Taming Poison Dragons (32 page)

‘Clearly,’ I said. ‘You have drifted into bad ways.

Nevertheless our duties are important and we shall fulfil them with pride. If you work hard, I’ll let you sleep in the hut. Otherwise you’ll sleep outside.’

It seemed the worst punishment I could threaten.

Strangely, they nodded with approval. Habits of unquestioning obedience do that to a man, as a much-beaten dog looks around wistfully for its cruel master.

I began by introducing myself to all the relevant military administrators, for they held the key to the whole business. I rode from regiment to regiment on my shaggy pony, while the clerks followed in full uniform, carrying bundles of scrolls. It soon became obvious our presence was viewed as profoundly unlucky. Many reached for charms and amulets, to prevent their name from appearing on one of our lists. Some soldiers even shouted out:

‘There go Wang Tse’s spies!’ as we passed. It was essential to reverse this situation as soon as possible. The best way seemed complete frankness.

‘Honourable Sir,’ I said to the first official who agreed to meet me, his lower jaw jutting with hostility. ‘I fully appreciate how annoying our presence must be. Let me assure you, sir, we have no choice in the matter. If we had our way, we’d be back in the capital drinking wine and admiring the bosoms of fine ladies. But as we are here, we have duties to fulfil. So, if you would be so gracious, my clerks will note the casualties on a daily basis and we shall send back our reports. I must assure you, Honoured Sir, that no one ever reads them. Nevertheless, we are determined our dispatches will bring us great credit. Who knows, if we work hard enough, we might even get recalled and you’ll see the back of us.’

The official’s mouth twitched. For a moment he tried to frown, then roared with laughter.

‘Bosoms, indeed! Drinking wine, indeed! All right, young fellow,’ he said. ‘Just keep out of everyone’s way.’

I proceeded from camp to camp in this manner. While I can hardly say we won friends, there was no doubt we lost a few enemies.

Father always told me: ‘Hard weather makes thorns put out their spikes.’ He meant, of course, to teach me the best way to be a man. Never did I need guidance as much as that first month on the hillside above Pinang. For the weather was indeed hard; and I entered a strange world with stranger rules.

I had little choice except to put out spikes against the wind. It blew night and day from the barren steppe-lands, piercing layers of clothes and, finally, the very spirit. My soft hands and face became chapped and raw. Often I woke shivering beneath my blanket. We had little fuel for fires and our rations were barely adequate. Our one blessing was a small spring at the rear of the hut, so we did not lack water. Not everyone in His Excellency Wen Po’s army was so lucky and I was not surprised when we were roused one night by our neighing horses.

Mi Feng and I charged outside waving our swords.

Fortunately, the thieves – a few crossbowmen – melted into the darkness, heading for the nearest camp.

We quietened the horses, wind tugging at our hair and their manes. I glanced up at the stars, intermittently shrouded by racing clouds.

‘Sir,’ said Mi Feng. ‘I think they wanted our beasts for the pot.’

This was too obvious to deserve a reply.

‘Why not give the weaker one to the captain of the crossbowmen camped yonder?’ he suggested. ‘We could ask him to make sure his men don’t touch the horse we have left. Then everyone will be happy. Besides, there’s not enough fodder to feed both animals until spring.’

This seemed an excellent plan and the next morning it was soon accomplished. The captain, an excitable fellow from Nanning, sealed the bargain with a cask of salted fish. That night the Bureau of Fallen Heroes dined like palace eunuchs, each shred of fish melting on our tongues.

Often I leaned against a sheltered wall of the hut, gazing out across Pinang. At least fifty thousand men were besieging the city, outnumbering the rebels many times over. Yet, as the Eleventh Month commenced, we seemed no nearer victory, despite regular assaults on the ramparts.

So each day my clerks returned with the names of the dead and our list lengthened. Every week I visited the regimental headquarters to meet military administrators and nourish goodwill. Heaven knows we needed it. It was on just such a venture my misfortunes began in earnest.

I was trotting back to our hut when the steep, twisting road was blocked by a large party of horsemen. Naturally, I hurried off the road to let them pass. They were arrayed in full armour and carried a dozen bright flags. Behind the cavalry came a litter carried by eight sweating guardsmen.

Within reclined Field Marshal Wen Po, a stout, bearded man approaching his fiftieth year, famous for cunning stratagems. I stayed on my knees, clutching the reins of my pony. But instead of passing by, His Excellency barked out a command and the whole procession halted. I found myself gazing up at his implacable face. He leaned forward in his litter and frowned. It was obvious he recognised me. I understood at once my presence had been communicated to him by his cousin, Lord Xiao. No doubt the letter contained delicate hints about the fate I was expected to suffer.

His Excellency Wen Po regarded me for a long moment.

It was not an angry look; indeed he appeared thoughtful, as though contemplating a necessary but unpleasant duty.

Then he gestured to his bearers and the procession continued on its way. A large crowd of officers and officials came behind, mostly on horseback. A few were carried in sedan chairs by barefoot peasants. They had almost gone by when my attention was caught by a thin, pale face in a particularly fine litter. At first I refused to acknowledge the evidence of my eyes. His own gaze fell upon me. A gasp of astonishment replaced the familiar sneer on his bloodless lips. Then he was swept along behind His Excellency Wen Po and turned a corner.

Cousin Zhi rode in that litter! Cousin Zhi who I had last seen years earlier, before the Great Fire. And now he was in His Excellency’s entourage! Normally one is glad to meet a relative, especially in a time of need, but this was Cousin Zhi. Yet why shouldn’t he have changed for the better? Even in this dreadful place a man might still improve.

If Wang Tse, King of the Western Peace, hoped His Excellency Wen Po would despair in the face of winter and heavy losses he was to be disappointed. A subtle opponent always has eggs to hatch.

His Excellency’s next stratagem involved the thousands of labourers who accompanied the army. His plan was to build an earth wall parallel to the western ramparts, a mere dozen yards from the battlements. When the wall was high enough, he could clear the fortifications using archers and crossbowmen. Meanwhile, picked units of swordsmen would mount siege ladders and pour over the city walls, dispatching any rebels who remained alive.

Pinang would lie open like a hen-coop with its door ajar.

A sound enough plan, and well-tested. Its disadvantage was that thousands must perish to accomplish it. His Excellency evidently accepted that price.

One dawn I was watching the preparations before Pinang when a splendidly attired messenger galloped to our hut. The man took a single glance at the Bureau of Fallen Heroes and dropped all pretence of courtesy.

‘Which of you lot is Yun Cai?’ he demanded.

I stepped forward, straightening my grimy uniform.

‘Have you never seen a graduate of the Golden List before?’ I replied.

My clerks chuckled appreciatively. They hated any sign of weakness on my part. I was their father here. And their hope. The messenger raised his eyebrows.

‘Here!’ he said, thrusting a scroll into my outstretched hand. Then he cantered away.

‘Where’s my bow?’ muttered Mi Feng beside me. My servant had acquired such a weapon and taken to shooting at passing birds or wild dogs to supplement our pitiful rations.

‘Don’t bother,’ I said. ‘He would taste awful.’

Again the clerks applauded my wit. I was beginning to see why great officials require sycophants. Yet I resembled a beggar more than a scholar-official. My robes threadbare and unkempt, my hair lank in its own grease. The plump, glowing cheeks Su Lin had once so admired, were pinched and covered with stubble, like hairy leather bags.

My one consolation was that I had managed to send a splendid report to Lord Xiao, boasting of our diligence and good health. A foolish gesture, as I soon came to learn. Yet truly I believed he had long ago given us up for ghosts swirling round the barren mountains, and so would never read it.

Wearily, I unrolled the scroll. From the prim style of the characters, it had evidently been dictated to a secretary. It read:

Bureau Chief Yun Cai, His Excellency Field Marshal
Wen Po has received a memorandum from the capital
regarding your work. Lord Xiao is concerned that your
reports are niggardly and delayed. He has requested you
should personally attend the foremost scenes of battle, in
order to collect information at first hand. Accordingly,
this is His Excellency Wen Po’s command: Bureau Chief
Yun Cai is to proceed daily to the Western ramparts, there
to fulfil his duties. May His Imperial Highness live a thousand years!

It was signed by Wen Po’s secretary.

For a long while I sat alone on an outcrop of rock. The clerks and Mi Feng kept a respectful distance. I stared sightlessly to the south-east, in the direction of the capital.

My spirit rose in a mournful sigh, flying over mountain and plain, through stalks of bamboo withered by winter, over the roofs of dull provincial towns, ships plying turbulent rivers, far far to the south where Su Lin would be bathing in tepid water poured by her maid. Perhaps they chattered about the day ahead: her engagement at some wedding or a trip to purchase new clothes. Then she would yawn, stretch, practise her lute for a while, gently sounding the strings, her plump lips pursed in concentration. Perhaps the maid brought out her chest of cosmetics, brushing rice powder on her face.

Did she think of me in my extremity? I had thrown away my entire future for love of her. Did she think of me as she looked out across the West Lake, and recall the pleasant hours we spent together? Oh, I had to believe it was true. Nothing made sense unless it was true. For two months since my arrival in Pinang I had been too dispirited to even compose a couplet! I was the worst of all failures – an ex-poet. Did she read the poems I had dedicated to her and sigh? Poems people sang on the street.

What honour I had brought her!

Perhaps my words seemed foolish now: a dream that was over. Nothing much. Perhaps she clutched another lover in the dark of night, breathing his breath, sharing her fragrance. How could she betray me so abominably?

Tears rolled down my cheeks, the first I had allowed myself since arriving in Pinang. How Lord Xiao must be chuckling at my discomfort! I felt too defeated even to hate him.

A rough hand gripped my shoulder. I was met by the grizzled face of Mi Feng.

‘Sir has had bad news?’ he said.

He listened carefully as I read the scroll aloud. Our eyes were drawn to the earthworks rising by the Western rampart. Even from this height, we could see arrows falling among the assembled labourers and soldiers. Shouts and screams were carried to us by the wind.

‘Do you know,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘I reckon Lord Xiao is afraid of you.’

I laughed bitterly, drying shameful tears on my sleeve.

To my shame I could not contain them.

‘Leave me!’ I stammered. ‘Save yourself, Mi Feng. Get away while you can. I am cursed!’

‘Think about what I’m saying,’ he urged. ‘He goes to the trouble of posting you here for the sake of a skirt. Then he writes to his cousin and forces him to send you where the arrows are thickest. He’s afraid you’ll come back.’

‘Little chance of that,’ I said, trying to smile.

The effort made me both sob and giggle hysterically at the same time.

‘Maybe, maybe not. Look at it from his point of view.

There he is, stuffing his face on a breakfast of roast swan and a report arrives from you. . . He reads it and goes cold because you might not die for his pleasure after all.’

‘But I am doomed, Mi Feng!’

He shook me by the shoulder so hard that I winced.

‘You’re going to disappoint him, aren’t you?’ he said, icily. ‘What kind of fool is this Lord Xiao? He doesn’t know Yun Cai like I do!’

Crazy talk to make me feel better.

‘You wait,’ he gloated. ‘You’ll be enjoying your girl before you know it and laughing at Lord Xiao as you ride her!’

‘Do not forget your place!’ I said, shocked.

‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘And don’t forget yours.’

Was there ever such a servant? Sometimes I wondered who was the master. But he had revived my spirits and for that I was grateful. I wondered what Father would do in my situation. The answer seemed obvious. Resort to guile, dressed up as courage and decency.

Later that day I descended to the siege lines with my clerks and halted beyond arrow range. The brooding walls of Pinang stretched before us. Mi Feng handed me several shields lashed together that he had begged from the captain who had eaten our spare horse. As an afterthought he had lent me a helmet and armour for my legs and arms.

He offered more, but I could barely carry what I had.

My prospects were far from encouraging. Field Marshal Wen Po’s earthworks were rising, layer upon layer, built by swarms of conscripted peasants, busy removing soil from a long ditch and piling it high. Teams of men ran up walkways, pushing laden wheelbarrows. They dumped the soil as quickly as possible, then scurried back for more. Meanwhile the defenders poured down a steady hail of rocks and arrows, countered by our crossbowmen, hidden behind wooden palisades. At such close range Wang Tse’s huge catapults could not easily throw boulders or bombs at our men.

Already the earthworks were approaching the height of the lowest battlements, but at a terrible cost. As we watched, several labourers fell with arrows protruding from stomach or back. Even our crossbowmen were severely harried. A steady stream of wounded were carted away in wheelbarrows.