Breaking Bamboo (60 page)

When he glanced up, Khan Bayke and his sons were cantering forward with fixed expressions, putting their bows away and drawing curved swords. The fact that they loosed no more arrows told Guang what to expect – they wished to take him alive for a little fun.

He fled down the nearest alleyway. Hoof-thuds drove him on, hunting whoops usually reserved for deer. Guang realised that the twisting alley was taking him towards the Water Basin.

Two and three storey tenements rose on either side, their doors giving onto the street. Although he did not know it, he was approaching the warren of Xue Alley.

Suddenly a canal blocked his route; the only way across was a worn rope footbridge and Guang gasped with relief for Bayke could take the horses no further. He scurried over the bridge just as his pursuers arrived at the other side. An arrow flew past his ear, then he turned a twisting corner, another shaft quivering in a lintel behind him.

Guang found himself descending a slope towards a parallel canal full of small boats of the kind used to carry passengers through the water-roads of the city.

He paused, assessing his position. He was in Xue Alley without a single weapon, pursued by four men armed from boot to plumed helmet. Yet he was sure Bayke would leave one to mind the horses. That left three warriors.

He had been taught at the Western Military Academy that the ground where simple survival calls for a perilous fight, where we perish without a desperate fight, is Dying Ground.

When he reached the canal, Guang realised he had entered Dying Ground. Bayke would not expect him to turn here. And indeed, where did he have to turn? Certainly he could never lead his enemies back to Apricot Corner Court.

So Yun Guang paused at the bank of the canal and looked round. He noted the boats and remembered the adage: ‘Water assists an attack mightily.’ Then he seized a long bamboo pole used for propelling boats and awaited his enemies. As he stood there, striving to regulate his breaths, several curtains in the densely packed houses around him stirred. Faces peered out, whispering to those within.

Soon enough Khan Bayke and his two sons turned the corner at a jog, their swords drawn; Guang noticed at once they had left their bows with the horses, and for the first time he felt a flicker of hope. They halted at the sight of Yun Guang, bamboo staff in both hands as though it was a noble halberd instead of a peasant’s excuse for a weapon.

Khan Bayke laughed and said something to his sons, who obediently stepped forward.

Guang levelled the bamboo like a spear poised between the two young warriors. He was deliberately near the bank of the canal, several flat-bottomed boats directly beneath him.

Then he stepped back, even closer to the edge.

Bayke’s sons glanced at each other and advanced, confident of overwhelming so lightly armed an opponent. Guang’s own expression was taunting. Yet he stepped back again, so that he teetered on the canal bank. Conscious of their father’s approval, they rushed forward, each eager to claim the honour of avenging their brother. Swords swung and passed through empty air for Guang had jumped down into the flat-bottomed boat floating on the canal.

Now Bayke’s sons leaned over the water, swords in hand.

Guang, however, thrust up his bamboo pole so that it snagged on one of the Mongol’s chest armour and, with one swift movement, toppled him. For a moment the young man flailed in mid-air. Then he fell with a bellow into the canal. He had every reason to cry out. A man in full armour could not hope to swim long. Most Mongols, accustomed to the dry steppe-lands, could not swim at all.

Guang ignored the splashing figure as his brother swung a savage sword blow at his head. Bamboo parried metal. One bounced off the other. Yet the bamboo was splintered, its force broken. Guang knew the next blow would surely finish him.

He jumped into an adjoining moored boat, then another, and climbed onto the opposite side of the canal.

A narrow footbridge lay between him and his enemies. The Mongol in the water was only being saved from drowning by his brother, who had found another long pole. It was clear neither could swim.

Guang waited on the opposite bank while Bayke examined him, no doubt wishing he had brought his bow. The footbridge was his sole route of access to the man he had sworn to kill, the murderer of his eldest boy. For a moment Bayke watched one son drag the other out of the canal. Baring his teeth in a grin, he walked with complete confidence across the footbridge, aware a sword against a splintered bamboo pole usually yields one victor.

Then something unanticipated occurred. Doorways in Xue Alley flew open and a dozen men led by Carpenter Xue charged out, rushing over to the Mongol brothers. They were in no position to defend themselves, for their swords had been set aside while escaping the water. A moment later both had been seized and were once again floundering in the canal. This time they were lucky, managing to cling to the side of a boat out of reach of their attackers. One of Carpenter Xue’s brood reached down and picked up an abandoned sword.

Bayke paused on the footbridge. Believing his sons were in no immediate danger, or perhaps maddened into indifference by his desire for revenge, he charged at Guang with a terrible cry, sword raised.

Against such an attack Guang could only give way, raising the bamboo staff to deflect Bayke’s blow. It splintered into two pieces. Aware he was hopelessly out matched, Guang lunged to the side as Bayke launched another fierce downward slash.

Then he heard a cry: ‘Captain Xiao! Take this!’

Guang dodged to avoid a stroke and glimpsed a curved shape land at his feet. He snatched up the sword just in time to parry a blow aimed at his head, then another. Despite the fury of his resistance it was apparent the Mongol officer was the stronger fighter: blow after blow fell on Gunag’s sword and he found himself always on the defensive.

At last Khan Bayke stepped back, panting. On the other side of the canal a dozen Xues had found long poles and were threatening to push his two sons deeper into the water. Guang waited, his sword raised to fend off Bayke’s next attack, but it never came; the Mongol turned unexpectedly, desperate to cut a way through to his drowning sons. In that moment, as he placed his foot on the bridge, his back was exposed and Guang darted forward, stabbing Khan Bayke near the base of his spine, finding a gap in the armour, pushing the sword in deep so that blood welled across the blade. Then Guang twisted the sword, gasping and cursing, worrying it back and forth.

Finally, he released the hilt, slippery with blood, and shoved Bayke into the canal, grunting triumphantly; a loud splash followed; for a moment the water frothed, then the armoured man vanished from sight.

Guang hurried over to the jubilant members of the Xue clan, who had finally finished off their enemies.

‘There is another one holding their horses at the entrance to Xue Alley,’ he said. ‘Send a boy with a message from Bayke to lure him here. I shall do the rest. And we must hide these bodies or they will bury our entire families alive – after they have flayed us to the bone.’

But all three Mongol warriors had already sunk to the bottom of the canal. It seemed no further concealment was necessary.

*

Of course she was used to waiting. Who among the ladies had waited so hard as she? Lu Ying sat on her worn divan and listened to sounds of panic drifting through the open window: a woman wailed in a neighbouring courtyard; shouting broke out across the canal in Ping’s Floating Oriole House. She peeped out, expecting Mongol warriors to flood through Water Basin Ward like a swarm of giant rats, but it was only a pair of drunkards, quarrelling to satisfy some petty grievance. Her bamboo curtain fell with a rattle and she sat very still, struggling to compose herself.

Lu Ying rose and paced the room. The ward bell chimed noon. Now Wang Ting-bo would be surrendering the city to the enemy. She could barely believe him capable of treason, yet the proof was everywhere. How General A-ku had promised to preserve his life and noble position, how the city would be spared fire and sword. No one believed that last part, of course, when a hill of corpses rotted across the river in Fouzhou. Soon the Mongols would ride through the streets and it would begin.

Everyone knew they liked to mingle a little pleasure with their grim work. Lu Ying shivered at the thought, hugging her chest.

Perhaps she should join Madam Cao and Dr Shih, who were hiding in one of the back rooms with their babies, waiting for the storm to pass. A little company might lift her spirits. And she would have gone except that something she could not express held her back, maybe even their kindness. Her nerves were too raw and jagged for kindness – Dr Shih’s soothing voice was likely to make her scream. No, it would be best to wait in her room for Guang; surely he would come soon.

Noon shadows and bars of light shifted across wall and floor. How long since the last bell? An hour? Perhaps more.

Time enough for Guang to send word that he was safe, that he had found the means to protect her as he had promised.

That was a foolish thought. How could he preserve her when Swallow Gate was thrown open? No one in the city could call themselves safe, except for Wang Ting-bo and his clan. Oh, they were safe! The Wangs of this world were always safe.

Words sung long ago, it seemed, filled her memory and she hummed softly to sooth her fears:

Chop, chop, we clear the elms

And pile branches on the bank.

He neither sows nor reaps!

How has our lord five-hundred sheaves?

He neither traps nor shoots!

How do badger pelts adorn his courtyards?

Need not work for a bowl of food.

Lu Ying realised her hands were trembling and squeezed them tight. Her chest had grown constricted, she could hardly breathe.

Another hour bell rang out. More sounds of panic in the streets. Lu Ying stepped into Apricot Corner Court and heard a rumour from Widow Mu that high officials were throwing themselves into wells rather than surrender. It seemed the hysteria was spreading; a whole house of singing girls had linked arms and drowned themselves in East Canal. Little wonder Lu Ying was glad to escape back to her room, yet even here she could see confirmation of Mu’s words: people running for shelter, treasured possessions clutched to their chests; smoke rising from the better districts of town. It was true, all true, the end had surely come.

Despite the numbness of terror, Lu Ying understood that more than the lives of a few high officials were ending today. She struggled to make sense of her idea. The victory of the Mongols would bring something to a close. . . she could not explain it. . . a frivolity, perhaps, a world where duty did not impede the round of pleasure for long. Indeed, where elegant pleasures were a kind of duty. How gay the streets had looked at festival time! Instead, there would be grim-faced warriors and harsh ways, curfews and slave-markets. It was not hard to explain their loss. Lu Ying knew all she had lived for was passing like youth or summer, unless Guang somehow restored her future.

Yet where was he? Why did he not come? It was too cruel of him not to come. Had they not exchanged promises? Perhaps he had forgotten them already. Men were fickle, one dared not trust them yet could not help it. Wang Ting-bo had forgotten her soon enough, the instant she disappointed him. Maybe Guang had decided she was a disappointment, too.

By the third bell Lu Ying’s despair was absolute. He had abandoned her, as Wang Ting-bo had before him. Then her hand flew to her mouth. Why had she not seen it before?

Captain Xiao would never surrender or turn his coat like a Wang! He had chosen to perish rather than sell his honour.

Whether by his own hand or the enemy’s, he had chosen death.

Her body shook with sobs, until at last she subsided and a cold, troubled expression smoothed her face. She went over to a maple chest and took out a long, heavy silk and brocade dress of deepest blue. She was quite calm now. Of course, the Moon Goddess had taught her what she must do. Really, it was quite simple. Quite simple to leave her plain clothes in a pile and hurriedly dress in the finest silks left to her. Simple to put on all her remaining jewellery, her jade amulets and gold hairpins, to apply her make-up so the Moon Goddess would clap her hands in admiration of her beauty when she came before her.

A distant scream made her start. They had penetrated Water Basin Ward. She had little time.

Lu Ying would have liked to say farewell to Cao and Shih, to their tiny babies, and to Apricot Corner Court itself where she had deserved no welcome at all, yet earned kindness in some miraculous way. She would have liked to say farewell to her memories, especially those of nursing Guang, but there was no time left.

She walked gracefully on her lotus feet as she had been taught, a most delightful, elegant walk, to the back door of the house. It opened easily and she found herself on the narrow path separating Apricot Corner Court from the canal. There Lu Ying gasped, for a woman was floating face down in the water, a woman in plain clothes, not the precious silks Lu Ying wore to advance from one life to the next. It was a sign, a warning not to falter. So she stepped forward, once, twice, and no one called out as the dark waters rushed to embrace her. Soon the sack of precious things tied to her girdle, ornaments and jades, a favourite bronze statuette of a court beauty, dragged Lu Ying to a place where sorrow, pain, joy, might begin again with her next incarnation; or perhaps to a silent emptiness, where passion faded forever.

*

Guang knocked on the gatehouse door and called out Shih’s name. At last it opened a crack and he was ushered inside by Old Hsu’s Son.

‘How did you get through the curfew?’ he whispered. ‘Their soldiers are everywhere.’

‘I was lucky,’ said Guang, furtively. ‘And the Mongols have been well-behaved so far. General A-ku has promised death for any of his men who loot or rape. He does not wish to deter other cities from surrendering.’

‘Ah,’ said Old Hsu’s Son. ‘I did not know.’