Path of the Eclipse (8 page)

“About this ditch. Do you think it would make a difference?” There was intelligence and determination in her face, which, though not pretty, had a strength of character that made her attractive.

“It might very well. The Mongols do not use heavy armor, so it will not be as much to their disadvantage as it would be to a troop of Frankish knights, but their horses will not want to gallop through it, and if we put gravel on our side of the ditch, they will fall if they jump. It might keep them from mounting a full assault on the stronghold.”

She gave this her consideration and accepted it for the moment. “I’m not in a position to overlook any advantage we might find. I will give orders in the valleys that we need workmen. The winter has been mild so far. Usually there is a foot of snow here when the new year comes. The holding damns on the streams have kept the rain from causing much flooding, though two shepherds lost some sheep during the last storm. I will issue orders that each family is to send one man for two days in every fortnight to make this ditch, and to strengthen the walls of the stronghold.”

“Will they obey?” Saint-Germain could not help asking. He had seen how many of the farmers were unwilling to assist the militia, choosing flight instead of confrontation with the Mongol horsemen.

“They will,” she said with confidence. “I will give the same order to my soldiers, and the farmers will see that no one is being treated preferentially.” She rode well, with an economy of movement and capable hands. “I will work on the ditch as well.”

Saint-Germain’s fine brows lifted. “You?”

“I am Warlord here,” she reminded him sharply. “If I give orders, it is only fitting that I follow them myself. That way, my men will go into battle knowing that I will not desert them.” She glanced at the scabbard on her left hip and smiled. “I have my father’s sword, and it is revered.”

“Isn’t it unusual for you to have your father’s sword? I am aware that there is no reason you should not, but I understand you have brothers. Under the circumstances…” He had been curious about this for some time, but had never felt at liberty to ask her about her family. Now, as they went slowly toward the rough walls of the stronghold, he thought she might be willing to speak to him.

“My older brother,” she said slowly, “had no liking for this life. He left Mao-T’ou stronghold as soon as he was allowed to, and has not come back. When last I heard of him, he was living in the southern Empire with three sing-song girls. He went through his inheritance and I was forbidden to provide him with any funds except for his honorable burial.” Her eyes were flinty, fixed on the pass below them. “My other brother was born with a malformed foot. He is a good and gentle man, living now with our mother’s uncle, who retired from diplomatic service three years ago. He was pleased to have my brother with him, and the way of life is less strenuous in Pei-Mi.” At the mention of her younger brother, her features softened. “My father found that I was capable of martial skills, and trained me to continue his work.”

“And you have encountered no opposition?” Saint-Germain could not believe this was the case.

Chih-Yü laughed, and the sound was crisp on the cold wind. “I have encountered nothing but opposition. My mother said that she could not allow this for it would ruin my chances to marry, which is probably true enough. My uncles tried every ruse thinkable, and a few unthinkable, to foist one of their sons on my father. He was adamant. So, here I am. As for opposition now, well, luckily, I thrive on it.”

Listening to her, Saint-Germain recalled his conversation with Kuan Sun-Sze, three months before, who had suggested that he offer his services to the Warlord of Mao-T’ou stronghold. “I doubt you would be here if that were not the case.”

She gave him a quick, appraising look, then raised her hand in signal to the guards of Mao-T’ou stronghold to open the gates.

As they passed through the narrow archway shortly afterward, Chih-Yü called out to her captain, “Jui Ah! I must see you at once. There are preparations to be made.” She turned back to Saint-Germain for a moment. “Ghieh-Man,” she said quietly, using his personal name alone for the first time, “when you have finished with your horse, I would be pleased if you would come to my quarters to discuss the ditch with me further.”

“I will be happy to,” he said at once, and watched her with some curiosity as she dismounted and gave her sorrel into the hands of a groom before striding into the old wooden building that was the heart of the Mao-T’ou stronghold. He led his gray into the stable and encountered the cool looks of the grooms. “I must replace a shoe,” he said, and encountered blank stares. The dialect here was so unlike any of the other Chinese dialects Saint-Germain spoke that he could find no way to talk with the farmers and servants. He had heard enough of their particular tongue to realize that they had far more than four inflections in their speech, but he had not yet succeeded in identifying them. He gestured to his horse’s hoof and indicated that it had lost a shoe. One of the grooms nodded his understanding and went back to his task, raking out the stalls and laying clean straw down for the horses.

Saint-Germain found the forge at the other end of the stable, and was pleased to see it was well-equipped. In so remote a place, there was no room for shoddiness. He glanced around to familiarize himself with the arrangements, then tied his gray to a handy post while he went to get the metal he required.

When he had finished with his horse, he led him back to his stall and put him inside with a dish of oats and a pail of water. He took his saddle and bridle to the tack room and noticed, as always, the grooms refused to touch the alien things. He rolled down the sleeves of his sheng go and walked across the cobbled courtyard to the central building.

Most of the servants no longer stared at him, though a few were pointedly ignoring him. Saint-Germain had experienced that often enough in his long life that it no longer rankled with him. He made his way up the wide, shallow stairs to the second floor, where Chih-Yü’s personal quarters were.

Chih-Yü heard the click of Saint-Germain’s thick-heeled boots before he knocked on the door, and she was relieved. Jui Ah, her Captain, was still bending over her back, ostensibly to look at the drawing of the Mao-T’ou stronghold, but actually to try to stroke her neck. She would have to rebuke him openly, but at the moment she was too much in need of his assistance to risk offending him.

The knock, when it came, sounded in the room like distant thunder. Jui Ah jumped back, and in so doing revealed his cupidity. Chih-Yü gave the Captain a hard look and called out, “Who is here?”

“Shih Ghieh-Man,” he answered, puzzled that she would ask after requesting that he join her.

“You may enter,” she said, and rose as Saint-Germain came into the room.

This unusual courtesy was not lost on him, nor was the quickly concealed disgust in Jui Ah’s eyes. Saint-Germain bowed in the Frankish manner to Chih-Yü. “Warlord T’en,” he said most politely. “You have favored this person with the opportunity to serve you.”

She did not quite smile, but there was a flicker at the tails of her eyes that showed her appreciation of his conduct. “Earlier today you suggested that we might dig a ditch around the stronghold. You indicated that your experience has shown you that such a ditch is one method of defending against cavalry attack. Since we are all three of us aware that we stand in considerable danger of just such an attack, I would appreciate it if you would enlarge on your comments.”

Jui Ah braced one hand on his belt, every line of him showing derision. “A ditch is a waste of time. I’ve told you that before. We must double the thickness of the walls and make them higher.”

“Oh, yes,” Saint-Germain agreed. “That is also desirable. But it is also sensible to take certain precautions, wouldn’t you agree? If the Mongols do not reach the walls, it is easier to pick them off, isn’t it?” He waited for Jui Ah to speak, and when the captain remained stubbornly silent, he went on. “A ditch, dug completely around the stronghold, will make it more difficult for the mounted soldiers to approach, and may throw them into some disorder. All of that is advantageous to us. The ditch should be fairly deep—certainly as deep as a tall man, and more if possible. It should be wider than a horse can comfortably jump. There should be loose rocks and gravel on the inner wall of the ditch so that once the horses are in, they cannot easily get out. Sharpened stakes planted at the top of the inner rim of the ditch are also useful, for then, should a rider get his horse up the inner wall, he will not be able to approach the stronghold. All this won’t take the place of the men of this stronghold, and it will be their skill that will save us, but these things will delay them and that will get us the time that the stronghold militia must have to defeat the attackers.” He hoped that he had given sufficient praise for Jui Ah’s vanity.

Chih-Yü was seated once more and she spread out a map of the stronghold and the pass. “Tell me, Shih Ghieh-Man, where would you dig this ditch, if you were the one to give the order.”

Though Saint-Germain had long since decided where such a ditch must be dug, he made a show of considering the map and pondering the terrain, even going to the window and staring out for a moment. Finally he went to the table where the map was spread. “I would begin it here, where the ridge dips before rising to the stronghold. I would keep it fairly far from the walls here, where the hill is steep, but would bring it in closer here, where the ground is flatter. We do not want to give them much area in which to gather once inside the limits of the ditch. If there is too much room, they can mount a charge and the whole purpose of the ditch will be lost.”

Chih-Yü studied the map where Saint-Germain had run his finger. “There is a stream that runs here in spring,” she remarked. “It would cut through the walls of your ditch.”

“Then dig the ditch inside the path of the stream. In fact, you may want to build a retaining wall between the ditch and the stream so that the ditch may be flooded.” He thought to himself that he had now persuaded them to accept a moat. How best to describe a drawbridge? He had seen many of them over rivers and canals, but only one fortress he knew of had used a drawbridge as part of its defense, and that fortress was far to the east, near the coast.

“First you want us to dig a ditch for you, and now you’re telling us to divert a stream,” Jui Ah said with arrogant spite. “Is this part of your foreign knowledge, or are you trusting to our simplicity? We are not fools because we choose to live away from the cities, and you cannot deceive us with your plans.”

Saint-Germain looked at the captain with steady eyes. “I am not trying to deceive you. I am trying to help prevent complete destruction here.”

Jui Ah put one foot on an upholstered bench and clapped his hands sharply once. “You have heard all these tales of Mongols, and you believe them. Yet I know that every time they have battled our armies, they have been totally defeated. They have some skill with horses, we all know that, but against well-trained men, they are as ineffective as children.”

“I hate to bring it to your attention, Captain,” Saint-Germain said, at his most affable, “but there is no army unit garrisoned nearby, and it does not seem likely, with Temujin in Pei-King, there will be many units to spare for the borderlands. It is the intention of K’ai-Feng and Lo-Yang to reclaim the capital before summer”—privately he thought the task would be impossible, but he did not voice this opinion—“and for that reason, any request for army assistance will be given reduced priority. I don’t disparage your abilities, or the talents of your men. But I have seen a great many battles in my life, and I have learned that it is wise to take every advantage you can.”

“Fine words, fine words,” Jui Ah muttered. “It is a sad thing when we are reduced to dealing with foreigners, I can tell you that.” This last was directed at T’en Chih-Yü, and she set her teeth before she was able to answer.

“I am willing to use any help that there is, whether it comes from the Emperor himself or from the lowest slave in Sa-Ma-Rh-Han. The Mongols will not care who gives us aid. Their concern will be to take this stronghold and destroy it. I cannot allow that to happen.” She had not risen, but it had taken all her will to remain seated.

“And you think that ditches and stakes will help you?” Jui Ah demanded. “We need more men! I have told you that for more than a year. You went to Lo-Yang for troops, not for fancy foreigners who talk like waitingwomen and—”

“That is enough!” Chih-Yü said, and though the words were softly spoken, there was such force in them that Jui Ah obeyed her. “I have told you that there were no troops. I will not do so again. I have said that it was fortunate that a great scholar told me of this man. I will not do so again. Rather than grieve for what I cannot have, I intend to accomplish as much as I can with what is available to me. That means,” she went on briskly, “that I will order a ditch dug. I will implant stakes. I will divert streams. I will scatter caltrops on the road. I will give pikes to the farmers. I will put watchtowers on every hill around the valleys. Anything that may save one man, one house, one field, one hour, I will do.”

Saint-Germain listened with increasing respect to the young woman. He looked toward Jui Ah and said, “Though I may be a foreigner, that will not weigh with the Mongols. Should we be attacked, I stand in the same danger you do.” That was not quite the case, he thought with a degree of self-mockery, but he had learned enough about the Mongol soldiers to know they had many ways to kill him—fire, decapitation, crushing beneath stones—all of them would be truly fatal to him.

“But would you be here, foreigner, that’s my question. Would you not leave under cover of night and let us wait behind our ditch, thinking we were safe?” Jui Ah’s eyes were like black pebbles, flat and hard in his face.

“Where would I go, Captain?” Saint-Germain inquired. “Your distrust of foreigners is nothing compared to what the Mongols feel.”

“This does nothing but breed acrimony,” Chih-Yü interrupted, and gave each man a quick, impartial glance. “I must see to my fortifications, and if neither of you is willing to discuss it with me…”