An Inch of Ashes (3 page)

Tsu Ma bowed his head. ‘Whatever you say, my lady.’

The boat began to turn. Beyond the temple on the small hill the lake curved like a swallow’s wing. There, near the wing’s tip, was a tiny island, reached by a wooden bridge of three spans. Servants had prepared it earlier. As they rounded the point, they could see it clearly, the bridge and the tiny, two-tiered pagoda lit by coloured lanterns.

Li Yuan stared across the water, delighted, then looked back at Fei Yen.

‘It’s beautiful, you clever thing. When did you plan all this?’

Fei Yen laughed and looked down, clearly pleased by his praise. ‘This afternoon. After we’d been riding. I... I did it for our guest, husband.’

Tsu Ma slowed his stroke momentarily and bowed his head to Fei Yen. ‘I am touched, my lady. You do me great honour.’

Li Yuan watched the exchange, his breast filled with pride for his wife. She was so clever to have thought of it. It was just the right touch. The perfect end to a perfect day. The kind of thing a man would remember for the rest of his days. Yes, he could imagine it now, forty years from now, he and Tsu Ma, standing on the terrace by the lake, looking back...

She had even been clever enough to provide an escort for the T’ang. A clever, pretty woman who was certain to delight Tsu Ma. Indeed, had Fei Yen not been in the boat, he would have allowed himself to concede that Wu Tsai was herself quite beautiful.

For a moment he studied the two women, comparing them. Wu Tsai was taller than Fei Yen, her face, like her body, longer and somehow grosser, her nose broader, her lips fuller, her cheekbones less refined, her neck stronger, her breasts more prominent beneath the silk of her jacket. Yet it was only by contrast with Fei Yen that these things were noticeable: as if in Fei Yen lay the very archetype of Han beauty, and all else, however fine in itself, was but a flawed copy of that perfection.

The island drew near. Li Yuan leaned forward, instructing Tsu Ma where to land. Then the boat was moored and Tsu Ma was handing the girls up on to the wooden jetty, the soft rustle of their silks as they disembarked seeming, for that brief moment, to merge with the silken darkness of the night and the sweetness of their perfume.

They settled on the terrace, Fei Yen busying herself laying out the table while Wu Tsai sat and made pleasant conversation with Tsu Ma. Li Yuan stood at the rail, looking out across the darkness of the lake, his sense of ease, of inner stillness, lulling him so that for a time he seemed aware only of the dull murmur of the voices behind him and the soft lapping of the water against the wooden posts of the jetty. Then there was the light touch of a hand on his shoulder and he turned to find Fei Yen there, smiling up at him.

‘Please, husband. Come sit with us.’

He put his arms about her and lowered his face to meet her lips, then came and sat with them. Fei Yen stood by a tiny table to one side, pouring wine into cups from a porcelain jug; offering first to the T’ang and then to her husband, finally to her cousin. Only then did she give a little bow and, pouring herself some wine, settled, kneeling at her husband’s side.

Tsu Ma studied them both a moment, then raised his cup. ‘You are a lucky man, Li Yuan, to have such a wife. May your marriage be blessed with many sons!’

Li Yuan bowed his head, inordinately pleased. But it was no more than the truth. He
was
lucky. He looked down at the woman kneeling by his side and felt his chest tighten with his love for her.
His
. It was three days now since the wedding and yet he could not look at her without thinking that.
His
. Of all the men in Chung Kuo, only he was allowed this richness, this lifelong measure of perfection. He shivered and raised his cup, looking back at Tsu Ma.

‘To friendship!’ he offered, meeting Tsu Ma’s eyes. ‘To we four, here tonight, and to our eternal friendship!’

Tsu Ma leaned forward, his teeth flashing as he smiled. ‘Yes. To friendship!’ He clinked his cup against Li Yuan’s, then raised it in offering, first to Wu Tsai and finally to Fei Yen.

Fei Yen had been looking up from beneath her lashes, her pose the very image of demure, obedient womanhood. At Tsu Ma’s toast, however, she looked down sharply, as if abashed. But it was not bashfulness that made her avert her eyes; it was a deeper, stronger feeling: one that she tried to hide not only from the watchful T’ang, but from herself. She turned her head, looking up at Li Yuan.

‘Would my husband like more wine?’

Li Yuan smiled back at her, handsome in his own way, and loving, too – a good man for all his apparent coldness – yet her blood didn’t thrill at his touch, neither did her heart race in her chest the way it was racing now in the presence of Tsu Ma.

‘In a while, my love,’ he answered her. ‘But see to our guest first. Tsu Ma’s cup is almost empty.’

She bowed her head and, setting down her cup, went to bring the wine jug. Tsu Ma had turned slightly in his seat and now sat there, his booted legs spread, one hand clasping his knee, the other holding out his cup. Turning, seeing him like that, Fei Yen caught her breath. It was so like the way Han Ch’in had used to sit, his strong legs spread arrogantly, his broad hands resting on his knees. She bowed deeply, hiding her sudden confusion, holding out the jug before her.

‘Well...?’ Li Yuan prompted, making her start and spill some of the wine.

Tsu Ma laughed; a soft, generous laughter that made her look up at him again and meet his eyes. Yes, there was no doubting it; he knew what she was thinking. Knew the effect he’d had upon her.

She poured the wine then backed away, her head bowed, her throat suddenly dry, her heart pounding. Setting the jug down, she settled at her husband’s feet again, but now she was barely conscious of Li Yuan. The whole world had suddenly turned about. She knelt there, her head lowered, trying to still the sudden tremor of her hands, the violent beating of her heart, but the sight of his booted feet beneath the table held her eyes. She stared at them, mesmerized, the sound of his voice like a drug on her senses, numbing her.

Wu Tsai was flirting with Tsu Ma, leaning towards him, her words and gestures unmistakable in their message, but Fei Yen could sense how detached the T’ang was from her games. He leaned towards Wu Tsai, laughing, smiling, playing the ancient game with ease and charm, but his attention was focused on herself. She could sense how his body moved towards her subtly; how, with the utmost casualness, he strove at each moment to include her in all that was said. And Li Yuan? He was unaware of this. It was like the poor child was asleep, enmeshed in his dream of perfect love.

She looked away, pained suddenly by all she was thinking. Li Yuan was her husband, and one day he would be T’ang. He deserved her loyalty, in body and soul. And yet...

She rose quietly and went into the pagoda, returning a moment later with a
p’i p’a
, the ancient four-stringed lute shaped like a giant teardrop.

‘What’s this?’ said Li Yuan, turning to look at her.

She stood there, her head bowed. ‘I thought it might be pleasant if we had some music.’

Li Yuan turned and looked across at Tsu Ma, who smiled and gave a tiny nod of his head. But instead of handing the lute to her cousin, as Li Yuan had expected, Fei Yen sat, the lute held upright in her lap, and began to play.

Li Yuan sat there, entranced by the fluency of her playing, the swift certainty of her fingers across the strings, by the passionate tiny movements of her head as she wrought the tune from nothingness. He recognized the song. It was the
Kan Hua Hui
, the ‘Flower Fair’, a sweet, sprightly tune that took considerable expertise to play. When she finished he gave a short laugh and bowed his head. He was about to speak, to praise her, when she began again – a slower, more thoughtful piece this time.

It was the
Yueh Erh Kao
, ‘The Moon on High’.

He shivered, looking out across the blackness of the lake, his heart suddenly in his throat. It was beautiful: as if the notes were tiny silver fishes floating in the darkness. As the playing grew faster, more complex, his gaze was drawn to her face again and he saw how her eyes had almost closed, her whole being suddenly focused on the song, on the movement of her fingers against the strings. It reminded him of that moment years before when she had drawn and aimed the bow. How her whole body had seemed to become part of the bow, and how, when the arrow had been released, it had been as if part of her had flown through the air towards the distant target.

He breathed slowly, his lips parted in wonder. And Han was dead, and she was his. And still the Great Wheel turned...

It ended. For a time no one spoke. Then Wu Tsai leaned forward and took her cup from the table, smiling, looking across at Tsu Ma.

‘My cousin is very gifted,’ she said. ‘It is said in our family that the gods made a mistake the day Fei Yen was born; that they meant Yin Tsu to have another son. But things were mixed up and while she received the soul of a man, she was given the body of a woman.’

Fei Yen had looked up briefly, only to avert her eyes again, but it was clear from her smile that she had heard the story often and was not displeased by it. Tsu Ma, however, turned to face Wu Tsai, coming to Fei Yen’s defence.

‘From what I’ve seen, if the gods were mistaken it was in one small respect alone. That Fei Yen is not
quite
perfect...’

Fei Yen met his eyes momentarily, responding to his teasing tone. ‘Not quite,
Chieh Hsia
?’

‘No...’ He held out his empty cup. ‘For they should have made you twins. One to fill my cup while the other played.’

There was laughter all round. But when Fei Yen made to get up and pour for him, Tsu Ma took the jug and went round himself, filling their cups.

‘There!’ he said, sitting back. ‘Now I can listen once again.’

Taking his hint, Fei Yen straightened the
p’i p’a
in her lap and, after a moment’s concentration, began to play. This time it was a song none of them had heard before. A strange, melancholy tune. And as she played she sang in a high contralto.

Li Yuan, watching her, found himself spellbound by the song, transfixed by the pain in her face as she sang, and astonished that he had never heard her sing before – that he had never guessed she had these talents. When she had finished and the lute had fallen silent, he looked across at Tsu Ma and saw how the T’ang sat there, his head bowed, his hands clasped together tightly as if in grief.

Tsu Ma looked up, tears filming his eyes, his voice soft. ‘That was beautiful, Lady Fei. Perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.’

Fei Yen was looking down, the
p’i p’a
resting loosely against her breasts, her whole frame bent forward, as if she had emptied herself with the song. She made a tiny motion of her head, acknowledging the T’ang’s words; then she stood and, with bows to Tsu Ma and her husband, turned and went back into the pagoda.

‘Well...’ said Tsu Ma, looking directly at Li Yuan. ‘What can I say, my friend? You honour me, tonight. I mean that.’

‘I, too, Tsu Ma. This has been an evening to remember.’

Tsu Ma sat back. ‘That’s true.’ He shivered, then seemed to come to himself again and smiled. ‘But, come, I am neglecting the Lady Wu.’ He turned to Wu Tsai, his smile widening. ‘Do
you
play anything, my lady?’

Li Yuan smiled, recognizing that Tsu Ma was hinting he should go after his wife. With a bow to his guests he went. But Fei Yen was not inside the pagoda. He stood there in the empty room for a moment, frowning, hearing only the laughter from the terrace outside. Then he heard her, calling him softly from the far side of the pagoda.

They strolled back across the bridge, his arm about her neck, her tiny body pressed warm and tight against his side. The night was mild and dark and comforting about them, but the terrace was empty, the pagoda too. Li Yuan looked about him, puzzled, then stiffened, hearing a splash in the water close by.

He crouched, facing the danger. ‘Get behind me, Fei Yen!’ he said, quietly but urgently, drawing the dagger from his boot.

A peal of laughter rolled out from the darkness in front of them; rich and deep and full of warmth. Li Yuan relaxed. It was Tsu Ma.

‘Gods! What are you doing?’

Tsu Ma came closer, into the light of the lanterns. The water was up to his chest and his hair was slicked back wetly from his forehead.

‘Swimming,’ he answered. ‘It’s lovely. The water’s much warmer than I thought it would be.’

‘And the Lady Wu? Has she gone back?’

In answer there was a splashing to their left and a second whoop of laughter.

‘You should come in, you two!’ she yelled. ‘It’s marvellous!’

Li Yuan looked about him, puzzled.

Tsu Ma saw and laughed. ‘If you’re looking for our clothes, they’re in the boat. It was the Lady Wu’s idea. She told me there were fish in the lake and I wanted to see for myself.’

‘And were there?’ It was Fei Yen. She had come alongside Li Yuan and was standing there, looking across at Tsu Ma. He stood straighter in the water, his broad chest glistening wetly in the multicoloured light.

‘Only an eel,’ Wu Tsai answered, coming nearer, her naked shoulders bobbing above the surface of the water. ‘A rather stiff little eel...’