Le Colonial (25 page)
T
oday was Brother João’s turn to prepare supper. Henri was sent to the market for bamboo shoots and wild mushrooms. The bishop had been gone all morning, summoned by King Due Tong. Passing through the dusty roads, Henri saw cavalry, foot soldiers, and convoys of military wagons. The news of the rebels’ advance had reached the citadel. The city was preparing for war.
The market, at the outskirts of the fortress, was nearly vacant, littered with abandoned platforms and empty baskets. On a wide field of grass, a few peddlers displayed the last of their pigs and chickens.
It had been four weeks since Henri had returned to the Christian sanctuary.
Suffering now acquired a deeper meaning. He felt alone even among his fellow missionaries, whose main concern was to calm the hysterical people of Saygun. The monks’ acceptance of their fate had given them a serenity that he lacked. Whether it was his youth or his inability to forgo his love, the gulf between them pushed him further into isolation.
The only thing that kept him sane was the memory of Xuan. She was the string that tied him to life. Their shared hardships had taught them to depend on each other. She was all he desired.
Nothing could soothe the pain of her rejection. An occasional glimpse at her from a distance only deepened his wound.
Although never religious, Henri hoped to find solace in the Church and its rituals. But how could he, when his mind was full of her image, her smile, her voice?
The door to her was shut, Henri reminded himself, and Prince Ánh possessed the key.
He wandered in the hot sun, searching for the ingredients that Brother João had requested. Two little girls held each other inside a clay hut. Their long black hair whipped in the wind. He wondered what would happen to Xuan if the enemy were to attack. Would the prince be able to protect her, among the many others who depended on him?
As if in reply to his thoughts, deafening blasts of cannons tore through the air.
The ground shuddered. He could hear the gongs sounding an alarm. People scattered from their cottages into the streets, screaming and running in all directions. Frantic questions leaped from mouth to mouth. No one could grasp what was happening. Across the road, the two girls hid behind a partition. The roof of their hut was ablaze.
He must find the fastest way to Xuan’s apartment. But first, he had to rescue the two little girls he had seen.
He ran to the hut, but when he threw open its door, they had disappeared. The burning hovel stood for a few moments longer before it collapsed. Flaming arrows whizzed past him.
A tidal wave of men, women, and children rushed toward him. The whites of their eyes told unspoken accounts of horrors.
Henri struggled against the current of refugees. Human limbs and tree branches whipped across his face, but he barely noticed. Looking over the crowd, he could see the fortress, shrouded in smoke. Lake Thien Thu emptied into several streams that circled the palaces, forming a moat.
He scanned the landscape for the western wing, where Xuan lived. But Prince Ánh’s palace was no longer there! At least, not in the way he remembered it.
In the smoke-filled stream, he saw the inverted reflection of spurting flames. A portion of the stately hall had collapsed, and a hole was coughing up black smoke. He came to the shelf of land bordering the water and paused, taking a long, bewildered look at the scene across the moat. Several apartments in the eastern wing of King Due Tong’s palace were also on fire, including His Majesty’s throne room.
The drums rolled, and the great bronze gongs inside the fortress brayed. The imperial soldiers formed ranks in a manicured garden behind the ruins, using what was left of the building’s bulk to protect themselves against further cannon attacks. Each troop of swordsmen, spearmen, and bowmen held up a banner to identify its unit. From the back of the fortress, soldiers mounted on warhorses surged over wooden drawbridges.
“Dear God!” Henri exclaimed in disbelief.
The women of the court were nowhere in sight.
A man sprang over a block of stone and lunged into him. His mandarin uniform was tattered; his headdress had slipped over his head to embrace his neck; his eyes darted with fear.
“Let me go,” he babbled, falling on his knees.
Grabbing the front of the man’s tunic, Henri shouted, “What is happening?”
The mandarin pulled against Henri’s grip, but there was no strength in his struggle. A large patch of his scalp had been grated away. The skull was bright red and glistened with moisture. Over the man’s left ear, the loose skin dangled like a tousled hairpiece.
“Big news!” he slurred. “The puppet king of Cochin China escaped the West Mountaineers’ prison and sought refuge here.”
“What do you mean?” Henri asked. “King Due Tong is already here.”
“No, ignorant foreigner, I am not talking about the true king,” the mandarin said with exasperation. “I am talking about Prince Hoàng, the puppet king appointed by our enemy. He has escaped from Hue Citadel, and the rebels are coming after him. They have surrounded us. Because of Hoàng, they will kill us all.”
He broke free from Henri’s grasp and ran off.
Henri thought quickly. There would be only one way to escape, by the river.
He must find Xuan.
When Pierre had been summoned by King Due Tong that morning, dawn washed the city in thin shafts of light. To his surprise, his palanquin joined the traffic of other conveyances belonging to members of the Nguyen family and their courtiers as they headed to the eastern wing entrance of the palace. The throne room was the only hall inside the Forbidden City that was open to mandarins of the first three tiers. The rest of the city—a series of apartments—formed a fortress, home of the king and his immediate family. For the king to hold this unexpected audience, Pierre realized something of importance must have happened.
Pierre’s palanquin, borne on the shoulders of four imperial guards, moved through a sea of black iron mail and muskets. He could not count the troops, but their number had to be in the thousands. In spite of the confusion, the soldiers lined up at attention. Their broad, flat faces shone under sputtering torches.
We are going to war,
thought Pierre. It had been nearly three years since the bombardment of Hue City. The imperial troops had recuperated; they had trained and rearmed themselves with imported weapons. But were they ready?
The palanquin jolted as the porters came to a stop. Pierre swung open the curtain, studied the ranks of soldiers, and dismounted. Ignoring the extended hand of an officer, he marched into the grand hall and found a place among the crowd. Prince Ánh and his brothers sat near their uncle, King Due Tong.
Although he was in his early twenties, the king was already graying and looking haggard. He sat on his jeweled throne with his legs astride, one knee quivering.
Partially hidden behind the throne was the queen of Cochin China. She whispered in her husband’s ear, while he listened intently.
Despite his close ties to the royal family, the bishop had always disapproved of King Due Tong. In 1765, Vice-king Truong Loan had carried out a coup d’état against King The Tong, Ánh’s father, and took control of his government. Loan himself then selected twelve-year-old Due Tong to be the next ruling monarch. Ánh’s father and mother were imprisoned and murdered. Through this stratagem, Loan gained power over the people and the throne, thus bypassing Ánh and his seven brothers.
The idea that his ward was cheated out of the throne ate away at Pierre. He picked Ánh in the hope that with his guidance this youth would become a liaison between France and Annam. He believed the prince was the rightful ruler. Like a chess master, Pierre contemplated ways to take advantage of the chaos that the marauding rebels would create within the dynasty.
Losing patience, Ánh rose, shouting into the vast hall. “Your Majesty, we don’t need any more debate. We must attack the Mountaineers now, pull them up by the roots. Let’s meet them in battle, face to face. Everything or nothing.”
Pierre saw an identical flash of anxiety on every face in the hall. On the dais, the prince’s seven brothers stood in a cluster, all long-legged and thin-necked and brown-skinned. Years of constant flight had broken their spirits, taming them into a herd. In a few more years, what would become of the Nguyen monarchy? Except in his student, there was no courage left in the line. Unfortunately, Prince Ánh had not yet gained the experience to lead an army.
Pierre emerged from the shadow, the hem of his black robe dragging along the floor.
Before the king could reply, he interrupted, “We cannot go to war against the peasants, Your Highness. We don’t have an efficient troop to defend our city. I urge you to consider a retreat.”
Overcome with frustration, Ánh kicked his chair. “Bishop, you have no right to speak your opinion here. This is Cochin China’s matter, and it should be resolved by our people.” He surveyed the noblemen and mandarins, searching for their approval.
“Is this Your Highness’s irrevocable decision?” Pierre asked his ward, keeping his gaze steady.
“Without doubt,” Ánh grumbled, and looked away.
The bishop approached the throne. “I must hear directly from the king that Cochin China does not need the help of the Christian priests or a European army.”
“Be silent!” shouted King Due Tong.
He pushed himself up with the help of his wife. Like an old person, he leaned forward, shoulders bent, and his hands held the arms of the throne for balance.
“Everyone, please keep your peace,” he said. “In this time of adversity, I need all of you to be united, not to squabble with one another. There is someone I must introduce to you.” He signaled to a soldier who was guarding a door below a staircase. “Bring forth my guest of honor.”
Behind the door was a large study, which was concealed by a screen. A man shuffled forward. His body swam inside a large blue tunic. Even though the hall was dimly lit, he held his hands to his forehead as if to shield his eyes from glare. Dark circles emphasized his eyes. A round birthmark was embossed on his left cheek. The assembly of nobles gasped in recognition.
“Gentlemen,” said the king, “I present to you my cousin, Prince Hoàng, the king of Cochin China, appointed by the rebels. For three years he has been held prisoner in the Tower of Grace, on the outskirts of Hue Citadel. He never stopped thinking about his people, and for that reason, he escaped the clutches of the enemy to come to us.”
Prince Hoàng climbed on the dais with difficulty. The king took his hand, helping him up.
The guest mumbled, “Dangerous rebels . . . I saw them, covered many hills with skilled soldiers. They are chasing me . . .”
Unable to continue, he wiped his eyes with the hem of his sleeve. The king, weeping, held him in his arms.
Ánh stomped his feet. “Fear and self-pity will not solve our predicament. They will just weaken the spirits of our soldiers. Let us take action before it is too late!”
No one paid any heed to Ánh. The king’s tears were contagious. Many of the mandarins and court officials sniffed in sympathy, until Due Tong collected himself enough to speak. His voice was hoarse with emotion.
“For too many years I have played the role of leader. During my reign, I have achieved nothing for the happiness of my people. Instead, I have managed to lose most of my ancestral lands. We have lived through floods, famine, plague, and war. Everything has been against me.”
The harsh words seemed to calm him. When he spoke again, he looked into the eyes of his noble followers. “I am not to blame. I never desired the throne, nor was I groomed for its responsibilities. Vice-king Truong Loan cast a dark shadow across the land with his misdeeds, and because of him, the rebels were born. When Hue Citadel collapsed, Loan was arrested and murdered by the Tonquinese, but his death was not enough to restore peace and harmony. Our citizens are still suffering hunger and misfortune.
“Except for all of you, I have no allies. I have no plans to improve the future. And, most of all, I have no skills to manage a government. We need to beg for heaven’s forgiveness. I believe that the gods will once again favor the Nguyen family’s fortune and destiny. But we must promise to reinstate the rightful heir to the throne. That is why I called you here.”
Murmurs of surprise and disagreement stirred the crowd.
Pierre called out, “But who is the rightful heir?” His voice was lost among those who asked the same question.
“He is!” Due Tong grabbed Prince Hoàng’s arm and raised it high. His skeletal hand dangled like a dead cobra.
A gasp swept the room.
The king continued, “To us and the people of Saygun, this is a prince. To the mountain rebels and the rest of the kingdom, he is king. From the landowners to the peasants, the nation recognizes his ancestry and his stature. I say he has already conquered the minds and the hearts of his men. What he needs is the throne. If I had the jade seal, I would bestow it on him. But since it is missing, our approval is enough.”
Pierre and Ánh exchanged a glance.
Prince Hoàng gave a loud moan. To everyone’s horror, the prince’s eyes rolled up as he fell to the floor in a swoon. Pierre was too shocked to utter a sound. Was the heir apparent an opium addict? Or was he merely weakened from his years of imprisonment and perilous escape? Either way, the bishop could not suppress a bitter laugh. His mocking sound ignited a reaction among the guests. Disputes broke out, voices bellowed, and someone screamed profanities. Such chaos had never been known in the imperial court.
Pierre turned to Ánh. “I am leaving. It is dangerous to stay. If you know what is best for you, you will come with me. Now!”
The prince looked at him with distrust. “Flee, again?” he asked. “No! I have seen the rebels’ forces. They are disorderly and poorly supplied. We have thousands of well-trained soldiers, armed and ready to lay down their lives for their kingdom. I am their prince. How can I leave?”
Pierre took in the room with a sweeping gesture. “Look around you. Your king is a weakling. His replacement is an invalid. Your brothers are all cowards. And your men are not prepared. Your Highness, you need more than an army to fight this battle. You need a miracle. You need me.”