The Mandate of Heaven

by Murgatroyd, Tim

  At that moment Admiral Won-du clambered aboard Hsiung’s battleship; like his maternal cousin, Ying-ge, he was unusually handsome and rosy-cheeked. His cold, watchful eyes, however, suggested a calculating character. Won-du was known as a swordsman and Ying-ge had often implied – in the subtlest of terms, of course – he might even be a match for his master, the Noble Count. Perhaps that was why Hsiung frowned as the Admiral bowed, though there were more pressing reasons.

  ‘Admiral, what is your report?’ he demanded, taking a seat bolted onto the gently swaying deck. Again Won-du bowed.

  ‘The enemy flee before us, sire!’

  Although light ships shadowed the rebel fleet and occasionally disappeared over the horizon, none had dared to engage. Hsiung stirred in his chair. The danger lay in losing the element of surprise. Although Prince Arslan must know the rebels were displaying their strength, the Mongols could scarcely imagine they would be bold enough to assault Hou-ming itself. Even now, so late in the campaign, just a few picked officers were aware of Hsiung’s exact intentions.

  ‘Do we still have surprise?’ asked Hsiung. ‘That is what matters.’

  ‘A hundred times over,’ said Won-du.

  ‘How far are we from Cape Fou?’ asked Hsiung. ‘When will we arrive?’

  Now the Admiral tugged his perfectly trimmed beard. ‘Soon, sire!’

  ‘How soon, exactly?’

  ‘I shall send forth scout ships to find that out, sire!’

  ‘Do you mean you have not sent them already?’ Hsiung detected a faint glitter of defiance or irony in the Admiral’s eye. ‘I require that information in an hour’s time!’

  Won-du bowed low and withdrew. The next few hours were critical to their plans. Already the Yueh Fei fleet was a day behind schedule. How slowly they advanced! Hsiung had even witnessed ships colliding as though captained by idiots, despite most of the fleet being spread out in a crescent several li wide.

  Although Won-du assured him there was no need for a tight formation when no opponents of any account existed on the lake, Hsiung looked at the straggling disposition of his ships with growing unease. Until the land army disembarked at Cape Fou, a mere two days march from Hou-ming City, he could not rest easy. That should have occurred yesterday morning and now, it seemed, there was no certainty they would even reach the Cape today.

  His mood of brightness dimmed and Hsiung remained in the chair fixed to the deck of the battleship. All around him soldiers and sailors scurried, orders were shouted, the steady rhythms of cranking pedals and splashing waterwheels filled the air. Hsiung seemed not to notice, lost in thoughts or dreams glimpsed through half-closed eyes …

  Twenty years had passed since his last sight of Hou-ming, a child’s vision limited by everything he had not known or understood at that age. Now he dreamed of Hou-ming as he longed for it to become, ruled by a firm yet benign hand. A new palace would stand on Monkey Hat Hill, named … he didn’t know what, the details would come later. Besides, Liu Shui always helped him find difficult words.

  His palace! Hsiung did not imagine splendour or excessive pomp while those he ruled went hungry. Although Deng Nan-shi had taught him as a boy the outer must reflect the inner, Hsiung knew the match was often false. Not in his palace, though! Purposeful bureaux directed by Chancellor Liu Shui would spread prosperity as the planter of rice tenderly inserts his carefully nurtured shoots into muddy paddies. Bandits and scum would no longer plague the defenceless peasants. All would be taught that heads separated from necks cannot be rejoined – and that would be their fate if they persisted in wrongdoing! Then again, the streets of Hou-ming would benefit, too. No more beggars – why should anyone beg when they could be employed as soldiers or labourers or manufacture weapons destined to one day drive the Mongol usurpers back to their miserable steppes? Scholars, too, would regain their prominence, dutifully studying for the Imperial Examinations that Deng Nan-shi had told him should determine worth and merit. Why not, when Liu Shui could arrange it all …

  Hsiung stirred and opened apparently drowsing eyes. The officers and crew on the command deck began to bustle. Slowly his eyelids lowered.

  Thoughts of scholars led, as always, to the Dengs, and especially Teng. Hsiung knew Liu Shui had helped his childhood companion escape Chenglingji. He also knew the Chancellor well enough to understand there must be an unimpeachable reason for so rash an act. And in this case it was obvious: he had not trusted Hsiung to behave well. Deep, hidden grief brought tears to his eyes. He rubbed as though at a speck of grit. Was Teng just a speck in his soul? Or the speck of grit that pearls form around?

  Hsiung knew he would feel more secure with his old friend’s sceptical intelligence by his side than a hundred bowing Admiral Won-du’s. Or even – another thought laced with guilt – a hundred insinuating murmurs and caresses from the sinuous Ying-ge. Yet had not her gift of a jade disk saved his life?

  Hsiung reached up unconsciously to check it still hung round his neck, then lapsed back into daydream, imagining the clean, prosperous streets of Hou-ming before the Mongols had slaughtered nineteen out of twenty, before ancient Wards had fallen into ruin and rotting piles of timber. When he became Prince all would be renewed!

  Prince Hsiung of Hou-ming! Prince Hsiung, defender of the righteous cause of Yueh Fei! Prince Hsiung, Red Turban lord and beloved of the Buddha Maitreya! Prince Hsiung.

  Had he not always been lucky when everything appeared lost? Unless, of course, there had been no luck at all, merely the working out of Heaven’s will – of the Mandate of Heaven.

  * * *

  ‘Cape Fou, sire! We’ve arrived.’

  Hsiung opened his eyes. Daylight and images of armed men, flags, masts, shifting patterns of ships replaced his dream. Rising abruptly, he laid a hand on the upward-angled hilt of his long, faithful sword.

  ‘Fly the flags to prepare for landing!’ he ordered.

  They arrived at mid-morning and at once delays mounted. Yet Cape Fou was a perfect place to disembark the army of eight thousand infantry led by General P’ao. A natural harbour existed where a broad, deep river joined the lake; all one need do was form an orderly line of ships, sail them in, unload their cargo of soldiers and supplies, then depart to rejoin the fleet.

  The mischief, as always, stemmed from ineptitude. Captain vied with captain to discharge his share of the army until blockages formed. General P’ao paced on the shore bellowing angry orders. Admiral Won-du demoted officers associated with the disgraced Naval Commissioner Ma Fu, leaving his own men – who were the real culprits – in command of their vessels.

  The chaos largely escaped the notice of the Noble Count. Still aflame from his vision of Hou-ming ruled by one worthy of Heaven’s Mandate, he did not care to contemplate anything that might contradict it. Instead he led a sortie of paddlewheel destroyers out into the lake to drive off a dozen government vessels observing from a distance like wolves following a herd. At the rebel ships’ approach the enemy withdrew until Hsiung decided to relinquish the chase. By the time he returned to Cape Fou the troop ships were slowly advancing in lines, a formation that had taken hours to accomplish. Admiral Won-du assured him any delays in disembarkation were the fault of General P’ao.

  The landings continued late into the night. P’ao’s scouts reported that the hinterland behind the Cape was oddly deserted, as though the villages had been emptied deliberately; perhaps their inhabitants had merely fled.

  7th Day, 9th Month, 1322

  The lookouts on the highest masts called out: Hou-ming! Hou-ming! Despite the demands of dignity, Hsiung hurried to the prow of his battleship and peered forward. The morning had been misty, but since noon yet another cloudless day cleared the horizon. At first he could not be sure if the dark smudge on the distant shore was Hou-ming. Yet his breath quickened as slowly – agonisingly slowly for a fleet seeking the advantage of surprise – the city landmarks became recognisable.

  That elevated promontory surrounded by cliffs must be Monkey Hat Hill, crowned by
Cloud Abode Monastery. Dark lines coalesced into ramparts and towers, said by his spies to be in a lamentable state of repair. Straggling, vertical threads above the city became recognisable as plumes of smoke and rumours swept the fleet that no battle would be necessary. The people, inspired by the rebels’ approach, had risen as one, slaughtering the Mongols and their lackeys.

  Hsiung listened coldly as Admiral Won-du related this tale with all the certainty of a triumphant hero.

  ‘Let us concern ourselves with victory not rumours! We will advance to a position three li from the coast,’ replied the Noble Count. ‘Arrange for spies to land and report on the disposition of General P’ao’s army. By now he should be approaching Hou-ming. When he arrives we will launch an assault to support him without delay.’

  The Admiral bowed with a flourish.

  ‘And Won-du,’ said Hsiung, quietly, ‘if you prove incompetent one more time in this campaign I shall relieve you of your command.’

  A hot flush crept over Won-du’s handsome face. It reminded Hsiung of Ying-ge’s expression when angry.

  ‘Do you understand?’ barked the Noble Count.

  The Admiral bowed low and withdrew. Yet when Hsiung looked round he was astounded by the disorderly formation of the fleet at the very time they should be most alert. At last he glimpsed his folly in allowing Ying-ge’s relatives and their followers to gain such high positions in the Newly Adhered Navy. How often Liu Shui had warned him, at first through hints, then the bluntest of reproaches. Hsiung stirred uneasily, remembering Navy Commissioner Ma Fu’s advice regarding the Five Squadrons. Had Ma Fu really been the traitor Chao and Hua claimed? He would ensure a large present of silver was sent to the Navy Commissioner’s sons and family, in recognition of past services to Yueh Fei’s cause.

  Hsiung’s one comfort was that the government forces had been taken entirely by surprise. Only a handful of vessels opposed the Newly Adhered Navy. Once again he detected Heaven’s hand.

  An hour later such reassuring thoughts were replaced by sheer alarm.

  ‘Won-du! Signal for the fleet to gather in the shape of a fortress!’

  Signal rockets rose and drums beat wildly. Everywhere flags fluttered, confusing the original command until a few captains decided they had been given full permission to flee back to Chenglingji.

  ‘Tell Won-du to form a screen of our fastest ships! Damn him, I shall gather them myself.’

  Dum dum dum beat the signal drums. Squadrons of enemy ships were approaching fast while the Newly Adhered Navy still struggled to assume a defensive stance. Though the rebels outnumbered the government fleet two to one, Hsiung sensed how swiftly disaster might fall on them. By now a fifth of the rebel battleships had formed a screen and the Noble Count ordered his ship to the front.

  ‘How far off is dusk?’ he asked the captain.

  The old sailor peered to the west.

  ‘Two hours at most, sire.’

  ‘Then that’s how long we shall deter them,’ he said. ‘See their flagship in the centre?’

  The captain examined the line of advancing prows and nodded.

  ‘Make straight for it at full speed. Order the other ships to form an arrowhead shape behind us. We shall be its point!’

  Dum dum dum. Soon the rebel ships were in motion. As they gained speed Hsiung hid his anxiety. Courage was no cure for ignorance when it came to naval strategy. Yet once again Heaven’s intervention disproved his fears. For as the rebels approached, the government ships turned aside, sailing away from the Newly Adhered Navy into deeper waters.

  Dusk was settling quickly when Hsiung returned to the massed rebel fleet. Cheering greeted him as though he had gained a great victory. Yet Hsiung wondered why scout ships had not been deployed to give warning of any night attack on the dense square of rebel ships. Again Won-du was at fault. Hsiung decided a new Admiral would be appointed in the morning; but the purges of Navy Commissioner Ma Fu’s experienced men had been so thorough it was difficult to identify a single officer of merit.

  An uneasy night followed. Above the lake countless stars rotated in intricate patterns. Below, hundreds of lesser lights clustered on every horizon so that the Noble Count felt hemmed in wherever he turned. It was impossible, surely, that each light denoted an enemy ship. Still no word of General P’ao arrived.

  8th Day, 9th Month, 1322

  At dawn Hsiung awoke with a start from his couch on the ship’s deck. Mist drifted across the lake and his blanket was damp with dew. Throwing it off, he rose, calling out to his picked bodyguard.

  ‘Any news of P’ao while I slept?’

  The officer on duty bowed. ‘No, sire!’

  Hsiung squeezed his hands, recollecting he had intended to dismiss Won-du. There seemed no time for that now.

  ‘Summon all my senior captains,’ he commanded. ‘Send at least three boats to land spies on the shore. I must know the exact moment our land army approaches Hou-ming …’

  Before he could say more a loud bang echoed across the lake, its exact origin obscured by the rolling mist. Hsiung recognised it as a signal rocket – and not one of his own.

  ‘To arms!’ he bellowed. ‘All men to arms!’

  For the next few hours the fog thickened with screams and the echoing detonations of thunderclap bombs hurled blindly into the swirling air. Smoke thickened the mist as dozens of ships burned. Hsiung’s own battleship collided with a large three-masted junk and fierce exchanges of arrows were resolved by a furious boarding led by the Noble Count himself.

  By noon the fog began to melt away, revealing the extent of the losses on both sides. Scores of rebel ships had been captured or sunk; an equal number of government vessels suffered a similar fate. Unexpectedly, the mist had favoured the rebels, for in such conditions tenacity and courage counted more than manoeuvrability and skill. In that regard, the Yueh Fei soldiers, fanatical in their grievances against the foreign usurpers, had the advantage.

  The Noble Count’s elation at his capture of the enemy junk faded when he realised how close to the shore the Newly Adhered Navy had drifted over the course of the fighting. Equally alarming were the fresh squadrons of enemy ships arriving from the west as though they had been awaiting the outcome of the battle in the fog. The rebels’ advantage in numbers had already been reversed. With a shock, Hsiung realised they were almost trapped.

  ‘They knew we were coming!’ he exclaimed. ‘To the exact day!’

  Hsiung turned to examine Hou-ming in the distance. If a trap had been prepared for his fleet, how must P’ao be faring on land? And until the Red Turban land army arrived he dared not attack the harbour walls of Hou-ming by water.

  Twilight found both fleets tending scorched wounds. More plumes of smoke rose from Hou-ming. Long, anxious hours passed without a single report of P’ao’s advance.

  Thirty-four

  9th Day, 9th Month, 1322

  Every melody, however harsh and unpleasing to the ear, floats upon some kind of harmony. That red autumn dawn, Hou-ming floated upon an insistent swell of disharmony. The first riots broke out in the Southern Suburbs where clans of fisher-folk and sailors loyal to the Red Turbans lived in filthy, impoverished villages reclaimed from swampland. The news that the Yueh Fei rebel fleet was engaging the enemy out on the lake and that a large land force had disembarked south of the city was enough to provoke their rebellion. Abused and oppressed for two generations, at last they could respond in kind. A force of two hundred reluctant Chinese mercenaries sent to pacify the fisher-villages was soon disarmed then recruited to the rebel cause. In alarm, Prince Arslan sent messengers to reserves of his own hiding in the hills north of Hou-ming and ordered the closing of the Southern Gates, despite a fixed plan to keep all the gates temptingly open. A company of Tipchak archers promptly used the confusion as a pretext to loot a dozen floating oriole houses in the entertainment district.

  Panic spread through the slums and commercial districts of Hou-ming. It seemed a massacre would again descend on them like a ravaging t
yphoon. Everywhere people fled onto the streets carrying bundles of possessions or pushing handcarts. Thousands besieged the Northern Gates, a stream seeking release from a simmering, tight-lidded cauldron. At first they were beaten back by Prince Arslan’s men until the soldiers were almost overwhelmed. If the Yueh Fei rebels did establish a siege, the Mongol lord would need the co-operation of those he had ruled – and utterly despised – for so long. Besides, a reduced population meant fewer mouths to feed. Thus he ordered the opening of the Northern Gates and all day refugees flowed into the countryside. With them departed yet more of Prince Arslan’s claim upon the Mandate of Heaven, for what manner of ruler abandons his people when they are threatened by a hostile fleet and army?

  Rumours of the battle on the lake rushed back and forth. At first the Noble Count of Lingling was triumphant; his navy had smashed a force twice its size through sheer courage! Surely the Buddha Maitreya’s manifestation on earth must follow such a portent! … An hour later … Heaven had chosen the Great Khan, the only true Emperor of the Middle Kingdom! Already the rebel fleet was reduced to firewood floating in the lake amidst the corpses of a hundred thousand Yueh Fei bandits … An hour after that … Flee the city! The rebels are triumphant and are attacking the Southern Suburbs, slaughtering man, woman and child as they advance! Even Prince Arslan has fled, taking whatever treasures he can carry!

  So the day passed.

  At the very start of that terrible day, a messenger had rushed from Golden Bright Temple bearing a hastily penned letter to the head of the Buddhist clergy in Hou-ming. Strangely, it contained no reference to the disorder consuming the city and threatening so many of their faithful followers, Buddhist or Daoist. Instead, Worthy Master Jian offered, on behalf of the Provincial Daoist Council, to exchange Cloud Abode Monastery for a generous portion of the Buddha’s knucklebone. If the aforesaid holy relic was sent to Worthy Master Jian by dusk that same day, then the Buddhist authorities would be granted full possession of Cloud Abode Monastery from the very same hour, including the image of Chenghuang the City God. Finally, the letter stipulated the exact size and weight of the bone sliver.