‘How so, sir?’
‘Because now A-ku will be doubly wary. When they attack in earnest we shall kill less of them. That is why.’
An uncomfortable silence settled round the table. Guang felt the officials beside him inch away a little. Wang Bai cleared his throat delicately.
‘General Zheng Shun is wise,’ he said. ‘But I must venture to disagree. Yun Guang scorched A-ku’s pride and lent heart to our troops.’
However, Guang could not dismiss General Zheng Shun’s words so easily. Surprise had indeed been squandered in a way one might call foolish. Besides, he doubted Wang Bai’s motives – and confirmation came at once.
‘May I add,’ said the Pacification Commissioner’s nephew. ‘It will hardly raise morale among the people to pull down perfectly serviceable houses near Swallow Gate. Your Excellency, I petition that such decisions are left to myself in future.’
General Zheng Shun snorted.
‘You refer to my own decision?’
‘I do,’ said Wang Bai. ‘A most regrettable action.’
‘Because the tenants pay their rent to you?’ asked Zheng Shun.
‘That is irrelevant.’
Again the council of war lapsed into silence. Guang looked from face to face. Could they really be debating such things at such a time? Even Wang Ting-bo seemed displeased with his nephew for raising the matter.
‘Gentlemen! To business!’
They waited for him to define it. He waved his hand, then clapped decisively.
‘These are grave times,’ he said.
‘Your Excellency,’ broke in General Zheng Shun. ‘I repeat, our strength lies in our defences. We must await a relief force sent by the Son of Heaven to raise the siege. We cannot risk open battle until then.’
‘Ah!’ said the Pacification Commissioner. ‘Ah! Now that is the moot point.’
‘Our moats are wide,’ said Admiral Qi-Qi. ‘If they try to cross them, their casualties will be absurd.’
Guang tried to look wise as he followed the debate. The Zheng cousins’ policy seemed undeniable, so that Wang Ting-bo’s response, when it finally came, surprised him.
‘We must be bold!’ announced the Pacification Commissioner. ‘I have decided that a counterattack should be launched from the city as soon as possible. The Court expects nothing less and I am loathe to disappoint them.’
‘Your Excellency!’ protested General Zheng Shun. ‘There are at least forty thousand cavalry out there.’
‘It must be accomplished,’ said Wang Ting-bo, doggedly.
‘I concur,’ broke in Wang Bai. ‘It will send the clearest message of our resolve to His Imperial Majesty.’
Guang knew he should support his great patrons. Yet all his instinct revolted against wasting brave men’s lives.
‘We must burn their camps,’ insisted His Excellency.
‘If we ever reach them, sir,’ retorted Zheng Shun.
For a moment the Pacification Commissioner wavered. Then his nephew spoke up softly.
‘If we are afraid, there is little hope of victory.’
General Zheng Shun went pale.
‘Afraid? No one used
that
word.’
‘Nevertheless. . .’
‘If His Excellency commands, I will lead the attack myself,’
declared Zheng Shun. ‘Though I strongly advise against it.’
Again Wang Ting-bo seemed torn.
‘We must consider how the Court will perceive a failure to counterattack,’ said Wang Bai, addressing his uncle directly.
‘They are noting our strength of will and might conclude our resolve is wavering. Or that. . .’
‘We value maintaining our strength?’ interrupted Admiral Qi-Qi.
Wang Bai smiled, apparently unconcerned by the disrespect he had been shown.
‘Naturally.’
His Excellency Wang Ting-bo scowled in a most martial manner, as though the Son of Heaven would somehow see his resolve and reward him as he deserved. Yet the capital lay far, far away.
‘Our resolution knows no wavering!’ he announced. ‘Gather our forces. We shall attack at dawn and General Zheng Shun shall lead the assault.’
‘Your Excellency. . .’
Guang found himself speaking. He had not meant to speak.
It was undoubtedly best to say nothing. But he admired Zheng Shun and wished only to help him. For a moment he groped for a means. It came in a flash.
‘Your Excellency,’ he said. ‘Though you propose an infantry attack, perhaps my artillery might be of help. The enemy have foolishly built their camps at the far range of my siege crossbows and catapults. I suggest delaying an attack until the wind favours us. Then we shall direct combustibles upon them and follow with fire. In the confusion, General Zheng Shun’s forces could gain surprise and at least burn their outer camps.’
He became aware everyone present was observing him closely. He sensed, for the first time, something like respect.
‘That sounds right,’ said Zheng Shun. ‘A limited foray to dent their confidence and burn their catapults. Then we could retreat before their cavalry bear down on us.’
Wang Bai waved his hand impatiently.
‘Never mind the wind! Astonishment is our great ally!’ he said. ‘If we attack at dawn, as His Excellency has already decided, victory is certain.’
Guang could not remain silent.
‘Fire breathes wind, sir. Let us wait until the wind is right.’
General Zheng Shun nodded so fiercely that once more Wang Ting-bo hesitated.
‘Fire breathes wind!’ he chuckled. ‘How true. Then let them burn. Yes, we shall delay until the wind is favourable.’
Guang turned to Wang Bai and flinched. He had never expected to see such cold rage in his patron’s usually urbane glance.
‘Your Excellency,’ said Wang Bai. ‘I wish to mention another matter. Although Yun Guang has been appointed as our
temporary
Commander of Artillery in Nancheng, may I suggest that another is appointed for Fouzhou? Then if Yun Guang is wounded or if he displeases you, a replacement is instantly to hand.’
Guang hid his confusion with a bow. He had been warned.
If he did not support Wang Bai in everything, another man would wear his uniform, occupy his new house, and acknowledge the bows of ten thousand subordinates.
‘Why not?’ said Wang Ting-bo. ‘A single man cannot be in two places at once. Carry on, gentlemen. I will send a message to the Court that we shall attack imminently.’
His Excellency beamed, plainly satisfied he had pleased everyone while still getting his way. The sickly-sweet aroma of autumn flowers stole into the summerhouse.
*
Guang spent the entire night moving catapults and supervising alterations to giant crossbow shafts. From his vantage point on Swallow Gate, the barbarians’ campfires glittered like a thousand angry red stars, scenting the night with burning.
A day passed. Mindful of General Zheng Shun’s reproach, Guang instructed his men to conceal their range and ignore tempting targets. He noted several enemy encampments close to the city. Did their proximity denote contempt? Or over-confidence? Perhaps the wooden walls and ditches were a trap: the Mongols were notorious for feints and manoeuvres.
Dawn mists rolled on the river; the future swirled in on itself.
He tried to use each hour wisely, drilling the catapult crews and amassing stores of poison bombs and rocket arrows.
On the evening of the second day, Guang peered at the moon above Mount Wadung. A curved sword parted high, drifting clouds. Soon it would be in the lodge of
yi
. Where moonlight was watery and unsteady, surely a great wind would arise within three nights.
‘Chen Song,’ he said, staring across the moat and killing-ground to the Mongol camp. ‘Do you see what I do?’
A line of twenty enemy catapults were lobbing stones into the night sky. One crashed into the darkness beyond Swallow Gate. A terrible shriek followed.
‘Why do we not reply in kind?’ asked Chen Song.
‘Because their catapults have given me heart,’ said Guang.
‘I would not damage them for the world. Where they have stones, they will store burning-powder and thunderclap bombs.
It seems A-ku has provided me with something to set ablaze.’
‘Unless he anticipates us,’ muttered Chen Song.
Three nights later the wisdom of the Ancient Commentators was confirmed. Invisible fingers tugged the defenders’ hair and uniforms, making banners flow stiffly on their poles. General Zheng Shun joined Guang as he watched the enemy from Swallow Gate. The Commander of Artillery bowed respectfully to the more senior officer.
‘As you predicted,’ drawled Zheng Shun. ‘The wind is up. I take it you have no objection to dawn?’
‘None at all.’
‘I shall order my regiments to gather in silence by the gates.
Any who make a noise will pay with their tongues. Will your men be told the same?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Zheng Shun seemed pleased.
‘Good. We are of one mind. Dawn is three bells away. Be prepared.’
‘I am ready.’
The older man chuckled.
‘I believe you are, though I still don’t like this. Everything seems too easy.’ He looked at Guang shrewdly. ‘Of course, attacking is madness. But then, it is insane that the barbarians have been allowed to reach the Twin Cities at all. Unless one blames treason. Not every great man in the Empire would be sorry to see the Son of Heaven humbled.’
He waited for a reply but Guang found such thoughts unpalatable. General Zheng Shun chuckled dryly and strolled away.
The hour before dawn is a time of fitful dreams. Vague shapes floated through Guang’s mind, trailing fears and clutching fingers. It is said the nails of fox-demons are twisted like sea-shells and caked with their victims’ blood. That they wait to carry off souls denied an honourable burial. Guang recollected these stories as he peered down at the companies squatting beneath the shelter of the walls. He caught glimpses of white eyes. Glints of steel reflected torches on the ramparts. Slowly, far to the east, the direction of the capital and Court, a red glow hardened behind distant hills.
At last General Zheng Shun trotted on a grey stallion towards the gate, followed by a band of cavalry holding bundles of oil-drenched torches.
‘Incendiary thieves,’ muttered Guang to Chen Song. ‘They will ride ahead of the infantry and hurl swallow-tail torches into the camp.’
‘Then they are brave,’ said Chen Song.
Zheng Shun stood in his stirrups and raised his arm to Guang. With a decisive motion, he let it fall. At once Guang addressed his officers.
‘Release!’ he roared.
Flags waved up and down the city walls. Great cracking sounds filled the air as when an ice-bound river grinds and breaks apart. The sky was streaked by meteors – giant crossbow bolts laden with flasks of oil and fuses – catapults hurling bombs in high arcs. Guang rushed to the rail to see where they landed. He barely noticed the cavalry galloping across gaps in the moat, their torches ablaze. Or the companies of foot soldiers streaming after them.
‘Release!’ he bellowed, again and again.
By now incendiary bombs were striking the nearest sections of the Mongol camp, planting flowers of spark and flame.
Nearly every catapult in the city had been brought to this area of the ramparts. Guang noted oily clouds billowing from the line of enemy artillery. A huge explosion made one catapult tumble.
‘As I foresaw!’ he exclaimed to Chen Song. ‘We’ve hit their thunderclap bombs!’
By now the incendiary thieves had galloped into the smoke-filled camp, whirling their flaming torches. The regiments of infantry had covered half the ground, advancing at a brisk trot.
There was time for a final volley. Guang ordered the fluttering of purple flags. A flight of stones and crossbow bolts arced towards the camp and vanished in the smoke.
‘Cease!’ he bellowed. ‘Fresh teams to the catapults! Chen Song, order all officers to watch my flags. If I show the yellow, any who fail to obey the signal shall be punished. Order the rocket-arrow flame-archers to take up position on the south western ramparts.’
Yet it seemed he would not need to fly the yellow flag, the signal he had chosen to denote their most desperate strategem.
General Zheng Shun’s infantry were pouring into the barely defended camp. A bedlam of cries and hammering floated to the city. The air was tainted with burning oil and naphtha, a sweet, heady scent that always made his nostrils flare. Guang stared avidly into the burning siege lines.
Dark specks were visible, rushing this way and that. Perhaps General A-ku had been caught unawares. If Zheng Shun’s halberdiers reached the horses, a startling victory might be achieved, one to enter the annals and be debated by strategists for centuries to come. And would not the name of Commander Yun Guang be weighed among the others? He could not doubt it.
Time passed. Still no sign from Zheng Shun. Guang mastered an urge to abandon his post and gallop into the Mongol camp.
If only he could meet A-ku sword to sword! Or better still, Khan Bayke!
‘Chen Song,’ he said, trembling. ‘What is going on in there?’
His friend peered across the battlefield.
‘I have a bad feeling,’ he said, dully.
This was so unlike him that Guang frowned.
‘Why?’
‘That smoke to the south is not from fire,’ said Chen Song.
‘It looks like dust.’
Now Guang strained with every nerve in the direction of his friend’s pointing finger. He blinked. Looked again. Then panicked.
‘The rocket-arrow flame-archers on the south western ramparts must take up position!’ he shouted. ‘Quickly! They are seeking to outflank us!’
Mongol cavalry were indeed gathering. Perhaps a whole division of ten thousand. Was it a trap after all?
‘Chen Song, go there at once! All regiments of crossbowmen must line the battlements. When their cavalry are parallel to our ramparts, command the men to loose everything they have!’
Chen Song rushed along the walkway while Guang stared to the south west. Turning to the officers around him, he ordered.
‘Prepare noxious bombs, but hold back until I command.’
Now Guang fixed his attention on the Mongol camp. To the south his catapults had not commenced firing. How long would Chen Song take? Each moment’s delay might cost a hundred lives. Above all, a charge must be prevented. It would sweep all hope before it.