The Art of War (12 page)

He picked up the tiny, dragon-headed pot and shook sand over the paper to dry the ink, then lifted the sheet to blow it clean.

‘Is it business?’

He looked up again, smiling. She had raised herself on one elbow and was looking across at him, her dark hair fallen loose across the silk of her shoulder.

Li Yuan folded the sheet in half and in half again, then put it in the pocket of his gown. He looked away a moment, towards the garden. It was dark outside; black, like a sea of ink pressed against the glass.

He looked back, smiling. ‘No.’

‘Then come to bed, my love. It’s warm here.’

He laughed softly. ‘Yes, but I must get ready.’

There was a meeting of the Council that afternoon and there was much to do beforehand. He ought to begin. Even so, he hesitated, seeing her thus. It was his first morning with her, after all. Surely his father would understand?

She was watching him silently, letting the darkness of her eyes, the silken perfection of her naked shoulder bring him to her. He stood, then went across, sitting beside her on the bed.

She leaned forward to greet him, her left hand moving between the folds of his gown to touch and caress his chest. As she did so, the covers slipped back, revealing her neck, the smooth perfection of her upper chest, the magnificence of her breasts. He looked down at them, then up into her face again.

‘Fei Yen…’

Her lips parted slightly, her eyes widened, smiling. ‘Husband?’

He laughed again, a brief sound of delight. ‘Husband… It sounds so different from your lips.’

‘Different?’

He shivered, then leaned forward to kiss her, gently, softly, holding her to him momentarily. Then he released her and sat back, looking at her again. Like something undeserved.

There was a small movement in her mouth, then she laughed. ‘I have a present for you.’

‘A present?’

‘Yes. Wait there…’

Li Yuan reached out and took her arm gently, stopping her. ‘Hold, my love. Look at you!’ His eyes traced the form of her. ‘What need have I for presents?’

‘But this is different, Yuan. This is something I chose for you myself.’

‘Ah…’ he said, releasing her, then watched, his heart pounding in his chest as she turned from him, throwing the sheets aside, to reveal the slender curve of her back. She scrambled across the huge bed, then came back, a slim package in her hand.

‘Here…’

He took it, but his eyes were elsewhere, drinking in the beauty of her.

‘Well?’ she said, enjoying the way he looked at her. ‘Open it.’

He hesitated, then looked down, tugging at the bow to free the ribbon, then pulled the wrapping aside. It was a book. He opened the pages, then blushed and looked up.

‘What is it?’

‘It is a
chun hua
,’ she said, coming alongside him, draping her warmth across his side and shoulder. ‘A pillow book. Something to excite us when we’re here, alone.’

He turned the pages slowly, reluctantly, pretending he had never seen its like, strangely appalled by the graphic nature of its sexual images. ‘Fei Yen… we have no need for this. Why, I have only to look at you…’

‘I know,’ she said, turning his head gently with her fingers and kissing him softly on the cheek. ‘But this will keep our love fresh and powerful; will raise us to new heights.’

He shuddered, closing his eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of her warmth pressed up against him, the softness of her kisses against his flesh. He could smell the scent of their lovemaking on her skin. Could taste it on his tongue.

‘I must get ready,’ he said almost inaudibly. ‘The Council…’

In answer she drew him down again, her kisses robbing him of his senses, enflaming him once more, making him surrender to her.

Prince Wang Sau-leyan stood on the balcony of his dead father’s room, his hands resting lightly on the balustrade, his back to his brother’s Chancellor. The broad sweep of the Nile lay below him, bisecting the empty landscape, its surface glittering in the morning light. He was dressed in a long silk sleeping robe of lavender decorated with butterflies, tied loosely at the waist. His feet were bare and his hair hung long, unbraided. He had been silent for some time, watching the slow, hovering flight of the birds high overhead, but now he lowered his head, finally acknowledging the waiting man.

‘Greetings, Hung Mien-lo. And how is my brother this fine morning?’

Hung Mien-lo inclined his head. He was dressed formally, the three tiny pigtails of his beard braided tightly with silver thread, the dark silks he wore contrasting with the vermilion sash of office.

‘The T’ang is poorly, Excellency. His nerves were bad and he did not sleep. He asks that you act as regent for him at today’s Council. I have the authority here, signed and sealed.’

The Prince dipped his hand into a bowl on the balustrade at his side, scattering a handful of meat on to the desert floor, then watched the vultures swoop towards the subtly poisoned bait.

‘Good. And our spies? What have they reported?’

Hung Mien-lo lifted his head, studying the Prince’s back.

‘That Li Shai Tung has a scheme. Something his son, Yuan, has proposed. I’ve sounded some of our friends.’

‘And?’

The friends were a mixture of First Level businessmen and representatives, government officials and selected members of the Minor Families – all of them men of some influence outside the narrow circle of the Seven.

‘They feel it would be best to oppose such a scheme.’

‘I see.’ He turned, looking at the Chancellor for the first time. ‘This scheme… what does it involve?’

‘They want to place a device in every citizen’s head – a kind of tracking beam. They believe it would allow for a more effective policing of Chung Kuo.’

Wang Sau-leyan turned away. It was not a bad idea, but that was not the point. His purpose was to blunt Li Shai Tung’s authority in Council, and what better way than to oppose his son? If, at the same time, he could win the support of certain influential members of the Above, then all the better. When his own plans came to fruition they would be reminded of his opposition to the scheme.

He turned, looking back fiercely at Hung Mien-lo. ‘It is abominable. To put things in men’s heads. Why, it would make them little more than machines!’

‘Indeed, Excellency. And men should not be machines to be manipulated – should they?’

Both men laughed.

‘You understand me well, Chancellor Hung. Too well, perhaps. But I can use you.’

Hung Mien-lo bowed low. ‘As your Excellency desires.’

‘Good.’ Wang Sau-leyan smiled and turned, staring out across the delta towards the distant pinnacle of the lighthouse. ‘Then you understand the last step we must take, you and I?’

Hung remained bowed, but his words came clear, unbowed, almost arrogant in their tone. ‘I understand…
Chieh Hsia.
’

After the Chancellor had gone, Wang Sau-leyan stood there, watching the birds. At first they seemed unaffected by the poison, but then, first one and then another began to stagger unsteadily. One flapped its wings awkwardly, attempting to fly, lifting ten, maybe fifteen
ch’i
into the air before it fell back heavily to earth. He smiled. Six birds had taken the poison. He watched them stumble about for a time before they fell and lay still. More birds were gathering overhead, making slow circles in the cloudless sky. In a while they too would swoop. And then…

He turned away, tired of the game already – knowing the outcome – and went back inside.

‘Sun!’ he shouted impatiently. ‘Sun! Where are you?’

Sun Li Hua, Master of the Inner Chamber, appeared in the doorway at once, his head bent low.

‘Yes, Excellency?’

‘Send the maids. At once! I wish to dress.’

Sun bowed and made to back away, but Wang Sau-leyan called him back.

‘No… Send just the one. You know… Mi Feng.’

‘As you wish, Excellency.’

He sniffed deeply, then went across to the full-length dragon mirror and stood there, looking at himself. So his brother was unwell. Good. He would feel much worse before the day was out.

Wang Sau-leyan smiled and combed his fingers through his hair, drawing it back from his forehead. Then, almost whimsically, he turned his head, exposing one ear to view. That mystery – the mystery of who had taken his father’s ears – remained unsolved. He had had Hung Mien-lo make a thorough investigation of the matter, but it had been without result. They had vanished, as if they had never been.

The thought brought a smile to his lips. He turned, still smiling, and saw the girl.

Mi Feng was kneeling just inside the door, her head lowered almost to her lap, awaiting his pleasure.

‘Come here,’ he said brusquely, turning from her, moving across towards the great wardrobes that lined one side of the room. ‘I want you to dress me, girl.’

She was his brother’s maid, inherited from their father. In the wardrobe mirrors he saw her hesitate and glance up at his back.

‘Well, girl? What are you waiting for? You heard me, didn’t you?’

He noted her confusion; saw the way her face clouded momentarily before she bowed her head and began to move towards him.

He turned abruptly, making her start nervously.

‘How is your sting, Little Bee? Did you serve my father well?’

Again he noted the movements in her face; the uncertainty, maybe even the suggestion of distaste. Well, who did she think she was? She was a servant, there to do his bidding, not the daughter of a T’ang.

She moistened her lips and spoke, her head kept low, her eyes averted. ‘What do you wish to wear, my lord?’

White
, he almost answered her.
White for mourning.

‘What do you suggest?’ he asked, studying her more carefully, noting how delightfully she was formed, how petite her figure. ‘What would my father have worn to Council?’

She looked up at him, then quickly away, clearly bewildered by what was happening. ‘Forgive me, Prince Sau-leyan, but I am the T’ang’s maid. Surely…’

He shouted at her, making her jump. ‘Be quiet, girl! You’ll do as you’re told or you’ll do nothing, understand me?’

She swallowed, then nodded her head.

‘Good. Then answer me. What would my father have worn to Council?’

She bowed, then moved past him, keeping her head lowered. A moment later she turned back, a long robe held over one arm.

‘Lay it out on the bed so that I can see it.’

He watched her move across to do as she was told, then smiled. Yes, the old man had chosen well with this one. He could imagine how the girl had wormed her way into the old boy’s affections. She had kept his bed warm many a night, he was sure.

She had turned away from him, laying out the heavy, formal robe. He moved closer, coming up behind her, then bent down and lifted her gown up from the hem, exposing her buttocks and her lower back. She froze.

‘You didn’t answer me earlier,’ he said. ‘I asked you…’

‘I heard you, Excellency.’

Her tone was sharper than it should have been. Impertinent. He felt a sudden flush of anger wash over him.

‘Put your hands out,’ he said, his voice suddenly cold. ‘Lean forward and stretch them out in front of you.’

Slowly she did as she was told.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now stay there.’

He went outside on to the balcony a moment, then returned, holding a cane he had broken from the bamboo plant. It was as long as his arm and as thick as his middle finger. He swished it through the air, once, then a second time, satisfied with the sound it made, then turned and looked across at her.

‘I am not my father, Mi Feng. Or my brother, come to that. They were weak men. They held weak ideas. But I’m not like that. I’m stronger than them. Much stronger. And I’ll have no impertinence from those beneath me.’

He moved closer, measuring the distance between himself and the girl, then brought the cane down hard across her buttocks.

She cried out involuntarily, her whole body tensing from the blow.

‘Well?’ he said, as if there were something she should say, some apology or word of mitigation. But she was silent, her body tensed against him, defiantly expectant. He shivered, angered by her silence, and lashed out, again and again, bringing the cane down wildly, impatiently, until, with a shudder, he threw it aside.

‘Get up,’ he said, tonelessly. ‘Get up. I wish to be dressed.’

Fei Yen lay there, Yuan’s head cradled between her breasts, her hands resting lightly on his back, her fingertips barely touching his flesh. He was sleeping, exhausted from their last bout of lovemaking, the soft exhalation of his breath warm against her skin. It was almost noon and the bedchamber was flooded with light from the garden. If she turned her head she could see the maple, by the pathway where they had walked so long ago.

She sighed and turned back, studying the neat shape of his head. It had been a sweet night, far sweeter than she had ever imagined. She thought of what they had done and her blood thrilled. She had fancied herself the famous concubine, Yang Kuei Fei, lying in the arms of the great T’ang Emperor, Ming Huang, and, at the moment of clouds and rain, had found herself transported.
A son
, she had prayed to Heaven;
let his seed grow in me and make a son!
And the joy of the possibility had filled her, making her cry out beneath him with the pleasure of it.

A son! A future T’ang! From these loins she would bring him forth. And he would be an emperor. A Son of Heaven.

She shivered, thrilled by the thought of it, then felt him stir against her.

‘What is it?’ he said sleepily.

Her hands smoothed his back, caressed his neck. ‘I was thinking how hard it was before last night. How difficult to be alone.’

He lifted his head slightly, then lay back again.

‘Yes,’ he said, less drowsily than before. ‘I can see that.’

He was silent for a time, his body at ease against her own, then he lifted himself up on his arms, looking down at her, his face serious. ‘How was it?

All those years before last night. How hard was that?’

She looked away. ‘It was like death. As if not Han but I had died that day.’