The Mandate of Heaven (33 page)

The next morning Hsiung rose early, a habit retained from his days as a scullery boy to the Deng clan, except now it satisfied restlessness rather than duty. He was pacing Far Vista Terrace, with its famous view of Holy Mount Chang, when his chancellor joined him. The sky remained grey and laden, stray flakes fluttering down. The rising sun cast an eerie mountain-glow across the limestone hills, a country Hsiung had come to know well since defeating Hornets’ Nest. The sun reminded him of last night’s glowing charcoal; his dangerous thoughts as it reduced to ash.

Liu Shui bowed solemnly. Six years had scarcely altered the older man’s appearance: still absurdly fat, still smiling like a jovial, serene Buddha.

‘Noble Count,’ he said, breath steaming in the frozen air, ‘will you commence your morning audience?’

Hsiung was inclined to say no, tired of audiences and appeals for justice where neither side was obviously guilty. Baffling decisions about this and that – questions that always seemed to have been decided in advance by Liu Shui. But the Chancellor insisted: ‘A daily audience is how the Song Emperors conducted the Empire’s business. Are we to neglect their example?’ As Hsiung could think of no argument to refute such precedents, he usually agreed. Only later did it occur to him that, despite elaborate audiences and rites, the Song had been overthrown by barbarians.

That morning Hsiung would have preferred to meet the two travellers from last night, but as their presence in Lingling was not known to his Chancellor he yawned and followed the older man to the chamber containing his lacquered throne.

Officials, all appointed by Liu Shui, waited with plans for extending the defences of Port Yulan and Lingling Town. The Chancellor nodded approvingly while they expounded their proposals, his hands buried in thick, trailing silk sleeves. When the officials knelt to proffer a memorandum and drawings, Hsiung took up the scrolls impatiently. Pretending to read them, he alternately grunted and glared at the officials. No one questioned the necessity of this charade, though everyone in Lingling knew the Noble Count was effectively illiterate. After all, the outer must denote the inner, even when the inner is a lie.

‘And may I add,’ said Liu Shui, smoothly, ‘the proposed works will not only make your domains more secure, but create much needed employment for those peasants going hungry.’

Then an unheard of thing occurred. The Noble Count cast down the scrolls so they tangled at his feet. The room went silent.

‘Why do we waste our revenues on defence?’ he demanded. ‘What of attack? Order a parade of all my regiments in one hour!’ With that he stalked off to his private chamber and a breakfast of peppered kidneys. Liu Shui stayed behind, his brow furrowed.

The parade turned out to be a disappointment, especially as Liu Shui insisted on accompanying him, protected from the quickening snow by cloaks and a huge, gaudy umbrella carried by two servants. Hsiung felt like he was being shielded by a gigantic butterfly.

Only the Guards put on an impressive show, heavily armoured and helmeted, halberd pennants stiff with varnish. But they were just five hundred strong; the rest of his army, or at least those regulars under arms in Lingling Town, numbered barely twice that number. When Hsiung remarked upon it to his chancellor, Liu Shui bowed. ‘I believe the majority of the army are preparing flood defences,’ he said. ‘One must anticipate floods when the snow melts.’

‘What if we are attacked?’ asked Hsiung, wistfully. ‘We are surrounded by hostile forces.’

The Chancellor nodded. ‘Forgive me, Noble Count,’ he said. Then he examined hillsides deep with snow and Hsiung felt suitably reproached. No sudden enemy invasion was possible in conditions like these. Yet Hsiung would not relinquish his point.

‘I need more regiments,’ he said, ‘all trained for attack! Our weapons are old and rusty. We are falling behind!’

Liu Shui bowed once more.

‘As you say, Noble Count. But you will recollect that crowds cheer you as you ride by. That is because the people of Lingling County, though pinched, are not afflicted by the same famine as the rest of Hou-ming Province. That is because you spend more on their welfare than on conquest.’

Liu Shui withdrew after delicately asking permission on the grounds of ill health.

After the Noble Count had dined, he summoned last night’s secret guests to a private chamber adjoining his quarters. Liu Shui’s subtle reproaches echoed in his mind and he was eager to avoid more.

The two men came and Hsiung examined them as they knelt, recollecting Liu Shui’s warning they should not be trusted too deeply. But other men’s faces most often shine with the character one hopes to find in them; so it was for Hsiung. He looked for loyal obedience and promptly discovered it.

‘Well, Hua,’ he said, ‘what news do you have? And you, Chao?’

Chao and Hua had changed more than just their allegiance since Hornets’ Nest’s fall. Both now sported goatee beards and sideburns requiring frequent attention, as well as quantities of lemon-scented beeswax. Both had set themselves up as successful merchants trading rare woods and precious stones provided free by Hsiung in order to maintain their cover as spies. The sale of these goods led to sheer profit – Chao and Hua drove hard bargains, especially when it came to reimbursing
cash
to the Noble Count’s treasury in Lingling. In this way they successfully acted as Hsiung’s eyes and ears the entire length of Six-Hundred-
li
Lake, and particularly in the city of Hou-ming.

‘Noble Count,’ said Hua, ‘first to military matters …’

Hsiung listened as the spy told an interesting tale, aided by interjections from Chao, concerning Prince Arslan’s continued absence. It seemed the ruler of Hou-ming Province, an area vast enough to form an entire kingdom, rarely strayed from court except to hunt, feasting day and night with his cousin the Emperor. Meanwhile, hundreds of thousands around the lake starved.

‘What of Jebe Khoja?’ asked Hsiung. ‘Is he still Prince Arslan’s right hand?’

Hua related how Jebe Khoja, despite lingering infirmities from his wounds, was kept busy suppressing bandits of every description. Yet as soon as one rebel was defeated another arose.

‘He never tests his strength in Lingling County,’ mused the Noble Count. ‘I wonder why.’

It was a puzzle Liu Shui had already explained: Jebe Khoja knew the Yueh Fei rebels in Lingling were disinclined to extend their rule through conquest. If anything, Hsiung’s strength ensured other rebel chiefs on this side of Six-Hundred-
li
Lake could not expand. There was another, less politic reason for Jebe Khoja’s temporary blind eye: the fact he
possessed
eyes stemmed from Hsiung’s merciful decision not to execute him at Fourth Hell Mouth, six years earlier. Chao and Hua, however, had another theory.

‘He’s afraid of you, Your Worship!’ cried Chao.

‘Frightened,’ echoed his friend.

Hsiung tugged gently at his beard. ‘Do you think so?’

‘Of course, Your Highness.’

‘There is no other reason,’ protested Hua. ‘People in Hou-ming talk of nothing else.’

‘And
further
than Hou-ming,’ added Chao, not to be outdone.

‘Hmmm,’ mused Hsiung, ordering wine for himself and his companions.

Once settled over their refreshments, he glanced imperiously out of the window at the ceaseless snow. Chao and Hua met each other’s eye while he was not looking.

‘What other news from Hou-ming?’ he asked. ‘Is the city as poor as ever?’

‘Of course, sire!’ said Chao.

‘If only you were the ruler there,’ declared Hua, sadly. ‘The people will rejoice on the day you enter the Gate of Ten Thousand Victories clad in glory!’

This sentiment was a little too fine for his companion, who had drunk more than his share of the wine. Chao looked puzzled for a moment then added sagely: ‘Ah, you’ll need to wear your finest silks then, that is for sure!’

Hsiung might reasonably have detected flattery; certainly he frowned and turned the conversation to more relevant concerns.

‘What of the dispute between the Daoists and Buddhists? Does it continue?’

Hua’s tone mirrored the seriousness of his master when he answered: ‘Ah, a pertinent question, if I may so!’

‘Very persistent,’ agreed Chao. ‘Most persistent.’

Hsiung examined the taller of the spies in surprise.

‘My partner means to say the dispute between Buddhist and Daoist is very persistent,’ said Hua, smoothly. ‘Furthermore, it is rumoured Prince Arslan has followed the fashion at Court and is besotted with the Buddhists from Tibet. It is said he wants to assign them the noblest monastery available in Hou-ming.’

‘I see,’ said Hsiung. ‘But aren’t all the monasteries occupied?’

‘Not if you chuck out the monks and nuns,’ said Chao, with a wink.

‘If that’s the case,’ said Hsiung, ruffled, ‘what of the new Abbess of Cloud Abode Monastery?’

‘A holy lady?’ asked Hua, curiously. ‘Does she cast spells on your behalf?’

Hsiung did not answer; his face had taken on a brooding shadow.

‘What of the Deng clan?’ he asked. ‘Poor old Deng Nan-shi? Does he go hungry? And what of his son, Teng? Do you know anything of
them
?’

Teng’s name had a strange effect on Chao and Hua. For once they seemed uneasy.

‘Teng?’ mused Chao.

‘Does the Noble Count have a connection with this Teng?’ continued Hua, unctuously. ‘Because, sire, I have heard he lives a very shocking life.’

‘Very,’ agreed Chao. ‘Nothing but floating orioles and peony palaces!’ He emphasised his point by jabbing a grubby finger in and out of a cupped hand. ‘You shouldn’t pay attention to anything
he
says about honest men.’

Meanwhile Hua was gesturing at his companion to shut up. To their surprise, Hsiung rose and paced before the window.

‘Everything you say leads me to believe Hou-ming is ripe for plucking!’ he cried. ‘If only my army was large enough!’

The two spies watched coldly, calculating how the Noble Count’s mood might affect them. All three were disturbed by a knock at the door, followed by the entry of an exceedingly rotund man. Chancellor Liu Shui had tracked down Hsiung and his secret visitors.

For a long moment he filled the doorway, looking from face to face with such innate dignity and authority they shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

‘Noble Count,’ he said, ‘have these agents from Hou-ming provided useful news?’

There was irony in his tone: Hsiung suspected his wise chancellor already knew everything Chao and Hua had told him, and rather more.

‘Very useful information,’ he said, ‘I am satisfied.’

‘Good,’ said Liu Shui, surveying the faces of the spies as a judge examines miscreants while deciding what sentence to impose. Though Chao became uncomfortable under this scrutiny, Hua stared back, smiling slightly so that his yellow front teeth showed.

‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ said Hsiung. ‘I was just saying that Hou-ming is ripe for conquest! Apparently Jebe Khoja is frightened to death of me – and well he might be, since I’ve already trounced him once.’

‘That’s true,’ agreed Chao.

Liu Shui’s reply was to bury his hands in broad sleeves.

‘I know you will not approve,’ said Hsiung, addressing his Chancellor directly, ‘but I have decided it is time to expand our armies, whatever the cost. We need warships, stores of gunpowder and naphtha, weapons of every kind!’

Chao and Hua nodded fervently.

‘Once our army is large enough the justice of Yueh Fei will spread from district to district, county to county! The barbarians will run like hares, I’m sure of it.’

Still Liu Shui did not answer. His gaze flickered contemptuously over the empty flasks and wine bowls.

‘Noble Count,’ he said, ‘this is a moment I have long feared and anticipated. Before you rush into this policy please consider the following. At present your position is secure precisely because you justify the Mandate of Heaven, in that you aid the people in times of hunger. Any attempt to challenge Prince Arslan is doomed. His army is too large and he is the Emperor’s dear cousin. Even if you defeated Arslan’s forces, more and more would be dispatched to Hou-ming Province. Your best attack against them is stealthy waiting. Every year their dynasty’s grip on the Empire decays. I urge you, consolidate your reputation as a moderate and benevolent ruler. The rest of your ambitions will follow quite naturally.’

For long moments Hsiung did not reply. Tension grew in the room. Thick snowflakes swirled and danced outside. When Hsiung looked up, his expression was both determined and conciliatory.

‘Old adviser, I believe that now is the time to build our army and fleet,’ he said. ‘For the sake of the tens, no, the hundreds of thousands who are starving because of the barbarians’ misrule. That is my decision. But old friend,’ he said, addressing Liu Shui in a pleading voice, ‘do not desert me! I need your wisdom more than ever.’

Liu Shui nodded, his usually bland face gaunt with worry. ‘As you wish. I will stand by you always. For all our sakes let us hope ambition has not blinded you.’

Chao and Hua were about to protest at such outrageous insolence when the frank integrity of the gaze between ruler and adviser silenced them. They sidled out of the room, leaving Hsiung and Liu Shui to debate the Yueh Fei rebels’ next move on the great chequerboard of the Mongol Empire.