The Middle Kingdom (26 page)

He looked across
at her, then set down his spoon and stood, seeing she was getting up.
"Can I help you?"

She shook her
head. "No, please. I can manage. I'm quite used to it, I assure
you."

He gave a slight
bow with his head. "Then take care. It was a pleasure talking
with you."

"And you."

Karr sat there a
moment, watching her go. Then, nodding to himself, he looked down at
the soup and began to eat again. Reaching for one of the drumsticks
he paused, laughing softly to himself. Jyan! He'd named the boy Jyan!
Then, more thoughtfully, he gazed back across the broad corridor,
remembering the woman's face, her smile; but mostly remembering what
she had said.

There's time, he
thought. Time enough for all things. Even sons.

HAN C H' IN
approached the fence at a gallop, the Arab flying beneath him, its
sleek neck pushing forward with each stride, its jet-black flanks
moving powerfully, effortlessly across the hillside, its tail
streaming behind it in the wind.

Yuan, watching
from the pavilion half a
li
away, held his breath. It was the
biggest of the fences, almost the size of the horse; a construction
of stone and wood, with the ground dropping away beyond. Han had
fallen here before, the last time he'd attempted it. Fallen and
bruised his ribs badly. Now, fearlessly, he tried the fence again.

Without checking
his pace Han spurred the Arab on, yelling wildly as it stretched and
leapt. For the briefest moment it seemed he had misjudged. The horse
rose mightily, its forelegs climbing the air, but, at its highest
point, its pasterns seemed to brush the fence. As it hit the ground
on the far side it stumbled and threatened to go down.

Yuan cried out,
putting his knuckles to his mouth. The horse seemed to stagger, its
momentum threatening to topple it dock over poll. In the saddle Han
Ch'in hung on grimly, pulling tightly at the reins, straining to keep
the Arab's head up, drawing the horse to the right, into the
gradient. The Arab fought back, fear making its movements desperate.
Its nostrils flared and it whinnied noisily, contesting with Han's
sharp yells of command. Slowly its rump came round, its long, dished
face flicking to the left as if in pain. As Han Ch'in eased off, its
head came up sharply, and it seemed to dance, then settle, slowing to
a canter.

Yuan turned,
looking up at his father. "He's done it! Han's done it!"

"Yes. . .
." Li Shai Tung was smiling, but his eyes revealed just how
worried he had been.

Han Ch'in turned
the horse again, reaching down to pat its neck, then spurred it on
toward them. Drawing up in front of them, he threw his head back
proudly, then reached up to comb the hair back from his eyes, looking
to his father for approval.

"Well done,
Han. You proved yourself the master of the beast!"

Han laughed,
then looked down at the Arab's face. "Maybe. But she's a fine
horse, Father. Any of the others from our stables would have fallen
back there. A rider is sometimes only as good as his horse."

"Or the
horse his rider." The T'ang was looking seriously at his son
now. "I don't say this lightly, Han Ch'in. I was worried for
you. But you showed great character. You did not let the beast have
her own way. You controlled her." He nodded and momentarily
looked at his younger son. "Control. That's the key. To beasts
and men."

For a moment
longer Han Ch'in stared down at his horse's face, petting the animal,
calming her. Then he looked up again and met his father's eyes. "I
didn't think you would be here, Father. I thought you would be
arranging things. The reception. ..."

The T'ang smiled
faintly at his son, then grew more serious. "That's all in hand.
No, I came because I need you both, two hours from now, in the Hall
of the Seven Ancestors. It will be formal, so dress accordingly."

Han frowned.
"What is it, Father?"

Li Shai Tung
studied his eldest son a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of
him proudly. "Later, Han. I'll explain things when you're
there."

Han Ch'in bowed
in the saddle, answering for them both. "As you wish, Father. We
shall be there."

"Good. But
before then you've a visitor." He smiled. "Fei Yen has
arrived. She's waiting for you in the Palace."

Yuan looked
across at his brother, watching him. Han bowed to his father, then,
unable to hide the grin that had settled on his face, turned his
horse and began to move away across the hillside toward the river and
the bridge. Halfway down he turned in his saddle and called back.

"I'll see
you there, Yuan! Bring Hsueh Chai and old Chou. In the meadow by the
lake. We'll have a picnic."

FEI YEN was
standing on the bridge, her maids surrounding her. One stood behind
her, shading her mistress with a huge silk umbrella. Another stood at
her side, languidly waving a large fan. A third and fourth, their
pastel greens and blues matching the colors of the day, waited
nearby. Thirty paces off, in the shade of a great willow, stood her
aunts and great-aunts in their dark silks and satins, watchful,
talking quietly among themselves.

Fei Yen herself
was looking out across the lake; watching the warm spring breeze
ruffle the water and bend the reeds at the shoreline. Her face, in
the sunlight filtered through the umbrella, seemed like a silken
screen of pinks and oranges, her dainty features hidden from Li Yuan,
who stood on the bank below, looking up at her.

She was
beautiful. He had no need to see her clearly to know that. He had
only to remember the last time she had come here to the orchard. Had
only to recall the way she smiled, the way her bright pink tongue
poked out from between those pearled and perfect teeth. How dark her
eyes were, how delicate the contours of her face.

He looked across
at Han and saw how his brother looked at her. Saw both the awe and
the love there in his face. And understood.

Servants had set
up a small rounded tent in the middle of the water meadow. The Arab
was tethered just beyond it, its head down, grazing. In front of the
tent they had set down stools and a low table, on which was placed a
wine kettle and three small glazed tumblers. Farther off, conspicuous
in the center of the meadow, stood an archery target.

Han Ch'in came
forward, striding purposefully across the short grass, like some
strange upright, elegant animal. He had changed from his riding
clothes into looser silks of peach and vermilion. Hsueh Chai had
braided his hair with golden thread and he wore a simple gold necklet
of interwoven dragons. Watching him, Yuan felt all his love for his
brother swell up in him. How fine Han was; in his own way, how
beautiful. How his dark eyes flashed as he came to the stone flags of
the narrow bridge. Eyes that never for a moment left his future
bride.

Fei Yen turned,
facing Han Ch'in, and came out from beneath the shade.

Again Yuan
caught his breath. She was like china. Like perfect porcelain. Her
skin so pale, so perfectly white; her nose, her lips, her delicate
ears so finely molded that, for a moment, she seemed like a sculpture
come to sudden life. Such diminutive perfection. Then, as she met Han
on the gentle downslope of the bridge, he saw her smile, saw how her
dark eyes filled with fire and knew, with all the certainty his young
soul could muster, that he was lost to her. She was Han's. But he
would love her even so. As he loved Han. And maybe more.

Over tea their
talk was of court matters. Yuan, silent, looked up at Fei Yen through
his lashes, strangely, overpoweringly abashed by her proximity. When
she leaned forward, the pale cream of her sleeve brushed against his
knees, and he shivered, the faint sweet scent of jasmine wafting to
him from her.

"They say
Wang Sau-Leyan has been up to mischief," she said softly,
looking up past her fan at Han Ch'in. "Ten years old! Can you
imagine it! His eldest brother caught him . . ."

She hesitated,
giving a soft, delicious laugh.

"Go on. . .
." said Han, leaning forward on his seat, his booted feet
spread, like two young saplings planted in the earth, his hands
placed firmly on his knees.

"Well. . ."
she said, conspiratorially, "it's said that he was found with a
girl. Stark naked in his father's bed!"

"No!"
said Han, delighted. "His father's bed!"

Wang Sau's
father was Wang Hsien, T'ang of City Africa. Wang Sau-Leyan was his
fourth son and his youngest.

"Yes!"
Fei Yen clapped her hands together. "And listen . . . the girl
was only a child. And Hung
Mao
too!"

Han Ch'in sat
back, astonished; then, slowly, he began to laugh.

Yuan, meanwhile,
was watching her. Her voice was so sweet, so pure in its tones, it
sent a shiver down his spine. He was oblivious of the sense of her
words; to him her voice seemed divorced from all human meaning. It
had that same, sweet lyrical sound as the
erhu;
the same rich
yet plaintive contralto of that ancient instrument. And as she talked
he found himself fascinated by the movement, by the very shape, of
her hands. By the strange pearled opalescence of her nails, the
delicacy of her tiny, ice-pale fingers, no bigger than his own. He
looked up into her face and saw the fine, cosmetic glaze of her
cheeks and brow, the silken darkness of her hair, threads of fine
silver catching the afternoon's sunlight.

Han Ch'in leaned
forward, still laughing. "What happened?"

Fei Yen sat back
demurely. Thirty paces off, the group of aunts, waited on by servants
from their own household, were fanning themselves vigorously and
straining to hear what was making Han Ch'in laugh so lustily.

"His father
has banished him for a year. He's to stay in the floating palace.
Alone. With only his male servants for company."

Han Ch'in looked
down, sobered by the news. He shook his head, then looked up at Fei
Yen again. "That's rather harsh, don't you think? I mean, he's
only a boy. Not much older than Yuan here. And after all, it's
nothing really. Just a bit of high spirits."

Fei Yen fanned
herself slowly, her eyes briefly looking inward.

Then she smiled
and tilted her head, looking directly at Han. "But his father's
bed ... Surely, Han . . .?" She raised her eyebrows, making Han
guffaw with laughter once again.

"Listen,"
he said, getting up. "I plan to issue a challenge. After the
wedding. To all the Families, Major and Minor. To all the sons and
cousins." He glanced across at Hsueh Chai, who was standing with
the maids beside the entrance to the tent. The old servant came
across at once, bringing a short hunting bow and a quiver of heavy,
steel-tipped arrows. Han Ch'in took them and held them up. "Twelve
arrows. And the highest score shall win the prize."

Fei Yen looked
past him at the target. "And you think you'll win?"

Han, Ch'in
laughed and looked at the bow in his hand. "I don't think I'll
win. I know I will."

Her eyes flashed
at him. "My three brothers are good
shots.
You must be
very good if you're better than them."

Han Ch'in drew
the strap of the quiver over his shoulder, then turned and marched to
a point marked out on the grass. Taking an arrow from the quiver, he
called back to her. "Watch!"

He notched the
arrow quickly to the bow and raised it. Then, without seeming to take
aim, he drew the string taut and let the arrow fly. There was a
satisfying chunk as the arrow hit and split the wood, a hand's length
from the gold.

"Not bad. .
." Fei Yen began. Her fan was momentarily forgotten, motionless.
Her face was suddenly tense, her whole body attentive to what Han was
doing.

Han Ch'in drew a
second arrow, notched it, and let it fly as casually as before. This
time it landed at the edge of the gold. Han turned, laughing. "Well?"

"Again,"
she said simply, lifting her chin in what seemed an encouraging
gesture. "It might have been luck."

"Luck?"
Han Ch'in looked surprised, then laughed and shook his head. "Luck,
you think? Watch this, then!"

He notched the
arrow, then turned back to face the target. Raising the bow, he
twisted it sideways, as if he were on horseback, and let fly. This
time the arrow hit the gold dead center.

Yuan was on his
feet applauding wildly. Behind him Fei Yen set down her fan and stood
up slowly. Then, without a word, she walked up to Han Ch'in and took
the bow from him, drawing an arrow from the quiver on his back.

"You want
to try?" he said, enjoying the moment. "I'll wager you my
horse that you can't even hit the target from here. It's fifty paces,
and that's a heavy bow to draw."

She smiled at
him. "I've drawn heavier bows than this, Han Ch'in. Bows twice
this length. But I'll not take your horse from you, husband-to-be.
I've seen how much you love the beast."

Han Ch'in
shrugged. "Okay. Then go ahead."

Fei Yen shook
her head. "No, Han. Some other prize. Just between us. To prove
who's master here."

He laughed
uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

She looked at
the bow in her hands, then up at him. "This, maybe. If I can
beat you with my three arrows."

For a moment he
hesitated; then, laughing, he nodded. "My bow, then. And if you
lose?"

She laughed. "If
I lose you can have everything I own."

Han Ch'in smiled
broadly, understanding her joke. In two days they would be wed and he
would be master of all she owned.

"That's
fair."

He stepped back,
folding his arms, then watched as she notched and raised the bow. For
a long time she simply stood there, as if in trance, the bowstring
taut, the arrow quivering. Yuan watched her, fascinated, noting how
her breathing changed; how her whole body was tensed, different from
before. Then, with a tiny cry, she seemed to shudder and release the
string.