Conqueror (2011) c-5

by Conn Iggulden

  ‘When they face my tumans, they will know surrender is not the end for them. That will help me to win. If they throw down their weapons, I will set them free. In time, they will come to know my word can be trusted.’

  ‘And the cities?’ Yao Shu said suddenly. ‘The people there are hostages to their leaders. They cannot surrender to you, even if they wanted to.’

  ‘Then they will be destroyed,’ Kublai replied calmly. ‘I can only do so much.’

  ‘You would kill thousands for the idiocy of just a few men,’ Yao Shu said. There was sadness in his voice and Kublai stared at him.

  ‘What choice do I have? They close their gates against me and my brother watches.’

  Yao Shu leaned forward, his eyes gleaming.

  ‘Then show Mongke there is another way. Send envoys into Ta-li. Promise to spare the people. Your concern is with the Sung armies, not merchants and farmers.’

  Kublai chuckled. ‘Merchants and farmers will never trust a grandson of Genghis. I carry his shadow over me, Yao Shu. Would you open your gates to a Mongol army? I don’t think I would.’

  ‘Perhaps they will not. But the next ones will. Just as your freed soldiers will carry the news of your mercy across Sung lands.’ Yao Shu paused to let Kublai think it through before going on. ‘In their own histories, there was a Sung general named Cao Bin, who took the city of Nanjing without the loss of a single life. The next city he came to opened their gates to him, safe in the knowledge that there would be no slaughter. You have a powerful army, Kublai, but the best force is one you do not have to use.’

  Kublai sipped his tea, thinking. The idea appealed to some part of him. Part of him yearned to impress Mongke. Would he be comfortable with the sort of slaughter Mongke expected? He shuddered slightly. He would not. He realised the idea of it had been lying across his shoulders, weighing him down like the armour he was forced to wear. Just the chance of another way was like a light in a dark room. He drained his cup and set it aside.

  ‘What happened to this Cao Bin in the end?’

  Yao Shu shrugged. ‘I believe he was betrayed, poisoned by his own men, but that does not lessen what he did. You are not your grandfather, Kublai. Genghis cared nothing for the Chin culture, while you can see its value.’

  Kublai thought of the torture devices he had found in abandoned military posts, of the bloodstained streets and the rotting bodies of criminals. He thought of the mass suicide on the walls of Yenking, as sixty thousand girls threw themselves to their deaths rather than see the city fall to Genghis. Yet the world was a harsh place, wherever you went. The Chin were no worse than the portly Christian monks who kept their hearty appetites while heretics were disembowelled in front of them. With Yao Shu’s eyes on him, he thought of the printed works he had seen, the vast collections of letters carved in boxwood and set by mind-numbing labour just to spread the ideas of Chin cities. He thought of their food, their fireworks, paper money, the compass he kept on him that somehow always pointed in the same direction. They were an ingenious people and he loved them dearly.

  ‘He took a city without a single death?’ he asked softly.

  Yao Shu smiled and nodded.

  ‘I can do that, old man. I can try that, at least. I will send envoys to Ta-li and we will see.’

  The following morning, Kublai had his army surround the walled city. They approached Ta-li from four directions in massive columns, joining up just outside the range of cannon. Those within the walls would see there was no escape for them, and if they did not know already, they would realise the emperor’s army would not, or could not, come to their aid. Kublai intended them to see his power before he sent men in to negotiate. Yao Shu wanted to join the small group that would enter the city, but Kublai forbade it.

  ‘Next time, old man, I promise you. The people of Ta-li may not have heard of Cao Bin.’

  The room of administration in Ta-li was a bare place, with no comforts. The walls were white-painted plaster and the floor was of rare zitan hardwood, its surface carved right across the width of the room, so that visitors would walk on a tracery of delicate shapes and patterns as they approached the prefect of the city.

  Meng Guang stared up at a small window in the rafters as he waited. He could see a drift of rain high above, almost a mist from grey skies that reflected the mood of the city so perfectly. He wore the regalia of his office, thick cloth heavy with gold stitching over a silk tunic. He took comfort from the weight of it, knowing that the ornate hat and cloak were older than he was and had been worn by better men, or at least luckier men. Once more he glanced around the open room, letting its peace soak into him. The silence was another cloak in a sense, the exact opposite of the Mongols with their childish anger and constant noise. He heard them coming from a long way off, tramping through the corridors of the government buildings with no thought for the dignity or age of their surroundings. Meng Guang gritted his teeth in silence. His awareness was so heightened that he sensed his guards straining to see the intruders, bristling like fierce hounds. He could show none of the same feelings, he counselled himself. The emperor’s army had betrayed them, leaving his city at the mercy of rude and aggressive foreigners. He had readied himself for death, but then the Mongol general had sent a dozen men on foot to the city walls.

  Instead of cannon shot, Meng Guang had received a polite request for an audience. He did not yet know if it was mockery, some Mongol delight in his humiliation. Ta-li could not resist the army that surrounded it in black columns. The prefect was not a man given to fooling himself with false hopes. If the Mongols waited a year, he knew there were armies that could defend Yunnan province, but the distances were great and the smooth flow of days had come to a sudden, jarring stop around his city. It was hard even to express the outrage he felt. He had been prefect for thirty-seven years and in that time his city had worked and slept in peace. Before the Mongols, Meng Guang had been content. His name would not be remembered in history, and the subtlety of that achievement was his favourite boast to his daughters. Now, he suspected he would have a place in the archives, unless future rulers set their scribes to removing his name from the official record.

  As the Mongol envoys entered the room, Meng Guang repressed a wince at the thought of their boots damaging the delicate zitan wood. It gleamed in the morning light, dark red and lustrous from centuries of beeswax and labour. To his astonishment, the Mongols brought a stench with them that overcame the scent of polish. His eyes widened as the strength of it assailed his nostrils and it was all he could do to show no sign that he had noticed. The miasma of rotting meat and damp wool was like a physical force in the room. He wondered if they were even aware of it, if they knew the distress their very presence was causing him.

  Of the dozen men, ten had the reddish skin and wide bulk he associated with the Mongols, while two of them had more civilised faces, slightly coarsened by mixed blood. He assumed they were from the northern Chin, the weaklings who had lost their lands to Genghis. Both men bowed their heads briefly, watched in blank interest by their Mongol companions. Meng Guang closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself to endure the insults he would suffer. He did not mind losing his life. A man could choose to throw that away like a tin cup and the gesture would find favour in heaven. His dignity was another matter.

  ‘Lord prefect,’ one of the Chin began, ‘the name of this humble messenger is Lee Ung. I bring you the words of Kublai Borjigin, grandson to Genghis Khan, brother to Mongke Khan. My master has sent us to discuss the surrender of Ta-li to his army. Before witnesses, he has made oath that not one man, woman or child will be harmed if Ta-li accepts him as its lord and master. I am told to say that the khan claims this city and these lands as his own. He has no interest in seeing the rivers run red. He seeks peace and offers you the chance to save the lives of those who look to you for leadership.’

  The blood drained slowly from Meng Guang’s face as Lee Ung spoke his poisonous insolence. The prefect’s guards mirrored his reaction, gripping t
heir sword hilts and straining forward without moving a step. The small Mongol group was not armed and he longed to set his men among them, cutting out their arrogance in swift blows. He saw how the Mongols looked around them, muttering to each other in their barbarous language. Meng Guang felt soiled by their presence and he had to force himself to stillness while he thought. The little Chin traitor was watching him for a response and Meng Guang thought he saw amusement in his eyes. It was too much.

  ‘What is a city?’ Meng Guang said suddenly with a shrug. ‘We are not foolish Chin peasants, without honour or a place on the wheel of fate. We live at the emperor’s pleasure. We die at his command. Everything you see is his. I cannot surrender what is not mine.’

  Lee Ung stood very still and the others listened while his companion translated the words. They shook their heads and more than one growled something unintelligible. Meng Guang stood slowly and at his glance his guards drew their long swords. The Mongols watched the display with supreme indifference.

  ‘I will take your words to my master, lord prefect,’ Lee Ung said. ‘He will be … disappointed that you refuse his mercy.’

  Meng Guang felt rage suffuse him, bringing the flush of blood back to his pale cheeks. The Chin traitor spoke of impossibilities, concepts that had no place in the quiet order of his province. For a moment, Meng Guang could not even express his disdain. It did not matter if there were a million men waiting outside the city. They did not exist, or have any bearing on the fate he chose. If the emperor rescued Ta-li, Meng Guang knew he would be grateful. Yet if the emperor chose to let the city be destroyed, that was its fate. Meng Guang would not raise a hand to save himself. He thought of his wives and daughters and knew they too would prefer death to the dishonour this fool thought he might contemplate. It was no choice at all.

  ‘Take them and bind them,’ he said at last.

  The two Chin translators did not have time to repeat his words and Lee Ung only stared glassily, his mouth opening like a carp. Meng Guang’s guards were moving before he had stopped speaking.

  As they came under attack, the Mongols went from bored stillness to mayhem in a heartbeat, punching and kicking in wild flurries of blows, using their boots, elbows, anything. It was more evidence of their uncouth ways and Meng Guang despised them all the more for it. He saw one of his guards stagger backwards as he was punched in the nose and had to look away rather than shame the man further. Meng Guang focused on the high window, with its smoke of moisture coming off the rain. More guards rushed in and he ignored the muffled grunts and shouts until the envoys were silent.

  When Meng Guang lowered his upturned head, he saw that three of the group lay unconscious and the rest were panting and straining against their bonds, their teeth bared like the animals they were. He did not smile. He thought of the libraries and archives of Ta-li they threatened and felt only contempt. They would never understand the choices of a civilised man could not include craven surrender, no matter what the consequences. The manner of his death was always and finally a man’s own choice, if he could truly see it.

  ‘Take them to the public square,’ he said. ‘When I have refreshed myself, I will attend their flogging and executions.’

  The smell of them had intensified as they sweated until it filled the room. Meng Guang had to struggle not to retch as he breathed more and more shallowly. He would certainly need to change his clothes before he finished this filthy business. He would order his present garments burnt while he bathed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The prisoners were bound by their wrists to iron posts in the great square in Ta-li, set into the ground long before to hold condemned criminals. By the time Meng Guang arrived, the sun was high and hot over the city and a huge crowd had gathered, filling the square in all directions. A troop of his guards had to clear the way with wooden staffs for Meng Guang to oversee the punishment, then bring up a comfortable chair for the prefect to rest his old bones. More men erected an awning to keep the sun from his head and he sipped a cool drink as he settled himself. No emotion showed on his face.

  When he was finally ready, Meng Guang gestured to the men who stood by the posts, each bearing a heavy flail. The cords were of greased leather, each as thick as a child’s finger, so that they fell on flesh with a dull smack as painful as a blow from a club. He hoped the Mongols would cry out and shame themselves. They were talking to each other, calling out encouragement, Meng Guang assumed. He noticed too that the Chin translators were speaking to the crowd. The little one, Lee Ung, was jerking in his bonds as he ranted at them. Meng Guang shook his head. The traitor would never understand Sung peasants. To them, nobles lived on another plane of existence, so high above them as to be incomprehensible. The prefect watched his docile people staring at the prisoners, their faces blank. One of them even reached down to pick up a stone and threw it hard, making Lee Ung flinch. Meng Guang allowed himself a small smile at that, hidden by his raised cup.

  The first strokes began, a regular thumping rhythm. As he had expected, the Chin men wailed and struggled against the bonds, arching their backs and yanking at the iron posts as if they thought they could pull them out. The Mongols endured like mindless bullocks and Meng Guang frowned. He sent one of his guards with an order to work them harder and relaxed back in his chair as the sound and speed intensified. Still they stood there, talking and calling to each other. To his surprise, Meng Guang saw one of them laugh at a comment. He shook his head slightly, but he was a patient man. There were other whips, with teeth of sharp metal sewn into the leather. He would make them sing out with those.

  Lee Ung had served Kublai for barely a year. He had signed on with the khan’s brother when the tumans came through northern Chin lands, marking out thousands of farms over a vast area. He had known there were risks in any enterprise, but the pay was good and came regularly and he had always had a gift for languages. He had not expected to be grabbed and tortured by the old fool in charge of Ta-li city.

  The pain was unbearable, simply that. He reached the point again and again where he could not stand it any longer, but still it went on. He was bound to the post and there was nowhere to go, no way to make it stop. He wept and pleaded with each stroke, ignoring the Mongols who turned their heads from him in embarrassment. Some of them called for him to stand up, but his legs had no strength and he sagged against the pole, held only by the cords on his wrists. He longed to faint or go insane, anything that would take him away, but his body refused and he stayed alert. If anything, his senses became more acute and the pain worsened until he could not believe anything could hurt more.

  He heard the prefect snap an order and across the square the flogging ceased. Lee Ung struggled up again, forcing his knees to lock. He looked around and spat blood from where he had bitten his tongue. The square was part of an ancient marketplace near the city walls. He could see the huge gate that hid Kublai’s army from sight. Lee Ung groaned at the thought that his rescuers were so close, yet blind. He could not die. He was too young and he had not even taken a wife.

  He saw the bloody whips being cleansed in buckets, then passed on to other men to oil and wrap in protective cloth. In growing fear, he saw different rolls brought out and laid on the ground. Lee Ung strained, standing on his toes to see what they contained as the soldiers pulled back heavy canvas. The crowd murmured in anticipation and Lee Ung roared at them again, his voice hoarse.

  ‘Hundreds of cannon lie outside these walls, ready to bring them down in rubble!’ he shouted. ‘A huge army faces you and yet a noble prince has promised to spare every life in Ta-li! He offers you mercy and dignity, but you take his men and break them with whips. How will he react now, when he does not see us return? What will he do then? As our blood is spilt, so yours will follow, every man, every woman, every child in the city. Remember then that you chose it. That you could have opened your gates and lived!’

  He saw his tormentor unfold a long whip and broke off in despair as he saw the glint of metal in the strips. Lee
Ung had seen a man scourged to death once before, a rapist caught by the authorities in his home city. His mouth went dry at the memories. His bladder would release, his body would become a twitching, spastic thing under that lash. There was no dignity in the death that awaited. In sick horror, he watched the man swirl the whip in circles, freeing the straps. Somewhere distant, Lee Ung heard a low whistling sound. It grew louder and half the crowd jerked out of their reverie as something heavy struck the great gate to the square, the sound echoing across their heads.

  ‘He comes!’ Lee Ung screeched at them. ‘The destroyer is here. Throw down your masters and live, or the streets will be red by sunset.’

  Another thump sounded and then two more as Kublai’s gunners found their range. One ball flew overhead, missing the wall entirely and vanishing to smash a roof right across the square. The crowd flinched after the blur had passed.

  ‘He comes!’ Lee Ung shouted again, delirious with relief. He heard someone snap an order, but he was still craning his neck to look at the shivering gate when the guard reached him and cut his throat in one swift motion. The Mongols at the posts shouted in rage as his blood spattered the dry ground. They began to heave at the posts, working them back and forth, throwing their full weight against whatever held them. Meng Guang spoke again and more of his soldiers drew blades as the city gate came down with a crash.

  In the roll of dust that spread out from the walls, the crowd could see a line of Mongol horsemen, black against the sunlight. They began to stream away, fear filling them as the riders entered the city in perfect ranks.

  Meng Guang stood slowly as the square emptied, his face unnaturally pale. He swayed as he came to his feet, his world falling down around him. He had told himself the army outside Ta-li did not exist, that nothing the enemy could do would influence him. Yet they had entered, forcing him to see them. Meng Guang stood rooted in a shock so profound that his mind was completely blank. He was vaguely aware of his guards leaving the bloody whipping posts to protect him, their swords held high. He shook his head in slow denial, as if he could refuse entry to Ta-li even then.