Son of Heaven

by Wingrove, David

  Afterwards, when all the guests had left, Jake went out into the kitchen.

  Mary was standing with her back to him, at the window, looking out into the darkness of the garden.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  It was a stupid thing to say, but he had to say something, for they had barely spoken all day.

  Mary’s head dropped. For a moment she was silent. Then she turned, looking at him. Her voice was small, like it came from far away.

  ‘Will you stay tonight?’

  It was the last thing he’d expected her to say.

  ‘Mary?’

  She shuddered. ‘Don’t say no, Jake. I need you to.’

  ‘But I can’t. I…’

  She came across and, putting her arms about him, kissed him. Her eyes, red-rimmed from crying, searched his own.

  ‘Don’t you see, Jake? You have to. Tom… Tom would understand. In fact, he said I must. For the sake of the girls. The end is coming, Jake. We all know that. And if that’s true, then I want to face it beside you… you and Peter, that is.’

  Jake stared back at her, stunned. ‘But the girls…?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the girls. You can’t be Tom… can’t be their father. We all know that. But you’re a good man and you’ve been alone too long.’

  ‘But it’s too soon…’

  Mary looked down at that. ‘Maybe. And maybe some would think it ill judged, but if we don’t do it now… tonight… we never shall. Isn’t that right? We’ll let old ghosts come between us, and then…’

  She looked down, her face breaking into a grimace of pain. ‘Please, Jake… Please. For Tom’s sake.’

  But he knew, even as he told her yes, that this wasn’t for Tom. This was for himself. He wanted her. But it was wrong.

  That night, when all was quiet in the house, she came to him. She was wearing a plain white cotton nightdress. That pained him, for it was how Annie had dressed for bed, when she was yet alive.

  ‘Mary,’ he said gently. ‘You don’t have to. We can take our time.’

  She stared at him, as if steeling herself, then peeled the white gown up over her shoulders and let it fall.

  In the candle’s light she was beautiful. She had the full figure of a mature woman. Her breasts and thighs were everything he’d imagined. And her eyes…

  She slipped in beside him, putting her arms about him, shivering now.

  ‘Don’t speak,’ she said, leaning over to blow out the candle. ‘Just hold me, Jake. Just hold me.’

  Jiang Lei woke in the night, thinking of his wife.

  Chun Hua was far away, in Pei Ch’ing, together with his daughters. It was two years since he had seen them last, and sometimes, as now, their faces haunted him.

  There had been a time when they had been inseparable. Chun Hua had been his secretary, his aide, truly his other self. In both day and night she had been there, at his side. Sweet Hua, the yin yueh – the music – of his life.

  Now, however, it was different. Now it felt like he was a single goose making its lonely path across the sky.

  As he stepped out from his tent, Steward Ho hurried across and, going down onto his knees, bowed low, touching his forehead to the ground.

  ‘Master…’

  Ho had been given a rare day off. But Ho was never happy when he was away, and he had hurried back, to serve Jiang Lei and make sure he had everything he needed.

  Jiang Lei looked past the man towards the encampment. Fires were still burning. In their light he could see that the men were still up, sat about the fires, talking and laughing softly.

  He looked up. It was a clear night. The moon was high and almost full.

  Jiang Lei shivered. It was much colder than it had been a week back.

  ‘Master… shall I get your cloak?’

  ‘If you would, Steward Ho…’

  Ho nodded, then ran into the tent, emerging a moment later with Jiang’s silken gown. Jiang slipped into it.

  ‘Thank you, Ho. I think I shall go and see the men. See how they are.’

  ‘Master…’

  There was something in Steward Ho’s manner that made Jiang Lei pause.

  ‘What is it, Ho?’

  Ho kept his head low, his manner utterly deferent. ‘It is Cadre Wang, Master. I would have told you, but you were sleeping. He is gone…’

  ‘Gone?’ It surprised Jiang. ‘When did he go?’

  ‘An hour past, Master. He told me to notify you. He has gone to see his Masters.’

  Ho would not even say the words. The Ministry. The Thousand Eyes.

  ‘Was he summoned?’

  ‘I do not know, Master. But he said he would return, as soon as he could.’

  ‘I see… Thank you, Ho.’

  Jiang walked across. As he came into the circle of the firelight, the men, seeing him, stood abruptly, bowing low, a dozen shaven heads reflecting the fire’s golden light.

  Jiang, seeing it, thought how fine an image it would be, if he could but find a poem in which to use it.

  ‘Ch’un Tzu,’ he said, making them all smile. ‘Let us be informal… please… be seated.’

  Ch’un Tzu… Gentlemen. They enjoyed his playful poke at their backgrounds. For not one of them was a gentleman, nor ever would be. And they were strangely proud of that. But they were good at what they did. Some of the finest soldiers he had ever served with.

  Jiang turned, meaning to tell Ho to bring his chair, but Ho had anticipated him. He stood there, just a yard or two away, clutching the heavy chair.

  Jiang smiled, then gestured to a space beside the fire, where he could see them all.

  ‘Well… this is cosy, neh?’

  Slowly the men sat once more, crouched down on their haunches, their eyes looking towards Jiang Lei, waiting for him to speak.

  Jiang looked towards one of them. ‘Chang Te… how are your parents? Is your father better now?’

  Chang, a tall, quiet man, bowed his head.

  ‘They are well, Master Jiang. Old Chang is much improved… and my sister has given birth to another boy.’

  Jiang smiled. ‘That is good news, Chang Te. How many is that now?’

  ‘It is her fourth, Master Jiang.’

  ‘Then both you and she are serving our country well, neh?’

  There were grins at that, even some laughter. But none of them was at ease with him there, and Jiang Lei wondered why. Was it to do with Wang?

  He looked towards another of them.

  ‘Ma Feng… how are things with you? Your leg…?’

  Ma Feng, a short, stocky little man in his thirties, nodded. ‘I am well, Master Jiang. If it troubles me, then it is my own fault. I should have been more careful.’

  Jiang was immediately concerned. ‘Do you need treatment, Ma Feng?’

  But the very idea had Ma Feng bowing low. He seemed embarrassed by Jiang Lei’s concern. ‘You are too kind, Master Jiang. It needs but a little exercise.’

  Jiang Lei looked about him; saw how each one averted his eyes, afraid of being picked, of being the subject of his attention.

  But why? It hadn’t always been so. These men, after all, had been with him in Africa.

  ‘Li Ying,’ he said, picking the youngest of them, almost amused by the sudden panic in his eyes.

  ‘Yes, Master Jiang?’

  ‘Our friend, the watcher… our friend who isn’t here… what do you think of him?’

  Li Ying looked down, horrified. ‘Master Jiang, I…’

  Jiang had his answer. He waved his hand. ‘No matter…’

  He turned. ‘Steward Ho… bring us two flagons of my best rice wine. It is some while since I had a drink with my men.’

  Jiang looked back, his eyes going from face to face, seeing the relief there, the gratitude that he had not pursued his questioning.

  ‘Liu… do you still play the pi-p’a?’

  Liu lowered his head. ‘You wish me to play for you now, Master Jiang?’

  ‘It would be my delight. I have often said how f
ine your playing is.’

  Liu almost blushed. ‘You are too kind, Master Jiang. I am but a novice.’

  It was a lie. Or, rather, a statement of extreme humility, for Liu Ke was an exceptionally fine musician, and his plucking of the four-stringed Chinese lute – the pi-p’a – matched anything Jiang Lei had ever heard. Indeed, it was one of the reasons he had hand-picked Liu Ke to be in his personal squad of bodyguards.

  As Steward Ho poured the wine, and Liu Ke tuned his instrument, Jiang Lei looked about him.

  Since he had made – and dropped – his query about Wang Yu-Lai, the men had relaxed. Without him having to have said a word, they understood. And now that that was so, something of their old relationship had returned.

  Two months Wang had been with them. A mere two months, and yet his poisonous influence was strong. He had made these good men suspicious of their own commander, and how could that be a good thing? Only what could he, Jiang Lei, do about it? He was nominally in charge here, Wang Yu Lai’s superior in every sense. But that barely mattered, not when the Ministry was concerned, for The Thousand Eyes was a law unto itself, and when one fell beneath its gaze…

  He supped his wine. Liu Ke looked to him and, at his nod, began to play.

  As the first notes rippled in the air, Jiang sighed, his pleasure unfeigned. It was the ‘P’ing Sha Lo Yen’ – ‘Wild Geese Descend on the Smooth Sand’. He sat forward, watching Liu’s fingers, astonished by his virtuosity. It was not an easy piece to play, and Liu was note perfect.

  Jiang looked about the circle of faces, seeing how every one of them was trapped inside the music for that moment, their eyes attentive, each of them leaning towards the lute as if to breath it all in.

  Jiang closed his eyes, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  As it finished, he looked at Liu Ke and grinned, standing up to clap him, the rest of the men joining him after a moment, whooping, filling the night air with their applause.

  ‘Liu Ke… such fingers…’

  Liu Ke looked down at his hand where it rested on the strings and blushed. ‘I am pleased you liked it, Master Jiang.’

  Jiang looked about him at the men. ‘One more, neh, my friends? How about “The Moon On High”?’

  He looked to Liu, who bowed.

  ‘As my Master wishes,’ Liu said quietly, even as the others settled.

  They were enjoying this. Jiang could see it in their eyes. And that gave him an idea. Before Liu Ke could begin, Jiang stood again, raising his hand.

  ‘Men… what do you say to a story? Maybe something from the San Kuo Yen I?’

  He saw how they looked among each other, then nodded. Ma Feng, the eldest, spoke for them all.

  ‘We would like that, Master Jiang. You do us a very great kindness…’

  Jiang smiled. ‘Not at all, Ma Feng. I love the Romance, and it is some while since I read it.’ He turned. ‘Steward Ho…’

  But Steward Ho had already gone. You could see the back of him in the darkness, half running, as he went to get the book.

  There was laughter; laughter that Jiang joined in with.

  They had not felt like this for months. Not since Wang Yu-Lai came.

  Jiang Lei sat once more, gesturing to Liu to begin, and as the first few familiar trills of the ‘Yueh Erh Kao’ spilled out into the air, so Jiang sat back in the old campaign chair, his eyes closed, imagining he was back at home once more and not halfway around the world.

  After all, what could be more Chinese than this? To listen to ‘The Moon On High’ and read from the Romance of the Three Kingdoms?

  Only what he felt at that moment was a profound, almost overpowering sadness that came from nowhere, descending on him like rain from a clear sky.

  Exile. This felt suddenly like exile.

  Jiang turned his head, looking down, away from the fire, even as the notes ran on and the hauntingly familiar melody filled his head.

  So they must have felt a thousand years ago, patrolling at the very edge of the world.

  It was the fate of soldiers, yes, and of poets too.

  ‘Master…?’

  Steward Ho knelt close by, his head lowered, the book held out before him.

  ‘Thank you…’

  But as Jiang stared at the cover, with its picture of the three great heroes of the ancient historical tale, he realized that his cheeks were wet.

  He brushed his cheek with his fingers, then stared at them, surprised. He had been crying.

  Across from him Liu Ke had closed his eyes, lost in the music, his fingers moving with a rapidity, a sensitivity, that seemed to belie his solid peasant face.

  As he played the final note, Liu Ke gave a little shuddering sigh, then looked up, as if he had been travelling somewhere and was now returned.

  The applause was deafening. Jiang was on his feet again, clapping Liu Ke.

  ‘That was wonderful,’ he said softly, wondering to himself if any from the camp nearby had heard it, and what they would have made of such a strange and alien sound.

  For so it was. They were the aliens here, after all. Their stories, their poems, their music – these were all out of place, here in these ancient, rolling hills.

  Chung Kuo… China… It seemed a million miles away right then.

  A million miles away and right up close.

  As they settled again, he took the book and opened it at random. That was the thing about the Romance. One tale was as good as another in its pages. Not only that, but all of the stories were known to each and every one of them sitting about the fire.

  ‘Tsao Tsao conquers Hang Chung,’ he began, reading the chapter description. ‘Chang Liao spreads terror at Chao Yao Ford…’

  The words brought a great murmur of happiness from the men. Tsao Tsao was a particular favourite of theirs, and the chapter promised a battle…

  Jiang Lei cleared his throat and began:

  ‘The expedition against Hang Chung went out in three divisions…’

  Jake woke with a start, alone, realizing where he was and what had happened.

  He was in Tom’s bed. And last night…

  He rolled over and closed his eyes. If only he hadn’t drunk so much at Tom’s wake. If only he’d had the strength to say no to her.

  Only he hadn’t. Nor had he wanted to.

  Hold me, she’d said, but how could he simply hold her? How could he not have made love to her, she had been so warm against him.

  Six years he’d been without. How was he to blame? Yet he felt guilty now. What he had done was wrong. Tom was barely cold in the ground.

  He could hear Mary, downstairs in the kitchen, pottering about, clearing up the last few things from yesterday’s ‘celebrations’.

  Thinking of her, remembering her, naked beneath him in the moonlight, her nipples hard, her need clear in her face, made his cock grow erect again. If she had been there now, next to him beneath the sheets, he would have taken her again.

  And yet… afterwards, after he had come inside her, she had lain in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. For Tom.

  He lay there a moment. Then, knowing he couldn’t stay there all day, got up and dressed and went down to her.

  Mary was at the sink. She turned and gave a tired smile.

  Jake went over to her. Held her from behind, pressed in to her, his arms about her waist, his cheek against her neck, savouring the touch of her, the smell.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  He asked it gently, knowing how raw, how tender her emotions were. Knowing it could still go wrong between them.

  Mary turned, snuggling in to him, letting her head rest against his chest.

  ‘I’m fine… and thank you…’

  She was trembling. The night, intimate as it had been, had brought them only a little closer. They were still strangers.

  ‘Where’s the girls?’

  ‘Gone out.’

  ‘And Peter?’

  ‘He’s with Meg. I thought…’

  She looked up at hi
m, reached up to smooth his face with her hand, then kissed him; a gentle, almost asexual kiss.

  Jake smiled sadly. ‘It’ll get better.’

  ‘Yeah?’ But if there was any anger in that, it wasn’t aimed at him. He knew that. It was aimed at circumstances. Tom was supposed to have been there, looking after her. Only he wasn’t, so she had to make do.

  Jake stroked her hair. Just being so close to her made him stiff. But if she noticed, she said nothing.

  For a while they stood there, like that, then she pushed him away a little.

  ‘We’d better finish off here, then get your stuff moved in.’

  ‘Ah…’ He was surprised by that. His stuff. He hadn’t thought. If anything he’d thought they’d run two households. But they were a family now. As of last night.

  ‘What about the neighbours?’

  ‘They’ll understand…’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Jake.’ Her voice was hard, uncompromising. ‘They’ll understand, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  She looked at him; a frank look, appraising him. And then she nodded. ‘You’ll do. And Jake… you mustn’t feel guilty… Tom loved you. He loved us both. He’d understand. And he was right…’

  ‘Right?’

  ‘Yes… you did need a woman in your bed.’

  Jiang Lei climbed up onto the dais, then sat behind the table, facing the crowd.

  His men were lined up either side of the detainees, masked up, their guns – big semi-automatics – resting against their chests.

  If there was going to be trouble, this was when it happened.

  Jiang Lei reached across, taking his slate from where it lay on top of the stack of official documents. Wang Yu-Lai stood just below, away from the dais, beside the nearest of the guards. He had that look on his face – the look he always had when they did this. Not so much a smirk as a sneer, like he was somehow superior to these poor creatures.

  This – the ‘processing’ as it was called – was the part Wang liked the most and Jiang the least.

  Jiang Lei sighed, then gestured for it to begin. The prisoners had all been given numbers, from one to one hundred and thirteen. It wasn’t a big batch – Jiang had processed more than six hundred in a morning before now – but if he was to do it properly it would take him a while.