Judith Tarr - Silk Roads And Shadows

SILK ROADS AND SHADOWS [011-03-4.7]

BY: JUDITH TARR

Category: fiction fantasy

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to express my thanks to Dr. Marsha

Wagner, Vice President for instruction at

the China Institute in New York City, as

well as to Sandra Miesel for articles on

T'ang tombs and the Simposh (now, after a forced

conversion to Islam, called Nuristanis), and

to Andre Norton. With characteristic generosity, she shared

a twenty year collection of books on China, and

gave me the Bowman, Spearman, and

Officer.

NOTE

The Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting

times," definitely applies to the mid-ninth

century, when

Silk Roads and Shadows

takes place. In Byzantium, this period saw

the overthrow of the Amorian dynasty with the assassination

of Michael III, "the Drunkard," and

possibly one of the worst emperors (842-867) in

the Empire's history, by his

erSTwhile-favorite, Basil, subsequently the

founder of the Macedonian dynasty.

In T'ang dynasty China, already shaken by the

attempts at revolution a century earlier, a

Taoist emperor did indeed launch a purge of

foreign religions (including Buddhism) that made

England's dissolution of the monasteries centuries

later look like an afternoon's peaceful leafletting.

Western readers who like to think of Taoism as a

benign cult that stresses unity with nature may be

warned that nature also involves earthquakes and

typhoons-and offers an emperor no reason why he

should avoid these particular manifestations either.

Such actions changed China irrevocably. Before

842, the mania in China for things Western can only

be compared to our present-day fascination for things

Chinese. After 842, China turned increasingly

xenophobic. Ultimately the country withdrew behind

its walls from world trade.

Readers interested in the legend of Shambhala (from which

James Hilton probably drew his classic

Lost Horizon)

might enjoy Edwin Bernbaum's

The Way to Shambhala

(anchor Press), which combines

travel and Buddhist teachings, providing a

toehold onto the Diamond Path for anyone

brave enough to walk it. Those wanting a more detailed

treatment of esoteric Buddhism in Central

Asia might look at the UCLA Arts Council

catalogue,

The Silk Route and the Diamond Path,

an extraordinary Wend of art, theology, and some

formidable maps. The region and trade within it,

centuries before Marco Polo, are covered by L.

Boulnois'

The Silk Roads

(george Allen and Unwen). And anyone who even

glances into Edward Schafer's

The Golden Peaches of Samarkand

runs the risk of turning into a Sinologue. This

extraordinary book describes the art, music,

food, trade, and history of T'ang-dynasty

China in a way that will fascinate new readers and

old China hands alike.

I should probably apologize for endangering the

fabulous Byzantine silk industry, which did

indeed start in Justinian's reign when

Nestorian monks smuggled silk out of Central

Asia. In several spots I've juggled with

chronology in order to install the Varangian

Guard in its palace barracks somewhat earlier

than actually occurred, to rehabilitate the weak

Amorian dynasty in Byzantium, and-since

turnabout is fair play--to eliminate the much

stronger Macedonian dynasty.

I have also wreaked havoc with the People's Republic of

China's excavation of the First Emperor's tomb

outside Ch'ang-an (present-day Xian), which

has already turned up some 7500 lifesize

terra-cotta statues. But possibly my worst

offense has been to wish a turbulent princes? like

Alexandra on an Empire already noted for its

strong women.

Though I've played these games with history quite

deliberately (and, very likely, come up with a few

errors I don't know about yet), let me justify

them by saying that writers of historical fantasy are

like people who stack dominoes in intricate patterns.

Occasionally we give things a little nudge to make

sure they will Fall the way we want them to.

Prologue

The Emperor of the Romans was drunk again. His new

favorite, Basil, told Prince Bryennius

that it was a fever. He would be unable to watch the

prince play polo. Another fever. Bryennius

nodded agreement and regret, despising himself as he

did whenever he agreed with Basil. But it was best not

to cross Basil the Patrician; people who did that

had a way of disappearing from Byzantium. Then it was

more than bad manners to mention their names, in or out of

court; it was bad sense. The Church frowned on

suicides.

Bryennius recalled summers of blue and green and

gold when he and his Imperial cousins had been

close. He sighed, then turned back to his own

rooms in the palace. At least no one had seen the

upstart Basil dismiss him, a prince. And he had

hidden his loneliness well. He flung himself down

with a cup of wine near the scandalously secular

mosaic he had commissioned, too discour-

Susan Shwartz

aged to admire it, or follow his earlier intentions of

going to the stables.

He missed his cousins. There had been four children in the

palace then: himself; Princess Alexandra and her

elder, more placid sister, Princess Theophano;

and Michael, of course, the tall, lordly elder

boy who won the games (except when he chose not

to), and always had a kind word and sometimes a gift for the

younger children. He usually let Bryennius try his

horses, too.

Then Bryennius had lost them all: Michael to the,

throne, and Michael's two sisters to holiness.

Alexandra had been thirteen, Theophano fifteen,

when they had left the palace for the convent over which their

aunt Theodora, a holy woman and noted scholar,

presided. As spare princesses, they had had few

choices. They could be married off to patricians

powerful enough to deserve them but not strong enough to threaten the

new Emperor. Or they might marry foreigners.

But Alexandra had declared that Prankish princes

smelled bad, Armenian ones worse, no proper

match for a

porphyrogenita,

a princess born in the Imperial porphyry

birthing chamber. So that left one option. They could

marry God, as had their aunt, and the widow

Danielis, who had aided Theodora in

building up the island convent's library.

From the few letters Bryennius had from her while they were

growing up, he rather thought Alexandra liked her convent.

She had burrowed into its library for tranquil

years; her letters were full of references to history-and

mild scoldings to a cousin who, she had learned, was

turning out frivolous. That was not his fault, he had

retorted. No one could refuse a prince

military training, but they had refused him a career

in the armies. Perhaps, he thought, Michael's

advisors feared his becoming a successful general.

Thank Mary, Mother of God, he was too old

to survive being made into a eunuch.

Then Theophano returned to the palace. Where she

had once been plump and placid, now she was thin,

easily frightened. He had seen her only once.

"I wanted out," Theophano had wept the one time

he had managed to speak privately to her. "Even

if it meant marrying a barbarian, I had to leave.

But my poor sister is trapped there. She

doesn't even know it's a trap, either."

"What kind of trap?" Bryennius asked.

Useless he might be-devoted to polo, fine

horses, and seductions comb he loved his Cousin

Alexandra.

"The books," Theophano whispered. "Books and

scrolls and strange languages. They-Aunt

Theodora and Lady Danielis-wanted me to read

them, and I was never clever, Bry", you know that. And

then ..." She broke off, her eyes bulging with

fright.

The Patrician Basil had entered the room,

moving quietly, as he always did, the better to hear

them. He bowed to the prince and princess, then disposed

of them, as he always had.

"I think that Princess Theophano is easily

tired. She should devote her energy to preparing for her

marriage to the King of Sicily. Don't you

agree, Highness?"

Bryennius had not seen Theophano again until her

marriage, when she wept again, but this time with relief,

He sighed. That line of thought was unproductive.

It made him boil with anger at Basil, too; and

that was dangerous. Far more pleasant-and far safer-to

consider which of three women to lay siege to for the evening,

and which of three horses to purchase. Glumly, he

decided on a target and to buy all three

horses. As he turned to call for paper and ink, a

hiss from the garden onto which his rooms opened brought

him around, chased dagger in hand.

So even as an idler, Basil found him too much

of a risk to keep alive. Heart pounding,

Bryennius edged around to the doorway. Perhaps it would

be just one assassin; he thought he could kill one man

in a moderately fair fight.

Someone entered the door, Bryennius pounced, and a

woman wailed her outrage and fear. It was

Alexandra's nurse, Demetria, whom

Alexandra had most reluctantly left behind in

honorable retirement when she had en

Susan Shwartz

tered the convent. Panting and frightened, the woman bowed

to him-the boy she had spanked for stealing sweets.

"Your pardon, old mother," he said. He turned his

chair about to spare her the sight of the mosaic, eased

her into it, and handed her his wine cup, which she drained

before extracting a sealed note from the heavy folds of

her black robes.

"Cousin Bryennius," ran Alexandra's rapid,

elegant writing, "I have found the cause of the

Basileus' "fevers" comwh his heir is destined

to catch, too. For their souls' sake, and mine,

help me escape this hellhole!"

So Alexandra had discovered the trap that

terrified Theophano and had asked his help?

Finally, he would have something worthwhile to do! Urgent

questions drew the facts he needed from the old woman.

Yes, her son captained the ship that brought

supplies to the convent. Yes, men were occasionally

permitted on the island. No, Demetria had no

idea why Alexandra might be unhappy or

afraid, seeing as she was holy and safe in God's

keeping, bless her soul . . . and the old woman was

weeping again.

Delighted at his own competence, Bryennius bought a

crewman's rough garments and bribed a mercenary

to lift grapples from the war supplies. Disguised,

he sneaked on board Demetria's son's ship.

It tacked across the harbor to the convent. Then

Bryennius was hugging the walls, creeping from shadow

to shadow, his heart hammering at the sacrilege

Alexandra had demanded of him.

Someone tapped his shoulder, and he all but screamed

until he whirled and saw Alexandra. A man,

almost as short as she, was with her. Bryennius started

to snatch her up for a quick hug of welcome, but "no

time!" gasped his cousin. She kilted up her

skirts like a wild girl, and they ran for the ship.

As they scrambled on board, Alexandra was

frantic, crying to the captain to cast off as they

loved the Emperor and their City.

"For God's sake, cousin, what's wrong?"

Bryennius cried. "And who's this with you?"

Alexandra was as thin and intense as ever, but the little man

huddling near her had a decidedly Persian cast of

feature.

In the convent up above the dock, lights started

to appear. Suddenly a shriek of rage rang out, and

Alexandra sank to the deck.

"They know we're missing! Captain, if you let

them take you, they won't just have you executed; they'll

kill you themselves and drain your soul."

The captain signed himself in terror. All

Byzantium feared necromancy. To have a

princess flee a convent because of it was blasphemy

worse than Bryennius had dreamed possible.

Quickly they cast off.

Alexandra's odd companion came up

to Bryennius, standing so close to him that the prince

recoiled. "Prince, are you armed?" he asked, his

accent surprisingly pure for an Easterner. He

had the manner of a priest and-to Bryennius'

surprise when he asked-the name of the Basileus'

favorite. Probably a heretic as

well as unluckily named . . .

"Are you armed?" he repeated the question insistently.

Bryennius nodded.

"Then I beg you, if we are captured, kill

me."

"We're not going to be captured!" Bryennius

spat.

"But we're not moving," Alexandra gasped.

"Captain, what's wrong?" Her voice was

shrill, as if she expected trouble.

"The tide, Highness. There's no tide!" The

man's voice, hoarse from years of shouting orders,

trembled with fear.

"Then let's row!" Bryennius cried.

Even the heretic strained on the oars. Just as

Bryennius thought his heart would burst, the undertow

struck. When they fought the swift, savage

current, it surged into a maelstrom.

"Get down, cousin!" Bryennius screamed at

Alexandra, who almost lurched over the side of the

boat. She

Susan

Shwartz

drew a tiny phial from her drab garments, fumbled

open, and threw it over the side. The waters

whirlec once more, then subsided.

Alexandra sank down, gasping. "Oh, your face,

cous in. That was holy water, not sorcery."

Bryennius flexed his hands, blistered and raw from

thi

oars. "Now," he said firmly, "Alexandra,

cousin or nc cousin, you owe me an explanation right

now! What the name of hell ..."

"The name of hell . . . that's it, Bry',"

Alexandra gasped. "The Crown Prince, my little

nephew Michae bar comhe's going to be very sick.

No one in the court knows it yet, but he's going

to be sick. Yes, there go the bells and!

semantrons. They've started to pray for him now.

He has! the fever my brother has, and its name .

. . oh, God, itsf name"-she laughed

hysterically-"is Basil. Or Aunti Theodora

and her friend Danielis. They plan to seize j

power."

Bryennius darted a glance at the monk.

"No, not that Basil. He's as much a victim .

. ." In thei reddish glow of Byzantium's night

lights, Alexandra's eyes were wild, the whites as

huge as those of a horse that smells fire in its

stable. "It's all of a piece,

Bryennius.; You were the one who told me that the

silk trade was waning. The vestments in the church

started to fray, and

be

there was no silk to replace them. Aunt Theodora

didn't seem to mind, either. That made me

curious."

Alexandra, Bryennius knew, always had been too

curious for her own good. "You know, Byzantium

used to have to buy its silk from Ch'in. The gold we

paid-no wonder all Ch'in's people have golden skins!

"But when we learned that worms made their silk, I

they refused to sell them to us. Then in the reign of]

Justinian the Lawgiver, Nestorians like Father

Basil here smuggled silkworms out of Ch'in in their

staffs at the risk of their lives. Since then-at

least up until now -Byzantium has produced

silk of its own."

Bryennius nodded. Every Byzantine took pride

in the

City's silk. It was the Emperor's own care. The

silk was even woven in the palace's closely

guarded factories by women more skilled than a

thousand Arachnes. Only the secret of making

Greek fire was more strictly kept. Both

proclaimed Empire to the barbarians: strength,

beauty, truth, and power; the embodiment of splendor

on earth, anticipating the greater glories to come.

If the silk trade failed, then Byzantium

too was failing.

"How has this to do with magic?" Alexandra asked.

"I was about to ask," Bryennius said wryly. His

hands stung and he felt like all the strength had

drained out of him.

His cousin shivered. "It's all of a piece," she

said. "Byzantium faltering, my brother himself. .

. Bryennius, he was smart and brave when he was a

boy, remember? What reason would turn a bright

boy into a drunkard? I won't say he is the

worst ruler Byzantium has had . . . and then

these illnesses. His wife died young, his heir is

sickly. All of a piece.

"At first I believed Aunt Theodora when she said

that Byzantium was being punished for sins. Then"-she

grimaced and, for a moment, looked like the urchin

Bryennius remembered-"after Theophano left, I

became bored again. I'd read most of what she and

Danielis would let me read in the library. They

had other books that looked like they'd come the length of the

silk roads. I asked about them, and they

told me I could not read them yet. But they were

pleased, Bry', pleased that 5 asked.

"You know me, cousin. When I am bored and

curious, 1 try to find things out. I started prowling

the convent. I even found a way out. One night I

came upon a door I had never seen. It was

locked, but I used my penknife . . ."

Alexandra shrugged. "The door opened onto a

stairway that wound down and around until I thought I

was beneath the crypt.

"Then I saw Father Basil here. He lay on an

altar" com.alexandra's eyes went wide with

remembered horror

LfevJtOn'

Susan

Shwarte

com8set up beneath a statue that had about nine arms! There

were stains all about. So I drew my knife

to unbind him, and he cursed me for a witch."

Father Basil knelt by Bryennius. "God forgive

me," he said, "but what else could I think her? I

knew she wa kinswoman to the woman who bought me and

planned to use me as a sacrifice. A Basil

for a Basil, she said. Anc just perhaps, for your

Emperor Michael and his soneabar too."

Devil worship, Bryennius thought. No wonder

the City failed, while Basil rose, with

necromancy to back, him. He shuddered. How had

it happened? Theodora had been a scholar once.

Who had given her the books that seduced her from the

light?

"When I think of how close I came to being what

Father Basil called me," Alexandra said, "I

think I ought to spend the rest of my life on my

knees praying. But there? God forgive me, but they

ought to tear that convent down and sow the ground with salt!"

She shook her head. "Nothing ... I don't know

if I can ever believe j in anything ... I knew

we had to get out. And you were my only hope."

She flung her arms about his neck, and they hugged one

another as they had when they were children.

"Do you hear that?" called the captain. They neared!

the City. The hollow notes of the wooden

semantrons and monks chanting echoed out over the

water. Bryennius coutyl smell incense in the

air.i

"Oh, quickly!" Alexandra whispered as they moored.

Then they were dashing for the horses. Kilting her robes

high on her legs, Alexandra let

Bryennius heave her into the saddle. She was careering

off toward the Mese, into the center of the City toward the

palace, almost before

I

he could follow.

Exhaustion and terror tasted copper in his mouth.

Thef stink of incense grew stronger. Then they were

reining in, their horses' hooves striking sparks from

the stone.

Alexandra tumbled from the saddle and headed to

ward the palace, Bryennius following. Dimly

she heard him acknowledge a guard's salute,

heard the man's muttered praises for the prince's

bringing in a holy woman to pray for the heir. Then

they ran inside, this time to the heir's quarters. They

pushed past the guards and into a turmoil of priests

and physicians.

And there the running stopped.

The Imperial heir lay thrashing in convulsions. His

lips were blue and foam-flecked. Blood ran from

his nose. The little priest slipped into the room and

walked toward the bed, chanting-however dubious his

theology-an exorcism.

"Hold him, sponge him with chilled water!"

Alexandra cried to the physicians. She began a

feverish search of the bed. Finally, she dived beneath it and

emerged holding something wrapped in a fold of

bedclothes.

The prince's struggles ceased so abruptly that

several physicians crossed themselves.

"Kyrie eleison, christe eleison, kyrie

eleison"

filled the room as they began the prayers for the dead.

Basil-the favorite, not the priest-grabbed

Alexandra and pulled her from the bed. Bryennius

hurled himself at the man, determined to protect his

cousins. Alexandra clawed free. She screamed

wordlessly and cast what she held at Basil's

feet. It was a cup wrought of silver in the shape of

demons, their claws holding what looked like a

human skull.

"Devil!" she cried. "Get the priests! Ask

this man what demons he serves. Ask him! And

then ask by what design-and whose treason-he dares

to threaten my brother and his son!" She was crying

stormily. Bryennius held her, stroking her and

crooning to her until the guards dragged out the

treacherous favorite, and Alexandra's nurse

pushed past soldiers to receive the princess

into capacious arms.

Michael the Basileus summoned Alexandra and

Bryennius to the intricate gold shimmer of the

lesser

Susan

Shwarte

Hall of Audience, where he sat between mechanical

lions.

At her brother's nod, Alexandra drew up a

cushion! She leaned companionably against the

left-hand lionj and prayed for courage. Once

again, she felt as if sluf stood between the jaws of a

trap.

Once again, her choices were limited. There had

beet a riot in the Hippodrome that morning when the

Imperij al family appeared in the

kathisma,

or royal box, for the protracted execution of

Basil. (theodora and Danielis were nowhere to be

found.) For the first time in years, Alexandra wore

purple, heavy with gold embroidery and! pearls.

More pearls and massive amethysts quivered

on

her headdress and long earrings. At her brother's

gesture caret she had stood on a

footstool and held up the heir, swaying under the

weight of child, splendor, and acclai mation. When

Michael, pale and sober for the first time in years, had

gestured Bryennius forward too, she saw her own

fear mirrored in his eyes.

"For God's sake, tell me what I can do with the

two of you," said the Emperor. Alexandra supposed

it was a good sign that he did not speak of himself as

"we," in the form that the Basileus must use-"even in

bed,"'* Bryennius had quipped once to the

delight of various spies. "My advisors tell

me that if you go free . . ."

"The army?" Bryennius shrugged.

"They fear you'll turn the Tagmata regiments

against me. And what of you, Alexandra? You heard the

crowd today. They want you named Basilissa."

"That is a title for wife, not for sister!"

Bryennius" broke in, though Alexandra shook

her head at him. Michael's wife had indeed been

the last woman to bear that title. For Alexandra

to be Basilissa put her only al step from the

throne, and even closer than that to exilef or a

convenient accident.

"Would you marry, sister?" Michael asked, and hisf

voice was desperately gentle.

Bryennius tried to lighten the moment. "Whom do

bar

you need put out of the way, Majesty? That oaf whose

odorous ambassadors call him the Holy

Roman Emperor?"

Michael grimaced. So did Alexandra, who

raised a beringed hand to strike at Bryennius as she

had often done when they were children.

"You know I cannot do that to my own sister," said the

Basileus. No one mentioned that there had been no

problem when Theophano had been married

off

to the equally barbarous King of Sicily. But there was

no comparing Alexandra with her sister, ever.

"'What about you, cousin?" Michael's eyes had

gone bright and speculative, and Bryennius"

heart sank.

"The Autokrator is as wise as he is powerful.

Therefore he would not command me to do such a horrible--"

All three of them laughed. "That might be too

popular a match, too," Alexandra observed.

"Sister, would you return to a convent?"

"Not while my aunt lives!" Alexandra swore.

"But I would guarantee your safety." Alexandra

looked blandly at him. "And you would have

leisure to study."

Finally, the anger and frustration of years tumbled out,

echoing in the rich hall. "Leisure! What other

choice can I have? Be walled up in a noble convent,

or some prison, or-the straitest confinement of

all-a porphyry tomb?"

Michael's face twisted. "I, and my son after

me, must learn to rule now, and learn well. We

need time for that, though. Think of a way you can be disposed

of. Help me!"

Then the miracle happened. Alexandra's face

lit up. In that moment she was two parts princess,

one part rebel-and another part, by the grace of God,

pure inspiration, which bubbled from her mind and heart, and

carried Bryennius and the Emperor with her on a

tide of joyous enthusiasm.

"Princes join

the

army or they can be sent to gove one of the frontier

themes. You'll probably do that Bryennius."

"Sister, I regret that I cannot give you a

province t govern, too. I grant you have a

soldier's heart. But a left-brace soldier's

body? Never."

"This is what I want." Alexandra reached

out to touch his amethyst-encrusted glove where it rested

on his knee,; "We all know that the palace

workrooms have been closed down. I know it's been

given out that new looms must be installed, but you know-as

do I-that there is no silk to weave. And we know why.

Theodora cursed the silkworms. We found her

token."

"If ever I find the person who taught you to buy

spies caret my sister, I shall surely execute

him." Michael himself had taught her, Alexandra

reminded him. "If you know; this much, know the rest. I

have sent out men to steal-more silkworms."

"And had no success. Who did you send? Our first

silkworms were brought to us by Nestorians."

"They were expelled from the City for heresy."

"Not all, my Emperor," said Alexandra. "I

found one, tied, waiting to be sacrificed by our

accursed aunt."

Michael leaned forward. "Would he be willing to g*

back?"

"With me," Alexandra said. "Only if I went

too." Alexandra looked up and saw that her brother

had not yet made up his mind. "Why not let me

Judith Tarr - Silk Roads And Shadows

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: