Taming Poison Dragons (38 page)

I reached a bend in the road, and paused.

What I saw then, I cannot forget.

*

Cousin Zhi’s litter rolled down the steep side of the road, round and round, with him shrieking inside. At last it came to rest, upside down. Half a dozen mounted archers broke away from their main formation and galloped up. They leapt off their horses, dragging Zhi from his litter until he lay pleading on the ground before them.

He must have seemed a gorgeous, delicate creature, dressed in the finest silks, rattling with jade ornaments. I knew my father would have drawn his sword and rushed to save his cousin. Yet I turned away like a coward. The last glimpse I had of him – bare white legs waving as they tore his silks aside – and then I was swept away up the road. Cousin Zhi had gone.

A fresh cloud of arrows filled the air. I had waded unharmed through naphtha and crossbow bolts on Wen Po’s earthworks. I had even survived the superior swords-manship of a hired assassin. Now the last thread of my luck snapped. An arrow smashed into my shoulder, knocking me to the ground. The blow emptied me of breath, and in the moment before I fainted, I felt heavy feet trampling my chest. I regained consciousness almost instantly and found Mi Feng dragging me to the side of the road. Hot tongs of agony squeezed my right arm and shoulder.

For a while we crouched in the dirt, fearful of more arrows. Then somehow, in an indescribable weariness of pain and shock, I stumbled the short distance to our fortifications.

Beyond the ramparts at the head of the narrow pass we finally found rest. As the last dregs of our army streamed through the gate the mounted archers of the Kin withdrew, their work accomplished. No fresh waves of attackers rode towards us. We had been washed onto an island by the raging torrent.

Hours passed, and it seemed the Kin might be satisfied with the capture of Pinang. Certainly no attempts were made that day, or afterwards, to penetrate further into the Middle Kingdom. In this they showed moderation, not entirely characteristic, yet eminently wise. The Silk Road was secure. Our mountainous frontier was dangerous terrain for an army whose strength lay in wild cavalry charges. And Wen Po’s victory over Wang Tse had delivered them a great prize, burned and ruined as Pinang was, for the price of a few thousand dead. Why risk these advantages by pursuing further conquest? Every scorched house may be re-built. New people would occupy the streets emptied by war.

I shivered on the bare mountain pass, faintly delirious. Mi Feng had extracted the arrow head with some skill –clearly not the first time he had done so – washing and binding the wound. How it ached! My mind was full of strange dreams in which I wrote endless lists of names, all the while complaining that I could compile no more, that numbers and lists sickened my soul. Then my thoughts would clear for a while and I was forced to consider the hopelessness of our situation.

How we might return to the capital without money, food or transport I could not imagine. Su Lin’s letter had promised the warmest of welcomes and I could always be sure of lodgings with Cousin Hong. Better still, P’ei Ti himself had hinted the situation with regard to Lord Xiao was vastly improved, that I had unknown friends capable of protecting me from his spite. Yet none of that mattered if I died of starvation and frostbite. When the lips are gone, the teeth are cold. Mi Feng brought me fresh water from a nearby mountain stream but we had nothing else to appease our bellies.

In this miserable condition I watched Field Marshal Wen Po riding among the defeated army, seeking to reassure and raise spirits. He reached the outcrop of rock where I lay sheltering from the wind. My only blankets were the few spare clothes in our shoulder bags. My pillow was a cap.

Wen Po appeared gaunt, his face a mask of worry-lines.

I tried feebly to get on my knees as he reined in his horse.

‘Stay seated,’ he ordered, looking down at me. ‘You’ll open your wound.’

I remembered saying the same thing to Mi Feng when he had been prostrated by an arrow wound.

Mountains rose all around us. Wen Po looked small on his fine charger, set against cliff and peak. He must have known his career was at an end. No more would the Field Marshal ride at the head of unquestioning regiments, his merest word signalling life or death. No more would his name be praised for cunning and subtle strategy. The toadies and hangers-on would make excuses, then find themselves a new Wen Po to feed on.

He had joined the ranks of failed generals, those one finds in treatises on the art of war, shining examples of how not to win. With luck, a great deal of luck, he might evade a command from His Imperial Majesty to commit suicide and retire to a country estate for the remainder of his days. Or, more likely, he would find himself arraigned for incompetence, on trial for his life, while old friends at court crawled away from him like lice from a dead body.

‘So you have survived, Yun Cai,’ he said. ‘I’m glad, though I can think of those who will not share my feelings.’

That much was evident. I nodded, wincing over my wound.

‘What happened to. . . the bodyguards I warned you about?’

‘Your Excellency, their names have joined one of my little lists.’

He squinted at me in surprise, then guffawed.

‘Little list! I like that!’ he said. ‘I like to see a bit of spirit!’

There was something faintly hysterical about his laughter. Given the circumstances, one could see why. Maybe that joke saved my life. Or he simply felt the need to be magnanimous now his power was draining away.

‘Send your servant to my secretary in an hour’s time,’ he said. ‘On my authority, you are dismissed from further service in the Army of the Left Hand. My secretary will give you a letter to this effect, ensuring that all Imperial Inns grant you lodging on your journey back to the capital. I cannot spare horses, so you shall have to walk or beg other transport.’

I bowed gratefully, but already His Excellency was riding to the next huddle of men. Mi Feng got up from his knees, brushing off the dust.

‘Well, sir,’ he said. ‘From now on they’ll have to call you Yun Cai the Lucky.’

I looked at him through narrowed eyes. If this was luck, then what was misfortune?

*

I am falling upwards. My spirit rises from a young man gasping over his wound, Mi Feng helping him walk a stony road. Rising up, high above a barren valley littered with bodies. Over a mountain range, rivers spreading out like silver braids of hair. Pinang burns, tiny and insignificant. Up, up into feathery clouds. . .

I cry out. Scatter my blankets. Beside me squats one of my fellow prisoners, his plump face all concern.

‘You have been dreaming,’ he says.

I blink. Sourness in my mouth.

‘You have been tossing and muttering all night,’ he says.

‘I thought it best not to wake you.’

I rub my eyes. For a moment I glimpse Cousin Zhi’s white, terrified face.

Commands are being shouted outside, movement disturbing the stillness of dawn.

‘What is going on?’ I ask.

He gestures at the balcony.

‘See for yourself. I doubt we’ll get breakfast today.’

I drag myself up and lean on the balcony rail. At last, General An-Shu’s army is on the move. In the courtyard before the Prefect’s residence, a band of cavalry are gathered, their horses covered with glinting mail, their riders similarly protected. I recognise them as the General’s bodyguard.

Beyond the ramparts, regiments of infantry and their supply wagons are taking up position. Dust rises as officers gallop along the lines. Everywhere the sound of tramping feet and cantering horses. Trumpets, drums and flags signal. Bright banners bearing the General’s symbol hang limp. In the streets companies of men are marching toward the East Gate.

For a moment I wonder if I am still in my dream. Is this the lost army I knew in Pinang, or another? In what way do they differ? They could be any army marching out to die or triumph, war upon war. . .

‘What’s happening?’ I ask.

My fellow prisoner is combing his thin, straggly beard.

‘The General has decided to march east,’ he says.

It takes several hours for the army to march away. We chatter excitedly, certain the General will grant an amnesty and that we will be allowed to go home. Yet the door is still locked and guarded; and I can still glimpse soldiers from our balcony.

Youngest Son has not contacted me. Perhaps he was allowed no time, too busy arranging the disposition of his troops. It is possible I may never see him again. I feel his silence more deeply than I should, considering all he has become. Or, to be more exact, all he has failed to become.

As the hours pass, our mood lightens. Faces relax for the first time in weeks and I am relieved to hear laughter. We are interrupted by running feet on the stairs. The door is thrown open. A guard stands breathless, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘Quick!’ he calls. ‘Put on your shoes. Everyone must assemble outside the house at once.’

There is something about the soldier’s manner I do not like. He seems frightened. We do as we are bidden. The guards take up position around us. They are unusually well turned out; another bad sign.

‘Don’t just stand there!’ shouts the sergeant. ‘Get them moving!’

We are hustled down the street and meet another column of prisoners, herded by halberds and rude blows.

We are silent now. Many of the captives can barely walk, exhausted by thirst and hunger.

We are led to the large courtyard in front of the Prefect’s residence. Hundreds of us have been gathered, surrounded by watchful troops.

Then a large group of high-ranking men from Chunming, some of whom I know well, are led into the square. They take up a position away from the humble prisoners, all dressed in their finest clothes. Several sniff perfume bottles and flutter gaudy fans. Others whisper to their neighbours.

For an hour we wait in the unrelenting sun. A few weaker prisoners collapse, but we are offered no water.

The soldiers seem as anxious as those they guard. General An-Shu’s flags hang in front of the Prefect’s residence. As I grow weary, their colours and symbols blur before my eyes.

Another hour passes, and still our reason for being here is no clearer. An acrid scent drifts across the square. Men relieve themselves in their own clothes, a safer course than breaking ranks or trying to argue with the soldiers, who represent the dregs of General An-Shu’s army, one of his many Punishment Battalions. Usually such units are reserved for the most desperate fighting. Strange to hold one back to guard a friendly city.

By the third hour my own bladder is causing discomfort and I feel dizzy. I am stirred from lethargy by a blare of trumpets. An absurd cavalcade enters the courtyard.

At the head, riding General An-Shu’s ivory chariot, is a slim, youthful woman dressed in shimmering, silver silk.

Her make-up forms an expressionless white mask. Her beauty – for she is beautiful – is that of a goddess, remote in its perfection. The officers at once leap into action, ordering everyone to their knees, amidst a flurry of scrambling.

The chariot and its attendant horsemen halt before the Prefect’s residence. General An-Shu’s concubine, the self-styled Lady Ta Chi, rises to her full height in the chariot and looks over the crowd.

By chance I am near her, and catch the dull, black glitter of her eyes. Depthless eyes in a white mask. Eyes without passion, yet capable of awakening at a moment’s notice.

She gestures to a gorgeously-attired man in a seven-brimmed hat. From his bloated face, he is evidently a eunuch. He swaggers forward and prostrates himself before her, flat on his belly as though she were the Dowager Empress herself. Then, with great ceremony, he unrolls a scroll and clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice echoes like an actor’s.

‘Let Chunming hear His Highness’s will! He who is the Most Glorious Lion and Dragon. He who is the Son of Heaven.’

At this, there are gasps from the ranks of prisoners.

Astonishing that General An-Shu should assume such a title! Either he has the soundest reasons for his confidence, or he is deluded to the point of madness.

One of the local dignitaries goes so far as to rise to his feet in outrage. The Lady Ta Chi turns slowly to gaze upon him. For a moment he stands firm, then quails, and gets to his knees. But the damage is done. Guardsmen are directed into the crowd and he is dragged off, protesting that he has a bad back and could not help himself. When the square is silent, the eunuch continues:

‘He who is the Son of Heaven, the Chosen Centre of The Five Directions, has decreed the following. First, that Chunming shall remain under military rule. All existing curfews are to continue until further notice. All prisoners are to remain in their places of confinement until their guilt has been determined. All who enter and leave the city are to be counted in and out.’

‘His Highness makes this further command. He appoints the Lady Ta Chi as his sole representative in the City of Chunming. Whatever Her Highness commands is his command. Whatever she wills is his will. To disobey the Lady Ta Chi is treason.’

No one murmurs now, except inwardly.

‘Chunming is the most honoured of cities!’ he continues, his voice rising. ‘Under the ineffable rule of Her Highness Ta Chi, universal peace shall reign!’

He lowers the scroll and glares at the crowd.

‘Raise your voices in gladness!’ he commands.

The crowd is silent. All eyes are upon the young woman in General An-Shu’s chariot. The eunuch looks around angrily.

‘Raise your voices in gladness!’ he repeats.

Still no one moves or calls out for her blessing. There are a few pitiful cheers, which soon die away. From the back of the crowd comes another sound, that of scornful laughter. The tension in the square mounts. For a moment I wonder if the soldiers will be ordered to attack us.

Lady Ta Chi squeals a command to her driver and the chariot rolls out of the courtyard, disappearing behind the Prefect’s residence. The officers bellow for silence. The square is full of men eagerly discussing what they have just seen.