My Splendid Concubine

by Lofthouse, Lloyd

  After a few more questions were tossed at Robert like rocks that he couldn’t catch, Prince Kung turned to Captain Patridge. “This one does not grasp the complexities of Mandarin or Chinese history enough to serve us. We want someone who understands how the Chinese think and is capable of explaining that to the representatives of the foreign powers. If he is the best you can bring us, you are not useful.” A bored expression clouded the prince’s face. They had been dismissed.

  Outside, Robert said, “Why in blazes did you arrange that meeting?” He was fuming with anger. He hated being embarrassed.

  “Don’t let it worry you,” Patridge replied. “The Prince has seen you. That’s what’s important. In China, introductions like this turn priceless later. One day, maybe years from now, he’ll remember this meeting and see the growth of your knowledge and skills.” The captain put a hand on Robert’s arm in a conciliatory gesture. “Look, Robert, I didn’t do this embarrass you. Believe me when I say that I did this with your future in mind.”

  With an effort, Robert suppressed his temper. “I don’t see how. That prince looked like he was still a youth.”

  “He’s older,” Patridge replied. “The Chinese don’t show their age as we do. He’s twenty-two.”

  Robert was now motivated to master the Chinese language. He didn’t want to be embarrassed again. He wondered what he could do to learn how the Chinese think. For that to happen, he’d have to live in a Chinese house with Chinese people. He did have Shao-mei. Maybe living with her would help.

  The dinner at Ward’s was a repeat of the victory celebration over the Taipings. It was lavish and grand to show off the man’s wealth and power. Robert resolved that if he were in a similar position, his parties would be sedate with people in conversations about art, literature and politics. Men like Ward would never be invited.

  Robert sat on one side of Ward while Patridge sat on his other side of the long table. He wanted to be as far from Ward as possible. The room was oppressive with its low, open timbered, and smoke stained ceiling. The only person between Ward and Robert was one of the mercenary’s concubines. Another concubine sat between Ward and Patridge.

  Ward, sweating profusely, tossed down another glass of brandy. Robert doubted he tasted it. The man’s body gave off a rancid odor like spoiled milk.

  “So, Patridge,” Ward said in his loud, obnoxious voice, “are you joining me on my way to victory at Sungkiang? Here’s a chance to make a name on the battlefield.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t,” Captain Patridge replied. He lifted his glass of wine and held it out. “I have business to attend to, but I’ll drink to your success.”

  Ward waved a finger at one of the concubines. She stepped forward to pour more brandy into his glass. He lifted the glass and clinked it against Patridge’s. Some of the brandy and wine slopped onto the table. “To gold and silver and the women it buys,” he said, and Patridge echoed him. Ward drank half the glass in one gulp.

  “What about you, Hart?” Ward said, slurring his words. “Unwyn said you fight like a gladiator. He said you took on a dozen Taipings.”

  “He flatters me,” Robert replied. “I had help.”

  Ward laughed. “That’s not the way I heard it.”

  “I understand you bought a new concubine last night named Ayaou,” Robert said, shocked at his boldness. He had to be careful. He had said that without thinking.

  “That bitch.” Ward jerked his jaw to the side signaling for his glass to be refilled. A concubine leaped to obey.

  “She wasn’t to your liking?” Robert asked. He hid his trembling hands under the table and kept them on his lap.

  “I bought her when she was dirty with her cycle, but she paid for it. I showed her who the master was.” Ward lifted the glass to his mouth and spilled half its contents down his bare chest before he slammed it back on the table. “When this battle is won, she is one virgin I’m going to enjoy. She’s too damn delicious! I love breaking a bitch that’s never been ridden.”

  Robert clenched his hands into fists. He had always prided himself at controlling his temper. This was a test he wasn’t sure he could win. “Her music was lovely,” he said, choosing his words to lure Ward in while keeping the tone of his voice calm. “Do we hear some tonight? What do you say, Captain Patridge?”

  “That would be pleasant,” Patridge echoed. He watched Robert with narrow eyes.

  He’s wondering what I’m up to, Robert thought. Why should he care? Then he remembered confiding his feelings for Ayaou to Patridge. That had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have told Patridge anything, because the captain might reveal what Robert really wanted.

  Anxiety invaded his stomach, and he lost his appetite. He had felt like this in Belfast when his sister Mary warned him the family knew he was ruining his life with liquor and women. Because of his big mouth, he could lose this opportunity to get Ayaou.

  He considered walking away. After all, he did have Shao-mei. He wouldn’t be alone. She was a willing, sweet girl. And with Shao-mei, there was no crazy Ward to complicate the situation.

  “Ayaou,” Ward said as if he were a bull, “bring that damned Chinese stringed piano out here and play for my guests.”

  She glided through the door that led to the kitchen. Robert wanted to look at her. With an effort, he denied the desire. He blushed when he remembered the root cellar where he had made love to Ayaou. He realized he could not stop now. He had to have her. He knew it would take every bit of cunning he could muster for a chance at success. He stared at the tabletop afraid that Ward might notice his expression of anxiety. He couldn’t allow anything to give away how he felt and worried about Patridge doing just that.

  Ayaou stood behind Ward. She glared at the painted concubine next to the general and did not look at Robert. He knew that this was probably best, but he had hoped for a smile.

  “Move,” Ward ordered. He didn’t say who should move.

  Robert brought one of his hands out from beneath the table and picked up the wineglass. He needed a drink. Food was put in front of him, but he had no appetite. He paid no attention to what it was though he hadn’t eaten all day. Another platter loaded with beef and pork arrived. The guests speared pieces for their plates. Robert sipped wine.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Ward shouted. He used the back of his arm to sweep the painted concubine out of her seat. She lost her balance, fell over and cracked her head against the wall. She doubled over in silence and didn’t move for a moment. Then she stood and stumbled from the room. At the door, she hesitated and glanced at Ward with a look that reminded Robert of a puppy that lavished attention on its abusive master. He saw tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t sobbing. Looking as if she had been abandoned, she left.

  Robert understood why Patridge did not like this man. He didn’t like him either. Ward was a disgusting creature. However, Ward was a dangerous man to dislike.

  Ayaou slipped into the vacated chair. She placed the pipa next to her face and started to play. There was a bruise on her forehead. Seeing it brought Robert’s blood to a boil. The bastard, he thought. Robert struggled to stay seated and not smash in the man’s smug expression. It would be stupid to lose control.

  Instead, Robert diverted his anger into the wineglass. He squeezed it so hard it shattered. He cut himself in the process. A servant cleaned up the mess. Robert wrapped his hand with a cloth napkin to stop the bleeding, and the pain subdued his anger. He decided to do something risky and dangerous. If it didn’t work, it might cost his life.

  Ayaou finished the first song and started another. Robert leaned forward and placed his good hand on her arm to stop her. “General Ward,” he asked, “is that invitation to join you in the attack on Sungkiang still good?”

  “Of course,” Ward replied. “I can use every white man possible. These Orientals can’t think. They botch every battle they get into. It is the primary reason the Taipings have been winning the war. I am going to change that.”

  “I want to join you bu
t on one condition.”

  “What’s that?” Ward swayed in his seat struggling to overcome the alcoholic fog clouding his brain.

  “I’m still mastering Mandarin,” Robert said. “This trip to Shanghai has interrupted my studies.”

  “Why is this important?” Ward slurred his words. He took another swallow of liquor. His forehead and upper lip were beaded with sweat.

  “My career depends on it.”

  “Bring your teacher.”

  “He’s not available.”

  “Come on,” Ward said. “Anyone that speaks Chinese will do.”

  “Anyone? Like whom?”

  “Like one of my concubines,” Ward said. “I’m sure any of them can speak the damned language with you.”

  “How about Ayaou?”

  “That’s possible, but why her?”

  “I know her father, Chou Luk. I know her family.” Robert didn’t say what he thought—that she was supposed to be his woman, not Ward’s.

  Ward stared at Robert, who worried that the American might guess the truth. Ward turned to Captain Patridge. “Is Hart after his lesson, or should I suspect he’s after my virgin?”

  “Oh, he’s after his lesson.” Patridge lied. “The British government pays him to learn Chinese. He isn’t interested in your concubine. Why should he be? He has his pick of them at my summerhouse.”

  Patridge wasn’t watching Ward. He was looking at Robert. His eyes said that Robert owed him, which made Robert uncomfortable.

  Maybe Ayaou had been right. Maybe Patridge was in it for the money. This confused Robert. How could he benefit this man financially? Patridge was a man who liked telling exaggerated stories and doling out concubines as bed warmers. Who was he to question Patridge’s motives? After all, he had accepted Willow. He had no right to judge Patridge or be suspicious of him.

  “All right,” Ward said. He turned to Ayaou. “Get ready. Do a good job teaching Hart his Chinese. If you don’t, I’ll give you a twin to that bruise you already earned.”

  Chapter 9

  An eerie silence ruled the night. It hadn’t always been like that. Soon after Ward’s army surrounded Sungkiang, out came the whiskey, and a wild boisterous celebration followed. Robert saw no reason for it. There had been no battle—no victory.

  He had been outfitted with a Dreyse needle gun. The weapon was slung across his back. It was the first breech loading, bolt-action rifle he’d handled. Ward said the Prussian and German armies used it, and it could fire up to a dozen rounds a minute. Robert also had a Colt revolver. He felt more like a bandit than a soldier.

  Ward assigned a hundred of his roughs to be under Robert’s command. In his crude and clumsy Chinese, Robert talked to the noncommissioned officers in charge of the men under him. “I want to set a guard for tonight and have the men dig a trench between the city and us and fill it with wooden stakes.”

  The swarthy men with pockmarked faces stared at him as if he were some apparition that had sprouted from the ground. They started talking among themselves in a language Robert didn’t understand. It wasn’t Chinese—at least any dialect he’d heard. The group stopped talking. Then they laughed and turned their backs on him and walked away.

  He burned with anger and frustration. Soldiers should not act like this. In a real army, he’d be justified to shoot them. If he attempted to punish them now for their insubordination, some of them might shoot back. Robert’s Colt held six rounds, but there were at least a dozen heavily armed men in the group. He felt helpless.

  After most of Ward’s army was dead drunk, Ayaou was escorted to Robert. “It’s about time you came,” he said in a scolding tone. “I’ve wanted to practice my Chinese.” He turned to her guards. “Thank General Ward for me. You may go. I’ll escort her back to his tent later.” He watched the men leave. They were probably going to get drunk.

  Ayaou stood shrouded like a dark, cloaked ghost with her face hidden. From where they stood, Sungkiang was below them. A moat and a wall surrounded the city, and a few lights flickered inside. On Ward’s side of the moat, the Taipings had planted a host of sharp, wooden spikes in the ground to slow the attack planned for morning.

  “We may be the only two sober people here,” Robert said. “Ward is a fool. This army deserves a better leader or the officers a better army.”

  Ayaou put a finger to his lips. “Shush,” she said. “The night has ears. I’d better go back to his tent soon, so he will not suspect us.”

  “You can’t leave,” he said. “I found a spot in a stand of trees where we can be alone.” Taking her hand, he led her through the snoring camp. Touching her excited him, but he had no choice but to contain his passion. Men were sprawled everywhere sleeping in drunken stupors. There were no sentries.

  When they reached the trees, he stopped outside the grove. “If things go wrong, we’ll meet in there. It will be a good place to make an escape to the countryside.”

  She stepped back and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Are you worried about him?” he asked, but didn’t add that he was worried too. Ward was unpredictable. “He will be drunk like most of his men,” he said. “We’ll be safe until morning.” He was willing to say anything to get her to relax and stay.

  She shook her head. “Not good. He is a demon.”

  “Nonsense,” he said. He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her holding her close. She didn’t struggle. “I don’t want you out of my sight. I don’t like what’s happening.” He waved a hand at the silent camp. “This is an invitation for disaster.”

  “Show me how to use that.” She pointed at the pistol.

  “Not here,” he said. He led her into the grove of trees to a small clearing where they had some privacy. “We’ll stay here tonight and part in the morning before the battle. If the fight turns against us, there’s a dry gully on the other side of these trees. We’ll follow it into the countryside.” He sat and directed Ayaou to sit by him. Robert taught her how to work the Colt. He made her repeat everything and show him by unloading and reloading the revolver several times.

  She struggled to hold the weapon steady. “It’s heavy. What if I drop it?”

  “Don’t worry. If you have to fight, you’ll find the strength, and they will be too close to miss. When you see the man you’re shooting at fall, shift to another target right away. Always pick the closest one. Keep firing until every cylinder is empty then sit and reload. I’ll be right beside you. Don’t forget what I told you about turning the barrel of the pistol into a pointing finger. Just point that dangerous metal finger at the target and squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it.”

  She put the Colt on her lap.

  “Here,” Robert said, “wear this?” He unbuckled the holster and belt. It was too big for her waist. He used his dagger to dig another hole in the leather to get the belt to fit. When he buckled it on her, she leaned toward him. His hands found her naked body under her clothing. He kissed her neck and the soft skin behind an ear. Their lovemaking turned frantic. It was as if the world was going to end, and this was their last chance. When she peaked and had her orgasm, he thought the noise was going to wake the camp.

  “I had a hard time after you were gone the night after we …” She stopped talking as if searching for words. “My father told me that I’d be Ward’s woman, and I didn’t want to go on breathing. He said Ward would kill him and the rest of the family if I took my life.”

  She leaned her head on Robert’s shoulder. He smelled the familiar scent of the ocean in her hair. He wanted to see her face. The campfires had died, and there was no moon to light the night. He explored her face with his fingertips. Soon they were kissing and made love again. After they finished, he wrapped a blanket around her. “I want you to sleep,” he said.

  “What about you?”

  “I’m not tired.” He scooted back, leaned against the nearest tree, and patted his lap. “Put your head here. Let me be your pillow.” He watched her fall asleep wrapped inside the blanket
like a caterpillar inside its cocoon—to wake at dawn a butterfly. He didn’t want a butterfly. He wanted a Mute Swan, Ireland’s largest bird. They mated for life.

  Ayaou cried out Shao-mei’s name in her sleep. She didn’t know that Shao-mei was Robert’s concubine. When she found out, would she be angry and accuse him of betraying their love? He felt as if he were a coward for not telling her. It seemed impossible that so much had happened so fast.

  He thought about the Chinese people he’d met since arriving on the mainland a year ago. Most had been friendly, and they were always respectful. China, with its many spoken languages, had found one common bond with one written language, something that did not exist in Europe. However, the Chinese were not all the same. He’d met a few from the north and discovered that up there the Chinese looked more like Mongols than the people living around Shanghai or Hong Kong. They were hard living and stood taller. They were also conservative in their beliefs.

  In Hong Kong, on the other hand, he’d met a different type from a more sophisticated culture living an easier life. The southeastern Chinese were not as physically strong as those from the north were. The northern Chinese were wheat eaters, and those living farther south primarily ate rice. He wondered if eating wheat was the reason for the taller, more robust physique of the northern Chinese.

  Stars appeared in the sky. It took a few minutes to adjust to the darkness. Ayaou was sound asleep and didn’t move when he ran his fingers through her long hair, which felt soft and silky. He lifted a strand. When he let go, he watched it flow like water back into place. He loved this woman, but he didn’t know her that well. He knew that she had courage. During that battle with the Taipings, she’d stood by his side, fought hard, and saved his life as he had saved hers. That wasn’t such a bad beginning.

  Then he wondered what his next move was going to be. How was he going to keep her? He had to admit that it had been foolish to rush into this without a plan. It wasn’t like him. All the way through college, he’d never approached anything without a plan except where women were concerned. When he was around attractive women, he lost control. He hated losing control. He tried to think of something that he could do to keep her. He was exhausted from the long day. Maybe that was it. Maybe he just needed to sleep. It was frustrating. Here she was in his arms. They had made love twice. He questioned his purpose. It sickened him to think that he might have been motivated to have intercourse with her again. If true, he was a hypocrite.