In a fury, I struggled onto my horse and rode away.
When he caught up, I did not discharge him, but stead-fastly refused to acknowledge his existence. Indeed, I sulked like a boy. That evening, as we rested at an inn, I asked timidly if he knew how to use a sword. Foolish question. Whatever he had learnt during his captivity among the barbarians seemed to involve some kind of weapon.
So he became my tutor. When we paused on our journey, he made me brandish P’ei Ti’s gift until my arm ached. And if I didn’t scream like a madman as I hacked the wooden targets he constructed, Mi Feng would grow surly and mutter: ‘Yun Cai is dead.’ If I showed the proper spirit, he chuckled and urged: ‘That’s it! Cut deep! Stamp on his face! Doesn’t it feel good?’ And I was alarmed to discover it felt very good. Most gratifying, indeed! Lord Xiao’s body received a thousand imaginary gashes at my hands, and with each blow I experienced a thrill of power.
Afterwards, however, I felt ashamed.
The inns near the frontier were full of strange rumours concerning the rebels. Now it was Mi Feng’s turn to suffer, for he was inordinately superstitious.
It seemed the rebellion of Wang Tse was no ordinary uprising. The initial cause was banal enough. The local Prefect had embezzled money and grain, starving the city of Pinang and its garrison until neither could tolerate the abuse. A mob stormed the Prefect’s enclosure, slaughtering all they found, adult or child. In Wang Tse the rebels had chosen an admirable leader. Many believed he was not just a soldier, but a sorcerer.
Everywhere we heard tales of his forbidden powers. It was said that, even as a common Captain of Artillery, Wang Tse had married a sorceress who taught him many useful spells. His wife’s father had owned a magic mirror and when her mother decided to burn it, appalled by its dark promptings, the ashes whirled around her and she became pregnant. The fruit of this unnatural conception, Wang Tse’s wife, was no less than a fox fairy in human form, able to conjure up soldiers and cavalry from paper and beans. Certainly his forces never seemed to diminish.
Of course I smiled at such fanciful notions. The idea that demons would raise a rebellion in out-of-the-way Pinang seemed absurd. Why not choose the capital itself?
Then we learned the first army sent to crush the rebels had been slaughtered almost to a man, mainly because of a mysterious sandstorm, for Wang Tse could conjure wind and weather. Still I pretended to attribute the disaster to natural causes.At last we reached the mountain passes leading to Pinang and joined a train of fifty wagons carrying supplies to the front. The roadside was littered with white bones, for the region had endured many battles during the previous Emperor’s reign, as he struggled to maintain the Silk Road’s flow of wealth into the Empire.
*
By now every man in the army had heard dark rumours concerning Wang Tse’s power. Most kept a constant watch over their shoulder, for the sorcerer’s wife sometimes flew above our troops at night, scattering an invisible ink which caused premature death by painting unlucky characters across a man’s forehead. One sergeant, who had been at the siege from the beginning, told me a strange tale:
‘I was with the first army,’ he said. ‘We got as far as the city gates, when suddenly we were covered in a fog of sand and smoke. A most devilish wind was blowing, sir!
We were driven into the marshes on the south side of the city. Well, everyone knows the rest. I’m lucky to be talking to you, sir! We lost two-thirds of our men, sir! That’s why they’ve sent a new general to take charge.’
‘What’s his name?’ I asked.
‘Field Marshal Wen Po,’ replied the sergeant.
Of course the name was familiar. Who had not heard of Wen Po? Less well-known was that this same illustrious Wen Po was Lord Xiao’s cousin. If my tongue hadn’t been parched from the dusty mountain road – it was a barren range, all rock and sandstone crag, populated by vultures – it would have gone bone dry. The web Lord Xiao had spun around me tightened yet again.
Later that day we arrived at Pinang, and witnessed the burning of the siege engines. Could sorcery have guided Wang Tse’s missiles? It is hard to doubt what everyone knows to be true.
We were guided through a large encampment to a wind-picked hillside overlooking the western ramparts of Pinang. By now I was sufficiently recovered from my queasiness to look around. The roads were full of wounded men hobbling back to their camps. Down below, in front of the ramparts, siege engines still burned and acrid smoke billowed. I was surprised to notice many of the dead were simply left to smoulder where they had fallen.
Yet I needed to clear my mind. An important event awaited me. For I must meet the clerks who were to be my underlings.
‘With all due respect, sir,’ advised Mi Feng. ‘You’ve got to show who’s boss right from the start. Find a reason to slap one of them about.’
‘I have never beaten you,’ I replied. ‘Yet you seem to respect me.’
He considered this for a moment, then concluded: ‘Even so, it won’t do no harm.’
Of course he was right. I dismounted beside a latrine and swapped travelling clothes for my official uniform, much to the amusement of several cooks squatting in the trench, who shouted ribald comments, while pointing up the hillside at the Bureau of Fallen Heroes.
Then we rode up the steep slope to a small, miserable hut. As I looked across the basin of hills enclosing the city, hundreds of campfires glittered in the dusk. The cold wind moaned and an eerie, desolate light lit the mountain peaks, so that the winding Silk Road glowed as it uncurled westwards, vanishing into the distant horizon.
Pinang was dark and silent below us, except for a few torches on the city walls.
I dismounted stiffly and smoothed my uniform. An orange glow shone through the open doorway of the hut, and I could hear voices muttering. I approached quietly and glanced through the low entrance. Within lay a scene of wretched disorder. Here was my office, an outpost of government, yet it would have disgraced a slovenly thief.
Three men in threadbare uniforms crouched round a small fire, built within a circle of stones. Their faces were gaunt and unshaven. More like brigands than honourable clerks dedicated to His Imperial Majesty’s service. On a low table were piles of documents. As I watched, one of the clerks, not much older than myself, reached up and took one of the scrolls. Tearing a strip of paper, he rolled it into a taper and used it to light a small lamp. His eyes wandered to the doorway, and he froze. I glowered into his startled face. The others followed his gaze. The room was silent except for the crackle of dried ferns and brush-wood on the fire. They exchanged nervous glances.
Finally, I said in a quiet voice:
‘Bring me that paper you have used to light your lamp.’
The young man rose and brought it over sullenly. His fellows did not move. A bad sign. Given my uniform, they should have been on their knees.
I plucked the paper from his hand and slowly unrolled it. Then I glanced over the writing. An inventory of ink cakes used during the last year. He cringed a little at this proof of negligence, but only a little. Now was the moment when I either gained their respect or became their pet. So without a word, I slapped him as hard as I could across the face. After my recent sword practise it must have been a fine blow, for he keeled over with a cry.
‘Get out!’ I roared. ‘The lot of you!’
They scrambled to their feet and lined up outside. For the next few minutes, I harangued and railed, conscious that Mi Feng was watching with approval. Then I ordered them to collect their blankets and find somewhere to sleep, promising they would be thoroughly questioned at dawn. Mi Feng arranged my own bedding and we spent an uneasy night, disturbed by the low muttering of the wind, and the clerks, outside.
Lord Xiao’s written instructions were clear. I should supervise The Bureau of Fallen Heroes. A fine title for a petty office! Our duty was to record all losses among the troops, either through battle or disease, with due reverence to the proper military authorities. ‘As and when the opportunity arose’, w
e were to send full reports of our progress to the capital.
The pointlessness of this mission was obvious. Firstly, such a task belonged to the military administrators, who naturally resented our presence. Not least because many claimed the wages of dead soldiers while pretending they were still alive. Secondly, our reports would end up in a great mass of paper in the Finance Ministry, unread and unregarded.
Of course the real function of the Bureau of Fallen heroes was to punish any underlings who displeased Lord Xiao. Perhaps I should not have been so hard on the clerks for we were all cranking the same wheel. Yet I was determined to vanquish Lord Xiao’s malice by a most ridiculous method. I would fulfil my mission, however meaningless, with exemplary diligence and vigour. In this way, I reasoned, pride might be retained, my worth confirmed for all to see.
The next morning I summoned the clerks into the hut, one by one, and grilled them. Each entered half-frozen from a miserable night beneath the stars. I had not intended them to be terrified, yet they were.
One had been exiled here for answering back to Lord Xiao’s secretary (this was the scroll burner). The second had been drunk when Lord Xiao unexpectedly inspected his office and had broken into a tirade about the conditions under which he was expected to work. The last had offended Lord Xiao by giving him the nickname ‘Squeaky Rat Voice’, which his childhood friend treacherously reported in order to gain a promotion.
I learned that my predecessor as Bureau Chief – who had made the mistake of protesting about financial irregularities Lord Xiao wished to cover up – had died for no apparent reason within a week of reaching Pinang. His official hat and robes hung forlornly by the door. Since then they had drawn their weekly rations of millet and rice and tried to stay inconspicuous. Their main duty consisted of guarding against soldiers from the neighbouring camp who, as I was told solemnly, ‘were ten times worse than any rebels’. Not a single list of the fallen had been compiled.
‘Clearly,’ I said. ‘You have drifted into bad ways.
Nevertheless our duties are important and we shall fulfil them with pride. If you work hard, I’ll let you sleep in the hut. Otherwise you’ll sleep outside.’
It seemed the worst punishment I could threaten.
Strangely, they nodded with approval. Habits of unquestioning obedience do that to a man, as a much-beaten dog looks around wistfully for its cruel master.
I began by introducing myself to all the relevant military administrators, for they held the key to the whole business. I rode from regiment to regiment on my shaggy pony, while the clerks followed in full uniform, carrying bundles of scrolls. It soon became obvious our presence was viewed as profoundly unlucky. Many reached for charms and amulets, to prevent their name from appearing on one of our lists. Some soldiers even shouted out:
‘There go Wang Tse’s spies!’ as we passed. It was essential to reverse this situation as soon as possible. The best way seemed complete frankness.
‘Honourable Sir,’ I said to the first official who agreed to meet me, his lower jaw jutting with hostility. ‘I fully appreciate how annoying our presence must be. Let me assure you, sir, we have no choice in the matter. If we had our way, we’d be back in the capital drinking wine and admiring the bosoms of fine ladies. But as we are here, we have duties to fulfil. So, if you would be so gracious, my clerks will note the casualties on a daily basis and we shall send back our reports. I must assure you, Honoured Sir, that no one ever reads them. Nevertheless, we are determined our dispatches will bring us great credit. Who knows, if we work hard enough, we might even get recalled and you’ll see the back of us.’
The official’s mouth twitched. For a moment he tried to frown, then roared with laughter.
‘Bosoms, indeed! Drinking wine, indeed! All right, young fellow,’ he said. ‘Just keep out of everyone’s way.’
I proceeded from camp to camp in this manner. While I can hardly say we won friends, there was no doubt we lost a few enemies.
Father always told me: ‘Hard weather makes thorns put out their spikes.’ He meant, of course, to teach me the best way to be a man. Never did I need guidance as much as that first month on the hillside above Pinang. For the weather was indeed hard; and I entered a strange world with stranger rules.
I had little choice except to put out spikes against the wind. It blew night and day from the barren steppe-lands, piercing layers of clothes and, finally, the very spirit. My soft hands and face became chapped and raw. Often I woke shivering beneath my blanket. We had little fuel for fires and our rations were barely adequate. Our one blessing was a small spring at the rear of the hut, so we did not lack water. Not everyone in His Excellency Wen Po’s army was so lucky and I was not surprised when we were roused one night by our neighing horses.
Mi Feng and I charged outside waving our swords.
Fortunately, the thieves – a few crossbowmen – melted into the darkness, heading for the nearest camp.
We quietened the horses, wind tugging at our hair and their manes. I glanced up at the stars, intermittently shrouded by racing clouds.
‘Sir,’ said Mi Feng. ‘I think they wanted our beasts for the pot.’
This was too obvious to deserve a reply.
‘Why not give the weaker one to the captain of the crossbowmen camped yonder?’ he suggested. ‘We could ask him to make sure his men don’t touch the horse we have left. Then everyone will be happy. Besides, there’s not enough fodder to feed both animals until spring.’
This seemed an excellent plan and the next morning it was soon accomplished. The captain, an excitable fellow from Nanning, sealed the bargain with a cask of salted fish. That night the Bureau of Fallen Heroes dined like palace eunuchs, each shred of fish melting on our tongues.
Often I leaned against a sheltered wall of the hut, gazing out across Pinang. At least fifty thousand men were besieging the city, outnumbering the rebels many times over. Yet, as the Eleventh Month commenced, we seemed no nearer victory, despite regular assaults on the ramparts.
So each day my clerks returned with the names of the dead and our list lengthened. Every week I visited the regimental headquarters to meet military administrators and nourish goodwill. Heaven knows we needed it. It was on just such a venture my misfortunes began in earnest.
I was trotting back to our hut when the steep, twisting road was blocked by a large party of horsemen. Naturally, I hurried off the road to let them pass. They were arrayed in full armour and carried a dozen bright flags. Behind the cavalry came a litter carried by eight sweating guardsmen.
Within reclined Field Marshal Wen Po, a stout, bearded man approaching his fiftieth year, famous for cunning stratagems. I stayed on my knees, clutching the reins of my pony. But instead of passing by, His Excellency barked out a command and the whole procession halted. I found myself gazing up at his implacable face. He leaned forward in his litter and frowned. It was obvious he recognised me. I understood at once my presence had been communicated to him by his cousin, Lord Xiao. No doubt the letter contained delicate hints about the fate I was expected to suffer.
His Excellency Wen Po regarded me for a long moment.
It was not an angry look; indeed he appeared thoughtful, as though contemplating a necessary but unpleasant duty.
Then he gestured to his bearers and the procession continued on its way. A large crowd of officers and officials came behind, mostly on horseback. A few were carried in sedan chairs by barefoot peasants. They had almost gone by when my attention was caught by a thin, pale face in a particularly fine litter. At first I refused to acknowledge the evidence of my eyes. His own gaze fell upon me. A gasp of astonishment replaced the familiar sneer on his bloodless lips. Then he was swept along behind His Excellency Wen Po and turned a corner.
Cousin Zhi rode in that litter! Cousin Zhi who I had last seen years earlier, before the Great Fire. And now he was in His Excellency’s entourage! Normally one is glad to meet a relative, especially in a time of need, but this was Cousin Zhi. Yet why shouldn
’t he have changed for the better? Even in this dreadful place a man might still improve.
If Wang Tse, King of the Western Peace, hoped His Excellency Wen Po would despair in the face of winter and heavy losses he was to be disappointed. A subtle opponent always has eggs to hatch.
His Excellency’s next stratagem involved the thousands of labourers who accompanied the army. His plan was to build an earth wall parallel to the western ramparts, a mere dozen yards from the battlements. When the wall was high enough, he could clear the fortifications using archers and crossbowmen. Meanwhile, picked units of swordsmen would mount siege ladders and pour over the city walls, dispatching any rebels who remained alive.
Pinang would lie open like a hen-coop with its door ajar.
A sound enough plan, and well-tested. Its disadvantage was that thousands must perish to accomplish it. His Excellency evidently accepted that price.
One dawn I was watching the preparations before Pinang when a splendidly attired messenger galloped to our hut. The man took a single glance at the Bureau of Fallen Heroes and dropped all pretence of courtesy.
‘Which of you lot is Yun Cai?’ he demanded.
I stepped forward, straightening my grimy uniform.
‘Have you never seen a graduate of the Golden List before?’ I replied.
My clerks chuckled appreciatively. They hated any sign of weakness on my part. I was their father here. And their hope. The messenger raised his eyebrows.
‘Here!’ he said, thrusting a scroll into my outstretched hand. Then he cantered away.
‘Where’s my bow?’ muttered Mi Feng beside me. My servant had acquired such a weapon and taken to shooting at passing birds or wild dogs to supplement our pitiful rations.
‘Don’t bother,’ I said. ‘He would taste awful.’
Again the clerks applauded my wit. I was beginning to see why great officials require sycophants. Yet I resembled a beggar more than a scholar-official. My robes threadbare and unkempt, my hair lank in its own grease. The plump, glowing cheeks Su Lin had once so admired, were pinched and covered with stubble, like hairy leather bags.
Taming Poison Dragons Page 25