Taming Poison Dragons

by Tim Murgatroyd

  Who can explain why the companion of his childhood exists no more, and has been replaced by General An-Shu’s executioner? To do so would baffle a thousand sages. He must acquire acceptance in his own way.

  The servants lay out plain dishes. Steamed rice. A sauce of soy and chervils. Cabbage flavoured with vinegar. Salt fish fried in garlic and ginger. The steward has informed me that, since the banquet for Youngest Son and his officers, our stores are sadly depleted. Soon we will dine on a handful of sprouting millet and be thankful for it – war is the enemy of the simplest satisfactions. There is no prospect of fresh supplies from the village. The soldiers devour like a cloud of locusts, and I do not care to think what will happen in a day or so when Wei is finally stripped bare. A hundred atrocities must surely follow.

  Halfway through the meal, a servant sidles into the room and whispers to the steward, who also serves as my butler. Ever since the Four Punishments, my entire household is jumpy. My own servants fear me. After all, a word to Youngest Son and who knows what he might do? The steward edges before me.

  ‘Lord Yun Cai, your son awaits your pleasure at the gatehouse.’

  I blink at him.

  ‘Which one?’ I ask.

  He struggles to find the correct title, poor man. His father was butler to my own father.

  ‘Your youngest,’ he says.

  ‘Ah.’

  I continue to lift rice to my mouth. Courtesy demands I leave my meal and greet him at the gate. Youngest Son has lost the right to courtesy.

  ‘What message shall I give, Lord?’ asks the steward.

  ‘Tell him he may share my dinner.’

  The fellow nods, hurries away.

  A few minutes later Youngest Son enters the room. I do not look up from my bowl of salt-fish.

  ‘Father!’ he calls from the doorway.

  Without further acknowledgement, I gesture at the food with my chopsticks. Youngest Son clanks across the room, wearing a hauberk of iron squares sewn on leather. A sword hangs from his belt. I am surprised he didn’t feel the need to bring a loaded crossbow.

  He waits for me to speak. At least it is within my power to deny him this satisfaction. After a minute he takes a seat and the butler rushes forward to fill more bowls.

  Neither of us chooses to speak before the servants.

  The meal is finished. Still ignoring him, I belch and sigh; wipe my lips with a napkin. Then I gaze out of the window. Cloud banks are gathering over the peaks we call Three Widows, threatening rain if they blow this way.

  Crows wheel high above the valley, circle slowly then descend towards the village. No doubt they hope to peck for morsels in the square. I sense Youngest Son’s restlessness beside me; he has never been one to benefit from silence, though I often advised him that silence is where a wise man hears the most. At last he scowls.

  ‘Father,’ he says. ‘I can tell you are angry about the justice meted out today. That is a great fault in you.’

  I can contain myself no longer. Let him administer the Four Punishments on me, for all I care!

  ‘Who are you to tell me I am at fault?’ I demand. ‘On what authority? Have you no respect, no decency, to address your own father in this way? You have shown me discourtesy after discourtesy since returning to Wei. Do not talk to me of fault, when you embody it!’

  He is taken aback, but soon bridles.

  ‘You are wrong again, Father. A man’s first loyalty is to the state, and the ruler of the state. This duty over-rides all others. General An-Shu is wise. All will acknowledge him as their father, even you. I have merely been doing my duty.’

  I snort.

  ‘What of your family? That is an upright man’s first duty.’

  He shakes his head, no longer angry. How soon his moods change direction, like a hot wind! Youngest Son leans forward eagerly, and I realise he wishes to correct my errors, to offer me instruction.

  ‘General An-Shu has taught all his officers to expect incomprehension,’ he says. ‘That is only natural. Where ignorance runs deep, many will not understand, he has said. The General warned us to expect this, so I do not blame you entirely, Father.’

  ‘What nonsense you have been taught.’

  ‘Not nonsense, Father. These are new ways, new times.’

  I drink a cup of wine with unsteady hands.

  ‘There you show your ignorance, boy. The General’s ideas are old and stale. They date back to the tyranny of Shang in the time of Zhou. Their author, Shang Yang, was beheaded for his troubles and the world clapped its hands for joy. Did the general tell you that?’

  He nods happily.

  ‘We have been told everything. Not that, exactly, but everything we need to know. It is our destiny, His Highness’ destiny. All will learn this! Can’t you see the future, Father? Can’t you feel it gathering around you?

  Why, the General will seize the capital and proclaim himself the Son of Heaven! Then he shall no longer be General An-Shu, but the founder of a dynasty to endure a thousand years!’

  His voice lacks balance. Has he been drinking? Perhaps he is drunk on something more dangerous than wine. I must counter with calmness.

  ‘Were the scenes in the village square a foretaste of his great dynasty?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course! Only through the harshest punishments may order be maintained. One’s duty can be painful, but only the disloyal flinch.’

  I do not mention that he seemed to enjoy his duty today.

  ‘Peace will never come from such a system of rule. If you had studied history thoroughly, instead of believing the words of a. . . of the General, you would know that repression breeds only sorrow, cruelty merely engenders more cruelty, until the tyrannical state chokes on the blood it has shed and expires. There are patterns to history, as in nature.’

  Youngest Son tightens his fists. He is not used to hearing his precious truths disputed. Good. It is time the boy learned how civilised men weigh ideas.

  ‘Take the Four Punishments,’ I continue. ‘I assume you were acting out the General’s commands?’

  ‘Of course,’ he says, haughtily. ‘All deserters are to be punished in the severest way. That is the new law.’

  ‘Are there to be no exceptions? Or courts? Or evidence?

  Or shades of wrong? Just terrible punishments?’

  ‘They got what they deserved,’ he says.

  ‘Did they truly deserve that? Look into your soul! There you will find the truth. Subtle, baffling, glimmers of truth.

  Does not your heart tell you that the new law, in this case, is excessive?’

  ‘Men’s hearts are bad!’ he exclaims, angrily. ‘Only through punishment, the harshest punishment, will order thrive. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘Should we not encourage virtue by watering it like a tender plant?’ I reply. ‘There is goodness in all souls.

  Indeed, evil deeds often flow from a man’s circumstances, or companions. We must maintain the natural way, then men are not led towards evil.’

  I could point out that when he committed a crime, a capital crime, those who loved him averted the law. I could mention we hoped he would learn gentler ways, that we believed in his essential virtue. But I forebear.

  ‘Look at my men,’ he continues. ‘They obey every instruction because they know what will happen if they don’t.’

  ‘If only this were true!’ I sigh.

  Then I tell him of the intruder in my bedchamber that afternoon – the Four Punishments did not deter him.

  Youngest Son blusters that he will post a guard around Three-Step-House, yet I do not speak my thought aloud: who will protect us from such protectors?

  He bolts down a cup of wine. Then another. The conversation has clearly taken turns he did not anticipate.

  I press my advantage.

  ‘Your dear mother had a kind heart,’ I say, gently. ‘Do you remember how she helped those who were needy, whether they deserved it or not? Think of the seasons.

  Winter’s punishments are accidental, an
d wholly a consequence of the Way.’

  ‘I have heard enough, Father!’ he snaps.

  ‘But consider. . .’

  ‘No! I will listen no more. Your words border on treason. No wonder the General has warned us to distrust adder-tongued scholars.’

  I sigh, settle back in my chair. I cannot hate him, though his instincts have grown hateful. His precious General is the one I detest. Vile corrupter of youth, thief of my son.

  ‘Your views sadden me,’ I say. ‘When you are older, I believe they will seem strange to you. I dearly hope so.’

  ‘Then you hope in vain,’ he says, rising to his feet.

  His sword knocks a bowl off the table. It clatters and breaks into shards.

  ‘I am disappointed, Father. This should have been a glad meeting, for I bring happy news. Before I left the temporary capital at Chunming, I persuaded one of the officials to summon you to court, so you might pay homage to His Highness. Perhaps he will grant you an official position.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘I see that the influence I possess surprises you!’ he continues.

  ‘You took it upon yourself to offer me as one of the General’s officials? Are you mad, boy!’

  ‘You should be grateful, but you are not!’

  ‘I’m not grateful, that is certain.’

  ‘Have you no pride, Father? Do you not resent the Emperor’s lackeys for banishing you? I cannot understand you.’

  I shake my head vigorously.

  ‘Long ago I reconciled myself to my banishment. This news alarms me deeply. Send word at once to Chunming and have the summons rescinded.’

  ‘That is not possible.’

  ‘Tell them I am sick. Tell them I sit in a corner all day dribbling. I will help you to compose the letter.’

  ‘I will not disobey my orders,’ he counters. ‘Besides, my officers have witnessed your good health. They would report my lie and that I had wilfully defied an instruction.’

  ‘Then tonight I shall catch the plague!’ I say.

  ‘No, Father. I will not fail in my duty.’

  His voice has grown obdurate and proud. Finally I realise the truth. Youngest Son would burn the whole of Wei to possess the glorious future he imagines for himself.

  But there may be other motives.

  ‘So this is how you punish me,’ I murmur.

  He is already half way across the room, his horseman’s boots echoing.

  I sit, hands folded on my lap. For the first time I am truly afraid. Heed your own wisdom, I tell myself, inhabit what is, not imagined fears.

  The night-rain enters my dreams, running down the eaves in tiny rivulets, hurrying drops, a constant whisper. My dreams are angry, full of eyes. The deserters dismembered once again in the village square until they form a mound of limbs and torsos and organs and grinning heads.

  Though I protest in a strained, querulous voice, the body parts begin to move and re-assemble – head to arm-socket, leg to severed nose – crawling in confusion like startled ants.

  ‘This is not natural!’ I rail. ‘This is an affront to the Way! Oh, when will we learn?’

  Their strange dance continues. Then I realise I am not in Wei at all, but on the large parade ground before the Prefect’s residence in Chunming!

  I wake covered in sweat. The room is dark. A smell of rain seeps through the rafters. I listen to its irregular tap, opposing distress with measured breaths, emptying my mind until a space is formed where sleep gathers. The hours drag towards sunrise.

  It is the fourth dawn since the soldiers marched into Wei Valley. I watch from the gatehouse, pleased to see them march away. But they are only continuing their search for the cavalrymen further up the valley, not returning to Chunming. Perhaps I should be pleased. When they finally leave for Chunming, I must go with them.

  Youngest Son is at their head, as usual, implacable on his white horse, drummers all around him. How he loves a loud noise! Perhaps he hopes to frighten away evil spirits. Or thoughts. Certainly he is surrounded by threats, some made worse by his own actions. Instead of wasting a whole day on fancy executions, he should have been scouring the valley. Now everyone is too terrified to offer him information. Should it prove wrong the consequences are unthinkable. Even his strictures concerning the necessity for harsh punishments work against him. If he fails to capture the cavalrymen, to succeed in his essential mission, General An-Shu’s code allows no mercy.

  I am reminded of an anecdote related in a Legalist text I once perused in the Imperial Library. It concerned Prince Chao of Han, who got drunk and fell asleep on a bitterly cold night. The man entrusted with bearing his crown placed a coat over him. When the prince awoke he enquired who had covered him against the cold. On hearing it was the crown-keeper, he ordered the man’s execution. The coat-keeper, whose job it was to keep his master warm, was merely castrated. Prince Chao’s reasoning? To transgress one’s duties of office is worse than simple negligence. Thus the crown-keeper deserved the more severe punishment. One might view Youngest Son’s decision to waste a vital day in this light.

  As I recollect, the author of this text also fell foul of his Emperor. After suffering the first of the Four Punishments until without nose, feet, or genitals, he was whipped and severed at the waist, all his family – parents, brothers, wife and children – were executed in strict accordance with the principles he had spent his life propounding.

  By such ironies one may judge the prudence of espousing any system. Can such antique ideas really hold sway in Chunming? Youngest Son’s words seemed to indicate so. One might call General An-Shu a desperate man indeed. Or simply bad, unfit for the Mandate of Heaven.

  *

  Thoughts of law send me rooting about in my three chests for documents. I gather up the charter granted by General Yueh Fei to my father, confirming our family’s Lordship of Wei in perpetuity. Other papers, too, concerning our property, for the estate has grown over the years, despite my neglect. My wife’s dowry, then Daughter-in-law’s, added swathes of unproductive hillside and woodland, some of which Eldest Son has managed to bring to prof-itable cultivation. We are not rich as a result. Yet we have much to lose. Finally, I send for the steward and ask him to fetch Eldest Son.

  He arrives unshaven, a beaten look about his eyes. If I had any doubts about what must happen next, his gaunt appearance settles them.

  ‘Sit beside me,’ I say. ‘We have much to discuss and little time.’

  ‘Father!’ he exclaims miserably, once seated. ‘I have heard the news that you must go to Chunming. Why does my brother hate us so?’

  I purse my lips.

  ‘I suspect it is not hatred. More a kind of confusion.

  There may be some anger, certainly, but we must try to think the best of him. We must assume he means well.’

  Or pretend he does. I do not wish Eldest Son to hate his own brother. Such feelings can ruin a man’s peace.

  ‘I wish to talk seriously for a while, and you must listen,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘I have not always paid you the attention you deserve. . .’ I wave my hand to silence his protests. ‘When you were young, my head and heart were full of other things. But if I can, I mean to do well by you now. See that bundle of papers? I want you to take them to Whale Rock Monastery and join Daughter-in-law there. My will and all our deeds are in that bundle, so ask the monks to guard them well. When you get there, do not return home. It is too dangerous for you to stay here. I could not bear it if harm befell you.’

  ‘But Father, who will look after you?’

  My eyes flash.

  ‘I can look after myself quite well.’

  ‘I wish to accompany you to Chunming,’ he says, doggedly. ‘It is my duty.’

  ‘And I wish the opposite,’ I reply. ‘That is my duty.’

  He sighs and lowers his head.

  ‘You should go at once. Thankfully your brother has neglected to enforce an embargo on all travel within the valley. Yet another mistak
e on his part. If you are stopped, point out you are the Captain’s brother and that you have been sent away on urgent family business. Tell them he will be angry. That should settle the matter.’

  ‘Are you sure I must go, Father?’

  ‘Do not question my instructions! Now I will say something grave. It is very possible I may never return from Chunming. You know that, don’t you?’

  He nods.

  ‘So I want you to know this. I am very proud of you. . .’

  ‘How can you say that!’ he exclaims. ‘I was always too stupid to pass the examinations! I have disappointed you.’

  ‘Once that was true,’ I concede. ‘Since then I have learned better. You are my pride and heir, do not forget that. If I do not return, tell my grandsons about me, and my poems.’

  *

  ‘Father, do not keep saying you won’t come back! It will bring bad luck.’

  ‘Perhaps. Now leave Three-Step-House. Delay only to put on your shoes. Take one of the servant boys with you.

  Go with my full blessing, and tell Daughter-in-law I am particularly satisfied with her conduct.’

  He hovers. I suspect he wishes to embrace me. His tears make my own eyes itch.

  ‘Go!’

  An hour passes. I sit with hands folded on my lap, for once empty of thought, though not feeling. A knock on the door. It is Wudi. He appears pale and anxious.

  ‘Enter!’ I cry, relieved to have company.

  ‘I’m not alone, Lord,’ he says, hurriedly. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’

  He glances nervously over his shoulder, and bundles a large, heavily-cloaked man into the room before hastily latching the door. I look at my visitor curiously. I have seen him somewhere before. Then I remember, and my mouth goes dry.

  ‘I had no choice,’ whispers Wudi. ‘I found him hiding beside your family tomb. I’d gone there to measure up where I can build my own tomb, as you promised. There are soldiers all over the place!’

  I meet the man’s eye. He is young and, by the look of his cheeks, hungry. My one comfort is that he does not wear his uniform, though no one would mistake him for a peasant.