Le Colonial (26 page)
“You’re a fool to think I need you,” shouted Ánh with indignation. “I stopped needing you long ago.”
An explosion near the entrance made the hall quake. Mandarins pressed forward, clinging to one another amid a cloud of dirt and smoke. The beams creaked from above, and several roof tiles fell down, revealing the sky. Gongs were striking, heavily shod feet were clomping, and a platoon of soldiers ran into the chamber.
Pierre could not see much through the smoke. The acrid smell of gunpowder rekindled the memories of past skirmishes. He reached for the prince’s hand and felt it jerk away.
The battle for Saygun Citadel had begun.
F
rom the top floor of a pagoda in the king’s palace, Pierre studied the spectacle below. Across the cavernous halls of the Eastern Palace, through the throne room’s shattered walls, he could see two towering pillars—the citadel’s main entrance. The columns were carved from sandstone to resemble twisted oak trees, forming an arch. From them hung the heavy doors of gray granite, which were open.
As King Due Tong charged through the gate, three thousand mounted imperial soldiers galloped behind him. The king was clad in golden armor and rode atop an elephant. In his hand burned a torch; its red flames were a beacon for his armed forces. Their roars rose with the persistent drumbeats.
Beyond the citadel, the landscape of Saygun consisted of rolling hills and rice terraces dotted by large haystacks. Cannon explosions opened over the plain like parasols of fire, competing with the soldiers’ rumbling chant.
Using a brass spyglass, Pierre looked for the enemy troops. In the room with him were Ánh and his wives and concubines. Several imperial guards stood by the door. Outside the pagoda, a second military troop was forming, under the direction of the prince’s seven brothers.
Through the magnifying lens, Pierre could see the fields in detail, down to the rice tassels that floated in the wind. Something seemed to crawl like a swarm of black cattle beneath the quivering sheaths. He had heard that the peasants were skillful at making themselves invisible, covering their bodies in dirt and clay to blend with nature.
Pierre saw King Due Tong rise on his elephant. Behind him were the highest-ranking mandarins—the most skilled warriors of the court. Next were the men with muskets loaded with gunpowder, followed by a militia of fighters carrying spears, swords, and bows.
The army faltered as it encountered resistance. The ground shrieked, churned, and erupted into thousands of brown bodies, like corpses that had risen from their graves. Three of the knolls of haystacks morphed into elephants, charging toward the king’s brigade.
In the tower, Prince Ánh gave a cry of dismay. Pierre lowered the spyglass. One of the enemy generals who rode the charging elephants was a female. She wore armor made of bamboo slats, and her hair streamed as she stood atop the beast, brandishing a sword. Her foot struck the crown of the elephant’s head, urging it into the attack. A horn wailed to signal a charge from the peasants. They advanced, shouting.
The imperial army quailed, vastly outnumbered by the attackers. Frightened horses whinnied and bucked, crashing into one another. Some of the royal guards’ muskets slipped through their fingers before they had a chance to fire. The soldiers closest to the rear attempted to retreat into the citadel, but it was too late. The gate was shut. Mountaineers were closing in, forcing them to huddle in the center of the field around their king.
“Fire! Fire!” screamed King Due Tong to his troops.
A rain of arrows from the rebels drenched his army. Muskets barked. Bodies fell. Many bullets struck the peasants, but all too many found targets within their own ranks. Before long, the Mountaineers swept over the royal forces. Weapons clashed in hand-to-hand combat between the two armies.
The female warrior stood on the edge of the battlefield, watching. Her every gesture exuded confidence. As one rebel met his death, two sprang up and took his place. Soon the king’s troops were grossly outnumbered. They herded closer together, fighting with all their might. The king turned his head in the direction of the pagoda, to where Pierre and the prince were watching. He staggered and waved his hands in desperation.
“Save the king!” cried Ánh.
A guard ran down the spiral stairs. But below, the army of the prince’s seven brothers had already acted. The granite gates screeched on their hinges, revealing a wall of peasants on the other side. The horses covered the green pasture with long strides, keeping no order as they sped from the citadel. The princes’ weapons flashed high. One after another, the soldiers descended the vast field, into an arch of sunlight.
Pierre watched the eldest prince hack his way through a throng of rebels. Limbs flew in all directions. Soon his body was soaked in red. However, the destruction that he created was short-lived. From a tree twenty paces away, a black arrow flew through the leaves to pierce his neck. He tilted to one side and slid beneath his stallion. His body was swallowed by a mass of advancing hooves.
A path was clear where a great number of peasants had fallen. The remaining princes and their warriors could now view King Due Tong and his surrounded troops. They were gaining on the rebels, and their only objective was to save their king. Within their ranks, the bowmen took positions, shooting arrows from their horses. Several peasants fell; many more retreated.
The female general yelled and stamped her feet on top of her elephant. Her body twisted in a primitive dance to the rhythm of her shrieking voice. The animal trumpeted in response. Its sound ripped high above the clamor, and the other elephants joined the chorus.
What seemed like another earthquake shook the ground. The rumbling spread as far as the distant forests, where the trees shivered. More peasants surged forward, hatched from within the Earth’s bosom. All around the mound on which the imperial soldiers had gathered, a terrible cry reverberated. One by one, the king’s soldiers tossed their weapons in defeat.
The fire in the king’s torch had gone out. This time, he did not look back at the citadel.
Silence fell. The lead elephant lifted one foot, forming a step for the female general to dismount.
With every eye focused on her, she strode over to the frightened king. Ignoring him, she gestured to his elephant in an unspoken language, then took a few steps back. The beast understood her command. It knelt on its front legs. A group of peasants reached into the king’s compartment and pulled him out. She clapped her hands, and all the elephants rose tall.
Together the animals lifted their trunks and released a penetrating roar.
Pierre put his hand on Ánh’s shoulder, forcing the prince to look at the battlefield.
“What does Your Highness plan to do?”
The prince sat still, wearing a vacant look.
“You cannot try to rescue your uncle and brothers. As you can see for yourself, nothing can save them. Soon the citadel will be invaded. You’ll be imprisoned and tried along with the other royals. None of you will live.”
The women sobbed, holding on to one another.
Ánh shrugged away from Pierre’s grasp and shouted, “Silent, all of you!” He clutched his temples. “And you too, white devil! I cannot think with you filling my head with such damnation.” He lurched to his feet and almost fell.
Pierre was unrelenting. “I am your only friend. Ever since you became my ward, my mission has been to protect you. Your Highness, I’m afraid this time it might be too late.”
Outside, the Mountaineers had disappeared from view, taking the defeated soldiers as their prisoners.
Ánh panted. “If it is hopeless, then I shall attempt an escape, or die trying with the last of my men.”
Pierre couldn’t help smiling. “That is what the rebels want you to do,” he said. “It would be easier for them to draw you out there than to break through the walls of the citadel and hunt for you in here. There are traps we can set to counterattack them. Remember, they know that besides Prince Hoàng, you are the only one left that has not been captured. For now, they are amusing themselves at your expense. Your sanity is what they want. That is why they retreated.”
His words seemed to reach the prince.
“What can I do, Cha CA?”
“It doesn’t seem likely the rebels will strike anytime soon,” said Pierre, pushing his shoulders back and resuming his erect posture. “They are anticipating your surrender. We still have a few hours to prepare a plan.”
“What if I don’t surrender?”
Pierre replied, “Then they will tear this city apart, brick by brick, to search for you. This day will enter history as one of the rebels’ finest achievements—the day they conquered the South. You must —”
A cry cut off Pierre’s words. It came from Lady Jade Bình. He threw an annoyed look at her, but that did not stop her from moaning. She was clutching her abdomen. Her face was covered in sweat and distorted with pain. The prince turned to her, bewildered.
“What is wrong?” Ánh asked.
The girl’s lips tightened. Pierre watched her press her thighs together in that frantic gesture that children often use to fight the urge to urinate.
A voice came from behind the wives. “Your Third Mistress is about to be blessed with a child, Your Highness.”
For the first time since they had entered the pagoda, Pierre noticed Xuan. She wore a simple tunic of honey-colored silk.
The prince’s eyes widened. “No! It can’t be! Now? But it is too soon, isn’t it? How could it be?” he babbled. “Quick, somebody help her. Take her away and get a midwife to help with the birthing. I cannot see this act. It will curse me with ill luck. I cannot survive any more misfortunes.”
“Where do you want her to go?” Xuan asked.
Another woman, the oldest of the wives, struck her across the face. Xuan’s head swiveled to the side, and her cheek reddened.
“Why did you hit her?” Ánh asked in surprise.
The princess replied, “Twice she spoke without your permission, Your Highness. I cannot just stand idly by.”
He pointed at her. “You must never hit her again.” To Xuan he said, “Take her to the next room and get a midwife. If there is no one, then get a servant to help you. Let me know the sex of the child when it comes.”
He sank back into an armchair, exhausted. Pierre pressed down on his shoulder.
“Pray to God, my child,” he whispered. “Surrender yourself to His glory. It is His hallowed sign: in the darkest hours of death and destruction, there is new life.”
He moved toward the door.
Ánh tossed his head back and cried out, “Cha CA, where are you going?”
“To say a prayer for the health of your wife and child.”
Without leaving his chair, Ánh reached for Pierre’s elbow. “Do not leave me, please,” he begged. “I must not be alone.”
Pierre smiled.
Pierre could hear running in the hallway, the whispers of servants, and an occasional scream from Lady Jade Bình. The sounds blended into a hum as the day aged into late afternoon. Ánh drew his armchair to a corner of the room, away from the view of the open plain.
Looking out the window, Pierre said to him, “Your Highness, you must see this.”
The prince moved slowly. What Pierre wanted him to see required no spyglass.
The peasants’ female general had reappeared, her armor-clad body swaying atop her elephant. Behind her, a wall three times the size of the citadel’s entrance was rolling on logs. On it was a series of proclamations.
DEATH
TO
THE
ROYAL
FAMILY
AND
THEIR
SINFUL
PAST!
ERADICATE
THE
RULING
MONARCH!
FREEDOM
AND
HAPPINESS
FOR
THE
PEASANTS!
As the sun reached the land behind the moving wall, the bishop saw a multitude of marching rebels: men and boys running forward with pitchforks, clubs, buckets, ropes, and torches; old farmers carrying rocks; howling girls and women with babies packed on their backs. Angrily, they charged toward the citadel. Their shouting voices created a blast that pushed the prince back several steps.
An infant’s cry rang out.
The prince whispered in disbelief, “No! It can’t be.”
Xuan entered the room. “A thousand good fortunes, Your Highness,” she said. “You have a son, a prince —”
She stopped, her mouth open as she looked past him. The peasants’ voices were drawing nearer. Pierre whirled to see what she had seen.
On the open field, the bamboo wall squeaked as it was turned around on a central pivot, revealing its opposite side to the spectators in the citadel. From the top hung the head of His Imperial Majesty King Due Tong, placed on a bamboo tray. His eyes were still half-open, blood seeped from his nostrils, and his long hair spiked through the wicker. Below it, in a row, were the heads of the seven princes, followed in two more rows by those of the high-ranking mandarins. Pierre imagined his ward’s head mounted on the wall of shame, completing the final portrait of the Nguyen bloodline.
He said to Ánh in a low-pitched voice, “If I rescue you and make you king, do I have your word you will open your country to Christianity?”
“What?” the prince whispered, unable to comprehend.
“You don’t have much time—answer me. Do you swear to have your country baptized into Christianity and guarantee safety for all missionaries during your reign and thereafter?”
“If you could save me,” cried Ánh, “my kingdom would be at your disposal.”
“Then I have your word?”
“Yes, yes! I promise.”
“Very well,” replied Pierre. “Go to the throne room now. Brother João is waiting. He knows what to do.”
“What will happen to me?”
“You and your son are the last hope of the Nguyen family. More than ever, your survival is crucial. You must go into exile and remain invisible until I am able to bring help. As soon as possible, I will take your son to Europe and plead with the king of France for military and financial support. We each face a long and difficult journey ahead. You must learn patience and wait for me.” He held the prince’s hand. “From this moment on, I will no longer be at your side to protect you. So, Your Highness, you cannot act on impulse anymore. Use your wisdom.”
He reached into an inner pocket and withdrew a velvet pouch.
Ánh took it. The shape and heaviness of the pouch told him of its content. He released the drawstring. In his hand was the royal seal of the Nguyen dynasty.
Pierre bowed and said, “Your Majesty, you chose me to safeguard this seal all these years for today. You are now king of Cochin China. The seal is yours. It is your duty to keep it. God be with you.” He made the sign of the cross over his stunned ward.
