Breaking Bamboo

by Tim Murgatroyd

  The quarters at the rear of the palace were reserved for women who had grown ugly or worthless. They lived there in poverty and isolation, unless ordered to toil as drudges for First Wife.

  ‘Well then,’ said the servant. ‘I have a handcart outside. You may take a few items that might please His Excellency. I shall take good care of them for you.’

  Lu Ying shrank back. Handcarts reminded her of the last glimpse she had of her father after he sold her, pushing one laden with silk and valuables down Peacock Hill.

  ‘You must not just stand there!’ said the man, impatiently. ‘I am in charge of your quarters, so you’d do well to oblige me.’

  The way he smiled suggested how. And Lu Ying might have obeyed Wang Ting-bo, had not two tall men emerged from the central corridor of the house. At once she cried out with relief.

  For Guang stood beside Shih, wearing his burnished armour and weapons, having entered through the courtyard door a few moments earlier. His handsome face was haggard and pale, as though he too had failed to sleep.

  ‘There has been a message from the Pacification Commissioner!’ she cried.

  It took only a few moments to relay it to them, while the servant bobbed obsequiously, awed by the presence of Captain Xiao. At last Guang noticed him and glanced significantly at the door. When the man did not take the hint, Guang frowned.

  ‘Out,’ he said, quietly. ‘And do not return until summoned.’

  The servant hurriedly obliged, leaving Lu Ying alone with the two brothers.

  ‘This is unexpected,’ began Dr Shih, cautiously. ‘I take it His Excellency’s summons is agreeable to your wishes?’

  The look of mortification on her face answered his question, and he said: ‘Rest assured you will always be welcome here, Lu Ying, whatever happens! I have not forgotten the black pearl you sacrificed when I was in prison. Or how you secured Widow Mu’s services as midwife when Cao was slipping fast.

  We will never forget those things.’

  Guang cleared his throat, so that Lu Ying knew something of significance was coming. ‘Eldest Brother,’ he said, solemnly.

  ‘May I beg that you allow me to speak alone with your Honoured Guest, Lady Lu Ying? If you think it is not proper to leave us alone together, of course. . .’

  Shih blinked in surprise, stopping him with a bemused smile.

  ‘How very polite you are, Guang!’ he said. ‘I can hardly forbid what has already happened a thousand times before.’

  With that he left the medicine shop, closing the door behind him. Lu Ying and Guang stood awkwardly for some moments.

  Then he turned to her, his face colouring.

  ‘All you longed for has at last occurred,’ he said. ‘I congratulate you.’

  There was no bitterness in his tone, only resignation.

  ‘Has it?’ she asked. ‘I was not aware.’

  ‘Wang Ting-bo is offering his protection,’ he said. ‘In times like these – and on this day in particular, when the safety of the city teeters on a cliff-edge – it would be foolish to refuse such an offer. If the Mongols enter the city, they shall have an eye out for beautiful ladies such as yourself. Ladies who are the greatest prize a man might imagine.’

  She did not react to his compliment, but felt her breath quicken, as it so often did in his presence.

  ‘I always was foolish,’ she said.

  Now he met her frank gaze. But still she could not say more.

  Oh, it was for him to speak now! To say what no man had ever said to her!

  ‘I understand your feelings,’ he said.

  Yet still he hesitated. Lu Ying cast around for ways to encourage him. Abruptly, he laid the helmet in his hands on the shop counter and cast his studded gauntlets beside it.

  ‘If I truly loved you,’ he said. ‘I would urge you to accept Wang Ting-bo’s protection. But it seems I do not love you.’

  Her hand rose to her mouth. Tears began to fill the corners of her eyes.

  ‘For I wish to make quite a different suggestion,’ he said,

  ‘one that puts you, me, perhaps even Shih and Cao and the children at risk of a great man’s displeasure. Nevertheless, I will make that suggestion.’

  Lu Ying was watching him, silently longing for him to continue.

  ‘You will think I do not honour you because I cannot employ a matchmaker, as is proper,’ he said. ‘But there is no time for that, and in any case your parents are dead. And no doubt you will wonder that I do not consult astrologers or send you a list of my property on little red cards as gentlemen of fashion do, or provide you with three gold ornaments as is also proper, or do such proper things.’

  Still she waited, her head bowed in a way she hoped would denote future submissiveness, however improper his behaviour.

  ‘Despite all these objections,’ he said, ‘I will still make my honourable offer, certain you will find me impudent. Perhaps you will be angry I say such things to you, on the very day His Excellency offers you protection. In any case, Lu Ying, I ask you to be my First Wife. And I swear there shall never be a concubine to rival you as long as you live.’

  Lu Ying looked up. Her small gasp for air became an intake of joy.

  ‘I do not find you impudent,’ she said, hurriedly. ‘How can you think it? And I am so very far from angry.’

  Then in contradiction to all propriety she took two steps towards him.

  ‘I have never found you impudent,’ she repeated. ‘Only a little backward when reading a lady’s desires.’

  There was no need for words after that. The servant from Peacock Hill waiting outside rattled his handcart impatiently but dared not disobey Captain Xiao. Lord Yun could be heard moaning like a simpleton down the corridor, eager for soothing numbness, as Shih brought a fresh draught of his special medicine. The babies decided to cry in unison, competing who would be loudest. Through it all Lu Ying and Guang maintained their embrace. The strength of his arms and chest rendered her correspondingly weak. When they drew apart his armour was wet with her joyful tears.

  ‘It is rumoured Wang Ting-bo has chosen to join the Great Khan,’ she whispered. ‘Will you go with him?’

  Now Guang’s face lost the happiness it had found a moment before.

  ‘You would despise me, for I would be a traitor.’

  Before she could state her opinion, which was by no means the one he assigned to her, the ward bell began to toll the hour.

  Suddenly Guang grew stiff.

  ‘Noon!’ he said. ‘I am awaited at Peacock Hill to lead the Honour Guard to Sparrow Gate. Lu Ying, promise you will hide here! Do not venture out, whatever happens. Await word that I am safe. I shall send it within a few hours at most. A few hours at the very most. And dress as plainly as you are able, so your beauty is concealed. Will you obey me in this, as your future husband?’

  ‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘Always! But Guang, what if you do not send word?’

  He took her hand.

  ‘Then the worst will have happened. If that is the case, do not be sentimental. Seek Wang Ting-bo’s protection and keep me as a secret in your heart.’

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Never will I go back to that man!’

  ‘I shall send word, my love,’ he promised, gently lifting her chin with his hand so she met his gaze. ‘Whatever I do shall be for the benefit of my family. And you are a Yun now.’

  Lu Ying nodded tearfully. A wave of reassurance made her giddy. A Yun! He had said it quite clearly. No longer would she be without family or clan, no longer invisible. Once more the ward bell rang out. After a single backward glance, he hurried to the horse waiting in Apricot Corner Court and galloped furiously in the direction of Peacock Hill.

  When Guang had been gone a decent interval, Wang Ting-bo’s messenger popped his head into the medicine shop. Lu Ying looked up from silent tears of joy and noticed the handcart waiting behind him. It seemed a most odious, contemptible object.

  ‘Tell His Excellency I decline his offer,’ she said, haughtily.

/>   ‘Tell him I am under the honourable protection of Commander Yun Guang. Tell him I will never require his protection, or even his notice, ever again. Tell His Excellency that!’

  Lu Ying closed the door in the servant’s astonished face.

  Then she stood, shaking and hugging herself, as the handcart rattled back in the direction of Peacock Hill.

  *

  An hour before noon hundreds gathered before the Prefectural buildings, once the palace of a petty king. To look at the procession one might think the king had returned. Wang Ting-bo’s palanquin was so laden with costly jade gifts that a dozen men were required to lift it. Behind came a lesser palanquin, but still splendid, carrying Wang Bai; then dozens of sedan chairs heavy with officials of the highest rank, mainly members of the Wang clan.

  At the head of the column rode fifty cavalry in gaudy uniforms, weapons burnished, freshly-washed pennants on every lance. Yet this fine body of men lacked a commander.

  Wang Bai poked an impatient head out of his palanquin at the delay.

  At last, riding his familiar dappled grey horse, came Commander Yun Guang to lead the escort. His face was unnaturally stiff. Like many present he seemed to have difficulty looking people in the face. Still, he took up his position, armour gleaming, and sent a messenger to ask Wang Ting-bo whether they should proceed to Swallow Gate.

  The line of cavalry and palanquins advanced through the gatehouse of Peacock Hill. As they rode, Guang tried not to notice the sullen crowds lining their way. A few called out his name hopefully as though Captain Xiao might still save them from disgrace. Others muttered fearfully. One man, wearing the tattered uniform of General Zheng Shun’s volunteer militia shouted out in a sardonic voice: ‘Captain Xiao! Oh, Captain Xiao!’

  Then some of the people laughed and Guang reddened. Yet many knew General A-ku wanted Captain Xiao’s life and wondered how he could ride so calmly to his own execution.

  More than any argument the Pacification Commissioner might devise, this sacrifice, so characteristic of Captain Xiao, made people believe surrender was necessary to save the city.

  A tang of smoke caught Guang’s nostrils and he looked round in alarm, fearing a loyalist ambush. Plumes were rising from a prosperous ward near Peacock Hill where most of the Son of Heaven’s officials occupied mansions and pleasure gardens. An officer riding beside him whispered that a dozen officials still loyal to the Emperor had chosen to destroy themselves sooner than be dishonoured. Their families were joining them in suicide pacts, sometimes to the third generation, by taking poison or burning themselves in their pavilions.

  ‘You have said enough!’ barked Guang. The officer shrank back in surprise.

  Finally they reached Swallow Gate, after passing the floating corpses of women who had drowned themselves in South Canal rather than be violated by the Mongols.

  Swallow Gate was the scene of Captain Xiao’s triumphs.

  Here he had earned the respect of friend and enemy alike. The procession halted in the street leading up to the long tunnel of iron-bound gates. Guang climbed with leaden feet to the topmost battlements where all could see him. The soldiers on duty bowed, their fear obvious. He looked down and saw a hand-kerchief flutter from Wang Bai’s palanquin. Still he hesitated.

  When he tried to speak the command came out as a cough.

  Then Guang filled his lungs. Staring forward, he bellowed:

  ‘Open the gates for His Excellency!’

  He stood stiffly, his eyes narrowed, as the iron-bound doors of Nancheng swung open, one by one, until the way lay clear.

  Wang Ting-bo and Wang Bai’s palanquins were carried into the killing ground beyond the moats. For a moment Guang contemplated ordering the closure of the gates and seizing control of the city so they might defend themselves a while longer.

  General A-ku rode over, alone except for an interpreter carrying a large, flat rectangle covered by silk cloth. General A-ku bowed half as low as Wang Ting-bo, then gestured at the flat rectangle. At his command the servant removed its silk covering. Even from a distance Guang recognised it as a portrait. Wang Ting-bo and Wang Bai exchanged confused glances. They fell to their knees before the picture, banging their heads on soil stained with the blood of thousands.

  General A-ku watched, a hand on his hip, half-approving, half amused.

  It was a measure of A-ku’s confidence that he accepted Wang Ting-bo’s invitation to a banquet on Peacock Hill while his army was still entering the city. Accompanied by only a hundred officers and men, he rode through the streets, looking round curiously, followed by Wang Ting-bo’s jogging palanquin.

  On Peacock Hill musicians played flutes and the pi-pa, while drums, gongs and cymbals kept time. The great banqueting hall, formerly reserved for the Twin Cities’ notables, had been filled with tables and stools – so many that the Mongols were outnumbered by pieces of furniture. At first they sat down suspiciously. Then, after hoarded wine had been served and the earnestness of their welcome became apparent, hands crept away from sword-hilts to clasp delicate bowls.

  Guang watched from the side while the feast advanced.

  Either he had been forgotten or his arrest would follow later.

  Perhaps he should flee while he could, sidle to the door, find a horse, ride into the city; there were places to hide, loyalists to offer shelter. But he knew the first place they would search was Apricot Corner Court.

  He glanced up at the high table where Wang Bai and Wang Ting-bo sat beside the Mongol general. A-ku was around Guang’s age but appeared older, a squat, swarthy man, his skin tanned by fierce steppe winds. The painting of the Great Khan had been propped behind A-ku’s chair like the image of a god.

  After eating and commenting on each dish through an interpreter, General A-ku spoke to Wang Ting-bo; the former Pacification Commissioner bowed solemnly and scanned the great hall until he located Guang, who was leaning against a frieze depicting noble ancestors at a moon-gazing party. Wang Ting-bo waved him over to the high table, a stern expression on his face. Clearly no support could be expected from that quarter.

  Commander Yun Guang bowed low before the assembled notables then drew himself to his full height. A-ku would want a swift revenge for the indignities Captain Xiao had visited on him, yet Guang suspected he might wait until the Mongol army had taken full possession of the city before ordering executions.

  All that mattered to Guang was fulfilling his plan – or desperate hope – to save Apricot Corner Court.

  Silence spread from the nearby tables as Mongol commanders who had lost hundreds to Captain Xiao’s artillery examined their enemy curiously. At last General A-ku spoke through an interpreter.

  ‘I swore that I would behead you after we captured this city,’ said A-ku. ‘You killed two of my cousins through your catapults. Both were dear companions of my childhood.’

  Guang looked up expectantly. When his chance came he must seize it, nothing more was left to him.

  ‘But I promised Wang Ting-bo that the entire city would be spared,’ said A-ku through his interpreter. ‘Are you part of the city? Does one oath cancel out another?’

  The great hall waited in silence.

  ‘Wise general,’ said Guang. ‘My family are part of the city.

  By the terms of your oath every one of them must be spared. As an honourable man I hold you to that. As for me, I do not care what happens, so long as you fulfil your oath to spare the city and therefore my family, I ask no more.’

  When the interpreter had translated these words, General A-ku guffawed and his officers followed suit.

  ‘Your request is granted, your family will be spared. As for you, why should I break my previous oath?’

  Guang’s heart raced. His mind moved slowly. He could think of no good reason.

  ‘Glorious General!’ broke in a smooth voice. It was Wang Bai speaking through the interpreter and A-ku glanced at him in surprise. ‘Your Excellency,’ continued Wang Bai. ‘Forgive my interruption, but if Yun Guang submitted to th
e Great Khan he would no longer be your opponent. In a sense, he would have died and been reborn. Then Your Excellency might choose to forget your oath.’

  The courage of such an outburst did not escape Guang – or Wang Ting-bo, who motioned anxiously to his nephew that he should be silent.

  General A-ku took a moment to consider Wang Bai’s meaning. He drank more wine and summoned the portrait of Khubilai Khan. Deftly the servants held it up. Guang stared at the portly figure in the painting. The Khan of all the Mongols and a hundred nations possessed a strong nose and narrow eyes; his ears were large, denoting great character. He looked no different from any foreign merchant one might meet in the market: a fat, plausible merchant. Guang slowly lowered himself to his knees and bent forward, pressing his forehead against the polished wooden floor. Three times he abased himself, as was customary, then he awaited General A-ku’s verdict.

  Two muscular hands came together. A loud clap echoed round the room. Guang glanced up to find the general looking down at him and speaking to the interpreter in their ugly tongue: ‘My enemy Yun Guang has passed away,’ said the interpreter. ‘The glorious A-ku need not pursue his oath, for it is already fulfilled.’

  Then one of the Mongol officers rose, knocking aside his wine bowl. He glared with red-rimmed eyes across the room at the accused. For a moment Guang did not recognise him. When he did, his hand reached for a sword he was no longer allowed to carry. Khan Bayke spoke and the interpreter continued to translate: ‘General!’ called out the man, in a harsh voice. ‘You might be able to renounce your oath with honour but I cannot forget mine. I demand justice! I demand the head of the man who murdered my eldest son.’

  Silence in the hall. Guang did not take his eyes from Khan Bayke’s face. He had often dreamt of meeting him, but never like this. Always it had been in battle, an equal fight between two fully armed men to decide two families’ honour.

  Sometimes, in his dreams, Bayke’s head had been severed from its neck with a single blow, sometimes it had been his own.