The Mandate of Heaven

  Best of all was a face he recognised yet did not – or not quite. Its shape was familiar, even some of its expressions, but it had changed too much for Teng to be convinced.

  The first time it appeared he turned away in exhaustion and fell asleep. When it returned, Teng accepted with a sense of acute wonder it belonged to Hsiung. Oddly enough, this realisation was more unsettling than when he had been unsure.

  As Teng grew aware of his surroundings he realised his bed stood in a chamber decorated with silk drapes and wall-paintings. Servants circulated constantly. Though he felt too feeble to rise or even sit up without help, every few hours water and pulped food were fed to him until, day by day, he regained a little appetite.

  The time came when his vision recovered full clarity. He had been able to speak for some days and so he asked the servant crouching in a corner to raise the paper blinds. The man obeyed with an alacrity and respect that gave Teng new strength.

  Up the blinds went, revealing a large garden filled with flowers and trees, floating insects and butterflies. For a moment Teng watched, lulled by soft colours in the sunshine, for it was late spring and the monsoon had paused, a delightful time of year. Then he peered more closely. He had detected an unusual garden ornament – no, a dozen of them – hanging from ropes on the high wall that surrounded the garden. He squinted to see more closely. His eyes opened wide.

  A dozen men dangled from iron spikes. All were a purple-grey, no, mottled blue, rotting in the heat. A large crow landed on one of the sagging heads and pecked vigorously. Teng turned to stare at the wall.

  ‘Who?’ he croaked. Every word was still painful. ‘Who are they?’

  The servant looked around for someone passing by, but the garden was deserted. Finally he noticed the hanging men.

  ‘My old masters,’ he said without a trace of mourning. ‘Every male in the Zhong clan hangs either there or in the market square, back to the third generation.’

  ‘Why?’ managed Teng.

  ‘Because they betrayed the Noble Count,’ explained the servant, fearfully. ‘May he live a thousand years!’

  A thousand years, echoed in Teng’s mind. A thousand years. He connected Yun Shu to the corpses rotting on the wall. Her husband’s family were no more. Then he was dreaming a fruitless search through the smouldering, smoke-blackened corridors of Deng Mansions. Finally he reached the miniature mountain constructed by Grandfather Deng in imitation of Holy Mount Chang. She turned to him as he climbed towards her. ‘They have done to the Zhongs what the Mongols did to us Dengs!’ he cried. ‘We are free to marry!’ His dream folded into darkness.

  Teng recovered sufficiently to receive formal visitors. He found that, with the aid of a stick, he could totter round the garden to a bench set before an oval pond. Averting his eyes from the dangling Zhongs allowed him to appreciate the flowerbeds, the gentle rustle of rare bamboos. Humming birds weaved over the still pond, yellow-crested and darting as they snatched droning insects.

  One afternoon he returned to his room to find the servants in a fluster. Half a dozen had appeared from nowhere, scrubbing the floor and artfully strewing flower petals round precious, paper-thin porcelain bowls. Others lit tapering cones of subtle incense. Still more produced trays of wine and tea and covered bowls of delicacies.

  When Teng asked the reason he was ignored. From this he deduced his visitor was not only feared, but his arrival was imminent. He took a seat upon the couch and awaited events.

  A butler preceded His Highness to ensure that all was proper. Satisfied, he withdrew, murmuring to someone further up the corridor. Feet scurried, followed by heavy, booted footfalls. Teng was confronted by the arrival of a tall, broad-limbed man. The servants fell to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the freshly scrubbed floor. Teng limited himself to a bow while remaining on the couch – it was doubtful he could have managed more. In any case, kowtowing to the family kitchen boy was a humiliation he could not contemplate.

  It became apparent he was not the only one who was uneasy. The Noble Count of Lingling looked around the room as though seeking something to criticise. He stood awkwardly, tapping a large bunched fist with an impatient hand. His weathered face, though not unkindly, seemed melancholy to Teng. The exquisitely tailored silks he wore somehow did not fit. Teng thought it best to break the long silence.

  ‘Noble Count,’ he said, ‘forgive me for not rising. You see how I am …’

  As Teng had anticipated, reference to his weakness granted Hsiung enough superiority to feel at ease.

  ‘I take it you have been well treated by my servants?’ he said.

  ‘Impeccably treated. I owe you my life.’

  Now Hsiung relaxed further. He waved his hand nonchalantly as though such gifts were trifles. Still he hovered.

  ‘It would be the greatest honour for me if you took the refreshments you have arranged,’ suggested Teng, delicately.

  ‘Yes, I have a little time. Why not?’

  Hsiung took a seat swept first by a diligent servant with a gigantic fly-whisk. Wine was brought and delicate pastries stuffed with shredded swan’s wings and strips of roasted bear paws flavoured with a rich, pungent spice. Both were medicinal and intended to aid Teng’s recovery.

  ‘You have grown since I last saw you!’ exclaimed Teng, sipping his wine.

  Hsiung shot him a suspicious look. ‘Of course. We were just boys.’

  ‘If only my honoured father could see us together,’ said Teng, sadly. ‘It would give him great joy. Yet I do not know for certain whether he is even still alive.’

  ‘I have ordered spies to confirm that,’ said Hsiung. ‘But I believe he is safe. Be sure I’ll do all I can to protect him. Such is the respect and gratitude I feel for Deng Nan-shi.’

  He was interrupted by Teng clutching gratefully at his hands. So unusual was intimate contact with the Noble Count his attendants moaned excitedly.

  The two boyhood friends – scholar and soldier, former master and kitchen boy, man of meagre means and rich, triumphant warlord – glanced up to find Chancellor Liu Shui beaming down at them, sheer delight on his fleshy face.

  ‘At last!’ he cried. ‘A truly advantageous friendship for Your Highness!’

  Teng felt Hsiung pull away his hand. The Noble Count laughed uneasily.

  ‘How so, Liu Shui?’ he asked.

  ‘That is simple,’ replied the Chancellor. ‘As I have mentioned before, Confucius names three advantageous friendships. With the sincere, the upright and the man of perceptive observation. Surely Honourable Deng Teng possesses those qualities.’

  Teng bowed modestly and replied: ‘If I am to be pine, bamboo and plum tree, first I must recover a little sap.’

  Chancellor Liu Shui grunted approvingly at this clever allusion.

  ‘What is all this talk of trees?’ asked Hsiung.

  ‘They are symbols of friendship,’ explained Teng, ‘for neither pine, bamboo nor plum tree die in winter but remain constant and blossom before spring comes.’

  ‘Aptly expressed!’ said Liu Shui.

  Teng detected a shadow of resentment in Hsiung’s face as though the Noble Count wanted all his Chancellor’s praise for himself. He would need to step carefully. Pleading exhaustion, he was glad to regain the relative safety of his sickbed.

  * * *

  The next day Hsiung returned, this time with servants bearing boxes of books, writing equipment and silken clothes. All the garments were used, there having been no time to measure and make so many splendid outfits. Teng expressed his appreciation in the warmest terms, yet could not help wondering if he would soon be wearing the clothes of men currently rotting outside. It seemed an ominous way to regain one’s dignity.

  Pleased by his own generosity, the Noble Count went so far as to mutter: ‘Who’d have imagined it.’ Though the exact nature of it was not explained.

  After the presents, Hsiung insisted on taking Teng for a drive in his carriage ‘to see something worth seeing’. During the journey through th
e small town of Chenglingji neither was sure what to say. Their past, shared and brutally severed, both connected and forced them apart. Perhaps, thought Teng, the Noble Count could not forgive the fact he had once played the role of inferior. When Teng considered the matter, perhaps he could not forgive it either, though for opposite – and quite justified – reasons. He asked Hsiung about the capture of Chenglingji and received a glowing account that avoided any reference to a massacre of innocent townsfolk.

  Their destination turned out to be the harbour. They stepped onto the wharf and the Noble Count gestured at long lines of shipyards. A large fleet was being constructed by thousands of scurrying labourers, paid for by revenue from the Salt Pans.

  ‘You will be surprised by my plans,’ he said, ‘perhaps even amazed.’

  Teng waited for more. A calculating look crossed Hsiung’s face.

  ‘I cannot share those plans, even with you.’ His tone suggested pleasure in being the guardian of so important a secret. ‘After the trap that nearly destroyed us in the Salt Pans, only a tiny number share my intentions. It is better that way.’ Hsiung laughed bitterly. ‘I do not mind telling you, Liu Shui even wants me to say nothing to my own concubine! She will be joining us soon, along with two of my spymasters. Then you shall see a fine woman!’

  Teng sensed Hsiung had more boasting in mind.

  ‘From your tone, I divine she is a notable beauty,’ he said, helpfully.

  ‘Ha! Some might call her divine.’

  ‘She, at least, cannot be a secret. Surely I have heard of her?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ chuckled Hsiung, ‘she is an actress from Hou-ming. When she arrives I shall order her to perform for both our pleasures. Ah Teng, how she can sing! When I thought you had died she sang a song all about grief that won my heart.’

  Teng had rarely seen Hsiung so voluble, even as a boy, and smiled at the softening of his old companion’s character.

  ‘That would be an honour,’ he said, bowing. ‘What is her name?’

  ‘Ying-ge.’

  Teng’s expression froze. He struggled to maintain his smile.

  ‘Ying-ge? An actress, you say?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hsiung. ‘Have you heard of her?’

  ‘No … no …’ said Teng, plucking at his chin. Habits of pride made him a poor liar; fortunately his host was too busy explaining the merits of his new navy to notice.

  On the drive back, Hsiung was disappointed when Teng pleaded exhaustion and closed his eyes. The Noble Count even muttered: ‘If I had undergone the same trials as you, Teng, I would have recovered weeks ago!’ Still the feeble scholar did not stir.

  Shielded by frailty, Teng’s mind swirled. Ying-ge had betrayed him to Salt Minister Gui, no doubt for a substantial reward. Given Hsiung’s infatuation with her, there were few limits to the mischief she might deploy. His one hope was that Ying-ge did not know the Salt Minister had revealed her treacherous actions. A hope as slender as her waist – and insinuating tongue.

  ‘That whore, coming here?’ exclaimed Shensi.

  ‘Speak more quietly,’ urged Teng, ‘I do not wish to join those poor wretches.’

  They were on a bench beside the pond, their eyes drawn irresistibly to the bloated, maggot-infested and fly-bound corpses still dangling a little distance away. When the wind changed direction, Teng smelt them in his room and thought the sickly odour a warning to be cautious.

  ‘The Noble Count serves a noble cause,’ he muttered, ‘but we must take care, Shensi, great care.’

  The tomb-finder grunted.

  ‘I’ll pack everything necessary for a quick escape,’ he said. ‘A man with cash and supplies could hide in the hill country behind Chenglingji until his beard turned grey.’

  With that he left, looking round to check he was not followed.

  Later that day, Teng found himself picnicking with the Noble Count at a beauty spot inland from Chenglingji, where waterfalls converged to form a deep pool in a rocky valley. Blessed by every kind of natural beauty, it was the kind of place gentleman-scholars painted and praised in verse.

  Their picnic consisted of forty separate dishes, many heated on charcoal braziers: spiced fish, shreds of peppered beef and snow peas, frogs legs sautéed in copper pans and served with sesame seed biscuits. A small orchestra provided fitting harmonies to complement the ceaseless, eternal music of the waterfalls. Though Teng’s fingers were still stiff from labouring in the Salt Pans, he was persuaded by Liu Shui to play a patriotic tune from the former dynasty on the lute. Though unexceptional, his performance was applauded loudly by all present, especially the Noble Count.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘how I remember the hours you spent practising that damned instrument when we were boys! You did not know it, but I often slipped into the city to see what fun could be had for far less effort!’

  His Highness was drunk enough for a little indiscretion. Chancellor Liu Shui bowed. ‘I believe Honourable Deng Teng has a deep wish for you to show him the waterfalls,’ he murmured.

  Teng looked up in surprise. He had expressed no such wish.

  ‘Why not!’ declared Hsiung. ‘I need to walk off that dinner. Follow me, Teng!’

  They climbed into a grove of pines and followed a winding path littered with ancient, worked flints – proof that men long vanished had used this place. Summer’s small birds were plentiful and inclined to sing. Trills and warbles echoed round the wood. Soon they reached the very brink of a waterfall where it fell to join the pond below, flowing between two breast-shaped boulders.

  In the distance lay the rooftops and smoke plumes of Chenglingji, framed by the sparkling blue waters of the lake. Teng tried to stare beyond the horizon all the way to Hou-ming.

  Reviving strength left him eager to return. Firstly to discover if his ailing father was still alive. If so, arrangements for his care must be set in motion without delay.

  Just as urgently, he longed to meet Yun Shu and renew their last, lost conversation. Teng could no longer evade his desires. Yet returning to Hou-ming without knowledge of the situation in the city would most likely end in his arrest.

  Thus it was uncanny when Hsiung answered his thoughts: ‘I’m glad we have a chance to speak alone,’ he said, ‘I have firm news concerning your father.’

  Teng stirred from his reveries.

  ‘It is good news,’ added Hsiung.

  Agents had witnessed the old scholar being maintained as an invalid in Cloud Abode Monastery and treated with great honour. ‘You can thank our old playmate, Yun Shu, for that,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t that seem strange? When I told Liu Shui he said that I was pine, you were bamboo, and she was the plum tree. Does that make sense to you?’

  Teng nodded. ‘I often think of those years when we three played together. Do you remember our old home fondly? I cannot believe it has been reduced to ashes.’

  Was that a flicker of annoyance he detected in Hsiung’s face? Or some other emotion? Perhaps now was the time to address the past with integrity. The alternative was endless evasion.

  ‘Hsiung,’ he said, ‘you have grown into a great man who does much good for the people he rules. Maybe my father’s influence helped in that. Despite the awkwardness of our previous stations in life, I hope you remember Deng Mansions fondly.’

  Hsiung cast a sideways glance at Teng. ‘You have no idea how fondly.’ Tears started to his eyes. ‘I remember Deng Nan-shi as the model of a learned gentleman.’

  Teng, too, found himself weeping. As long held-back tears often will, they led to laughter and recollections of hilarious scrapes in the ruins of Monkey Hat Hill. By the time the two men returned to the pond for more wine, they were side by side, shoulders close together, a detail Liu Shui acknowledged with his broadest smile.

  Later, as they rode back through the twilit countryside in a large carriage, accompanied by dozens of cavalry, Liu Shui spoke of the relics of Yueh Fei that had been stolen when the library of the Dengs was looted by Salt Minister Gui.

  ‘How I regret not punish
ing that man when I had him in my power,’ mused Hsiung. ‘He should have burned alive, just as he burned Deng Mansions.’

  ‘Not all the relics of my ancestor were lost,’ said Teng from his corner of the carriage. ‘Although it is a trifle, I gave a scroll written by my great ancestor to Abbess Yun Shu of Cloud Abode Monastery. It granted the ownership of a valley in the distant west to her own ancestors, the Yun clan. So something remains.’

  Liu Shui grew thoughtful. ‘The fact that it alone was preserved is surely significant.’

  Near Chenglingji he resumed the topic. ‘The cause of Yueh Fei would be strengthened if we recovered those documents and relics. Perhaps it is a duty for you, Honourable Deng Teng, as the great man’s only youthful descendent. Besides, I am sure you are anxious to return to Hou-ming to help your father.’

  ‘You read my wishes exactly,’ said Teng.

  He dared not add that part of his eagerness stemmed from Ying-ge’s imminent arrival.

  ‘I can offer you a bodyguard,’ said Hsiung. ‘Perhaps even the protection of my two Spymasters who are in and out of Hou-ming on my business.’

  ‘Noble Count, I ask only for my friend Shensi,’ said Teng.

  The carriage passed through the town gates and as the gentlemen parted for the night, Hsiung said in a puzzled, wine-softened voice: ‘Do you know, Teng, for years I feared you would grow into a foolish prig. You’ve proved me wrong. And I’m glad.’

  With that he strode to his wing of the mansion.

  For the next two weeks Teng often found himself in the Noble Count’s company. Not a day passed without a meeting over dinner or visit to a pleasure spot or merely to drink tea and wine in the cool of evening. Though long silences were common between them, they were of the companionable sort.

  Teng grew accustomed to Hsiung’s brooding and often wondered what was passing through his mind. He sensed dark thoughts, if the contraction of the Noble Count’s brow and disturbingly intense expression were clues. Sometimes Hsiung would squeeze his bunched fists until the knuckles whitened, prompted by inner tensions he never shared with Teng. The latter gentleman was glad to be spared.