by Harold Lamb
Then he launched his shaft, reaching over his shoulder for another from the quiver. Swiftly he sent three other arrows crashing through the brittle lacquer-work of the sedan and grinned as he heard a shrill scream. His horse stumbled and fell, struck by a pistol ball. The archer sprang clear nimbly and ran for the rocks on the further side of the clearing, waving his bow triumphantly. The servants pursued him.
From the sedan-chair the bearers saw dark drops falling to the earth. Ch'en Ti-jun no longer screamed.
Arslan had now gained the slope of the ravine, but a hue and cry was raised about him. He paused from time to time to discharge an arrow at his pursuers. The servants of the dead eunuch were soon distanced, but the Chinese men-at-arms nearby had observed him and were closing in.
The Manchu was forced to drop his bow and take to his sword. When a foeman appeared from behind the rocks, Arslan sprang at him with catlike agility, his small frame twisting and writhing.
From the first of these encounters he emerged successful. Men were now running toward him from all sides.
He stood in his tracks, swinging his short sword, his eyes red, agrin with the lust of slaying. Then he lifted his deep voice in song.
The tide of blood is flooding,
With the setting sun;
When I see the ravens brooding Over Ch’en Ti-jun.
He cut a menacing spear point from its haft and slew the wielder. Then he hurled himself at the group of his enemies.
It was during the last of twilight that the Khirghiz lad, who had waited to see the departure of Khlit and his fellow horsemen, remembered the words of the Manchu archer. Arslan, the child reflected, had been missed when the picked horsemen under Khlit and Dokadur Khan rode off.
Searching among the slain where Arslan had last been seen the boy came upon the archer. The Manchu was half-sitting, half-lying against a stone, and at first the grin stamped on his dark face deceived the lad into thinking he was still alive. A second glance showed him the breastplate torn off and the body hacked from throat to belt.
The boy did not pause by his Manchu acquaintance. He was too busy despoiling the other slain of their weapons. But after a moment's consideration he left the body of Arslan unmolested. He remembered that he had heard that spirits of the unburied dead peopled the earth, and Arslan had been too hardy a warrior to risk enmity with his shade, fresh from the Rakchas and the ten courts of purgatory.
Khlit had missed Arslan at the assembly and guessed that his comrade was slain when he did not appear. But the business of the hundred riders could not wait. When the men were equipped and ready, he followed Dokadur Khan out of the Togra at the head of the horsemen, noting that they took the hidden path through which the boy he had befriended had led him on his first visit to the place.
The men, numbering one hundred and seven, counting Khlit and his surviving huntsmen, were picked with care from the bands of the Togra and were well mounted on fresh horses. Khlit had also seen that a score of led horses were brought. During the ride through the ravines, he let Dokadur Khan guide him, but once clear of the defiles he assumed the leadership himself. To this the Khirghiz made no objection. He had the good sense to see that the dice were now cast.
The safety of his own men, surrounded in the Togra, rested on the success of their expedition. The defenders of the wilderness could hold out for another day and night. After that they must have aid, or the forces of Wei Chung, embittered by their losses, must be withdrawn. His companions were satisfied that Khlit spoke the truth. The magic word, Golden Tomb, had been sufficient to still their doubts.
But, as Dokadur Khan rode after Khlit, who was leading them by landmarks and sight of the stars, through scattered bands of the Chinese, he bethought him. During the heat of the day's conflict the khan had had little time for consideration of Khlit's plan.
Now he reflected. It was true that Li Yuan and the older nobles would pay highly for proof of Wei Chung's guilt. It might be true, furthermore, that they were at the yamen at Liao. And that Khlit might reach them there, since Wei Chung's party were at the outskirts of the Togra.
But would Li Yuan believe what they said? It would appear to the Ming nobles that the plainsmen were trying to throw guilt on the eunuch to save themselves. Lady Li was with the Ming party. Dokadur Khan had heard that the favorite had a guileful tongue. Who were they to confute her words? He knew that Wei Chung and the Lady Li were the ruling party at the court.
“I have considered all this,” Khlit answered briefly when Dokadur Khan drew up beside him and voiced his doubts. “In the Golden Tomb is that which will save us.”
Dokadur Khan weighed this laboriously in his mind and was not satisfied. Were they to plunder the tomb? That was well enough in its way. There would be much gold. But, once possessed of the treasure, after driving off or slaying the kang leen, they would be between the forces of Li Yuan and the eunuch.
How could they go to the Ming nobles with the wealth of the Golden Tomb in their hands and say that they came as friends? This was a heavy doubt, and to the slow mind of Dokadur Khan it appeared insuperable. Apparently they were to go first to the grave and then to the yamen. How would they guard the treasure when approaching the Ming party? In time it would be seen, and the truth would be known. Moreover, it would provide rare reasons for the nimble tongue of the Lady Li to pour into the ears of the nobles.
“Silence is best, Dokadur Khan,” snarled Khlit when he explained what was in his mind. “Does the condemned criminal debate with himself whether the noose that will hang him shall be silk or horsehair? Our plight, thanks to the evil Wei Chung, is no better than that. If we succeed, we shall save our skins and the lives of your folk in the Togra. If we fail, our fate will be no worse than in the Togra.”
“Nay,” growled the chieftain, “you have not heard of the torture of the red-hot nails driven slowly into the ears or that of the wooden donkey.”
“Aye, I have heard. But, if we win what we seek, the ears may happily be those of Wei Chung.”
“There may be truth in that. But harken, Khlit, you do not seek to hold the treasure of the Golden Tomb as ransom for our lives?”
“The treasure is vast. But thrice its worth would not serve to turn aside the vengeance of the Mings against those who have slain him they call the Son of Heaven.”
Dokadur Khan considered this in silence.
“Then you have proof that will convict Wei Chung?” he asked. To his surprise Khlit laughed.
“I have no proof.”
“If that be so, you cannot prove to Li Yuan that Wei Chung slew the emperor.”
“Nay, I cannot do so.”
“Nor that the Lady Li is guilty?”
“How should I have such proof?”
“You swore—”
“That at the Golden Tomb we may yet save our lives. Harken, Dokadur Khan, if you must think, consider this. In this land it is said that the spirit of the unburied will be met with by those
who are blood-guilty. Wei Chung and the Lady Li are guilty, and Li Yuan is a man of wisdom who knows the high arts of divination and magic.”
Whereupon Dokadur Khan, who understood not what Khlit had said, was silent. Which was what Khlit desired, for their task in reaching the Golden Tomb was difficult.
They rode fast, avoiding the caravan tracks and keeping to the plains. Fortunately the countryside was aroused by the news of Wan Li's death, and such bands of soldiers as were in the vicinity of the yamen were debating whether to take sides with the Ming nobles or Wei Chung. It was rumored that already the Lady Li had claimed the Dragon Throne for her infant son and was gathering troops to support her cause.
On the other hand the Ming party, consisting of those sent from Wan Li by Wei Chung before the hunt, was already nearing the yamen. This served to throw the province of Liao into confusion in which it was possible for the small band of tribesmen to make their daring ride unmolested and almost unnoticed.
Only once more did Dokadur Khan speak when Khlit had halted t
o inquire the way of a peasant.
“If there is no proof and the gold treasure will avail us naught,” he said slowly, “what is it in the Golden Tomb that will save our lives?”
Khlit was silent for a moment.
“I followed Wan Li into the tomb entrance,” he responded. “And, while the emperor was kneeling before the shrine of his ancestor, I saw what gives me hope now and what brings us here.”
Dokadur Khan breathed quickly.
“Did you see Wan Li write something down and leave it in the tomb? He may have suspected Wei Chung.”
“He wrote nothing. I have said he prayed.”
“Then did Wei Chung leave proof of his guilt?”
“He has left no proof.”
“What, then?”
Khlit turned irritably in his saddle.
“This. See you that star ahead of us?”
“Aye, Khlit.”
“And its reflection in yonder pool of water?”
“Aye.”
“It is the star called by the wise Li Yuan the star of evil omen. He spoke truly. What I saw in the tomb was not the star. But it was like to it. Ho, Dokadur Khan,” laughed Khlit with sudden merriment, “I was looking at two emperors, one living and one dead. Yet before my eyes formed the image of death. When I tell what I know to Li Yuan he will understand. For he is a man of wisdom, while you are one without sense.”
Surely, thought Dokadur Khan, Khlit was mad. For how could he have seen the likeness of death with his eyes? And how could a dead man come to life to save their lives? Nay, they were doomed to the fate of the red-hot nails. For the peasant had said that the Chinese army and many of those at court were joining the ranks of Wei Chung and the Lady Li, and the cause of the Ming nobles appeared lost.
VI
The wisdom of a shrewd man is like finely tempered steel. It is like to a sword of rare workmanship.
For it may slay its owner in the same manner as the enemies of its possessor. But it does not blunder amiss.
The excitement that held the Liao province in its grip had reached the kang leen during that night in the seventh moon. The captain and soldiers who guarded the tombs in the pine hills were debating among themselves which party to join. In their quarreling they neglected to fill in the entrance to the Golden Tomb. It is not impossible that they considered, if civil war broke out in the Dragon Empire, they might despoil the mausoleum for themselves.
It is related in the chronicles of Wan Li that because of this confusion the kang leen neglected to post the usual sentries. Even as late as the third hour of that night they were gathered in groups about the fires in front of their pavilion. Thus it was that they failed to see the troop of horsemen which approached swiftly from the plain, dividing at the first of the pine hills, to ride to either side.
Doubtless the neglect of the captain would have been punished by torture at the hands of his superiors if he had survived. It is written that the blight of an evil conscience falls upon a man without warning. In this case he had argued to his men that, by going over to the rising power of Wei Chung, whom he knew to be already hastening back to the yamen and to Peking, they would be on the stronger side. And might also despoil the tomb without reproach, since they were no longer of the Ming party.
To this some objected that the spirits of the mighty dead might trouble them. But the treasure of the tomb, although they had not seen it, they knew to be of great value. Hence the majority sided with the captain. But, before they could act, the retribution for their evil intentions, as written in the annals of that year, was upon them.
From the pine clumps on either side of the fires came the hurried beat of horses' hoofs, followed by cries of the soldiers by the outer fires. The kang leen ran for their arms which were scattered around the camp, as they had become careless in their talk. They saw the flash of swords in the firelight, and two groups of horsemen rode among the fires, one from the north, one from the south.
The captain of the kang leen was among the first slain. His men, surprised and ignorant of their foes, made a poor defense for picked troops of the Liao province. Some formed in groups with their spears; others fled into the darkness, but the greater part submitted to slaughter with the fatality of their race. The invading horsemen made no prisoners. To the fleeing kang leen it seemed that the evil they had summoned upon their heads had been swift in coming.
Khlit saw to it that no fugitives were left, concealed in the pine clumps. He had lost few men in the attack. He sent some of his horsemen to harry the scattered guardians of the tomb and others to set fire to the pavilion so that they should have an abundance of light to work by. When he was satisfied that the place held no more of his enemies, he summoned Dokadur Khan with a few men and approached the entrance to the tomb.
The flames that rose from the pavilion that had sheltered the kang leen showed him that little earth had been restored to the excavation. Some had fallen in from the sides; that was all. Doubtless the news of Wan Li's death had interrupted the work of filling in the earth over the stairs.
With the tools that lay at hand he had his men clear the steps. By this time all the plainsmen had returned from their tasks and were clustered about the excavation, staring. Only Dokadur Khan and a few others went with him down the steps. They had heard what he had said about the spirits of the dead.
These few carried torches. By their light Khlit set about opening the massive stone gate. The fastenings were of heavy iron, and the gate itself was a foot or more in thickness. It was some time before the way was clear for it to swing back.
Then it took a dozen stout fellows to move it on its stone hinges. It creaked slowly open, and the tribesmen hung back. It was a place of the dead, and none of them cared to enter except Khlit, who lacked superstition. Nevertheless the Cossack's eyes shone strangely under their shaggy brows as he led Dokadur Khan and the torch-bearers forward into the grave tunnel.
The stale odor of cold and confined air struck their nostrils, and their boots echoed on the stone. The tribesmen glanced curiously at the lofty pillars of teakwood and at the further door.
Khlit walked the length of the grave tunnel in silence and pushed open the inner door, which was lighter, being designed to be swung back by one man. Standing within the threshold of the inner door, they now saw the cavernous grave chamber, lighted by the everlasting candles of the tomb. And the plainsmen halted in their tracks with muttered oaths. Before them glittered the wealth of the Golden Tomb.
And in the tomb stood Wan Li.
The Lord of Ten Thousand Years faced them impassively, his wide-sleeved arms folded across his deep chest, the candlelight caressing the sheen of his silk robe. Only his eyes moved, eyes under which were dark circles, searching from face to face.
Dokadur Khan recognized him and drew a deep breath of amazement. Here was the man the empire mourned as dead. Or was it really a living man? He swore softly but, looking long, was reassured. It was Wan Li, undoubtedly alive. His followers were uncertain, gaping and moving uneasily while they looked from Khlit to Dokadur Khan and from them to Wan Li. They had forgotten the wealth that they had first seen in their bewilderment. Only Khlit was tranquil.
“As I promised, Dokadur Khan,” he said grimly, “here is what will save our lives. The Son of Heaven was left by Wei Chung in the tomb of his ancestor.”
The emperor spoke sharply, but none among the plainsmen understood his words, which were in the dialect of Peking, the court speech. Dokadur Khan swore again; then he laughed gruffly. Then he stared at Khlit.
“How has this come to pass?” he asked, and the men hung upon Khlit's response, pressing forward.
“Stand back,” commanded the Cossack sharply. “Wan Li is no foe of ours. Moreover, his safety means our lives. Nay, the matter is simple. I have said I came to the tomb, watching Wan Li from the shadows. As I said, I saw the dead emperor in his coffin and the living monarch, Wan Li. And also the image. For, as I watched,
I saw another enter the tomb after me, un
seen by Wan Li. It was a eunuch, much like the emperor in face, and dressed in similar robes. He it was who walked from the tomb, while Wan Li was shut within by his enemies. I saw it from the shadows of the stairs.”
Dokadur Khan's mind moved slowly, and here was a weighty matter. He stared at the tall figure before him, wetting his bearded lips.
“And the other,” he asked, “the false Wan Li—”
“Was a servant of Wei Chung's. He was not suspected by the soldiery without the tomb when he walked to the sedan-chair, for what reason had they to doubt he was Wan Li? The mind of Wei Chung is dark and evil as that of a serpent.”
“Then he planned to have Wan Li die in the tomb?”
“Without doubt. Of starvation and thirst. Harken, O slow of wit. See you not he plotted the death of the emperor. But it was needful to do it without casting suspicion on himself. He could not slay the Son of Heaven. So he slew the servant, being treacherous even to his own men and heedless of the life of one who served him. It was when he helped the false Wan Li into the sedan that he slew him with a knife. I saw the wound by the light of the fire that consumed the sedan.”
The emperor stared at Khlit, striving to fathom what he said. In spite of his plight, he did not lose his habitual dignity.
“In this way,” concluded Khlit, “Wei Chung silenced the mouth of the servant that might have betrayed him—for the race is one without honor—and, if he should have been discovered in that act, he could have said he did it to punish one who had assumed the person of the emperor. But he was not seen, and the chair with its body was burned as he plotted—”
“To hide the body that might have bared the trick,” swore Dokadur Khan.
“And to cast the guilt upon us to conceal what he had done. That was why he wished to slay all who were present.”
“Aye,” assented the khan, who saw light at last and could understand this. “Death silences tale-bearers.”
In the annals of Wan Li it is written that during the hunt of the seventh moon, when the star of evil omen was ascendant, Wan Li was missed for a day and night, being thought slain, until he was restored to Li Yuan and other nobles by a band of huntsmen who had found him.