Swords From the East (13 page)

Before Mingan could answer, a sedan approached and was set down a few paces in the rear of the yellow chair that bore the monarch. From it dismounted Chung-hi, the heir-apparent, a thick-set youth of twenty years with a broad, stubborn face. He bowed three times to his girdle and folded his hands in his sleeves.

"Live forever, 0 my father. Know that Mingan, cousin of the northern forests, has been lacking in his studies, and has given himself overmuch to driving his chariot of nights, and to making melody with his lute."

The old emperor tapped gently with his fan against the opened lattice, and the lines about his mouth deepened. The devils of sickness had been plaguing him of late and he felt that his years were numbered. Also, the astrologers had dared to point out that the star of his Dynasty was sinking, which troubled him.

"Why do you tell me this, Chung-hi? "

"Be it forgiven me, 0 beloved of the Dragon! Those who are enemies of Mingan would be affronted at sight of the boy, who is yet a student, appearing in robes; they might think him exalted by the ascendancy of his star, and do him harm."

"Who are his enemies?"

The Cathayan turned to Mingan.

"I know not."

The emperor sighed. As his sight failed, he perceived nevertheless a growth of arrogance in Chung-hi, his son. Presently he looked up and began to question the heir-apparent as to what lay beyond the Great Wall. Taken by surprise, Chung-hi answered haltingly, proving ignorant of more than a smattering of geography and history, although he had just been appointed Warden of the Western Marches.

Realizing this, the emperor nodded to Mingan. "I will test your knowledge and so decide whether you are fitted to assume the duties of a warrior prince at our court. When was this wall built?"

Today Mingan was to have been examined by the old monarch on his studies. Now, however, he was caught leaving the palace before dawn, and he was forced to speak under the stolid stare of the elder prince.

"Thirteen hundreds of years ago, your majesty," he responded quietly. "It was built to keep out of Cathay the marauding tribes of the steppe and the desert of Gobi."

"What tribes?"

"In the steppes are the Taidjuts, who live by raising and stealing cat tle and by largesse from your majesty's hand. They provide huntsmen for the time when the peoples of the world watch the Son of Heaven ride to the hunt."

In Mingan's thoughts was the question: Had the emperor ordered his death, or was it Chung-hi, or another?

"Beyond the Taidjuts?"

"Begins, 0 most wise of the sages, the desert and the people of the desert-Tatars, Mongols, the Jelairs of Turkish race, and the Gipsies. The strongest of these are the Mongols, whose chief is Yesukai, and who are called the Brave. Of their homeland we know only that it is in the high prairies, by the Three Rivers. From there to the south they move their tents, which are their houses, thus giving their herds seasonal pasture. They number forty thousands of tents, and they are hostile to us-"

"Wherefore? Of what are you prating?" demanded the emperor testily.

"In your memory, 0 beloved of the Dragon, Kabul, khan of the desert tribes, was bidden to the court of Cathay, where he behaved like a wild boar. On his return he was given poison by servants of Cathay, and-"

"Enough!"

The man in the sedan waved his fan impatiently.

"The Prince of Liao-tung," spoke up Chunghi, "comes from the land next to the Tatars on the north and speaks their language. Surely he shows knowledge of them, when he is close to their counsels."

The emperor frowned slightly. The Mongols were a thorn in his side. He questioned Mingan on strategy and the art of war, and was answered readily.

A gleam of pleasure penetrated the faded eyes of the emperor.

"We," he said, "sitting as judge, decide that the youth Mingan is qualified for the decree of master of scholars, and councilor. Would there were more of his merit to defend our western marches against the raids of the people of the Horde. He has put to shame your learning, 0 my son, and you are appointed Warden of the Western Marches."

His glance was an accusation, and the elder prince paled a little with anger.

"Lord of Ten Thousand Years," he responded, "while Mingan has spent his days in pondering books and shooting mock arrows, I have taken measures to safeguard your hunting, and the shaft sent from my bow will strike in the heart of Yesukai, khan of the Mongols, your enemy."

He hesitated, looking around at the bowed heads of the attendants, and lowered his voice so that Mingan could catch only snatches of what he said.

"By giving some gold to the Taidjuts-like Kabul, foe of your grandsire-nothing failed, and no one suspects-will not trouble your hours of pleasure."

Mingan thought only that Chung-hi had arranged for the Taidjut tribesmen to protect the wide area of the Ming hunt, and that a blow against the Mongols was in prospect. He drew a deep breath, knowing that he had had narrow escape, for if he had failed to satisfy the emperor, he would have been sent back to the Taitung palace and warded closely, and before many hours had passed he would have received a second visit from the Servant of Mercy.

He suspected now that Chung-hi, not the emperor, had plotted his death, and now it would not do to return to Taitung. The heir-apparent had lost face in the examination before the monarch of Cathay, and he would allow Mingan little time to enjoy his success. Within the Great Wall, there would be no safety for the Manchu.

The emperor turned to him, after dismissing Chung-hi, satisfied with the tidings the prince had whispered.

"It is the feast of Hao, of the fifth day of the fifth month. Speak then, and say if there is any award we can make in honor of your new rank as prince-warrior."

Mingan thought quickly, aware of the covert scrutiny of Chung-hi and the ministers of the elder prince.

"If the Son of the Dragon is pleased, my reward is more than enough," he said slowly. "Yet I crave one thing, to drive my chariot in advance of the imperial guard, to be courier this day for the coming of your benevolent presence."

"It is granted."

The emperor shook his sleeve and signed to the bearers to lower the side of the sedan and take up the poles. Chun, hi seemed satisfied with the request, and Mingan reflected that his enemy was in command of the imperial huntsmen, by virtue of his office as Warden, and that an arrow, loosed in the turmoil of the drive, would end his days as surely as the hand of the Servant of Mercy.

The voice of the old man reached him from behind the lattice.

"Swear to me, Mingan, that you will be faithful to the Dynasty and seek to build up by every act the greatness of Cathay, as the stone layers built up this Wall."

A rush of feeling swept over the Manchu at the faint words of the oath administered to everyone of blood kin to the emperor on arriving at manhood. The splendors of Pekin, the halls of the philosophers, the massive walls of a hundred cities, the never-ending lines of junks on the rivers, and the laden camels on the caravan routes-the myriad warriors he had watched at maneuvers during his childhood-these were some of the pictures that flashed through his mind. Cathay!

"I swear!" he cried, his voice unsteady, his heart thumping.

Chung-hi raised his fan to hide a smile.

So Mingan had the wish of his boyhood when he drove his chariot through the Western Gate, in advance of the wand-men and the court.

Not until the emperor's chair had passed did the guards of the gate venture to raise their faces from the dust.

"Live for ten thousand times ten thousand years! " they cried, holding up their spears.

A group of aged men in long robes, mounted on fat, ambling mares, looked up at the shout and fell to talking together, disputing with much head-wagging. The astrologers were debating hotly the honor shown Mingan, wondering how the youth was to win to greater dignity and the Dynasty fall into decay at the same time, when Mingan had sworn fidelity, and Mingan was known ever to keep an oath.

The highway was broad and its surface level as a stone-paved courtyard. The horses were rested and drew the youth swiftly onward. They passed the villages of farmers that became more scattered as they began to ascend the foothills of the Kinghan Mountains.

Watch-towers, wherein beacons were placed ready for the torch, sped past them. When the horses tired, Mingan changed at a post-station: at midday he changed to fresh beasts again, pausing only to drink a bowl of tea.

By nightfall he had put eighty miles behind him and had outdistanced the cortege of the emperor. He slept at an inn. He was a light sleeper, and in the early hours of the morning he heard a clatter of hoofs on the highway. Listening, he made out that the rider halted only a minute at the post-station near the inn; then the crescendo of hoofbeats again, dwindling out on the road. Only a courier from a high official, on business of the emperor, would be given a horse at the relay station.

A messenger from the court had passed him. And the odds were that the message was sent by Chung-hi, Warden of the Western Marches. Was it merely routine business that sped a rider through the small hours of darkness?

Mingan thought not.

He knew that Chung-hi, superstitious to the core, feared the omen of the stars. Besides, he was jealous of the Northerner, who might, under favor of the old emperor, rise to an important post in the army-perhaps to the command of the Liao-tung swordsmen, the elite of the Cathayan warriors. So Chung-hi sought to remove Mingan from his path, as a man might pluck a thorn from his foot. And Chunghi, failing to find him at the stopping-place of the courtiers, fifty miles back, had sent a courier ahead-perhaps to the hunting pavilion that was to be the headquarters of the court the week of the great hunt, at the edge of the Taidjut lands-some sixty miles beyond the inn.

At daybreak Mingan was on the road again. Here he circled the shoulders of massive hills, rising into the region of evergreens, where the cool air struck his face pleasantly. His chariot rumbled lightly over gorges, spanned by arched stone bridges.

Mingan changed horses frequently, and sang as he sniffed the odor of the damp forest. He was too glad to be at liberty on the open highway to ponder the future.

Before he was aware of it, he had passed the road leading to the hunting pavilion. So he turned aside into a lane that would take him, as he fancied, to his destination. There were no houses to be seen, and the rolling country cut off his view of landmarks. He let the horses slow down to a foot pace. Presently he reined in and listened.

Faintly, he heard hoofs in the grassy lane behind him. After a moment the sound ceased. Mingan went on, around a bend in the trail, and listened again. The rider-only one horse was to be heard-was following him, because when the chariot moved, its axles creaking, the horse advanced, and when Mingan halted the rider proceeded with caution.

Mingan took up the short hunting -bow from the side wall of the chariot, and fitted to it an arrow from the sheath under his hand. Around the bend in the trail came a rider, but not the spy Mingan looked for.

Instead he beheld a youth of his own age in a ragged woolen cloak and leather tunic-a boy whose keen, black eyes went from the Cathayan prince to the horses of the chariot. The shaggy pony he bestrode was dark with sweat and all but spent.

"Your horse," the stranger said promptly. "Give me it-one of them."

Mingan was surprised to hear the guttural speech of a Mongol, and more surprised at the request, which was little to his liking. He saw that the other was armed like himself-a bow of tough wood, a sheath of arrows behind him at the saddle, a knife in his girdle. But the Mongol's bow was unstrung, his hands empty.

"Who are you and whence come you?" he asked quietly.

The Mongol heeded Mingan not. His head, browned by the sun, projected forward from high, square shoulders; the skin was stretched tight over the bones, and his dark eyes glowed as if from fever.

"Your horses are fresh," he responded curtly, "and I have need of a fresh horse. Loosen one from the shaft if you would live."

"If you return not whence you came," Mingan warned in his fair Mongol, "I will give you this shaft in your heart-"

As he spoke the stranger flung himself bodily from the saddle of the gray pony, striking the ground on hands and knees. Involuntarily, Mingan loosed his arrow, but it glanced harmlessly from an empty saddle. Before he could fit another shaft to string the Mongol leaped into the chariot, seized his shoulders, and bent him back over the front wall of the vehicle.

Mingan writhed and twisted in vain. He felt the bones of his shoulders click together, and a sharp pain shot through his back. Realizing that the Mongol was stronger than he had thought and would break his back in another moment, he groped for the hunting knife in his girdle, pulled it free, and thrust the point through the leather shirt of his adversary, below the ribs.

When the Mongol felt the steel tip in his flesh, his eyes, not a foot from Mingan's twisted face, glowed and his wide mouth set in a straight line.

"I am Temujin," he panted, "son of Yesukai, the Mongol khan, and I am stronger than you. Bear in with your steel, but I will slay you!"

The two boys glared at each other, until a red mist floated before Mingan's sight. He knew that if he thrust home the knife, the iron fingers of the Mongol would snap his spine. Each held the other's life in his hand, and Temujin seemed to exult in the conflict.

Suddenly the Mongol released his hold and stepped back, freeing himself from Mingan's knife.

"You are not a coward, like most Cathayans. Why should I slay you? Abide here and your horse will be brought back to you in the third hour of the night."

Mingan got back his breath slowly, and stood erect with an effort. He could have struck at Temujin with the dagger, but he had an idea that to try to do so would be a mistake. Temujin had judged correctly the intelligence and the honesty of his foe. Mingan noticed the poise of the other's lithe body, the rippling muscles of the wide shoulders under the sleeveless tunic, and the polished, iron armlets that bound each powerful forearm of the Mongol. These, he fancied, had given the boy his name-Man of Iron.