Breaking Bamboo

by Tim Murgatroyd

  Dr Shih found himself in a narrow cell, four feet wide, yet tall enough for him to stand upright. It possessed a single window, heavily barred. Through that window came light and air, proof of day and night. Then vegetables and rice arrived. At first Shih examined the food suspiciously. Did His Honour or Dr Du Mau mean to poison him? But his nostrils urged the wholesomeness of the meal. Quite as miraculously it was followed by other meals, equally nourishing, each and every day. The Chief Warder regularly opened his cell door to examine him, as one might a pot-bellied sow fattened for market. Always he grunted the same question: ‘You well?’ When Shih nodded so did his captor, and the door slammed.

  At dusk he was allowed to exercise by the outer walls of the Prefectural enclosure. There he would listen for stray sounds from the city. No visitors were allowed and no messages reached him from Apricot Corner Court. Often Shih slumped against the wall as darkness gathered, longing for someone whose loyalty and love were quite proven – and no longer taken for granted.

  On the evening of the Winged Relief Fleet’s arrival in Nancheng, Shih lay on the floor of his cell, listening to the muffled echoes of distant explosions through the brick wall. He understood from the noise that an intense battle was devouring itself. Quite unexpectedly he sensed Guang’s presence out there amidst the thudding reports.

  Hours after midnight, Shih was woken by a great ringing of gongs and bells. He remained by the door, staring into darkness. Slowly night crept towards dawn, painting a feeble rectangle of light round the doorframe. He heard the tramp of feet marching at the double. They seemed to pause for a while at the prison gates. Then boots trotted toward his cell and halted outside. He detected the Chief Warder’s voice murmuring deferentially. Dr Shih shrank back, certain His Honour had brought forward the trial date. When the cell door swung open a soldier in full armour was revealed.

  Shih stared at him in half-recognition. Could this be Guang’s friend, Chen Song? If so his splendid armour had been torn, its silver tassels burned away. A long gash on his cheek wept a discharge of watery blood.

  To Shih’s amazement, Chen Song bowed. It was the first respect he had been shown since his arrest.

  ‘Dr Yun Shih,’ said Chen Song. ‘Very sorry to see you in this place!’

  ‘I am accused of a serious crime,’ said Dr Shih. ‘Have you heard?’

  Chen Song nodded.

  ‘I bring good news,’ he said. ‘His Excellency Wang Ting-bo has authorised the abandonment of all charges. On a single condition. You must follow my instructions without argument for the next few hours.’

  ‘What are these instructions?’

  ‘First you must accompany me.’

  Shih hesitated. He sensed Guang lay at the heart of this mysterious offer.

  ‘Is my brother safe?’

  Chen Song looked around, checking whether they were overheard. Warders were nearby, kneeling in respectful positions.

  ‘You must accompany me,’ repeated the soldier. ‘I can say no more.’

  A carriage drawn by three horses waited at the prison gates and Shih’s sense of wonder grew. It was one of those used by Wang Ting-bo himself.

  Though Chen Song urged him inside, Shih held back, remembering the last time he had entered a carriage. He looked around. They were at the summit of Peacock Hill, one of the highest vantage points in the city. From here he could see the river below, full of ships. The Ineffable Winged Relief Fleet was feverishly unloading its cargo, stripping the vessels of anything remotely useful to the Twin Cities. Although Shih could not know it, nearly all the merchant junks and warships had survived the battle.

  When Shih gazed upstream, north of the Floating Bridge toward lands occupied by the Great Khan, he breathed in sharply.

  ‘Is that what I believe it to be?’ he asked.

  ‘It is.’ The scholar-soldier sounded unutterably weary. ‘The enemy have gathered a large river fleet and mean to destroy the Floating Bridge from upstream. If they succeed the Twin Cities must perish.’

  ‘Where is my brother?’

  ‘There is more,’ said Chen Song, pointing at Swallow Gate.

  Shih sought out the Mongol encampments and shrank back in surprise. Tens of thousands of warriors were spreading out like a black stain. Between their regiments stood huge wooden bridges on wheels, wide enough, when joined together, to cross the ninety-foot moats around the city. Behind the mobile bridge were scores of cloud ladders and siege towers.

  ‘How is this?’

  Despite his tiredness, Chen Song smiled sadly.

  ‘The enemy anticipated our every move. First, they expected to destroy the Relief Fleet. However, in that they were unsuccessful. Nevertheless, while we are in mourning and confusion, they will attack by land and water – seizing both the Floating Bridge and our ramparts. General A-ku has deployed every single man in his army.’

  Chen Song’s grip on Shih’s arm unconsciously tightened as they stared from Peacock Hill at the advancing horde.

  ‘Can they be stopped?’ asked the poor doctor, out of his depth.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Chen Song. ‘That is why I have come to collect you. You see, our forces down by the river have lost the will to fight. Not only is Admiral Qi-Qi dead, but an ugly rumour circulates that Captain Xiao has also perished. That all hope is lost.’

  Shih gasped. Guang lost! He could not imagine Guang taken away. So strong and brave! He could not accept it.

  ‘You are a liar!’ he cried .

  ‘Exactly!’ nodded Chen Song. ‘Exactly! Captain Xiao cannot perish, today of all days. Climb into the carriage, I implore you.

  We have little time.’

  They set off with a jolt. So frantic was the pace that Shih was thrown around inside. He could hear the canter of Chen Song’s horse alongside. Now they were passing through the market place, deserted except for huddles of hungry peasants in makeshift tents. Parting the curtain, he recognised a large teahouse and knew they were near the Gate of the Vermilion Sparrow, leading to the Floating Bridge.

  Chen Song led the carriage into a small courtyard filled with shadow. The place was deserted, apart from a few guardsmen with tense expressions and a high official wearing the turquoise robes of the Third Grade.

  As Shih emerged, Chen Song threw a blanket over his head and led him into an echoing building. A door slammed behind them. The blanket was twitched away.

  At first Shih wondered if Guang’s corpse had been laid out on a long, low table. But no, it was his suit of armour and helmet. The armour was torn across the chest and blood-stained. Then Shih understood.

  ‘Ah,’ he sighed, glimpsing he was alone again in this world.

  Utterly alone except for Cao. ‘Ah.’

  Tears began to well in the corners of his eyes. Chen Song nodded stiffly.

  ‘The entire fleet reacts as you do,’ he said, ‘especially the defenders of the Floating Bridge. They believe resistance is futile without Admiral Qi-Qi and Captain Xiao. Some have even cast down their weapons. But see! Does not that armour fit you exactly?’

  Shih’s bowed head did not rise. Indeed he rocked a little in his distress.

  ‘I will answer my own question for you,’ said Chen Song, doggedly. ‘It fits you exactly.’

  Shih lifted his head in astonishment but Chen Song’s look was implacable.

  Half an hour later the doors were flung open and a procession trooped into the street. At its head marched Commander Yun Guang, carrying an extravagantly tasselled halberd, his face half hidden by a visored helmet. Chen Song followed a little behind. As they approached the Gate of the Vermilion Sparrow they met a group of fleeing men. The retreating soldiers stopped in their tracks at the sight of Captain Xiao in his blood-stained armour and exchanged fearful glances. One by one, they fell to their knees. The familiar spell was whispered Captain Xiao! He’s come back. He wants to fight them!

  The Mongol river fleet was manoeuvring into an attack formation upstream from the Floating Bridge. Ordinarily, such a frontal assault would
have been suicidal. In addition to a man-made island constructed in the middle of the river, topped by a high tower, hundreds of iron-tipped stakes were embedded in the mud to halt attacking ships. But these defences meant nothing without determined men to hold the ground.

  Confusion was everywhere. News of the vast army outside Swallow Gate had thrown many into despair. The soldiers wavered, debating in groups or slipping quietly towards Nancheng and the possibility of a hiding place if the city fell.

  Then the floorboards of the Floating Bridge resounded with heavy footfalls.

  Some peered in disbelief, unwilling to trust their own eyes.

  Could one who had been carried out feet first recover so quickly? Of course it could be so! His features were well known. How proudly he walked beside his companion, the Honourable Chen Song!

  When Captain Xiao marched down the wooden planks of the Floating Bridge in his mauled armour, nearly every man present took it as a reproach to their faltering courage.

  At the man-made island he addressed a gathering of officers, Chen Song whispering in his ear. Certainly it was Captain Xiao’s voice that spoke, though less harshly than usual. It seemed a clear sign of his unshaken confidence. Meanwhile the Mongol fleet drew closer.

  ‘They cannot defeat us if we hold firm!’ he cried.

  There was a pause.

  ‘They are fools!’ shouted Commander Yun Guang, after more murmuring from his lieutenant. ‘Their ships shall be trapped on our lines of iron-tipped stakes! Burn them with naphtha and maintain a wall of crossbowmen! All we need do is stand firm!’

  Now the assembled officers grasped a course of action.

  Crates were hurried along the bridge from the Gate of the Vermilion Sparrow. As the enemy ships entered range, the air filled with crossbow bolts and fire arrows. Meanwhile Captain Xiao had climbed the tower for a better view and was hurriedly conferring with Chen Song. When he had finished, Commander Yun Guang raised his tasselled halberd and strolled from the tower to join his men on the Floating Bridge.

  ‘A thousand years!’ he cried.

  That fervent hope flew from mouth to mouth.

  A thousand years! A thousand years!

  fifteen

  ‘Terrible to be born a wretched woman!

  What on earth is so forlorn?

  Nurtured without true affection,

  For her family a temporary burden.

  On the board of marriage a pawn,

  In shuttered rooms she sits hidden,

  All contact with her family forsaken,

  Her husband’s love as distant as the sun,

  Yet she follows his moods as leaves do the sun!

  What misdeeds in a former existence

  Condemn one to rebirth as a wretched woman?’

  Fu Xuan

  *

  Water Gate of Morning Radiance, Nancheng.

  Autumn, 1267

  The sky no longer drifted with rain and other signs of autumn arrived. Day by day darkness settled earlier. Birds gathered on the river and chill winds whistled down from Mount Wadung.

  Just such a breeze tugged at the baggy clothes of three women working a narrow strip of land between the stone ramparts of Nancheng and the River Han. They made an unlikely collection.

  One could not call them family – none bore the slightest resemblance to one another. An observer on the ramparts might not even have detected a joint purpose between them. Two of the women worked with a will while the third’s movements were slow and resentful. At last they paused and surveyed a large tangle of coarse-smelling weeds surrounded by boggy ground.

  ‘Are we to reap all that?’ asked a supercilious voice.

  The voice belonged to Lu Ying; and Madam Cao struggled hard to conceal her irritation, for she could not ignore the extent of her obligation to the former concubine.

  After Dr Shih’s trial, Old Hsu’s funeral had been a noisy affair.

  Apricot Corner Court filled with wailing and the sound passed as a rumour through Water Basin Ward to other districts of the city. Few who heard the tale sympathised with the authorities.

  Madam Cao had wept as freely as Old Hsu’s relatives, her grief barbed with guilt that he had died defending Shih’s honour; she knew that the crack of the bamboo club on the old man’s spine would echo in her dreams until the day she died.

  However, there had been one mourner in Apricot Corner Court who took Madam Cao by surprise. Lu Ying made no secret of her remorse at not petitioning Wang Ting-bo on Dr Shih’s behalf: ‘If I had done as you suggested, who knows whether that funny old man would still be alive!’ she had cried, biting her plump lips. ‘I am a selfish creature, Madam Cao, not like you or your kind husband.’ But it also became apparent that when it came to the ways of Peacock Hill, she was a practical one. Not content with a mere petition (which Lu Ying doubted would even reach the Pacification Commissioner’s eyes) she disappeared to her room and returned with a lacquer box decorated with fortunate symbols. When she opened it Cao had gasped. On a silken tray lay two small black pearls no larger than the tip of a lady’s little finger. Their flawless, dusky surfaces glowed in the sunlight.

  ‘Take one to the Chief Gaoler,’ said Lu Ying. ‘Tell him that if Dr Shih is still alive and healthy when he comes to trial in a month’s time, he shall receive its companion.’

  Cao shook her head, overwhelmed: ‘How can we repay you for this?’

  For a moment Lu Ying grew thoughtful: ‘There are ways. I am tired of being helpless. Teach me where everything is kept so I may make myself tea and food. And if you should tell Captain Xiao what I have done. . . I would also be grateful.’

  Cao glanced sharply at Lu Ying for some explanation of this strange request. But the former concubine’s features were bland.

  The question of Widow Mu remained. She could hardly live next door to the Hsu clan, when her hasty, hysterical testimony had cost Old Hsu his life. Yet where else were she and her children to go? Those ineligible for state rations starved on the streets, and to lose eligibility one need only lose one’s home and become a vagrant or offend a minor official.

  Cao wondered what Dr Shih would have done to help Widow Mu, if anything. It was his nature to strive for reconciliation. In the end the decision was made for her. She crossed Apricot Corner Court to knock on Widow Mu’s door and found it wide open. Her old friend had fled without a word. Cao stood forlornly for a while, remembering their closeness, then became aware of someone behind her: Lord Yun, uncharacteristically out of his chamber. The old man looked round the empty rooms suspiciously. Cao bowed in the proper manner but he did not notice her existence.

  ‘Not here,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll make her. . . Oh, yes!

  Obedient. . . Ha!’

  His voice trailed away. There was something repulsive about his ravings. A moist, fetid wind had stirred the leaves of the apricot tree. Cao could hear sobbing from within Old Hsu’s house. Then she led Lord Yun back inside and mixed him a dose of medicine which he had gulped like a thirsty child, sighing with relief.

  *

  Which was why, as the remaining women of Apricot Corner Court reaped herbs by the riverbank, Madam Cao tried hard not to show her irritation in case she inconvenienced Lu Ying.

  No one could deny that without her generous bribe of the black pearl, Shih would have perished in the Prefectural gaol.

  ‘There is little point in digging and sowing in the spring, if one does not intend to harvest in autumn,’ she said, soothingly.

  The third woman, Old Hsu’s Widow, grunted then stared across the wide waters at the Mongol forts upstream. Since her husband’s death she had fallen into a taciturn grief. Her mourning was not of the wailing kind that neighbours call virtuous.

  It manifested itself through an absence – Hsu’s Wife had always been a matron of great humour, especially at her husband’s expense, and now the wells of her laughter were dry.

  ‘We’ve only filled one wheelbarrow,’ she said. ‘And that’s with bletilla tubers. Dr Shih still needs th
e mugwort and ginseng.’

  The Pacification Commissioner’s former concubine was not so easily deterred.

  ‘It is not the work itself,’ she said. ‘It is just that I am needed by one in great pain!’

  Madam Cao noticed how the girl’s hand crept to her girdle for a costly silk fan that no longer hung there. Instead, Lu Ying fanned herself daintily with her broad, conical hat. Her glossy mound of black hair caught the sun like spun silk.

  ‘He is a gentleman used to sacrifices,’ said Cao. ‘We may be sure he does not feel neglected. Besides, when we left him, he was in a deep sleep.’

  Lu Ying sighed and picked up her scythe. They waded through the marshy ground, releasing peaty, ripe smells.

  Midges buzzed round them. Because of her bound feet, Lu Ying used a hoe to keep balance.

  Cao glanced back at the ramparts. Half a dozen soldiers were watching from on high, joking among themselves. No need to guess the object of their interest. Even in shapeless peasant clothes, Lu Ying’s figure and movements attracted attention. Cao felt invisible in comparison.

  Up to their ankles in mud, they swept at the plants with their scythes, building piles of pungent stalks. Easy work compared to the bletilla tubers. Those had required patient loosening of the soil before a sharp, decisive tug. Neither Cao nor her unwanted guest had ever learned such skills. The long, long siege was changing them and most other respectable folk in drastic ways. Nearly all Lu Ying’s wealth had gone on costly food, despite Wang Ting-bo’s extra rations, for she passed all she received straight to Madam Cao. Many notable families were parting with precious heirlooms to fill their bowls.

  Everyone was gaunt, their clothes threadbare. Few maintained a worthy face. Once fine ladies could be seen toiling like landless peasants to grow a few edible shoots. As for Cao, all her fortune lay in the man she relied upon.

  By noon the last of the herbs were loaded onto the waiting wheelbarrows.