‘I suspect old Xue was testing out the extent of my obligation to him,’ muttered Shih, as they walked away. ‘The baby was in no danger, though one would have thought from his summons it was about to die.’
The early evening fog was thinning as they reached North Canal Street. Stars shone in a clear winter sky and wisps of cloud floated through heaven. Suddenly Cao laughed.
‘Why do I feel so light?’ she asked.
Shih smiled.
‘I’d sooner feel light because of a flask of wine,’ he said.
‘Husband, take my arm. I cannot give you wine but, well, I shall say no more.’
They walked back to Apricot Corner Court and the medicine shop full of jars. Most had been emptied over the course of the siege. Yet just as a bankrupt preserves at least one precious object from the wreck of his fortune, Cao had held back a quantity of a certain infusion tasting of lamb’s fat and pepper, mingled with a coarse, everyday root especially revered by Daoist hermits seeking visions.
Madam Cao sat her husband down and boiled water on a small stove. While the fire caught, they eyed each other wordlessly. Cao’s mind was full of the evening they had just shared.
‘You seem happy,’ said Shih.
‘Is that so strange?’
‘Nowadays, perhaps,’ he said. ‘I am glad.’
‘Are you happy?’ she asked.
Shih stretched out his long legs and shrugged.
‘We spend so little time together, that I cannot help but be happy tonight. But Cao, there is something important I have meant to say for a long time.’
She waited. Behind him wisps of steam began to rise from the kettle.
‘Cao, we have been uneasy together ever since I cured His Excellency’s son. Ever since Lu Ying joined our household.
How foolish it all seems now.’
‘We need to look at each other more often,’ she said, firmly.
‘Then we will remember who we are.’
She bit her lip in confusion. Would he think she was foolish?
‘I’m looking,’ he said.
‘Are you thirsty?’ she asked.
She poured the water and, as the leaves suffused, a complex smell filled the shop, blending earth and plant and animal aromas. Cao remembered an ancient drinking game.
‘If I pour you a bowl you must sing me a song,’ she said.
He took the cup and drained it in one. For a minute he stared into space then began to sing tunelessly, but with feeling: A handsome gentleman
Waited at the gate:
How very sad I did not accompany him!
For him I wear my unlined skirt,
My skirt of brightest silk.
Oh, sir, gracious lord,
Give me a place in your coach!
Cao, who had been sipping steadily while he sang, sighed then giggled.
‘You sing like an actor!’ she exclaimed.
Her husband smiled shyly.
‘Cao, you have no idea how I acted when they transformed me into Captain Xiao!’
Although Shih had told her this tale, she still did not quite believe it. As ever, he read her mood exactly.
‘You cannot imagine that I, humble Dr Shih, became Captain Xiao! But if you had a voice murmuring in your ear and punish ment cells at your back, even you could become Captain Xiao!’
Cao blushed, glad Guang could not hear their conversation, for it might be viewed as disrespectful.
An hour later both were intoxicated to the point where almost anything seemed hilarious, especially anything disrespectful. Fired by a strange enthusiasm Shih mimicked several officials who had visited the Relief Bureau. Gradually their drunken laughter subsided, first into chuckling, then silence.
‘Painted puppets, that’s all,’ said Shih. ‘No one is spared a part. Must ours be unhappy? My dear love, why must we be unhappy? I can see no good reason at all!’
Cao leaned forward. She reached out and twined her fingers round his hand.
‘If you pour me a bowl I must sing you a song,’ she said. ‘I’ve learned an old one, far older than yours, all about planting.’
And she sang:
Chop, chop, we clear the elms
And pile branches on the bank,
He neither sows nor reaps!
How has our lord five-hundred sheaves?
He neither traps nor shoots!
How do badger pelts adorn his courtyards?
Those lords, those handsome lords, Need not work for a bowl of food.
‘What has that to do with anything?’ he asked, when she had finished, clasping her hand tightly.
‘What is a handsome gentleman and his coach to do with me?’ she asked, in a coy manner she had once observed Lu Ying using when talking to Guang.
Their eyes were glassy.
‘Make more of that tea and I’ll show you!’ he cried. Then Dr Shih blushed. ‘Am I too loud?’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps I inconvenience the neighbours.’
‘Not at all!’ replied Cao, pretending to shout.
Another pot later, followed by a prolonged embrace on the counter of Dr Shih’s shop, he led her into the dark central corridor. Lu Ying heard them creep along the wooden floor with all the subtlety of water buffalo, their arms laden with quilts and blankets.
They giggled immodestly as they mounted the ladder to the tower room, shhhing each other every few steps. A faint thudding noise vibrated throughout the house for a long time, just as when Dr Shih mixed medicine by the light of a full moon because the Goddess Cheng-e’s light grants the whole world good fortune. So it was for them.
Cao stared out of the window at stars above Nancheng and listened to her husband’s breathing as he slept. A wisp of cloud blew across the moon. For a moment cloud and moon entwined. Then the cloud floated beyond the frame of the window and Cao fell into a deep, contented sleep beneath the quilts, her bare arm resting on Shih’s chest, aware that her husband’s surname meant ‘cloud’.
*
While Cao slept in her husband’s arms, Lord Yun’s door quietly opened. A thin pre-dawn glow lit the central corridor of the house. He crept towards the kitchen and the grain bins with their heavy porcelain lids. In his hand was a small hemp sack.
The house was silent except for the mournful sound of wind in the eaves. The old man pushed open the kitchen door and peered inside. All the shadows belonged to inanimate things.
He lifted the lids of the grain bins one by one. For a moment he muttered to himself, looking round suspiciously. At last he found a few handfuls of rice, representing the family breakfast and scooped them into his hemp sack. Some grains fell to the floor but he did not worry. Household deer would soon devour them, for the rats were starving. Those foolish enough to get caught found themselves roasted on spits.
Lord Yun retreated the way he had come. Instead of returning to his chamber, he unbarred a wooden door at the back of the house that gave straight onto a narrow footpath beside the canal. Across the water stood Ping’s Floating Oriole House, dark and strangely forlorn at this hour. Lord Yun walked to a humped bridge over which North Canal Street passed.
At first there was no one to be seen. Then he stepped forward haughtily. A thin shape rose from the darkness and knelt before him in the gloom. He did not deign to look down, but affected a yawn. When at last his eyes lowered, they were narrow and cold. The kneeling figure rose timidly and bobbed towards him. Lord Yun made a guttural noise at the back of his throat, as one might when summoning a dog or a horse with a hard journey ahead of it. Widow Mu’s daughter, Lan Tien, at last drew close. Her wide eyes fastened on the little bag of grain he held out temptingly, then she glanced aside into the black waters of the canal.
sixteen
‘Fouzhou was far smaller than Nancheng when I was young, though many notable prefects sought to increase its size. Always they were thwarted by the city’s watery setting, especially the marsh known as Liu’s Pond. The Fouzhou of my youth was an old-fashioned kind of town. Indeed, many of the ancient ward walls an
d gates remained from the Tang Dynasty. We had three uncles in Fouzhou and I always found them as stiff and formal as their city. . .’
From Sundry Recollections Of My Youth by Du Fan
The Ramparts, Fouzhou. Autumn, 1268
The party of gentlemen on the battlements gazed at the Mongol siege lines. Winter was long forgotten, replaced by summer rains then an unseasonably hot early autumn. The enemy could be seen creating temporary camps well beyond the range of Fouzhou’s scant supply of artillery. Pacification Commissioner Wang Ting-bo sat stiffly on a portable throne decorated with ivory chrysanthemums that accompanied him everywhere.
‘Gentlemen! Gather round!’ he ordered.
The small crowd of commanders and high officials obliged.
A few of the more ambitious sank to their knees before His Excellency. Guang hesitated, then caught General Zheng Shun’s sharp glance and remained upright.
‘Gentlemen!’ continued Wang Ting-bo. ‘I have summoned you to Fouzhou for a reason. I am sure many of you are surprised.’
This was true. Fouzhou on the northern bank of the great Han River had attracted few assaults due to its location amidst marshes and a lattice of canals. Instead the Mongols had concentrated on the foremost of the Twin Cities, Nancheng, lured by its importance as Gateway to the South.
‘My reason is this,’ said Wang Ting-bo. ‘As all know, the continuing drought aids our attackers. Fouzhou has been rendered vulnerable by the drying of its moats and marshes.
Even Liu’s Pond has dried out. Yet magic and other rites have so far failed to conjure rain.’
‘Fouzhou’s ramparts remain strong, sir!’ broke in General Zheng Shun. ‘As is our resolve!’
Zheng Shun had grown more sullen since the loss of his cousin, Admiral Qi-Qi, but no less fiery in his determination to resist the enemy. Wang Ting-bo’s eyes narrowed at this interruption.
‘Perhaps so,’ replied Prefect Wang Bai, on his uncle’s behalf.
‘But what of those mountain-tower monsters over there? What are they?’
All turned in the direction of Wang Bai’s pointing finger.
Certainly the enemy was busy. Four catapults of an unimaginable height had almost been erected. Observers on the ramparts reported trains of wagons bearing timber and huge stone balls.
Most baffling of all, was the novel design of these catapults.
‘Perhaps Yun Guang can explain,’ said General Zheng Shun.
‘After all, sir, he understands artillery better than any.’
Guang bowed to acknowledge the compliment. His wound and slow recovery had altered more than his appearance. Not only had he gained weight but his former restless intensity had softened. Some remarked that he no longer defied death by exposing himself to Mongol missiles, as though it was a game or way of taunting General A-ku. Most applauded his new-found caution – losing Captain Xiao was unthinkable. He had become a talisman to the Twin Cities, ever defiant, ever returning from death to fight on.
‘Your Excellency, I am puzzled,’ said Guang. ‘There are no ropes for men to drag. How is a missile to be discharged? The missiles themselves are inordinately heavy – no catapult ever devised can fling stones of such weight and size. Finally, they stand beyond all conceivable range. Perhaps they intend to move the devices forward when they use them. But, if so, why are the wooden supports buried in the ground?’
Guang caught Wang Bai watching him closely, a mocking look on his face. Unexpectedly, he remembered another such look, on another man’s face.
‘Your Excellency,’ he added, earnestly. ‘Two years ago I entered the Mongol encampment and took a prisoner, whom we interrogated.’
‘Ah, that wretch!’ broke in General Zheng Shun. ‘A traitor to his ancestors, a man of Han kneeling to barbarians!’
‘His name was Li Tse,’ said Guang. ‘He mentioned a great city far to the west. Quagdad, I believe he called it. He said terrible engines brought down its stone walls so that the whole city was put to the sword.’
‘A likely tale!’ scoffed Zheng Shun.
Wang Ting-bo cleared his throat: ‘They are constructing four more mountain-tower catapults outside Nancheng. I can see them from my terrace when I take morning tea.’
Zheng Shun stepped forward, bowing with uncustomary respect so that Guang knew at once he was after something.
‘Sir! There is a more urgent threat,’ said the General of Land Forces. ‘Tens of thousands of their best troops have been ferried across the river to surround Fouzhou. We may be sure they plan a grand assault. I beg that we transfer three regiments from Nancheng to Fouzhou without delay!’
‘Your Excellency,’ added Guang. ‘We should transfer catapults and siege crossbows at the same time.’
A glance passed between the Pacification Commissioner and his nephew, Wang Bai. The latter said hurriedly: ‘No! They mean to trick us. If we weaken Nancheng we may be sure they will attack there.’
‘How?’ asked Zheng Shun, mockingly. ‘When all their best troops are on this side of the river?’
Before anyone could say more Wang Ting-bo rose from his portable throne, indicating an end to the discussion.
‘We shall maintain our current dispositions,’ he said. ‘Let us wait until the enemy’s intentions are clear. My thanks, gentlemen, and a good day to you all!’
With that the Pacification Commissioner left the Gate of Revealed Splendour, accompanied by a flock of officials, including many members of the Wang clan. Four sweating servants carried his ivory throne on their shoulders. At last only Chen Song and Guang remained on the battlements.
‘I plan to walk back to Nancheng rather than ride,’ said Chen Song. ‘Will you accompany me?’
‘A pleasant suggestion.’
Though Guang suspected his friend had unpleasant topics of conversation in mind.
Nearly nine months had passed since Cao and Shih grew intoxicated and lay together in the tower room of Apricot Corner Court, their bodies washed by moonlight.
As he tramped the streets of Fouzhou, Chen Song by his side, Guang’s thoughts drifted to Cao’s delicate condition. A small escort followed, leading their horses. Fouzhou was far smaller than Nancheng, and older. Many of its wards retained the severe walls and forbidden places of Tang Dynasty despots, whereas merchants and pleasure-sellers had colonised every available corner of Nancheng. People on the south bank described Fouzhou folk as dull and dour. Their northern neighbours replied that Nancheng folk were flighty and frivolous.
Wise heads maintained that to have yin one must have yang.
‘His Excellency should follow Zheng Shun’s suggestion without delay,’ complained Chen Song. ‘The garrison here is too small to repulse a full assault, especially if the walls are breached. Now that the marshes are dry, even the deepest moats may be waded by a tall man with his head above water.’
Guang gave no sign that he heard. His thoughts lingered in Apricot Corner Court. By chance he had blundered into the medicine shop on the day Cao acknowledged her pregnancy to Shih. They were embracing beside the counter. A bucket of pungent plants stood by their feet and Guang had recognised it as the mugwort Sister-in-law had sowed and harvested by the Water Gate of Morning Radiance. He had expected them to spring apart at his entrance, yet to his surprise Shih clasped Cao tighter.
‘Is all well?’ Guang had demanded. ‘Father? Is he. . . ?’
There were tears on both their cheeks.
‘No,’ said Shih. ‘No.’
‘Then what is it?’
Cao appeared to be trembling.
‘What is it Sister-in-law?’ asked Guang. ‘If anyone has dishonoured you, let him beware!’
Both Shih and Cao had laughed joyfully as he watched in incomprehension.
‘It is not that,’ said Cao, dabbing her eyes. ‘Oh, you must tell him, Shih!’
And so he had. That Cao’s pregnancy was quite certain.
After all these years the apricot stones buried in the spare room of their house had put forth blossom.
>
As Guang walked through Fouzhou with Chen Song, he realised her time was drawing close. And if Cao’s delicate condition resulted in a male heir, a crisis would inevitably arise.
After all, Honoured Father surely could not last much longer.
Although strong for a man of his age, he was still venerable.
When he passed away the Lordship of Wei Valley must, like a noble hat, find a new head. Never mind that the title was empty, that Bayke ruled their ancestral lands. Guang still fervently believed what had been stolen would one day be reclaimed, and there lay his dilemma.
When he jokingly referred to Shih as Youngest Brother both twins grew confused. Neither could meet the other’s eye.
Sometimes Guang came close to mentioning Shih’s banishment as a child but his courage always faltered. Afterwards he berated himself. How could there be reconciliation when the past was unresolved? Without truth, how could there be restoration?
For months after his recovery these questions troubled him, yet paradoxically Shih became a closer companion than even Chen Song. Often when he returned from the ramparts to Apricot Corner Court, the two brothers talked until late into the night. Still the dilemma of who was the true Eldest Son lay between them.
Chen Song’s voice broke into his thoughts. They had just reached the Floating Bridge linking Fouzhou to Nancheng.
‘What amazes me, my dear Guang, is the ineptitude of His Imperial Majesty’s advisers! Why was no fresh attempt made to raise the siege this summer? And now it is autumn, a season favourable to the enemy. It is as though the Chancellor has decided we can only defend, never attack. Unless we take the fight to them, we shall never recover our lost lands. And then to decide that Wang Ting-bo should remain Pacification Commissioner despite failed attempts to replace him! I call that a questionable decision.’
Guang nodded as though in complete agreement. His thoughts remained in Apricot Corner Court. Of course, Cao’s pregnancy preoccupied his brother so that even his work at the Relief Bureau suffered. Yet no one could have anticipated Lu Ying becoming a prop to Madam Cao, their rivalry forgotten.
Breaking Bamboo Page 39