by Harold Lamb
Ch'en Ti-jun shook his head with a smile.
“In the case of lesser men, perhaps—and then not always. But there is no power like that of the Dragon Planet. Has not the star of your dynasty brought prosperity and long years to you? O Lord of Ten Thousand Years, has the word of the ancient Li Yuan more force than the good omen of your dynasty? Wei Chung-hsien would be grieved if he heard that the Son of Heaven had such a thought.”
Wan Li shook his head dubiously. His better judgment told him that in matters of celestial omens the old astrologer would not deceive him. But he had the superstition of his time, and the prospect of the anticipated hunt was alluring. He dismissed Ch'en Ti-jun, unable to make up his mind.
Not more than five minutes after the hangings had fallen behind the eunuch, they parted again and revealed the smiling form of Wei Chung-hsien, clad in resplendent silks, embroidered as was the emperor's tunic with a yellow dragon. The large eyes of the chief eunuch were soft with pleasure as his massive figure made a slight obeisance.
“Glorious tidings for the ear of the Son of Heaven. All breathless, I hasten to bring them, to be the first to whisper the auspicious news. Your divine reign has been blessed by a true sign from heaven. A Manchu huntsman of my employ has sighted a Chi Lin near the yamen. The god-like beast that is an omen of celestial goodwill.”
Wan Li started and flushed.
“A Manchu huntsman! His name? Bring him to me that I may hear the story from his own lips.”
Wei Chung shook his head regretfully.
“The fortunate man,” he responded, “is drunk, overcome by his find, and cannot come to the Presence.”
A last doubt clouded the smooth brow of the emperor.
“How could a Manchu recognize the sacred beast?”
Wei Chung bowed with folded arms.
“O Lord of Ten Thousand Years, do you not see that the wonder is twofold thereby? For he, being of low birth, did not know what he had seen. Only when he described the strange beast to me did I know of the good fortune of your Majesty. It is proof the man did not lie. As for the hunt—”
“The day after tomorrow,” cried Wan Li joyfully, “I appoint as the beginning of the hunt. See that all is ready.”
For a week the huntsmen had been idling in their quarters, and joyfully they received the tidings that night. The hunt was to begin at dawn on the second day. A eunuch of the court brought them the news, and they straightway fell to cleaning weapons and discussing the location of game on the plains beyond the Liao River.
To Khlit and Arslan the announcement brought relief. They had been chafing at the inactivity. Khlit especially found it irksome. He had tried to enter the imperial yamen to satisfy his curiosity concerning the Dragon Court. But every gate was guarded by the followers of Wei Chung. Nobles came and went in curtained sedans, surrounded by horsemen.
The atmosphere of the encampment beside the yamen, where the soldiers of the emperor were quartered, was also strange to Khlit. The officers treated him with a contempt which he bore with grim patience. The Chinese men-at-arms were suspicious of his unusual face and figure and avoided him. Their weapons excited his amusement—armored headpieces and vambraces guarding the arteries, huge quilted coats and two-handed swords, silken garments and black satin boots. The air of secrecy and distrust that pervaded the place was disagreeable to the open-handed Cossack.
Thus he was surprised when a messenger came from the yamen summoning him to the hunting pavilion with Arslan. The archer touched him on the shoulder warningly as they followed their guide into the darkness.
“Silence is best, lord,” he whispered. “Where we are going, the curtains have ears. If any ask, remember that you are one of the stout fellows sent for by Wei Chung from the plains. Kurluk and I are among them. None will know that you were not summoned with the rest.”
Khlit grunted understanding. They were admitted by the sentinels at the gate and turned into a narrow passage that brought them to some stairs leading to the floor above. Here the floors were carpeted with costly Persian rugs, and the walls shone with lacquer and enamel. The scent of dried flowers was in the air.
A slender girl peered out at them from a curtain, which was drawn aside, and they stood in a dimly lit chamber where the walls were veiled in shadows cast by a red paper lantern overhead. Their guide had disappeared, but a squat eunuch took his place. Khlit felt that they were being carefully inspected by unseen eyes.
Presently he saw the eunuch kowtow and Arslan follow suit. Then he was aware that a woman had entered the room and was seated on a couch in front of them. In spite of the warning hiss of the eunuch, the Cossack scanned the shadowy figure.
He saw a slender form, erect, in a black silk dress, gold-embroidered, with a yellow crepe veil framing a delicate face. The tiny red lips were brilliant with paint; the dark eyes inscrutable. She was speaking in a low voice. Later Arslan interpreted what she had said.
They had been granted an audience by the Lady Li, favorite of the emperor.
She had heard, she said, that they were the leaders of the huntsmen who were to find game for the Son of Heaven. During the chase they would keep near the imperial sedan, pointing out the places where the finest animals were to be found. Such was the custom.
Before the chase began, said the Lady Li, the Son of Heaven would go to the tomb of his ancestor, a few hours' ride into the plain from the yamen. There he would enter the grave chamber to burn incense and offer prayer, as was permitted once in ten years to the Ming monarchs. This duty performed, Wan Li would go to his sedan. Then the signal would be given for the beaters to begin their casts into the plains, and the hunt would go forward.
The departure from the yamen would be after midnight so that the emperor would leave the Golden Tomb at dawn—such was his impatience to begin the excursion into the plains.
From the moment they left the yamen, said the Lady Li, it was her wish that the worthy huntsmen, comrades of Khlit and Arslan, should ride close to the imperial chair. Darkness, she hinted, was a screen for the working of evil by traitors, of whom there were many in the court. The huntsmen could be relied on to be faithful to their salt. They must see to it that the emperor was not molested during the confusion of the hunt. Especially when the chase pushed into the rocky regions in the distant plains where ambuscades were possible.
The huntsmen must never leave the chair of the emperor.
This was the word of the Lady Li of the shell-tinted face and the dark eyes. At a signal from the eunuch Arslan and Khlit took their departure, walking backward. A light rain was falling without, and the archer drew the Cossack into a group of cherry trees beside the pavilion gate while he told him the woman's message.
“Hey, old warrior,” he chuckled, “you and I have been blessed with a rare sight, the face of the beautiful courtesan whose dainty hand upraised could slit the gullets of a thousand men if it pleased her. We shall have a fat purse of taels for this night's work. Nay, I marvel that she trusts us.”
Khlit shook his head moodily.
“Think you so, Arslan? Why should she put faith in us? Are the words of such a woman to be believed?”
“She spoke us fairly. We are to watch over the emperor's person. Doubtless she has heard the tale of your swordplay with Kurluk. It may be she suspects evil of the fat Wei Chung.”
“In whose pay you are.”
“True. But the more masters, the more gold. The Lady Li has promised us costly emeralds and sapphires for doing her bidding. Wei Chung has not ordered otherwise.”
Khlit stared at the lantern over the postern thoughtfully.
“It is said the Lady Li has a son. Is it true?”
“So the tale runs. A year ago the Lady Li announced that a son had been born, and the emperor burned incense before her tablet out of pure joy. Some said an infant had been smuggled into the woman's palace that night, but doubtless they were sliced in quarters for that calumny. Wan Li favors the child above his lawful heir, who has the support of the older nobles
. There be rumors that Wan Li has signed a decree naming the son of Lady Li as his successor. I know not. In the Dragon Court a decree is often a forgery at the hands of these foxes of eunuchs.”
“Evil follows the destiny of a ruler who gives power to servants.”
Arslan stared at his companion curiously. Khlit's keen insight into what went on about him was something of a mystery to the light-minded archer.
“You speak as one who knows the celestial omens, lord,” he muttered.
The Cossack did not smile.
“Have you forgotten, Arslan,” he responded, “that I have been, for a time, a leader of men?”
“Nay, I have not forgotten, Khlit. Nor that you once saved my life. Wherefore, I am your man, and your will is mine. Your peril is my peril. But why have you come to this nest of evil?”
This question had often troubled Arslan. Khlit did not reply at once.
“It is in my blood to wander, Arslan,” he growled. “Why does a goshawk fly up into the sun? I have come to see the face of the Dragon Emperor, Lord of a Hundred Million Souls. When I have done so, I will be content.”
Arslan shook his dark head dubiously. Why should a man risk his skin in such a profitless venture?
“I have a thought,” mused Khlit, “that, if Wan Li died and the decree of which you speak could be produced, the Lady Li might claim the throne for her child. As the boy is an infant, she would then be empress dowager, in possession of the Dragon Throne.”
The archer caught his arm hastily.
“Those words would earn us molten silver down our gullets, Khlit,” he warned, anxiously. “Nay, you know not the power of the older nobles. If the Lady Li should be guilty of such a crime, all her influence at court would not save her life.”
“Not if she were allied to Wei Chung?”
“The chief eunuch is his own master, Khlit. Nay, the slayer of Wan Li would be snuffed out like a candle in the wind, if he were the all-powerful eunuch himself.”
“Wan Li might die by accident.”
“Does the sun become dark by chance? To think that is madness.”
The archer broke off, pointing to the postern. A sedan-chair had drawn up at the gate. The two watchers saw a robed figure descend from it hastily.
“That is the astrologer, Li Yuan,” whispered Arslan, peering out between the tree trunks.
Khlit saw the face of the old man in the lantern light as he spoke to the guards. Li Yuan F'o seemed strongly agitated as he begged admittance. The attendants barred his passage.
“The old stargazer is wroth,” interpreted Arslan, who had caught the raised voices of the trio. “He asks why a noble of the court is barred from the presence of the emperor.”
“What say the guards?”
“The Son of Heaven is asleep and must not be disturbed.”
Li Yuan seemed to be protesting violently. He tried to push between the guards and was thrust back by their spears. Beating his forehead with clenched fists, he returned to his chair, which was borne off in the darkness by the bearers.
No sooner had he disappeared than the bulky figure of Wei Chung came to the doorway from within. The chief eunuch muttered something to the two guards, who seized their spears and ran after the sedan. Then Wei Chung retreated into the building.
To Arslan's horror Khlit emerged from the trees and sought the door, now empty of attendants. The archer followed unwillingly in time to see the tall Cossack peer up the stairs after the figure of the chief eunuch.
Not content with this, Khlit, motioning the archer to silence, slipped up the stairway. Looking into the silken hall, he saw Wei Chung vanish into the chamber where they had left the Lady Li. Arslan heard a moment later the shrill laugh of a woman.
“If we are found here,” he whispered fearfully, “we shall be meat for the hunting dogs on the morrow—”
This time Khlit accompanied Arslan to the door and out into the rain. His face was moody, and he did not speak until they regained the hunters' quarters.
“A woman and a eunuch,” he said, “and well pleased.”
The next day Arslan reported that an imperial decree had ordered Li Yuan and the other astrologers from the grounds of the hunting pavilion. The name signed to the decree was that of Wei Chung.
It is written in the annals of Wan Li, of the Ming dynasty, that on the day before the hunt of the seventh moon, his Majesty out of generous goodwill toward his subjects ordained that a puppet show be given in the courtyard of the pavilion for the hunters. In the halls by the stables Arslan greeted the announcement of the servant with a loud shout of approval, while his black eyes snapped with excitement.
“Ho, brothers,” he cried, “here will be merry music of fiddles and rare wine for the men of the chase. Let us go at once and seize the benches before the puppet cage!”
His words were greeted by an answering shout from the idlers, whose interest was lightly stirred. The Manchus and plainsmen, Khlit among them, were early on the scene. They found the fruit-garden of the pavilion surrounded by eunuchs with drawn swords and the gates of the building itself heavily guarded by armed soldiery. But their anticipation was aroused by sight of a painted wooden structure among the trees in the courtyard.
The puppet stage was curtained on three sides, the fourth presenting a miniature stage to the audience. Swaying of the draperies suggested to the eager audience of soldiers, huntsmen, and servants that the puppets were already in preparation for the show. Musicians tuned up squeaky fiddles at one side of the edifice. An imposingly garbed mandarin stood before the stage, ready to interpret the actions of the play. Wine was not lacking.
Wan Li had given especial orders that his huntsmen were to be well entertained. He himself deigned to appear behind the lattice screens of the pavilion balcony overlooking the court. Wei Chung and the Lady Li with her attendants were the only ones with him, for, since his decision to hold the hunt, the emperor had dismissed the nobles, who plagued him with matters of state, back to Peking. He sat expectantly on a couch, as eager as his servants for the play to begin.
At a signal from the mandarin by the stage the huntsmen arose and kowtowed respectfully in the direction of the concealed monarch.
“These worthies of the chase, sire,” bowed Wei Chung, “express their hopes for a great kill of antelope, deer, tigers and the splendid wild camels for the morrow. They rejoice with the Presence in the good omen of the Chi Lin.”
Wan Li was still disappointed that he could not speak with the man who had sighted the legendary beast called the Chi Lin— that left no footprint and conversed with human beings in their own tongue. He half hoped, however, aided by the flatteries of the eunuchs, that the Chi Lin of good omen would be found in the hunt.
In the courtyard below the hunters were astir, for the mandarin had begun his chanting recital of the play, and the fiddles were sounding. Arslan listened with a critical ear and nudged Khlit.
“Harken, old warrior,” he whispered, “the play will be about the coming visit of Wan Li to the grave of his ancestor.”
Khlit looked up indifferently.
“Nay, we are like penned beasts, Arslan, guarded by drawn weapons. Since when have men been herded as animals?”
The archer motioned him impatiently to silence.
“Yon minstrel of the long robe chants,” he explained, “how the tomb is watched night and day by chosen warriors of the Son of Heaven, for within it by the body of the illustrious dead man is a treasure beyond price. Harken—gold inlaid in enamel jars, and eternal candles that burn for ten years on pedestals of jade, also pearls and rubies of the rarest, and golden vessels. Small wonder it is called the Golden Tomb.”
A puppet garbed in the imperial yellow appeared on the stage, manipulated by the hands of the men behind the edifice. It bowed before a candle and a black box, purporting to be the tomb, while the voice of the mandarin chanted on and the fiddles struck up a rude tune. Then a form with a gray beard descended from the ceiling of the stage and bent over the kneelin
g monarch.
“See,” commented Arslan, “it is the dead emperor's spirit come from the ten courts of purgatory. No one but a Son of Heaven can set foot in the tomb. Even he does not approach the coffin but stands in the grave chamber. A pity such glorious riches should be buried. Only once in ten years are they seen. Ho, I see singing girls coming from the pavilion entrance!”
Khlit took no heed of what was happening. His thoughts were occupied by the request of the Lady Li that they guard the emperor during the hunt. Why had the favorite of Wan Li chosen them for this important post? Because she distrusted the usual guards? But these were the men of Wei Chung. And the Lady Li appeared on the best of terms with the chief eunuch.
Why had the old astrologer, Li Yuan, been kept from the emperor the previous night? Because the guards of Wei Chung were unwilling for him to deliver his message. What did the eunuch hope to gain from the hunt? Khlit did not know.
Memories of various things he had seen during his stay at the yamen flocked upon him. Why had the veteran Ming generals of the Chinese army who had come with Wan Li been sent back to Peking on one pretext or another?
And why had Wei Chung sent out to the plains and the northern provinces for Arslan and Kurluk and their comrades? The Lady Li had spoken truly when she said that the huntsmen, who had no interest other than their own skins, would be trustworthy guards of the imperial sedan. And, undoubtedly, they knew the whereabouts of game and could show Wan Li the best sport. Perhaps, after all, Wei Chung only hoped to make the chase a success.
Still Khlit was not altogether satisfied. His keen eyes had searched the faces of those in the yamen, and he had been powerless to read the thoughts behind the inscrutable, slant eyes, but he had read deceit and consummate cunning of a kind strange to him.
He looked up as the puppets disappeared and a murmur from the huntsmen greeted the coming of the singing girls—delicate and fancifully garbed damsels, who postured gracefully, swaying their supple bodies and chanting a shrill, melodious tune echoed by the fiddles. Arslan grinned with delight. Then, when the festival was almost at an end, one of the girls ran from the group and flung herself on her knees before the gallery where the emperor sat.