Beneath the Tree of Heaven

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Cities of the Plain

LO WEN TIGHTENED THE GIRTH and ran down the stirrups, then looped the reins and placed them in the boy’s right hand. “Are you ready, Kuei Jen?”

The young prince shook his head, a look of keen resentment in his eyes. “I don’t want to. . . .” he murmured.

Lo Wen straightened, his face on the level of the boy’s. “It is not what we want, Prince Kuei, but what we need. If you are to be a good horseman, you must learn the disciplines from an early age. You must become part of the horse.”

Kuei Jen wriggled in the saddle, uncomfortable.

“Hold still, Kuei Jen! You will make the horse uneasy.” The young prince looked down, feeling angry and hurt. How dare the man speak to him like that? How dare he!

“I won’t,” he said stubbornly, giving another wriggle and feeling the horse move beneath him. “I don’t want to.” “You will and you must. Your father has commanded.” Kuei Jen glared at him, then jutted out his chin and dug his heels hard into the pony’s flanks. At once the pony whinnied and began to kick. “Damn you, boy!” Lo Wen yelled, grabbing the harness while also trying to keep the young prince from falling. “What in the gods’ names are you playing at! You could kill yourself!”

“I won’t!” Kuei Jen shouted back. “I don’t want to go riding!” Lo Wen calmed the horse, but his face was dark with anger now. He pulled Kuei Jen down from the saddle and set him aside, then signaled for one of the grooms to take the horse.

Turning, he faced the young prince again. Kuei Jen stood there, hands on hips, staring back at him defiantly. “I won’t,” he said again. “I won’t.”

Lo Wen took a breath, then nodded. “You won’t, eh? You would disobey your father, neh?”

Kuei Jen shook his head. “He wouldn’t make me. . . . It’s you.” Lo Wen raised his voice, angry now. “You will do as I say, Kuei Jen, or else ...”

“Or else what?”

There was a movement in Lo Wen’s eyes, then he moved past the young prince and took a crop down from the wall behind him. “Here,” he said, beckoning to him.

But Kuei Jen shook his head and, with one final defiant glare, turned and ran from the stables.

“papa! papa!”

Li Yuan turned in his seat, startled by the sudden intrusion. As Kuei Jen rushed across the room toward him, scattering servants and supplicants alike, Li Yuan stood, frowning deeply.

“Kuei Jen! What is this? How many times must I tell you—“

He stopped. The new instructor, Lo Wen, stood in the doorway, his shaven head bowed, not wishing to intrude where he had not been invited. Kuei Jen came around the desk, then clung to his father’s side. “Papa!

Papa! He wants to punish me!”

Li Yuan took a long, shuddering breath, then looked across to where his cousin Tsu Ma sat in the window seat. Tsu Ma shrugged, yet his expression was eloquent.

Li Yuan turned, pulling his son away from him, and held him out at arm’s length. It was hard to do: the boy was not yet five and it felt like a breach of trust, yet he was convinced now of the necessity. Even so, he softened his voice, as if to soften the blow. “Kuei Jen. . . this will not do. You know how things are. Lo Wen. . . his word is as mine. I have commanded it.”

“But, Papa,” Kuei Jen pleaded, his eyes filling with tears, “I have done nothing wrong. Nothing ...”

Li Yuan studied his son a moment, then looked across to where the dour-looking Lo Wen waited.

“Lo Wen. Come closer. 1 wish to talk.”

Lo Wen gave a terse nod, then, with what seemed like great reluctance, threaded his way through the attendants until he stood before Li Yuan’s desk.

“Chieh Hsia?”

“Tell me. Why should my son be punished?” Lo Wen’s head sank almost to his chest. “He was disobedient, Chieh Hsia. I asked him to ride, but he refused. When I asked again he made the horse rear. And then, when I made to punish him for that, he ran away.” “I was tired, Papa! He makes me do so much. He never lets me rest. He’s always—“ “Quiet, Kuei Jen. Not another word now or I shall grow angry with you.” He looked back at Lo Wen, saw how the man stood there, his face expressionless, his whole demeanor graceful yet tense. “Is it true, Lo Wen? Are you working my son too hard?” There was the faintest movement of the head. “No, Chieh Hsia. He is a healthy boy. A little overweight for his height, perhaps, but sound. What he lacks is muscle tone. If he is to learn to ride and shoot properly, he must develop strength in his calves and upper arms. From such strength comes ch’i, the inner strength, the stillness, that a great man requires.” “That may be so, Lo Wen, but he is, after all, just a child. Can he not be eased into things?”

Lo Wen looked up, meeting the young T’ang’s eyes. “You gave me the boy, Chieh Hsia, and said I was to do as I saw fit, that I was to fashion him. But how can I do that when he runs to you each time?”

“But if it is too hard for him ...”

Lo Wen drew himself up slightly. “You recall the tale of Sun Tzu and King Ho-lu’s concubines?”

“I do.”

It was an old tale and probably apocryphal, but Li Yuan saw the point at once. In the tale the great Sun Tzu, given command of the army by King Ho-lu of Wu, was asked by the King to demonstrate his methods of training. To do so Sun Tzu had the King’s concubines line up with brooms in two groups in the palace yard, appointing the King’s two favourite concubines as “commanders.” He gave these two orders and told them to pass them on, but all the women did was giggle. Undismayed, Sun Tzu returned to the King and asked if, as his General, he carried his full authority. When the King said yes, Sun Tzu turned about and, after stating that the two “commanders” had failed in their duty, ordered them to be beheaded. King Ho-lu objected, saying they were his favorite concubines, but Sun Tzu outfaced him. Did you not say I spoke with your full authority? he asked, and when the King nodded, he proceeded with the executions. After that there was no more giggling. Within the hour the concubines were drilling like old hands.

Li Yuan looked down, then nodded. He wanted to say that he was sorry, to explain to his son why this had to be, but knew that even that was wrong. He had indulged the boy for too long, and indulgence bred a fatal weakness. If he truly loved his son he must make him strong. “You speak well, Lo Wen. Here, take the boy. Do as you must.”

“Papa!” Kuei Jen shrieked, but Li Yuan shook his head. “You are a prince, Kuei Jen, now act like a prince!” He turned the child about roughly—too roughly, perhaps—and pushed him toward LoWen. “Do as Lo Wen says. And if you burst in here again, J shall punish you, understand me, child?”

Kuei Jen turned, glaring at him, then, with a pride that seemed strange after his previous display, walked slowly from the room, Lo Wen following him.

Li Yuan sat, feeling weak, exhausted emotionally. Then, experiencing a vague anger that so many should have witnessed the exchange, he dismissed the waiting servants with a curt, ill-tempered gesture. “You did well, Cousin,” Tsu Ma said when they were gone, standing and coming across to him. “And don’t fear. He may hate you now, but he will love you for it when he understands.”

“Maybe. But he is all I have. I nearly lost him. To think that he might feel I do not love him ...” He shivered, then looked up at Tsu Ma again. “Why were we made to feel so much? Why can’t we who were born to rule have colder, harder natures?”

“Some have,” Tsu Ma answered, perching himself on the edge of the desk. “Our cousin Wang, for instance. And by the by, is he coming here tomorrow for the tournament? I hear he’s put on weight since we last saw him.” Li Yuan nodded. “We’ll see the fat bastard. At least, so his Chancellor informs us.”

“Things are bad, neh? They say his City is in chaos.” “Does it surprise you, Ma? He was never born to rule, that one. Why, if he hadn’t murdered his brother . . .” Li Yuan stopped, meeting Tsu Ma’s eyes. “You’ve heard the rumors, I assume?”

Tsu Ma leaned in toward his fellow T’ang, his voice suddenly much softer. “The version I’d heard was that he killed them all. Three brothers, his father, two uncles, and at least five of his father’s wives. It makes Tsao Ch’un seem like benevolence itself!”

Li Yuan smiled, but the smile quickly faded. “And if he falls? If he’s deposed and Africa goes the way of Mars and North America?” “Then we rule what we hold. You, I, and Wei Chan Yin. Until the times improve and we can take back what is lost. But let’s not think of that now. Let’s break for a while. Let’s saddle up two of your best horses and go riding for an hour or two. What do you say?” Li Yuan hesitated, conscious of all the work there was to be done before the morrow. Then, seeing the eagerness in his cousin’s face, he relented. “Okay. Let’s ride. But we must be back by six, or Nan Ho will be furious with me.”

“By six? Why . . . what’s happening at six?”

Li Yuan steepled his fingers beneath his chin, then looked back at Tsu Ma. “I’ll tell you later, Ma. Over dinner. But now let us go, while the day is still fresh.”

wang sau-leyan lay back on the heaped silk cushions of his bed, a wine cup propped against his bloated chest, watching the flickering screen. These were old tapes from the archives, scenes from the time of “The Seeding,” from those final days before the City had been built across Africa. The T’ang looked on, unmoved by the unfolding images of suffering, by the misery, the hopelessness, the camera revealed in every eye. “Bankrupt,” he said, turning to his Chancellor, who waited in the shadows close by. “They’re all morally bankrupt. They forget, Master Hung. Forget the truth of where they came from.” He laughed, then shifted his bulk on the cushions, spilling his wine, though he hardly seemed to notice. “These were the foundations,” he said, pointing a plump, jewel-encrusted hand at the screen. “Eight hundred million they killed in Africa alone. A further two and a half billion elsewhere. And for what? To build a world of walls and levels! A world lacking all decency!” Hung Mien-lo looked down, conscious of the gross irony of his T’ang’s words, yet also disturbed by what he’d seen. “It was the tyrant Tsao Ch’un, Chieh Hsia. All that was his doing.” Wang Sau-leyan made a noise of disgust and turned to stare at his Chancellor. “So they’d have you believe. But let me tell you, Hung, it wasn’t like that. It was our forefathers—our great-great-greatgrandfathers—who did this thing. It was they who organized and ran it, they who gave the orders. And all this crap about them overthrowing the tyrant. . . well, they did, but for no great altruistic reasons. The truth is, they wanted power. They were sick with desire for it. And this world of ours is infected with that sickness.” And you? Hung might have asked, but didn’t. He never did. Instead he handed Wang Sau-leyan the list, the latest list of traitors, more than a thousand names this time. Wang took it, scanned it idly, then laughed. “They hate me, don’t they, Hung? That’s why they take these risks . . . why they gamble their lives on taking mine. But what’s the point in all this plotting and scheming? If it were me, I’d simply wire myself up as a walking bomb and go blow the shit out of my enemy!” “It would not be so simple, Chieh Hsia. One must first be granted an audience. Besides, my guards search all who come here.” Wang stared at him a long time, then nodded. “Yes, Hung. You take good care of me, neh?”

There was a strange bitterness in that final word that made Hung Mien-lo look up.

“Give me the brush, Hung. I’ll sign it now.” Hung did as he was told, then set the warrant aside. As he turned back, he realized that Wang Sau-leyan was still watching him. Beyond him the screen still flickered with the images of death. The death of the dark continent. Before the Han had come.

“We keep the Oven Man busy, you and I, neh, Hung? We carry on our forefathers’ work.”

Hung swallowed and looked down, the temptation to say something almost overwhelming.

‘Tour silence is eloquent, Hung. Oh, I know you hate me too. I’m not a lovable man, neh? But I’m not a hypocrite. I’m not like those bastards my cousins, pretending foul is fair. I know what I am. And if honest self-knowledge is a virtue, I am virtuous in that regard if in no other.” He laughed, then rolled back, returning his gaze to the screen. “It disconcerts you, doesn’t it, Hung? All this honesty. You’d rather I were more like them, that I pretended more. Well, I can pretend like the best of them, but only for good reason. I never fool myself that I am the thing I pretend to be like they do, poor fools.” Hung waited, but there was no more. Wang lay there, his eyes closed, as if he were asleep. Hung cleared his throat. “And the tournament tomorrow, Chieh Hsia. Will you go?”

“Maybe,” Wang answered, not opening his eyes. “I’ll see how I feel. My champion is there already, I take it?”

“He arrived there yesterday, Chieh Hsia.”

“Do you think he’ll win?”

Hung hesitated. “I’d . . . say it was unlikely, Chieh Hsia.” The T’ang chuckled. “Maybe you should have told him he was a dead man unless he did. It certainly brought the best out of him last time, neh?” “It did, Chieh Hsia.”

“And now I need my rest. You are dismissed, Hung. Oh, and send the woman. Tell her I’ve one of my headaches coming on. Tell her . . .” He waved a hand vaguely. “Well, just send her.”

“Chieh Hsia.” Hung bowed his head, then backed away, his face a wall, hiding his innermost thoughts.

the woman stood in the doorway, naked, watching him. She was tall, unnaturally so, and statuesque. Her thick blond hair hung in four long plaits against the stark whiteness of her flesh, each plait braided intricately with golden thread, while her eyes were so cold and blue that the gray northern sea seemed almost warm by comparison. As Wang Sau-leyan stared at her a smile slowly formed on her strong, narrow lips. She was beautiful, no doubting it. Coldly, powerfully beautiful. His weakness, his one true indulgence. She came across and climbed onto the bed, her full and heavy breasts swinging gently above him as he lay there. He watched, mesmerized, as she undid the braids, letting her hair fall like a curtain of fine, golden silk. Then, as her lips brushed against his chest, he closed his eyes again, relaxing.

Afterward she lay there on the bed beside him, sleeping, strands of her hair fanned out across her pure white shoulders, her firm lips slightly parted, the blueness of her eyes masked by a thin veil of flesh. light from a lamp across the room picked out her naked form, making her a thing of curves and shadows.

He raised himself on one elbow and studied her, surprised that even now, after eighteen months, he continually saw new aspects of her. She was not like the other Hung Mao women he had known—those cheaply perfumed whores masquerading as sophisticates. Nor would she meet their fate. This one was different. She had breeding. Each movement, the smallest nuance of word or gesture, spoke of extreme cultivation. In a strange, almost paradoxical sense, she was tsu kuo . . . the motherland he’d always sought. He shivered, then stood, hauling himself up out of the silken folds of the bed, conscious of the restlessness that affected him whenever he thought of this.

Smiling, he turned and looked at her again, seeing at once how she had turned in her sleep and now lay there, open to him, vulnerable, her left hand curled about her inner thigh, the right hand clenched beside her face. In sleep the child returned. In his mind he could see her, younger and much smaller, all signs of adulthood removed, lying just so upon the sheets, and felt a pang of longing for the reality of the vision. Pulling on his gown he turned, looking about him. On a table to one side were the three tiny statues he had bought for her. He went across and lifted one from its stand, examining it. It was a white jade swan, its wings stretched back, its long neck craning forward as it launched itself in flight. He shivered, the sight of its perfect, delicate form stirring his memory.

The memory was sharp and clear. He had been thirteen and undersized for his age. It was the day of his eldest brother Chang Ye’s wedding and he had come upon his brothers with their friends— princes all, related to his clan by marriage—in the pavilion by the crescent lake at Tao Yuan. He had made to turn away, when one of them called out to him mockingly.

“Sau-leyan? Is it true you have a taste for hsueh pail”

He had glared at the youngest of the group, his second brother, Lieh Tsu, and stormed away angrily, humiliated that the thing he had told him in strictest confidence had been so cheaply traded. And as he ran across the grass, the image of his brothers’ laughing faces had burned into his mind. He said the word softly—“Hsueh pai”—then spoke the anglicized form, “Snow whites,” the pet name the boys had for the Hung Mao women they met in the Above. Even then he had found them fascinating—had wanted them above the women of his own race.

He pulled his silks tighter about him, suddenly cold, and let his breath hiss between closed lips. The sound of the sea breaking on a northern shore. And now, he thought, their mouths are cold and silent. No, not one of them who had laughed at him that day now lived. Not a single one. He had made sure of that.

Wang turned. She was watching him from the bed, her blue eyes tracing the shape of him, as if to make sense of him from how he stood. And when her eyes met his, lips and eyes formed a smile that was rich and warm and loving.

“What were you thinking, Sau-leyan?”

“Hsueh pai,” he said, then, seeing that she made nothing of the word, added, “It’s nothing. Just a childhood thing. The swans reminded me.” She came across and stood beside him, studying the swans, like an empress even in her nakedness. He stared at her a moment, then placed his hand against her flank, surprised to find her warm. She looked down at his hand and laughed. “Was it not enough for you, my lord?” “It is never enough. When you come here it’s”—he shrugged— “well, it’s like I’m home. As if the rest were all a dream, and this here ...” She reached up, taking his hands. “I know.” It was a strangely fragile gesture, very different from the strength he normally associated with her. Kneeling, he drew her close and held her to him.

“It will change,” he said. “I shall make you my Empress.”

She pushed herself back, looking at him sharply. “Impossible.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll make it possible.”

She shuddered. “You think the Seven will let you?” “Those bastards . . . they’ll permit me nothing. And yet I am a T’ang. I may do as I wish, surely?”

She was still watching him, her face unchanged. Then, as if she had made a choice, she lowered her eyes and slowly shook her head. “No, Wang Sau-leyan. I’ll not let you. You would ruin yourself for my sake, and where would we both be then?”

She touched his cheek, making him look at her again. “Promise me, my lord.

Promise me you’ll do nothing rash.”

He smiled and kissed her gently. “I promise.” But in his mind he was picturing how it would be once the Seven had been honed to One, when, as Son of Heaven, he would take her for his bride, mixing their bloodlines in the start of a great new Dynasty. No one would laugh at him that day. No, he would stand no mockery when he was Huang Ti. “Good,” she said, drawing him close, her face buried in the folds of his stomach. “Then come to bed. I need you. . . .”

nan ho looked up from his desk, glaring at the man who sat before him. “Aiya! Why was I not told of this before now? Why has it had to come to this before I was informed?”

The Minister, chastened by the Chancellor’s tone, kept his head low, his

eyes averted. “I thought it would blow over, Excellency. I thought—“

“You thought! More like you didn’t think. More like you ignored your

Junior Ministers memoranda while you pissed away your time in

whorehouses!”

The Minister’s head bobbed up, astonished by the Chancellors outburst.

“Why, Excellency! I protest!”

“Be quiet, man!” Nan Ho roared, standing, his face dark with anger. “Don’t you realize what’s happening, Yang Shao-fu? We have a full-scale epidemic on our hands—something we haven’t seen in more than a century—and you’ve been sitting on your ass for four days, hoping it would ‘blow over’! What am I to tell the T’ang? That his Minister ignored the facts? That he was so incompetent that nearly thirty thousand people died before he took notice?”

Minister Yang was almost curled into a ball now, his head almost touching his knees as he answered Nan Ho. “It was all so ... unprecedented, Excellency. Such a thing”—he swallowed—“as you say, it has not happened in several lifetimes.”

“Which is what makes it all the more worrying, nehl Why in the gods’ names did you not come to me at once?” The Chancellor sighed, exasperated. “And today, of all days, when there is so much else to be done!” He turned away, holding a hand up to his brow. “So . . . what have you done? What measures have been taken?”

“Excellency?”

Nan Ho turned back, astonished to find the Minister staring up at him, his face a blank. “You’ve taken measures, I assume. Quarantine procedures and the like?”

Yang Shao-fu shook his head.

“The gods preserve us!” He took a long breath, then began again, trying hard to keep his patience. “Look. What do we know? Do we know, for instance, where the thing originated?”

“Where it originated? No, Excellency. That we do not know. But we do know where it first came into the City.”

“We know something! Ahh . . . Well, speak, then, Yang Shao-fu. Tell me.

Please.”

“The first cases were reported at the southern ports. At Naples Hsien and Marseilles.”

Nan Ho sat, understanding at once. His voice was the merest breath.

“Africa . . . it’s coming in from Africa.” “Of course,” Yang rambled on, pleased now that he had something, at least, to report, “we can’t be sure of its source, but first indications are—“ “Oh, do shut up, man! Let me think!”

Again Yang Shao-fu sat back, his mouth open, staring at the Chancellor in astonishment. In all his years as Minister he had never been treated so rudely, so ... offhandedly.

“Yes,” Nan Ho said thoughtfully, as if talking to himself. “There’s no other way. We’ll have to close the ports and ban all traffic between the two Cities. It’s a big step, but there’s no alternative. As for the epidemic itself, we must take immediate steps to isolate the affected areas.”

“Close the ports?” Yang said, his eyes wide. “By whose authority?” “By the authority invested in me by Li Yuan!” Nan Ho said, leaning across his desk, his whole manner defiant now. “Look, Minister Yang, we have wasted far too much time already. It would not do to waste another hour. I want all the affected areas cordoned off at once and placed under the very tightest security, and all those who’ve traveled in those areas must be traced and isolated too. Every last one, understand? Oh, and I want you to report to me every hour on the hour, understand me? From now on I want to know everything that happens.”

The Minister hesitated, then bowed his head. “Good. Then get going, Yang Shao-fu. Now!” Nan Ho stood, shooing him away as if he were the most junior clerk. “Come on, man! Go and redeem yourself. ...” Then, beneath his breath: “If that’s possible.”

mary looked about her at the huge expanse of the Mansion’s ballroom, at the great swaths of bunting and colored silk, and sighed deeply. It was almost done, the last of the preparations finished, three days of solid work complete, but still she wasn’t happy. She had never liked these occasions, not that they’d had much chance to throw that many parties back in America, but it wasn’t what she had been bom to and the pleasure she derived from them never outweighed the discomfort she always felt. In the past she had only gone to them because of Michael. But this time it was her own party and there would be no chance to slip away when things really got her down, no escape from the limelight until the last guest left, sometime in the early hours.

She turned, hearing footsteps in the hallway, then broke into a smile.

“Gloria! Thank the gods you’re here.”

Gloria Chung came across, beaming, embracing her friend, then stepped back, surveying the preparations.

“It looks great, Mary. It really does. Who did you use?” “It’s someone that a friend recommended. They’re very good. I don’t know how I’d have coped without them. Mind you, we’ve had a few problems this morning. Three of her girls reported sick and we had dreadful trouble finding replacements. You wouldn’t dream—“ She stopped. “Gods, listen to me. . . .” She turned away, her eyes running over the banners and decorations, checking to see all was well, the habit of the last three days hard to shake. “I don’t like it. All the pretense.