Chapter Four: The Flight of the Dragon Clan



Qin Shi Huang raised his pick and swung it down at the hard rock of the hillside. The sun was just rising in the east. As the morning light struck the exposed rock on the hill, it glowed softly as if lit from within. That was one of the unique characteristics of marble, along with the colourful veins running through it. The beauty of the stone made it valuable as a building material.
Especially to Qin’s Japanese masters. Which is why he and his fellow Chinese slaves were building a road on this hill north of Kyoto.

“Faster, you Chinese dogs!” the Japanese gang-master shouted. The man held a whip threateningly in one hand, and past experience had proven he was all too keen to use it. At his urging, then, the Chinese workers picked up the pace and swung their picks faster, though a little less effectively.

“I can do a job quickly or I can do it well, fool,” Qin muttered under his breath as the gang-master stalked away. “Pick one.”

Beside him, Zhu Yuanzhang chuckled softly. “Well said, Qin,” he murmured between blows of his own pick.

“For all the good words do us,” Qin replied grimly.

It had not always been thus. The Chinese had once been a tribe like the Japanese—small, granted, but proud. Qin Shi Huang’s tribesmen called themselves the Dragon Clan, and had long emulated the ferocity and independence of that mythical beast. But soon after the Japanese founded their settlement of Kyoto on the southern shores of their continent, a party of Japanese warriors had came to the Chinese village and had pressed all of its inhabitants into slavery to serve the growing Japanese civilization. Of course they had resisted, but in the end, it had proven futile. The Japanese were just too numerous and too strong.

In a different world, Qin reflected, we Chinese may have been a great people. But not this one…

Oh, the Japanese weren’t all bad. Qin’s sister, Ci, worked as a maid for a noble Japanese family who treated her well, even with respect. She liked Kyoto better than their old village and regarded her life as much improved. Certainly, it was a better fate than that of the Chinese women among Qin’s work gang, who served as cooks for the work team and as maids for the gang-masters… though their duties with their Japanese overlords did not end when the sun set. No, Ci was right to regard herself as lucky.

But as Qin heard the gang-master’s whip crack, he couldn’t regard his own predicament in the same optimistic light. Ci was too young to remember, but Qin’s older brother Hung had been one of the young men of this tribe who had resisted the Japanese who came to their village. Those brave young warriors had been slaughtered to a man.

“Brute,” he muttered quietly at the gang-master’s distant back. “Come over here and show me your back, and I’ll show you how fast I can swing this pick…”

“Great Mother!” Zhu exclaimed suddenly from beside him.

“What?” Qin said, glancing at his comrade. He saw Zhu staring down the hill to the northwest, his eyes open wide, his mouth gaping. Qin followed Zhu’s gaze and when he saw what his friend was looking at, his face took on a similar expression.



A large group of men were running towards them. Their hair was long and a little lighter than that of the Chinese or Japanese on the hill. They wore long animal skin kilts over their loins and thighs. Their bodies were hard and strong, and most threateningly of all, they carried heavy clubs studded with sharp stones.

“Do they mean to kill us?!” Zhu exclaimed, panic creeping into his voice.

Qin shuddered involuntarily. They’d all to heard stories of wild bands of men wandering the wilderness, killing anyone they came across on sight. At first he’d thought they were simply stories their Japanese masters made up to keep the Chinese slaves frightened so they would not try to escape into the wilderness themselves. But then he had seen just such a group of men, and had found it necessary to run for his life from them as they attacked, screaming like wild animals and swinging their huge clubs.

But something about these men approaching them now was different: no wild screams, no undisciplined rush. These men moved with purpose, confidence, and… discipline. These were not wild men; they were something else entirely, even more so than the Japanese warriors who had captured his village.

“Drop your tools,” Qin said.

“What?” Zhu responded, his voice rising in panic.

“Drop your tools!” Qin shouted, to Zhu and his fellow Chinese slaves. “Drop them NOW! And raise your hands to show you’re not a threat!”

They only hesitated for a heartbeat, then did as he said. Their picks and shovels dropped to the ground, and the Chinese workers raised their hands in surrender.

“What? Pick up those tools!” the gang-master cried. “Pick them up and fight these barbarians off! DO IT NOW!!”

“NO!” Qin shouted. The men were running up the hill, only twenty paces away, then ten... “You fool! These are trained warriors! If we fight them, we’ll die!”

“You filthy Chinese coward!” the gang-master shouted, then struck Qin harshly with the back of his hand. Qin fell to the ground. “I’ll show you how to deal with this rabble!”

The gang-master ran forward, down the side of the hill towards the approaching warriors. He screamed and swung his whip towards them. One of the warriors boldly stepped forward. As the whip came down, he raised his arm and allowed it to strike. The whip cracked against his forearm and wrapped around it; the warrior grimaced at the pain, but that was the only reaction he showed.

He then grabbed the whip and pulled on it, hard. Still tightly gripping his end, the move caught the gang-master by surprise. He stumbled forward, off-balance. The warrior who had grabbed the whip then swung his club with his free hand. The club struck the gang-master square on the side of his face, and his head burst open with an explosion of bright red blood. The men in Qin’s work gang gasped, the women screamed.

Three other Japanese gang-masters had been watching and preparing to follow their comrade’s example and engage the warriors, but as their erstwhile leader fell, they glanced at one another, then dropped their whips, turned tail, and ran back towards Kyoto.



Qin and his fellow slaves quickly found themselves surrounded by the hulking Warriors. But as Qin had quickly surmised, the men evidently meant them no harm provided they did not show any resistance. In fact, one of the warriors surprised Qin by kneeling down beside him and evidently checking to see if the gang-master’s blow had caused him any harm.

The warrior’s leader—or so Qin surmised—spoke, but Qin did not understand him, nor did any of his companions. The leader spoke a few more words, but still could not make himself understood. His heavy brow creased in frustration. He spoke tersely to his fellow warriors, evidently asking if any of them spoke any Japanese, but only received shaking heads in reply.



Then one of his comrades shouted a warning and pointed south at the road to Kyoto. The warriors and their captives looked south and in the distance, saw a group of approaching Japanese archers.

The leader of the warriors muttered something, evidently a curse. He looked to the west, to another hill covered by protective trees, evidently gauging the distance and time it would take to move there. He sighed loudly, evidently deciding the distance was too far to cover in the time they had. Instead, he began barking orders to his fellow warriors, who quickly began to gather up the worker’s tools. The men then jumped into a shallow ditch the slaves had been digging and began to shovel earth out of it, forming a low berm on the side of the ditch facing the approaching archers. Evidently they would take cover there until the archers were close enough to engage in hand-to-hand combat.

As his subordinates prepared their rudimentary fortification, the lead Warrior turned to the group of Chinese slaves. He spoke to them again in his strange language, but this time managed to express himself. He pointed to the northwest, beyond the tundra and the clump of trees from which he and his companions had sprung their attack. He pointed in that direction and said one word:

“Rome.”

Qin, wiping blood from a cut lip, heard the word and finally and completely understood. He nodded his agreement and turned to his fellow Chinese.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

“What?!” Zhu exclaimed. “But…”

“Quiet!” Qin shouted. “We don’t have time! Those Archers will be within range any moment! Let’s go!”

Qin shoved Zhu and several other workers down the hill; a heartbeat later, they were all running away, heading northwest across the tundra.

“I don’t understand!” Zhu said between gulps of air as he ran. “Where are we going?”

“Rome,” Qin answered. “Or Roman territory, at least.”

He turned and glanced over his shoulder at a loud din coming from behind him. He could see arrows in flight at the top of the hill. Apparently the battle had begun in earnest. He turned away and kept running.



Some time later, the Workers reached the forest and paused to rest, leaning against the rough tree trunks as they gasped for air.

“Do you really think,” Zhu panted, “we’ll be… any better off… as Roman slaves… than as Japanese ones?”

“I… don’t know,” Qin replied, equally breathless. “But…. I do know… we’ll never survive… here in the wilderness.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Animals or barbarians will make short work of us out here. And I also know that those Roman warriors are risking their lives right now to let us escape. I know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life serving people who killed my older brother and enslaved my people. So in the absence of a better option, yes, Zhu, I’m heading to Rome!”

Zhu took all this in, then nodded. He glanced around at the deep, dark woods and shivered with trepidation. “Let’s just hope we make it there alive.”



***

Caesar stood and studied the flat, empty ground before him, comparing it to the plans laid on the makeshift table outside his tent.

“It will be a magnificent city,” his aide, Cornelius Marius, said. “And once we get that copper mine going…”

“Yes,” Caesar agreed. “That is our top priority.”

The Roman leader glanced over at the Settlers, who were living out of tents at the moment and were just starting to build their basic, stone-and-wattle homes that would form the beginnings of the new city of Antium. He then glanced out at the desert plain to the east of the city site, where the copper deposit had been found only a few years before.



“How long before the work crews get here and start work on it?” he asked.

“They’re still building the road to Rome itself, Caesar,” Marius said, pointing to a hill northeast of the city where Caesar could just discern men swinging picks at the hard earth. The hill contained a large deposit of granite, and excellent building stone. Caesar intended to build a quarry there, but later; the road leading back to Rome was the priority at the moment, followed by the mine.

“The copper won’t do us much good if we can’t get it to where it can be worked.” Marius added, stating the obvious.

Caesar sighed. “I know, I know… but these reports of armed men wandering through the wilderness…they’re alarming. We’ll need more than mere warriors brandishing clubs soon. There just isn’t enough time, or enough men…” His voice trailed off; Marius said nothing, for he knew that Caesar was correct.

Just then, another man marched up to them. He wore a long leather kilt and carried just such a club as Caesar had been describing. He was a member of the local militia assigned to defend the new city; the fact that he approached and spoke to Caesar marked him as the leader of the detachment.

“Yes?” Caesar prompted the man.

“Begging your pardon, Caesar,” the warrior said. “But the lads were patrolling the outskirts this morning, on the lookout for those barbarians, and came across something I thought you should know about.”

“Lead on,” Caesar said, and followed the warrior towards a wooded area which would, one day, be the city’s southeast gate.

The warrior led Caesar to the rest of his unit. The hulking warriors were guarding a group of a about fifty men and about a dozen women. Their golden skin and narrow, almond-shaped eyes were characteristic of the people who lived in the southeast corner of the continent.

“Who are these people?” Caesar asked. “They look Japanese.”

“Not quite, Caesar,” the lead warrior said. “Septimius, here,” he said, nodding towards another warrior, “he speaks some Japanese. Near as we can gather, these folks are—were—Japanese slaves. They come from some village near Kyoto. They call themselves Chinese, members of the… ‘Dragon Clan’ in particular. This fellow here,” he said, pointing to a strong, stocky man seated on the ground, “seems to be leading the group.”

“So they’re escaped slaves?” Caesar said, not with a little distaste. Rome had slaves too, of course. For a slave to attempt to escape was, of course, a punishable offense under Roman law…if he was captured, of course.

The warrior chuckled. “In manner of speaking, yes,” he said. “Sounds like they had a little help from Suetonius and his boys.”

Caesar smiled at that. He had stationed Suetonius Severus and his contingent of highly-trained and experienced warriors just outside of Japanese territory. Their official assignment had been to watch for any threatening movement of Japanese troops. Privately, however, Caesar had encouraged Suetonius to watch for any opportunity to stifle or even sabotage Japanese development—even if it meant committing an act of war.

“So Suetonius stole these slaves out from under Tokugawa’s nose?” he said, grinning.

“Yes, sir,” the warrior confirmed, returning Caesar’s pleased grin. “From right off the top of that hill of marble, not ten leagues outside of Kyoto!”

Caesar threw his head back and laughed. Oh, Tokugawa must be furious! It was an act of war, of course; he would have to alert the militia in Rome. But for the moment, he could simply enjoy the feat. He’d tweaked that dour Japanese leader’s nose, and he'd tweaked it well!

“Where is Suetonius?” Caesar asked. “I want to congratulate him personally!”

“Oh, he sent word,” the warrior said. “A courier arrived hot on these folks’ heels. His warriors had to engage a whole mess of Japanese archers.” At Caesar’s sudden look of concern, the warrior sought to reassure him. “Not to worry, Caesar. They took some casualties, but their training and experience paid off. Those lads have beaten bears off, I’m sure a few archers were nothing. They’re holed up in high, forested ground north of Kyoto. Apparently the Japanese are cowering inside their city, afraid to make a move outside for fear of being attacked!”



Caesar had to laugh again. Oh, brilliant! he thought. Well played, Suetonius! But then another thought struck him, and his face creased into a puzzled frown.

“Half a moment,” he said. “If Suetonius and his warriors remained outside of Kyoto…who escorted these slaves to Roman territory?”

“That’s the amazing part,” the warrior said, eyeing the seated slaves with respect. “They made it here on their own.”

Caesar’s icy blue eyes widened in amazement. “On their own?” he said, his voice full of astonishment. “Across miles of open tundra and forest, swarming with wild animals and barbarians? With women among them? Just to escape Japan and reach Rome?”

“Apparently.”

Caesar turned to look at the slaves as if seeing them for the first time. He beckoned the warrior named Septimius, who spoke Japanese, over to him. He then gestured to the man who had led the group of slaves through the wilderness to rise and face him.

“Tell him,” Caesar said, “that I am Gaius Julius Caesar, leader of Rome. I bid him and his companions a hearty welcome to Rome.”

“He says,” Septimius translated after he and his counterpart finished speaking at length, “that he is Qin Shi Huang, of the Chinese people. He says he and his companions were slaves of Japan, but only escaped when Roman warriors allowed, and, indeed, ordered them to do so. He asks that you be merciful and not punish them for their escape, as it was not their own idea. They wish to offer themselves in service to Rome.”

Caesar considered this. Here he’d just been saying how he didn’t have enough workers to do all the necessary jobs, and what should show up on his doorstep but a group of slaves, eager to serve his nascent civilization! He silently resolved to increase his sacrifices to Fortuna, the goddess of luck.

“Tell him I accept his offer,” Caesar said. “Also tell him that though he comes from slavery into slavery, I make him this promise: in recognition of his group’s bravery, though they will serve Rome as slaves, they will be treated with respect. Furthermore, in reward for a lifetime of service, I, Caesar, shall lift them out of slavery. Their descendants will enjoy the full citizenship of Rome.”
Septimius’ mouth fell open at that.

“Tell him,” Caesar urged the man, and the warrior roused himself and translated his leaders’ words.

The eyes of Qin and his companions widened at the generosity of the offer. Caesar watched with satisfaction as the Chinese man’s eyes glistened with tears. He suddenly fell to his knees before Caesar, and the Roman leader did not need a translator to know that the man was pledging his undying devotion to Rome in general and to its immortal leader in particular.

The men around Caesar were astonished. To offer the citizenship not just to foreigners, but to the children of slaves! It had never been done.
Julius Caesar, however, knew exactly what he was doing. With so few women among their group, only a handful of the men were likely to marry and have children, though he supposed some of them might find brides amongst the other female slaves of Rome. Besides, many Roman slaves also earned their freedom—if not full citizenship—after a lifetime of service. And he had, with one simple act, just earned Rome several subjects—later citizens—of whose loyalty he could be assured for generations.

In addition, word of his generosity would spread back to Japan. Even if no other slaves escaped to come to Rome in hopes of a similar deal, it would give Tokugawa one more thing to worry about, and keep the eyes of his troops nervously watching both within as well as without for threats.

“Come, my new Chinese friends,” he said to the weary but now-happy workers, Septiumius translating for him. “You have had a long and dangerous journey. We will give you food, drink, and a place to rest. Tomorrow, I need you to begin your service to Rome. We’ll start with a road out into the eastern desert…”