The Mandate of Heaven

  Deng Nan-shi’s negative had been courteous but cold.

  ‘Still, I will give you a few days to consider,’ said the man, glancing round at the shabby state of Deng Mansions.

  After he had gone, Teng asked excitedly why he, at least, could not go. Here was a chance for easy wealth. Every year one heard tales of tombs being opened and huge fortunes being made. The Mongols paid extravagantly for ancient treasures. With the profits the Dengs could restore the ancestral home, buy a gentleman’s wardrobe of silks. If nothing else, eat meat for a change.

  Teng dared not mention his real motive: to escape the schoolroom forever. Then he would paint and dally with singing girls and banter with his friends and applaud in the theatre and contemplate the Ten Thousand Creatures to his heart’s content. The vehemence of Deng Nan-shi’s response surprised him.

  ‘Are we to become grave robbers? Just because we are poor? Do not take me for a fool. You hope to evade your duty!’

  The argument went back and forth until Teng finally gained his way. Deng Nan-shi, for all his ideals had to concede their desperation. Especially since a brace of orphans had taken residence in Deng Mansions after the recent famine, an act of charity they could ill afford.

  ‘Do nothing dishonourable,’ cautioned Deng Nan-shi. ‘Remember, our family’s reputation extends all round the lake and far beyond.’

  Teng had sailed down to Yulan Port where he found Chao, Hua and Shensi waiting. Evidently the merchant, or his secret sponsor, had ways of passing messages swiftly. For weeks they had been scouring the lands round Changshan, the Holy Mountain and the district capital Lingling, until Teng heard a rumour of ancient tombs near Ou-Fang Village.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a crashing sound from the inn. This was followed by shouting and the thud of a blow. Inside, Teng found Shensi struggling to separate Chao from a villager with blue tattoos on his cheeks – one of the Yulai people.

  ‘You damn savage!’ bellowed Chao. ‘How dare you bring your blue face in here?’

  Teng squeezed in front of Chao, who was hopelessly drunk. Meanwhile Hua roared encouragement to all sides at once. Teng and Shensi urged the villager to leave. This the man did with baleful dignity, and only just in time, for Chao threw Teng aside like a paper warrior and reached for the knife he kept in his boot.

  After the villager had gone, large cups of wine were required to subdue Chao. Amidst curses and threats, Teng learned the reason for the quarrel. People were complaining that Chao and Hua bought up all the spare wine, grain, eggs and chickens in the village, pricing out its poorer inhabitants.

  ‘Don’t you think,’ said Teng, ‘it would be better not to offend our hosts? We are unarmed and there are only four of us. Besides, their case is not unreasonable. They have children and elderly relatives to feed.’

  Hua snorted. ‘They won’t trouble us.’

  ‘How can you be certain?’

  Now Chao joined in. ‘Because they know what’s good for ‘em.’

  ‘And bad,’ added Hua. ‘Or, let’s just say, who is bad for them. Eh, Chao!’

  Though Teng pressed, neither would reveal the name of this bad who. As for Shensi, the tomb-finder concentrated on tilting his bowl.

  At noon the next day, Chao and Hua were breakfasting when tramping feet could be heard entering the village. They stuck their heads through the ground floor window in time to see a procession coming up the muddy road. Teng, who was reading a woodcut volume of poetry beneath the thatched porch, rose for a better view.

  Forty guardsmen bearing halberds and fire-lances headed the column. Their faces shone with sweat from the hot climb. Then came four palanquins, each carrying an official. In the midst was an ironbound box on painted wheels, hauled back and front by lightly armed soldiers. Another few dozen guardsmen brought up the rear.

  Hua whistled between his teeth. ‘Tax farmers,’ he said, softly. ‘Going to Lingling.’

  ‘They’ll be back through here in a few days,’ muttered Chao.

  ‘Unless the rain holds them up,’ said Hua.

  Before the column drew parallel to the inn, they ducked inside. When the road was clear again, Teng found they had left in a hurry by the back door, though no one knew why. Tomb hunting was off for the day.

  Mirror Lake drew him. Perhaps as an antidote to the vulgarity of his companions. Perhaps he sought clarity because he was considering whether to return to Hou-ming. It was not an easy decision. He had almost no money and must either beg a passage home or earn one in too undignified a way for a Deng to contemplate. Then again, he was loath to return empty handed, thereby confirming Father’s judgement about the whole crazy venture.

  Other reasons for staying lay all around. Until now he had never travelled much further than the burned-out suburbs of Hou-ming. It was wonderful to be in a limestone country as varied and contorted as his thoughts. To stand in holy Changshan’s shadow and see peaks rising, cloud-capped, snow-capped, dream-haunted. That seemed worth a little low company.

  Here he could paint and sketch whenever he pleased – at least until the paper and ink ran out. No more herding classes of grubby children for the sake of duty or Father’s conception of it. What about a man’s duty to himself? To his own destiny? The answer came back immediately in Deng Nan-shi’s quizzical voice: ‘Duty is a decent man’s destiny. And he is measured by helping others. The Mandate of Heaven must be earned, Teng!’

  How many times had he longed to retort that Grandfather’s dutiful decision to resist the Mongols cost two hundred thousand lives? Had that earned the Mandate of Heaven? But, of course, there were some arguments one dared not deploy. For example, that he was enjoying the distance between himself and Father. That an invisible yoke had lifted from his neck – a realisation provoking instant guilt.

  It was a relief to reach the clear waters of Mirror Lake and set up his painting equipment in a shadowy corner of the woods, half way up the hillside. Everything felt simple in an exquisitely complex way. All the disparate provinces of his troubled soul found a temporary ruler. His inner resources, memories, physical skill united for one, sublime purpose as he bent over his easel.

  First he painted the shrine on its island, surrounded by blankness so the viewer’s higher soul might be reflected in the unstained waters. Then, casting its shadow, the towering, limestone promontory behind which they had found the old abandoned road. He was just about to complete the composition with the stepping stones – thereby connecting the floating island of the spirit to a shore clad with resolute bamboo – when he noticed someone leaving the shrine.

  Teng’s brush hovered. He was closer to the building than yesterday and saw clearly that the barefoot figure in robes was female. He realised, too, he must be invisible to anyone below. What was she doing? His eyes opened wide. He leaned forward.

  For the young woman – she was young, he could tell that much – was removing her robes until her pale body was quite naked. Teng knew he should look away. Somehow the fast beat of his pulse paralysed his will. She stood with her back to him, swaying as she tied up her long hair. His breath quickened. Now she half turned to reveal the silhouette of pert breast. She waded into the water and began to bathe.

  ‘I can see why you like painting!’ muttered a sly voice in his ear.

  Teng jumped with surprise. His brush slipped and a smear of black ink ruined the careful composition.

  ‘Phew!’ said Chao. ‘I’m getting so hot I might jump in with her!’

  Teng closed his eyes. The excitement in his body had not eased.

  ‘You wicked dog, Teng!’ chuckled Hua. ‘There we were, thinking you’d got ink for spunk.’

  ‘Phee-eew!’ growled Chao. ‘Never mind him. Look at that! I wouldn’t mind praying with that little missy down there. And when she sees what meat I’m offering as a sacrifice … Eh, Hua?’

  ‘Maybe she’s one of those nuns who like a bit of meat when the Abbot isn’t around,’ suggested his friend.

  Teng realised they were serious about acco
sting the nun below.

  ‘That would not be proper,’ he said, hastily, ‘in fact, I don’t think we should even look at her. I regret my own part in this.’

  Chao poked him in the back with a thick finger.

  ‘Don’t tell me what’s a good idea,’ he muttered. ‘Ink boy.’

  Teng’s temper flickered. ‘Even so, I believe …’

  They were spared further dispute by a slouching figure: Shensi. He strolled up and coughed, noting the aggressive postures of the three young men. Then he spat.

  ‘Where you been?’ he asked, sullenly.

  Hua scowled. ‘None of your business. Here and there. There and here. Visiting old friends.’

  ‘I’ve found it,’ said Shensi.

  ‘Found what?’

  Shensi pointed up at the hillside above the lake.

  ‘A shaft,’ he said. ‘The thing we’re looking for.’

  Shensi led them round the lake, over the waterfall at its end, well away from the shrine. A winding path through the bamboo groves reached the old roadway. At the top of the gully they found Shensi had set up a tripod on the mound directly above the rockslide. A log dangled vertically from three ropes attached to the tripod.

  ‘We’re not digging a well,’ said Hua, peering up. ‘You’re wasting our time.’

  The young men heard a grating sound. It took a moment to realise Shensi was laughing – if scorn can be mirthful.

  ‘Get spades, rope, lanterns,’ said the older man, suddenly grave.

  Chao sneered. ‘You get ‘em!’

  Again the odd grating sound. Teng noticed how few teeth Shensi possessed. The tomb-hunter sat down on a rock.

  ‘Well then,’ said Hua, turning to Teng, ‘do something useful for a change. Fetch the spades.’

  But Teng settled beside Shensi. ‘My job is to read ancient characters. I am a scholar. A gentleman. You fetch.’

  Something about Teng’s tone must have resembled Father’s, for Chao and Hua sloped off down the ravine in a foul humour.

  It was a pleasant wait in the cool, shady gully. Teng lay back, listening to insects and the cheep of mating birds. An image of the naked woman entering the water kept him amused. Even the rain held off.

  Chao and Hua came puffing up the road, burdened with equipment. Shensi rose to meet them and they gathered round a slight, concave indentation in the hillside. Hua kicked at it angrily.

  ‘We dragged everything up here for this?’

  Shensi manoeuvred the tripod over the depression.

  ‘Listen,’ he said.

  Then he lifted the log and let it fall. Instead of a dull thud on the stone hillside, there was a hollow sound. A definite echo.

  ‘Shaft,’ he said, pointing down.

  It took less than half an hour to dig through. The earth fell with a clatter into yawning darkness and Teng was glad he did not fall with it. As their spades broke the crust of soil there rose a deep, mournful sigh of released air.

  ‘Ghosts are escaping,’ said Shensi.

  ‘Or trying to warn us,’ muttered Teng.

  Certainly the air below reeked of brooding decay. Hua retreated a few steps.

  ‘Warn us?’ he said. ‘Do the books … mention warnings?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Teng, enjoying the effect of his words, ‘and terrible curses.’

  ‘How do we know it’s not just an old well?’ asked Chao.

  Teng shook his head pityingly. Sighed. ‘Think for a change! One would hardly dig a well through solid stone up here. What would be the point?’

  He realised Chao and Hua were examining him in an unfriendly way.

  ‘Wouldn’t one?’ demanded Chao.

  ‘One definitely would not,’ replied Teng.

  They all leaned forward and looked into the dark mouth of the shaft. Chao poked Teng with his big forefinger for the second time that day.

  ‘Your turn now,’ he said. ‘Seeing one knows so much about it.’

  Hua, still shaken by talk of curses, grunted agreement. ‘Get down there to earn your share. We’ll stay here and guard.’

  Though Teng looked to Shensi for support, even the tomb-finder’s face was blank – presumably because he didn’t fancy going first himself. And it was the scholar’s job to find any artefacts or writing that might date the shaft.

  While they tied a thick hemp rope round Teng’s chest, Shensi explained the situation. ‘They had holes like this for air while digging. And to take out buckets of stone. See if it’s what we think. If it is a grave, see if someone’s robbed it already. That’s often the way.’

  Teng had never heard him so voluble.

  ‘Do your job and I’ll let you share the wine tonight,’ promised Hua for a change, whose perspiration exceeded his exertions. It was the acrid sweat of fear. ‘Do they curse people who are just watching?’ he added.

  ‘Every time,’ said Teng.

  ‘Down!’ he called. ‘Down a little further!’

  The lamp he held sputtered, illuminating walls of solid stone with a pale, dancing light. Every so often he tested the walls with his booted feet.

  ‘Down!’ he cried.

  Suddenly his probing boots connected with air.

  ‘Stop!’ he screamed. ‘Stop!’

  Perhaps he had descended so far they could not hear him. A moment later he was on solid ground, surrounded by darkness. Instantly the light went out.

  A rushing noise like beating wings filled his ears. He began to breathe rapidly. Any moment demons would lunge from the blackness. He had no defence.

  Teng tried to slow his heart, counting breaths, screwing his eyes tight to shut out circling ghosts and demons. Finally he calmed himself. He became aware of distant shouts from above, unrecognisable words. With his eyes still closed, he prepared to tug at the rope three times, the signal to haul him up. Only the memory of Hua and Chao’s jeering faces gave him pause. How could he depart without confirming whether it was a tomb or just an ancient mine? Whether thieves had already emptied its treasures?

  Teng forced open one eye, then another. No red-faced demons watched from the darkness. The black air swirled with infinitesimal motes of light. He needed a flame.

  Gingerly, as though the dark was quicksand that might drown him, he knelt, taking a flint and tinderbox from his belt. Then he set the lamp against his foot so he could find it easily. He felt for the oily wick and struck the flint. Sparks. Struck again and again. The kindling caught, followed by the wick. Silently, like a giant hand opening out, light seeped across a huge oval chamber carved from solid rock.

  A moment later Teng closed his eyes. He had seen enough. Too much, if the old stories of curses were true. He tugged sharply at the rope three times. Nothing stirred. Again, more forcefully. Nothing. A dreadful certainty they would throw the rope down on top of him set Teng trembling. Then, with a jerk, his feet left the ground and he was rising. Up into the dark stone shaft. He helped those hauling with scrabbling hands, desperate to breathe pure air, until a ring of light appeared.

  They dragged him into the sunshine and he lay face down, ignoring their excited questions. He sought out Shensi’s face and nodded.

  The tomb-finder responded with a low, grating laugh that revealed all five of his teeth.

  Ten

  The limestone country was a maze: valleys, lakes, spiralling misshapen hills, ravines terminating in caves that sucked down muttering streams only to release them as singing waterfalls. A place of transformation. Here monsoons dripped through rock to grow fingers of stone, millennium after heedless millennium. Precipices collected windblown earth to host tiny forests high in the air. The people of this barren land were used to clinging: sometimes their fingers slipped.

  Hsiung did not imagine losing his grip as he swaggered up a narrow path bordered on one side by a solid cliff wall and on the other by an inglorious fall to jagged rocks. The young man’s walk was all loin and shoulder swing. A long sword with a tasselled hilt hung from a scabbard on his back and throwing knives protruded from his gir
dle. He wore a leather coat sewn with plates of iron. A bright red headscarf held flowing black hair in check and proclaimed him a criminal: a Red Turban rebel, eternal foe to the Great Khan.

  Half way up the cliff Hsiung paused. Silver-backed monkeys scuttled along a ledge and he envied their freedom.

  The path climbed to a wide opening in the mountainside, carved by ancient rivers that had long ago changed course. The result was a huge, echoing limestone cave. A shadowy, bat-haunted world. Here, other two-legged creatures had built nests; it was to them Hsiung was bound.

  A one-storey wooden house had been constructed on the floor of the

  cave, its presence rendered doubly incongruous by a gaudy, festive style of architecture. One might have mistaken it for the dwelling of a vulgar merchant, except for the constant squeak of bats and sticky rain of their droppings.

  Hsiung paused to greet half a dozen crossbowmen and archers guarding the cave entrance. All wore red headscarves like his own.

  ‘Is Hornets’ Nest within?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Captain!’ shouted a sergeant with a proper display of military enthusiasm. It was a watchword among the rebels that Hsiung inspired common peasants to act like soldiers, while other officers inspired them to act like brigands.

  He nodded and crossed the cave floor to the house, where more guards bowed. Hsiung strode past them into a chamber the size of a long, low-roofed barn; and like a barn it garnered a harvest. Bolts of silk filled one corner. In another, piles of bronze and silver objects looted over Hornets’ Nest’s long career. There were antiques of great value: tripods and vessels from tombs sealed a thousand years ago. Padlocked chests contained copper, silver and gold coins.

  In the centre of the room stood a lacquered throne, also looted. Here, accompanied by secretaries, guards, a pet eunuch, officers and a painted girl who stared fixedly at the ground, lolled a man in dazzling silks: Hornets’ Nest.

  For a rebel feared throughout the province, he had unprepossessing features. His face belonged anywhere – a great advantage considering the Great Khan had placed a huge bounty on his head. A decade earlier, his band of Red Turbans had swarmed in their thousands until Jebe Khoja broke and scattered them. Since then Hornets’ Nest had lived a fugitive existence and his once-formidable army shrunk to barely five hundred. None of which diminished the absolute obedience he expected from his followers.