The Pirate Empress (3 page)

The Emperor rose before the Mongol embassy. The warlord gave his name as Esen. His Majesty waited. No one spoke while the exalted one stood. Finally, the warlord smirked. Lucky for him, it went unnoticed. The derision was quickly masked, and he dropped to his knees and touched his head to the floor. That satisfied the Son of Heaven, and he sat down.

“Ask the Mongol lord if he wishes a girl after the banquet,” Zheng Min said to Quan. Although the Mongol spoke their language, to show respect, Quan translated.

Esen wiped his lips, and then wet them as he gazed at the exquisite girls serving them. “How about that one?” He jabbed a thumb aggressively in the direction of Jasmine’s niece.

Quan’s stomach lurched with revulsion at the idea. He was about to say, “Any but her,” when Zheng Min said it for him. Relief flooded Quan as he explained his superior’s edict. “Lotus Lily is one of His Majesty’s favourites,” he said. “She has not been practiced yet. That pleasure is reserved for him.”

Esen scowled. “Then I’ll take the older one. The one they call Jasmine.”

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On the low bed, the warlord waited on thick cushions, silk brocaded pillows and a red satin coverlet. He rose to greet her, and she removed her fine silk gown and stood naked. Jasmine was the most fascinating creature he’d ever seen—fair like the finest porcelain, without a blemish anywhere. She draped a soft-skinned, seductive arm over his shoulder—to him it felt like a foxtail—and helped him unfasten his battle garments of thick leather and armoured plates. Then she leaped on him before he could make a move. Her movements were so expert that she brought him to ecstasy even before his back touched the satin coverlet.

Afterward, he rested against a rich red cushion admiring her perfect figure. She rose and draped a satin Japanese-style kimono over her body and asked if he’d like a cup of tea. At his nod, she boiled water at a small hearth and sprinkled the leaves, then brought the bowl to him. The vapours rose into the air suffusing the room with its fragrance.

“Don’t drink it yet,” she said. “Wait for the leaves to settle.”

He waited, one eye on her creamy breasts, the other watching the tealeaves dance.

“Read them,” Esen commanded.

She raised her eyes, teasingly. “Are you sure you wish that, my lord? What is read cannot be unread.” As he nodded, she pressed her lovely lips together in a smile. “You might not like what I see.”

“You’ve been truthful with me before. I only wonder, why?” He stopped to question his own musings aloud. “Why haven’t you betrayed me to your emperor?”

“You are a better lover than he,” she said with a smirk.

“That goes without saying. That lump of lard can barely lift his ass out of his throne to have his guests kowtow at his feet.”

“Shush. Watch what you say in His Majesty’s house. You think the only spy here is me?”

“Read the leaves,” Esen ordered.

They both gazed down at the liquid in the china tea bowl that had turned a light, clear amber. The leaves twisted, twirled, and settled. A few loose leaves and a pale white petal floated in the center. Jasmine closed her eyes, and then slowly opened them to her reflection. Her body stiffened; her sharp black irises paled until they appeared almost milky. She gasped.

“What is it? What do you see?”

“I see a woman on a two-masted junk and a small boy.” She furrowed her brow, thought carefully before continuing, “The pirate queen is the Emperor’s youngest concubine, Lotus Lily.”

Esen smacked his lips. “I would’ve taken her to my bed if not for those sheep in warrior’s clothing. What about her? And what does the boy have to do with the prophecy?”

“The boy will grow up to be the Ming Empire’s greatest ruler. He will lead China into a new age. He will destroy the Mongol horde and all their allies, and vanquish you forever to the arid steppes of the northland.” As she spoke she seemed unaware of Esen’s existence. “Your people will wither into poor and homeless horsemen. The Middle Kingdom will rise and claim all the lands and riches in the world. China will rule, and all will bow before her.” Her voice waned to an excited whisper. “He bears the mark of the Black Tortoise!”

Tea splashed onto the floor as Esen stood up. “This boy must be eliminated before he can grow to manhood. Or better yet, he must not be born. Who is the father?”

Jasmine glanced down at the spilled liquid. “You destroyed the vision before I was able to see.”

“Try it again, boil more tea. I must know the father’s face. So I can kill him!”

“It’s too late. The vision will not return.”

“Then bring me the girl, I’ll impregnate her. Then the child will be mine.”

A taunting smile curled Jasmine’s lips, but the warlord was not deterred. “I promise you more than the Emperor,” he said. “He suffers you merely as a servant. When I am Supreme Ruler, you’ll be my queen.”

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Was Jasmine going to spend the entire night with the Mongol warlord? Li raised her hands and feet to simulate a one-legged crane. She lowered herself in a single, smooth motion to the position of Crouching Tiger. Her eyes were closed because it was still dark and there was nothing to see. But her ears and other senses tingled. Someone waited in the courtyard with her!

Li opened her eyes in a flash and saw the dashing figure of Captain Chi Quan observing her from the archway leading to her courtyard. He slowly approached when he noticed that she had seen him. He crossed the flagstones to the bridge over the lily pond, scaling the arc until he rested beside her. Somewhere in the shrubbery birds chirped and fluttered. A swallow circled over their heads, swooped low and landed on Li’s extended arm. Quan tried to touch it and just as swiftly, it shot into the sky and flew away.

He smiled at her. “So, Lotus Lily. Are you having bad dreams?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Is it a secret?”

She shook her head. “I despise that name. Only concubines are named after flowers.”

“What would you rather I called you?”

She almost answered ‘Li,’ but fortunately, she had the sense to keep her mouth shut.

“The night disturbs you,” he said.

Li shrugged. “It’s not the night. I was worrying about my aunt. She’s been with that barbarian for a long time.”

“She is only doing her duty to His Majesty.”

“Why does he want her to sleep with that filthy maggot?”

“He can’t show the might of the Ming Empire through its military, so he shows it with its—shall we say—riches.”

“My aunt is
not
one of his riches.”

“She is to him.”

Li shook her head. “Ever since this afternoon, my aunt has been acting strangely: very cool and abrupt. Not like herself at all.”

“These are bad times we’re coming into. That’s all. Militarily, we are weak, but His Majesty won’t admit it—” Quan reddened, biting off his words, aware of the inappropriateness of his speech. A concubine’s position was never secure. She wasn’t like a wife, whose position was somewhat protected. A palace concubine was expendable and easily replaced. He added lamely, “She is probably reacting to the stress of not knowing the future.”

CHAPTER THREE

Son of Heaven

At daybreak, Captain Chi Quan escorted the Mongol embassy to the Juyong pass. He returned to the palace to learn from the grand secretary that this latest extravagance to pacify the barbarian warlord had pretty much emptied the royal purse. An emergency conference was called. It was His Majesty’s feeling that the future of the Empire rested with the military.

“We must make an offensive move,” Military Governor Zheng Min announced. “We must launch a surprise attack. Decimate their armies before they can strike us.”

But how? Quan agreed that a show of force might frighten the scavenging barbarians from their gates, but the army was pitifully equipped to challenge the united Mongol front—although it wasn’t for lack of effort. Army families were abundant in the valleys around the Forbidden City. Providing them with farms so that they could clothe and feed themselves should have ensured military security by propagating a hereditary class of soldiers. Unfortunately, military inbreeding had failed to produce sufficient warriors and when the founding generals died, so did their battlefield valour. The current army was weak and corrupt, with rich families paying off poor ones to volunteer their own sons.

For years Quan had watched in silence as greedy, ambitious commanders corrupted the army by forcing the rank-and-file to work farms and build opulent homes for their chiefs, embezzling wages and rations from state allowances. No wonder Zheng Min wanted the Mongol warlords at bay.
He
sprang from an army family. It was these lands of the Middle Kingdom that the barbarians were pillaging. The Mongols weren’t content to be nomadic tribesmen. For a while now, some had been building palatial homes, subsidized by the Chinese tribute system. The Ming Empire supplied the scavengers with building materials, furnishings and luxury goods. And if generals like the military governor wanted to keep what they had misappropriated, they would have to send out armies to defend state lands.

Zheng Min paced the marble floors of the throne room. “When they learn that trade is closed to them they’ll retaliate. If we don’t strike first, they will.”

Zheng Min headed the ministry of war, but at the age of forty-one, he had next to no battlefield experience.              Putting an army together of sufficient size would take time. Waiting for young boys to grow up and be trained would take years. Recruiting farmers, fishermen and labourers into the army was a daunting task that even Quan hesitated to take on. And all of these things must be done if they were to build a war machine capable of defeating the Mongol horde once and for all.

“The frontiers of the Middle Kingdom are surrounded by earthen works,” Quan informed the Emperor. “Those have failed to keep the barbarians out as they seem to collapse every time it rains. But if we build walls of solid brick and stone, if we post sentries, we can keep the country fortified.”

Grand Secretary Ju Jong shook his head. “With what money will we build these walls?”

Building walls would be less costly than reinventing an entire military. No matter what their background, all men, if they had hands, could build a wall. “I’m afraid that that is
your
problem, Grand Secretary.”

“No,” Zheng Min interrupted. “Walls will take too long. Once the barbarians know they are no longer welcome to pay tribute here, they’ll attack the countryside with full force.”

The Emperor grunted, then he turned his head as the delicate sounds of a woman’s footsteps stopped beneath the arched doorway. The newcomer was dressed in an enticing snow-white satin gown, and her long black hair fell over one shoulder, ending in a voluptuous curl.

“Jasmine,” the Emperor said, beckoning her to his side. “You have spent the night with the Mongol barbarian. What did he tell you of his plans? Tell me what you think we should do.”

This brought a frown to Quan’s face, raised eyebrows from Zheng Min and a sour stare from Grand Secretary Ju Jong. Only Tao’s face was totally unreadable.

“You must attack,” Jasmine said without hesitation. “As soon as possible. Otherwise, the Mongol lord will do what he’s done before. He will simply take what he wants.”

Ju Jong cut her off with a wave of his hand. “We must proceed with caution. The barbarians are organized. We are not. We need time to build a strategy.”

Icy kohl-lined eyes landed on the grand secretary. “What do you know of fighting, old man? You have no balls. Your bones crumble to dust at the sight of a sword.”

Quan barely stopped his jaw from dropping. Never had he heard the concubine talk this way. Obviously, Grand Secretary Ju Jong felt the same. “I know more of fighting than you know of money,” Ju Jong retorted, and turned his back on her. “Majesty, what is she doing here? She belongs in the bedchamber not the war room.”

Jasmine yawned and stretched her arms. Her skin was eerily unblemished like a porcelain vase. She was taking liberty with her position as Number One Concubine, speaking before being spoken to. By the hearth where a fire was burning, she smiled at Quan. “Captain—a pleasure to see you again.” Quan was not so pleased. He was disturbed by Jasmine’s uncharacteristic behaviour. “May I borrow your dagger?” she asked.

“Excuse me, Lady, but I don’t understand.” He glanced up at the Emperor, perplexed.

His Majesty smirked. “Give her your dagger.”

Quan had never disobeyed an Imperial order. He drew the blade from its leather sheath and handed it over, hilt-end first. Jasmine bowed, took the weapon and placed it in the hearth. The flames licked and sizzled as they attempted to consume the metal. Jasmine turned her lovely, scornful face to the long, slitted glare of Grand Secretary Ju Jong. The tight folds of his eyelids cut off the inner corners, making him look cross-eyed.

“So, I belong in the bedchamber not the war room?” she asked saccharinely.

“I am a man, you are a woman. What right have you to speak to me like that? What right do you have to speak to me at all?” He sent imploring eyes to the throne.

His Majesty sniffed; the concubine glared. “Pick that dagger out of the fire and show us you are a man,” Jasmine said.

Ju Jong stared in disbelief, and the right sleeve of his green-silk brocaded robe shook like a giant tealeaf. “Highness.” He strained to keep his voice level. “Tell your concubine to leave us.”

“Who are you to tell me what I should do?” the Emperor roared. “Pick up the blade.”

The dagger’s edge glowed red around the edges, and Ju Jong swallowed. Quan’s heart began to canter like the hooves of his horse on the open plain. What had come over His Majesty and his concubine? For a brief second, his gaze sought the cruel sneer on her face.

“Do it!”

Ju Jong slowly approached the hearth.

“Take the dagger and hold it to your heart. Show me where your allegiance lies.”

Ju Jong stuttered in wretched fear. “With you, Majesty. Always.”

There was no mistaking the savage pleasure in the Emperor’s eyes. “Then show me.”

The grand secretary crouched. He stuck his hand into the fire. His screams echoed throughout the Forbidden City, and rattled the tombs of the dead warriors below the Black Mountains.

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The prediction of Military Governor Zheng Min proved true. Within three months the Mongols were back, asking to pay tribute to the Son of Heaven. When they were denied entry to the Forbidden City, the Mongol horde butchered all who stood in their way. Luckily, that particular Mongol embassy had been a small band of ninety horsemen. But they warned of an imminent return and they expected an audience. The Emperor had no intention of granting them an audience. “We go to war,” he said.

This time Captain Chi Quan was not commissioned to lead the expedition to chastise Esen and his horde. His Majesty himself decided he would lead the chase and that meant Military Governor Zheng Min was also expected to go to battle. An army, half a million strong, consisting of farmers, fishermen, labourers, and regular army was assembled. Quan led his own men, a troop of twenty thousand.

As His Majesty sat in his palanquin awaiting the guards to open the palace gates, Ju Jong scuttled toward him, his scarred hands upturned in supplication. He prostrated himself, begging. “Please, sire. Think of your country. These fishermen and labourers and city men have not been trained. You send them to their deaths.”

“Coward,” Zheng Min sneered. The Emperor said nothing. He gave the signal to march.

Quan mounted his horse and took in the reins. He looked back and saw the smiling face of Jasmine. Beside her, Lotus Lily watched him. He nodded at her and she bowed slightly. He veered his horse and followed the royal palanquin, past the still kneeling grand secretary, to the gate. Master Yun stood aside as he approached and they locked eyes. Both thought the plan reckless and dangerous, but fight they must. Master Yun bowed. Quan lowered his head in respect, and Master Yun returned to the prostrate grand secretary and helped him to his feet.

The sky blackened. The Imperial Army marched through the wide streets of Beijing while a drummer announced their departure. The citizens vacated their homes to see their men off—what was left of them. Most of the male population, except for the old and the very young had been recruited. The women sucked back their tears. His Majesty promised victory and they must believe him. The drums boomed; the soldiers moved out. In time, the countryside replaced the cityscape.

Days passed in sharp winds and leg wearying marches. The evenings stretched interminably as soldiers tried to sleep despite torrential rain. By the time the army crossed the Juyong pass, the men were exhausted and drenched. Although the season for heavy rains was past, the sky was angry; she dumped vengeance on the Imperial troops. Quan wiped rain out of his eyes and squinted at the western hills toward the great burial mound of First Emperor Qin. It was rumoured that a great pottery army lay buried beneath the earth and one day the soldiers would rise again and save the Middle Kingdom from the northern invaders. Chi Quan did not believe in ghost stories. He believed in his own cunning, and the strength of his weapons and his men. He was not so sure about his emperor.

The army made the trek to Datong in thirteen days. As they neared the garrison, a cloud of crows scattered, beaks filled with worms. Quan searched the vicinity, slowing his steed to a trot. The horse reared as a foul smell greeted them. The land was speckled with bodies, and what was once rich pastureland was now a battlefield strewn with corpses. Quan froze in horror as a grim revelation struck him. The scavengers’ worms were strips of flesh torn from human bones. Bellies engorged, the crows were too sated to fly. They flapped their useless wings and staggered out of the path of the advancing army. All around, the twisted trees and wild grasses were purple with gore. A hawk circled above, a coil of intestines in its beak. Far away, Quan heard the mocking tune of the barbarians’ flute. He dismounted to retrieve a helmet, its red tassel falling limpid in his hand like blood.

His Majesty’s army were ragged peasants, toting their weapons as though they were hoe and rake. They were not trained to fight the ferocious horsemen of the steppe. But those who had stained the frontier with the blood of Quan’s kinsmen must be punished. He remounted and ordered the men to march. Lieutenant He Zhu shouted the order down the line.

The military governor rode up to Quan and snapped, “You are not the leader of this campaign—I am.”

“Oh? I thought His Majesty was leading this campaign,” Quan said.

Zheng Min scowled harder. “Of course, he is. I am his voice and his chosen commander.”

“Fine.
You
tell them to march.”

On the purple landscape, scavenged bodies showed white bone where crows had torn flesh from dying men. Soldiers had been stripped of their armour and weapons, and anything the Mongols had deemed valuable. As a warning to His Majesty, several top commanders had been decapitated, their gory heads pierced on pikes projecting from the ground. Quan recognized the face of the messenger who had first warned them of the Mongol attack. One of the poor man’s eyes was ruined, leaking bloody fluid.

Most of the army showed panic in their faces. It was clear that these men wouldn’t last one more day before they went screaming into the valley to certain death. Military Governor Zheng Min anxiously sought the Emperor. His Majesty glanced over at Quan whose troops stood perfectly aligned and battle-ready. They comprised two percent of the army; the remainder were untrained farmers and labourers. The drummer began to pound a beat, a song of deep mourning.

Abruptly, the Emperor declared the campaign a success. When and where these barbarians would strike next was anyone’s guess and he wasn’t about to stick around to find out. It was time to go home. Reluctantly, Quan accepted the futility of their mission, and at Zheng Min’s command, he reversed his troops and took up the rearguard.

As they marched through the wild, open countryside, Quan felt the Mongols watching them. He would turn, but see nothing and yet feel their presence. The men were jittery, anxious to get back to their homes. How were the barbarians doing this? How did they know in advance the Chinese army’s intent? A flash of gold caught Quan’s eye. Some sort of animal darted in front of his horse, spooking it, and he dug in his knees, tightened the reins, spoke softly to the brown and white stallion.