tunic of plain silk and trousers of loose wool tucked into his boot tops, he entered the compound.
Taking in the appearance and equipment of his host's soldiers, he noted most wore jazerins of scaled armor and helmets of lacquered wood, embossed with ornamental plaques of brass and bronze. Everything clean and in its place, the men were well-ordered and mannerly, no sign of rowdiness. They looked to be quite efficient, though, to his way of thinking, their armor would scarcely stand up to the heavier blades of the Roman or Germanic tribes. The bowmen impressed him the most. Several were having target practice in the courtyard, sending arrow after arrow unerringly into the target set some two hundred paces away, the arrows sinking half their length into the fiber targets, attesting to the power of the bow.
Sung Ti sent for him and was more impressed with his strange guest now that he was clean. The strength of the visitor from beyond his world was evident in the twisted cords of his forearms and the way his eyes never missed anything. Sung Ti knew his guest was a warrior to be reckoned with, but, more important, for a barbarian he had a remarkable set of manners. And though he made several errors in etiquette, he, after all, had not had the training in the graces of civilized society. Sung Ti had never seen eyes like Casca's. To him they resembled some of the high lakes.
It was well known the Emperor had a great curiosity for the strange and unusual. Feeling his problem solved, Sung Ti decided Casca would be his messenger to the court with a letter from him. Casca should have no trouble traveling the three hundred miles to the Court of Tzin where the Emperor was now in spring residence.
That night, the two found many common interests, especially after several cups of the wet looking milky wine Sung Ti poured into lacquered cups. Soldiers, like physicians, will always find something of mutual interest to talk and argue over.
Casca showed him his Gladius Iberius. The short blade and thickness of the steel was odd to the eyes of his host, but after his guest had done him the honor of showing him his weapon, Sung Ti could do no less.
Taking his blade from its engraved scabbard of rare woods, he drew it in the proper manner and set it on a cushion in front of Casca. The handling of the blade by its master told Casca that he was observing a ceremony of great meaning and was being honored. Sung Ti laid a silk scarf beside the cushion and sat back on his heels waiting for the foreigner's response.
Casca, watching his host carefully, bowed and indicated the weapon and scarf, careful to touch neither. Sung Ti smiled and nodded in the affirmative, pleased his barbarian with lake eyes had the good grace to show courtesy. Taking the scarf, Casca was careful not to touch the blade with his hands. He held it lengthwise in front of him and examined it slowly from hilt to point, making quiet sounds of approval. The blade was long and slightly curved, the edge on one side only, coming to a tapered point designed for slashing, not stabbing, though it could be used for that purpose. The weapon told him a great deal about the fighting techniques of the owner. The stylized manner of presenting the weapon for his inspection said that here was an honored and rigid warrior class.
Clucking his tongue in approval, he bowed low and placed the piece on the cushion exactly as it had been presented, careful to be slow and deliberate in his handling and again not to touch the blade.
Sung Ti hissed between his teeth in approval and once again presented the blade, this time with his own hands that his guest might feel the quality of the steel.
Casca knew by this act that he had done well and gained merit in the eyes of the commander of the garrison and was being accepted not only as an emissary but as an equal. Carefully and gently, as if touching a woman, he ran his fingers over the blade, feeling the satin sheen of fine steel. The grain of steel was as fine as the silk robes his host wore. The fine edge gave it a new importance in his eyes. The grace with which the sword was handled and ceremoniously wiped clean, then returned to its scabbard increased his respect. This was a cultured and dangerous people to whom form and manners were weapons, and offense would be easily taken at any affront to their honor.
Casca thanked his host for the honor shown him: 'Commander,' he bowed again, 'forgive me if I do not have the words or proper training of your people to show the depths of my gratitude for the honor you have shown me. Indeed, beside the glory of your weapon, mine is but a poor tool, fit only for common usage. If I make errors in your customs, please forgive me as tfyis is not intentional. I am only an ignorant soldier, who has not the advantages of your great culture.'
Sung Ti smiled openly for the first time and clapped Casca on the shoulder with a friendly hand.
'The words of the sage say that the way to enlightenment is to know one's ignorance. Once that is clear, he may learn and advance. To be ignorant is no crime. To refuse to be otherwise is an insult. You are welcome and shall take the treaty of Yueh-chih to the Son of Heaven with your own hands. Now, let us talk of things we both know and appreciate. Let us tell of our battles and loves. I am curious-is it true that many of the women of your lands have the same blue eyes and hair like grain in the sun?'
Fourteen
