Taming Poison Dragons (57 page)

Certainly, I am a lesser man. But I am still your son.’

Unexpectedly, he begins to sob. A painful sound, to hear one’s boy sob. I raise hands to comfort him, then let them fall. He speaks in a rush.

‘Father, I am afraid to fight again! We saw such things.

In one village we were ordered to punish the peasants. . .

I never learned why. Oh, I cannot meet your eye. Five hundred hung by the heels from the eaves of their own houses! I was like a madman, determined to do my duty.

And then in the battle which followed, we fought in pouring rain, slipping and hacking in the mud, making rafts of bodies! No one could tell friend from foe. We were all identical, just creatures of mud and slime. I left my best friend in the filth where he lay wounded. Do you remember Lieutenant Lo? Oh, he was a far better man than I!

But I lost my nerve and abandoned him. I shall go to hell for that, Father, when I die.’

‘Hush,’ I murmur. ‘It is over now.’

He is shaking.

‘I crave your blessing, Father. That is why I have come.

You must forgive me for what I did to that girl. I was drunk, and they all jeered when I hesitated. I had no thought. And when I went to the military academy I remembered you every day. I wanted to regain your pride in me.’

At last I find the courage to touch his knee. He recoils.

His sobs suddenly cease. He sits rigid, staring forward sightlessly.

‘I dreamt about Mother last night,’ he says in a strange, flat voice. ‘She hates me.’

‘Of course she does not,’ I say. ‘There was never a fonder mother.’

He gazes at the floor.

‘Father,’ he whispers. ‘Do I have your blessing?’

I do not know this broken young man. His face melts before my sight. I see only a boy. A grin of pride to reveal baby teeth falling out. I gathered all his infant teeth in case demons found them and used them to possess his soul. I kept them in a bamboo box. They still lie safe in my strongest chest in Three-Step-House. His cheeks were warm, his skin smelt of melons. When he laughed I thought of water. Bitterness fills my throat. Not against him. Not entirely.

‘Perhaps I did not guide you properly,’ I say. ‘Perhaps I neglected you. These are harsh lessons for a man of my age. But you are young enough to start again. Many an Immortal began his life badly.’

We look up, startled by the distant call of trumpets.

‘They are summoning all who must march away,’ he says, tonelessly. ‘I must go, Father.’

Then I clutch his arm.

‘You want my blessing!’ I cry. ‘Foolish boy, can’t you see you never lost it!’

I shake him as best I can. Such a big lump of a boy.

‘I will give you my blessing in exchange for one thing.’

‘What is it?’ he asks, timidly.

‘That you avoid all the danger you can. That you return to Three-Step-House. Then we shall start again, you and I, as though the past has never been. Time and good deeds will heal all your wounds. I shall find you a respectable wife with a strong will. You shall bear me grandchildren and I shall be a hundred times proud. And your mother will clap her hands in Heaven.’

He climbs stiffly to his knees. Lowers his head to the ground. I hesitate, then spread my palm across his hair. I can feel his warmth, his sweat.

When he rises, there is a new confidence in him.

‘I will make you proud of me yet, Father,’ he says. ‘I don’t know how, but I will.’

*

‘Not just for my sake,’ I protest. ‘Make yourself proud.’

His face lengthens.

‘It is too late for that.’

He leaves and I sit alone. It is quite dark when the sergeant summons me inside, so he can bar all the doors.

Quite dark.

My life has become a stage of shifting scenes. Garish one moment, sickening the next and, in between, long hours of restless tedium. If the Buddha is to be believed, Chunming is a hell of my own making. All I need do is think differently, with sublime compassion, to perceive everything fondly.

Such wisdom is hard to follow when one is being whipped through the streets among a herd of prisoners to the parade ground beyond the city ramparts. There is no possibility of a riot now. All General An-Shu’s army has gathered and we are obliged to witness his might. Perhaps the authorities hope to cow the city. Power never feels assured of itself without an audience.

I am on my knees. It is dawn and already haze fills the air. On one side stands the Army of the Left Fist, a ragged, loss-gnawed band of cavalry and crossbowmen, halberdiers and swordsmen. Their banners, at least, are as bold as ever.

In the middle, a shrine in the form of a low pyramid has been erected to General An-Shu’s ancestors. On the other side wait the regiments who must march out to stem the advance of the Imperial forces. I scan the ranks of men for a glimpse of Youngest Son. Surely he is among them, mounted on his fine charger.

My eyes are weak from too much reading. Distances blur. I imagine him as I would wish him to be. Dignified, but with a hint of independence, marked out from the other officers. A soldier of justice, trapped by circumstances. To do so is to deny the truth. He was eager enough to serve the General before defeat followed upon defeat.

At last a procession emerges from the city gates led by the General’s armoured cavalry. He rides his ivory chariot and others follow in carriages hung with bells to frighten off evil spirits. First, the Empress-in-waiting, like a goddess sojourning on earth, her silver silks catching the rising sun. Then carriage after carriage of advisers and peacock courtiers. Restless monkeys in tall hats. We press our faces to the earth as they rattle past, a dozen feet from where we kneel.

It has always been my misfortune to be bold. Or too curious. As they roll by I look up and meet a steady gaze.

Then I freeze. For the eyes regarding me belong to the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou. His expression is startled. He leans forward eagerly. Even when they have passed he stares back as though to make sure, exchanging words with the Head Eunuch who sits glumly beside him. I am clamped to the spot as if held fast by a blacksmith’s tongs.

The ceremony passes in a blur. My mind whirls with half-formed fears. Will I be humiliated, or questioned, even tortured until I reveal the conspiracy to free P’ei Ti?

All the while I feel shame that I am not thinking of Youngest Son’s departure. My last glimpse of him is a cloud of dust. He is lost to the cause which seduced him.

*

The day seems interminable after this morning’s ceremony. With the arrival of General An-Shu’s army all available food has been diverted to the troops. We dine on a few handfuls of millet, smack our lips over each mouthful. I am more fortunate than most, having traded what remains of the ivory writing set given to me by the Lady Ta Chi for extra rations.

At dusk, I receive a most unwelcome visitor. This time he is not accompanied by guards or underlings. He knocks at my door and enters like one who is almost polite. We nod at each other.

‘Lord Yun Cai!’ he says, by way of greeting.

‘Head Eunuch!’ I respond, bowing. ‘I beg you not to find this unworthy chair beneath your august dignity.’

Awkwardly, he settles. The chair is rickety and precarious so he is obliged to clutch its sides.

‘I am pressed by important affairs,’ he announces.

Nevertheless, he takes time to look around. ‘You have found yourself a cosy little eyrie.’

He notices the view through the window, and seems surprised.

‘I did not realise your room overlooks the Palace. A spy would pay a fortune for such a view. How interesting.’

His tone resembles flint.

‘It can be restful,’ I concede. ‘The distant vista of the Apricot Hills is pleasing at sunset.’

He examines me through narrow eyes.

‘You have attracted a great man’s attention,’ he says.

‘That is why I am here.’

‘Oh?’

‘His Majesty’s chief adviser, the Excellent Yuan Chu-Sou, has noticed you. My message is simple. A great honour for you. You are summoned to pay homage to His Majesty, tomorrow afternoon at the sixth bell, in the Phoenix Chamber.’

I try to look delighted.

‘All the notables residing in Chunming have been summoned,’ he says. ‘It is a marvel you are among them.’

I cannot resist a little mischief at the eunuch’s expense.

‘So you are bidden to act as a messenger all round the city?’

His smile becomes toothy.

‘That need not concern you.’

‘Let me assure you, it does not, Head Eunuch of the Golden Palace.’

I’m certain he no longer possesses that title. I suspect he fell from favour when General An-Shu returned. His master can hardly have been pleased by the state of Chunming: the city is on the brink of rebellion. Someone must be blamed for failing to curb the Empress-in-waiting’s excesses. I have hit the target, for he says, scowling:

‘You may address me from now on as Head Eunuch of the Phoenix Chamber.’

‘Ah,’ I reply.

‘A temporary position,’ he declares. ‘Between promotions.’

‘Quite so.’

It is not wise to goad such a disappointed fellow. He still retains some power. His eyes flick to the view of the Prefect’s residence through the window, then back at me.

*

‘I have not seen you walking round the courtyard before the Palace lately,’ he says. ‘Why is that?’

Now it is my turn for discomfort.

‘I have been unwell,’ I say, blandly. ‘Besides, I have completed the poems your mistress commanded. I require no further inspiration.’

He regards me for a long moment. How often did he see me conversing with Golden Bells?

‘You delay me,’ he announces, yawning.

‘I beg you not to let me do so.’

Once he has gone, I count the cost of his news. So Yuan Chu-Sou recognised me and remembered. No doubt his decision that I should pay homage to General An-Shu is based upon a desire to humiliate me.

I spend fruitless hours speculating how the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou became General An-Shu’s chief adviser.

Perhaps, after the fall of Lord Xiao, he found his ambitions frustrated in the capital. Perhaps he found himself at the end of his life with a last chance for power, however uncertain. As ever, he is shadowy. Yet he remembers me.

And that is enough to provoke insomnia. Surely he also recollects P’ei Ti, and by no means fondly. That is enough to make me wonder if the implements were used when interrogating my old friend.

At noon I join a select crowd before the Prefect’s residence. I find a place at the rear and observe those around me.

Here is the merchant Yin Xie who owns half a ward within Chunming. All his wealth does not spare him from paying homage. Indeed, it forces him into prominence. He might be safer if he was poor. And there is Viscount Fu Ling, once the Governor of Chunming Province, obliged to abase himself as once he banged his forehead on the earth before the Emperor. Things change. And stay the same.

The gates open. We shuffle forward into the courtyard before the Prefect’s residence. I glance involuntarily at the prison where P’ei Ti suffers, assuming he is still alive, and scowl at the guards.

The scene in the courtyard is hardly indicative of sober rule. Musicians and jugglers wait their turn to entertain His Majesty, some rehearsing tumbles, others applying thick layers of white and red face-paint. Groups of lesser courtiers enjoy the bright sunshine, drinking and laughing in gay voices. I watch one pursue a squealing courtesan into a stable. Little imagination is needed to guess what follows.

The crowd of supplicants moves forward, herded by eunuchs and soldiers. Once inside the Palace the revelry around us intensifies. Feckless young men in stolen silks loll against walls, their eyes glazed. Voices contend to form a hubbub. One might think His Highness was celebrating a triumph, yet there is desperation in such pleasure. They drink deeply before the cup is snatched away. Dancing girls caper for the entertainment of a dozen officers; their gaudy uniforms remind me of Youngest Son, sent on a suicidal mission to delay superior forces.

A palace servant addresses us: ‘Honourable Sirs, His Highness has finished dining and will receive your homage. Once you have shown your proper loyalty, you shall be led to a side door of the Phoenix Chamber. His Highness has been gracious enough to allow you to toast his health in the Garden of Genial Twilight, where refreshments have been prepared.’

This announcement revives the spirits of my companions. There is a general straightening of dress, smoothing of demeanour. So we are to be an after dinner entertainment. Doubtless the General wishes to prove to his court that he still commands loyalty in Chunming.

One by one the notables enter the Phoenix Chamber. I follow slowly. It takes time to abase one’s self properly.

We are all frightened. A small orchestra plays, creating a regal mood.

Finally, my turn comes. I enter the great hall with a bowed head and am prodded into the centre. A long, narrow hall, lined with pillars and flickering candles.

Afternoon sunshine filters through gauze-covered windows. Silver and gold statues, tripods and incense burners looted during the General’s advance on the capital stand against the walls. The costly objects cast a net of shadows.

Then I glance up.

At the far end of the room are several low tables surrounded by cushioned divans. On them sit His Majesty and chief advisers. I notice the Lady Ta Chi to his left, beguiling in her beauty. She appears terribly bored. On the right hand side of the General lolls a bleary-eyed officer who must be His Highness’s brother. Then the Excellent Yuan Chu-Sou wearing the vermilion robes of a principal adviser and a brooding expression. Behind the General’s chair hovers the Head Eunuch of the Phoenix Chamber.

Before his demotion he would have commanded a seat among the notables.

But it is not them who make me grow still. Not them.

For beside Yuan Chu-Sou sits a man I have not seen in over thirty years. His lined face is haggard, purple with bruises, yet the nobility of his features are undiminished.

For all that, he appears broken, drained of spirit, and stares miserably at the dishes before him. Revulsion fills me. Shame on his behalf. Deep shame. Instead of falling to my knees, I remain standing, my eyes fixed on that forlorn figure. I long for him to look up, to recognise me. It is P’ei Ti who sits among them. My beloved P’ei Ti, dining among wolves.