by Ian Morson
‘Jianxu, apparently, was reluctant to marry again. Maybe she was still mourning her first husband, maybe Wenbo was not much of a catch. The two ladies’ fortunes would, after all, be secured by the marriage of the older lady, her mother-in-law, to Old Geng Biao. There was no need for Jianxu to marry Geng Wenbo also.’
I was about to query Lin on his use of the expression ‘old’ in relation to Geng, but his raised eyebrow indicated to me that he would explain everything in time, and I needn’t interrupt again. I slumped back on to my own cushion and picked a pear off the low table at my side. Biting into it, I sucked up the juice noisily.
‘Old Geng is how he is called in Pianfu – P’ing-Yang-Fu – by his neighbours it seems. It is not a term of endearment, but accurate nevertheless. He is in his seventieth year. Or should I say he was, for he is our victim and therefore dead. Jianxu’s victim, if we are to believe the paperwork.’
He patted the pile of documents on the table then passed me a linen napkin.
‘Wipe your chin, Nick. I know a demon like Zhong Kui need have no manners, but I am determined to teach you some so you can carry them back to the barbarian West when you go.’
I laughed ironically.
‘If I go back. It seems I am not my own master any more, but the slave of Kubilai Khan. It is he who will decide if and when I can return to Venice.’ I was angered by the thought, but I wiped my chin as bidden. ‘But then his and my wishes coincide at the moment. I have no desire to return as yet. I am having too much fun.’
What I said was not entirely true. I yearned every day to return to La Serenissima, and Caterina Dolfin. But I had left under the cloud of an accusation of murder, and my safety, if I did return, was uncertain. I finished the pear, and wiped my lips with the back of my hand. Lin winced at the crudeness of my action, and continued.
‘Anyway, the question of Jianxu’s marriage to Wenbo became irrelevant a few days after the proposal was made. The old man suddenly upped and died. The details are unsavoury, so I shall not go into them now – you can read them for yourself.’ He waved at the pile of documents to indicate that the full gruesomeness of Old Geng’s death was recorded in detail somewhere in the heap. Lin did not like dwelling on the nastier aspects of death.
‘Suffice it to say that poisoning was the clear cause, and on her being examined, Jianxu confessed.’
I started up from my cushion.
‘Confessed? You did not say that before. Then why are we even going to P’ing-Yang-Fu? And who petitioned the Khan for a re-examination of the case, if she admitted she did it?’
‘Calm down, my little demon. Confession is part of the legal process in Cathay. Criminal law has a moral purpose in ensuring the guilty not only are caught, but that they repent and see the error of their ways. A person cannot be convicted unless he – or she – confesses.’ Lin pulled a face, turning slightly away from me. ‘Sometimes extreme measures are required to extract a confession.’
I stared at him in disbelief.
‘You mean torture? So Jianxu will have been tortured in order to get her to confess to the crime that she may not have been guilty of committing?’
Lin calmly turned his face back to me.
‘Do not you have the same procedures in your world? I have met priests such as Friar Alberoni who tell me that torture is a normal procedure for Westerners too.’
It was my turn to look away, embarrassed by his retort. Of course he was right. The Church was prone to use torture on heretics to induce repentance. And in cases of treason, a man might be tortured to extract names of accomplices. But to torture a young woman merely to obtain evidence? I thought that was plain wrong, and I tried to make my point.
‘Yes, but in most cases in the West, what is called half-proof is needed before proceeding. That means there must be some initial evidence of guilt before torture is applied. Where was the proof that this girl may have murdered the old man?’
Lin pointed to the papers on the table again.
‘Read these, and tell me what you think.’
‘You know I cannot read Chinee or Mongol script, only Turkish. And that rather poorly.’
‘Then trust me. I have read them all. There was reason to examine Jianxu strongly. But of course you are right in another way. A confession obtained in such a situation is a flawed piece of evidence. That is why I need you to do what you do best, and uncover the truth.’
Lin knew he could always win me over with such flattery. And, predictably, I gave in to it.
‘Very well. But tell me one thing. You didn’t answer my question concerning who petitioned the court of Kubilai in support of this girl, Jianxu.’
Lin smiled his little enigmatic smile again, and patted my knee.
‘Ah, just a bunch of vagabonds, one of whom you will meet in ten days time when we get to T’ai-Yuan-Fu.’
He liked a good secret, did Lin Chu-Tsai, and refused to say any more to me about the matter. I could not imagine how a bunch of vagabonds and ne’er-do-well Chinee could exert any influence with Kubilai. But then they didn’t have to. It was the sneaky Ko Su-Tsung who had lifted the case out of obscurity and convinced the Khan to consider it. A hopeless case, supported by a ragtag of lowly Chinee, was a perfect trap in which Lin and I could be ensnared. I still didn’t know how we were going to save ourselves, and it was not until we reached T’ai-Yuan-Fu that I had an inkling of what truly awaited us.
The following morning, we reassembled and continued on our journey. A mile beyond Cho-Chau the road forked, one branch going westward still in Cathay, and the other south-east towards Manzi and the southern lands not yet conquered by Kubilai. Our direction was westward, and we passed on the way salt works where men laboured by pouring water over salt-laden earth then boiling the brine in big iron cauldrons. Lin told me they exported the pure, white salt to many countries, bringing in a great deal of wealth for Kubilai’s coffers. I have to say, I lost interest in his explanation of the industries that we passed. That was until I spotted some well-tilled fields and land dotted with low growing bushes that were very familiar to me. Lin saw where my gaze was turning, and nodded.
‘Yes, they are vineyards, Nick.’
Things were beginning to look up.
The girl sat and shivered in the cold mud hut that was her cell. Her thin green cotton robe did little to keep her warm as the night approached. She could almost feel the chill of autumn creeping across the barren land she could see outside the little window set in the door to her cell. There would soon be frosts turning the broken earth white and hard. But she would not see that. She would be dead by the executioner’s hand. Another shiver ran up her spine, this time caused by the fear that ran through her every fibre. She did not like the fact that the road to where she was being kept was also visible from the window. It was unlucky to have a door facing a road.
She huddled up on the little pallet which was the only furniture allowed in her cell, picking at the scabs on her feet. Her luck had been bad recently, particularly since the death of her husband. But she had turned twenty a month ago, and she was convinced that her big luck cycle was returning. She needed the luck – yun– or she would not survive to see the winter. She had begged the boy to help her, to petition the Khan if necessary. He was not the brightest person to have your fate dependent on, and had looked at her with horror when she had suggested going over the prefect’s head. But she had smiled at him through the bars on the cell window, and reached through to stroke his hairless chin, suggesting who else he might rally to her cause. She knew she had aroused him, and that should be enough to get him to do as she wished. He had left with a scared look on his face, but lust in his eyes. Pulling her knees to her chest, she felt a little warmer. Yes, the yunwas flowing in her direction again. She could feel it.
FIVE
Those who have free seats at a play hiss first.
The weather was changing, and we could see the dark clouds sweeping across the broad plain to our left. We hurried on as fast as we could, but
a flurry of rain hit us just as we reached the outskirts of the town of T’ai-Yuan-Fu. It was a large and prosperous city, and I was pleased to discover from Lin that its chief industry was winemaking. We rode – a rather damp cavalcade – in towards the centre of the city through narrow streets thronging with people despite the wet weather. They were nearly all Chinee, and each person’s status was shown by the clothes he wore. The crowds of common workers were garbed in simple cotton clothes dyed brown or green with patterns stencilled on them. On their feet they wore cheap leather shoes, as apparently tradesmen and farmers were forbidden to wear boots. Such footwear was reserved for the wealthier officials and merchants. You could identify them by their more opulent robes. Most of the better-off men we saw in the streets wore informal dress – a bei-zi– tied up at the front and adorned with embroidered dragons or flowers. Only those on official business wore the full gown, or pao, the sleeves of which were long and covered the hands to show the person did no physical labour. The colour of the robe further designated a man’s importance. Though Lin Chu-Tsai did not choose to flaunt his power, he had that morning changed into the red robe of a high official for our entrance into the city. His sleeves were the requisite three chi’ wide. He also wore on his head the fu-touof his rank – a rounded hard cap with two stiff wings on the back projecting sideways. Many people turned to look at us, but this could have been the sight of me as much as Lin’s formal robes. Few people here would have seen a Westerner, let alone one with red hair and a bushy beard. I had let my hair grow on the journey, as this was my way of impressing the locals.
We wound through the streets, avoiding puddles where we could, eventually reaching a large square. In it stood a most peculiar construction. It was a large platform set high on bamboo stilts, and it was open on three sides. To the rear was a tented structure with a canopy that stuck out covering the whole platform. Large flags flew on the front corners. As our little cavalcade stopped before it, I was aware of a flurry of activity to one side of the platform. A shape flew towards me, and I instinctively reached for my dagger. Lin, who was by now standing up in his carriage to get a better view, leaned over and restrained me from making a grave error.
I saw that the figure was someone in female garb who had sprung on to the platform by performing a long, acrobatic somersault. As her feet slapped down on the front of the staging only feet away from me, I had to restrain my pony from rearing and throwing me. Her painted face stared dejectedly at me, and her long sleeves hung down to the ground. Then she began staggering uncertainly round the platform, and I thought her drunk. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lin was enraptured. He was staring at the woman with a look of awe on his face. Her gait changed from her drunken lurch, and she suddenly resembled a lion pacing round a cage too small for it. Her breath quickened and her shoulders jerked. Finally she fell exhausted on to the floor.
Behind me, I heard the sound of clapping hands. It was Lin expressing his approval of the acrobat. I was puzzled. The leap of the saltatrice had been spectacular, but what had all the other mugging been about?
‘What did that all mean, Lin?’
He looked at me, his eyes wide in astonishment.
‘Do you not know?’ He then raised his hand in acknowledgement of my expression of ignorance. ‘Silly of me, why should you? That was as perfect an enactment of the passion of Empress Tu as I have ever seen. We call it tso-yi– a stylized way of expressing feelings and thoughts through actions.’
I looked back at the woman, who was now grinning impudently at me, and then bowing to Lin. She was a slender-waisted woman with a rounded but pleasing face that shone through the make-up. As I stared at her, she turned and slinked offstage, gyrating her hips in a way quite as pleasing as Gurbesu’s own gait. Thinking of her, and then of my admiration of the acrobatic saltatrice, I glanced across. Gurbesu was dismounting from her steed, and it shielded her from me. She hadn’t seen my keen interest in the young woman. I leaned down towards Lin, a sly thought in my mind.
‘I should like to meet this Empress Tu. She is clearly very . . . supple.’
Lin looked a little surprised at my salacious comment, but then winked, and grinned broadly.
‘I will arrange an assignation for you, Nick.’
I patted his shoulder in a man-to-man sort of complicity. Even though he had no balls, Lin knew what I liked. I whispered in his ear.
‘Gurbesu doesn’t need to learn of it, of course.’
‘Of course not. Leave it all to me.’
I, too, then dismounted, along with the weary Alberoni and Tadeusz Pyka, both of whom had lagged far behind on the last leg of the journey. Following Lin’s carriage on foot, we led our horses to where we would stay for the night. It was just off the square, and was as comfortable a hostelry as we had experienced on our long journey. Thinking of the little empress, I left Gurbesu to her own devices, and walked across the inner courtyard of the hostelry to Lin’s rooms. As ever, he had already surrounded himself with tranquillity and calm. Po Ku was a quick learner in how to please his master, and busied himself in the shadows arranging his master’s travelling possessions. Lin was seated on a low bench with a silk cushion on it. I noticed the unicorn shape embroidered on the cushion that protruded from under his buttocks. It was the emblem of the Censorate, the government department of his deadly enemy – and mine too – Ko Su-Tsung. He grinned when he saw where I was looking.
‘Forgive me my little petty triumph. I like the idea of sitting on Ko, and arranged for his emblem to be sewn into the fabric of this cushion. He saw it soon after I obtained it, and I think it puzzled and pleased him at the same time. He does not know how I employ the cushion.’
I laughed.
‘You can fart on it for all I care, Chu-Tsai.’
Lin grimaced at my Western coarseness, and motioned for me to sit opposite him. I dropped inelegantly down on to the other bench. I still could not get used to the lowness of all the furniture in Cathay. Benches and tables had legs no taller than the little dwarf dogs they were fond of breeding here. I yearned for a good, long-legged hunting hound, and a similarly shaped Venetian chair to lounge in. Grovelling on the floor was not conducive to action, if a swift exit or an attack was required. Lin reached across the table and picked up the stack of documents that had accompanied him in the carriage.
‘We must go on looking for a way of extricating ourselves from our dilemma. I have studied the paperwork associated with the case of Jianxu time and time again, but I cannot see where the chink in the armour is located.’
I held up a finger to emphasize what I was about to say, and he looked at me expectantly.
‘Then we must turn our examination away from the case, and towards the magistrate and his Mongol overlord.’
‘In what way?’
‘They have to be corruptible in some way or other. All officials are.’ I was suddenly aware of a red flush covering Lin’s face, and hastened to correct my error. ‘Except for you, old friend. You are the exception that proves the rule. And it is why you are lucky to have me.’
‘Why is that, my little demon?’
‘Because I am as corruptible as any official, so I can guess what their actions might be before they have even thought of them themselves.’
It came to mind that the last time I pulled a fast one on a Mongol – Mongotai – in the bar in Khan-balik, I had needed to flee pretty quickly afterwards. I decided I would not like to try and outwit the Mongol governor who ran the district in which we were travelling. I might not live to tell the tale. But the prefect was another matter. I decided the Chinee magistrate was the best bet for leaning on.
‘Do we know anything about him? The judge in this case?’
Lin rifled through the papers, extracting a paper roll. He unfurled it.
‘He is called Li Wen-Tao. And I do have some information on him.’ He read in silence for a few moments. ‘This is interesting. He is a man of middle years, who should by now be in a higher position, I would say.’
> ‘Good. Then he has got a secret vice that holds him back, and even if he hasn’t, we can seduce him into one. Then turn it round against him.’
I rubbed my hands together, eager for the challenge.
‘I am beginning to like this case already.’
‘Good. And tonight by way of relaxation you will enjoy a play onstage in the square.’
I grimaced, thinking of the simple miracle plays with their religious and moralizing themes I had seen in Venice. They did not appeal at all. Lin, on the other hand, seemed quite excited by the prospect.
‘You will enjoy it, Nick. The theatre is very popular in Cathay, and the plays tell all sorts of stirring tales, including what we call strip and fight thrillers. Sword against sword, or mace against mace. But tonight it is a different sort, and an appropriate play for us – kung-an.’
‘Kung-an?’
He winked knowingly.
‘It means a crime case tale. How appropriate is that? But I have business in mind too, as one of the men who framed the petition to Kubilai is here.’
‘Our case?’
‘Yes. He is a writer of plays too – a young man beginning to make a name for himself. Though it may not help him that he has a young man’s thirst to see justice done for his race.’ Lin’s face had a solemn look about it. ‘Arguing the case of a Chin woman against the decision of a Mongol governor is not how to become famous. Notorious, perhaps.’
Lin looked down at his boots and sighed at the injustice of the world. But when he looked up again, there was a brightness in his eyes.
‘Never mind that. We will speak with him briefly and afterwards you can meet the person who played Empress Tu for you this afternoon.’
I felt a tingling in my loins. But I refrained from scratching my itchy balls, knowing how it hurt Lin’s feelings. Still, I grinned wickedly, imagining the supple girl gyrating just for me.
