Traveller Probo
78. 11th Century Constantinople

Manu’s Tale

“No-one has ever had any interest in the tale of my life. Soon I will pass on from this dukkha and my existence will change.”

“Dukkha?” asked one of the Turks.

“Yes, dukkha is suffering, dukkha is the pain of life or the unsatisfactory nature of all existence, and the understanding of the way out of this unsatisfactoriness. Dukkha is simply life, for to cling to temporary things and states is inherently unsatisfying and will bring suffering.”

Their guide made a harrumph of disgust and, deciding he was wasting his time, sauntered over to a couple of fishermen who were mending nets. McAlister idly watched him go and then asked the old man, “You have been here a long time?”

Manu stared to the sea and watched the boats awhile before he answered, “Oh yes, for I was young when I first left the place I called home. Then, my knees never hurt, nor had I tasted the lash of the overseer. I had dreams then but now I dream of new paths, for my time is near.”

Erol looked at McAlister, as he had doubt as to the old man’s mental competence. He asked bluntly, “Where are you from Manu? Where were you before you were here?”

Manu stared at Erol for a moment, as if barely comprehending his words. “Before here?” he murmured. “Well, there were the Fatimids of course, and before that the Nubians, and then before that there were the ones who captured us. They had sharp teeth, the ones who ate some of us. But I was too small, too thin. They ate the high ones, the women and those who were the diplomats and warriors, those who had lived.”

McAlister nodded and placed a small button camera next to the gaunt little man and then gently asked, “Manu, we hear you but we want you to start at the beginning. Where did you begin your journey?”

Manu bent his head a moment with his eyes closed, as if he could not believe that anyone would take interest. Then, with a breath, he began. “I came from the ancient and glorious city of Sigiriya in the land of Ilangai,” Manu began so quietly that McAlister had to lean forward to hear clearly.

“Originally the city was built by the great king Kashyapa. It was the centre of power for his kingdom, until he was defeated by King Mugalan who moved the capital back to glorious Anuradhapura. From that time Sigiriya, the water gardens and pools, the wondrous mirror wall, and the paintings of the great and beautiful that graced the walls of the mount itself, all became a holy place and a monastery for the monks of the Buddha himself. Since I was a little boy, the holy city of Sigiriya was my home.”

“Sigiriya?” asked Erol.

“I don’t know,” murmured McAlister, “Isn’t that in Sri Lanka?”

Manu ignored them as he continued, “As a youth we heard of conflicts and great wars. You see, there were many conflicts and wars outside of our sanctuary, for the invaders of the north were a reminder of the trials of life and how we must be vigilant of life’s lessons. We heard of attacks on Anuradhapura, how the great lord Rajaraja Chola, with his armies, was to rule the world. His men of arms came to holy Sigiriya and, rather than sack and burn, they left us in peace. The lords of the Chola became our lords, and many came to live amongst our people as they brought their ways.

“The seasons flowed and I grew to have a measure of responsibility. There came an embassy from the exalted emperor himself, the ‘Raja of Rajas’. Oh, the sights we saw are beyond my poor ability to describe. The ambassador was dressed in robes of gold and the women were the greatest beauties in the land. There were dancers, chefs, and entertainers of every description. They passed the great mirror wall and admired themselves, where they simpered and fluttered like peacocks.

“The ambassador stayed in our humble community for a season and the presence of the women caused some strife among our younger monks.” Manu smiled toothlessly, his eyes seeing sights long gone and so far away.

“Later, messengers of the great Raja of Rajas himself came to seek the services of the monks of Sigiriya. It was his command that some were to accompany a royal embassy to new peoples discovered in the north. The Ambassador was to show them the glory of the Raja of Rajas, to learn of their ways and to seek new trade, for our merchants brought much wealth from the known world.”

“With a mere curl of his finger, the mighty Raja of Rajas gave his command. Ninety monks were to accompany the ambassador. I was one.

“There was a great celebration. Seasons passed before we joined the assembly, where we journeyed to the great sea. Then we boarded magnificent ships. I had never seen such a thing as the sea. Who could imagine it? Water as far as the eye could behold. I was truly terrified but we knew we would do as we must so, with the rest of the host, we sailed until we arrived at the courts of the Raja of Rajas himself. Oh, how glorious were his courts and the many grand palaces. There were temples and Gods aplenty. We were hosted by the powerful in the capital Thanjavur, while we taught the people the ways of Gautama Buddha.

“Then, the celebrated day came. We gathered together into a stately embassy. There were so many ships with soldiers, sailors, dancers, courtesans, artists, court administrators, actors, chefs, and so many who were to make the journey of the great ambassador as magnificent as he deserved. The sun shone as the illustrious ones gave their blessings and, with much ceremony, we were sent on our way. The ships were innumerable. Some were floating palaces. Our ship was less so but despite the rain and frequent storms, we survived in adequate comfort. We sailed for days beyond number and never left the sight of land. Many times our fleet pulled in to strange harbours to trade for luxuries and fresh food. On some occasions, our captain identified hostile ships afar off but because our numbers were so great, we were never attacked.

“After we passed the Lands of Sand, we were hit by a storm that would see our conceit brought low. Huge clouds gathered and a great wind blew and for days we were pounded by rain and waves that we thought would see no end. After many days we cried with joy as our eyes beheld the sun but our joy withered in our throats as we beheld that our ship was held fast on the sand of a barren coast. As far as we could see, there was wreckage from our ships, either afloat or on the shores of a new, strange land. Some of our people called out to us and were dragged aboard, for they had clung to wreckage, while the bodies of others floated, face-down in the water. Before our horrified eyes we watched as the remains of a young man, a courtesan dancer by his dress, was bitten in two by a fearsome monster from the depths.

“We saw that two other ships, including one of the great ones used by the ambassador’s party, were ashore like ours. As the tide receded and left our ship firmly lodged, our captain sent some crew to scout out the ships to see who had survived. It was not long before all survivors gathered close to the great ship, for almost two hundred survived, though many of our fellows, including the great ambassador himself, were never again seen. Many warriors guarded us, while surviving courtesans and entertainers wept.

“Over the days we built shelter and found food. The warriors found a safe source of water. Some of the sailors from the ships were most useful, for they fished the waters and kept us fed.

“We suspected something was amiss when some of the women failed to return from collecting water. One was a courtesan, a woman of great beauty who used her wiles with the warriors to avoid work beneath her station. Our numbers required all to help, so her disappearance might have been due to her wandering off to escape the rabble on the beach. Her failure to return in the night, however, had the warrior captain deeply concerned, for he did not wish to be condemned for her disappearance.

“You see, we believed that ships from the kingdoms with whom we had diplomatic relations would indeed discover us and that, eventually, we would return home.

“It was when more women failed to return from collecting water that the warriors suspected something was wrong. They began to accompany the women as they collected water. Eventually some warriors returned, crying out in anger and shame, for they had been forced to flee from people who had been taking our women. They said the people had reddish-brown skin, darker even than those of us from Ilangai.

“Later that day, a large party of warriors attacked us. It all happened very unexpectedly. One moment we were going about our normal tasks and then about thirty dark-skinned warriors faced us with spears. They were tall and fearsome and laughed at our fear. Two of our warriors made to fight them off and were speared many times. One was our warrior captain. Many cried when we saw him killed. We had no chance.

Manu paused, his eyes downcast as he dwelt in his memories. “We thought it unusual that they took our dead away. It was not until later that we learned why.”

The next day, two of our women were taken. The warriors just came to us and, despite our pleas, took two of the women. They stripped them naked and, as we watched, pinched their round breasts and buttocks in appreciation. We suspected they would be raped but later that night, after they had gone, we heard the most horrendous screams. One of the warriors, unable to bear it, crept close to their camp and learned the terrible truth.”

Manu paused and covered his eyes with a hand that shook as he gave a dry sob. He took a shuddering breath that had his skinny chest expand, then he continued. “The warrior saw one of our women, alive, and screaming horribly. The beasts who took her had cut off one of her arms and were cooking it over an open fire as she watched. They had sealed the wound to her arm with a burning timber and mocked her distress. The other woman had been dismembered and was roasting over another fire, like she was a beast.”

“How would it be to be carved into pieces, like a cow or goat? How was it to know you were to be eaten? How was it to even do such a thing and consider it blessed by Gods, or by the powers of the earth? I have asked these questions often and found no answers.

“Many, that day, gave up and wished to die. Some wandered off into the night, never to be seen again. The next day, the dark warriors herded us into cages and fed us like we were animals to be fattened. Each day, someone was selected and, amidst great anguish and farewells, we heard their screams as they were butchered alive.

“A chief of the dark warriors came to us and took half of our number, about a score of the strongest as well as the monks, tied us together and led us away. After walking for days, we were led to a camp on another beach where we saw some of the peoples who lived in the desert sands. We were delirious with joy, believing we were to be saved. These were the people who had shown us hospitality only a moon earlier. It seemed to have been a lifetime before. Yet, our troubles were not over, for the men at the camp took us as slaves and traded us for trinkets and weapons that were given to the dark-skinned chief. They argued, for the men in the camp also wanted women but the chief said the women were better to eat. So some of the men of the camp took a young dancer and used him like a woman.

“We were loaded onto a boat and sailed to where some were sold again, our group divided. I was recognised as a learned one, so some of us became part of a camel-train where we walked for many days. One of my companions went mad and died in the hot sun. I often wondered what happened to the remainder of our company. What happened to the others taken as slaves? What happened to those left in the village of the dark-skins?”

“A few of us arrived here, to the greatest of cities. I was bought to work in the administration of a shipping company. My understanding of numbers and ability for languages gave me great value. Later, I was sold back and became the property of the great slave traders.”

Erol interrupted gently and asked, “So, you worked for slavers? What did you do?”

Manu nodded sleepily, as if the process of telling his tale left him exhausted. “I was one of those who recorded transactions between buyers and the Radhanites. Like most in the trade of slaves, I worked in the Valley of the Lamentations. I know a 10-year-old child’s price as 10 nomismata, a castrated one of the same age is much more at 30 nomismata. An adult male is 20 nomismata and an adult eunuch 50 nomismata. Women, well they are priced according to their age and beauty.”

“Radhanites? What are these Manu?” asked McAlister. He found Manu’s tale both fascinating and horrifying. He had heard many tales of sadness in his career but none quite as wretched. He was certain the researchers would find it of interest.

“The Radhanites are the great slave-merchant families, the Jews,” Manu explained. “They purchase slaves from the lands in the north. Often they buy fair-skinned captives from Varangian raiders, or they can be Slavs from wars. These are sold to owners here in the great city, or to the Moors in the south. Some boys are castrated to become carzimasia and increase their value. Many are sold to the Venetians, while the Moors love women, especially pale-skinned girls. Of greatest value are those, like me, who are learned. Monks from the cold places are the most popular. There are limitations of course, for the Corpus Luris Civilis clearly states that a Christian must be sold to Christians. No Christian can be owned by Jews, for they can convert to Judaism, and certainly not sold to the filthy Moors. There are specialties of course, for some Rus merchants specialise in women and boys for the pleasure trade but all pass through the hands of the Jews.”

“And now?” asked Erol. “What of you?”

Manu smiled wearily, “Oh, my eyes became dim and my knees weak, so my value declined. New slaves are always plentiful. I was cast out and have only been able to survive thanks to the charity of the ladies of the pleasure houses on the waterfront.”

McAlister fished into his pouch and handed Manu some coins. He knew the value was considerably more than agreed but he felt the old man deserved anything they could give. “Our most humble thanks,” he offered sadly as Manu grasped the coins with a worn hand, “that’s quite a tale.”

The old man nodded, his bald head wrinkled and his wispy beard grey. “Yes, it is,” he replied with a whisper. “I am the last, and now my tale has been told.”

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