The Mandate of Heaven (24 page)

As Teng watched the treasure being removed, he saw no bundles of bamboo strips. It appeared no one but himself guessed their value.

Shensi maintained his own vigil, occasionally grumbling about his tenth share.

Towards midnight a fresh commotion arose. Even the Yulai huntsmen, who had shown no sign of distress at their captivity, muttered anxiously. Dozens of voices were bellowing orders, urging exhausted men to form ranks.

Guards appeared outside the crack in the ravine wall. The prisoners were led out, their hands lashed in front of them with tight leather thongs. Teng glanced fearfully round the ravine. They were at the rear of a long column, at least two hundred strong. Flaming torches revealed shadowy figures. In the centre of the column were large chests attached to poles carried by soldiers. Ironically, those same chests once contained the Great Khan’s tax revenues from Lingling.

Teng kept beside Shensi. ‘Where are they taking us?’ he whispered.

Shensi seemed not to hear. Indeed, there was no time for talk. A shout from Hornets’ Nest set the whole column in motion, jogging down the ravine. Where the ancient pathway passed Mirror Lake they found more prisoners surrounded by guards. Teng recognised Hua, his cheekbones gaunt in the torchlight. Their former comrade appeared to be in charge, for he ordered the captives to take up position near the treasure chests. At once they were on the move again and Teng forgot everyone’s misery but his own.

A night of unaccustomed hardship for the young scholar. On and on they stumbled, constantly afraid of slipping and being trampled by those behind. To maintain balance with hands lashed together was not easy; walking without rest or proper food for hour after hour became harder with each step. Hornets’ Nest’s fear goaded him to drive his men mercilessly.

Dawn rose through the jumbled peaks and crags. With the growing light birds and apes found voice. Still the column advanced through the hill country. Only when his men began to faint, first singly, then in twos and threes, did Hornets’ Nest order a halt, cursing them as weaklings. He even descended from his palanquin to beat an unfortunate straggler to death with the man’s own halberd butt.

As soon as they stopped, Teng curled on the dew-sodden ground and span downwards into a painful doze. Through thick clouds he heard Hua’s voice from further up the column: ‘If you’d been nice to me, who knows, Aunty? Blame yourself.’ Even in his half-conscious, swirling state, Teng detected unease in Hua’s tone. He didn’t care. Only sleep mattered. It might be good to never wake at all.

The respite was brief, the next march long. Yet the column made rapid progress through the limestone hills, taking paths known to few and used by fewer still. Teng concluded that during their halt Hornets’ Nest had received further bad news, for he urged his men onward whenever they slowed, often looking round anxiously from the elevated position of his portable throne.

‘I believe he fears government troops,’ Teng whispered to Shensi. ‘Jebe Khoja and Prince Arslan must be thirsty for his blood.’

Teng had also noticed a small group of female prisoners roped together near the treasure chests, too far up the column for him to see their faces. Perhaps Hornets’ Nest hoped to increase the profits from his expedition by rounding up a few slave girls.

Towards dusk, they entered a long, winding valley fringed with vines and tree stumps, as though stripped bare for firewood and building materials. Sentinels on crags were also visible, signalling to one another with yellow flags. Teng and Shensi exchanged glances.

The valley echoed with shuffling feet as the column turned a final corner, revealing Hornets’ Nest’s lair. At first Teng was surprised that so notable a rebel, leader of all the Yueh Fei and Red Turbans in the entire province, should be content with flimsy wooden palisades for his ramparts and thatched huts for his barracks. Then his gaze climbed sheer cliffs to the huge open mouth of a cavern. Hornets’ Nest’s house was clearly visible, tucked into the vast space like a gigantic fungus planted by magic.

‘Why bring us here?’ he murmured to Shensi.

But Teng knew very well why they were here: as experts who might help to date and value the treasure Hornets’ Nest wished to sell; as witnesses who knew far too much; most of all, as men promised a tenth of the spoils. A contract easily cancelled by an executioner’s sword. Their one hope lay in remaining useful.

A group of officers waited beside the open gates as the column limped through. Hundreds of Red Turban rebels had also gathered to greet their chief and a loud cheer echoed round the sheer walls of the small valley, making birds rise from perches on the cliffs and apes screech.

The officers bowed as Hornets’ Nest’s palanquin bobbed past, its bearers close to collapse. The lead officer at the gate, a tall young man in scuffed armour, straightened once his chief had gone and marched into the camp before Teng drew near.

The prisoners were herded into a dense village of wretched hovels and houses, down narrow lanes where bony chickens clucked in alarm. A cave entrance at the foot of the cliff was their final destination.

Once their hands were unbound, they were pushed towards a narrow, dark tunnel. Teng managed a single glance up the cliff before he entered the prison. A line of female captives was being chivvied onto a steep path leading up to the huge cavern he had glimpsed. Then he was in the tunnel, stumbling over coarse, flinty ground. Guards holding lanterns directed him through a door constructed of bamboo poles lashed together. Unwholesome odours engulfed him, as they had in the dead prince’s tomb.

Teng’s last thought before he lay down in the darkness was that His Majesty’s curse had come quickly, karma had come – as did sleep’s oblivion.

While Teng slept in sheer exhaustion, unaware of danger, Hsiung was allowed no relief. Hornets’ Nest’s cold stare as he bobbed past had revealed his chief was unlikely to forgive the victory at Dragon Whirl Gorge. An underling showing initiative led to questions; and Hornets’ Nest answered such questions in his own way.

He must give the rebel leader no excuses, no pretence for punishment. With this in mind, Hsiung summoned Sergeant P’ao.

As soon as he came over, he glanced up shrewdly at the cavern. Hornets’ Nest’s residence glowed with lights and sounds of celebration: shouting, a wildly beating drum, a pi-pa and flutes playing at double-quick time. Hsiung and P’ao stood side by side. Night and their intentions thickened.

‘Odd the Chief hasn’t asked you to report about Dragon Whirl Gorge,’ remarked P’ao.

‘Hmm,’ said Hsiung.

‘They’ll all be drunk up there soon,’ said P’ao. ‘Maybe that’ll improve his humour. Perhaps you should beg forgiveness for winning before he gets a hangover.’

‘Maybe.’

‘I hear he has lots to celebrate,’ said P’ao. ‘A dead prince’s treasure! If what you told me about buying a pardon is true, he has enough now. No wonder he’s happy.’

‘Yes.’

‘The men who had to dig like slaves aren’t,’ continued P’ao, quietly. ‘I heard they haven’t eaten properly for days. They might not like it if he moved against you. After all, you’ve won a
real
victory for our cause.’

‘Perhaps so.’

Both waited in the darkness, looking up.

‘P’ao,’ said Hsiung, after a while, ‘do you remember how you came to be here?’

The old soldier grunted. ‘Of course! I got captured during one of Hornets’ Nest’s salt raids. Four years ago.’

‘And I managed to persuade Lieutenant Jin to let you live, didn’t I?’

‘You saved my life.’

‘Does that make you beholden to me?’ asked Hsiung, his voice troubled.

P’ao muttered as though affronted, then said, ‘Of course!’

‘Hornets’ Nest saved
my
life,’ said Hsiung. ‘Shouldn’t I be loyal to him? Whatever he decides?’

P’ao chuckled. ‘Not
whatever
. Never
whatever
. Don’t let him take your life because once he saved it, boy! That doesn’t make sense.’

For a moment Hsiung was an eleven year old lad instructed by big, bold Sergeant P’ao. Only a moment. He clapped P’ao on the shoulder.

‘I’m going up there to see the old devil,’ he said.

‘Then I’m going with you,’ said P’ao. ‘And I’ll bring a few others, just to be friendly.’

As the young captain didn’t contradict him, P’ao strolled off into the camp.

Hsiung climbed the steep, winding path, one shoulder close to the cliff. It would not do to slip and tumble into the valley below. He had no intention of being pushed either, at least, not without a fight.

His mouth was dry as he approached the top. Although he had undertaken this journey many times, at every hour of day and night, he sensed something had changed. Retreat into old certainties was impossible. P’ao was right – Hornets’ Nest did possess enough treasure to purchase a full pardon. Yet Hsiung believed the change was more in himself. The victory at Dragon Whirl Gorge had been no accident, nor a matter of mere skill or luck with his sword. Success watered seeds subtly planted by Liu Shui. The fat man had urged him to oppose Hornets’ Nest ‘when the time comes’. Perhaps that time had come.

A dozen yards from his destination, Hsiung halted. The twenty men following, all armed and led by Sergeant P’ao, paused along with their leader. Instead of Hornets’ Nest’s usual bodyguard blocking the pathway to the cavern, a beaten, bloodied man hung from iron rings in the rock. Weary swollen eyes flickered open. Hsiung lifted the man’s chin with his gauntleted hand.

‘Jin! What has happened? Why are you tied like this?’

It took a struggle for Lieutenant Jin to speak. ‘I abandoned my post … I went to Dragon Whirl Gorge … He said I could not desert again if I was tied like this.’

Hsiung felt a lurch of guilt. He had assured Jin no harm would befall him, that the only way to defend was to attack, that every experienced officer was needed to save the camp. Yet if he interfered now on Jin’s behalf it might enrage their chief further. Then a voice came to him: Liu Shui’s perhaps, or Deng Nan-shi’s, repeating
something changed, something changed
… And the voice stirred a thrill of power, the same joy he felt in battle.

‘Release Lieutenant Jin,’ he ordered, ‘there has been a mistake.’

While two of his escort sawed at the prisoner’s bindings, Hsiung marched up the final section of path, emerging so suddenly the dozen soldiers posted on guard had no time to stop him. All had been drinking and were engrossed by a spectacle inside the cavern.

The rebel chief had set up his throne on the cavern floor and laid out scores of ancient bronzes, silver platters, statuettes, heaps of
cash
coins from his treasury. A hundred lanterns made the cavern dance with shadow and light, an effect intensified by circling swallows alarmed from their roosts by the echoing, driving music. Frantic drums, twanging pi-pa and trilling flutes. More than just shadows danced. Hornets’ Nest’s officers and advisers, wild with drunken triumph, swayed and clapped. Even their chief had left the dignity of his lacquered throne and was capering beside two golden statuettes of leopards, dragging his slender concubine behind him, one hand clamped on her white wrist. Uproar and exultation dripped from every face.

For ten years Hornets’ Nest and his closest followers had been prisoners in this cave. Ten years of living like rats the farmer hasn’t got round to poisoning. Ten years of noble dreams turning rancid; of mocking ideals and vows once held sacred. Hsiung almost pitied them as they jigged. Except that now they held the means to free not just themselves, but to equip an army capable of freeing the entire province.

One by one the guards stopped clapping and hastily put down their cups. But Hsiung’s escort had already taken up position in the cavern.

Finally Hornets’ Nest noticed his uninvited guests. His ungainly dance ceased. The drummer went still. Silence would have filled the cavern if the swallows had not twittered and beat their wings in alarm.

Casting disdainful glances round him, Hsiung strode through the banquet, servants and fellow officers moving aside to let him pass. Sergeant P’ao attempted to follow but was ordered back by the younger man.