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.
Lu Ying realised her hands were trembling and squeezed them tight. Her chest had grown constricted, she could hardly breathe.
Another hour bell rang out. More sounds of panic in the streets. Lu Ying stepped into Apricot Corner Court and heard a rumour from Widow Mu that high officials were throwing themselves into wells rather than surrender. It seemed the hysteria was spreading; a whole house of singing girls had linked arms and drowned themselves in East Canal. Little wonder Lu Ying was glad to escape back to her room, yet even here she could see confirmation of Mu’s words: people running for shelter, treasured possessions clutched to their chests; smoke rising from the better districts of town. It was true, all true, the end had surely come.
Despite the numbness of terror, Lu Ying understood that more than the lives of a few high officials were ending today. She struggled to make sense of her idea. The victory of the Mongols would bring something to a close. . . she could not explain it. . . a frivolity, perhaps, a world where duty did not impede the round of pleasure for long. Indeed, where elegant pleasures were a kind of duty. How gay the streets had looked at festival time! Instead, there would be grim-faced warriors and harsh ways, curfews and slave-markets. It was not hard to explain their loss. Lu Ying knew all she had lived for was passing like youth or summer, unless Guang somehow restored her future.
Yet where was he? Why did he not come? It was too cruel of him not to come. Had they not exchanged promises? Perhaps he had forgotten them already. Men were fickle, one dared not trust them yet could not help it. Wang Ting-bo had forgotten her soon enough, the instant she disappointed him. Maybe Guang had decided she was a disappointment, too.
By the third bell Lu Ying’s despair was absolute. He had abandoned her, as Wang Ting-bo had before him. Then her hand flew to her mouth. Why had she not seen it before?
Captain Xiao would never surrender or turn his coat like a Wang! He had chosen to perish rather than sell his honour.
Whether by his own hand or the enemy’s, he had chosen death.
Her body shook with sobs, until at last she subsided and a cold, troubled expression smoothed her face. She went over to a maple chest and took out a long, heavy silk and brocade dress of deepest blue. She was quite calm now. Of course, the Moon Goddess had taught her what she must do. Really, it was quite simple. Quite simple to leave her plain clothes in a pile and hurriedly dress in the finest silks left to her. Simple to put on all her remaining jewellery, her jade amulets and gold hairpins, to apply her make-up so the Moon Goddess would clap her hands in admiration of her beauty when she came before her.
A distant scream made her start. They had penetrated Water Basin Ward. She had little time.
Lu Ying would have liked to say farewell to Cao and Shih, to their tiny babies, and to Apricot Corner Court itself where she had deserved no welcome at all, yet earned kindness in some miraculous way. She would have liked to say farewell to her memories, especially those of nursing Guang, but there was no time left.
She walked gracefully on her lotus feet as she had been taught, a most delightful, elegant walk, to the back door of the house. It opened easily and she found herself on the narrow path separating Apricot Corner Court from the canal. There Lu Ying gasped, for a woman was floating face down in the water, a woman in plain clothes, not the precious silks Lu Ying wore to advance from one life to the next. It was a sign, a warning not to falter. So she stepped forward, once, twice, and no one called out as the dark waters rushed to embrace her. Soon the sack of precious things tied to her girdle, ornaments and jades, a favourite bronze statuette of a court beauty, dragged Lu Ying to a place where sorrow, pain, joy, might begin again with her next incarnation; or perhaps to a silent emptiness, where passion faded forever.
*
Guang knocked on the gatehouse door and called out Shih’s name. At last it opened a crack and he was ushered inside by Old Hsu’s Son.
‘How did you get through the curfew?’ he whispered. ‘Their soldiers are everywhere.’
‘I was lucky,’ said Guang, furtively. ‘And the Mongols have been well-behaved so far. General A-ku has promised death for any of his men who loot or rape. He does not wish to deter other cities from surrendering.’
‘Ah,’ said Old Hsu’s Son. ‘I did not know.’
Then the fan-maker grew solemn.
‘You must see Dr Shih, sir! A most terrible event! It is best that Dr Shih explains.’
The kitchen door of his brother’s house was not barred.
Guang found that the central corridor of the house was wet when he stepped inside and that water formed a trail to Dr Shih’s medicine shop.
‘Shih!’ he called. ‘Lu Ying! Cao!’
No one replied. He heard quiet sobbing from Cao’s bedchamber. Still he advanced toward the shop. Pushing open the door, he called out again: ‘Lu Ying! Cao!’
Then Guang recoiled, instinctively reaching for a sword he no longer possessed, as though it might defend him from what he saw.
A single candle lit the woman in heavy silk clothes. Her hair, once an elegant black coil shining with beauty, was disordered.
Pools of water spread from her limbs. She lay on several low tables pushed together, a slender hand dangling to the floor.
Her delicate fingers were pale and still.
Shih sat by the counter, dark shadows round his eyes.
‘Do not look!’ he said, rising in alarm. ‘Who let you in?’
But Guang stared, his jaws clamped until a lack of air forced him to gulp. His out-breath was an involuntary cry of disbelief.
No tears relieved his pain. He could not stop staring at the curves of her cheek, her lips and sightless eyes.
‘She took her own life,’ said Shih. ‘Do not look!’
‘No!’ cried Guang. ‘No! Why did she not wait for me to return? Why did she not trust me?’
Still the relief of tears would not come to Captain Xiao. He glanced round angrily, willing to fight and kill anyone to prevent this, but there was nothing left to kill, no one to fight.
No one except himself and all he had once aspired to become.
In his heart’s deep core he knew Heaven had punished him for his betrayal.
Then a steady arm was round his shoulders, leading him away from the shop to the central corridor, and at that moment the babies began to cry, first one, then the other, howling until Apricot Corner Court filled with hungry voices. Shih clasped his brother’s arm and murmured words of consolation Guang barely comprehended. Cao’s voice could also be heard trying to hush the children. Eventually they settled and the house reverted to the profundities of darkness and silence.
Epilogue: Treading the Green
Apricot Corner Court, Nancheng. Spring, 1282
The Celebration of the New Wine drew the province’s new rulers to Nancheng. They rode in parties a hundred strong: illiterate warriors granted the rule of large, complex districts by the Great Khan, wearing gaudy holiday silks over battle-scuffed armour, their women and children jolting along in wagons dragged by sweating oxen; slaves followed with boxes and sacks on their backs, tending flocks of sheep and goats destined for the spit.
Many of the towns and villages they rode through appeared deserted. The people were hiding until their new masters had passed. The nomadic Mongols regarded closed doors and curtained windows – indeed any building at all – with suspicion. They sensed hidden emotions and memories; resentments vigorous as bamboo.
Dr Shih watched just such a cavalcade head down North Canal Street in the direction of Peacock Hill and a great kuriltai of the local Mongol lords. He let the paper curtain fall softly. Shuffling feet disturbed him from his thoughts and Cao entered the medicine shop, her eyebrows raised in silent enquiry. He shook his head.
; ‘I hope he has not got into trouble,’ she said. ‘Or annoyed an official. You know how stubborn he can be.’
Dr Shih smiled slightly.
‘I do,’ he said. ‘Tell the boys to stand guard with Shen and Men. They shall warn us when he arrives.’
An hour later a cry went up: ‘He’s here, Father! Come quickly! He is here!’
Shih hurried from the medicine shop into the courtyard, just in time to see a single traveller instructing a porter where to lay his bags. For a moment Shih paused, oblivious to the children or even Cao bowing by his side. His entire attention was fixed on the leathery, scarred face of the traveller. Their eyes met –eyes an identical shade of brown. Fourteen years apart could never erode that.
The traveller glanced at the line of children Cao was busily instructing to kneel. They stared up at him in wonder. The stranger seemed to recollect something and a small, sad smile played across his mouth. Advancing a few steps he knelt awkwardly, wincing from an old wound in his side. A dozen family members and dependents watched as he bowed low before Dr Shih to offer the proper respect.
‘Eldest Brother,’ he said, solemnly. ‘I present myself to you.’
A stifled sob from Cao broke the silence. Shih strode forward and knelt in the dusty courtyard beside his double.
‘Oh, Guang!’ he cried, rocking on his heels. ‘Guang, how thin you are! What have they done to you?’
They laughed and wiped tears. Then, still kneeling, they embraced. At last both rose to find a tray of wine being offered by Shih’s eldest daughter. Through lowered eyes she examined the uncle so often mentioned by strangers and neighbours when whispering about the old days. Captain Xiao who everyone thought had perished in the Great Khan’s armies as a warning to all.
*
Nearly fourteen years had passed since Guang last slept in Apricot Corner Court. As the first shadows of evening gathered the two brothers sat beside the apricot tree to fill lost years with stories. Shih started with his news. How Lord Yun had died quite suddenly six months after the Mongols occupied Nancheng. How more children had arrived after the twins, three in rapid succession until five ran or toddled round the courtyard. How Shih had discovered Ibn Rashid’s son starving in the streets and indentured him as his apprentice. Above all, how their prosperity had neither diminished nor grown despite the Great Khan’s tax farmers stripping Nancheng bare each autumn.
Then it was Guang’s turn. He alternated between reluctant speech and defiance. Shih learned that he had been forced to serve in General A-ku’s artillery companies in battles against the former dynasty. Finally they invaded a distant land across the sea called Nippon. Heaven’s judgement in that campaign had been merciless: ‘My ship escaped only by a miracle. The typhoon drowned a hundred thousand men around me,’ Guang said, staring into his tea bowl as though recollecting the terrible, boiling waves. ‘We managed to struggle westwards, our ship damaged in a dozen places. When my feet touched ground again it was far from the Middle Kingdom in a place called Koryo. It took me two years to return to civilised districts. A friend of mine in Suchow had kept safe what little wealth I had garnered in the Mongols’ service and let me winter with him. I was too sick from old wounds and fever to travel further so I sent a message to you. At last I recovered enough to join a merchant’s junk heading up the Yangtze. A most pleasant journey! After so long away I have learned that nothing in our homeland is unworthy of notice.’
Shih stifled a hundred questions.
‘Apricot Corner Court is your home from now on,’ he said, firmly. ‘A permanent room has been prepared for you. Without your sacrifice we would not be here at all.’
He fell silent. Guang had turned away to conceal tears. They ran down gaunt cheeks criss-crossed by tiny scars. ‘I did not know you had guessed the choice I made all those years ago,’
he said, in a thick voice. ‘I thought of you and Cao constantly, and hoped you remembered me.’
‘We did,’ said Shih. ‘We always will.’
They sat in silence watching swallows and swifts flit through the twilight. The blessed peak of Mount Wadung loomed over the city, its summit capped by snow.
‘Is your service with them over?’ asked Shih.
‘They believe I am dead, that I perished with the invasion fleet on the coast of Nippon. At least, I think so. Even if I am discovered, I cannot fight again. I would sooner take my own life.’
Shih watched his brother carefully.
‘Tomorrow is the Celebration of the New Wine,’ he said. ‘Let us start the rites early.’
The spring air was mild. They sat beneath the apricot tree, celebrating flask after flask while the children crept from the house and began to play in the courtyard, quietly at first, then competing to attract Honoured Uncle’s approval.
Cao served a procession of small dishes popular in Nancheng: pickled salad, omelette with meat sauce, double-cooked pork, poached kidneys with hot sauce. Whatever the brothers left was shared among the children and servants. For tonight, at least, there was more than any could eat. No one stepped outside Apricot Corner Court, for the curfew was strict and the punishments severe.
Despite a heavy head Guang rose at dawn and wandered through grey streets until he reached Swallow Gate. For a moment he hesitated, staring at battlements he had once paced in a commander’s heavy armour, jade badges of rank adorning his girdle, a tasselled sword swinging at his side. Guang closed his eyes to suppress emotions long held at bay, then climbed stiffly onto the ramparts.
A few poorly armed North Chinese conscripts stood guard, all too young to remember the man with iron-grey hair who leant on an embrasure and gazed west, lost to his own thoughts.
Those thoughts danced like midges over a river – images of faces long dead, others perhaps still living. Faces containing skulls that had swirled with dreams and desires and hatred and love ephemeral as blossom-time. He blinked. For a moment the ground before Swallow Gate filled with ghostly phalanxes of warriors, hazy entrenchments and wooden palisades. A gigantic tower on wheels full of flag-fluttering men toppled until it sank into the earth, disappearing as suns are swallowed by horizons.
Guang shook his head, feeling his chest and breath tighten.
When he looked out again the vision had faded. The only traces of the Mongol camp were paddy fields sculpted by resourceful farmers from trenches and embankments. No doubt their ploughing turned up countless bones. Yet the spring crop was already stretching hungry leaves to the sun and swaying in time to the wind like a crowd of slender dancers.
Guang leant on the parapet for a long while, his head bowed as though meditating. The North Chinese conscripts talked excitedly of that afternoon’s parade to the Prefecture, for it appeared they had been granted leave to celebrate the New Wine. Eventually he noticed a figure watching from a distant tower and felt a shock of recognition. The silhouette was familiar, yet he could not be sure. Guang shielded his eyes because the rising sun lay between them; when he could see clearly again the watcher had vanished.
He glanced round nervously. Had he been recognised as Captain Xiao? But that was foolish. Already he had heard that name muttered as he passed. No, he would not hide, whatever punishments came his way. He had returned here precisely to test the consequences of being visible – to stop running from danger to danger.
*
‘Are you sure this is wise?’ asked Shih.
‘I would like to see the procession,’ said Guang. ‘Any reminder of civilized customs is a cordial after years in barbarous places.’
Shih could understand that.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But Cao and the children shall remain in Apricot Corner Court. They can watch from the window of the tower room. This is the first year the Governor has agreed to the traditional parade. If there is rowdiness the authorities may over-react.’
‘It shall be just you and I,’ said Guang.
‘We will certainly attract attention,’ warned Shih. ‘We were always noticeable.’
‘
Let people look,’ said Guang. ‘The Yun clan does not skulk from anyone.’
Doubts stirred even as he boasted. What if someone openly accused him of being a turncoat, a traitor? Never mind that hundreds of thousands had chosen the same road. The very name Captain Xiao weighed upon his spirits like a prisoner’s heavy wooden yoke.
‘We need not hide,’ he said more softly. ‘Brother, I think I shall sleep for a few hours before the parade.’
Shih, who understood more than he ever showed, ordered his children to be silent while Honoured Uncle gathered his strength. Then he went on a circuit of patients with Ibn Rashid’s son, now a serious young man and very promising doctor. Up in the tower room Dr Shih’s other assistant, Mung Po, prepared herbs and infusions.
The former monk was a fixed resident in Apricot Corner Court. When the Mongols seized Nancheng the North Medical Relief Bureau abruptly closed its doors and Mung Po found himself without a livelihood. After that it had seemed quite natural for him to join Dr Shih’s household, sharing a small room with the apprentice.
It was early afternoon when Guang emerged from his chamber.
He seemed refreshed and wore his best clothes in honour of the coming rites. Shih had also donned silks for the occasion.
The two brothers entered North Canal Street from Shih’s medicine shop, stepping into a noisy crowd that craned and jostled to watch the procession. At its head were a dozen bright banners of red, yellow and green, each as long as ten men lying end to end. Representatives of various guilds carried the banners suspended from high poles. Then came hundreds of prostitutes and courtesans, divided into four classes. One might tell each lady’s price by her clothes and ornaments.
‘You can tell Nancheng’s governor is Chinese,’ muttered Guang. ‘A Mongol would never allow us to congregate together in this way.’
‘I have heard the Governor of Suchow does not even allow people to pray together in public,’ whispered Shih.
Breaking Bamboo Page 48