Chapter Text
The caravan stopped in a town Wang Yao never asked the name of, an oasis providing a rare reprieve for travelers blowing in from the desert to the east and the mountains to the west. After weeks spent intermittently riding on the back of a camel and trudging along beside it, Wang Yao felt something close to euphoria when Fariz told him they would take three days to rest before continuing on. When he dropped from his camel to the baked earth below, his legs were stiff from disuse. Kiku had been nodding to sleep in front of him for the last hour, so Yao was quick to pull the child down, ignoring his half-hearted groans of protest.
“Isn’t it nice here?” Yao asked cheerfully, straightening out Kiku’s shirt. “It’s cool.”
Kiku rubbed his eyes and squinted at their surroundings. “It doesn’t smell like sand anymore,” he said eventually. He was right; rather than the empty, sun-dried air of the desert, this place smelled of cumin and cinnamon, with a faint, underlying scent of animal manure.
“A blessing, indeed.”
Fariz appeared at Yao’s side. “The bazaar is on Sunday,” he said. “We’ll join the next caravan the day after.” Fariz was an interpreter by trade, and had eagerly joined the party in Dunhuang, agreeing to accompany them--and make Wang Yao’s life much less difficult--all the way to Byzantium. He relayed messages to Yao, and Kiku when the child wanted to feel included, and ensured that Yao wasn’t cheerfully robbed blind by locals assuming, correctly, that he knew nothing about the local currency.
“I’ll have to explain again that we’re travelling all the way. Most people… don’t do that.”
Yao waved away the question behind the man’s words. He’d never explained why he would spend years of his own and the young child’s life trading an admittedly meager supply of silk across a continent. It wasn’t Fariz’s concern; they both knew that, and the man wouldn’t pry any further. It would be too difficult to explain that they had all the time in the world to spend wandering through desert villages, and centuries’ worth of coins to finance it. Or that he wanted Kiku to grow up knowing more of the world than Yao had when he was young. He didn’t want to lie, either.
Suddenly, Kiku gasped almost inaudibly and ducked behind Yao’s legs. Yao patted his head, still absorbed in his conversation with Fariz--but Fariz followed Kiku’s gaze, his eyes wide in unabashed shock. Across the plaza, a group of men with strange features milled around, peering at street food stalls. The mens’ skin was varying shades of sun-darkened bronze, similar to Yao’s and his companions’, but some of them had hair the color of honey, and ginseng, and ash-brown like a river after rain. He caught a glimpse of eyes so pale as to be nearly translucent.
“Europeans?” Yao asked in disbelief. “This far inland?”
“Quite a rare sight,” Fariz said, his brows furrowed. “I suppose they came for lower prices…?”
“Would that be worth it?”
“Who can say?”
The men froze as the foreigners seemed to take notice of their caravan. A man who seemed to be their leader emerged from the throng and came towards them. He was taller than Yao, and slightly broader, with a sharp nose and dark, disorderly hair across his chin--perhaps too late, Yao noticed a sword sheathed at his hip. This might have been more imposing if the man weren’t grinning. When he reached them, he spoke in a bellow, although whatever he might have said was incomprehensible, only rhythmic, elongated syllables to Yao’s ears.
Yao turned expectantly to Fariz, who blanched.
“I don’t speak… ah, Latin, I suppose…” he said, shifting uncomfortably. Yao frowned, turning back towards the stranger.
“Can you understand me?” he asked in the language of the Central Plains. The man blinked, then turned and beckoned until a woman ran over to join them. She had darker features, resembling Fariz more than the European men she accompanied. The man spoke to her, and the woman’s eyes widened. After a brief back-and-forth, Yao established that the woman--Nur, from Anatolia--was an interpreter for the man--Romulus, from Rome--and with some difficulty, the four could communicate.
“He asks where you hail from,” Fariz said. “Chang’an?”
Yao was surprised that a European would know of the Han capital. “No. The countryside.”
“I explained that you’re selling silk. He asked if your clothing is of the same material.”
Once again, Yao was startled. What a ridiculous question--if it weren’t obvious from appearance, he doubted anyone would be frivolous enough to wear silk while travelling by camel. “Of course not. It’s hemp.”
After the man spoke again, Fariz hesitated. Pained, he said, “He asks to feel the difference for himself.”
Yao couldn’t help but laugh. He wasn’t in the habit of entertaining such bold requests, and he started to offer Fariz a few suggestions of where the Roman could put his hand--but he met the foreign man’s eyes, and the words died half-formed on his tongue. Romulus’ eyes were alight, the striking amber color made warmer by the mirth there. A smile teased at his lips. Despite himself, Yao wondered why the man was so pleased. Was it because he’d made Yao laugh? He hesitated a moment too long, and the laughter in Romulus’ eyes faded, replaced by quiet curiosity.
Yao nudged Kiku aside, and the boy immediately hid behind Fariz. Yao went to the camel he and Kiku rode together, and carefully unpacked a swathe of rich golden silk. It shimmered under the midday sun, seeming to glow from within as he held it. When he returned, he held the fine fabric taut between his hands, and ducked his head once, inviting Romulus to touch it. The Roman didn’t move at first, staring down at the silk with arched brows, then with a blink, back at Yao--with that glance, Yao realized that he’d just surprised the both of them.
“Please,” Yao said to Romulus, fully aware that he couldn’t understand. “Feel the quality for yourself. It’s well-worth your attention.”
Fariz translated dutifully, but Romulus had already set his fingertips atop the swathe of silk. He rubbed the delicate fabric between his thumb and forefinger, his shared gaze with Yao unbroken. He spoke, and Fariz sighed.
“He says it does seem exceptional, but he can’t be sure until he compares it with another fabric.”
“I thought that might be the case.” Yao folded the silk and handed it to Fariz, and then extended a hand, his palm facing down and his fingers curled. To demonstrate, he ran the fingers of his other hand along a short stretch of his sleeve. Romulus chuckled. With a flourish, he laid his hand across Yao’s wrist, and curled his sun-tanned fingers around it, enclosing it entirely. His eyes never strayed from Yao’s. Yao swallowed sharply--he could feel the strength in the Roman’s body, the restraint in the way he was holding him. Romulus’s thumb shifted, and he rubbed his palm against Yao’s sleeve, unhurried, up to his elbow, then back. With his free hand, he teased Yao’s fingers out from where they pressed into his palm, and swept his thumb across Yao’s fingertips, so delicately that Yao thought immediately that touches like these were meant for late night hours, in much more intimate places than this public square.
Fariz coughed. Yao jerked his head towards them, his cheeks warming. He’d let the Roman take liberties--thankfully, some of them had only been obvious to the two of them. Finally, Romulus released him, and spoke in his own language to Nur. A moment later, Fariz’s jaw dropped. He quickly collected himself. “He wants--ah--he wants twenty bolts.”
Yao gasped. “Twenty bolts?” Fariz nodded, his eyes wide. “Can he afford that? Who is he--the emperor?”
Fariz spoke to Romulus briefly, and his expression turned gloomy. “He says not to worry; it’s no trouble at all. He wants to have silk dresses made for each of his lovers back home.”
The warm feeling in Yao’s stomach soured. Of course, that had been a performance for the Roman’s own pleasure. “What a lecher.”
“You only noticed now?”
Yao cast a glance towards the Roman, who now he could see looked a little too pleased with himself. “Help me with the silk, please. I suppose he’ll want to pick out which he wants.” He and Fariz unpacked the silk while Kiku huddled with the camels, and let Romulus examine each glossy bolt. When he’d picked twenty, Yao let Fariz handle the payment; he himself kept an eye on the Roman. He felt an odd curiosity--and he was trying to convince himself that it wasn’t just that the man had made his heart race for a few moments. He was objectively strange--Yao still had no idea why a Roman would come to this farthest-flung corner of Han territory.
While the Roman cheerfully packed away his freshly-purchased silk, Fariz hurried over to Yao.
“He made a strange offer,” Fariz said, whispering although the Romans were across the square. “He invited us to dinner. He said he’ll pay.”
This was not something Yao had expected. “Us?”
“You and I. I mentioned Kiku, and he said the boy is welcome as well.”
Yao folded his arms across his chest, and looked back to the Roman. He seemed to be joking around with the men in his group; he caught Yao and Fariz looking, and offered them a grin. “Why in the world would he offer that?”
“Whatever his intentions are, I don’t trust him,” Fariz said grimly. “It’s suspicious that he’s here at all, and I don’t like that he’s taken an interest in you. What could he want? Nothing good, I’m sure.”
“That’s a fair point.” Yao was still studying Romulus. “But if he’s offering to pay, I don’t see much of a problem.”
“W-what?” Fariz stammered. “Yao, were you listening to me?”
Yao took Fariz’s elbow, and leaned in. “Fariz,” he said. “This man is clearly quite wealthy, and he seems to enjoy showing off all that money. Why not indulge him for a bit? We don’t have to have anything to do with him after that.”
Fariz looked miserable. “I’ll... let him know that we accept, then.”
“Thank you. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think.”
Fariz said something in his native language, which from the little Yao understood sounded like a plea for God to protect him.