Imperial Woman (10 page)

He rose and bowed. “It is enough, I think, for this one day,” he said. “I have brushed a few lines from history for you, Most Favored. Now, if you will, I shall proceed to fill them out until all the truth is plain.”

“I pray you do so,” Yehonala said, and she rose, too, and bowed.

Thus the day came to an end, and that night she could not sleep. What destiny was hers? Her son must take the Empire back again and drive his foreign foes into the sea.

Yehonala now felt herself no more a prisoner within the palace. She was the center of the people’s hope. What she ate, whether she slept well, did she suffer languor or pain, her color, her laughter, her willfulness and whims—all were matters of concern. In the glow of such importance, the winter months came in and passed, day following day, and the clear sunshine of bright and cloudless skies enlivened the whole city. The people were cheerful with their hope, and business was good. In the south the long-haired rebels settled into the city of Nanking, and rumors creeping northward said that the leader was taking many wives and corrupting himself with wines and fine foods. But Yehonala received this good news with no more than mild pleasure, for the Chinese rebel was not her true foe. The foreigners, the white men, were the enemy. And yet why the enemy? Let them return to their own lands, and there need be no enmity even with them. We want but our own, Yehonala told herself.

Indeed a mild mood pervaded her spirit in these days, and never had she felt her body grow so sound and whole. Whether it was the brewed herbs she drank or whether it was her own full and vital energy flowering at the demand of motherhood, she did not know. Strangest of all, she no longer hated the Son of Heaven. True, she did not love him, but she pitied him, the shell of a man, wrapped in his golden robes of office. She cradled him in her arms at night, and by day she showed him extravagant respect and honor, for was he not the father of her son? Was he the father of her son? The two-headed question hid in her heart. For all the world to see and to believe, he was the father of her son. Her son must have the Emperor for his father. Yet secret in her own heart was the living thought of Jung Lu and the hour when he had come at her desire.

Into her life there fed two streams, the first her constant deepening pride that she bore within her the Heir to the Throne and the other her secret love. For the one she studied zealously the history of the people whom her son would rule, poring over many ancient books and putting her questions to Prince Kung. Because of the other, she perceived anew the beauty of the world to which one day she would bring her son. Sometimes in the afternoon, instead of closing herself into the libraries, she spent the hours walking with her ladies, her guardian eunuch, Li Lien-ying, following behind. Never did they go beyond the walls of the Emperor’s city, but within these walls was enough to see so that it would take her many years to know it all. When the sun was high and no cold winds blew, she walked among the courtyards, down the corridors and between the high rose-red walls of narrow streets that linked the palace courts together. Circling the sacred city were triple walls and in the walls were set four gates, facing the four points of the compass. Within the great first gate were three inner gates leading to bridges and gardens in the palaces and throne halls, these halls facing always south, their colors the symbols of the elements. Even now in winter the gardens were beautiful, the northern bamboo green under snow, and the Indian bamboo bearing scarlet berries under snow. At the Gate of Heavenly Peace stood two winged pillars of white marble, encircled by carved dragons, and to these she returned often, and why she did not know, except that her spirit lifted at the noble sight of these white-winged pillars.

Palace by palace, the throne rooms many, she learned to know the sacred polar city, the center of the earth even as the north star is center of the sky, and in splendid loneliness she walked among her ladies. Ah, she had chosen well to make this city her son’s birthplace and his home!

In the third moon of the spring of the new year, on a day chosen by what heavenly decision she did not know, Yehonala gave birth to her son. In the presence of the elder ladies of the Court who took the place of the dead Dowager Mother, her son was born, indisputably the heir, and the midwives so declared him. While Yehonala crouched upon a stool, a midwife caught the child and held him up before the ladies.

“See, Venerables,” she announced. “A male child, in full health and strength!”

And Yehonala, half fainting, looked up and saw her son. He lay in the midwife’s hands, he moved his arms and legs, and opening his mouth he cried aloud.

When night fell, the soft spring night, the courtyard outside her little private palace was lit by the light of lanterns set upon an altar of sacrifice. From her bed Yehonala looked through the low latticed windows upon the assembly of princes and ladies and eunuchs who stood beyond the table, the candlelight flickering upon their faces and upon their many-colored robes of satin, embroidered in gold and silver. It was the hour of birth sacrifice to Heaven, and the Emperor stood before the altar to give thanks and to announce his heir. Upon the altar were three offerings, the steamed head of a pig, white and hairless, a steamed cock, naked of feathers except for its head and tail, and between pig and cock a live fish, struggling in a net of scarlet silk.

The rite was difficult. Yet none could make it except the Son of Heaven himself, for this fish had been taken alive from a lotus pond, and it must be returned alive again to that same water, or the Heir would not live to reach his manhood. Nor could the imperial father make haste or violate the solemn dignity of what he did, lest Heaven be offended. In deep silence he raised his arms, in silence he knelt before Heaven, to whom he alone could make obeisance, and he chanted his prayers. Exactly at the right moment he ended, and seizing the still-living fish with both hands he gave it to the Chief Eunuch who hastened to the pool and threw it in, waiting to see if it swam away. If it did not, then the Heir would die a child. He peered into the water, his lantern held high, and in silence the Court waited and the Emperor stood motionless before the altar.

The light fell upon a flash of silver in the water.

“The fish lives, Majesty,” the eunuch shouted.

And upon these joyful words the assembly began to laugh and talk. Firecrackers were lit, caged birds in all the palaces were freed, and rockets sprayed the sky with light. While Yehonala leaned upon her elbow, the whole sky seemed to split before her eyes, and from the center she saw floating against the sparkling darkness a huge golden orchid, its petals touched with purple.

“Lady, this is in your honor!” her serving woman cried.

A roar rose up from the city when the people saw the sight, and Yehonala laughed and threw herself upon her pillows. How many times in her life had she wished she were a man but now how glad was she to be a woman! What man could know such triumph as hers, that she had made a son for the Emperor?

“Is my cousin, the Consort, in the courtyard, too?” she asked.

The old woman peered into the lights and shadows of the courtyard. “I see her standing among her ladies,” she replied.

“Go out to her,” Yehonala commanded. “Invite her to come in. Tell her I long to see her.”

The woman went out and approaching proudly she asked the Consort to come to the bedside of her mistress.

“She looks upon the Dragon Consort as her elder sister,” the woman said, coaxing.

But Sakota shook her head. “I rose from my bed to attend the sacrifice,” she said, “and to my bed I must return. Indeed, I am not well.”

She turned away as she said this and leaning upon two ladies, and led by a eunuch with a lantern, she walked into the darkness of a round moon gate.

All were surprised at this refusal and the woman went back to Yehonala to report. “Lady, the Consort will not come. She says she is ill, but I think she is not.”

“Then why did she not come?” Yehonala demanded.

“Who can tell how the heart of a Consort changes?” the woman replied. “She has a daughter. The son is yours.”

“Sakota is not so small in heart,” Yehonala insisted, and yet while she spoke, she remembered that her cousin held over her head the dagger of that secret knowledge.

“Who knows the heart?” the woman replied, and this time Yehonala made no reply.

The courtyard was empty now, the Emperor and his followers gone to their feasts. Everywhere tonight the people feasted and took time for joy. From north to south, from east to west the doors of prisons were opened and all within were freed, whatever had been their crime. In cities and villages no shops were opened for seven days, no beasts killed for food, no fish caught in river or pond, and if they were caught already and still alive in tubs and vats in marketplaces, then they must be thrown back into their waters. Caged birds were loosed, in homes as they had been in the palaces, and men of rank who had been banished could now return and take again their titles and their lands. And all this was done in honor of the newborn child.

Yet in her bed Yehonala felt strangely lonely. Sakota had not come to see her or her son, Sakota who was always gentle, always kind. What then? Eunuchs had been busybodies, surely, they had carried tales, doubtless, and they had made Sakota think evil of her, now that her son was born. The upstart Grand Councilor Su Shun, or his friend Prince Yi, the nephew of the Emperor, these two might be the evil ones, for they were jealous of her. Until she came, Li Lien-ying had told her, it was they whom the Emperor trusted and they were close to him until he drew her closer still by his insatiate love.

I never did them harm, she thought, and I have been more courteous than I needed to be.

The Grand Councilor was haughty and ambitious, though of low birth, and yet she had taken his daughter Mei, a young girl of sixteen, to be her own Court lady. But Prince Kung must be her friend. She remembered his lean handsome face, and she determined to make and hold him as her ally. Lying in the shelter of the great curtained bed, her son curled into the hollow of her right arm, Yehonala pondered her destiny and his. They were alone against the world, she and her son. The man she loved could never be her husband. Alone she might have escaped by death if not by life, but now death too was no longer in her reach. She had borne a son, and he had only her to keep him safe amid the tangle of intrigues within the palaces. The times were evil, the signs of Heaven portentous, the Emperor was weak, and only she could hold the throne secure for her son.

In that night and in many nights thereafter, as many nights indeed as she was to live, there came the small dark hours when she faced her destiny with naked eyes and frightened heart, knowing that only in herself was strength enough to meet the dawn again. She must defy them, enemies and friends, and even Sakota, who knew her secret. This child, her son, here in her arms, must forever be the son of the Emperor Hsien Feng. No other name could she allow. Son of the Emperor and heir to the Dragon Throne! Thus she began the long battle of her destiny.

II
Tzu Hsi

F
OR HIS FIRST MONTH
, by ancient tradition, her son was her own. Not even in the arms of a nurse could he be carried from his mother’s palace. Here in this cluster of rooms, around the courtyard bright with peonies, Yehonala spent the hours of day and night. It was a month of joy and pleasure, a month when, pampered and praised as the Emperor’s Favorite, she was named Fortunate Mother. All came to look at the child and exclaim upon his size, his ruddy color, his handsome face, his strong hands and feet. All came except Sakota, and here was the one lack in the young mother’s joy. The Consort should have been the first to see the child and acknowledge him the Heir, and she did not come. She sent her excuses that her own birth month, by the stars, was the enemy of the child’s birth month. How dare she then enter the palace where he was sheltered?

Yehonala heard without reply. She hid her anger in her heart and there it grew for all the remaining days of the birth month. But three days before the month was over she sent the eunuch Li Lien-ying to Sakota with this message:

“Since you, Cousin, have not come to visit me I must come to you to ask your favor and protection for my son, for he belongs to us both, according to law and tradition.”

Now it was true that the Consort ought to protect the Heir as her own child, for this was her duty, but Yehonala still feared that some secret jealousy or evil rumor, fostered by eunuchs and princes contending among themselves, had been fed into Sakota’s simple heart. Such quarrels infested the Forbidden City and when lesser courtiers made war, they sought also to divide the ones above them, hoping that these too, would take part in the endless struggle for power. But Yehonala, in concern for her son, determined that she would not allow Sakota to be divided from her. She would compel her alliance, were it not given freely.

Therefore on this day she prepared to leave her own palace and go to Sakota. Meanwhile she made every safeguard for the child. She commanded Li Lien-ying to buy from the best goldsmith in the city a chain of small but strong gold links and this chain hung about her son’s neck and she fastened the two ends together with a padlock of gold. Its key she put on a fine gold chain around her own neck, next to her flesh, and she did not take it off, day or night. Though her son was thus chained to Earth, by symbol, yet it was not enough. She must offer the child as an adopted son, by symbol, to other powerful families in her clan. Yet what friends had she? She thought and she pondered and she devised this plan. From the head of each of the highest one hundred families in the Empire, she required a bolt of the finest silk. From the silks she commanded the palace tailors to cut one hundred small pieces and from these make a robe for her child. Thus he belonged, by symbol, to one hundred strong and noble families, and under their shelter the gods would fear to harm him. For it is well known that gods are jealous of beautiful male children born of human women and they send down disease and accident to destroy such infants before they grow into godlike men.