His warriors were dismissed, and Altan stood staring at Peng who still slept soundly. Jasmine lifted the murmuring girl in her arms and rocked her, whispering, “Your daddy is coming, little one.”
%%%
The birth of baby Lao was excruciating, and if it wasn’t for Madam Choi’s expertise and knowledge of medicinal herbs Li would have died. A week had passed since the ordeal and Fong was aboard his warship, celebrating the birth of a son with His Majesty’s finest rice wine.
Baby Lao was swaddled in bamboo cloth diapers. He was nearly three months premature and weak. Li had nursed him through the first precarious week of his life and now she plotted her escape. Too much time had passed. Was Wu still alive?
She was in Madam Choi’s cabin minding the sleeping infant when the door behind her opened quietly and shut. Li turned.
“I hope, after all I have done to save the life of your number two son, you are not still plotting to end his life.” When Li’s only response to her adopted mother’s comment was to cup a hand to her mouth, the pirate chief accused her. “Your labour was induced. The only way I know to induce sudden labour is the use of a certain hardy winter tuber.”
“I could not wait another three months,” Li cried. “And Fong refused to take me north. He got orders from the Emperor to squash the pirate resurgence. He meant to hunt you down and all of your people!”
“We could have taken him.” Madam Choi shook her head. “You risked a lot by making the choice you made. I see that spending so much time with Po has taught you a great deal. I was unaware of your interest in the teachings of Shennong. It is dangerous knowledge if used wrongly.”
“I know. But I do not regret the action I took. The boy’s alive. And I am free of this burden.” Li patted her flaccid stomach. “As soon as possible, I must flee.”
“And what of the boy? He will die without your milk. He is weak, Li. I can feed him a serum to strengthen him, but I cannot give him the protection your milk will provide.”
“I was raised on soy and ewe’s milk. It did me no harm.”
“We have no sheep and no soybeans. Not even a goat or a hog. The Imperial Navy watches us like vultures.”
“The only way we can continue this truce is to use Fong’s son as a weapon,” Li argued. “The admiral will not harm you or the others as long as Lao’s life depends on you.”
Madam Choi crossed her arms over her chest. “I will not use a babe as a shield.”
“His intention was to round up your squadron leaders and send them to the capital for execution. What then would become of your children?” Li implored.
“There are not enough Imperial sailors to round up anyone.”
“Backup is coming. He doesn’t work alone. And the White Tiger, if you haven’t heard the legend, never fails.”
Madam Choi’s chin jutted out as rigid as the hands on her hips. “Our weapons are no match for the Imperial Navy’s, but we still outnumber them.”
The boy started to cry, and Li went to his bed. The first week after the birth, she had done very little except nurse. She had been too weak and hadn’t even looked at the boy very carefully. She studied him now, noted the patch of black hair on his head and the features so like his father’s but softened by infancy. At least he had not been born with white hair. That would have been a disaster.
The baby formed his mouth into a circle and wailed while tears wet his pink flesh. Did he need changing? Li hoisted him from the bedding and laid him on the hard plank floor to check his diaper. Madam Choi followed her and as Li removed the wet cloth, the pirate woman grabbed her hand. “Let me do that. You’re still tired from the birthing. Go and rest.”
Li tried to lift the baby’s leg, and Madam Choi drew her away, but not before Li glimpsed the black birthmark shaped like a tortoise on Lao’s left thigh.
%%%
“Work quickly, boys.” Brigade General Chi Quan’s voice boomed over the scraping and clanking of moving stone and fired clay bricks. “Datong is counting on us.”
He Zhu waited behind the second wall at Yulin, senses alert. His horse shuffled, and he urged it into silence. The wall builders were working on the frontline of defense, and as quickly as the Ming could raise the fortifications, the Mongols toppled them. Sometimes the barbarians stormed the barricades, ramming the walls apart with poles, before racing away. Other times they stayed to exchange blows with His Majesty’s keenest archers.
The garrison was bustling with temporary kilns and mule-drawn carts, toting bricks and stone to mend Altan’s latest assault. And although He Zhu longed to fight side by side with them, he felt his quest too critical to postpone. Which pass of the great wall should he try to breach? Not this one. Yulin was overrun with soldiers and workers. Discretion was crucial, but so was a brief meeting with Quan. The brigade general should know that his son was a prisoner of the Forbidden City.
Unfortunately, conversing with Quan was too risky. He steepled his hands in reverence to the south wall; then paying a silent farewell to his countrymen, left the bustle of the wall builders and dipped his horse south before turning west. His best hope was to follow a southwestern trajectory and find a spot where the wall was weak.
He galloped over the open plain, spurring his horse into the night and then the day, and then into another night and another day. To the south he caught glimpses of passing farms where the plight of the peasants put his heart to shame. Though spring was only a moon’s cycle away, the land was raw and ravished and pitifully brown. Taxed to despair, come warmer weather, many farmers would not have the seed to rekindle their lands. The wall wound like a serpent, slithering from east to west, and from its westernmost extreme among the desert flats of Jiayuguan, to its eastern endpoint where it tumbled into the coastline of the Yellow Sea, every fort, rampart, crenellation and plaque in the Ming wall told of the greatness of the land over which it guarded.
He Zhu’s heart swelled with pride to know that he had helped to build and protect this supreme emblem of China. He had journeyed to both ends and remembered the awe the end passes had inspired, and even though fortifications extended beyond Shanhaiguan and Jiayuguan, dwindling out into the Red Desert and winding toward the Manchurian stronghold in the northeast, the two sites were the official end passes of the border wall. Both were elaborate fort complexes with gates, towers, government offices and temples.
Most of his time had been spent at Shanhaiguan, and he had supervised the building of the main fortress, ordering the stacking of the grey-brown bricks into grim, windowless, dungeon-like walls, topped with deep, carved eaves, which overlooked the coast and the northern range. It was nothing like the western stronghold that he now glimpsed. The triple towers of Jiayuguan with their carved eaves, set within a crenellated square of walls rose over the western sands like a monument to the gods, a contrast to the black and yellow patchwork of farms he had recently crossed to reach this pass.
The outpost of Jiayuguan was still two hours ride away. Zhu reined in his horse and slowed to a trot. He came to a halt and waited. No sentries moved on the wall as he approached and dismounted. He led the gelding to a scrawny shrub, which afforded only minute camouflage, and tethered it. At first the wall gave the appearance of an impenetrable barrier, but this section was noticeably lower because no one had come to make repairs.
Where was Altan’s camp? During the last raid, the Mongols were not too far from Red Salt Lake at the edge of the Ordos sands. After that bitter defeat, they had fled west to the flanks of the Gobi desert. Hopefully, they were there now.
His head popped over the edge of the wall and he hung there by his hands to get a lay of the land. The plains were laid waste here, blending into yellow-grey sand, and the wind bit harsh and cold. His mantle flapped behind him and his fingers burned with the strain of suspending his body from the wall. He blinked, snapped the sand from his eyelids and squinted. The sun created a glare on the desert and the wind dried the moisture from his eyes, rendering him as good as blind.
But
something moved on the horizon. A black flood of motion, as though a hundred thousand horsemen billowed dust. Zhu gasped, touched his parched tongue to his cracked lips. A mirage? No. He could almost feel the vibration of riders, and when he dropped to the ground to pin his ear to the earth, the thunder of hooves was unmistakable. Which way would they turn when they hit the wall? Which garrison did they intend to attack?
Guyuan and Ningxia were protected by double and triple walls. If they headed for Datong, it was still a ten-day ride—even if they went without food or sleep. They must be heading for the garrison in between. Their target? Yulin, where the wall builders were making repairs. They would assault an already weakened fort, rest after they had reaped their spoils, and move on to the next manned garrison. They intended an ambush. No one would expect a raid at the same location so soon. He must return and warn Quan.
%%%
The pirates must make a living and Admiral Fong’s Imperial Navy must be satisfied. How to do this? Li’s baby was safe now that she intended to stay among the pirates, and nurse him herself. Lao was growing stronger daily, but Li had put Fong off by insisting the boy was still frail, and that had kept the truce between Madam Choi’s pirates and Fong. But she had no control over Mo Kuan-fu—the former Captain Ching. He was gathering fleets around him, and would soon outdo Madam Choi and usurp her. Most of the pirate squads were defecting to the Pirate King, who promised them freedom and great riches. All Madam Choi had given them was a truce with the Imperial Navy and now the pirates were itching to loot.
Li was still feigning weakness, insisting that she needed Madam Choi’s ministrations, and Fong was sceptical at first, but when he saw that her cheeks were ripening like apples, he decided it was not such a bad thing. One more week, he insisted, and she and his baby son must return to the Imperial warship. In one week, Li had to have a plan in place to keep the White Tiger and the Pirate King from coming to blows.
%%%
“Supreme Commander,” the general called out as Altan sent a boy to water his horse. “Do you want to see the maps?”
Altan dismissed the general with a flourish. He had no more use for maps. Everything he needed to know was up here. He tapped his right temple. The Ming were coming down whether they liked it or not.
He knew where all the walls lay and the purpose of their varying constructions. The height of walls was determined by the nature of the landscape. Walls were higher on open ground and lower on mountains where natural ridges provided a defensive advantage, requiring the walls to be no steeper than a few feet. In every type of wall construction—high, low, fortressed or unfortressed—the ground was evened out by layers of stone and brick. The floor along the tops of these walls was paved to allow horses to gallop along their length, and bricks formed crenellated battlements on top of the entire structure to provide a lookout for guards and patrolmen.
Interspersed along the wall, raised platforms, towers and forts comprised part of a tactical defense network used for observation, communication, fighting and shelter. The number and frequency of sentries on these posts depended on the security risks associated with the surrounding terrain. In some spots, towers were only thirty or fifty paces apart. Beacon stations were obvious and in sight of one another. Alarms were set off by smoke during the day, fire at night and cannon. Altan had successfully interfered with the beacon system by wiping out some of the towers, and he had yet to see it at play. But if it worked, it could set off a warning from the eastern stretches of the wall to its westernmost extreme.
Altan awaited the return of his moles to report on the codes that would tell him what these smoke and fire signals meant. He already had some inside information on the signal towers, but once he had fully cracked the Ming code, he would have the upper hand. He would shatter the Middle Kingdom. They could run, but they could not hide.
The golden fox galloped up to him and rubbed her head against his knees. He smiled. “No time for this my black-eyed vixen. What news have you brought me from Chi Quan’s camp?”
Immediately, Jasmine transformed to her human form. “I have some information concerning the signal codes: one fire lit, all is calm; two fires lit, possible danger. Three fires lit, sightings of battle. We can use this knowledge to our advantage.” She smiled, and looked up from watching the Mongol camp on the low plain just beyond the walls of the garrison on the north side, below a shallow ridge too distant for the Chinese watchmen to detect.
%%%
“Who goes there?” a soldier shouted from a watchtower.
He Zhu clamped his visor over his face to mask his identity, flashed the Imperial armband of yellow triangle and green dragon, the red tassel on his helmet spinning as he whipped his head to seek Chi Quan. “Where is the brigade general? I must speak to him. A hundred thousand barbarians are behind me!”
The soldier swung himself down from the tower by a rope landing at Zhu’s horse’s feet. “How soon?”
“Last I looked, they were a days ride behind.” He Zhu dropped from the gelding and led it into the garrison. The soldier followed shouting at him to stop, but was ignored. “Quan!” Zhu shouted when he sighted the brigade general who was dispatching orders for wall repairs to his captains. “No time for restoration. The Mongols are coming. Light the beacons. We need more men!”
Quan stared at the travel-worn soldier who refused to raise his visor to show respect for his superiors. The sentry that had followed him seized his arms while another made to grab his helmet. Quan stayed his hand. “Let him be. He brings us warning of an attack. Do as he says. Light the beacons.”
Quan seized Zhu by the arm and thumped him on the shoulder in a display of unbridled pleasure, stared at him exuberantly, a smile creeping over his features. “You are well, old friend?”
“As well as these times will permit.” Zhu returned the sentiment, though little could be detected from under his helmet.
An unmistakable sigh escaped Quan’s lips, and he led his former lieutenant into the fortress. “We don’t wish to be disturbed.” He threw the order over his shoulder at the soldier and added, “Anyone disturbing us will be severely punished.”
Beneath his visor, Zhu grinned. Quan had never tortured a man for disobedience and he certainly wasn’t about to do so now.
Zhu threw off his helmet after they entered the fortress. It was good to get the hot metal off his head and let his scalp breathe.
“The gods, Zhu,” Quan exclaimed. “I never thought to see you so soon.”
“I can’t stay long. I have a grave mission to complete. But I saw the armies of Altan headed your way and I had to warn you. Get your men armed. How many soldiers do you have?”
“Not enough I’m afraid. There’s talk of anarchy in the kingdom. I fear the signals will not be answered.”
“Never mind. Fight with what you’ve got.”
Quan clapped a hand on Zhu’s shoulder. “You must stay and help. I need your sword arm and your bowmanship.”
“Lei Shen knows I’d stay and fight if I could, but the fox faerie is up to mischief again and I must stop her. Only I can.”
“No, Zhu, you mustn’t. She will enslave you.”
“Not this time. Forgive me, Quan. But if I don’t face her now, the gods know what she’ll do.”
Quan went silent, his arm returning to his side as he nodded. “Yes, I understand. I know that what you do, you do with a pure heart. I won’t stop you. Do what you must, but first tell me: have you seen Li? It’s been so long since I last saw her and my heart longs to go to her, but duty keeps me at this infernal wall. Tell me she is well and still loves me.”
“She is strong and courageous. You’ll not recognize her when you see her again. She wields a sabre like a seasoned warrior, and kicks like an ox. You will be proud.”
“Did she ask about me?”
“Much has happened since you left her in the care of the water people. Her life absorbs her.” Zhu’s eyes brightened. “But I must tell you this. You have a fine son.”
Quan’s eyes lit up even brighter than Zhu’s. “A boy?”
“Didn’t I just say so? And he’s here, Quan. In the north, at the Forbidden City.”
“With Li?”
“No. Li remains with the water people.” Zhu told him of their last encounter on the beach where Esen had escaped with Wu, how they had disappeared on Fenghuang and reappeared at His Majesty’s court. “She was compelled to return to warn Madam Choi of an impending attack by the Imperial Navy and sent me after the Mongol and his captive.”
“You say his name is Wu?” That was Quan’s father’s name. “And His Majesty accepts him as his grandson?”
“I’m sure he will,” Zhu said. “You must return to the palace to make sure he does.”
Quan’s face darkened and his voice grew brittle. “You just left him without knowing?”
“I had no choice, Quan. I am a hunted man for saving Lotus Lily from the executioner’s blade. And now the fox faerie threatens all with this new weapon of hers.”
“Forgive me, Zhu. You have done more for mine than I deserve. Won’t you tell me what this weapon is that you speak of? Maybe I can help.”
“No. You’re needed here. And you must go to your son. I’ll chance it alone.” Zhu yanked his helmet over his head. “Farewell, good friend. Dream of a day when the red wheel of the sun once again floods the countryside and the barbarians are trapped in their barren lands. That day, Li will leave the Waterworld and return to where she belongs. A new emperor will be crowned and perhaps a wedding? On that day, I hope to call you brother-in-law!”
Zhu flung his mantle behind him as he turned to leave the brigade general. As he exited the garrison on horseback, he tossed a fleeting look at the fort entrance—and caught a look of sheer bewilderment on Quan’s face.
The Pirate Empress Page 33