Breaking Bamboo (50 page)

Most baffling of all, was the novel design of these catapults.

‘Perhaps Yun Guang can explain,’ said General Zheng Shun.

‘After all, sir, he understands artillery better than any.’

Guang bowed to acknowledge the compliment. His wound and slow recovery had altered more than his appearance. Not only had he gained weight but his former restless intensity had softened. Some remarked that he no longer defied death by exposing himself to Mongol missiles, as though it was a game or way of taunting General A-ku. Most applauded his new-found caution – losing Captain Xiao was unthinkable. He had become a talisman to the Twin Cities, ever defiant, ever returning from death to fight on.

‘Your Excellency, I am puzzled,’ said Guang. ‘There are no ropes for men to drag. How is a missile to be discharged? The missiles themselves are inordinately heavy – no catapult ever devised can fling stones of such weight and size. Finally, they stand beyond all conceivable range. Perhaps they intend to move the devices forward when they use them. But, if so, why are the wooden supports buried in the ground?’

Guang caught Wang Bai watching him closely, a mocking look on his face. Unexpectedly, he remembered another such look, on another man’s face.

‘Your Excellency,’ he added, earnestly. ‘Two years ago I entered the Mongol encampment and took a prisoner, whom we interrogated.’

‘Ah, that wretch!’ broke in General Zheng Shun. ‘A traitor to his ancestors, a man of Han kneeling to barbarians!’

‘His name was Li Tse,’ said Guang. ‘He mentioned a great city far to the west. Quagdad, I believe he called it. He said terrible engines brought down its stone walls so that the whole city was put to the sword.’

‘A likely tale!’ scoffed Zheng Shun.

Wang Ting-bo cleared his throat: ‘They are constructing four more mountain-tower catapults outside Nancheng. I can see them from my terrace when I take morning tea.’

Zheng Shun stepped forward, bowing with uncustomary respect so that Guang knew at once he was after something.

‘Sir! There is a more urgent threat,’ said the General of Land Forces. ‘Tens of thousands of their best troops have been ferried across the river to surround Fouzhou. We may be sure they plan a grand assault. I beg that we transfer three regiments from Nancheng to Fouzhou without delay!’

‘Your Excellency,’ added Guang. ‘We should transfer catapults and siege crossbows at the same time.’

A glance passed between the Pacification Commissioner and his nephew, Wang Bai. The latter said hurriedly: ‘No! They mean to trick us. If we weaken Nancheng we may be sure they will attack there.’

‘How?’ asked Zheng Shun, mockingly. ‘When all their best troops are on this side of the river?’

Before anyone could say more Wang Ting-bo rose from his portable throne, indicating an end to the discussion.

‘We shall maintain our current dispositions,’ he said. ‘Let us wait until the enemy’s intentions are clear. My thanks, gentlemen, and a good day to you all!’

With that the Pacification Commissioner left the Gate of Revealed Splendour, accompanied by a flock of officials, including many members of the Wang clan. Four sweating servants carried his ivory throne on their shoulders. At last only Chen Song and Guang remained on the battlements.

‘I plan to walk back to Nancheng rather than ride,’ said Chen Song. ‘Will you accompany me?’

‘A pleasant suggestion.’

Though Guang suspected his friend had unpleasant topics of conversation in mind.

Nearly nine months had passed since Cao and Shih grew intoxicated and lay together in the tower room of Apricot Corner Court, their bodies washed by moonlight.

As he tramped the streets of Fouzhou, Chen Song by his side, Guang’s thoughts drifted to Cao’s delicate condition. A small escort followed, leading their horses. Fouzhou was far smaller than Nancheng, and older. Many of its wards retained the severe walls and forbidden places of Tang Dynasty despots, whereas merchants and pleasure-sellers had colonised every available corner of Nancheng. People on the south bank described Fouzhou folk as dull and dour. Their northern neighbours replied that Nancheng folk were flighty and frivolous.

Wise heads maintained that to have
yin
one must have
yang
.

‘His Excellency should follow Zheng Shun’s suggestion without delay,’ complained Chen Song. ‘The garrison here is too small to repulse a full assault, especially if the walls are breached. Now that the marshes are dry, even the deepest moats may be waded by a tall man with his head above water.’

Guang gave no sign that he heard. His thoughts lingered in Apricot Corner Court. By chance he had blundered into the medicine shop on the day Cao acknowledged her pregnancy to Shih. They were embracing beside the counter. A bucket of pungent plants stood by their feet and Guang had recognised it as the mugwort Sister-in-law had sowed and harvested by the Water Gate of Morning Radiance. He had expected them to spring apart at his entrance, yet to his surprise Shih clasped Cao tighter.

‘Is all well?’ Guang had demanded. ‘Father? Is he. . . ?’

There were tears on both their cheeks.

‘No,’ said Shih. ‘No.’

‘Then what is it?’

Cao appeared to be trembling.

‘What is it Sister-in-law?’ asked Guang. ‘If anyone has dishonoured you, let him beware!’

Both Shih and Cao had laughed joyfully as he watched in incomprehension.

‘It is not that,’ said Cao, dabbing her eyes. ‘Oh, you must tell him, Shih!’

And so he had. That Cao’s pregnancy was quite certain.

After all these years the apricot stones buried in the spare room of their house had put forth blossom.

As Guang walked through Fouzhou with Chen Song, he realised her time was drawing close. And if Cao’s delicate condition resulted in a male heir, a crisis would inevitably arise.

After all, Honoured Father surely could not last much longer.

Although strong for a man of his age, he was still venerable.

When he passed away the Lordship of Wei Valley must, like a noble hat, find a new head. Never mind that the title was empty, that Bayke ruled their ancestral lands. Guang still fervently believed what had been stolen would one day be reclaimed, and there lay his dilemma.

When he jokingly referred to Shih as Youngest Brother both twins grew confused. Neither could meet the other’s eye.

Sometimes Guang came close to mentioning Shih’s banishment as a child but his courage always faltered. Afterwards he berated himself. How could there be reconciliation when the past was unresolved? Without truth, how could there be restoration?

For months after his recovery these questions troubled him, yet paradoxically Shih became a closer companion than even Chen Song. Often when he returned from the ramparts to Apricot Corner Court, the two brothers talked until late into the night. Still the dilemma of who was the true Eldest Son lay between them.

Chen Song’s voice broke into his thoughts. They had just reached the Floating Bridge linking Fouzhou to Nancheng.

‘What amazes me, my dear Guang, is the ineptitude of His Imperial Majesty’s advisers! Why was no fresh attempt made to raise the siege this summer? And now it is autumn, a season favourable to the enemy. It is as though the Chancellor has decided we can only defend, never attack. Unless we take the fight to them, we shall never recover our lost lands. And then to decide that Wang Ting-bo should remain Pacification Commissioner despite failed attempts to replace him! I call that a questionable decision.’

Guang nodded as though in complete agreement. His thoughts remained in Apricot Corner Court. Of course, Cao’s pregnancy preoccupied his brother so that even his work at the Relief Bureau suffered. Yet no one could have anticipated Lu Ying becoming a prop to Madam Cao, their rivalry forgotten.

She had even taken up the duty of serving Lord Yun’s meals.

Guang sometimes met her emerging from Father’s room with an empty dish and a vexed flush on her pretty face; and he honoured her for sparing Cao from Lord Yun’s malicious mumblings about cuckoos and true fathers. Lu Ying once confided to Guang that on his bad days Lord Yun believed Khan Bayke to be the unborn child’s demon-father.

Rarely Lu Ying visited Guang’s room to bring cordials and other refreshments. Then they talked in a free manner, as when she had been his nurse. In all other respects the lady maintained a strict decorum he found provoking – as, no doubt, she fully intended.

‘Really, Guang!’ said Chen Song. ‘I swear that I have been speaking to myself since we left Jasper Gate!’

Only then did Guang realise they were half way across the Floating Bridge. He turned and looked back at Fouzhou.

The strange catapults were clearly visible. Huge scaffolds with which General A-ku hoped to strangle the Twin Cities.

‘What are those things?’ he muttered.

‘I do not know.’

‘Do you think Nancheng could hold out if Fouzhou fell?’

Guang asked quietly, in case their escort overheard.

‘If the Pacification Commissioner does not transfer troops there right away, we may find out,’ replied Chen Song.

*

It was Lu Ying’s suggestion to visit the pleasure gardens beside the Pavilion of Pure Distance. At first Madam Cao refused. For months no rain had fallen, making the streets close and dusty.

The level of the Han River sunk alarmingly, transforming it into a wide maze of shingle strips and deep, treacherous channels. The skies behind Mount Wadung remained cloudless.

Heat filled Apricot Corner Court even at night. The only breezes were stray gusts carrying grit and dust through open windows. Unpleasant enough weather for anyone – but as Cao sat on the shady bench beneath the apricot tree, irritably wafting herself with one of Old Hsu’s largest fans, she touched her swollen belly and moaned. Surely no woman was supposed to grow so large! The heat made her swell like a gourd.

There seemed no end to the movements inside her womb.

Sometimes Cao wondered if she had conceived a frog with powerful back legs or a bird constantly fluttering its wings.

Then she felt afraid of such thoughts in case demons made them come true. Everyone knew a pregnant woman must guard her thoughts.

Cao had been scrupulous in other ways: eating light-coloured food whenever possible so Baby would be fair-skinned; sleeping with knives under the bed to deter sneaking fox-fairies. Neither would she sit on crooked mats or look at clashing colours except accidentally and then it made her worry all day. Despite such precautions Cao often felt disheartened.

Old Hsu’s Widow assured her Baby’s movements were normal and very suggestive of
yang
. The midwife commissioned by Shih concurred. Only a boy, she said, possessed such vigour, for girls are naturally meek from the moment of conception. Cao did not like the midwife. She had always hoped Widow Mu might perform that service, in the days when they were close friends.

Of course there were many other anxieties. What if the child turned out to be a girl? After all the years of waiting, a mere girl! She was sure her kindly Shih would love the infant, whatever its worth in the world. Or she trusted he would. Most of all Cao dreaded losing the child. Nine months of nagging fear until her head ached constantly! Yet she dared not mention it to a living soul, in case naming what she dreaded made it happen.

Cao looked up as Lu Ying emerged from the house with two parasols and a small lacquered box. She came over to Madam Cao and sat beside her on the bench. Flies buzzed around them.

It was early evening but the sun still beat fiercely.

‘Just think, in a fortnight the child is due!’ observed Lu Ying, brightly. ‘How quickly the days pass.’

‘If Midwife Tui-Lo’s calculations are correct,’ cautioned Cao.

‘And Dr Shih’s,’ added Lu Ying.

‘Indeed.’

‘So you see,’ said Lu Ying. ‘There is little time left for us to visit the Pavilion of Pure Distance before your confinement.’

Cao flapped her hands. The benefits of trailing through baking streets to sacrifice to the Buddha seemed outweighed by the discomfort of getting there.

‘Here is an offering of old jewellery,’ said Lu Ying, holding out the box.

Now Cao sat up anxiously. She knew her honoured guest’s precious jewellery was being traded piece by piece for bags of fourth grade rice, more husk than grain, to supplement the family’s rations.

‘You are too kind!’ she said.

‘Not at all.’

Lu Ying smiled.

‘I have gone so far as to hire two sedan chairs. And before you ask, Dr Shih has indicated his agreement with my plan. It was his idea that it should be a surprise.’

‘Then it seems I must go,’ said Cao.

Half an hour later they arrived at the Pavilion of Pure Distance. Most of the city’s pleasure gardens had been turned into vegetable plots. Not so this one. It adjoined a notable shrine and contained a large rock shaped like an arch. Its many ornamental ponds were said to cleanse misfortune. Prudent women of all classes came here to purchase favour at the Pavilion then pass under the stone arch, praying to Lord Buddha for a painless childbirth.

At the shrine Cao grew tearful and might have shown a disreputable face had not Lu Ying guided her into the evening sunshine. There she composed herself, hidden by her friend’s parasol.

‘You cannot imagine,’ she sniffed, ‘the anxiety I feel.’

‘True,’ said Lu Ying, wistfully. ‘But Madam Cao, dry your eyes, for we must pass beneath the lucky arch! Why come here without that?’

The two women entered the area of ornamental ponds, a maze of paths shaded by moon-gates and tasteful stands of bamboo. They turned a corner and Lu Ying went rigid. Painful fingers found Cao’s arm. For coming towards them, shuffling on lotus feet, was a group of fine ladies six or seven strong.

Despite the heat they wore exquisite silk gowns. Their silver-chased headdresses stood a foot high. Each lady fluttered a silken fan to ward off insects. Two sturdy servants armed with clubs followed at a distance, along with a crowd of maids.

‘We must turn back!’ hissed Lu Ying. ‘It is Wang Ting-bo’s First Wife! I should never have come here!’

It was too late to escape. Cao pulled Lu Ying to the side of the path and both women bowed respectfully. Their best hope was to be deemed unworthy of notice, but the great lady recognised Lu Ying at once. And though her emotions were hidden behind thick layers of white cosmetics, her small, alert eyes did not leave the former concubine for a moment. Cao guessed what she saw – a rival reduced to miserable poverty, unable even to afford make-up. Then she bristled inwardly on Lu Ying’s behalf.