The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (47 page)

Behind the flowery language the charges were simple. There had been a children's quarrel. The foreign
daifu
's son and daughter had one day set upon and attacked some smaller village children in a spirit of hooliganism, which was only to be expected from barbarian brats untrained yet in the ways of their own country, let alone those of a civilised society. An older boy in the village, grieved to see his brothers and sisters so abused, had bravely come to their rescue and in so doing had inflicted some well-deserved chastisement on the foreign bullies, including, regrettably, a few bruises and cuts on the body of the doctor's son. This was a minor matter, of no formal interest to the
yamen;
a certain rough justice had been turned on the perpetrators of an act of juvenile delinquency; there the matter should have ended. It was then, however, that this foreign
daifu
—a barbarian who had been uniquely honoured and revered in Shishan, recognised for his apparent good works and privileged by the favour of no less a person than the Da Ren Liu Daguang himself—showed his true colours, his pride and his arrogance. Incensed that anyone would dare to reprimand his children, he had boldly marched to the
yamen
itself and demanded that the weight of Chinese justice be turned on innocent children's heads, merely to satisfy his revenge for a perceived slight—against himself and the Christians whom he represented.

At the mention of the word Christians the doctor was startled to see the young man next to the Mandarin, who had been yawning through the earlier parts of Jin Lao's speech, suddenly frown and nod enthusiastically. The Mandarin himself remained impassive, waving Jin Lao with a slight movement of his fan to go on.

He himself had been forced, Jin Lao continued, to interview the foreign
daifu
on that unpleasant occasion outside the
yamen
gates—and unedifying it had been. The doctor had been so enraged and irrational with anger that at one point he had rolled in the dust, and the violence of his language had shocked the guards. He had concocted a story that his children had been attacked by criminal gangs of martial artists. His intention had obviously been to deceive the
yamen
into punishing an innocent village—presumably one that had spurned his missionary activities. Here, again, the young man on the bench nodded vigorously. This was not only to be revenge for a personal slight but another attack by the Christians on their enemies. Jin Lao had told the raging man to go home, which eventually he did, but little did anyone know what vengeance he still harboured in his heart.

Frustrated by his inability to use the law for his own advantage, the foreign
daifu
had taken the matter into his own hands, and ordered his servant, a Christian in his pay (‘See him—this insect grovelling before us today'), to go to the village in the night and to find the boy who had hurt his son. He had been ordered to inflict wounds on the boy that only a doctor skilled in the art of healing, and therefore knowing, too, the ways in which a body can be most effectively injured, could imagine. The servant had been so obedient of the wicked instructions of his master that it was feared that the young hero of the village would never walk again. ‘So do the Christians behave!' Jin Lao had cried. ‘See their handiwork!'

He pointed his finger. A guard—Airton recognised the friendly
yamen
runner who had offered him a drink at the gatehouse—gently lifted up the middle of the three kneeling figures, the boy, whom he now saw was wrapped in a cloak. Supporting him, the guard let the cloak fall to the floor, and the boy was presented stark naked to the court. Only there was hardly any whole flesh to see among the welter of bruises and lacerations that covered the tottering body. The doctor noted the misshapen angle that indicated one leg was broken and needed to be set, the drop of the shoulder suggesting dislocation. Then he winced and turned his head away, a tear in his eye. ‘Animals,' he wanted to cry.

‘See their handiwork!' Jin Lao crooned on. ‘Does the Christian doctor avert his gaze? Does the foreign healer not wish to examine his patient?'

The Mandarin's rough voice rasped through the mood that Jin Lao had created. ‘The court has seen this evidence. Get this boy out of here and find him a doctor. This is the
yamen,
not a grotesque stand at the fair. Chamberlain, make your case—and quickly.'

Jin Lao bowed. ‘My Lord Prince Yi, Liu Da Ren, I will present one witness more and then I am done.'

He pointed to the third kneeling figure, who rose jauntily to his feet when pushed by the guard. Airton saw a young, well-built man with a sour face and traces of smallpox scars on his cheeks. His expression was half a sneer and half a smile.

‘And who is this?' said the Mandarin.

‘A patriot and a model citizen,' said Jin Lao. ‘He is the restaurant owner, Master Liu Ren Ren. It was our good fortune that he happened to be in the village on the night in which this misdeed was done. Unfortunately he was too late to prevent the beating of the boy, but he was able to recognise and apprehend the villain and identify him as the servant of the Christian doctor. The city owes him our thanks. None of the villagers would have reported this matter,' he added darkly. ‘They would be afraid of the Christians. We have Master Liu to thank for bringing this evil matter to justice.'

‘And what were you doing in the village that night?' asked the Mandarin.

‘I was visiting my auntie,' said Ren Ren. ‘She lives there.'

‘He is filial as well as public-spirited,' said Jin Lao.

‘Is he?' said the Mandarin.

‘The case seems cut and dried to me,' said the Prince. ‘This is typical of the sort of outrage that the Christians have been getting up to in other parts of the empire. I was right to come here. I think that you should get on and punish them.'

‘Them?'

‘All right, the Christian servant, then. These pernicious extraterritoriality laws … You can reprimand the master and punish the man.'

‘We judge them guilty, then, Prince, without giving them a chance to refute the charges?'

The young nobleman raised his eyebrows and smiled affectionately at the Mandarin. ‘My dear Daguang. How punctilious you are! What is the point of questioning them? They are Christians. Christians lie. Their guilt is adequately proven already by your chamberlain, who has done a most worthy job. You are to be congratulated. Get on, get on, my dear fellow. Deliver an exemplary verdict, and then we will go to lunch.'

‘Prince, I hear you,' said the Mandarin. ‘But if we flout the extraterritoriality laws and it gets to the notice of the Legations…'

‘Oh, I wouldn't worry about that,' smiled Prince Yi. ‘As I told you, there are to be some changes. Great changes. These are very exciting times.'

‘Da Ren, I will speak.' Airton's throat was dry with tension and he had to repeat himself to be heard. Prince Yi dropped his fan in surprise.

‘Good heavens, the barbarian really can speak the language. How amusing.'

The Mandarin sighed. ‘Daifu,' he acknowledged, and nodded for Airton to continue.

‘Mandarin. Da Ren. I beg you to open your minds and hear the truth. What has been described is a—a travesty. I do not know who was the monster who savaged that poor boy, but it couldn't have been Ah Lee. He's been in my hospital for the last two days. He's been injured himself. This is a malicious attack on my family, my servants, my faith, using innocent victims as tools. You know me, Da Ren. You know why I came to see you. It was to warn you of the Boxers—'

‘So do the self-serving accusations from the lying Christians begin again,' Jin Lao started, in his high falsetto.

‘Silence, both of you,' growled the Mandarin. ‘Daifu,' he addressed Airton directly, his eyes narrowed. ‘You are not being judged by this court.' He glanced coldly at Prince Yi, then back at the doctor. ‘In fact, you shouldn't be here at all. Not under the present statutes. Nor am I convinced that you ordered this crime. Chamberlain, you have given us supposition on that point not proof.' He paused. ‘The case of the doctor's servant is another matter, however, and for him punishment is due.'

Airton found himself shouting, ‘How can you believe these lies? It is obvious that Ah Lee is innocent. He wouldn't harm a fly.'

The Mandarin spoke quietly. ‘Daifu, please. I do not wish to show you indignity by expelling you. I can do nothing else but punish your servant because he himself has confessed.'

‘Confessed?'

The Mandarin's face had returned to its impassive expression. ‘Yes, he signed a confession, acknowledging his own guilt. Here it is. He does not implicate any accomplice or directly say that he was under orders. It is an atrociously written document—but interestingly he does abrogate any rights he may have as a Christian to be tried in any other court of law. Surprising that a cook should know so much about the law. However, it makes things easier for me. It will prevent you protesting to your consulate, Daifu. I think that in consideration I will lessen his punishment from the usual hundred strokes for assault to fifty strokes.' He picked up a pen and scribbled his name on the charge. ‘Fifty strokes it is, to be administered forthwith, plus a week in the stocks. Officers, let it be done. Tremble and obey.'

‘Well, well, what a soft heart you have,' Airton heard the Prince say as he and the Mandarin got up to leave together. ‘You really need not worry about the reaction of these Christians, you know. Wait till you hear what I have to tell you over lunch. We must hurry. I continue my journey north this afternoon.'

‘Excuse me, Prince. I have a word to say to the doctor.'

He paused only a moment by Airton to say gruffly, ‘In China we do things in our Chinese way, Daifu. I ask you to try to understand. It is important. You will still join me on the hunt, I hope.'

‘The hunt?' But his head was swirling with shock.

He was conscious of another presence by his side. Jin Lao's rheumy eyes in the perfect parchment face gazed at him benevolently. ‘Daifu.' He bowed, and his thin lips curled into a beatific smile. ‘I hope that you are satisfied that I did as I promised and investigated this crime.' Airton did not answer, and Jin Lao moved on, followed by his young witness, who sauntered past the doctor, insolently looking him up and down as he passed. Airton heard a laugh and the word ‘Rat-eater' flung back as he disappeared through the gate.

After a moment he moved forward to where Ah Lee was still crouched on the ground guarded by the
yamen
runners.

‘My friend, my friend, what have they done to you?' whispered Airton, when he saw the bruises on his cook's face. ‘Are you hurt?'

Tears welled in a black eye as Ah Lee shook his head.

‘Then why, why did you confess to such an impossible thing?'

‘They came in the night. They held a knife to Ah Sun's throat. They said they would kill her and cut me, and I was frightened,' he muttered. ‘They also said that they would take the missies, Helen and Jenny, and—and—' His head fell and his body shook with sobs. ‘And I knew I would go to hell and eternal damnation fire if I lied, but if they hurt Missie Jenny and Missie Helen…'

‘You won't go to hell and damnation fire, my dear friend.'

The friendly
yamen
runner cleared his throat. ‘Daifu, it's time. Don't follow us. You don't want to witness this punishment. It's not for a Xiansheng like you to see—but don't worry too much either. He's a tough, stringy chicken, this one. He'll be all right. I'll see he gets back to you in one piece.'

Sitting by the campfire in the Black Hills three weeks later, the wind gusting the sparks, Airton could not forget the pleading face of his cook as they led him away. Nor Ah Sun's cries and laments when the twisted, beaten body was returned on a handcart from the
yamen
a week later. Nor the weak but still eager smile which was all Ah Lee could manage from his sick bed, to which this time he really would be confined for several days.

Shivering, Airton reached for the kettle and recharged his mug. He knew that he should retire to his tent; rest was what he needed, peace, contemplation—but the memory of his experience in the
yamen
still haunted him. Not to mention the new shocks he had received today—shocks that his mind half refused to face or believe. And then there was that wider sense of unease, the chilling darkness, and the drumbeats from the forest—a growing conviction, which he was reluctant even to admit in his rational consciousness, that something lurked out there tonight, which was primordial and evil.

It had been a day of violence. The camp had been woken before dawn with the rumble of drums and the screeching wail of horns and trumpets. The doctor had emerged from his tent to witness the exotically uniformed beaters disappearing into the mist between the trees. The Mandarin, Liu Daguang, resplendent in his red armour, a bow and a quiver of arrows on his back and a long, pennanted spear in his mailed hand, had clattered into their clearing from his separate camp, rearing his horse, laughing boisterously, a war god in his prime, chivvying, encouraging. The sleek hunters, Henry Manners and Colonel Taro, in their leather leggings and tweed capes, appeared with their horses, Lao Zhao and another muleteer standing behind as gun-bearers. There was the rattle of harness and the Mandarin's charger was steaming and pounding the ground in front of him.

‘Daifu, you are not ready. Come. The omens are propitious. Nay, better, my old wounds throb, signifying we will kill today. Hurry.'

‘Da Ren, when can we talk?'

‘Talk?' The Mandarin let off one of his high-pitched giggles. ‘Today's not a day for talking, Daifu. Today's a day for killing.'

The doctor had hoped that he could stay behind in the camp with Helen Frances, and avoid the hunt. Both he and Nellie had advised her not to come to the Black Hills. She was not the healthy girl she had been—although the doctor could not account for her change into the languid, morose creature she had lately become; he had frankly been too preoccupied with his children and Ah Lee and the Boxers to worry about his assistant; he suspected that her state had something to do with affairs of the heart and her protracted engagement to Tom, and that sort of thing he was happy to leave to Nellie. But shortly before their departure from the mission, focusing suddenly on the black rings under her reddish eyes, the unhealthy pallor of her skin, he had wondered whether there might not be some physical ailment underneath it all. ‘If I didn't know better I'd have said you looked like one of the opium addicts,' he had joked with her, as he had examined her tongue. She had responded with a strange smile. ‘Well, maybe the fresh air will do you good,' he had told her, ‘though I'll not allow you any great exertions. Nor do I suspect that a decent young girl like you will want to get too close to such a dangerous thing as the hunt itself.'