TUN-HUANG (18 page)

By the time Hsing-te had given up on Yen-hui and had left the palace, the smoke signals had risen high into the unusually windless winter sky. As Hsing-te arrived at Capital Gate on horseback, he saw the small figure of his commander slowly descending from the wall in his usual manner. Hsing-te joined Wang-li, who said with a decisive expression on his face, “We’ll do it.”

“Have the troops agreed?” Hsing-te wanted confirmation.

“They will fight more valiantly today than they ever have before.”

That was all Wang-li would say. Then he told Hsing-te that he would not die until Li Yüan-hao’s head had been raised on a pole. Shortly after this, Wang-li left the city with a hundred cavalrymen to greet the Hsi-hsia army.

At the same time, Hsing-te climbed the wall, accompanied by two commanders of the archery unit. One man was tall and stout, while the other was slight; both were valiant survivors of many frontier battles fought under Wang-li.

The plains were hushed. Across the silent landscape, Hsing-te could see the formations of the Hsi-hsia army approaching quietly in the distance. The numerous standards grouped together glittered in the sun and made this procession different from any other Hsing-te had witnessed. Were they the uniformed guards who attended Yüan-hao, the Hsi-hsia emperor?

The army was not stationary, but its progress was as slow as a herd of cows, as it barely seemed to move toward the city. Hsing-te could also see Wang-li’s cavalry force gradually advancing toward the Hsi-hsia army. Its movement, too, was hardly perceptible.

Hsing-te and the two archers had a dull, restless time during their long wait. The three men said nothing. If they were to speak, it seemed their momentous secret might be divulged. They had fallen into that peculiar frame of mind. As they waited, however, they saw the Hsi-hsia vanguard and Wang-li’s cavalry meet in the plains and then intermingle. For a short while the columns of men and horses appeared to have stopped, then the entire formation started once more for the city gate. When they started the second time, their progress appeared faster.

The vanguard was composed of about one hundred Hsi-hsia cavalrymen, followed at a short distance by Wang-li’s unit. Shortly behind Wang-li’s unit was the group bearing banners, followed by another unit of about thirty cavalrymen. Yüan-hao was most likely in that unit. Infantrymen, camel caravans, and cavalrymen followed in small formations in their assigned positions. On the wall, Hsing-te broke the silence and asked, “Are there five thousand?”

“No, three thousand.” The slight commander also spoke for the first time, correcting Hsing-te’s estimate. As the formation approached, the heavy-set commander signalled to the other with his eyes, and then went down the wall to his post.

Hsing-te had no direct responsibility in the coming battle. His own unit and Yen-hui’s forces were consolidated under Wang-li’s command. If he desired, he was free to watch the approaching battle from the wall, to see its development and result from start to finish.

Hsing-te saw the Hsi-hsia vanguard of one hundred cavalrymen enter Capital Gate. As he looked down, he observed the expressions on the men’s faces were extremely ill-humored and sullen. Almost all the horses were black, and the total impression of that unit was of complete exhaustion from continuous battles. It was some time after this unit had passed through the gate that Wang-li’s men entered. Hsing-te watched as the Hsi-hsia vanguard were immediately led deep into the maze of the town by the heavy-set commander who had waited with him. The hoofbeats of the horses echoed ominously.

Hsing-te watched breathlessly as Wang-li’s unit gradually approached the gate and passed through it. The instant the last cavalryman had disappeared through the wall, he saw the heavy gates clang shut.

At that same instant, Hsing-te heard an astonishingly loud bellow from the slight commander at his side. He shouted and roared. At the same moment, the archers who had been waiting below climbed up the wall.

Hsing-te looked out toward the plains. He saw in that moment the colorless, ominously hushed plains and the formations of the Hsi-hsia army moving in complete silence. Nearer to, he saw the uniformed guards approaching the gate, and this unit, too, was hushed. The distance between the guards and the gate was now less than two hundred feet. The many standards that indicated Yüan-hao’s position hid him from view. Hsing-te observed this scene for but a moment; the peace was suddenly cut short.

Hsing-te watched it happen. Near the gate each and every one of the guards’ horses reared, dust rose thickly, and the countless arrows shot from the wall converged on the spot as if drawn by a magnet.

Arrows continued to rain on the now disorganized unit. Human cries and the neighing of horses rose from the dusty mass. Beyond this single area the plains were completely silent. The skies were blue and clear. Billowy clouds dotted the horizon like bits of cotton. The winter sun shone on the plains. Arrows were continually shot. Hsing-te was not aware of how much time had elapsed when he suddenly heard tumultuous shouting from below the wall. He rushed down. Later, he could not recall straddling his horse. To his right and left were cavalry troops flailing their swords about. Hsing-te felt his horse rear, fall forward, then rise again. On the ground, the bodies of Hsi-hsia soldiers and horses were piled up and scattered about the whole area.

The field of corpses continued for quite some distance. But when he had finally passed beyond it, Hsing-te saw in the far distance ahead of him the retreating Hsi-hsia cavalry, spread over the plain as they dispersed and fled.

“Is Yüan-hao here? Find Yüan-hao!” Hsing-te suddenly heard Wang-li’s rasping voice. He stopped his horse. The cavalry unit ceased to pursue the enemy and returned to the corner of the plain where hundreds of Hsi-hsia casualties lay.

“Is Yüan-hao here? Find him!” Wang-li shouted as he rode through the field of dead and injured. Many soldiers dismounted, pulled up the dead and injured and looked at their faces for Yüan-hao. This continued for quite some time, but the men were unable to locate Yüan-hao’s body among the corpses.

As soon as he learned that Yüan-hao’s corpse was not there, Wang-li immediately drew his troops back into the city. It was obvious that Yüan-hao, the master strategist, would counterattack with fresh troops without wasting any time. The retreating cavalry alone numbered over two thousand, and it was also evident that several large forces had followed Yüan-hao’s army at intervals and were advancing into the area.

When Hsing-te returned to the city, the tumult caused by the hundred Hsi-hsia vanguard cavalrymen had subsided, and they had been disarmed and gathered together in a square.

Wang-li ordered his men to hurry and send the clamoring refugees out of the gate. The troops were also planning to evacuate after the civilians had left the city. Before much had been accomplished, however, they were forced to abandon this plan. The guards were bringing in reports that numerous small units had been sighted coming toward them from the east and south.

Hsing-te went up the wall again. It was just as the sentries had said. Dust clouds showing the enemy’s presence were rising everywhere on the distant plains. They were clearly groups of men and horses. Wang-li also came to the top of the wall, but he did not appear to be particularly disturbed.

“Probably those bastards will advance to a certain point, stop there, and will not come any closer. Then they’ll wait for nightfall. When night comes, they’ll attack us. We’ll stay here until nightfall, then we’ll evacuate,” said Wang-li. Hsing-te bent close toward Wang-li to hear him. “Luck is with that bastard,” Wang-li continued. “But I won’t die until I get him. And don’t you die, either!”

Wang-li’s eyes blazed. Just as he had predicted, the countless units scattered about were seen to stop at a prearranged spot on the plains in the distance. They did not approach any closer.

The short day ended and dusk began to fall. As soon as night had come, the interrupted evacuation of civilians was to resume. But the Hsi-hsia attack began before nightfall, a little earlier than Wang-li had anticipated.

Arrows began to fall into the city. Their strength was weak, but then they showered continuously throughout the city. Most of them fell onto the ground or horizontally on buildings, as though blown by the wind. Confusion spread among the civilians. Women and children wept and wailed and ran around erratically.

As evening closed in, West Gate was opened and the refugees began to spill forth from the city. At about the same time, flaming arrows poured over the walls. Just as the Kua-chou population could not wait for nightfall to evacuate, it seemed that the enemy could not hold off their attack until then either.

Once the flaming arrows began to descend, the attack increased in intensity by the minute. The gradual advance of the Hsi-hsia units toward the city was apparent. The area around West Gate was jammed with refugees. Only in the west were there no enemies, and therefore they were forced to use only this gate.

The less than two thousand troops in the city were assigned to defend the three gates, shooting arrows at the spots where the flaming arrows originated, but their efforts merely seemed to check the enemy from rushing the wall.

Wang-li inspected the three gates in turn and directed the fighting, while Hsing-te remained at West Gate and occupied himself with evacuating the natives. While this was going on, Hsing-te saw that the darkness was suddenly lifted from the town. Buildings seemed to float up, the long road stood out nakedly and the jostling figures were brightly illuminated. Just as a continuous shower of arrows had converged on the Hsi-hsia guards earlier that day, flaming arrows now rained down into the town from all directions.

“Aaaaah! Kua-chou will burn. The houses will burn. The city will burn.” Hsing-te instinctively turned toward the voice. He saw Governor Yen-hui, whose uplifted, wrinkled face reflected such bright crimson that it looked as though it was on fire.

“So you’re still here!” Hsing-te unconsciously exclaimed. He had thought that no matter what happened, the governor would have left by now. What had Yen-hui been doing? He did not carry a single item as he stood pressed in among the crowd.

“Oh, the temples will burn—the sutras will burn!” When he heard these words, Hsing-te was suddenly reminded of the translation wing of Yen-hui’s palace.

“What happened to the men in the translation hall?”

Yen-hui ignored the question and repeated, “Oh, the city will burn, the houses will burn!”

Hsing-te left West Gate and ran toward Yen-hui’s palace. He was concerned about the six Chinese who worked in the translation hall and their completed sutras. The roads were bright. Flames were rising from several locations. In the light of the fires, he could distinguish single grains of sand on the ground. After he had turned two or three corners, he suddenly found himself alone.

After he had gone a short distance, a troop of cavalrymen passed him. In all probability, the evacuation order had been given, and they were all on their way to West Gate. Twenty, then thirty cavalrymen passed him in succession. Each man’s face reflected an eerie crimson light.

Hsing-te cut across the garden of Yen-hui’s abandoned palace and ran into the translation hall. It had been bright outside, but the interior of the palace was dark. He saw no one. Hsing-te went directly to the cabinet where the translated sutras and copy scrolls were stored. When he opened the door, he found that the twenty-odd rolls which should have been there were gone. They had all been taken out. At this moment translating Chinese sutras into the enemy’s language seemed strangely out of keeping, and Hsing-te’s attachment to this work was also peculiar. However, Hsing-te himself felt no sense of contradiction. In the first place, he had never intended to do this work for the Hsi-hsia. Yen-hui had said that it was to be an offering to Buddha, but Hsing-te had worked only for the young girl of Kan-chou.

Hsing-te left immediately. Yen-hui’s palace had also caught fire and embers were scattering in all directions. On his way back, Hsing-te was forced to take many detours. Flames rose into the sky all over the city.

When Hsing-te finally reached West Gate, a unit of one hundred cavalry troops was about to leave. They were the last evacuees. One of the soldiers gave Hsing-te a horse, which he mounted, and then rode out through the gate. Just outside, the last evacuees formed into groups of four or five and then set off. For almost half an hour as they rode, the plains were bright, as if in the afterglow of sunset.

The next morning, Hsing-te located Wang-li, who had gathered his unit on the banks of a dry riverbed. Not a single civilian refugee was in sight. Hsing-te was told that they had found shelter in the settlements scattered about Kua-chou.

Since Wang-li had destroyed all the newly harvested food in the warehouses outside Kua-chou, he thought that would stop the Hsi-hsia army from pursuing them immediately.

As the unit was regrouping, Hsing-te saw Governor Yen-hui approaching on horseback with ten retainers. He had sent his family to a refuge in a settlement north of Kua-chou and had come to help Wang-li. This type of behavior emphasized an aspect of Yen-hui’s character that Hsing-te admired. However, despite his bland face, Yen-hui was aroused. He kept mumbling to himself, “Save Sha-chou. Defend the temples!”

Only after Wang-li’s unit had finally re-assembled did the troops change their pace to a rapid march, befitting a military formation. They set out west for Sha-chou.

The unit marched on, hardly resting at all. It was almost one hundred miles from Kua-chou to Sha-chou, and the area to be covered was mostly desert. On a regular march, it would take seven days, but Wang-li tried to shorten that time by a day, or even half a day. He had to reach Sha-chou as soon as possible, to consult with Governor Ts’ao about a counterattack. It was a foregone conclusion that Sha-chou would be burned to the ground, just as Kua-chou had been.

The troops continued through the desert on the second and third days. Here and there were wells and mud huts for travelers. At such places, the men rested briefly, then they pushed on to the next well. The water always tasted slightly bitter. Though they walked almost continuously, the men were always cold. The biting west wind whistled through them. With its eerie noise around them, the unit continued, past rust-colored mountains as jagged as saws, mountains half buried by sand, undulating sand dunes, abandoned forts.