“Oh Sister, but you must!” she cried. “Else what will they do to you, my dear? We are not our own now.”
Then Yehonala, always whispering because of the listening eunuchs, revealed her heart. “Sakota, it is worse for me than you. You love no man, do you? Alas, I know now that I do love. Here is the misery! If I did not love, I could be careless. What is a woman’s body? It is only a thing, to be kept or given away. There is no pride in it when one does not love. It is only priceless when one loves—and is loved again.”
She had no need to speak the name. Sakota knew it was Jung Lu.
“It is too late, Sister,” Sakota said. She stroked Yehonala’s smooth wet cheeks. “There is no escape now, Sister.”
Yehonala pushed her hands away. “Then I must die,” she said, her voice breaking, “for truly I will not live.” And she put her head down on her cousin’s shoulder again and wept.
Now this little Sakota had the soft heart of a woman in whom is only gentleness, and so while she soothed Yehonala with her hands, stroking her forehead and her cheeks, she plotted in her heart as to what she could do to help her. To leave the palace or even the Forbidden City was not possible. If a concubine escaped there was no place for her in the known world. If Yehonala returned to her uncle’s house, who was Sakota’s father, then the whole family might be killed for her sin. Yet where else can a runaway woman hide? If she mingles with strangers do they not all inquire to know who she is, for is it not told everywhere with noise and commotion if a concubine runs from the palaces of the Dragon Emperor? Whatever help, whatever comfort, must be found only within the walls themselves. Intrigue there was a plenty, and though no man could sleep within the walls of this city at night, save only the Son of Heaven, nevertheless women had their lovers by day.
Yet how could she, the Imperial Consort, stoop to bargain with eunuchs and so put herself in their power? She could not do this. Not only fear but delicacy, too, forbade.
“Dear Cousin,” she said, hiding her thoughts, “you must speak with Jung Lu. Ask him to tell my father that you cannot stay where you are. Perhaps my father can buy you free, or exchange you for some other one, or he can say you have gone mad. Not now, you understand, Cousin, for indeed I hear that our lord is much in love with you. But later, Cousin, when your turn is over, and another takes your place, perhaps it can be done.”
Sakota said this innocently, for she loved no man, and was not jealous, but Yehonala felt a prick of pride. What, was she to be displaced? If Sakota said this, then it must be that she had heard it already murmured among the women and the eunuchs. She sat up in bed and pushed her tumbled hair away from her face.
“I cannot ask my kinsman to come to me—you know that, Sakota! Gossip would flare from court to court. But you may send for him, Sakota. He is your kinsman, too. Send for him and tell him I will surely kill myself. Tell him that I care nothing for anyone, only to get myself free again. Here is a prison, Sakota—we are all in prison!”
“I am happy enough,” Sakota said, mildly. “It is pleasant here, I think!”
Yehonala turned her eyes sidewise on her cousin. “You are happy anywhere—so long as you can sit in peace and embroider bits of satin!”
Sakota’s eyelids fell and her small mouth curved down. “What else is there to do, Cousin?” she asked sadly.
Yehonala flung back her hair and caught it in one hand and twisted it into a great knot behind her head. “There—there—there—” she cried. “It is what I am saying! There is nothing to do—I cannot go on the street, I cannot so much as put my head outside the gate to see if there is a play at the corner, I have not seen one play since I came here and you know I have ever loved to see a play. My books, yes—my painting? Well, I paint. For whom? Myself! It is not enough—not yet! And at night—”
She shivered and drew up her legs and laid her proud head down upon her knees.
Sakota sat silent for a long moment. Then, knowing that she had no comfort for this young and stormy woman, whom indeed she could not understand, since not by storm can a woman change what she is born, she rose.
“Cousin, my dear,” she said, in her most coaxing voice, “I will go away now so that you can be bathed and dressed and then you must eat some food, something you like. And I will send for our kinsman and you must not refuse to see him if he comes, for it will be because I have so decided for your sake. And if there is gossip, then I will say that it is I who bade him come.”
She put her hand so lightly on Yehonala’s head, still bent on her knees, that it felt no heavier there than a leaf, and then she went away.
When she was gone Yehonala flung herself back upon her pillows and lay stone still, her eyes open and staring into the canopy above her. A fantasy wove itself in her mind, a dream, a plan, a plot, possible only if Sakota protected her, Sakota who was the Imperial Consort, whom no one could accuse.
When her serving woman peered in, afraid to speak or call, Yehonala turned her head.
“I will have my bath now,” she said. “And I will put on something new—say, my green robe, the apple green. And then I will eat.”
“Yes, yes, my queen, my pet,” the woman said, well pleased. She let the curtains fall and Yehonala heard her feet trotting down the corridors, hastening to obey.
Sometime in the afternoon of that day, two hours before the curfew fell when all men must leave the Emperor’s city, Yehonala heard the footstep for which she waited. She had spent the day alone in her own rooms after Sakota left her, forbidding the entrance of anyone. Only her serving woman sat outside the door. To her Yehonala said honestly:
“I am in sore trouble. My cousin, the Consort, knows my woe. She has commanded our kinsman to come to me, to hear me and to carry my trouble to my guardian uncle. While he is here, you are to stay by the door. You are not to enter, nor let anyone so much as peer into my court. You understand that it is by the Consort’s command that he comes.”
“Lady, I do understand,” the woman said.
Thus the hours had passed, she at the door and Yehonala inside the closed door behind the dropped curtain. She sat idle in body but her mind was exceedingly busy and her heart was in turmoil. Could she prevail upon Jung Lu to foresake his rectitude? It was her will so to prevail.
He came at last, two hours before the curfew. She heard his footsteps, the firm pace measured to his height. She heard his voice inquiring whether Yehonala slept and her woman’s reply that she waited for him.
She heard the door open and close, and she saw his hand, that large smooth hand she knew so well, lay hold upon the inner curtain and hesitate. She sat rigid in her chair of carved black wood, waiting and motionless. Then he put the curtain aside and stood there looking at her, and she looked at him. Her heart leaped in her breast, a thing alive and separate from her, and tears welled to her eyes and her mouth began to quiver.
Whatever she could do, this that she did shook all his will. He had seen her weep in pain and he had heard her sob with rage, but he had never seen her sit motionless and weep without a sound, helplessly, as though her very life were broken.
He gave a great groan and his arms went out to her and he strode across the floor. And she, seeing only those outstretched arms, rose blindly from her chair and ran to him and felt them enclose her fast. Thus locked together, in silence and in fearful ecstasy they stood, how long, neither knew. Cheek to cheek they stood, until their lips met by instinct. Then he tore his mouth away.
“You know you cannot leave this place,” he groaned. “You must find your freedom here within these walls, for there is no other freedom for you now.”
She listened, hearing his voice from afar, knowing only that within his arms she held him.
“The higher you rise,” he told her, “the greater will your freedom be. Rise high, my love—the power is yours. Only an Empress can command.”
“But will you love me?” she asked, her voice stifling in her throat.
“How can I not love you?” Thus he replied. “To love yo
u is my only life. I draw my breath, my every breath, to love you.”
“Then—seal me your love!”
These were the bold words she spoke but in so soft a whisper that he might not have heard them, except she knew he did. She felt him motionless, then he made a sigh. She felt his shoulders shiver and his muscles loosen and his bones yield.
“If once I am made yours,” she said bravely, “even here I can live.”
No answer yet! He could not speak. His soul was still not yielded.
She lifted her head and looked into his face. “What does it matter where I live if I am yours? I know you speak the truth. There is no escape for me except by death. Well, I can choose death. It is easy in a palace—opium to swallow, my gold earrings, a little knife to open my veins—can I be watched day and night? I swear I will die unless you make me yours! If I am yours, I will do what you say—forever and my whole life long. I will be Empress.”
Her voice was magic, lovely with pleading, deep and soft and gentle, warm and sweet as honey in the summer sun. Was he not a man? He was young and fervent, still virgin because he had loved no one but her whom he now held within his arms. They were prisoners, trapped by old ways of life, jailed within the imperial palace. He was no more free than she was. Yet only she could do what she would. If she said she would be Empress, then none could hold her back. And if she chose death, then she would die. He knew her nature. And would he not devote his life to help her live? And had not Sakota herself imagined some such scene as this when she had bade him come here? At the last moment the Consort had laid her hand on his arm and she bade him do all he could—“whatever Yehonala asks”—those were Sakota’s very words.
His soul’s voice was stilled, he felt his conscience die and he lifted the beautiful girl in his arms and carried her to the bed.
…The drums of curfew beat through the courtyards and the corridors of the city of the Son of Heaven. It was the hour of sunset when every man must be gone from within the walls. The ancient command fell upon the ears of lovers hidden deep within the secret rooms and in Yehonala’s bedchamber Jung Lu rose and drew his garments about him while she lay half asleep and smiling.
He leaned over her. “Are we sworn?” he asked.
“Sworn,” she put up her arms and drew his face down to hers again. “Forever, forever!”
The drums died down and he made haste, and she rose quickly and smoothed her robes and brushed back her hair. When her woman coughed at the door she was sitting in her chair.
“Enter,” she said, and she took her handkerchief and pretended to wipe her eyes.
“Are you weeping again, lady?” the woman asked.
Yehonala shook her head. “I am finished weeping,” she said in a small voice. “I know what I must do. My kinsman has made me see my duty.”
The woman stood, peering and listening, head to one side like a bird’s.
“Your duty, lady?” she repeated.
“When the Son of Heaven summons me,” Yehonala said, “I shall go to him. I must do his will.”
The heat of summer lingered late in the Forbidden City. One brilliant day followed upon another, the palaces stood in the living light of the naked sun and no rains fell. So hot was the stillness of high noon that princesses and Court ladies, eunuchs and concubines, went to the caves in the imperial gardens and there spent the hours of the full heat. These caves were built of river rock, brought from the south upon barges floating up the Grand Canal. The rocks were shaped by men’s hands yet so cunningly contrived that they looked worn by winds and waters. Crouching pine trees hung over the entrances to these caves and inside them hidden fountains dripped down the walls and made pools where goldfish played. In the coolness the ladies did embroidery, heard music, or played at gambling games.
But Yehonala did not enter the caves. She was now always busy at her books, always smiling, silent more often than speaking as she studied her books. Seemingly her rebellion was forgotten. When the Emperor summoned her, she allowed herself to be bathed and dressed afresh and she went to him. His favor did not falter, and this compelled her prudence, for waiting concubines grew restless for their turn, and Li Lien-ying contended among the eunuchs to keep himself her chief servant. Yet if Yehonala knew of strife, she did not let it be known that she knew, unless it could be guessed from her faultless courtesy to all, and from her careful obedience to the Dowager Mother. Each day when she awoke she went first to the Dowager Mother to inquire of her health and happiness. The old lady was often ill and Yehonala brewed herbs in the tea to soothe her, and if she were restless she rubbed the withered feet and hands and soothed the Dowager by brushing her white scanty hair in long and even strokes. No task was too small or too low for Yehonala to perform for the Dowager Mother, and soon all perceived that the handsome girl was not only the favorite of the Son of Heaven, but of his mother, too.
Thus Yehonala knew how eagerly the Dowager Mother waited for the birth of Sakota’s child, and it was part of Yehonala’s duty daily to accompany the Dowager Mother to the Buddhist temple and wait while she made prayers and burned incense before the gods, beseeching Heaven that the Consort might have a son. Only when this was done did Yehonala return to her own chosen tasks, which were as ever in the library, reading and studying under aged eunuchs who were scholars, or learning music, and she spent herself in learning how to write with the camel’s-hair brush after the style of the great calligraphers of the past.
Meanwhile she hid a secret, or thought she did, until one day her woman spoke out. It was a usual day, the air cooler at night and morning than it had been, but still hot at noon. Yehonala slept late, for she had been summoned by the Emperor the night before, as many nights she had been summoned and always she obeyed.
“Mistress,” the woman said when she entered the bedroom on this day and closed the door carefully behind her, “have you not marked that the full moon has come and gone and you have no show of crimson?”
“Is it so?” Yehonala asked as if she did not care. Yet how greatly did she care, and how closely she had observed her own person!
“It is so,” the woman said proudly. “The seed of the Dragon is in you, lady. Shall I not carry the good news to the Mother of the Son of Heaven?”
“Wait,” Yehonala commanded. “Wait until the Consort has borne her child. If he is a son, does it matter what I bear?”
“But if she bears a daughter?” the woman inquired cunningly.
Yehonala threw her a long teasing look. “Then I will tell the Dowager Mother myself,” she said. “And if you tell even my eunuch,” she said, and made her eyes big and fierce, “then I will have you sliced and the strips of your flesh hung up on poles to dry for dogs’ food.”
The woman tried to laugh. “I swear by my mother that I will tell no one.” But who, her pale face asked, could know when this concubine, too beautiful, too proud, might turn teasing into truth?
While the Court waited, then, upon the Consort, each concubine woke in the morning to ask if there were news and the princes and the Grand Councilor Shun before they entered the Audience Hall at dawn demanded from the eunuchs whether the birth was begun. And still Sakota’s child was not born. In his own anxiety the Emperor commanded the Board of Astrologers to study the stars again and to determine from the entrails of freshly killed fowls whether his child would not be a son. Alas, they saw confusion. The signs were not clear. The child might or might not be a son. It was even possible that the Consort would give birth to twins, boy and girl, in which misfortune the girl must be killed, lest she sap the life of her royal brother.
The autumn deepened, and the Court physicians grew anxious for the health of the Consort. She was worn with waiting, her frailty much increased because the child would not be born, and she could not eat or sleep. Once Yehonala went to see her, but Sakota would not receive her. She was too ill, the eunuch in attendance said. She should see no one. And Yehonala went away in doubt. Illness? How could Sakota be too ill to see her own cousin-sister? For the fi
rst time she wished Sakota did not know that Jung Lu had come to her in private. True, she knew no more, but even to know so little put a weapon in Sakota’s hand—a weak hand that might be used by a stronger one as yet unknown. Alas, she knew by now that intrigue was everywhere throughout the palaces, and she must be strong enough to break through its meshes. Never once again, not for an hour, would she put a weapon of secret knowledge into another’s hand.
The days went on, each long, and all omens were dire. Evil news came from everywhere throughout the Empire. The long-haired Chinese rebels in the south had seized the southern capital, Nanking, and many people had been killed. So ferocious were those rebels that the imperial soldiers could not win a single battle. And as a further sign of evil, strange swift winds blew down upon the city, comets crossed the skies at night and in many places rumors rose that women gave birth to twins and monsters.
On the last day of the eighth moon month there appeared at noon a thunderstorm, which changed itself into a typhoon more fit for southern seas than for the dry northern plains upon which the city stood. Even the elders had never seen such lightning nor heard such crashing roaring thunder, and hot winds blew from the south as though devils rode upon the clouds. When rain fell at last it came not in a gentle downpour upon the dried fields and dusty streets but in such floods and lashings and fury that torrents ate the earth away. Whether from fright or deep despair Sakota upon that day felt the pains of birth begin inside her body and no sooner did she cry out than the news spread everywhere through the palaces and all stopped whatever they were doing to wait and hear.
At this hour Yehonala was in the library and at her usual books. The sky had grown so dark that eunuchs lit lamps, and by her lamp she was writing under the eyes of her tutor as he read aloud an ancient sacred text for her to copy. Thus he read:
“Chung Kung, the minister of the House of Chi, asked for advice upon the art of government. The Master said, ‘Learn above all how to use your subordinates. Overlook their lesser weaknesses, and raise up only those who are honest and able.’”
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