The Art of War (13 page)

She looked up at him, fiercely, almost defiantly. ‘I am a woman, Yuan, with a woman’s appetites.’ She swallowed. ‘Oh, you just don’t know…’ For a moment longer her face was hard with past bitterness, then it softened and a smile settled on her lips and in her eyes. ‘But now I am alive again. And it was you who brought me back to the living. My prince. My love…’

She made to draw him down again, but he moved back, kneeling there between her legs, his head bowed. ‘Forgive me, my love, but I am spent. Truly I am.’ He laughed apologetically, then met her eyes again. ‘Tonight, I promise you, I will be a tiger again. But now I must dress. The Council…’

He turned to look at the timer beside the bed, then sat bolt upright.

‘Gods! And you let me sleep!’ He backed away from her, then stood there on the bare floor, naked, looking about him anxiously. ‘I shall be late! Where is Nan Ho? Why did he not wake me?’

She laughed and stretched, then reached down and pulled the sheets up to her neck.

‘I sent him away. They will excuse you this once if you are late. Besides, you needed to sleep.’

‘But Fei Yen…’ Then he laughed, unable to be angry with her. She was beautiful, and, yes, he had needed to sleep. What’s more, they would forgive him this once. Even so…

He turned from her. ‘All right. But now I must dress.’

He was halfway to the door when she called him back. ‘Li Yuan! Please! You don’t understand. I’ll dress you.’

He turned. She had climbed from the bed and was coming towards him.

‘You?’ He shook his head. ‘No, my love. Such a task is beneath you. Let me call the maids.’

She put her arms about his neck. ‘You will do no such thing, my prince. I
want
to dress you. I
want
to serve you. As a wife
should
serve her master.’

He felt a small thrill go through him at the words. ‘But I…’

Her kiss quietened him. He bowed his head slightly. ‘As you wish.’

She smiled. ‘Good. But first I must bathe you. After all, you cannot go to Council smelling like a singsong house.’

He laughed uneasily, then, seeing how she smiled at him, felt the unease fall from him. It was impossible to be angry with her, even when her words were ill-chosen, for that too was part of the charm – the sheer delight – of her. Like porcelain she looked, yet in the darkness she had been fire, black wings of fire, beating about him wildly.

When he was gone she looked about the room.

It was a strangely feminine room, unlike the rooms of her brothers. There were no saddles, no weapons of war on display. In their place were beautiful ceramic pots, filled with the most exquisite miniature trees and shrubs. And in place of heavy masculine colours were softer shades, delicately chosen to complement the colours of the garden outside. She looked about her, pleased by what she saw, then went across to the desk and sat.

She placed her left hand on the desk’s broad surface, then lifted it, surprised. She licked at the tiny grains that had adhered to her palm, then understood. Of course. He had been writing.

She stood, then went back to the bed and picked up his sleeping robe. From whim, she tried it on, putting her arms into its sleeves and tying the slender sash about her waist. It was far too big for her, yet it felt somehow right to be wearing it. She laughed, then sat down on the bed, reaching into the pocket to take out the folded piece of paper.

She read it. Twice, and then a third time.

A poem. For her? It must have been. She shivered, then touched the tip of her tongue against her top teeth thoughtfully.

Yes. She could see it now: she would be everything to him. Indispensable. His wife. In all things his wife.

It was true what she had said. Or almost true. He
had
brought her back from death. From the death of all her hopes and dreams. Had given her back what she had always wanted.

And in return?

She smiled and drew his gown tighter about her. In return she would be his woman. That before all else. His helpmate and advisor. His champion and chief advocate. His lover and, when he needed it, a mother to him.

Yes, and that was the clue to Li Yuan. She had known it earlier, when he had rested his head between her breasts; had known then that it was a mother he wanted. Or at least someone to be the mother he had never had. Well, she would be that to him, amongst other things. And in time…

She shivered and slipped the poem back into the pocket of the gown.

In time she would have sons of her own. Seven sons. Each one of them a T’ang. She laughed and stood, letting the gown fall from her until she stood there, naked, lifting her arms defiantly. There! That was her dream. A dream she had shared with no one.

It seemed an impossibility, and yet she saw it clear. It
would
be so. Yes, but first she must be practical. First she must become all things to him. She would ask him this evening, after they had made love. She would bathe him and wash his hair, and then, when he was at his sweetest, would go down on her knees before him, pleading to be allowed always to serve him so.

He would agree. Of course he would. And then she would ask again. The maids, she would say; you must send them away. And he would do so. And then he would be hers. Completely, irrevocably hers.

Tender Willow and Sweet Rain were talking, laughing between them as they came into the room, but seeing Little Bee stretched out, face down on her bed, they fell silent.

‘What is it?’ Sweet Rain asked, moving closer. ‘What’s happened?’

Mi Feng looked up, her eyes red, her cheeks wet with tears, and shook her head.

‘What did he do?’ Tender Willow asked, coming alongside her sister.

Mi Feng swallowed, then let her head fall again, a great sob racking her body.

The two girls sat on the bed, either side of her, their arms about her, comforting her. But when Tender Willow leaned back, accidentally brushing against her buttocks, Mi Feng winced and gave a tiny moan.

The two girls exchanged looks, then nodded. Carefully, they lifted Mi Feng’s robe, conscious of how she tensed.

‘Kuan Yin…’ Sweet Rain said softly, her voice pained. ‘What did he do this with?’

‘A cane,’ came the whisper. ‘A bamboo cane.’

Tender Willow stared at the cuts a moment longer, horrified, then shuddered. ‘How
dare
he?’ she said, outraged. ‘Who does he think he is? You are the T’ang’s maid, not his. He cannot be allowed to act like this.’

Mi Feng shook her head. A great shuddering sigh passed through her, then she spoke again; calmer, more clearly than before. ‘You are wrong, sister. He may do as he wishes. He is a prince, after all. And what am I? Only a maid. A thing to be used or discarded. I learned that today, Tender Willow. I had it beaten into me. And the T’ang…’ She laughed coldly, then swallowed, another shiver passing through her. ‘The T’ang will do nothing.’

Tender Willow met her eyes momentarily, then looked away, feeling sick. Maybe it was true. The T’ang
would
do nothing. But this was too much. The Prince had gone too far this time. Maid or not,
thing
or not, she would not allow this to happen to her sister.

‘I’ve creams,’ she said gently, looking back, reaching out to touch and stroke her sister’s brow. ‘Ointments to soothe the cuts and help them heal. Lie still, Little Bee, and I’ll bring them. And don’t worry. Everything will be all right.’

The servant bowed low and backed away, his message delivered. Tsu Ma allowed himself the slightest smile, then turned, greeting the newcomer.

‘You’re late, Li Yuan!’ he said sternly, loud enough for the others to hear, then let the hard lines of his face melt into a broad grin. He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘Was it hard to get up this morning?’

‘No…’ Li Yuan began innocently, then blushed deeply as he saw the verbal trap and heard the great gust of laughter from the rest of the men on the great, broad balcony. He looked about and saw how each face – even his father’s – was filled with a tolerant, good-natured humour. All but one. A young, moon-faced man stood alone by the ornamental rail, beyond the two small groups of men. He was staring back coldly at Li Yuan, as if irritated by his arrival. At first Li Yuan did not recognize him. Then he realized who it was. Wang Sau-leyan.

Tsu Ma squeezed his shoulder gently, then lowered his voice. ‘Anyway, Yuan, come. The second session is not due to start for another half hour. There’s time for talk and refreshments.’

He turned and drew Li Yuan out of the shadows into the warm, mid-afternoon sunlight, then began the formality of introducing him to the T’ang and those of their sons who were attending.

Li Yuan knew them all personally. All but the last.

‘I’m surprised to find you here, Wang Sau-leyan,’ he said, as he lifted his head.

‘Surprised?’ Wang Sau-leyan’s eyes looked out past Li Yuan’s shoulder, an expression of disdain on his pale, rounded face. ‘Five years ago, perhaps. But as things are…’ He laughed, no warmth in the laughter. ‘My brother is unwell. His nerves…’

He glanced briefly at Li Yuan, then seemed to dismiss him, turning to concentrate his attention on Tsu Ma.

‘Have you sounded the other T’ang about my proposal, Tsu Ma?’

Tsu Ma smiled pleasantly, concealing whatever he had been thinking. ‘I have broached the matter.’

‘And?’

Tsu Ma laughed kindly. ‘Well, it’s difficult, cousin. If you had given them more warning. If they had had just a little more time to consider all the possible ramifications of your suggestion…’

Wang Sau-leyan interrupted him curtly. ‘What you mean is, no, they won’t debate it.’

Tsu Ma gave the slightest suggestion of a shrug, the smile remaining on his lips. ‘It was felt that it might be… how should I say?…
premature
to press the matter without consideration. But if the T’ang’s regent would like to prepare something for the next meeting.’

Wang Sau-leyan leaned towards Tsu Ma angrily, the words hissing from him coldly. ‘Four months from now! That’s far too long! Why not today? Why are they so afraid to listen to new ideas?’

Heads had turned, but Tsu Ma seemed perfectly unflustered. He smiled, his whole manner calm and polite. ‘I understand your impatience, Wang Sau…’

‘
Impatience?
You insult me, Tsu Ma! For three hours I have listened patiently to the words of others. Have attended to their schemes. Yet now, when I beg my turn to speak, they deny me. Is that impatience?’

Li Yuan had seen the movements of the muscles in Tsu Ma’s cheeks. Had known that, were he not a T’ang, Tsu Ma would have called the young Prince out and challenged him to a duel. Yet his control now in the face of such provocation was magnificent.

Tsu Ma smiled. ‘Forgive me, Wang Sau-leyan. My words were ill chosen. Even so, it is neither the validity of your views nor the…
novelty
of your words that are at issue here. It is merely our way. All that we say here, all we decide upon, has a profound effect upon the lives of those we rule. It would not do to give less than the most serious consideration to such matters. Ill-considered change benefits no man.’

‘You would lecture me, Tsu Ma?’

‘Not at all. I wish merely to explain the position of my fellow T’ang. These things are matters of long standing. It is how we transact our business.’

‘Then perhaps it ought to change.’

Tsu Ma laughed. ‘Maybe so. Perhaps the Prince Regent would put the idea forward for the next Council to consider?’

Wang Sau-leyan lifted his chin slightly. ‘Perhaps…’ He let his eyes rest momentarily on Li Yuan, then looked back at Tsu Ma, giving the slightest inclination of his head. ‘I thank you for your efforts, Tsu Ma. If my manner was terse, forgive me. That is
my
way. But do not mistake me. I too have the best interests of Chung Kuo at heart.’

Li Yuan watched as Wang Sau-leyan went across to greet the young T’ang of South America, Hou Tung-po, then turned back to Tsu Ma. ‘Well! What
was
his proposal?’

Tsu Ma smiled. ‘Not here,’ he said quietly. Then, taking his shoulder again, he drew Li Yuan aside, his smile suddenly broader, more natural.

‘So… tell me, cousin. How
is
that beautiful bride of yours?’

Helmstadt Armoury was a massive hexagonal block of three hundred levels, isolated from the stacks surrounding it by a space fifty
ch’i
in width. That two-
li
-deep chasm was spanned, at four separate levels, by three broad, connecting bridges, each bridge ending at a huge double gate, closed against intruders. To each side a whole battery of weapons – state-of-the-art equipment controlled from the guardroom within – covered these entry points to the complex.

Helmstadt was considered by its makers to be invulnerable: a fortress second only to the great nerve-centre of Bremen. But in less than thirty seconds, if everything went to plan, three of its gates would be open, the approaches unguarded.

DeVore crouched amongst his men in a side corridor on the City side of the bridge, looking down at his handset, watching through the complex’s own Security cameras as his man approached the gate. The man was a lieutenant in the Armoury’s back-up forces, called in on emergency standby after half the Armoury’s regular garrison had been sent to help quell the riots in Braunschweig, thirty
li
away.

The lieutenant marched up to the gate, then came to attention, holding his pass up for inspection. Two of the overhead guns had swivelled about, covering him, but now, on the computer’s recognition signal, they swung back, focusing once more on the mouth of the corridor beyond.

He moved forward, placing one eye to an indented pad set into the gate, then stepped back. Three seconds passed, then a panel irised back, chest high to him, revealing a keyboard. The lieutenant inserted his card, then tapped out the coded signal.

At once the gates began to open.

Elsewhere, at a gate on the far side of the stack and at another fifty levels down, the same thing was happening. Much now depended on timing. If just one of the gates remained unsecured then the odds would swing against them.