Taming Poison Dragons (58 page)

The conversation on the high table slowly recedes into silence. Dozens of sharp eyes regard me curiously. At last P’ei Ti glances up and sees me.

Someone among the horse-shoe of lacquered tables laughs. Then another. Perhaps I make a comic sight, gawping at P’ei Ti. A foolish old man with an open mouth.

General An-Shu looks at the Head Eunuch and raises an eyebrow. After all, it is his duty to avoid unseemly events.

I expect to be dragged off, but instead the eunuch smiles slyly.

‘Your Highness,’ he says. ‘This is the fellow who wrote those poems the Empress-in-waiting commissioned as a pillow book.’

For a moment General An-Shu looks puzzled. Then he remembers and smiles narrowly.

‘A strange present at a time like this. I would prefer a hundred archers to a hundred poems!’

His court laugh appreciatively. The Lady Ta Chi’s vexation is obvious. The way she regards me leaves little doubt who she blames. Yuan Chu-Sou stirs. He too examines me with barely-concealed contempt.

‘It would have been well, Your Highness,’ he breaks in.

‘If that same Lady had concentrated on maintaining order in Chunming instead of provoking a flood of insipid nonsense from a second-rate versifier. Had she done so we might not have returned to find Chunming seething with rebellious talk. Your Majesty will perhaps recall that I advised against her appointment as proxy-ruler in your absence.’

General An-Shu grunts and the Lady Ta Chi glares at Yuan Chu-Sou. I cannot remove my gaze from P’ei Ti’s poor face. What have they done to him? Much, for sure, if his courage has been worn away. Only torture could have driven him to join the General’s cause.

P’ei Ti cannot bear to meet my eye. His humiliation might be my own. I discern the young man behind his wrinkles, his ardour and loyalty to the Son of Heaven.

Then he glances up. It is forgiveness he craves.

I become aware the Head Eunuch is speaking once more: ‘Your Highness, I suspect from the way Lord Yun Cai stares at His Excellency P’ei Ti that the two are well-acquainted. And I believe he has something he wishes to say. Would it entertain Your Highness to hear it?’

There is a general murmur of approval round the table.

‘Do let him!’ calls out the General’s brother. ‘The old man seems crazy enough for a little fun.’

General An-Shu hesitates, then nods condescendingly.

‘Very well,’ he says.

‘Speak up!’ jeers the Head Eunuch. ‘Say something!’

I turn my troubled gaze to General An-Shu. His expression has frozen between amusement and habitual disdain.

Perhaps that is what provokes me. I scarcely care what happens to me: I am old, and possessed by cold anger.

‘Your Highness,’ I begin. ‘Once when Confucius was asked how a ruler should be served, he answered:
If it
becomes necessary to oppose him, speak openly to his
face, and do not attempt roundabout methods.
’

I have the General’s interest now. A few of his friends giggle behind their hands. No doubt they expect some nimble flattery or declaration of obedience. I take a deep breath and the words tumble out. I gaze at P’ei Ti, longing for him to remember his true nature, to renounce the General’s legitimacy. I cannot bear to think of him as a coward and traitor. Not him. Or the sky was never blue.

‘I must tell you, Your Highness, that the Mandate of Heaven cannot be won through conquest alone. The ancient kings T’ang and Wu came to power by violence, but ruled according to the people’s will. I beg you to consider, Your Highness, that the punishments you have adopted do not accord with the Will of Heaven. If you love the people, you must aid the people. You must not seek power for power’s sake alone, but for how it might end their sufferings. Otherwise Heaven’s mandate will always be denied to you.’

No one is laughing now. They watch me in amazement.

To my surprise, the Empress-in-waiting clears her throat. It says much about General An-Shu’s court that he allows his concubine to speak so freely.

‘Your Highness,’ she says, her voice light and pleasing,

‘I have heard that the emperors of old often instructed their ministers to debate with malcontents before the royal presence. Perhaps it would amuse Your Majesty if the Excellent Yuan Chu-Sou were to debate with this funny old man. After all, the Chief Adviser has much to say about the way I ruled Chunming in your absence.

Who knows, I might learn much from his wise precepts.’

General An-Shu winks at his brother and whispers to Yuan Chu-Sou, who rises reluctantly to his feet.

‘It pleases His Highness that I should answer Lord Yun Cai’s puerile arguments concerning the necessity for a harsh regime. That is simply done. All know that greed and fear are the pre-eminent motives for human conduct.

It follows that the just ruler must apply rewards to those who fulfil their allotted task and any deviants must be severely punished. All this was known by the greatest of our emperors. It is because we forgot the true way that barbarians rule half our ancient lands. One reward to nine punishments! Virtue has its origin in punishments, as even the simplest child acknowledges. Punishments produce force, force engenders strength, strength produces awe, awe produces virtue. Thus, virtue has its origin in punishments.’

This speech earns a ripple of applause. General An-Shu’s brother bangs the table.

‘You have a good adviser there,’ he calls out. ‘Why, the man cannot be refuted!’

Perhaps they expect me to mumble or concede. I see P’ei Ti’s eyes on my face. He looks bolder than before and this gives me courage. I raise my finger in further disputation.

‘His Highness is badly advised,’ I protest. ‘Let us remember Lao Tzu:
The highest good is like water. The
goodness of water is that it benefits ten thousand creatures
. If a ruler is to deserve the Mandate of Heaven he must make the water flow. Men are not born bad. It is circumstances which make them so. The Son of Heaven’s divine duty is to arrange things so men may be good. Rule based on cruelty will never achieve that.’

Yuan Chu-Sou seems vexed by my reply.

‘Lord Yun Cai’s argument is facile,’ he replies. ‘As the noble Duke Shang once remarked, if the court is full of windy scholars discoursing on the ancient kings and puffing about righteousness, the government will be plagued by disorder. The reason is simple: the ruler embodies all right and true arguments. Your Highness’s word is the purest expression of Heaven’s Will. Thus the ruler’s duty is to rule without obstacle or impediment. To speak of ‘cruelty’ is a distraction which allows enemies to slip through the gate. Efficiency is not soft. The Son of Heaven’s true duty is to make sure that all men are efficient. By this means one may judge a man’s worth. A good man is a useful man.’

‘Bravo!’ shouts the General’s brother, as I again raise my finger. ‘Why, this is better than watching a pair of old fighting cocks!’

The General’s guests laugh uproariously. Yuan Chu-Sou scowls at me. But I notice that P’ei Ti is showing signs of agitation, even excitement.

‘The Chief Adviser’s arguments have been proved false by history,’ I protest. ‘If the ruler lacks benevolence and righteousness he shall forfeit the Mandate of Heaven, and then a new ruler with those virtues will arise to replace him. But His Highness has
not
been crowned the Son of Heaven and never will be, unless he exceeds the existing Emperor in righteousness.’

Again the laughter has ceased. I am regarded with cold eyes. Yet I blunder deeper into the swamp.

‘I must tell you, Your Highness, you are not a kindly father to the people. If you desire your rule to be more than empty flattery, I would advise you to consider this.’

I have spoken a truth few dare even whisper in Chunming. I have denied the General’s fatuous claim to be our anointed emperor. Now I tremble. P’ei Ti stares at me open-mouthed, whether in admiration or horror I cannot tell.

The court awaits General An-Shu’s response. He tugs at his wispy beard. He no longer finds me diverting.

‘Everyone knows I am the Son of Heaven,’ he drawls.

‘And if they do not, they shall be. . . they shall be punished!’

Yet I notice that some of his intimates find it hard to meet the General’s eye. A truth once spoken sprouts many wings. Yuan Chu-Sou bustles forward.

‘May I advise Your Highness that Lord Yun Cai should pay a heavy price for his impudence. Let his entire family be accorded the Four Punishments! Let a detachment of cavalry be sent to execute this order at once.’

‘So be it,’ intones the General.

I gasp. Reel at my folly. Eldest Son’s face flashes before me. Daughter-in-law raped then executed. My sweet, happy grandchildren. Our ancestral shrine despoiled. The village burning and Three-Step-House razed until it might never have been.

Abruptly there is a screech of wood. A chair is pushed back. Porcelain dishes tinkle to the floor. P’ei Ti rises slowly to his feet. With the aid of a stick, he hobbles away from the tables laden with food. In a moment he stands beside me. An angry murmur buzzes among the courtiers.

P’ei Ti raises his stick and points it at General An-Shu.

‘I renounce the homage I was forced to pay to this. . .this common man,’ he declares. ‘An Shu is a mere traitor.

This court has not been granted the Mandate of Heaven!’

Commotion breaks out. Guards rush forward to apprehend us. I turn to P’ei Ti and seize his hands. No words are needed. We both tremble. Then, as I expect to be cut down or beaten on the spot, the doors of the Phoenix Chamber are flung open and a messenger rushes in. His uniform is mud-splattered and he bears a wound on one arm. His arrival brings silence. Panting, he kneels before General An-Shu.

‘Your Highness. . . grave news. The army meant to delay the enemy has been destroyed. The forces of the Emperor are only thirty
li
from Chunming!’

For a moment no one speaks. Then comes uproar.

Everyone is on their feet. The General confers hurriedly with his officers and we are forgotten. I clasp P’ei Ti’s hands desperately. At last guards drag us towards the door.

The door slams shut. Iron bolts clang into place. Our cell is lit by a narrow shaft of light slanting through the barred window. An earthen floor, pungent with urine and salt tears, with the misery and resilience of those who have rotted here before us. We fall to our knees, our silken clothes smeared with dirt.

In the half-light I reach out and take P’ei Ti’s arm. We cannot speak, two reckless old fools together. I lead him to the brick wall and force him to sit back. Then I collapse beside him. I need his presence. It is all I possess in this vile place. That, and unsteady breath.

Breath is proof of life, a moment’s ember. In the deepest distress, breath connects the inward and outward. I learned that long ago. How inevitably it comes, heedless as destiny. I close my eyes and link my arm with P’ei Ti’s so that the chain of our friendship is renewed. . . Once we lounged side by side, dangling our feet in the West Lake, throwing the husks of sunflower seeds into the water until they floated way. . . My eyes close. I succumb to darkness.

I am disturbed from my stupor by low chuckling. An old man’s chuckle.

‘Dearest Yun Cai. . .’ Coughing interrupts him. ‘You are my conscience. You did not desert me.’

I could not. And that is why a squad of cavalry are riding towards Wei.

‘Now I may die well,’ he says. ‘I owe that gift to you.’

It seems he has forgotten the price my family must pay.

But it is cowardice to blame him. The choice was my own.

‘I could not bear to see you crawling among lice,’ I say.

Is there an accusation in my voice? I do not mean one.

We are all frail.

He coughs some more.

At last he says, ‘Don’t condemn me, dear friend. At first I resisted, but they would not stop. Day and night. I am not used to pain.’

It crosses my mind that in the Son of Heaven’s service he must have ordered torture for many. I let the thought disperse. Oh, I dare not contemplate ambiguity!

Our loyalty to the Emperor must seem a worthwhile sacrifice.

‘You were only pretending,’ I say. ‘No harm in that.’

‘Only pretending. Quite so.’

‘Rest your eyes,’ I say, sadly. ‘You are exhausted.’

Perhaps we are scheduled for a ‘roasting’. Stumbling across a pit of burning coals. Perhaps for the sword or strangling cord. He lolls against my shoulder, his thin hair sticky with perspiration. May a little sleep give us strength.

I hear the sound of troops gathering. Because I am unusually tall, the square before the Prefect’s residence is visible through the window. General An-Shu is lining up his bodyguard of armoured horsemen. The Empress-in-waiting weeps on the steps of her palace, waving a lucky yellow pennant. He nods stiffly to her. There is a clatter of hooves and harness. The General rides out in haste, bolt upright on his charger. Flags flutter – golden dragons upon a scarlet background, fanged jaws gaping wide –then the square is empty. I listen. The city rumbles with marching men as the entire rebel army streams out for battle in a desperate attempt to break through the encircling Imperial forces.

They said in the Phoenix Chamber that the regiments sent to delay the Son of Heaven’s advance had been anni-hilated. Did Youngest Son perish with them? It is a question without an answer. Even if he survived, I will not outlive him.

Drums and trumpets. Tramping feet. Within a few hours the city is silent and the sky has grown dark. Bright constellations may be glimpsed through the cell window. I hear warders talking outside our cell as they patrol the corridor. Their words are indistinct. Somewhere in the prison a man screams repeatedly, then falls silent. My thoughts try to locate the cavalry galloping towards Three-Step-House. Even if they ride hard they will still be some distance away.

*

P’ei Ti awakes. From the regularity of his breath, I sense he is refreshed. That is something. He requests water, but we have none.

‘P’ei Ti,’ I say. ‘I have many questions.’

Through my sacrifice in the Phoenix Chamber I may command any answer.

‘What happened to Su Lin after I was exiled?’ I ask, at last. ‘None of your letters mentioned her. Of course, I could not bring myself to enquire openly.’