Mandarin

  The generals rose and gesticulated broadly, their voices reverberating unintelligibly through the anteroom. The Disciple King gripped the carved arms of his throne and thrust his head forward.

  “No! Never!” he bellowed. “We’ll all die in Soochow if it comes to that. But I’ll never surrender!”

  Ringing clear in the anteroom, his words shocked the staff officers. Many had suspected treachery, though only Aaron Lee knew its roots. Though all feared dissension among their leaders, they were appalled by the disintegration of the flinty discipline that had carried the Holy Soldiers to victory and sustained them in reverses.

  “Mei pan-fa.…” the Eternally Magnanimous General Kao argued, his large head rigid on his long neck. “There’s no other way. We must save ourselves to fight the Imps again another day.”

  “Even your treachery is double-edged!” the Disciple King exploded. “But I—I will never surrender!”

  A stocky figure wearing a scarlet-and-green robe stepped from the rank of generals confronting their commander. Lionel recognized him as Brigadier General Wang An-chun, a pleasant southerner with whom he had occasionally chatted. Respectfully smiling and respectfully silent, Wang crossed the six-foot distance separating him from the Disciple King. Moving with the muscular delicacy of an acrobat, he flicked a dagger from his sash and thrust the blade underhanded into his commander’s abdomen below the breastbone.

  The astonished Disciple King bellowed in anger. The assassin pulled his arm back and struck again. His cry cut off by that thrust, the commander slumped forward. His powerful hands scrabbled on the arms of his throne, and he shrieked in agony. Slipping off the polished wood, his fingers clawed the air. Slowly, his body toppled to the floor, crumpling within its embroidered robe. His filigree crown tinkled on the flagstones amid the blood pumping from his torso.

  Flashing crimson in the brazier’s glow, the generals’ daggers stabbed the dying commander while the staff officers stood paralyzed by shock. Through the circular moon door, the spectacle seemed unreal, a skillful pantomime. Lionel half expected the dead commander to rise and bow, the drama ended. He shouted in horror when the Magnanimous Kao knelt in the puddled blood to hack at the Disciple King’s throat with a triangular blade.

  Drawing their swords, the staff officers surged forward. A thicket of pikes halted them. The personal guards of the mutinous generals forced them back. When the officers huddled again in the anteroom, the Eternally Magnanimous General Kao addressed them.

  “I command now!” he proclaimed. “Tomorrow I’ll send the head to the Imps, one head to save all our heads. I regret that price, but it’s the only way. Tomorrow, we pretend to surrender on the terms of the English Colonel. We can trust his word, unlike the Chinese running dogs of the Manchus. We’ll surrender, but we’ll fight the Imps again, I swear. Now return to your units immediately.”

  The price of the generals’ safety was far higher than the Magnanimous Kao had reckoned, Aaron reflected as the night sky began to pale over the ramparts of the Water Gate. Not just the life of the Disciple King, but the lives of thousands of Holy Soldiers. The traitors had not yet sent their commander’s head to the Imperialists or opened the gates of Soochow, but the slaughter had already begun. Some five thousand of the garrison were old Taiping warriors from the southern provinces. Enraged by the assassination of the Disciple King, whom they had followed for a decade, those veterans hurled themselves at the troops guarding the assassins.

  Most of Lionel Henriques’s gunners were southerners, and most had joined the attack on the Garden of the Humble Administrator. But the Englishman still refused to acknowledge the inevitable. He still rejected Aaron’s renewed pleas to defect.

  Lionel was willfully deaf to the mutters of his remaining soldiers, who stood to their guns though they knew their steadfastness was in vain. They would, they swore, hurl hundreds of Imps into the eighteen Hells before gladly ascending to the thirty-three Heavens described by their Heavenly King. Knowing that the promise of the barbarian commanding the Ever Victorious Army had decided the traitors to surrender, they further swore to send many barbarians to the barbarians’ own Hell.

  The hewn stones of the battlements were luminous gray, and the soldiers’ yellow tunics glowed pale against the brightening sky. Dawn was hardly an hour distant, and Aaron had to be gone before dawn to save himself. When the Army of Huai began pounding Soochow at sunrise, probing the gates the traitors had promised to open, escape would be impossible. Nonetheless, Aaron was impelled by his duty to his sister and by his affection for his brother-in-law to a final effort to persuade the obdurate Englishman.

  “It’s all over!” he argued. “Just look around. You must save yourself, Elder Brother, for Fronah’s sake as well as your own. Besides, you can’t rejoin the Loyal King in Nanking if you’re dead.”

  “It’s good of you to trouble, Aaron.” The Englishman was as casual as if courteously refusing a small gift. “I’m deeply grateful for your trouble. You couldn’t trouble more if I were really your brother.”

  “You are, Lionel. You are my true brother, though you’ll never understand. Come with me before it’s too late.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t run away again. I’ve been running all my life.”

  “Why not, for God’s sake? Fight another day if you must.”

  “I don’t really care any more about fighting. But I must stay if there’s to be any meaning to my life, rather than another betrayal.”

  “You’re betraying Fronah and the boy. Your son and my nephew. Don’t they count?”

  “Not really, I’m afraid. You see, Aaron, my friend … my brother … it’s all gone glimmering.”

  “Glimmering? I don’t understand.”

  “I’m no use to Fronah any more, you see.”

  “I don’t see at all. A live husband’s far more use than a dead one.”

  “Not this husband. It’s almost indecent talking this way. I can only say that I can’t match Fronah, emotionally or … ah … physically. She’s too much for me.”

  “Do you want to die—to kill yourself?” Aaron despaired of understanding the Englishman’s circumlocutions. “Isn’t the opium quick enough?”

  “Actually, the opium’s kept me going, Aaron. But let’s not drag this out. I can’t desert with you, and I can’t go back to Fronah yet. Perhaps some day, however.”

  As embarrassed as Lionel by the unexpressed emotion, Aaron abruptly put out his hand. His brother-in-law shook it briefly.

  “Goodby, Aaron,” he said. “I’ll see you in Shanghai.”

  Behind the tall Englishman in the yellow tunic and the black trousers, his gunners were stirring. Their angry mutters giving way to menacing silence, they moved toward the two officers.

  “One barbarian’s no different from any other,” one declared. “All the white-skinned devils have betrayed us.”

  “Revenge, brothers!” another cried. “Revenge the Disciple King on the barbarian and the Chinese running dog!”

  “That’s torn it!” the Englishman said flatly. “Move now!”

  Aaron grasped Lionel’s shoulder and thrust him toward the narrow stairwell that wound down to the sallyport. The Englishman drew his sword and wheeled.

  “God help me, I’ll cut you down if you touch me again,” he threatened. “Go now for God’s sake, if you want to live. I don’t want to die, but if I must …”

  “You can’t control them, you fool!” Aaron shouted. “Come now.”

  “I can control them, you know. For God’s sake, go!”

  Aaron reeled under his brother-in-law’s shove. He stumbled into the mouth of the stairwell and halfway down the first flight before he could check himself. The stone blocks scraped his outthrust hands, and the dark passage seemed to suck him down. But he heard Lionel’s voice raised in command and entreaty.

  “Gno-gei dau …” the Englishman promised in pidgin Cantonese. “Now, lads, we’ll hold off the Imps together. We’ll revenge the Disciple King together.”


  Raucous shouts responded, dominated by one voice: “How can we believe a white-skinned devil?”

  “You can because we’ve been together for years. And we’ll die together if it comes to that.”

  Aaron turned the corner of the stairwell, and Lionel’s voice died in mid-syllable. He knew he could not affect the confrontation on the battlements. Whatever was meant to happen would happen before he could clamber back up the steep stone steps. He had failed in his duty to his family by failing to save his brother-in-law, but that duty also required him to save himself.

  When Aaron stepped through the sallyport onto a glacis strewn with corpses in the uniforms of Imperial Braves, pink light tinged the eastern sky. On the ramparts of the Water Gate towering sheer sixty feet above him, no human form was visible—and no man spoke. The green muzzles of cannon gaped mute.

  CHAPTER 61

  December 6, 1863

  THE IMPERIAL CAMP BEFORE SOOCHOW

  Men had often changed sides before the siege of Soochow. The Manchus encouraged Taiping officers to turn their coats with a standing amnesty and bounties determined by the number of their followers. The Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace offered not only absolution for past sins but substantial bounties to defectors. A great number had gone over to the enemy once. Many men had crossed the lines twice or thrice, drawn by the promise of rewards and promotion or, sometimes, driven by quarrels with their superiors and by restlessness. Some officers, highly valued for their prowess or their influence, had flitted between the ranks of the Holy Soldiers and the Imperial Braves five or six times.

  The Eternally Magnanimous General Kao was therefore by no means remarkable in expecting a generous reception after opening the gates of Soochow. It was hardly more remarkable that he planned to rejoin the Taipings subsequently. He was only remarkable—and foolhardy—in declaring that intention to his murdered prince’s staff officers.

  On the morning of December 6, 1863, Aaron Lee had already made a smooth transition to the Imperial camp after hearing that avowal from the chief assassin some thirty-two hours earlier. His transformation into an officer of the Army of Huai was accelerated by the service his brother David had rendered to the Mandarin Li Hung-chang—and the generous donations his adoptive father, Saul Haleevie, had made to the Mandarin’s war chest. In a society where family solidarity was the preeminent virtue, their contributions weighed almost as heavily in his favor as his own espionage for the Imperials. In one sense, those contributions weighed more heavily because they pragmatically demonstrated that his family was both competent and wealthy.

  Since the Mandarin valued subordinates who possessed those sterling attributes, he had commissioned Aaron immediately. Having commanded a battalion of Holy Soldiers, the new major obviously understood the new tactics developed during the protracted civil war. Moreover, his mastery of the English language would enable him to serve as a liaison officer to the contentious foreign officers of the Ever Victorious Army if necessary.

  The Mandarin Li Hung-chang was eager to penetrate the minds of both his enemies and his allies, so that he could manipulate them—as the ancient strategists had probed the hidden motives of their foes, both other Chinese and neighboring barbarians. The Mandarin believed that Aaron Lee, like his brother David, understood the mysterious mental processes of the new barbarians from over the seas, an insight that eluded himself. He was also grateful to Aaron for firsthand evidence regarding the intentions of the Eternally Magnanimous Kao, though his insight into the minds of his fellow Chinese had already warned him that the betrayer of Soochow would not hesitate to betray the Army of Huai.

  Shortly after eight in the morning, Military Mandarin of the Fifth Grade Aaron Lee and recently promoted Civil Mandarin of the Sixth Grade David Lee sat chatting on a knoll overlooking the Commander-in-Chief’s pavilion. Both wore blue tunics and trousers, the field uniform of the Army of Huai. Ironically, Aaron’s service with the rebels had qualified him for field rank in the Military Mandarinate of the Great Pure Dynasty, while good fortune and outstanding service would in time enable him to transfer to the more highly regarded Civil Mandarinate. Aaron was happy that he, the older brother, was finally senior in rank to David—as the Sage Confucius enjoined that age should be superior in a harmonious society.

  Aaron felt he had finally come home. Though he admired their dedication, he had never been comfortable among the Holy Soldiers. However irrationally, he was emotionally committed to the Confucian Mandarinate, which he considered corrupt and unjust—and he was determined to rise in that hierarchy.

  “We agree, then,” David said. “Odd, isn’t it? We’ve reached exactly the same conclusion, though we were so far apart.”

  “Not odd at all. First-class minds naturally take the same paths, even far apart,” Aaron replied with an unusual flash of humor. “Anyway, the Taipings are a dead loss. The only way we can revenge our father is the most refined way. We’ve got to work from inside to expunge the system’s cruelty and inefficiency. Since we can’t destroy the Dynasty, we must destroy its injustice. And some day—soon, I hope—bring the old man back. He’s well, you say?”

  “Well and keeping busy.” David enjoyed repeating again the news in the infrequent letters their father was permitted to write. “A senior foreman in the Emperor’s Jade Mines—and allowed to trade a little on his own. He’ll never get rich, but it keeps him busy.”

  “He’s lived just fifty years this month. We’ve got to get him back. You’ve talked to the chief?”

  “Not yet, Aaron. I’ve got to wait for just the right moment. After we’ve won, I think. After you’ve distinguished yourself.”

  The brothers discussed their hopes for several minutes and concluded that they could soon petition the Imperial Court for a pardon. Their services to the Dynasty, past and future, should incline the compassionate young Empress Dowager to grant that petition. Remembering that the Imperial Concubine Yehenala had cajoled the Emperor to commute their father’s death sentence, they assured each other that she would certainly be merciful to Aisek Lee, now that mercy was wholly within her own discretion.

  “And Lionel?” David asked again.

  “David, I can’t possibly tell you whether he’s dead or alive. Maybe we’ll know today or tomorrow. But he was a husk when I left him, a hollow man. I am sure of one thing. He’s no use to Fronah—and he never will be.”

  “Well, she’ll grieve for Lionel if he’s dead, but she’s set on her own strange way. You’d think a young woman would want her own family. Yet she seems reasonably happy.”

  David broke off as his orderly approached. No more than their subversive political ideas did he wish their family concerns to become the talk of the camp.

  “Sirs,” the orderly reported, “the Commander-in-Chief summons you to the surrender ceremony.”

  The standard of a provincial governor whipped between the banners of the Army of Huai and the Great Pure Dynasty before the field pavilion of the Mandarin Li Hung-chang. The peaked and compartmented tent, whose green-and-crimson expanse covered a hundred square yards, was really a nuisance, his chief had confided to David, but “useful to impress fools.” However, the aide-de-camp suspected that the Mandarin enjoyed the regal pomp, which he merited. The Mandarin was seated on a folding chair before the pavilion, while his personal troops were drawn up in three ranks to form a square whose fourth side was the pavilion.

  “I still don’t see why the boss let Gordon set the surrender terms.” Speaking English for privacy, Aaron returned to the question he had been worrying all day. “It makes no sense to me.”

  “The traitors approached Gordon first. Besides, the boss thought the Taipings would trust a foreigner.”

  “Damned fools!” Aaron snorted. “But it worked.”

  “At least Gordon is gone, finally withdrawn with the Ever Victorious Army. The boss was livid, you know. Gordon demanded all the kudos for victory because of his diplomacy, believe it or not, as well as his generalship. Also two months’ bonus for his me
n and a guarantee the boss would honor the amnesty he promised the murderers. What gall! Demanding that an Imperial commander-in-chief swear to honor his word as a Christian gentleman!”

  “Sometimes these Christians are impossible, David. As Father Saul says, who can understand them? What did the boss do?”

  “Anything to get rid of Gordon for a while, he said. He bribed the Christian warrior with a month’s pay and assurances that his personal achievements would be mentioned prominently in dispatches. He also swore that all Taipings who surrendered would be treated as they deserved.”

  A procession was moving toward the Imperial camp through the morning sunlight under the gray walls of Soochow. The tunics of their escort of Holy Soldiers and the robes of the eight traitor generals were scarlet-and-yellow, the colors of the Chinese Ming Dynasty, which the Taipings had once pledged to restore to power. Aaron wondered if that affront to the Chinese Mandarins of the Manchu Ching Dynasty was deliberate bravado. Certainly the Eternally Magnanimous General Kao appeared negligently self-assured in the lead. His watermelon head nodded on its slender neck as he chatted with Brigadier General Wang An-chun, the first assassin.

  The brilliant array moved slowly over a plain littered with the detritus of battle. Men and horses sprawled on the scarred earth in the wanton abandon of death amid discarded guns and swords dwarfed by the pillars of flame and smoke leaping from the conflagration that enveloped Soochow.

  The Magnanimous General Kao nodded insouciantly to the Mandarin Li Hung-chang as if greeting a casual acquaintance, even an inferior. He neither kowtowed to the Imperial Commander-in-Chief nor bowed, but nodded offhandedly. He might have been the victor, negligently acknowledging an insignificant enemy, rather than a defeated general surrendering after murdering his commander.

  “Well, I opened the gates just as I said,” he remarked. “Your people should have no trouble now. I’ve given you the fortress of Soochow.”