The Stone Road

by G R Matthews

  Zhou swept his gaze across the crowd, meeting the eyes of as many villagers as he could. Then he turned, climbed astride his horse and led the troops he had brought with him on a slow paced walk out of the village. There was every chance that he, or one of the troops, would feel an arrow in the back. If they were lucky it would just be a shouted insult or a hastily found pebble instead.

  # # #

  The winter slush was fading from the road but the soil was still soggy and the horse’s hooves sank into the soft earth. He dragged leather gloves out from his belt and pulled them on over numb fingers. He inspected the gloves wistfully, the last gift his wife had given him before he had to leave for the road. The stitching was beginning to fray and the palms were wearing thin under the constant chafing of the reins but he had resisted the temptation to replace them.

  A few hours later, Zhou and the troops reached the construction camp at the furthest extent of the road foundations. At the camp margins, he dismissed the troops and dismounted from his horse. The ground here was slippery and keeping his balance was difficult. Holding onto the bridle for safety, he led the horse through the crew’s tented area and to the corral of horses where he handed control over to the horse-master.

  “You shouldn't have banned riding in the camp. The mud is ruining your expensive boots.” Wang’s voice was loud behind him. “You get anywhere with those stiff-necked idiot farmers?”

  “For a loud, brute of a man, Wang, you move more subtly than a whore's fingers into a priest's purse.” Zhou turned to see Wang’s gap toothed smile, it wasn’t a pleasant sight. “But, to answer you, with some I think and nowhere with others. Anything happen whilst I was gone?”

  “Nothing much. The men have worked hard all day, reports and tallies are on your desk for signing.” Wang had mellowed since the winter started to warm towards spring. The site was safer and they hadn’t lost any more men to disaster or illness. “Had a visit from the road crew chief who reckons he's less than a week behind us now and catching fast. I think he’s liar and a cheat, but I don’t reckon he’s much further away than he says. Now we're coming onto the plains proper we can get back to full speed, long as there is no more snow. Three months more work, I’d say, till we’re at the meeting point.”

  “And if they catch us up, they can bloody well help with the foundations and clearing,” Zhou said as he slid and slipped through the tents towards his own.

  “Won’t happen.” Wang’s voice was full of confidence.

  “They won’t catch us?” Zhou had to grab at the guide rope of a tent to prevent him falling into the dirt.

  “Oh, they’ll catch us. Winter saw to that but I reckon it won’t be for two months, two and half if we’re lucky. No, when they catch us up they won’t help. They’ll pitch camp near us and no doubt bring chairs and drinks out to watch us work. It’s what I’d do.” Wang chuckled to himself.

  “I’ll speak to the Bureaucrat in charge. We’ll work something out,” Zhou said as he moved the flap of his tent aside and entered.

  “You don’t know then?” It was clearly a rhetorical question and Zhou raised an eyebrow. “Hsin’s nephew has been put in charge. Think they are all for catching you up and rubbing it in.”

  Zhou slumped onto the bed and dragged his boots off, throwing them into the empty corner. The only chance he had of getting some position back was to finish the road foundations on time and ahead of the second crew. His father-in-law, whose position in the government had taken a big knock over the mission to Yaart, would not be happy if he failed in this.

  “We can’t let them catch up. Wang, whatever work can be done by lantern will be done. Double the shifts and increase the pay by a quarter in recompense. We will not be caught.” Zhou held his feet up to the stove and steam began to rise from the socks he wore. “Anything else?”

  “Well, we got hit by another bandit raid early on today. No one seriously hurt but they cost us half a day. These raids continue and even if you made the men work every hour of every day we wouldn’t stand a chance of making the meeting point on time.”

  Zhou looked away from the comfort of the stove flame and focused on his travel chest. “Get reports from the men attacked. I want to know everything, numbers, direction they rode in from and rode out to, what weapons they had, armour, state of horses, what they said. Anything the men can recall. I’ll ride perimeter with the troops tomorrow but by evening I want that information. We are going to do something about those bandits, and keep doing something until they’re either all dead or smart enough to stay clear.”

  When Wang had gone, Zhou opened the chest and took out, from underneath a pile of dry clothes, his armour. Dark green leather, stiffened by hard boiling and lacquer insets, held together with bronze studs and soft leather strapping. Reverentially, he hung each piece on the clothes stand. The feel and smell brought back memories of his early days training as a diplomat. A diplomat that couldn’t defend himself was a dead diplomat, his teacher had said, not everyone wants to be negotiated with. Some people preferred to let their swords do their wheeling and dealing.

  # # #

  The following morning dawned misty and cold but at least there had been no fresh snow. Zhou pulled on a double layer of cotton shirts and trousers, the latter he tucked into thick socks. Taking a deep breath and exhaling a resigned sigh, he began strapping on the armour. The leather creaked with underuse but it was well made and fit him as well as it had done when he’d had it made just before leaving for Yaart the first time. Last of all, a heavy woollen cloak which he draped across his shoulders and fastened at the front with a soldier’s clasp, designed to be strong enough to withstand the wind but if tugged hard enough, would give way leaving the enemy soldier holding the heavy cloak whilst he rode to safety, or cut the soldier down, whichever was most appropriate at the time.

  As he left the tent heading for his horse, he finished tying his belt and securing his dagger in place. In his right hand he held the diplomat's weapon, a thin but stout staff of wood about four feet in length and capped at either end with iron. It could double as a walking stick but that was just a cover for its real purpose.

  “Horse-master, saddle my horse and get rations for two days.” Zhou waited in the cold air, breath turning to steam in front of his face.

  It was a short walk to the troop’s tents where he met the corporal in charge of the small contingent the road builders had to guard them. After a quick conference, they mounted their horses and rode away from the camp with the troops in tow.

  All morning they patrolled a semi-circular perimeter about three miles out from the camp. Even though they were on the plains it was not entirely flat and the undulating terrain made it entirely possible that enemies were never far away, hidden just below the low hills. So, every so often Zhou and the rest of the patrol would double back on their tracks or canter a zigzag route to ensure they covered all the ground possible and they would not be surprised.

  As the sun burnt off the mist they could see further and further. Around midday, the range of their vision had expanded to a mile in all directions. Too little for the telescope Zhou had brought along to be any use, “Corporal, I think it is time we stopped for food.”

  “Of course, Sir.” The corporal reined in his horse and signalled the rest of the soldiers.

  Zhou dismounted and staggered to the small fire over which the troops had started to warm their food. He winced at each step, an ache racing up and down the inside of his thigh, a feeling that someone had driven an iron spike into both hips. Probably a blunt one at that, he thought. Worse than the pain in his legs was the numbness between his legs and he had a quick check to make sure everything was still there.

  “Don’t sit down, Sir,” one of the soldiers near the fire said, “Best bet is to keep moving, get the blood flowing again to parts that haven’t seen it in a while.”

  Zhou winced again, “You sure?”

  “Oh, aye, Sir. If you ain’t been on a horse for a while it can take your body and...
um... bits a little time to get used to it. If you sit down, everything will just lock up and when you go to move its gonna hurt a hell of a lot more than seven lashes. Well, either that or you won’t be able to move at all.” The soldier spoke through grey stubble, “I've been doing this a long time, Sir.”

  “Then I’ll take your advice. Thanks.” For a moment, Zhou felt that he belonged and shared something with the commonest of men. He shook himself mentally, probably didn’t want me to share their fire, he thought. Zhou kept moving, accepting a bowl of watery stew from a different soldier and limping across the grass to stand near his horse to eat.

  He was spooning the gravy into his mouth with a rough cut wooden spoon when they came over the low hill, looking as surprised as he was that anyone was out here. Their hesitation did not last long. They screamed and charged down the rise towards the troops. The troops from Wubei leapt to their feet, drew swords and formed a short line to meet the charge.

  Zhou was the slowest to react. He chucked his bowl of food away and as the first of the bandits closed on the troops, he dragged himself into the saddle of his horse kicking it into a run towards the edge of the Wubei line. His troops were outnumbered, it was clear. But even through fearful eyes, he could see that the bandits were not trained warriors. They did not fight as one unit as they broke against the Wubei wall.

  Raising his short staff in one hand, he clung onto the reins with the other and ploughed into the bandits. The combat trained horse did not flinch as it ran down the first man in its path. In slow motion, Zhou watched the man’s face turn from anger to panic and then to pain as the horse rode over him. He followed the path of the body under the horse’s hooves, saw the chest cave in and blood burst from the mouth. The carcass was spewed out the other end like a lump of half-chewed gristle.

  The second bandit jumped out of the horse's path and aimed a sword slash at its legs. The horse squealed in agony and buckled. Zhou was thrown clear, landing belly down on the soggy ground and continuing to slide across the mud before coming to a dazed halt. He spat out mud as he scrambled to his feet, casting a quick glance around to see where he stood in the battle.

  The bandit who had killed the horse was advancing on him now. Straight, double edged, sword weaving back and forth in front of a face that was familiar, the grinning mouth was just a little too wide.

  “Well, well,” the farmer-bandit began, “look who it is. The little bureaucrat man. You know, about ten years ago, Yaart owned our village and they pressed all the men into service, trained them to fight. Three years I fought for them against the Wubei. I still have my sword. Come on, take a closer look.”

  Zhou looked around for help but each of his soldiers were hard pressed fighting the remaining bandits. He wiped mucky hands down his cloak and took a two handed grip on his staff.

  The bandit’s first swipe was too short but it forced Zhou to jump backward. His back foot slipped on the mud. The bandit advanced, sword extended in front of him, stabbing at Zhou’s belly. Turning his left hand and letting his right slide down the staff to meet it, Zhou took a swordsman’s grip on the staff and parried the bandit's attack. He returned a swing of his own which, being off balance lacked power, thumped into the bicep of his enemy with a satisfyingly meaty sound.

  The bandit backed off a step, rubbing his upper arm, as Zhou regained his balance. The next attack was more cautious, a series of jabs and thrusts which Zhou avoided. He continued to back away from the sword, his eyes fixed on those of the bandit who was beginning to smile again. The thrusts changed to slashes, shoulder to hip, hip to hip, and Zhou was forced to parry and deflect them away. The tip of the sharp sword finally broke through his defence and bit into his upper arm, between the leather plates.

  “You’ll bleed a lot more before...” the bandit’s words ended in a grunt and he pitched forward to rest, face down, in the churned mud.

  The corporal stood behind the fallen bandit with his own bloody sword in his hand, “Never talk when you’re fighting. Kill your enemy and move on. Idiot.”

  “Thank you, Corporal,” Zhou said, as his hands began to shake. He turned abruptly and added his breakfast to the bloodied mud.

  “Pleasure, Sir. First time in proper combat?” the corporal asked and Zhou grunted in response. “You did fine, Sir. Might want to get a sword for next time, or practise a little more with the staff. Still, least you aren’t dead. I’ll see to your horse.”

  From his kneeling position on the floor, Zhou watched the corporal rest a soothing hand on the horse’s neck, stroking it tenderly with one hand, whilst cutting its throat with a dagger held in the other. Zhou threw up again.

  Chapter 12

  Haung sat astride his white horse and faced the closed gates of the city. Behind him, the three stone cattle and their caretakers, plus five hundred troops and all the wagons needed to supply them on the road. His captain's uniform was not the only one amongst the band, there were two others, but his was decorated with the Lion insignia - the troops were his to command. The other Captains had roles to play in supplying his troops and looking after the cattle on the road. But, he was not in charge of the whole operation. Next to him, on a grey horse, rode Fang-shi Biao. Dressed in deep grey robes and carrying a long symbol scribed staff, it was hard to miss his presence amongst the army. To Haung, there was also the constant pressure of the man’s presence, his Qi, the energy that powered his magic. Haung’s training as a Jiin-Wei had made him sensitive to this energy and he usually felt comfortable and calmed in its presence. However, the Qi extending from Biao was disquieting. It grated on his own and set his teeth on edge.

  “We are ready, Master Biao,” Haung said in calm tones.

  “Then let’s go and begin to make an end to all of this.” Biao raised his staff above his head and the gates swung open on their heavy chains. The pre-arranged signal gave a mystical air to the proceedings. Appearances were everything, Haung’s Fang-Shi teacher had told him at the beginning of his training.

  Haung and Biao led the assemblage of man and beast along the avenue, lined by locals, towards the now open gates. Haung sat, stiff backed, head held high, as the horse slowly trotted forward. The uniform, horse and man making an appealing spectacle to people of the city, inspiring confidence in the treaty signed the previous year. Appearances, again.

  As he neared the gates, Haung noticed a slight figure dressed in a plain green robe, belted at the waist with a thin yellow sash, standing on his side of the road. She was smaller than the other adults around her but when she looked up at him, she towered above them all. He found it impossible to tear his eyes away, memories locking his gaze in place. In his ears, the blood echoed the sound of restless seas, each crashing wave a beat of his heart. He could feel himself being swept away into those dark eyes. His breath caught in his throat as she smiled shyly at him. He wanted to say something but nothing came to mind. Then she released him from her hold by turning back into the crowd and vanishing from sight. He wouldn’t let her go so easily and rose in his stirrups, craned his neck to try and catch another glimpse of Jiao.

  “A problem, Captain?” Biao asked.

  “No problem, Master Biao, just someone I recognised is all. I haven’t seen them in some time,” Haung responded in a calm voice at odds with his racing pulse and tumbling stomach, his Jiin-Wei training taking over. He looked straight into Biao’s eyes and gave a covering, embarrassed smile, “It may not even have been them.”

  Biao’s stare back lasted just a little too long, “No, I think it was. Interesting.”

  Neither man said any more as the procession left the city and headed down the old road surface toward the new at a sedate pace.

  # # #

  Moving an army, even a small one, was slow and never an easy task. So many things had to come together and work smoothly for the march to be bearable, let alone successful. Luckily for Haung, the Quartermaster Captain was very experienced and each evening he organised the picketing and setting of the camp. He ensured everyone was fed
, sheltered and packed away in the morning, ready to move on at the appointed time. After the first day on the road, Biao retired to ride in his wagon with the two apprentices he had brought with him. Haung continued to ride at the head of the column, sending scouts into the countryside to ensure that firstly, the march was known by all the villages, and secondly, that there were no threats or Wubei troops who might attempt to steal the cattle. He was not too worried about bandits, five hundred men was plenty to tackle any threat. A Wubei attempt was also unlikely. The emperor’s seal would prevent them from taking any hostile action but old habits die hard.

  Haung’s role consisted mainly of keeping order in the ranks, not easy when you had created the force from a mix of experienced veterans and the newly, pressed into service, trained troops. The veterans gave them backbone for the long marches and created confidence amongst the new men but they would not put up with any moaning from the new soldiers. Haung could see their point. Who were these upstarts, who’d never faced real Wubei troops in combat to complain about a soldier’s lot?

  By the end of the third day of the march, there had been a few fist fights as the veterans taught the youngsters, even if they weren’t young, who was really in charge. Haung turned a blind eye to these but when one of the soldiers had been beaten so badly that his arm had been broken he had to take action. That evening he set up a military court in his tent. Biao was there, as were the other two captains, to hear the case. After the veteran had given his speech Haung was sure of the way it was going to go, but form and procedure had to be followed.

  “So, we have heard from Shen what happened. An honest account, perhaps, but now we must hear from the complainant, Solider Wen,” Haung said to the court and the assembled soldiers. The side of his tent had been removed to provide all who wanted a view of the proceedings. It also served to ensure that everything was open, honest and that lessons would be learned.