The Mandate of Heaven

by Murgatroyd, Tim

‘Go and have a look at him,’ he murmured, ‘there might be some writing.’

  Teng’s heartbeat seemed to fill the chamber. Again he thought of yin’s womb. Was this coffin the egg he had imagined?

  ‘Go on!’ urged Shensi.

  Step by step, Teng obeyed. When he came to the tall coffin on carved dragon legs he paused, trembling. The lamp shook in his hands, making the light dance.

  Unexpectedly another memory of the watchtower came and he muttered slowly, like an incantation:

  Autumn wind rises,

  Plump clouds burn …

  The words lent him courage. He repeated them more loudly and stepped up to the coffin. What he found surprised him. Nothing! No body, not even decayed bones had survived. Instead, hundreds of carved jade pieces in the shape of a body, the remains of a suit guaranteed to preserve His Majesty forever. Yet not a shred or hair remained.

  Teng stepped back and turned to Shensi. When he spoke his voice was calm, even sad. ‘I shall endeavour to find characters that at least tell us his name,’ he said. ‘Perhaps he was a kindly ruler, for all the sacrifices of the charioteers and drivers.’

  But Shensi had found a storeroom at the side, and was chuckling: ‘A tenth of this would set us up as princes for life!’

  When Teng peered over his shoulder he, too, gasped. The little room was stacked with dusty treasure: gold and bronze leopards with red jewels for eyes; lamps moulded in the likeness of yielding slave girls; everywhere bronze vessels inlaid with gold and silver. In one corner, a large pile of bamboo strips bearing columns of characters; and old tortoise shells and ox bones covered with writing. Instinctively, Teng reached down and picked up a tortoise shell, tucking it into his girdle. A familiar voice echoed behind them.

  ‘Hey! Don’t touch anything if you know what’s good for you!’

  It was Hua, accompanied by soldiers and secretaries, peering round fearfully.

  At Hua’s command they were marched out of the tomb, their guards only too glad of a duty leading to daylight. Outside Teng averted his eyes from the sun. For a long moment he stood squinting, until a brutal shove forced him to stumble forward.

  They were prodded past Hornets’ Nest on his throne. The rebel chief seemed unaware of them, as though they were invisible. He gazed eagerly at the dark rectangle of the entrance, awaiting news. Only then did Teng realise the extent of their danger.

  A short journey led them to a wide crack in the limestone side of the ravine. It went back quite a way, forming a natural prison of sheer walls guarded by soldiers. They were not the only captives. Two Yulai hunters with blue tattooed faces crouched on the floor. Teng recognised the eldest as the man who had remonstrated with Chao in the tavern at Ou-Fang Village – and been beaten for his boldness.

  Both pairs of prisoners ignored each other and fell to muttering.

  ‘This is bad,’ Teng advised Shensi. ‘Very bad.’

  The tomb-finder did not seem to be listening. ‘No one makes a fool of Shensi!’ he said. Given the circumstances, Teng was inclined to disagree.

  Later, Hua and Chao appeared at the entrance.

  ‘Shame we caught you and Shensi trying to steal Hornets’ Nest’s treasure!’ said Hua.

  ‘Big shame for you,’ agreed Chao.

  ‘Our chief won’t let you off easily,’ said Hua.

  ‘We won’t let you off at all.’

  They both laughed and withdrew, leaving their ex-comrades to fume.

  All that hot day they sat in the shady, narrow crack in the limestone. Shensi found fresh rainwater in a hollowed rock, otherwise they were given no sustenance. The Yulai huntsmen, accustomed to not stirring for many hours, restricted their movements to noticing everything and communicating by shared looks.

  Something hard poked into Teng’s ribs and he extracted the tortoise shell from his girdle. Of course he had seen such things before. His father, wise Deng Nan-shi, possessed several. He had even taught his son how to decipher them.

  A lattice of delicate lines and cracks spread from a burn-mark in the centre of the shell, seared by a red-hot poker. Columns of characters were carved and stained on the surface. Sighing, he stared at each character in turn.

  All day Teng studied the writing, recognising at least half the words. As one would expect, there was a question: Will the clan of Xue … prosper … regain the Emperor’s favour? And an answer, interpreted by priests from the patterns of the cracks: When tears … salt … heavy … did that say break back? He couldn’t be sure … Xue clan … regain … he couldn’t read the rest. What exactly they would regain was a mystery. Teng frowned, for Xue also meant scholar as well as a clan name, and he could not help thinking of the blighted Dengs.

  He fell into an exhausted sleep, propped against a boulder. At once he was back in the dark tomb of echoes: an eternal feast filled the central chamber with scents and voices. Wine, starchy rice, roasted animals of every description, fishes steamed in their scaly armour, every platter laden for the guests, while favoured concubines served His Majesty who sat beneath a yellow and black striped canopy. Then acrobats were wheeling across the banqueting hall; gongs and pi-pa playing. For all the wild revelry, Teng could not help being afraid. Something was wrong with the smiling, nodding prince in his suit of jade plates …

  Teng stirred fearfully in his sleep, clutching the tortoise shell close to his chest; Shensi and the Yulai hunters glanced over curiously.

  Could it really be Deng Nan-shi in the jade suit? Did Father wish to live forever? Teng realised in horror that all those feasting had been sacrificed at Grandfather’s command, to preserve his dignity as Prefect forever …

  ‘No,’ he muttered in his sleep. ‘Our family will redeem itself!’

  Now the empty jade suit strode through the tomb world. Chariot drivers cowered by their dead horses while guards without faces cut them down. The concubines wailed in terror, forced by eunuchs to swallow cups of acrid poison. And Father was back on his throne, watching all that passed with a disdainful expression. Priests applied burning pokers to ox shins and tortoise shells while others wrote on bamboo strips. Teng could read their messages with ease: rumours of forgotten princes, kingdoms destroyed, oh, he must not linger in this dreadful tomb! To stay here was death! Acrobats somersaulted past. He must awake, awake …

  ‘Wake up!’ Shensi was whispering to him. ‘Wake up!’

  Teng opened his eyes to semi-darkness. It was dusk in the limestone country. He must have slept for many hours.

  ‘What has happened?’ he asked, between one dream world and the next.

  ‘Quiet,’ urged Shensi. ‘A messenger arrived here a few hours ago. Ever since they’ve been running round like angry wasps.’

  ‘But why?’

  Teng crept nearer to the guarded entrance of their makeshift prison and saw dozens of soldiers with baskets hurrying to and from the tomb. Others were piling treasures on the ground, where secretaries inventoried the objects before assigning them to numbered chests. Whatever the reason for haste, it seemed Hornets’ Nest was determined not to lose a single bronze bowl or jade disc. Inexperienced as he was in valuing antiques – the Deng clan’s collection had been dispersed decades ago – Teng could not estimate their worth in cash.

  ‘Shensi, do you think this tomb will make Hornets’ Nest rich?’

  The older man nodded. ‘Rich enough to re-equip his army many times over.’

  Such a notion had not occurred to Teng. ‘Do you think that is his intention?’

  Shensi shrugged.

  Dusk became night and still the soldiers harvested anything valuable. Teng wondered if their greed would include the ox bones and tortoise shells, the books of bamboo strips covered with ancient characters. These aroused his curiosity more than any of the lacquered, splendid objects he had glimpsed. For the bamboo strips were tongues, voices two millenia old. What secrets and wisdom they might utter! The ancient kings had possessed knowledge lost to later, debased generations, formulae for elixirs of Immortality, maps to the Magica
l Isle of Penglai, spells guaranteeing health and prosperity for a dozen generations.

  As Teng watched the treasure being removed, he saw no bundles of bamboo strips. It appeared no one but himself guessed their value.

  Shensi maintained his own vigil, occasionally grumbling about his tenth share.

  Towards midnight a fresh commotion arose. Even the Yulai huntsmen, who had shown no sign of distress at their captivity, muttered anxiously. Dozens of voices were bellowing orders, urging exhausted men to form ranks.

  Guards appeared outside the crack in the ravine wall. The prisoners were led out, their hands lashed in front of them with tight leather thongs. Teng glanced fearfully round the ravine. They were at the rear of a long column, at least two hundred strong. Flaming torches revealed shadowy figures. In the centre of the column were large chests attached to poles carried by soldiers. Ironically, those same chests once contained the Great Khan’s tax revenues from Lingling.

  Teng kept beside Shensi. ‘Where are they taking us?’ he whispered.

  Shensi seemed not to hear. Indeed, there was no time for talk. A shout from Hornets’ Nest set the whole column in motion, jogging down the ravine. Where the ancient pathway passed Mirror Lake they found more prisoners surrounded by guards. Teng recognised Hua, his cheekbones gaunt in the torchlight. Their former comrade appeared to be in charge, for he ordered the captives to take up position near the treasure chests. At once they were on the move again and Teng forgot everyone’s misery but his own.

  A night of unaccustomed hardship for the young scholar. On and on they stumbled, constantly afraid of slipping and being trampled by those behind. To maintain balance with hands lashed together was not easy; walking without rest or proper food for hour after hour became harder with each step. Hornets’ Nest’s fear goaded him to drive his men mercilessly.

  Dawn rose through the jumbled peaks and crags. With the growing light birds and apes found voice. Still the column advanced through the hill country. Only when his men began to faint, first singly, then in twos and threes, did Hornets’ Nest order a halt, cursing them as weaklings. He even descended from his palanquin to beat an unfortunate straggler to death with the man’s own halberd butt.

  As soon as they stopped, Teng curled on the dew-sodden ground and span downwards into a painful doze. Through thick clouds he heard Hua’s voice from further up the column: ‘If you’d been nice to me, who knows, Aunty? Blame yourself.’ Even in his half-conscious, swirling state, Teng detected unease in Hua’s tone. He didn’t care. Only sleep mattered. It might be good to never wake at all.

  The respite was brief, the next march long. Yet the column made rapid progress through the limestone hills, taking paths known to few and used by fewer still. Teng concluded that during their halt Hornets’ Nest had received further bad news, for he urged his men onward whenever they slowed, often looking round anxiously from the elevated position of his portable throne.

  ‘I believe he fears government troops,’ Teng whispered to Shensi. ‘Jebe Khoja and Prince Arslan must be thirsty for his blood.’

  Teng had also noticed a small group of female prisoners roped together near the treasure chests, too far up the column for him to see their faces. Perhaps Hornets’ Nest hoped to increase the profits from his expedition by rounding up a few slave girls.

  Towards dusk, they entered a long, winding valley fringed with vines and tree stumps, as though stripped bare for firewood and building materials. Sentinels on crags were also visible, signalling to one another with yellow flags. Teng and Shensi exchanged glances.

  The valley echoed with shuffling feet as the column turned a final corner, revealing Hornets’ Nest’s lair. At first Teng was surprised that so notable a rebel, leader of all the Yueh Fei and Red Turbans in the entire province, should be content with flimsy wooden palisades for his ramparts and thatched huts for his barracks. Then his gaze climbed sheer cliffs to the huge open mouth of a cavern. Hornets’ Nest’s house was clearly visible, tucked into the vast space like a gigantic fungus planted by magic.

  ‘Why bring us here?’ he murmured to Shensi.

  But Teng knew very well why they were here: as experts who might help to date and value the treasure Hornets’ Nest wished to sell; as witnesses who knew far too much; most of all, as men promised a tenth of the spoils. A contract easily cancelled by an executioner’s sword. Their one hope lay in remaining useful.

  A group of officers waited beside the open gates as the column limped through. Hundreds of Red Turban rebels had also gathered to greet their chief and a loud cheer echoed round the sheer walls of the small valley, making birds rise from perches on the cliffs and apes screech.

  The officers bowed as Hornets’ Nest’s palanquin bobbed past, its bearers close to collapse. The lead officer at the gate, a tall young man in scuffed armour, straightened once his chief had gone and marched into the camp before Teng drew near.

  The prisoners were herded into a dense village of wretched hovels and houses, down narrow lanes where bony chickens clucked in alarm. A cave entrance at the foot of the cliff was their final destination.

  Once their hands were unbound, they were pushed towards a narrow, dark tunnel. Teng managed a single glance up the cliff before he entered the prison. A line of female captives was being chivvied onto a steep path leading up to the huge cavern he had glimpsed. Then he was in the tunnel, stumbling over coarse, flinty ground. Guards holding lanterns directed him through a door constructed of bamboo poles lashed together. Unwholesome odours engulfed him, as they had in the dead prince’s tomb.

  Teng’s last thought before he lay down in the darkness was that His Majesty’s curse had come quickly, karma had come – as did sleep’s oblivion.

  Fourteen

  While Teng slept in sheer exhaustion, unaware of danger, Hsiung was allowed no relief. Hornets’ Nest’s cold stare as he bobbed past had revealed his chief was unlikely to forgive the victory at Dragon Whirl Gorge. An underling showing initiative led to questions; and Hornets’ Nest answered such questions in his own way.

  He must give the rebel leader no excuses, no pretence for punishment. With this in mind, Hsiung summoned Sergeant P’ao.

  As soon as he came over, he glanced up shrewdly at the cavern. Hornets’ Nest’s residence glowed with lights and sounds of celebration: shouting, a wildly beating drum, a pi-pa and flutes playing at double-quick time. Hsiung and P’ao stood side by side. Night and their intentions thickened.

  ‘Odd the Chief hasn’t asked you to report about Dragon Whirl Gorge,’ remarked P’ao.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Hsiung.

  ‘They’ll all be drunk up there soon,’ said P’ao. ‘Maybe that’ll improve his humour. Perhaps you should beg forgiveness for winning before he gets a hangover.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I hear he has lots to celebrate,’ said P’ao. ‘A dead prince’s treasure! If what you told me about buying a pardon is true, he has enough now. No wonder he’s happy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The men who had to dig like slaves aren’t,’ continued P’ao, quietly. ‘I heard they haven’t eaten properly for days. They might not like it if he moved against you. After all, you’ve won a real victory for our cause.’

  ‘Perhaps so.’

  Both waited in the darkness, looking up.

  ‘P’ao,’ said Hsiung, after a while, ‘do you remember how you came to be here?’

  The old soldier grunted. ‘Of course! I got captured during one of Hornets’ Nest’s salt raids. Four years ago.’

  ‘And I managed to persuade Lieutenant Jin to let you live, didn’t I?’

  ‘You saved my life.’

  ‘Does that make you beholden to me?’ asked Hsiung, his voice troubled.

  P’ao muttered as though affronted, then said, ‘Of course!’

  ‘Hornets’ Nest saved my life,’ said Hsiung. ‘Shouldn’t I be loyal to him? Whatever he decides?’

  P’ao chuckled. ‘Not whatever. Never whatever. Don’t let him take your life b
ecause once he saved it, boy! That doesn’t make sense.’

  For a moment Hsiung was an eleven year old lad instructed by big, bold Sergeant P’ao. Only a moment. He clapped P’ao on the shoulder.

  ‘I’m going up there to see the old devil,’ he said.

  ‘Then I’m going with you,’ said P’ao. ‘And I’ll bring a few others, just to be friendly.’

  As the young captain didn’t contradict him, P’ao strolled off into the camp.

  Hsiung climbed the steep, winding path, one shoulder close to the cliff. It would not do to slip and tumble into the valley below. He had no intention of being pushed either, at least, not without a fight.

  His mouth was dry as he approached the top. Although he had undertaken this journey many times, at every hour of day and night, he sensed something had changed. Retreat into old certainties was impossible. P’ao was right – Hornets’ Nest did possess enough treasure to purchase a full pardon. Yet Hsiung believed the change was more in himself. The victory at Dragon Whirl Gorge had been no accident, nor a matter of mere skill or luck with his sword. Success watered seeds subtly planted by Liu Shui. The fat man had urged him to oppose Hornets’ Nest ‘when the time comes’. Perhaps that time had come.

  A dozen yards from his destination, Hsiung halted. The twenty men following, all armed and led by Sergeant P’ao, paused along with their leader. Instead of Hornets’ Nest’s usual bodyguard blocking the pathway to the cavern, a beaten, bloodied man hung from iron rings in the rock. Weary swollen eyes flickered open. Hsiung lifted the man’s chin with his gauntleted hand.

  ‘Jin! What has happened? Why are you tied like this?’

  It took a struggle for Lieutenant Jin to speak. ‘I abandoned my post … I went to Dragon Whirl Gorge … He said I could not desert again if I was tied like this.’

  Hsiung felt a lurch of guilt. He had assured Jin no harm would befall him, that the only way to defend was to attack, that every experienced officer was needed to save the camp. Yet if he interfered now on Jin’s behalf it might enrage their chief further. Then a voice came to him: Liu Shui’s perhaps, or Deng Nan-shi’s, repeating something changed, something changed … And the voice stirred a thrill of power, the same joy he felt in battle.