Creation (49 page)

“We are well pleased with our nephew Mardonius. He has broken the power, such as it was, of the western Greeks. The Thracians have sent us earth and water in acknowledgment of our sovereignty. King Alexander of Macedonia has sent us earth and water. He is our slave, forever more. The matter of the western Greeks is settled. There will be bo spring campaign.”

Although Xerxes was obliged to remain as expressionless as a statue behind his father, I could see his lips begin to part in a half-smile.

There were no smiles from the Greeks. The Great King had spoken from the throne. Only in private audiences could the Greeks argue for war and, of course, they would. Darius would not have a peaceful winter.

The Great King looked about the room. When he saw me, he nodded. “We now receive our ambassador to the sixteen kingdoms beyond the Indus River. We commend Cyrus Spitama for having opened a trade route between our satrapy of India and the countries of ... of ...”

There was a good deal of muttering between Darius and the court chamberlain. The chamberlain had difficulty pronouncing the words Koshala and Magadha, which, in any case, Darius could not hear. Irritably, Darius silenced the chamberlain with a prod from the sceptre.

“... and the sixteen countries,” said Darius firmly. “The first caravan arrived at Bactra just before the full moon, with a large consignment of smelted iron. In the coming year we shall receive other metals and textiles and jewels from ... from these far-off places. Approach, Cyrus Spitama.”

Two ushers came forward. They escorted me to the throne.

I prostrated myself at the golden footstool. “You are now my eyes,” said Darius. The chancellor had already told me that I was to be made king’s eye. This meant that as a high officer of state I would be able to draw a comfortable salary from the treasury. I would also be able to stay at any of the royal palaces and travel wherever I chose, at government expense, accompanied by a ceremonial guard and a herald whose cry “Way for the king’s eye!” was enough to make half the population of the empire fall to the ground with terror. At regular intervals, each satrapy is investigated by a king’s eye. Whatever complaints the citizens have against the satrap and his administration are brought to the attention of the king’s eye, who has the power to redress them on the spot. For the time that he is in office, the king’s eye is the monarch’s surrogate. Since many of the satrapies are enormously rich and complex—I think particularly of Egypt and Lydia and India—a corrupt king’s eye dies rich. I was not corrupt. Of course, I was never sent to a rich province. I did one tour of duty in the Ionian cities, where there is no great wealth, and another in Bactria, which is poor.

I expressed my gratitude to the Great King, and to the Wise Lord who had inspired him. Finally, Darius gave me an amiable kick on the shoulder. He had heard enough of my gratitude. As I got to my feet I could see how haggard the painted face was. But the eyes were still bright, even mischievous.

“There is,” the Great King announced, “to the east of the east, a land which is known as Cathay.” Darius was plainly enjoying himself at the expense of the Greeks, who had not the slightest interest in my embassy. Curiously enough, most of the Persian nobles were equally indifferent to the lure of new worlds to conquer. It was their view that Persia was large enough as it was. They have always lacked curiosity.

“This far-off land is full of cities and rivers, full of gold and cows.” Darius was now speaking for his own amusement, and perhaps mine. “The people are descended from a yellow god and they live on either side of a yellow river that never goes dry. Once upon a time they had a heaven-sent ruler. But since he died the nobles do nothing but quarrel with one another, just as we used to do. What was once a single rich kingdom is now an unhappy land of small and turbulent states in need of a great king who will protect them and give them a sound currency and perfect justice. The lord of one of these countries to the east of the east is now ready to offer us earth and water. He has sent us an ambassador.”

All of this was somewhat disingenuous, to say the least. Fan Ch’ih was on a trade mission, not an embassy. But Darius knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to whet the interest of the clans. He wanted to convince them of a fact which he had always known: Persia’s future lies to the east, and to the east of the east.

Fortunately, Fan Ch’ih did not understand a word of Persian, and I told him only what I wanted him to hear. Then I told the Great King what
he
wanted to hear. As no one present understood the Indian dialect that Fan Ch’ih and I used, I was able to mistranslate and misinterpret freely.

Fan Ch’ih prostrated himself before the Great King. If nothing else, our inward-looking court was distracted by his appearance. Everyone stared at him. Although there are yellow men in every important Persian city, no noble would have seen one up close unless he was in trade, a not very likely prospect since a Persian noble may not trade or borrow money—in theory, anyway. The yellow people of Cathay are simply a rumor to the court, like those two-headed Africans that Scylax says he saw.

From head to toe, Fan Ch’ih was dressed in crimson Cathay cloth. He was a good-looking man, about my age. Of the warrior class, he had served in the army of one of the leading families of the duchy of Lu. Unlike most young men of his race and class, he wanted to see the outside world. In order to do so, he had made trade with the west the pretext for his journey to India and to Persia.

Fan Ch’ih said, “I do reverence to the Great King.” In translation, I changed Great King to universal monarch.

Fan Ch’ih said, “I am here to reopen the overland trade route between Cathay and Persia.”

I translated this exactly. I also added, “I come as ambassador from the duke of Lu, a land as large and as rich as Lydia. My master says that should you come to him with your armies, he will offer you earth and water and submit to you as your slave.”

This caused some stir in the hall of columns, except amongst the Greeks. For the Greek, what is not Greek is not.

Darius looked very happy. “Tell your master that I shall come to him with all my hosts. Tell him that I shall take with my own hands the earth and water that he offers me. Tell him that I will then make him my satrap of ... of all Cathay.” Darius was superb. He had no more idea what Cathay was like than I did. We might just as well have been talking about the moon. But to the court, Darius sounded knowledgeable, serene, all-powerful.

Fan Ch’ih was plainly puzzled by our exchange, which was considerably longer than his own mild request for the reopening of a trade route.

I said to Fan Ch’ih, “The Great King will protect any caravan that goes from Persia to Cathay. He commands you to make a list for him of those things that your country has to exchange for Persian gold or kind.”

“Tell the Great King that I shall obey his command. Tell him that he has answered my heart’s desire.”

I said to the Great King, “If you come to Lu, you will answer the heart’s desire of its ruler, who promises to serve you loyally as satrap of all Cathay.”

The performance that Darius and I gave was the talk of the court for the rest of the winter. Even the dullest of the Persian nobles was now intrigued by a possible campaign to the east, and to the east of the east.

Overnight it became the fashion to wear something of Cathay cloth. As a result, every scrap of silk in the market was sold out, to the delight of the Egibi banking interests, who then—as now—control the silk trade. Persian gold would be spent for Cathay cloth, and Egibi and sons would not only make twenty percent on their loan to Fan Ch’ih, they would also make an additional profit on the sale of silk in the markets.

The Great King sent for me the day after the levee. Darius always preferred small rooms to large. In this, he resembled the mountain lion who makes its lair in a cleft in the rock; also, like most of the lords of this world that I have known, he invariably sat with his back to the wall.

I found him peering at a stack of accounts. With age, he could read only if the writing was held very close to his face. I did obeisance. For some minutes he paid no attention to me. As I listened to his heavy breathing, I could hear a somewhat ominous lionlike rumbling in his chest. Finally he said, “Get up, King’s Eye. Let’s hope you’re not as flawed as the King’s real eyes.”

I studied him intently from beneath respectfully lowered lids. The unevenly dyed hair and beard were in their usual disorder. The unpainted face was sallow. In his stained and rumpled tunic, he could have been a Greek horse trainer. The weakened left arm and hand were arranged in the most natural way on the table’s top, and one was not aware of any physical disability.

“You paid too much for the iron.”

“Yes, Great King.” One did not argue with Darius.

“But I shall want a second consignment. This time we will pay not in gold but in kind. Do you know what these people want?”

“I do, Lord. I’ve prepared a list and given it to the second room of the chancellery.”

“Where it will vanish forever. Tell the councilor for the east that I want the list today.” Darius put down the documents that he had been holding in his good right hand. He sat back in his chair. He smiled broadly. The teeth were strong, yellow—yes, lionlike. That is my persistent image for the Great King. “I dream of cows,” said the lion, in character.

“They exist, Lord. Millions of them, waiting to be herded.”

“How long will it take me to pen them?”

“If the army were to leave for the Indus valley next spring they could spend the summer—which is the Indian rainy season, at Taxila. Then when the good weather starts, in our autumn, you would have four months in which to conquer Koshala and Magadha.”

“So from beginning to end, I shall need one year.” Darius shoved the documents to one side, revealing the copper map that I had prepared for him. He tapped the metal with the gold ring on his forefinger; there was a ringing sound. “Explain to me the distances. The kind of terrain. And what about all these rivers? I’ve never seen so many rivers in one country. How swift are they? Will we need a fleet? Or is there enough wood to build one there? If not, will we have to bring the wood? And what sort of boats?”

In the course of one hour, I have never been asked so many questions. Fortunately, I knew most of the answers. Fortunately, the Great King’s memory was perfect and he never asked the same question twice.

Darius was particularly curious about Ajatashatru. He laughed when I told him that I was the son-in-law of his vassal-to-be. “It’s perfect!” he said. “We’ll make you satrap of Magadha. After all, you’re a member of their royal family, and it is our policy to change things as little as possible. I suppose we’ll have to darken you up a bit. They’re all black, aren’t they?”

“The common people, yes. But the ruling class is almost as light as we are. They’re Aryans, too.”

“Whatever that may be. Anyway, we’ll dip you in henna. Although, come to think of it, you’re pretty black as it is. Now, what about all those people in Cathay? Are they as yellow as that one you brought to court?”

“So I have heard, Lord.”

“I’ve never seen one that close before. The eyes look very odd, don’t they? How do I get to Cathay?” Darius was already dreaming of Cathayan cows.

I pointed to the northeast corner of the map. “There is a pass through these mountains. But it is only open in the hot season. It’s a six-month journey, they say.”

“What about by sea?”

“It would take at least three years—from Persia.”

“That means one year from India. We would pass many islands, I should think. Rich islands.”

“Islands, peninsulas, the mainland. Fan Ch’ih says that south of Cathay there is nothing but jungle. But he also says that there are a number of good ports—and many pearls.” If one wanted to hold Darius’ attention, one was always well advised to mention things like pearls.

“Well, we shall collect the Cathayan pearls once we have herded those Indian cows.” With a frown, Darius took his left arm in his right hand and pushed it off the table. I felt odd. I had seen his father make the same gesture a hundred times. Darius was suddenly aware of what he had done
in
front of me. “I can still ride a horse,” he said. He was matter-of-fact.

“And lead an army, Lord.” I bowed low. “And lead an army. Xerxes would like to go to India.” Darius’ smile was sometimes boyish, despite the square straggling beard that almost hid the full, chafed lips. “He complains to you, I know.”

I felt the blood rise in my cheeks. Thus, charges of treason began. “Lord,
never
does he complain ...”

But Darius was in a good mood. “Nonsense. As I have loyal eyes”—he indicated me—“so I have loyal ears. I don’t blame the boy. In fact, I would blame him if he did
not
complain. He’s the same age as Mardonius, and look what Mardonius has accomplished. The queen is responsible for the life my son leads. She wants him safe. So I am guided by her.” Darius had a brief fit of coughing. Then he said, “I am not too old to lead the army.”

The fact that Darius felt the need to repeat such a declaration was, for me, the first sign that he knew that he had begun to fail. “I’ve stayed out of those Greek wars because they are not worth my time and effort I also can’t abide the Greeks. At the last levee in Susa, I counted more Greeks than Persians in the hall of columns.”

Darius may have had difficulty reading, but he could count with the greatest of ease. “I am surrounded by Greeks, hungry for archers.” I was always faintly shocked when Darius used this slang expression. “Of both kinds,” he added. “But now I’ve done with the whole lot of them. There’ll be no spring campaign. Mardonius is upset. But I told him, you wouldn’t be able to lead the army even if there was a campaign. So he made me a speech about all the battles that have been won by generals in litters, which is nonsense.
I
can still ride from sunrise to sundown.” With that non sequitur, Darius convinced me that he would never take the field again. I was delighted. Soon Xerxes would have his chance.

“You’ve done well.” Darius pushed the map to one side. “Tell the chancellery what you think we should send to Cathay. Write those two kings—you know, the Indian ones—that the Great King smiles upon his slaves. The usual sort of thing. And tell them that we shall dispatch a caravan before the end of the coming year.” Darius smiled. “Do not mention that I myself will be the caravan master. And that all our merchandise will be metal—swords, shields, lances! Before I die, I shall be ... What did you say that little man called himself?”