‘They must – how do we get the silk, then?’
Marius chuckled grimly. ‘Hey now, and you’re a merchant and haven’t picked up on it!’
‘What, damn it?’
‘Why, just that it’s all organised between ’emselves. Freight gets loaded, taken on to another town, sold in the market where there’s a profit. Then the new owner sends it to wherever he’s heard there’s a good price, and so on. Who knows how many changes. That’s why it’s so bloody expensive to us, everyone adding their profit on top, and why nobody knows where the stuff ends up or comes from. So, Nico, there’s no one sending silk from Sinae to Constantinople – no one at all!’
‘And nobody who can say where the caravan’s been or going.’
‘No. Crews change at different places – he said his friend goes on another stage with the caravan across the plains in camels and when they come to the mountains hands over to others with oxen and donkeys. He thinks there’s a mighty desert beyond but he’s not sure.’
Nicander put down the unfinished lentils.
Marius gave an awkward smile and picked up what he’d been working on. ‘For you,’ he said, almost apologetically, ‘Try ’em on. Need to impress His Nibs, won’t we.’
It was a pair of sandals of the carlatina pattern, a single piece of leather used to create a soft-soled sandal with a pleasing openwork cross lacing. ‘Why, these are wonderful, Marius. And – and just the thing to go before an emperor,’ he finished lamely.
‘Right. Well, can’t sit about, what next?’
Nicander knew he couldn’t put off telling him the truth.
When he had finished, the big man said nothing, his face set.
‘So it’s come down to stupid fairy tales and maps which don’t agree and now with what you learnt from your friend…’
They sat wordless for a long time.
‘A hit o’ wine?’
‘No, Marius. I’m not in the mood.’
‘And as for our greasy friend John the Cappadocian,’ Marius rasped, ‘I think the bastard knows more than he’s telling us.’
Nicander grunted agreement. He wasn’t looking forward to facing him but could there be something they’d missed?
CHAPTER TEN
John the Cappadocian greeted them with irritation. His eyes were bloodshot and his robe stained.
‘You’re finished so soon? I expected something of a proper plan, decently put together.’
‘There are difficulties that have arisen. Sir, we need your advice.’
Swearing, John cleared the table with a sweep of his arm. ‘Sit down.’
The sound of the smashing pottery brought a slave running.
‘What is it, then? Am I to be disturbed for every little problem you meet?’
‘Silk does grow upon trees, sir, I now have sufficient confirmation of that.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
Gathering his courage, Nicander went on, ‘What is proving harder is to find a suitable route to Serica. No two authorities agree and the ancients are not helpful. Sir, might I ask that in your time as an officer of state did you ever hear of the Seres in any way?’
‘As I told you before, I’ve heard of them, but then so has everybody. Are you telling me you’ve no reliable indication of where you’re headed?’
‘Not at the moment.’
John the Cappadocian slumped back with a bitter smile. ‘Then you’ve got a problem. All I know is that it’s a damn long way off, in some godforsaken place somewhere at the end of the world.’
He held Nicander’s eyes. ‘I take it you’ve asked to see the records of that… what was it… the Antoninus delegation. Didn’t I hear they’d actually reached there and came back?’
‘I have, sir, and others. They didn’t – or couldn’t – say where they were, and the fools didn’t bother to write down anything of value in terms of direction or distance.’
‘That doesn’t augur well for your plan, sir. What will you do now?’
‘The secret’s out there somewhere,’ Nicander said doggedly. ‘We’ll keep looking until we find it. Then let you know, of course.’
He got up to leave.
‘Why the hurry? Stay, take a little refreshment.’ It was an order: two more cups were signalled.
Marius shot a warning glance at Nicander, but he took no notice. While there was any chance…
‘All is not lost.’
‘Why do you say that, sir?’
‘Just a thought, that’s all.’ There was a self-satisfied smile touched with a hint of spite. It brought Nicander to full alert.
‘May we know it?’
‘Perhaps. Tell me, what is your objective in this?’
Wary, he answered that it was the securing of the seeds of the silk tree.
‘No, Mr Greek. The real object.’
‘I – I don’t understand you, sir.’
‘Surely it’s the acquisition of wealth by whatever means? Those baubles of comfort that so ease the pangs of old age…?’
‘As a man of business I do accept that the increase resulting-’
‘Then I believe there is a path to that same objective – requiring only a little courage, far less effort and with the gratifying consequence that it goes a little way into… squaring accounts between myself and the Emperor Justinian.’
This was edging into dangerous waters. Were they going to be pawns in some palace power struggle?
Nicander was aware of Marius’s disquiet but John the Cappadocian was probably the most successful money man of the age, brought low only by the spite of a woman. And he had just this one chance to talk at the exalted level of emperors and gold, statecraft and business.
‘Your advice to us is always to be welcomed,’ Nicander said as neutrally as he could.
‘Very well. We go inside – in this evil city there are ears everywhere.’ He heaved himself up and led them into a sparsely furnished room. The window looked out on olive trees where a slave hoed the soil in desultory fashion.
‘Aha – the boot is on the other foot! Before I reveal my idea, how do I know it will not be taken from me by a pair of out-of-town adventurers? Hey?’
‘Sir, I don’t-’
‘Be easy, Greek. I’m only in jest. The situation remains as before. I cannot perform it, and I’m bound to your own good selves for any fortune that might result.’
‘Then what is your idea, sir?’
‘The same as your own… taken a little further.’
He went on briskly, ‘The seeds of the silk tree. Brought back to be planted in a sacred grove for the enrichment of the whole Roman Empire. This cannot fail!’
A dreamy expression appeared on his face. ‘I can see it alclass="underline" two holy men from the edge of Empire, thinking it their sacred duty to inform their ruler that having particular knowledge far beyond that of mere libraries, they are prepared to venture to far Sinae to acquire the seeds for the glory of the Byzantine Empire and its illustrious ruler. They lack only the means to do so.’
‘Special information?’
‘I rather think something more in the way of a token, a visible sign that not only do they possess the knowledge but are themselves the only ones able to take advantage of it. A species of immunity, if you like, preserving the idea for their own furtherance… and profit.’
‘Sir, I don’t follow you,’ Nicander said. ‘We have no special knowledge and no prospect of any.’
‘Yet you’ll agree, should these two men appear with some, their way to being funded is assured? Our ever-avaricious Justinian would think nothing of settling five hundred thousand gold solidi on them for a return of eight tons of gold a year!’ His eyes gleamed wolfishly.
‘But how-’
‘These monks come with a tale. They were on pilgrimage from somewhere outlandish like Sheba, when the winds seize their ship and after a harrowing experience which would wring pity from the hardest heart they are cast up in shipwreck. They are rescued by a passing trader who is from Serica and takes them there. Where they meet the King of the Seres who offers them hospitality and his prayers for their safe return. When they are ready to leave, he gives them a letter decreeing those named therein as honoured guests of the kingdom. This they offer to Justinian as proof that they will be welcomed back should they return.’