Mandarin

by Elegant, Robert;

  He knew she had opposed the marriage until her son’s stubbornness convinced her that she must give way. He also knew that healing rifts in the Imperial Clan was not dear to her heart. If she forgave her avowed enemies, her hidden enemies would become even more audacious. She also detested mingling her blood line with the blood line of Prince Cheng, who had conspired with Prince Yee and the Assistant Grand Chancellor Su Shun to deprive her of the regency—and her life. Pursued by her vengeance, Prince Cheng had hanged himself. A pity she couldn’t force Aluta to commit suicide.

  “Quite so,” she murmured. “A union blessed by Heaven!”

  “Would Your Majesty speak again? I could not hear Your Majesty clearly.”

  “I said a union undoubtedly blessed by Heaven.”

  “Undoubtedly, Majesty,” he parroted, his hypocritical smile baring his oversized teeth. “It will assist His Majesty in carrying forward his policy of self-strengthening for the Empire.”

  “His policy?” Yehenala asked coldly, her anger rising. “Your policy, perhaps. Our policy, certainly, but not his. And, Kung, Our servants do not raise their voices to Us. Nor do they demand that We repeat Our words or grin at Us.”

  “I am abjectly contrite, Majesty,” the Prince declared. “I merely wished to be sure I’d heard correctly. Your Majesty mumbled.”

  “Mumbled? You dare say We mumbled!” Yehenala said furiously. “You speak to Us as if you were Our equal. Who do you think you are?”

  “Majesty, I am the senior Grand Chancellor, president of the Office of General Affairs, and Chief Justice of the Imperial Clan Court,” he replied evenly. “I am also Prince Kung, the respectful Prince, the title my father gave me when I learned to curb my arrogance. I am the sixth son of the Tao Kwang Emperor.”

  “Learned to curb your arrogance? Hardly! I can strip you of all your ranks and titles.”

  “Your Majesty may strip me of my appointments, even deprive me of my princely rank. But one thing no one can alter. I shall remain the sixth son of the Tao Kwang Emperor.”

  Yehenala smiled narrowly, and her jewel-sheathed nails tapped the crimson peonies of her circular fan. Prince Kung returned her stare, his large head under the upturned sable brim of his hat twisted, as always, to one side by the great wen on his cheek. She laughed, and the jade pendants in her ears tinkled.

  “You’re absolutely right, Kung.” Yehenala leaned forward and her fan almost touched his shoulder, the most affectionate gesture she could allow herself. “You will always remain the sixth son of the Tao Kwang Emperor unless We require you to hang yourself for disrespect. Then you would, presumably, be the former sixth son of the Tao Kwang Emperor.”

  Prince Kung was untouched by fear, for he knew her moods too well after a decade of collaboration roiled by emotional and political storms. She would not laugh if she meant her threat to be taken in earnest. She would be icily dignified if she intended to intimidate him, as she had learned she could not. Nor could she condemn him to execution and bring the structure of her power down about her ears. She obviously wished to charm him, not to frighten him. In spite of his resentment, she was succeeding.

  “We are old friends, Kung,” she said, still chuckling. “Too old to let minor differences affect our friendship.”

  “I am honored, Majesty.” He smiled cautiously. “If Your Majesty wishes me to hang myself with a silken cord, I shall comply immediately. Your Majesty will allow me the silken cord?”

  “Nonsense, Kung, nonsense!” The peony fan hovered above his shoulder. “We would never dream of condemning the pillar of the state. Why, We would restore the title Prince Counsellor this afternoon if it would do any good. Since Our son must be enthroned very soon, the title would lapse. You know We are profoundly appreciative of your services to the Sacred Dynasty. You know We were only teasing you.”

  “I am grateful, Majesty, since I did presume. I allowed myself not to feel fear.”

  “All right, Kung, We take your point. We shall not tease you any more.” Her smile faded, and her voice grew hard. “But you must stop intriguing with Niuhura and the barbarians against Us. You may think Our power will soon be eclipsed. But remember, Our son will ascend the Dragon Throne. And remember, Our son is always obedient, a model of filial piety.”

  “Who could doubt that, Your Majesty?”

  “That matter of Our Chief Eunuch, Little An Hai-teh, that was not well done, Kung.” Her tone was jagged with resentment. “You and Our beloved Elder Sister Niuhura forced my hand. It was such a small matter. He only acted like a child, journeying to Hangchow in state.”

  “As is forbidden to eunuchs by Dynastic Law, Majesty,” he reminded her. “No eunuch may depart from the Forbidden City unless accompanying the sovereign. Otherwise the eunuchs would meddle in provincial affairs, perhaps establish a secret espionage network, even a private army like the Embroidered Cloaks—the enormities that plagued the Ming. Dynastic Law simply safeguards legitimate power. Besides, Little An was a fool to travel in Imperial state. The governor of Shantung did well to arrest him.”

  “But he should not have been condemned to death. You tied my hands, you and sweet Niuhura between you. You contrived that I could not intervene.”

  “I am grieved by Your Majesty’s sorrow.” Prince Kung’s voice was devoid of emotion. “Nonetheless, I welcome the opportunity to discuss the matter, as I have not been permitted in the past. The arrest? I approved, but I did not initiate it. The execution? I did not wish it, and I certainly did not intrigue with the august senior Empress Dowager to force Your Majesty’s hand. But the eunuch had to die. Otherwise, Your Majesty would have been the laughingstock of the Empire. For Your Majesty’s protection, it was necessary.”

  “Enough, Kung.” Her fan sliced the air. “We understand you. We almost believe you. And We know you understand Us. But now We must attend to the business of the state. Our son has for some weeks been pressing Us to authorize the reconstruction of the Summer Palaces, beginning with the Garden of Crystal Rivulets. He is filial, as We said. He wishes the garden to be completed as a present for Our fortieth birthday some two years hence.”

  “I had heard rumors of His Imperial Majesty’s enthusiasm.”

  “We have almost decided to allow him to proceed,” she added. “Supervising that great work will be a practical apprenticeship in statecraft for Our son. He must learn how to manage men.”

  “A capital idea, Majesty.” Prince Kung did not feel it necessary to reveal that he and the Mandarin Li Hung-chang had planted the seed of that ambition in the Emperor’s fallow mind and diligently cultivated its growth. “It will also impress the barbarians.”

  “The barbarians? Of course, Kung, you understand their twisted minds.”

  “Not entirely, Majesty.” Always, Prince Kung mused, the barb in the compliment like the thorn beneath the rose petals: only an equally twisted mind could, presumably, comprehend the barbarians’ tortuous mental processes. “But it must demonstrate the Empire’s new vigor when we restore the ancient glories the barbarians wantonly destroyed. Even they must see that the self-strengtening decreed by Your Majesty is proceeding magnificently. I should like to contribute twenty thousand taels, as would the Mandarin Li Hung-chang.”

  “The ever reliable Li Hung-chang. We shall authorize Our son to proceed and thus learn statecraft.”

  It would also keep her out of mischief, Prince Kung reflected. If she devoted her own energies to the reconstruction, which was her dearest wish, she should have less time—and, perhaps, less inclination—to meddle in affairs of state after the coronation. The Mandarin Li Hung-chang was truly canny to have contrived that diversion. Too canny, perhaps. He would bear watching.

  Yehenala was reasonably satisfied with the audience. She had forcefully reminded Kung that she still ruled the Empire, and she had impressed upon him that she would exercise immense authority after her son’s marriage—even after the coronation, which, unfortunately, could not be much longer postponed. Though change was inevitable, its deleterious
effects must be limited.

  That simpering virgin Aluta, who understood less of politics than her lion dogs, would exert a certain influence over her son. Sleeping together and playing together like the children they still were, the Imperial couple would undoubtedly discuss affairs of state. Her son was too affectionate, too amiable, and too compliant. Always listening to outsiders when he should heed only his loving mother’s counsel, he would be swayed by his naïve bride.

  He had already grieved her deeply by running to Niuhura for consolation when she spoke severely for his own good and the good of his people. He was also fond of his Uncle Kung, the only male he saw regularly among thousands of palace women and Court eunuchs. Her brother-in-law, who had cunningly played upon her son’s affection to win his confidence, would, moreover, remain the chief officer of the Empire after the enthronement.

  She had, therefore, forced Kung to acknowledge that his trumpery titles were held at her pleasure, and she had impressed upon him the irrevocable character of her own authority. As long as she lived, she would be the mother of the Son of Heaven. Her son would be required by both Sacred Dynastic Law and the canon of filial piety to render her respectful obedience.

  Yehenala nodded complacently. She had earlier contrived that her son should propose to her, as if it were his own idea, the reconstruction of the Summer Palaces, the great work to which she had pledged herself even before she defeated her enemies and ensured her power. That project would keep the young Emperor fully occupied and prevent his interfering vigorously in affairs of state until she had completed his tutelage.

  She was triumphant, but extremely tired. Raging, threatening, and charming in the course of a single audience was exhausting. However, her son would soon arrive to pay his formal respects on the eve of his wedding.

  She gestured with her fan at the three eunuchs who had withdrawn to the far end of the Minor Throne Room so that they could not overhear her conversation with Prince Kung. The tallest eunuch, who was rapidly becoming her favorite, hurried toward the Throne, balancing a tray on one hand. He placed a white jade service on the side table and poured a thimble cup of refreshingly bitter Iron Goddess tea before kneeling to offer her a gold-flecked black-lacquer box with a white chrysanthemum inlaid on its lid.

  Yehenala greedily took a handful of crystalized lotus seeds and red dates. She felt her energy return as she chewed, but she would need more than sweetmeats to sustain her. She selected one of the small green pills the Dalai Lama had assured her would restore vigor immediately when he sent them from his mountaintop palace in Lhasa. A devout daughter of the Buddhist Church could not doubt the word of the Supreme Living Buddha, the pontiff of the Tibetan-Mongolian rite to which the Manchus belonged.

  The green pill filled her with vitality—and serene confidence. She knew she would remain supreme, and she no longer felt the slightest revulsion from the sometimes sordid intrigue that maintained her supremacy. Power ultimately derived from armed force but was sustained by intrigue—and she was a mistress of intrigue.

  Yehenala saw that the kneeling eunuch was tall and good-looking, not plump or wizened like most eunuchs. Cobbler’s Wax Li they called Li Lien-ying, because he had been apprenticed to a shoemaker when ambition moved him to sacrifice his manhood in order to enter the Corps of Imperial Eunuchs. He was sixteen when he submitted to the knife, old enough to have attained his full growth. He further possessed the same affectionate nature and intelligently calculated greed as her executed favorite. Although no one could replace Little An in her heart, she already felt she could trust this Cobbler’s Wax Li—almost as she had trusted Little An. She could confide in her new favorite as she could in no other human being, because he knew he was utterly dependent upon her. A pity that such a handsome man should have neutered himself, but if he had not, he would not be kneeling at her feet in the Minor Throne Room.

  “Bring the Baronet Jung Lu to me tonight before the wedding procession arrives,” Yehenala leaned forward to whisper. “Use the new secret way.”

  When the double doors opened, she waved the eunuch away. The Emperor had left his attendants outside and Yehenala’s eunuchs also withdrew. The relationship of mother and son was sacred, as was their privacy, though the eunuchs would undoubtedly listen at the closed doors.

  Yehenala’s heart went out to the plump figure in the Imperial-yellow robe embellished with four Imperial dragons and the twelve symbols of temporal power. Though she had sent a message urging him not to dress formally for this intimate meeting, he wore the golden Dragon Robe. Was that attire, she wondered fleetingly, intended to parade his independence? She banished the suspicion. He was a good lad, who only wished to pay fitting homage to his mother before his wedding.

  The Tung Chih Emperor knelt at the foot of the Minor Throne and touched his forehead to the Turkestan carpet in a kowtow to his Maternal Auspicious Ancestor. He was very like his father, Yehenala realized anew when she motioned him to the chair below the Throne. The same eager expression beneath the same sparse eyebrows, as well as the same generous mouth, which could become querulous when he was thwarted. He carried himself with the same pride his father had when a young man. His Imperial dignity was, moreover, not so much marred as complemented by the anxiety in his sensitive eyes and his obvious wish to ingratiate himself.

  The boy, she knew to her sadness, had inherited his father’s physical weakness, as well as his father’s predilection for low company. Still, he would be stifled if he immured himself in the Forbidden City, forgoing his incognito excursions to the pleasure quarters, where the painted transvestites were as dangerous as the warped-footed Chinese courtesans. However, he would find wholesome recreation with his concubines in the rebuilt Summer Palaces. That chit he was marrying might even keep him from straying too often, as she herself had restrained his father. She only hoped he had also inherited her own steel, as well as her piety and her devotion to virtue.

  “I’ve been praying for your happiness with … ah … Aluta.” Yehenala smiled. “All the portents are auspicious. I’m certain you’ll be very happy, treasure.”

  “I’m grateful, Mother.” He had apparently not noticed her involuntary hesitation before speaking the name of his bride. “You’re very good to me … to us. I know the goddess of mercy listens to your prayers.”

  He was understandably nervous a few hours before his wedding. Besides, he could not help feeling awe in her presence. Yehenala exerted her charm, and he responded readily. They chatted for several minutes, while she sipped Iron Goddess tea and he cracked pumpkin seeds between his prominent front teeth.

  “This is how it …” Yehenala stopped when she realized that he was already speaking, a courtesy she would offer no other human being.

  “… it should always be, I was saying, Mother.”

  She laughed in delight when he completed her sentence. The omens were indeed auspicious. Even the peasants in the millet fields knew that immense good fortune followed when two close relatives spontaneously uttered the same sentiments in the same words at the same instant.

  “My treasure, now I know you’ll be very happy.” She paused, unwilling to mar this perfect moment, but was compelled by her duty to continue: “And I know you’ll behave so as to make your people happy, the Dynasty strong, and the Empire harmonious.”

  “You’re not going to preach at me today, Mother?” he protested. “Can’t we just laugh and talk—today of all days?”

  “Today of all days, treasure, I must speak seriously with you. That’s why your formal call is prescribed—so that I can share wisdom with you.”

  “All right, Mother, if you must.”

  “But, first, your idea of rebuilding the Summer Palaces,” she temporized. “I’d be very happy if you took it in hand. I’ve spoken to your Uncle Kung, and he’s promised to contribute twenty thousand taels out of his own pocket. Others, I’m sure, will also help.”

  “As well as government funds, Mother?” He was as quick as herself or his late father in money matters. �
�Perhaps a substantial contribution from your Privy Purse, as well?”

  “Of course, treasure. Though not too substantial. I must live, after all, and prices are shocking. Heaven knows I live frugally, but somehow the money just vanishes.”

  “Not too substantial, Mother, but not too small,” he insisted. “After all, it’s like a wedding present. And I’ll give you the Garden of Crystal Rivulets for your fortieth birthday.”

  “Agreed.” She smiled. “If you promise you’ll pay more attention to your studies. I’ve found the best scholars in the Empire to teach you. No more yawning in your tutors’ faces or playing sick. How I wish my father hadn’t been too poor to give me a good education.”

  “You write beautiful Chinese, Mother,” he lied, though one out of ten of her ideograms was wrong. “No one would ever know you didn’t have the best tutors. And impeccable Manchu.”

  “Anyone can write Manchu, treasure. But there’s also this little matter of your visits to the Flower Quarters. You must curtail them. Heaven knows what disease you might catch.”

  “I’ll try, Mother,” he promised grudgingly. “But it’s so boring in the Forbidden City. Day and night nothing but duty and ceremonies. I might as well be a monk.”

  “And the opium and the eunuchs, treasure. After you’re married, you mustn’t touch either. An emperor has no secrets, you know.”

  “That’s too much.” He was turning surly. “A pipe now and then or a handsome eunuch for a change. One is entitled to one’s private amusements.”

  “No longer, treasure. And I wouldn’t call twenty a day a few pipes. You’ll follow the same road as your poor father if you’re not careful.”

  “My poor father was hounded by the barbarians you’re so anxious to cultivate.” His voice rose. “And how do you know how many pipes I smoke? Of course, you’ve got spies everywhere.”

  “Treasure, everyone knows,” she replied contemptuously. “No one can keep a secret in the Forbidden City, above all not the Emperor. You must stop the nonsense.”