Breaking Bamboo (7 page)

The old man glowered.

‘I know what I am saying. Useless boy!’

Then, as swiftly as a cloud covers the sun, Lord Yun was sobbing.

‘Poor little fishes! No one will set them free. If they could fly instead of swim they would be free! They would fly to my pond in Three-Step-House and be free forever!’

Abbot Jian touched Guang’s shoulder and he rose reluctantly.

‘You see how it is,’ whispered the monk. ‘Possessed by a minor demon. We have tried exorcism many times but without success. He refuses to wash or leave his room. His only companions are those fish.’

Outside the guest room, Guang struggled to compose himself. Unworthiness licked his soul like a cruel flame. Although Abbot Jian murmured that his mother died quite contentedly, having insisted she be removed to a chamber on the opposite side of the monastery to Lord Yun, Guang did not listen.

‘I must take Father back to my brother,’ he said. ‘Shih will know how to cure him.’

Jian started at the name.

‘Your twin is still alive? The one Lord Yun disowned?’

‘Yes, he is a doctor in Nancheng.’

‘I see. A healer. Nancheng is a long way to go. Is your father fit for such a journey? Especially through lands occupied by the Mongols. If I could advise you, I would suggest that Lord Yun stay here. After all, he is half in the next life already. You are young, Guang, and your future lies before you.’

They were interrupted by an old monk hurrying towards them, his stick clicking on the floor.

‘Abbot Jian! Khan Bayke is at the gate with twenty men.

They demand admittance. They say they have come for Lord Yun.’

At the Western Military Academy, Guang was taught the following: ‘Swiftness is the soul of War. Abuse the enemy’s lack of preparation; assault him when he feels safe; pursue an unexpected route.’ In the decade of soldiering that followed his training to be an officer, he learned that a man prepared to die will always defeat one who values life.

Guang did not hesitate. Indeed action came as a kind of release.

‘Tell them I forced you to take me to Father!’ he hissed to Jian.

Recollecting the girl he had abandoned in Wei Valley, he said, ‘This should convince them,’ and punched the monk hard in the nose with all his force, so that there was a spurt of blood and splintering of bone. Abbot Jian fell unconscious to the floor.

Rushing into Father’s room, Guang tore a strip from his own robe and brutally gagged the old man. Then he scooped him up along with his staff and pack and staggered down the corridors of the monastery. Already he could hear shouts as the barbarians searched the building, room by room. But Guang knew the ground better than Bayke. Emerging from a side-door, he followed the outer wall and deposited his father in a convenient rubbish tip. Then he peered round a corner at the front gate.

As he had expected, the enemy’s horses were tethered outside the entrance. Now luck was on his side. In his eagerness for revenge, Bayke had entrusted the horses to two skinny youths.

The boys were struggling to settle the steppe ponies, still excited by their mad gallop to Whale Rock Monastery.

Removing the leather bag of burning powder and stones from his pack, Guang checked the fire-pot at his belt. Its slow-burning match had gone out! Frantically, Guang retraced his steps, aware prayer candles were kept burning in a small shrine along the corridor they had just taken. His luck held. The Mongols were still searching the far side of the monastery. It took a precious moment to relight the match in his fire-pot.

When he returned to the rubbish tip where Lord Yun stood uncertainly, tugging at the gag with feeble fingers, Guang readied his weapons. Then, leaning on his staff like a crippled monk, he hobbled round the corner and approached the youths. One noticed him at once, shouting a warning. Guang kept going. Ten feet from the youth, he twisted the handle of his staff. Nothing happened. The spear-head had stuck!

Undaunted, he rushed forward and smashed the iron-clad butt of his staff against the youth’s forehead. The second boy screamed to Heaven, before fleeing into the monastery.

Guang ran back and dragged Lord Yun to a horse. There was no more time. Already he could hear Bayke’s men returning to the gatehouse. He took a bullwhip from one of the saddles and threw his father over the seat, nimbly tying the squirming old man into place with the braided leather rope.

He spent precious moments loosening the remaining horses’ reins. At last he climbed onto the finest beast there: from the silver tracery on its saddle, he suspected it was Bayke’s own.

But opportunity had run through his fingers. Although he and Father were now mounted, the enemy were rushing through the gatehouse. As a hammer seems to hover before it falls, all present paused. The Mongols wore lamellar armour, bows and swords in their hands. Bayke carried a heavy mace, which he pointed, roaring a command.

Snatching the match from his fire-pot, Guang lit the short fuse protruding from his makeshift thunder-clap bomb. It flared. Casting down the swollen leather bag into the midst of the Mongol horses, he dragged Lord Yun’s mount forward by the reins. Shouts rose behind them. Soon they were cantering. Guang’s back itched in anticipation of an arrow, even as he crouched low over the saddle. Why had they not struck him down? The Mongols were capable of shooting birds on the wing. Unless, of course, Khan Bayke had ordered that his son’s killer must be taken alive.

A moment later the thunderclap bomb exploded with a roar that echoed round the valley. Birds flew screeching from the trees. Horses whinnied in pain and terror. As he glanced back, Guang saw all Bayke’s horses scattering through a cloud of dust and smoke, their hooves drumming the stony ground. One limped outlandishly, fell on its side, tried to struggle up, then flopped on the road.

There would be no pursuit for a while.

*

As he galloped away from Whale Rock Monastery, Guang knew he had gained only an hour’s lead at the very most. The Mongols would eventually gather their horses and thunder after them. He and Father were tied to a fraying rope above jagged stones.

After several
li
he halted, for the horses were too exhausted to go further. When he removed Father’s gag the old man coughed and spluttered. Guang recalled that on trapped ground one should devise stratagems. As long as they stayed on the Chunming High Road they were certainly trapped. He glanced at Lord Yun who was muttering to himself, complaining about the loss of his fish.

‘I have decided, Father,’ he said. ‘We shall not ride straight to Chunming but double back to Five Willows Ford, though it takes us deeper into enemy territory. That way, we shall be near water and you might find more little fishes to set free.’

He might have added, ‘and you can wash there.’ The old man’s fox-smell was overwhelming. A look of obvious slyness crossed Father’s face and Guang felt a stab of revulsion, followed by guilt. He resolved to never demean Father by mentioning fishes again.

‘I like their fragrance, their scent,’ said the old man, as though reading his thought. ‘They remind me of something else.’

Then he chuckled, his face becoming a mask.

It was early afternoon when they left the road, hiding their tracks by following the course of a deep, fast-flowing stream until they reached a forest track. Sunbeams slanted between the pine trees. By dusk they had crossed two precipitous valleys and still Five Willows Ford lay several
li
distant. He heard no sound of pursuit. It seemed his stratagem had worked, yet Guang was not foolish enough to expect Khan Bayke to gallop all the way to Chunming. Sooner or later he would turn back.

There would be men among Bayke’s retinue skilful at reading hoof-prints.

Five Willows Ford appeared as a glow through the trees.

Guang halted at the forest edge and examined the village below.

Coloured lanterns lit a few stalls and he heard drifting music.

A notorious tavern stood in the village square, a haunt of out-laws and bandits. Half the goods traded at Five Willows Ford mocked the law, if only by ignoring taxes. Here the Mongols’ curfew went unheeded.

‘Father,’ he said. ‘We will tether the horses at the outskirts of the village and I will find food. You must not wander off or Bayke will seize you. Do you understand, Father? Bayke will tie you to a wooden yoke and drag you behind his horse!’

That prospect made Lord Yun cringe and mutter in alarm to someone invisible. Guang felt ashamed for them both.

In the village square, he approached an affable butcher and led him back to the horses. It took little persuasion to sell them for a tenth of their value.

‘I won’t ask where they came from,’ said the man, winking, as well he might at such a bargain.

‘Make sure they are out of the village within the hour,’ said Guang, quite as pleasantly. The prospect of Bayke’s splendid warhorse being sliced into strips and eaten by hungry peasants gratified him hugely.

Now they had several strings of the Great Khan’s new-minted
cash
. Guang hoped it would be enough. He bought noodles and fried belly-pork. Lord Yun ate the meal in silence, dabbing his lips afterwards on his son’s coat, which lay on the ground between them. Guang was pleased to see the return of his father’s former dainty manners. The food seemed to make him strangely lucid: ‘Guang,’ he said. ‘Where are you taking me?’

His son stopped chewing. After so much madness he found the transformation oddly disturbing.

‘To safety, Father. You will live with. . .’ He felt reluctant to utter Shih’s name, so long unmentionable in their family.

‘. . . with your Youngest Son, should we get that far.’

The old man visibly trembled.

‘Shih is dead!’ he exclaimed, in a baffled tone. ‘I cannot live with the dead. No, I must live with you, Guang, for you are my only son! Your pretty little wife, my pretty Daughter-in-law, will attend to my needs. She is pretty, eh?’

Though he possessed neither home nor wife, Guang knew Lord Yun must be kept calm.

‘It shall be as you say, Father,’ he muttered.

Yet Lord Yun remained downcast and afraid.

At the waterfront they found several small river craft bound for Chunming. One was due to leave before dawn, carrying a cargo of spruce logs. Its captain regarded him suspiciously, demanding most of their Mongol coins in exchange for passage.

‘Sleep in the bottom of the boat,’ said the surly waterman.

‘Stay there until we leave.’

In the hour before dawn, Guang perched on the stern and gazed at the river. Father lay asleep at his feet. He struggled to make sense of their situation. It seemed he was the parent now and Father was the child. A wholly unnatural state of affairs.

Of course he had heard of such things before and was sure Shih would know how to exorcise the old man’s demon. Besides, Heaven must approve of his actions. Why else would the Jade Emperor have returned Father to him? If he demonstrated filial piety a greater reward from Heaven must follow – a Captain’s commission at the very least, maybe even a Commander’s, preferably with the Imperial Guard.

Guang considered these matters as the river reflected approaching day. The dull black stream turned glossy; ripples formed serpents of fiery sunrise; the water carried a sweet tang of summer plants. On the far shore he noticed a crane stepping gingerly through the shallows, its curved beak poised.

At daybreak they departed for Chunming, the boatmen poling their ship into the centre of the stream. Guang kept Lord Yun hidden amidst stacks of resin-scented timber. As Five Willow Ford fell behind he saw twenty horsemen gallop into the square. Their leader stood in his stirrups and gazed after the dwindling boat. Did Khan Bayke sense they were aboard? The river turned a corner and Five Willows Ford vanished from sight.

*

When Guang was a boy he often heard tales of how Great-grandfather Yun Cai freed his old comrade, the illustrious Second Chancellor P’ei Ti, from gaol in Chunming. Indeed, a stirring romance had been written on the subject. Guang often dreamed of adding honour to the family name, like Yun Cai, and always awoke to a sense of inadequacy. Now Heaven had granted him an opportunity.

On arrival in Chunming he abandoned his monk’s disguise, trading black robes for the threadbare clothes of an itinerant labourer. No such precautions had been necessary for Father, who already wore filthy rags. Nevertheless, Guang looked too sleek and muscular for a peasant weakened by toil and meagre rations; even with his beard and long hair shaved he possessed an air of distinction. If Chunming had not been awash with refugees from the wars they would have been taken within hours. Yet a destitute old man and his son were a common sight in the city, and Guang made a point of sitting among the hordes of landless peasants.

Guang’s first objective was a river passage east. The borders of the Empire were tantalisingly close – a few hundred
li
at most. But no one would carry them without a substantial payment and Guang had observed officials on the waterfront, questioning the most innocent-looking of travellers. He had even seen Khan Bayke riding through the streets with a dozen retainers, staring this way and that like a ravenous hawk.

That was two days ago. Since then Guang had grown increasingly desperate.

Notices had appeared on street corners that morning to announce a foul murder in Wei District and describe the wanted men in some detail. As usual, the authorities provided crude pictures of the felons. The hired woodcut-artist had portrayed Guang as a bushy-bearded hero of old and Father as a wise Immortal. Guang detected a hidden act of subversion behind the flattering portraits.

Certainly the authorities could hardly expect public outrage.

He overheard excited whispers at one tea stall about the revenge taken upon Khan Bayke by the great poet Yun Cai’s descendents. Rescuing Father had caught the imagination of a people cowed into silence, eager for weakness in their new masters.

Guang squatted beneath an awning in the East Market and watched for a sign how to proceed. Rain fell with dreary intensity – a fresh wave of the monsoon, likely to last for days.