Xuan closed his eyes for a moment, weary of the conversation even before it had begun.
‘I did not say I would. He has not answered me for a long time.’
Liao-Jin’s mouth twisted unpleasantly.
‘Well, why would he? What good are you?’
The young man gripped a handful of pebbles and threw them into the water in a jerky motion. One of his sisters yelped, though she had not been hit. When she saw who had thrown the stones, she shook her head in admonishment and waded out deeper.
When Liao-Jin spoke again, the tone was almost a whine.
‘You know, there is no law to prevent me joining the Sung army, father. Whatever they think of you, I could rise. In time, perhaps I could have a house of my own. I could take a wife.’
‘I would like that for you,’ Xuan agreed distantly.
‘Would you? You haven’t written to the one man who might agree. You have done nothing, as usual, while every day passes so slowly I can’t bear it. If my mother was alive …’
‘She is not,’ Xuan said, his own voice hardening to match his son’s. ‘And there is nothing I can do until this prefect moves on to another post, or dies. I do not believe he even reads my letters any longer. He has not replied to one for eight, no ten years!’ His mood was spoiled, the peace of the day gone under his son’s fierce glare.
‘I would rather be in prison than here with you,’ Liao-Jin hissed at him. ‘At least there, I might dream of being released. Here, I have no hope at all. Shall I grow old? Do you expect me to tend you when your mind is gone and I am wrinkled and useless? I won’t. I’ll walk into the lake first, or put a rope around my neck. Or yours, father. Perhaps then they would let me walk away from my captivity.’
‘There are servants to tend me, if I grow ill,’ Xuan said weakly.
He hated to hear the bitterness in his son, but he understood it well enough. He had felt the same for a long time; part of him still did. Liao-Jin was like a stick stirring the muddy depths of his soul and he resisted, pulling away physically and coming to his feet rather than listen to any more. He raised his head to call his other children and paused. The distant towers of Hangzhou could be seen around them, the lake a creation of some ancient dynasty more than a thousand years before. On the rare days he was allowed there, he was rarely bothered by anyone, yet he saw a troop of cavalry trotting down from the road onto the shores of the lake. As he watched in vague interest, they turned in his direction. Xuan came to himself with a start.
‘Out of the water, all of you,’ he called. ‘Quickly now, there are men coming.’
His daughters squawked and Liao-Jin’s brother Chiun came out at a rush, spattering droplets onto the dry stones. The riders rode around the curving shore and Xuan became more and more certain they were coming for him. He could not help the spasm of fear that touched his heart. Even Liao-Jin had fallen silent, his face set in stern lines. It was not impossible that the soldiers had been told to make them disappear at last and both of them knew it.
‘Did you write to anyone on your own?’ Xuan asked his son, without looking away from the strangers riding in. Liao-Jin hesitated long enough for him to know he had. Xuan cursed softly to himself.
‘I hope you have not drawn the attention of someone who might wish ill on us, Liao-Jin. We have never been among friends.’
The soldiers drew to a halt just twenty paces from the shivering girls as they moved back to stand close to their father and brothers. Xuan hid his fear as the officer dismounted, a short stocky figure with grey hair and a wide, almost square face that was ruddy with health. The man flicked his reins over his horse’s head and strode to the small group watching him.
Xuan noted the small lion symbol etched into the officer’s scaled armour as he bowed. He did not know every rank of the Sung military, but he knew the man had proven himself as an archer and swordsman, as well as passing an exam on tactics in one of the city barracks.
‘This humble soldier is Hong Tsaio-Wen,’ the man said. ‘I have orders to escort his majesty Xuan, Son of Heaven, to the Leopard barracks to be fitted with armour.’
‘What? What is this?’ Xuan demanded incredulously.
Tsaio-Wen stared at him with unblinking eyes. ‘His majesty’s men have been assembled there,’ he replied, stiff with the formal idiom that would not allow him to address Xuan directly. ‘His majesty will want to join them there.’ He raised an arm to gesture to his men and Xuan saw they had brought a spare horse, saddled and waiting. ‘His majesty will desire to come with me now.’
Xuan felt ice touch his heart and he wondered if the moment had come when the Sung emperor had finally tired of his existence. It was possible that he would be taken to a place of execution and quietly made to vanish. He knew better than to argue. Xuan had known many Sung soldiers and officials in the sixteen years of his captivity. If he demanded reasons or explanation, Tsaio-Wen would simply repeat his orders with placid indifference, never less than polite. Xuan had grown used to the stone walls of Sung manners.
To his surprise, it was his son who spoke.
‘I would like to come with you, father,’ Liao-Jin said softly.
Xuan winced. If this was an order for his execution, his son’s presence would only mean one more body at sunset. He shook his head, hoping it was answer enough. Instead, Liao-Jin stepped around to face him.
‘They have allowed your men to assemble, after how long? This is important, father. Let me come with you, whatever it turns out to be.’
The Sung officer could have been made of stone as he stood there, giving Xuan no sign he had even heard. Despite himself, Xuan looked past his son and spoke.
‘Why am I needed now, after so long?’
The soldier remained silent, his eyes like black glass. Yet there was no aggression in his stance. It had been a long time since Xuan had judged the mood of fighting men, but he sensed no violence from the rest of the small troop. He made his decision.
‘Liao-Jin, I commission you as yinzhan junior officer. I will explain your duties and responsibilities at a later time.’
His son flushed with pleasure and he went down on one knee, bowing his head. Xuan rested his hand on the back of his son’s neck for a moment. Years before, he might have resisted any sign of affection, but he did not care if some honourless Sung soldiers saw it.
‘We are ready,’ Xuan said to Tsaio-Wen.
The officer shook his head slightly before speaking.
‘I have only one spare horse and orders to bring his majesty to the barracks. I have no orders about any other.’
The man’s tone was sour and Xuan felt an old anger stir in him, one he had not allowed himself to feel in years. A man in his position could have no honour, could allow himself no pride. Yet he stepped closer to the soldier and leaned in, his eyes bright with rage.
‘Who are you to speak to me in such a way? You, a dog-meat soldier of no family? What I choose to do is no concern of yours. Tell one of your men to dismount and walk back, or give up your own mount.’
Hong Tsaio-Wen had lived his life in a rigid hierarchy. He responded to Xuan’s certainty as he would have to any other senior officer. His head dipped and his eyes no longer challenged. Xuan was certain then that this was no execution detail. His thoughts whirled as Tsaio-Wen snapped orders to his men and one of them dismounted.
‘Tell your brother to take your sisters home,’ Xuan said loudly to Liao-Jin. ‘You will accompany me to the barracks. We will see then what is so important that I must be disturbed.’
Liao-Jin could hardly hide his mingled delight and panic as he passed on the word to his siblings. He had ridden a few times in his life, but never a trained warhorse. He dreaded embarrassing his father as he ran to the mount and leapt up into the saddle. The animal snorted at the unfamiliar rider and Xuan’s head snapped round, suddenly thoughtful.
‘Wait,’ he said. He passed his eyes over the other horses and found one that stood placidly, without any of the bunched tension of the first m
ount. Xuan looked across at Tsaio-Wen and saw the man’s hidden anger. Perhaps the officer had not deliberately chosen the most unruly mount in his troop, but he doubted it. It had been many years since Xuan had managed soldiers, but the old habits came back to him. He strode across to another rider and looked up at him with complete certainty that he would be obeyed.
‘Get down,’ he said.
The soldier barely looked at Tsaio-Wen before he swung his leg over and jumped to the shingle.
‘This one,’ Xuan called to his son.
Liao-Jin had not understood what his father was doing, but he too dismounted and came over, taking the reins.
Xuan nodded to him without explanation, then raised his hand briefly to the rest of his family. They stood forlorn, watching as their father and brother mounted up and rode away along the shore of the lake, heading back into the city of Hangzhou.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Hangzhou had many barracks for the emperor’s armies. The best of them enclosed training grounds and even baths, where the soldiers could learn their trade, strengthen their bodies and then sleep and eat in huge dormitories.
The Leopard barracks showed signs of having been abandoned for many years. The roofs sagged and the training ground was overgrown with weeds poking through the sand and stones. Xuan rode under an archway covered in lichen and drew to a halt with Tsaio-Wen’s men in an open courtyard. He was flushed from the ride, long-unused muscles complaining in his legs and back. Yet he felt better than he had in years at just that taste of freedom and command.
Tsaio-Wen dismounted without a word or a glance at the two men he had brought with him. Xuan could see the traces of anger in the man’s walk as he strode into the first building. Xuan looked over to his son and jerked his head for him to get down from his borrowed horse. He did not know what to expect, but there had been so little novelty in recent years that almost anything would be welcome.
The troop of riders stood in silence and waited. After a time, Tsaio-Wen came out and took his reins. To Xuan’s surprise, he mounted, turning his horse back to the gate. Two of his men gathered the reins of the horses Xuan and his son had ridden and began to lead them away.
‘What is this?’ Xuan said. He knew Tsaio-Wen had heard him from the way the man stiffened. The officer chose to have his revenge in impoliteness and there was no reply.
A loud cry sounded from close by and Xuan spun round. Running towards him, he saw faces he knew, memories of a different life. Liao-Jin tensed as if they were about to be attacked, but his father laid a hand on his arm. When he spoke, his eyes were bright with tears.
‘I know these men, Liao-Jin. They are my people.’ He smiled, realising that his son would not recognise any of the men coming out and crowding around them. ‘They are your people.’
Xuan had to work hard to keep the smile on his face as he began to recognise men he had not seen for sixteen years. Time was never kind. Age had never made a man stronger, or faster, or more vital. He felt wrenched within, shocked over and over. He kept seeing faces he remembered as young, unlined, and somehow they were still there, but become wrinkled and weary. Perhaps at home they would have been less marked by the years. He doubted they had ever been well fed or allowed to stay fit.
They pressed in close and some of them even reached out to touch his clothes, almost to reassure themselves he was real. Then voices he had not heard for too long shouted orders and they fell back. The courtyard continued to fill as more and more came out from the dormitories, but those who had been officers were snapping orders at them to form ranks for an inspection. They smiled as they did so and there were many questions called from their number. Xuan could not answer them. He could hardly speak for the swelling emotions that filled him. He stood straight, his eyes shining as they made ragged groups of a hundred and marched out to take position on the weed-strewn parade ground.
It was not long before he realised the numbers coming out were thinning. Xuan’s heart sank. He had brought some forty thousand men into Sung lands. Some would always have died - the oldest among them would have been close to seventy by then. Natural causes would have taken a toll, but when he counted the silent squares, the total was only eight thousand men.
‘Where did you all go?’ he murmured to himself.
One man who had been shouting orders was dressed in little more than filthy rags. He was emaciated and where his skin showed it was marked in dirt that had almost been tattooed into him. It was pitiful to see such a figure trying to stand tall. Xuan did not recognise him, but he walked over and met the man’s eyes. They searched his, glimmering with hope where there should have been none.
‘It has been a long time,’ Xuan said. He was about to ask the man’s name when it came to him, with the rank first, flashing into his head from over the years. ‘Shao Xiao Bohai.’
Xuan blinked back pain as Bohai smiled to reveal just a couple of long yellow teeth in an empty jaw. The man had once commanded thousands, one of his experienced sword officers, but it was almost impossible to reconcile the memories with the skeletal figure who stood before him.
‘Is this all the men?’ Xuan asked.
Bohai dipped his head, then dropped prostrate on the ground. The rest of them followed on the instant, so that only Xuan and his son remained standing.
‘Up, all of you,’ Xuan ordered. His eyes had dried and he knew he could show no more emotion to these men. They needed more than that from him.
‘Well, Shao Xiao Bohai? You have not answered my question. You may speak freely to me.’
The man’s voice only creaked at first. He wet his lips and gums with his tongue until he could shape words.
‘Some of us ran. Most were brought back and killed in front of us. Others never returned.’
‘But so many?’ Xuan said, shaking his head.
‘His majesty will not want to hear the complaints of soldiers,’ Bohai said, staring off into the middle distance.
‘I order you to tell me,’ Xuan replied softly. He waited while the man wet his lips once more.
‘There were fevers each summer and some died from bad food. One year, some six thousand of us were taken away to work in a coal mine. They did not return. Each month, we lose a few to the guards they set, or Sung nobles looking for entertainment. We do not always know the fates of those who are taken away. They don’t come back. Your majesty, I have not seen the whole group together for sixteen years. I did not know until three days ago that we had lost so many.’ A spark appeared in the man’s dull eyes. ‘We endured in the hope of seeing his majesty one last time before death. That has been granted. If there is to be no rescue, no release, it will be enough.’
Xuan turned and saw his son standing with an expression of horror on his face.
‘Close your mouth, my son,’ he said softly. ‘These are good men, of your blood. Do not shame them for what they cannot control.’ His voice rose in volume, so that Bohai and those close by heard his words.
‘They are filthy because they have not been given water. They are starved because they have not been given food. See beyond the rags, my son. They are men of honour and strength, proven in their endurance. They are your people and they fought for me once.’
Xuan had not heard the Sung officer Tsaio-Wen approach behind him until the man spoke.
‘How touching. I wonder if their emperor will embrace them in their shit and lice?’
Xuan spun round and stepped very close to Tsaio-Wen. He seemed oblivious to the sword that hung from Tsaio-Wen’s belt.
‘You again? Have I not yet taught you humility?’ To Tsaio-Wen’s astonishment, Xuan prodded him in the chest with a stiffened finger. ‘These men were allies to your emperor, but how have they been treated? Starved, left in their own dirt without proper food? My enemies would have treated them better than you.’
Sheer surprise held Tsaio-Wen still for a moment. When his hand dropped to his sword, Xuan stepped even closer, so that their noses came together and angry spittle touched Tsaio-
Wen’s face.
‘I have lived long enough, dog-meat. Show a blade to me and see what these unarmed men will do to you with their bare hands.’
Tsaio-Wen looked past him and was suddenly aware of all the ranks of furious men watching the scene. Carefully, he stepped back. Xuan was pleased to see a line of sweat along his forehead.
‘Personally, I would let you all starve,’ Tsaio-Wen said. ‘But instead, you are to be sent out against the Mongol tumans. No doubt the emperor would rather see Mongol swords blunted on your skulls than on Sung soldiers.’
He handed over a package of orders and Xuan took them, trying to hide his astonishment. He broke the imperial seal he knew so well and read quickly as Tsaio-Wen turned away. The Sung officer managed to cross some forty paces of the parade ground before Xuan raised his head.
‘Stop,’ he shouted. The soldier marched on, his stiff back showing his anger. Xuan raised his voice to a bellow. ‘You are mentioned in these orders, Hong Tsaio-Wen.’
The Sung officer scraped to a halt. His face red with rage, he came back. Xuan ignored him, continuing to read while the man stood quivering in indignation.
‘It seems my cousin the emperor is not a complete fool,’ Xuan said. Tsaio-Wen hissed at the insult, but he did not move. ‘He has recalled that there is only one group in his lands who have faced the Mongols before - and held them off. You see those men before you, Tsaio-Wen.’ To his pleasure, the closest ranks pulled their shoulders back as they heard. ‘It says that I should expect armourers and trainers to fit them once more for war. Where are these men?’
‘On their way,’ Tsaio-Wen grated through a clenched jaw. ‘Where is my name mentioned?’
‘Here,’ Xuan said, showing him the page of thick vellum covered in tiny black characters. It surprised him that the officer could read. Things had changed since his day.
‘I do not see it,’ Tsaio-Wen said, squinting at the page.
‘There. Where it says I may choose Sung officers to help with the supplies and training. I choose you, Tsaio-Wen. I enjoy your company too much to let you go.’
Conqueror (2011) c-5 Page 27
