Breaking Bamboo (30 page)

Perhaps they had not been heard.

‘Quickly!’ hissed the Fukkien.

They made their way to the wooden palisade and earthworks overlooking the river. A single sentry guarded this portion of the wall, for the Mongols had grown careless as the siege dragged on. It was through this part of the camp that the Fukkien was accustomed to come and go, using a drainage ditch beneath the palisade. Yet a single vigilant guard would be enough to raise the alarm and they were too large a group to risk the Fukkien’s usual method. The guard’s silhouette paced above them, stamping to keep warm. The Fukkien nodded at one of his men who climbed stealthily onto the siege ramparts.

There was a sudden grunt: the sound of something sliding to earth.

‘Where is the drain?’

‘Here.’

‘Pick up the bag containing the prisoner.’

‘Leave the rest?’

‘Yes.’

‘Quickly.’

This last whisper came from the Fukkien. Then they were crawling through a short tunnel reeking of human filth. Guang did not care. In a moment he would be free of this hellish place.

He scrambled out, his boot sinking into something slippery and soft. There was a crack of bones. Peering down Guang smelt rather than saw the corpse. As his moan of surprise died away everyone froze. But Chen Song’s magician must still have been chanting his spell. Even that indiscretion remained unpunished.

They carried their prisoner to the riverbank. Li Tse did not stir or groan and Guang hoped the Fukkien’s poison had not been too strong. Their feet crunched sand and gravel.

The final test was one of faith. If the boatman failed them, all they need do was wait for dawn to reveal their position. Or flee desperately across the killing grounds to the city. But the guards on the palisade were sure to see them, weighed down by their prisoner. Then would come horses, a certain end.

Guang gestured to the Fukkien, whose bamboo whistle produced sounds uncannily like goose calls. No dark shape broke the fog rolling over the river. Again, Guang gestured impatiently, but before the Fukkien could raise the whistle a prow parted the mist.

Later, their laden boat approached the pontoon bridge connecting the Twin Cities. Only then did the raiding party relax. By now the prisoner was beginning to struggle in his sack.

‘Tell me, sir,’ asked the Fukkien. ‘How did you know they meant to betray us? That the scar-faced one should be killed?’

Guang loosened his cloak. Despite the chill he felt unaccountably hot, almost feverish. All he longed for was wine to wash away pain and fear.

‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘But before one drinks, one should remember the source.’

The Fukkien laughed harshly at the old proverb and his companions murmured praise for Captain Xiao, who had triumphed yet again. Guang peered back into the fog. He was certain a hungry ghost floated wordlessly after him, reaching out crimson fingernails.

*

The next morning Guang found himself wandering through streets free of fog. The sky was cold and pale above Nancheng.

Reluctant to reach his destination, he stopped at a floating oriole hall and ate an absurdly expensive breakfast of rice and pig’s kidneys fried in spices. The singing girls fussed over noble Captain Xiao. Their attentions emboldened him, and by the time Guang reached the Prefecture he looked as confident as his reputation required.

A guard led him through courtyards surrounded by bureaux where officials administered the siege. Abacuses clicked amidst quiet conversation. Here was proof of the Empire’s superiority.

On a whim, Guang struggled to remember a patriotic poem to express this feeling but of the many he had sung or read, he could recall none. Chen Song was able to recite dozens. That was why he was fit for high office.

Guang grew morose. Soldiers of his kind only won honour in desperate times. When the barbarians were driven back, his worth would vanish, just as one welcomed clouds in a drought but feared them when fields were well-watered.

He was conducted to a hidden courtyard at the rear of the Prefecture. Guards stood by the door. All bowed respectfully to Captain Xiao.

In the centre of the sandy floor a prisoner hung by his wrists from a bamboo frame. The interrogation had already begun –and badly, by the look of it. One would hardly bother to torture the hapless artillery officer had he proved co-operative.

Guang was surprised to find his patron, Wang Bai, seated on a high-backed chair, fanning himself though the air was cold.

General Zheng Shun paced up and down before the prisoner, evidently displeased.

‘Ah, Yun Guang!’ said Zheng Shun. ‘I’m delighted to see you still alive. What happened to our friend with the scar?’

Guang pursed his lips. Clearly the Fukkien and the other men had stuck to their story.

‘He died well,’ said Guang. ‘We had to take what we could get.’

‘Really? Well, it hardly matters. This fellow is knowledge-able enough but very obstinate. Aren’t you, dog-man?’ Zheng Shun wagged a reproving finger. ‘We’re not finished with you yet, my fine fellow!’

Guang sat beside his patron while the interrogation proceeded. Wang Bai watched curiously, displaying no emotion.

Pincers were applied to tender organs and Li Tse grew more amenable.

‘What. . . wish. . . know?’ he gasped.

‘How many men does A-ku field?’

No one welcomed the figure he mentioned – or that another three divisions of ten thousand were on their way.

‘How many catapults?’

Again the numbers astonished the assembled officers. Worse was the news that the enemy had almost completed the construction of a secret fleet, in the hope of closing the river as a means of supplying the Twin Cities.

‘I’m sure this is useful,’ said General Zheng Shun. ‘Certainly it will discourage His Excellency from another pointless attempt to break the siege. We must send more messengers to the court requesting reinforcements. Now I want my breakfast.’

Wang Bai rose with him but waited until Zheng Shun had gone. His cold eyes found Guang.

‘You did well to capture this man,’ he said.

Guang could tell the Pacification Commissioner’s nephew was shaken by what they had learned. The forces ranged against them were an endless stream, threatening to wash the Twin Cities away. Then Wang Bai’s guarded face took on an expression of wonder.

‘How do you achieve these exploits?’ he asked. ‘First rescuing your father, then seizing this man. . . Are you without fear? Is that the answer? Captain Xiao does not care whether he lives or dies?’

It was the first time Wang Bai had addressed him by that title.

‘I am. . .’ Guang hesitated. ‘I am loyal, sir. That is all. I am loyal.’

The word barely explained his confusion. He could not describe what drove him to recklessness. But Wang Bai seemed satisfied.

‘Then I expect your loyalty,’ he said. ‘Whatever happens –and I foresee strange things – do not allow it to waver from the clan of Wang.’

With that he swept from the courtyard.

Guang frowned. Should not His Excellency’s nephew have urged him to remain loyal to the Son of Heaven? Instead he had mentioned the house of Wang. A hoarse, hacking laugh disturbed his thoughts. The prisoner had been listening throughout their conversation.

‘That gentleman sniffs the wind,’ said Li Tse. ‘Cut me down, Captain Xiao! I’ll tell you more than I told the others.’

Guang indicated it should happen, that wine be brought. The prisoner gulped down a large bowl, his throat working like a bellows. When he had finished, he glowered at Guang.

‘You’re the one who burned our catapults and blinded us with poison bombs. You killed General A-ku’s own cousin with your tricks. Oh, A-ku would like to have you!’

Li Tse retched wine mingled with blood and mucus. Guang did not reply.

‘Let me tell you, sir,’ said Li Tse. ‘So you know what is coming. Perhaps you will let me live.’

While Li Tse spoke, noon shadows inched across a floor covered in fine white sand to soak up the prisoner’s blood.

*

An hour later Guang sat in his fine pavilion, resorting to the same comfort that had made Li Tse so voluble. Only Guang did not speak his thoughts aloud. They seemed disreputable. He tried to judge the man’s story.

Certainly it seemed credible that Li Tse had been born, as he claimed, forty years earlier, when the mighty Kin Empire fell to the Mongols after the second siege of Kaifeng. And he might well have been conscripted into the artillery. The barbarians had enlisted numerous Chinese. That was their genius, constantly learning from conquered enemies until the advantage lay entirely on their side. Several notable commanders of the Great Khan were Chinese – Guang had even heard that such generals commanded Mongol nobles in battle. All merit flowed from an officer’s usefulness; once proven, the highest positions followed.

Guang snorted. How different from the Middle Kingdom!

Here one must pass the Emperor’s written examinations to gain influence, just as the wise, beloved Wang Ting-bo and Wang Bai had done. Of course, birth helped. How could it be otherwise when most scholars were the sons of scholars? A mere soldier dared not hope to eclipse a scholar. Such was the natural way of their ancestors. Guang’s forehead felt pinched.

One should not speculate too deeply.

Could the rest of Li Tse’s story be true? He had spoken of a great army marching west to the world’s end, a hundred thousand horsemen followed by trains of vassals. So many sheep and horses they devoured the lands they passed through like locusts. Li Tse had described how they subjugated a mountainous kingdom. ‘You would not feel so sure of your walls,’ he had said, ‘if you had seen the mountain fortresses we laid waste.’

Led by General Hulegu, they had marched to a vast city, one Li Tse called the greatest on earth.

Guang poured and drank swiftly. Here was proof that Li Tse lied. Everyone knew the Son of Heaven’s capital, Linan, was the epitome of all cities. Outlandish lands filled with barbarians could never produce a better. Still the artillery officer had seemed definite. He had even given the place an absurd name
Quagdad
.

Li Tse said the city surrendered after a short siege. Its entire populace were ordered to gather on the plain before their shattered ramparts. They had expected to be treated mercifully in return for paying homage to their new masters. When General Hulegu ordered the slaughter to begin, their wails of surprise could be heard several
li
away. For three days the Mongol cavalry herded and massacred the people like a vast field of deer or sheep. Li Tse witnessed it with his own eyes.

From the way he hesitated, glancing away furtively, Guang wondered if he had played a part.

Then the Mongols poured into the streets and burned everything they could not steal. Only a wasteland remained.

Guang could believe the barbarians had slaughtered everyone – had he not witnessed such sights himself? But to say fifty times ten thousand had perished! The vastness of such cruelty strained the imagination.

Silence fell on the courtyard when Li Tse finished. Guang, though uncomfortable, managed a scornful laugh. One of the attendant officials nervously asked the prisoner: ‘How are you here, if you went so far to the West?’

Even to that Li Tse had an answer.

‘The Great Khan died. Most of the army returned from whence it came. It was necessary to choose the successor and every noble in the army wished to be at the
kuriltai
.’

Guang looked up.

‘Did those Mongols left behind in the ruins of your fanciful Quagdad prosper?’

Now it was Li Tse’s turn to look uncomfortable.

‘I heard they were defeated and could conquer no new lands to the west.’

Guang slapped his knee.

‘That will happen here!’ he said. ‘They shall never be our masters, however many tales you tell. We are not frightened and our strength is the root of mountains. Of Mount Wadung, in fact.’

The officials in the courtyard broke into applause at these words. But Li Tse, beaten and scarred, looked at him mockingly.

‘Do not be so sure,’ he said. ‘I tell you these things so you may know the truth, Captain Xiao.’

‘Even if what you say is true, your friends will never reduce the Twin Cities.’

Li Tse shook his head.

‘You have not seen what I have seen. Now let me live, sir.’

Guang had risen and left without replying. He had no idea what would happen to Li Tse and did not care. For a wavering moment he wondered whether his family would survive if the Mongols triumphed. Surely Khan Bayke would track them to Apricot Corner Court. Then he ordered more wine, sending out a servant to summon Chen Song. For a long while Guang stared through the open window at passing clouds, his forehead furrowed.

‘Heaven has ordained that in this world there are risings and fallings. Each of the ten thousand creatures arises from the Primal Emptiness and must return there in due course. So it is with our dearest feelings. So it is when we seek to plant seeds in the earth and wait in hope for them to grow to our advantage. . .’

From
Remembrances of a Western Terrace at Twilight
 

Water Basin Ward, Nancheng. Spring, 1267.

The stars shifted and the sun grew brighter. Fish of the nibbling kind thrived in the moats of Nancheng. A patriotic recipe was invented: pike or roach barbecued on a communal cooking fire in a paste of Sichuan pepper, wild garlic and chives. Chives were everywhere. Thrifty folk sowed them on roofs layered with mud to deter fire arrows, so that high buildings resembled green hilltops.

Mists no longer clouded the broad river. It was blossom-time, tantalisingly brief. Fruit trees planted to strengthen canal banks wore dense robes of white and pink.

Despite the siege, people greeted spring with the same songs and rites as the year before – and a thousand springs before that. They had reason to celebrate. The first sultry rains made the river rise, covering soil and gravel banks exposed during the winter drought. As heat began to swirl, the ground before the city used for paddy fields filled with rain. Accustomed to dry steppes gnawed by wind, the Mongols suffered in the humid atmosphere. Their hardy horses fell sick, plagued by fungus round nostril, hoof, and lower orifice.