*
Guang found General Zheng Shun inspecting the treatment of the wounded. His cheek was bleeding from a sword gash. Men lay on the ramps leading up to the battlements, groaning or staring sightlessly. Many had abandoned their weapons during the retreat, a dispiriting sight.
‘Ah, my boy!’ said Zheng Shun.
Guang offered a half-empty wineskin. A great portion of it was sloshing round his empty stomach. Zheng Shun took it and drank eagerly. Yellow wine dribbled down his chin.
‘Better!’ he said, at last. ‘Good.’
The two men examined the scene around them.
‘They were waiting for us!’ said Zheng Shun. ‘There can be no other explanation. We penetrated deep into their camp. I tell you, they paid dearly for that. Then we were attacked by their cursed cavalry. How could they have formed so soon? It must have been treachery.’
The older man took another drink.
‘If you had not stopped them with your noxious bombs I would have lost my whole command. A sorry business. As it is, we lost a third of our men out there.’
Guang grunted.
‘So many?’
‘Three thousand, Yun Guang! In less than an hour! The worst of it, my boy, is that a great many were trapped in the camps. I hope for their sake they died fighting.’
Then the illustrious General Zheng Shun did something Guang had never expected. He bowed his head a fraction.
‘We may commend your foresight, Captain Xiao. You anticipated every event.’
Tears filled Guang’s eyes. He brushed them aside.
Protestations of duty touched his lips but remained unspoken.
He knew Zheng Shun honoured deeds not words.
Later that day, the defenders of the Twin Cities were confronted with a spectacle of General A-ku’s making. Hundreds of prisoners, their hands bound, were paraded before the still smouldering camp. Wang Ting-bo stood with his commanders on Swallow Gate to watch what followed. A slow and deliberate affair. Guang positioned himself beside his patron, Wang Bai, who surveyed the business curiously.
‘How wasteful to use crossbow bolts shot in the back of the head!’ he declared. ‘I’m surprised General A-ku allows it.’
‘I suspect the shafts are removed afterwards, sir,’ said Guang.
‘Ah! Of course. Yet surely, many must break.’ Wang Bai watched the executions proceed for a few moments. ‘I hear remarkable stories about your catapults, Yun Guang.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Quite remarkable,’ said Bai thoughtfully. ‘You do me great credit.’
Guang kept his eyes fixed on the next group of prisoners.
They did not plead for mercy. He wondered how bravely he would behave in their position. A vague unease formed in his soul, strangely like fear. He stifled it and examined Mount Wadung.
‘The executions are taking a long time,’ said Wang Bai, at last.
‘We must watch until the end, sir,’ broke in General Zheng Shun, a hint of reproach in his stiff voice. ‘Our martyrs deserve that honour, at least.’
Wang Bai raised an eyebrow
‘I will watch even if it takes a week,’ he said, gravely.
They fell silent. A-ku’s demonstration continued for another two hours rather than a week. When it finished Guang returned to his gilded pavilion and stared into an ornamental pond where lilies floated. Servants brought bowl after bowl of wine. He summoned Chen Song, who insisted on playing his lute to settle their spirits and the twanging continued until both were properly drunk.
*
That evening the moon unfurled. Ivory fingers touched the Mongol encampment and the Twin Cities alike. The moon knew no favourites. Humble or noble, soiled or brave, it did not care who gazed at its sad face.
Now its soft light stole across Apricot Corner Court. The fruit tree’s leaves were shrivelling in obedience to autumn. As the moon stared down, a single leaf fluttered to earth. The yowling of cats broke the silence then faded, their quarrel drowned by the vastness of night. Moonlight caressed the bamboo curtains of Old Hsu’s workshop, filtering into the darkness within.
The fan-maker sat at his bench, opening and closing a fan painted to resemble a peacock’s tail. In his youth, it had won him admittance to the Fan-maker’s Guild. Old Hsu had kept it ever since, even during hungry times. One must preserve one’s soul or become a person chosen by others.
His thoughts spread wide, then narrowed like the fan. He dreamed of the vanished world described by his beloved philosopher, Mo-Zi, before men’s hearts were corrupted – the Time of Great Togetherness, a hundred generations ago. His vision excited an ardour and hope he had almost forgotten. It made him feel young again. Could Universal Harmony be impossible, when it had once existed, however long ago?
Then, the Great Dao had truly prevailed! Leaders were elevated due to talent and virtue; they spoke sincerely, scattering peace as the sky does rain. They thought nothing of wealth.
They did not resemble Wang Ting-bo and his grasping clan.
Folk possessed a single family – each other.
Old Hsu’s hands trembled as he recalled the secret meetings he and his comrades had held, debating such matters. They had been led by a wandering preacher who never revealed his true name. Then the authorities took their Wise Father away. No one learned what became of him. The members of the Society drifted apart like a fleet deprived of rudders. Dullness and disappointment filled long years. He had observed former zealots becoming everything they once abhorred.
Old Hsu shook his head to clear it. With the coming of the Mongols they needed Mo-Zi’s vision more than ever, lest the world drown in anger, fear and despair.
The old man realised he was tapping the precious fan against his knee. Even here, in Apricot Corner Court, discord seeped from neighbour to neighbour. That afternoon, amidst news of the failed attack against the horse-people, an unpleasant conversation had occurred. As he and Widow Mu stood in the gateway, watching wounded men jolting on carts to temporary hospitals she had spoken with unexpected savagery.
‘I hope Captain Xiao burns every one of them! I’d fry General A-ku in oil like my dumplings!’
Old Hsu had frowned.
‘War will never vanquish war, madam,’ he replied. ‘Of course we must defend ourselves. But kill them all? Then we would be no better than our enemies. Besides, one day they might become our friends.’
To his surprise, instead of her usual deferential sigh or sideways glower when he tried to instruct her, she turned on him.
‘Traitor’s talk! Have you forgotten what they did to the prisoners?’
‘Widow Mu!’ he had pleaded.
‘I shall report you! Those scum would rape Lan Tien if they could and enslave my dear boy. How can you talk like that?’
‘Madam, calm yourself!’
Widow Mu slammed the door of her dumpling shop. With a heavy heart he had watched the procession of wounded men.
Mournfully, Old Hsu spread the splendid fan across his legs.
If only the Society of the Great Togetherness still existed! It might become a burning seed, lighting the sky with reason and compassion. He remembered lying on his bed when he was barely twenty, imagining the Middle Kingdom as a land of joy.
Why should that vision taste so sour now?
In the room next door his wife snuffled in her sleep. Old Hsu carefully put the peacock fan back in its lacquered box.
*
Old Hsu was not alone in sleeplessness. Across the moonlit courtyard a lesser light burned. Cao sat in the shop, hemp-scented tea on the low table beside her. She warmed her hands round a cup decorated with plum flowers. Shih was late back, as so often. It did not surprise her. The city choked on its casualties. All doctors had been conscripted to tend the wounded and the North Medical Relief Bureau must play its part. She did not expect to see her husband before dawn.
A tray of covered food bowls waited on the counter. Though she was hungry, Cao had set aside her own portion. Shih and his appren
tice would be famished when they returned. Yet the scent of rice and salt-fish distracted her.
Instead of food, Cao digested the day’s news. Whispered tales had reached Apricot Corner Court. How the prisoners captured by the Mongols had died, one by one, while Wang Ting-bo mournfully watched from Swallow Gate. It was said thousands had perished, and not all bravely. For a moment Cao listened, imagining horsemen galloping through the dark streets. But it was just a single rider, no doubt a messenger, his harness jingling.
Cao pulled her robe close round her shoulders. Everyone knew how the Great Khan and his forebears had conquered half the world. The mountain of skulls must reach higher than Mount Wadung! Madam Cao, as was customary in the city, viewed the blessed peak as a symbol of hope. People prayed to the mountain in times of drought, urging it to nudge passing clouds so they opened their granaries of rain. It was remarkable how often their mountain listened. Yet why should it care for Pan-Gu’s fleas? Or the frivolous city at its foot?
Such speculations were unwelcome. She glanced round the familiar shop. They owned this room now and all those behind and above. Yet when they first arrived in Nancheng they had possessed nothing but love. And youth, of course.
What vigour she and Shih had shown to win this house! To build his practice from a case of needles. To win the trust and regard of neighbours, so that tradesmen bowed to Dr Yun Shih’s wife when she walked through Water Basin Ward. Was all that slow gain to be burned by the barbarians until only rafters and the charred outlines of walls remained?
Become nothing Shih sometimes said in spiritual moods provoked by drink. Cao did not want to become nothing.
Except for the children destiny had denied them, she liked her life. Perhaps they were lucky, after all. Children in times like these would be an unbearable anxiety. No, they did very well.
Or almost well. Except for that dainty, heedless creature up the hallway.
Cao drank another cup of tea. Her thoughts swirled elsewhere. Brother-in-law was the only Commander to win honour in today’s battle. His exploits passed from courtyard to courtyard; how he had driven off the barbarians and saved thousands of men to defend the city. Yet one could not help worrying. The Mongols would hate him for his success.
Perhaps they would seek his death because they feared him.
And he looked so fine in his doughty armour! His up-thrust sword hilt made her think strange things.
A hand tested, then rattled the door. Cao grew stiff, half-expecting Guang, summoned by her thoughts. When she unbarred the door, Apprentice Chung slipped past, his shaved head lowered.
‘Where is Dr Shih?’ she asked.
Chung settled on a low stool by the counter. An irritable flush covered his face.
‘Still at the Relief Bureau.’
‘Then why are you here?’
He cast a longing glance at the pot of tea. Cao poured him a cup. He drained it with a loud slurp.
‘Master sent me for moxa and other medicines.’
Chung frowned uncertainly, producing a scrap of paper.
‘He made me take this list in case I forgot.’
‘Give it to me,’ said Cao. ‘I will gather what is needed.’
Chung’s eyes were fixed on the tray of covered dishes so she served him his food. While she measured out medicine, Chung shovelled with his chopsticks.
‘How is the Relief Bureau?’ she asked.
His chopsticks paused. Resumed again. Though Chung had not been spared the sight of death in his young life she had never seen him so troubled.
‘Why must a single a man contain so much blood?’ he asked, wonderingly.
He started to tremble and grains of rice fell back into the bowl.
‘Madam, I heard a rumour that all apprentices are to be pressed into the Militia. Is it true?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Yet I heard it.’
She continued to spoon out dried raspberry leaves.
‘Perhaps it is true. The city needs men on its walls or it will fall.’
He swallowed another mouthful and chewed morosely.
‘Madam,’ he said. ‘I cannot be a soldier.’
‘I have no power over that, Chung.’
‘But you do,’ he insisted. ‘Master is Captain Xiao’s brother.
He could ask him to arrange for me to stay as I am.’
‘You are upset,’ she said, soothingly. ‘Eat some more and drink that tea.’
His fist banged on the counter.
‘If you had seen what I have tonight, you would know I cannot join the militia! You must persuade Master! I insist on it!’
Despite her surprise, Cao looked stern.
‘ Insist? You should understand there are limits, Chung!
Among his many concerns Captain Xiao can hardly intercede for an apprentice, however dear to us. His business is very pressing. We must all do our duty.’
Chung glared at her in an unseemly way. His red-rimmed eyes showed no agreement with her plea. When he spoke again, it came quietly.
‘You forget, Madam, that I know all about the circumstances of your marriage. For you told me yourself.’
A deep emptiness entered Dr Shih’s cosy shop. Assumptions of the past, mists of friendship and loyalty, parted to reveal a void within. Cao’s breath held for that moment. Her eyes fixed on his familiar face. It was sullen and resolute. Then she breathed out.
‘Oh, Chung!’
‘You heard me.’
They tested a silence years of trust had once filled. Cao realised she felt tearful. Chung’s eyes lowered and she understood he was ashamed.
‘Take this parcel to Dr Shih,’ she said, coldly. ‘Tell him everything on the list is here. And take these bowls of food for him, only be careful not to spill any.’
Chung rose reluctantly. He flapped plump fingers.
‘Madam will understand I am distressed!’ he cried. ‘But I am not a fool. Not what everyone thinks – oh yes, I know how little I am respected! Why should I suffer what might be avoided?’
Her face showed no expression.
‘I mean what I said. I cannot be a soldier. I will not!’
‘I shall speak to Dr Shih,’ she said.
He departed without saying more. Cao was left to the comfort of her tea. Chung’s threat filled the shop like an unwholesome odour.
*
While mistress and apprentice spoke, Lu Ying was negotiating a misty gateway. Her silks were so heavy they weighed her down as she advanced through the fog. Her jade and silver hairpiece bent her neck like a yoke. When she emerged into daylight there was no need to walk further. For she had become a fluttering oriole, skimming over a vast city.
At once she knew the place and marvelled. Below spread Kaifeng, the former capital, generations ago before the Middle Kingdom was divided in the reign of the Emperor Huizong.
How well she knew that monarch’s sad story! A play about it had been performed in the Pacification Commissioner’s mansion. Most marvellous of all, she realised Emperor Huizong wore a familiar face: Wang Ting-bo’s!
But her master was displeased. As Lu Ying flew she understood it all. How disappointing the people were, how ungrateful!
A great royal pleasure park grew before her eyes. A Daoist monk had once told His Majesty that building the park would lead to many sons – and see! Babies, boys, youths, all trailing after their father.
Lu Ying fluttered between precious rocks and rare plants, a high hill constructed by thousands of labouring peasants.
Water cascaded down cliffs into a pool of serenity. Flocks of geese and ducks formed patterns to please His Highness and on the shore gibbons howled mournfully. All around the city people scurried through field and swamp, scrabbling in the earth for curiosities to grace the Son of Heaven’s park. Officials stood over them and flicked thin whips. Those offering nothing were beaten with bamboo sticks.
Now Lu Ying grew afraid. What had she to give? His Imperial Highness was frowning again. He had noticed her as she flew th
is way and that in distress. The horizon grew dark with the drumming of hooves, barbarians galloping towards Kaifeng. At once the city was ablaze.
Lu Ying groaned in her sleep. Sweat moistened her hair. Her dream shifted. . .
She was no longer an oriole, but a concubine weighed down by precious silks. The pleasure-ground lay in ruins, barbarian horses fed on the bodies of geese and plumed ducks, tearing at the gibbons’ fur with protruding yellow teeth. Wang Ting-bo cried out that he had been betrayed.
Again Lu Ying murmured as her dream changed. A grotesque cavalcade marched wearily across grassland stretching as far as one might see. Courtiers and eunuchs in splendid uniforms, young and old, wives and concubines, herded across the endless plains towards dishonour. Lu Ying realised she was the Emperor’s beloved First Wife. As they stumbled over the hard ground in thin slippers, horsemen selected the most beautiful of the ladies, dragging them into the grassland to satisfy unspeakable pleasures.
Suddenly a barbarian officer stood before them and Wang Ting-bo recoiled. She felt all her royal consort’s shame.
‘This is Heaven’s punishment!’ railed the officer. ‘You deserve what you have become!’
His Highness was trembling.
‘You have lost the Mandate of Heaven!’ jeered the officer.
What did the insolent barbarian want? But she knew. They both knew.
‘Do not be so miserly,’ continued their tormentor, in a sly voice. ‘Share what you have lost!’
Then rough hands dragged her away and Wang Ting-bo did not even protest. Indeed he smiled strangely.
‘Take her,’ he said. ‘I have plenty more.’
Lu Ying curled into a tight ball on the bed. The sweating man was on top of her, his breath reeking of garlic and wine.
He tore aside her silken clothes, revealing that triangle it was criminal to show. When he lay exhausted and panting, pressing her onto the hard earth, Lu Ying saw it was not a barbarian who had raped her. The man possessed Wang Ting-bo’s face.
He was gazing lasciviously, quite pleased with his conquest.
She sat upright, gripping the sheets in distress. For a moment she was in many places at once – on the unyielding soil – then a half-forgotten girl in the Pacification Commissioner’s mansion – and finally herself, in a room of hard shapes, a room of strange darkness. For a long while Lu Ying hugged her knees, until her heartbeat slowed.
Breaking Bamboo Page 20