Breaking Bamboo (23 page)

A year into his indenture, even Cao began to wonder if he would ever make a doctor. Shih struggled to make him learn anything difficult. He had a talent for shortcuts, most of which ended badly. When he explained the reasoning behind his mistakes, lips trembling, it was hard to feel angry. If he was sick – a disturbingly common occurrence considering he dwelt with a doctor – Cao fluttered by his bedside and fed him fish-head stew.

Dr Shih laboured hard to teach the lad his characters. One time, Chung failed after many reminders to copy out the characters of the Seven Sentiments, and his master resorted to slapping him round the face. Cao put her arms around the weeping boy when Shih was not looking. Sometimes she discovered small items of food missing from the pantry, but said nothing.

So years had passed. Now Chung was twenty, a mere year from his capping as a man and the end of his indenture. She liked to chat with him if work was slack; like his poor father, he possessed the knack of lightening a dull mood. She forgave his sly evasions and, once, in an unguarded moment after drinking too much hemp-flavoured tea, revealed the circumstances of her marriage. Chung blinked at her with wide eyes and she immediately grew afraid. If Shih found out he would be angry. Such a story might damage his reputation beyond all repair.

But Chung had yawned and said he was hungry. She made him a dish of rice sweetened with honey and sesame seeds, his favourite. The matter had never been mentioned again. No doubt, in his sleepy way, Chung had forgotten. He certainly forgot most things.

Cao trailed back to Apricot Corner Court, the apprentice beside her. She worried where he found cash for gambling and how she might explain it to Shih. Meanwhile, Chung was relating a droll piece of gossip concerning a neighbour. She half listened, though usually such stories made her smile.

Dr Shih startled them by stepping quickly through the gate of Apricot Corner Court, looking pale. She sensed at once he had learned about Dr Du Mau’s visit to the Relief Bureau and the confiscation of his ledgers. At the sight of her, he hurried forward.

‘Chung has been walking me home,’ she said, quickly.

The apprentice shot her a grateful look.

‘Never mind that,’ said Shih. ‘Chung, clean the shop until we return. I must speak with Madam Cao.’

They stood together in the street, watching the endless bustle of sedan chairs and laden mules and camels and passers-by. A boat heavy with chicken cages drifted past on the canal in the direction of North Market.

‘There is something I need to tell you,’ he said, softly. ‘We must find a place where we cannot be overheard.’

Before he could say more, a beggarly man came running down the street. Cao recognised him as one of Water Basin Ward’s most notorious drunkards. Now he was swollen with news.

‘The enemy have come! The barbarians are only fifty
li
distant!’ he yelled.

People stopped their business, stared.

‘The enemy! Notices are going up all over the city! The Mongols draw near!’

A flurry of excited voices mingled with cries of fear. Bustling filled the street. Suddenly everyone wanted to find relatives and loved ones. Confusion blew through the Twin Cities like a hot wind. Such popular moods had fanned riots in the past.

‘Let us go inside,’ said Shih. ‘I’m afraid there will be disorder before night falls.’

*

‘I, the Great Khan, Khubilai, order my armies to advance by sea, river, land and mountain. Those of our enemies who do not resist shall be spared slaughter or confiscation of all they own, not least their liberty. Those who serve us by persuading the treasonous to submit to our just rule shall be rewarded. Those who persist in foolish opposition and resistance shall endure every woe imaginable. . .’

Proclamation of War

The City Ramparts, Nancheng. Autumn, 1266.

Captain Xiao, firmer than the ramparts he defends, gazes everywhere. His eyes shoot out approval and reproach. He thrusts out jaw and chest. Autumn winds may whip around him but he will not flinch. Captain Xiao must justify that title every moment of every day. Die a thousand cruel deaths, sooner than risk dishonour.

So Guang imagined himself, waiting on the battlements of Swallow Gate. As he stared west, a commotion started in the city behind but he did not turn. Along with hundreds of officers and soldiers lining the ramparts, his attention centred on Wadung Mountain and the broad valley leading to Nancheng. It had become a wasteland, every village burned and every field flooded so the enemy might find nothing useful.

Relays of smoke signals and coloured flags awaited their arrival.

‘Perhaps they have chosen to halt their advance,’ he remarked to Chen Song who stood close by, splendid in a new suit of lamellar armour.

‘Our beloved land frustrates them,’ declared the scholar-spy, now turned warrior. ‘This is poor country for cavalry, even during the autumn drought. It is my firm conviction. . .’

He stopped and looked round in irritation.

‘What is that noise? One might think the barbarians were already within our gates!’

They used their elevated position to examine the disturbance. Soldiers were pulling down a row of houses near the ramparts. Meanwhile officials, bright as parrots in green and blue uniforms, attempted to stop them. Chen Song frowned.

‘Those officials are in the service of Prefect Wang Bai!’ he said.

Guang reluctantly followed his friend’s pointing finger.

‘Yes.’

‘Do they not know those houses should be demolished?’ asked Chen Song. ‘The enemy could easily set them ablaze. The whole ward might burn. I shall intervene. . .’

‘No, I order you to remain here.’

Chen Song halted in surprise.

‘Forgive my presumption,’ he muttered.

Since Chen Song’s appointment as Captain of Artillery at Guang’s suggestion their friendship had changed, though not weakened. Duty formed new channels between the two men; and water parts, as well as connects.

‘Wang Bai has instructed me to spare those particular buildings,’ said Guang, more gently.

‘Tell that to General Zheng Shun,’ said Chen Song.

Indeed, the General of Land Forces had joined the dispute below. Within minutes carpenters were stripping the roofs, dispatching precious timbers to government lumberyards for use in the siege defences. Guang sighed. His patron would surely seek to punish Zheng Shun. Amidst the bickering, victory would run ahead of them like a fleeing deer.

Chen Song remarked solemnly: ‘Little ponds reflect the same clouds as great seas.’

‘How so?’

‘Here squabbling holds us back, but affairs in the capital are no different. At court one party opposes another. The Emperor bends this way, then that. No one agrees how the war is to be conducted, so nothing is done.’

‘Speak more softly,’ cautioned Guang, glancing at the common soldiers tending an enormous crossbow nearby.

‘I hear,’ muttered Chen Song, ‘our defeat at Willow Fords was caused by General Liu’s refusal to engage the enemy. He claimed to have orders from the Chancellor. In the rout we lost ten thousand good men.’

Such talk trailed wisps of treason.

‘A soldier’s duty is to follow orders and fight,’ said Guang, doggedly.

‘Not to die without reason,’ murmured Chen Song. ‘For it weakens our cause.’

Guang resorted to dignified silence. Still no signal rose from Wadung Mountain. Where were the cursed barbarians? He longed to end the months of uncertainty, to bury unsettling thoughts in action.

As he looked westward, Guang wondered if Khan Bayke rode among the Mongol horde. Could destiny be that generous? Though killing the usurper of Wei Valley and Three-Step-House would restore neither title nor property to his family, he wished for it fervently. But then Bayke would simply be replaced as Lord of Wei by another Mongol.

An hour later, the watchers received their reward.

They came like black clouds, obscuring the land. Dust hovered above endless columns of horses and wagons. The pale autumn sun glinted on steel and, even at a distance, bright banners broke the dull, grey monotony of the advancing horde.

Thousands, tens of thousands. Guang noticed that the beasts of burden far outnumbered men. Camels pulling carts; huge domed wagons dragged by twenty oxen; and horses, horses beyond count. Impossible to kill them all. The neighing and whinnying was incessant. A slow drumbeat summoned regiment after regiment to positions marked out by standard bearers.

Guang scanned the ranks for siege engines. Catapults and cloud ladders, wheeled towers and gigantic crossbows, these were to be his special prey. A clerk perched on a low stool by his feet, recording all he saw.

The orderliness of the barbarians amazed him. They wasted no time in raising round steppe-huts of hide and wood, as well as pens for their animals. One might call their army a people on the move, their camp a mobile city. He recollected they had defeated a formation equal in size, sent by the Chancellor to pacify the frontier. For the first time he felt something new. Was it doubt? He glanced back at the houses and rooftops of Nancheng, the splendid markets and pavilions. No, he must not doubt. The city would stand forever if brave men held firm.

A large group of Mongol officers galloped towards Swallow Gate and halted beyond bowshot, examining the moats and towers. Their stillness was both a challenge and menace.

‘That must be General A-ku himself!’ exclaimed Guang, pointing at an officer wearing golden armour. ‘He is no older than myself and definitely a short fellow. Do you not think so?’

Chen Song did not reply. Perhaps he was awed. Rumours had circulated through the Twin Cities, spread by spies, that the Great Khan had appointed General A-ku to subdue them as a reward for conquering Sichuan Province. It was said he never failed, whatever the cost. Certainly A-ku’s horde was vast. As was his reputation for cruel determination.

Guang looked hopefully at a cairn of stones between the city and enemy lines. It was studded with flags insulting the Great Khan in bold characters. Guang had ordered its construction at the far limits of crossbow range that morning. Yet it seemed the Mongols might never take the bait. At last a group of officers from the general’s entourage cantered over to the mound of taunting flags.

‘Prepare the siege crossbows!’ ordered Guang.

He felt Chen Song’s excitement beside him. Teams of soldiers cranked winches, tensing the giant machines.

‘Aim as you have been instructed.’

When the horsemen reached the cairn, Guang ordered the fluttering of a yellow pennant. Loud cracks followed as a dozen huge crossbow bolts were released. Moments later the six foot shafts fell among the horsemen, bringing several down.

Flaming bolts followed, trailing yellow smoke, whooshing across the cleared ground before the city. Suddenly the pile of stones packed with thunderclap bombs ignited. The explosion echoed all the way to Wadung Mountain. Flying rocks crushed mounts and riders. One Mongol officer was on fire, rolling on the ground. Even General A-ku’s horse reared and bucked.

Loud cheering spread along the ramparts. Guang’s own men were beside themselves, for they could boast the honour of first blood.

‘Captain Xiao! Captain Xiao!’ they bellowed, waving halberds and crossbows.

In the midst of his triumph, Guang became aware an officer was saluting him, fists pressed together, head bowed.

‘His Excellency requires your presence, sir.’

Reluctantly, he turned to go. The enemy were still spreading out to surround Nancheng. Guang glanced back at A-ku, hoping he had heard the name of Captain Xiao. If not, he would learn it soon enough.

*

The doors of Wang Ting-bo’s summerhouse stood open. Scents from the Pacification Commissioner’s pleasure garden entered the room: chrysanthemum and orchid, many-petalled fire-bell and lord’s whisker, lilies floating on glassy ponds beside ornate rocks. One might have expected a gathering of scholars, a literary drinking party. Instead a long trestle table had been set up in the summerhouse. Men wearing armour or the vermilion uniforms of high officials sat in strict order of precedence around a relief map of the Twin Cities made from sculpted cooked rice.

Guang could assess his own status at the meeting by his neighbours. He had been seated at the far end of the table, away from Wang Ting-bo and the other Commanders, as well as his patron, Wang Bai. The fellow on Guang’s immediate left was responsible for waterways and sewage. On his right sat an actuary. He itched to draw the great men’s attention and advance, place by place, closer to His Excellency.

‘Gentlemen,’ began Wang Ting-bo, tugging at his wispy beard. ‘Our worst expectations are realised! Even as I speak the barbarians draw a noose round our necks. As all know, it is difficult to get off a tiger’s back.’

General Zheng Shun and his cousin, Admiral Zheng Qi-Qi, stirred a little but said nothing.

‘We are the anvil and General A-ku wishes to be our hammer!’ continued the Pacification Commissioner.

Guang detected something wrong with this comparison but couldn’t say what. Admiral Zheng Qi-Qi coughed politely, the corners of his mouth rising a fraction.

‘Your Excellency, between a hammer and anvil one frequently finds molten iron,’ he said. ‘Yet our mettle is hard and cool.’

All present exclaimed at so clever a pun. Here was how civilized men derided danger! Only Wang Bai, handsome and sleek, seemed unmoved.

‘Quite so, quite so,’ said Wang Ting-bo, hurriedly.

‘Nevertheless, this is a grave meeting.’

No one quibbled over that.

‘The purpose of our council is to determine the best way to proceed.’

‘Sir, I advise spiritual tactics,’ said Admiral Qi-Qi. ‘Our moats and walls are a rock they will break against.’

‘Indeed, sir,’ added General Zheng Shun. ‘Stealthy waiting will teach us the strength of their forces, while concealing our own. It is the only proper way!’

His eyes narrowed and he turned to Guang.

‘For that reason,’ he added, fiercely, ‘I was surprised by your display this afternoon, Commander!’

Guang blinked. He had expected hearty praise for his exploding pile of stones.