For a moment there was silence. Then his command was shouted from deck to deck. With it came cheering, incoherent at first, then the familiar name:
Captain Xiao! Captain Xiao!
At this he could barely restrain himself.
‘Forward!’ he bellowed. ‘May we be reborn as tigers not sheep!’
The paddle-wheels creaked and turned. Almost immediately he outstripped the front lines of the Relief Fleet’s rectangle, a lone, reckless craft. But his was by no means the fastest vessel in the fleet. Soon others had drawn alongside, equally wild in their desire to meet the enemy.
Now it was the Mongol’s turn to waver. The failure of their initial attack had daunted them. Scores of the war barges fled to the shore before the onslaught of the Relief Fleet. Quite as many held their station. Naphtha bombs arched from ship to ship, along with missiles of every kind. Those who had run out of better weapons hurled curses and strips of shattered planking. Within the space of a few minutes hundreds of families on both sides were given reason to grieve for long years.
Yet one by one the ships of the Relief Fleet reached the safety of the Twin Cities’ high stone ramparts. Commander Yun Guang’s was among the first to arrive at the Gate of the Vermilion Sparrow, where the Floating Bridge linked Nancheng and Fouzhou.
Jubilation greeted the bump of its prow on the stone jetty.
Men hugged each other, tears on their grizzly cheeks. A most splendid thing! Their beloved Captain Xiao had won through yet again. How noble was his demeanour, like a fearless tiger!
A dragon of the Empire! If only, many onlookers thought privately, Wang Ting-bo and the Son of Heaven’s ministers were like him. Then the Mongols would be banished soon enough and their Great Khan driven back to his barbarous palace in the wastelands.
Slowly the frantic cheers died away. A long silence was followed by muttering. For on the deck of the ship lay a familiar figure, clad in a suit of armour well-known to the defenders of Nancheng. His armour was torn open at the chest.
His face caked with blood and soot. A stubby crossbow bolt protruded from Commander Yun Guang’s left shoulder.
Another hero well-known to the onlookers, Captain Xiao’s dogged lieutenant, Chen Song, knelt beside the fallen man.
Then a question passed from mouth to mouth.
Is Captain Xiao
dead? Is he wounded or dead?
He did not twitch when the crossbow bolt was gently pulled loose and blood welled over his lamellar armour. Perhaps that spurt indicated his heart was still beating. A doctor might have answered that question at once. As if by good luck, Dr Du Tun-i, returning from his uncle’s house in Fouzhou to the North Medical Relief Bureau, was among the bystanders. He hesitated, then stepped forward to offer assistance, a strange, wilful look on his young face.
*
Shih had been moved to this tiny cell a day after the trial. The Chief Warder had appeared and personally led him away from the main prison block with its chains and diseased stench.
‘I never knew you had a wealthy friend,’ the Chief Warder said, more affably than Shih had believed possible. ‘Aren’t you Captain Xiao’s brother? Perhaps that explains it.’
Shih’s cracked lips had attempted a ghastly smile. His brother’s superiority and influence, once vexing, seemed the most desirable thing in the world – anything to escape the Prefectural prison. Yet it seemed he had escaped without any assistance from Guang, who was far away. The Chief Warder winked when Shih asked the name of his benefactor, saying he should thank ‘a pearl, sir, a real pearl!’
Dr Shih found himself in a narrow cell, four feet wide, yet tall enough for him to stand upright. It possessed a single window, heavily barred. Through that window came light and air, proof of day and night. Then vegetables and rice arrived. At first Shih examined the food suspiciously. Did His Honour or Dr Du Mau mean to poison him? But his nostrils urged the wholesomeness of the meal. Quite as miraculously it was followed by other meals, equally nourishing, each and every day. The Chief Warder regularly opened his cell door to examine him, as one might a pot-bellied sow fattened for market. Always he grunted the same question: ‘You well?’ When Shih nodded so did his captor, and the door slammed.
At dusk he was allowed to exercise by the outer walls of the Prefectural enclosure. There he would listen for stray sounds from the city. No visitors were allowed and no messages reached him from Apricot Corner Court. Often Shih slumped against the wall as darkness gathered, longing for someone whose loyalty and love were quite proven – and no longer taken for granted.
On the evening of the Winged Relief Fleet’s arrival in Nancheng, Shih lay on the floor of his cell, listening to the muffled echoes of distant explosions through the brick wall. He understood from the noise that an intense battle was devouring itself. Quite unexpectedly he sensed Guang’s presence out there amidst the thudding reports.
Hours after midnight, Shih was woken by a great ringing of gongs and bells. He remained by the door, staring into darkness. Slowly night crept towards dawn, painting a feeble rectangle of light round the doorframe. He heard the tramp of feet marching at the double. They seemed to pause for a while at the prison gates. Then boots trotted toward his cell and halted outside. He detected the Chief Warder’s voice murmuring deferentially. Dr Shih shrank back, certain His Honour had brought forward the trial date. When the cell door swung open a soldier in full armour was revealed.
Shih stared at him in half-recognition. Could this be Guang’s friend, Chen Song? If so his splendid armour had been torn, its silver tassels burned away. A long gash on his cheek wept a discharge of watery blood.
To Shih’s amazement, Chen Song bowed. It was the first respect he had been shown since his arrest.
‘Dr Yun Shih,’ said Chen Song. ‘Very sorry to see you in this place!’
‘I am accused of a serious crime,’ said Dr Shih. ‘Have you heard?’
Chen Song nodded.
‘I bring good news,’ he said. ‘His Excellency Wang Ting-bo has authorised the abandonment of all charges. On a single condition. You must follow my instructions without argument for the next few hours.’
‘What are these instructions?’
‘First you must accompany me.’
Shih hesitated. He sensed Guang lay at the heart of this mysterious offer.
‘Is my brother safe?’
Chen Song looked around, checking whether they were overheard. Warders were nearby, kneeling in respectful positions.
‘You must accompany me,’ repeated the soldier. ‘I can say no more.’
A carriage drawn by three horses waited at the prison gates and Shih’s sense of wonder grew. It was one of those used by Wang Ting-bo himself.
Though Chen Song urged him inside, Shih held back, remembering the last time he had entered a carriage. He looked around. They were at the summit of Peacock Hill, one of the highest vantage points in the city. From here he could see the river below, full of ships. The Ineffable Winged Relief Fleet was feverishly unloading its cargo, stripping the vessels of anything remotely useful to the Twin Cities. Although Shih could not know it, nearly all the merchant junks and warships had survived the battle.
When Shih gazed upstream, north of the Floating Bridge toward lands occupied by the Great Khan, he breathed in sharply.
‘Is
that
what I believe it to be?’ he asked.
‘It is.’ The scholar-soldier sounded unutterably weary. ‘The enemy have gathered a large river fleet and mean to destroy the Floating Bridge from upstream. If they succeed the Twin Cities must perish.’
‘Where is my brother?’
‘There is more,’ said Chen Song, pointing at Swallow Gate.
Shih sought out the Mongol encampments and shrank back in surprise. Tens of thousands of warriors were spreading out like a black stain. Between their regiments stood huge wooden bridges on wheels, wide enough, when joined together, to cross the ninety-foot moats around the city. Behind the mobile bridge were scores of cloud ladders and siege towers.
‘How is this?’
Despite his tiredness, Chen Song smiled sadly.
‘The enemy anticipated our every move. First, they expected to destroy the Relief Fleet. However, in that they were unsuccessful. Nevertheless, while we are in mourning and confusion, they will attack by land and water – seizing both the Floating Bridge and our ramparts. General A-ku has deployed every single man in his army.’
Chen Song’s grip on Shih’s arm unconsciously tightened as they stared from Peacock Hill at the advancing horde.
‘Can they be stopped?’ asked the poor doctor, out of his depth.
‘Perhaps,’ said Chen Song. ‘That is why I have come to collect you. You see, our forces down by the river have lost the will to fight. Not only is Admiral Qi-Qi dead, but an ugly rumour circulates that Captain Xiao has also perished. That all hope is lost.’
Shih gasped. Guang lost! He could not imagine Guang taken away. So strong and brave! He could not accept it.
‘You are a liar!’ he cried .
‘Exactly!’ nodded Chen Song. ‘Exactly! Captain Xiao cannot perish, today of all days. Climb into the carriage, I implore you.
We have little time.’
They set off with a jolt. So frantic was the pace that Shih was thrown around inside. He could hear the canter of Chen Song’s horse alongside. Now they were passing through the market place, deserted except for huddles of hungry peasants in makeshift tents. Parting the curtain, he recognised a large teahouse and knew they were near the Gate of the Vermilion Sparrow, leading to the Floating Bridge.
Chen Song led the carriage into a small courtyard filled with shadow. The place was deserted, apart from a few guardsmen with tense expressions and a high official wearing the turquoise robes of the Third Grade.
As Shih emerged, Chen Song threw a blanket over his head and led him into an echoing building. A door slammed behind them. The blanket was twitched away.
At first Shih wondered if Guang’s corpse had been laid out on a long, low table. But no, it was his suit of armour and helmet. The armour was torn across the chest and blood-stained. Then Shih understood.
‘Ah,’ he sighed, glimpsing he was alone again in this world.
Utterly alone except for Cao. ‘Ah.’
Tears began to well in the corners of his eyes. Chen Song nodded stiffly.
‘The entire fleet reacts as you do,’ he said, ‘especially the defenders of the Floating Bridge. They believe resistance is futile without Admiral Qi-Qi and Captain Xiao. Some have even cast down their weapons. But see! Does not that armour fit you exactly?’
Shih’s bowed head did not rise. Indeed he rocked a little in his distress.
‘I will answer my own question for you,’ said Chen Song, doggedly. ‘It fits you exactly.’
Shih lifted his head in astonishment but Chen Song’s look was implacable.
Half an hour later the doors were flung open and a procession trooped into the street. At its head marched Commander Yun Guang, carrying an extravagantly tasselled halberd, his face half hidden by a visored helmet. Chen Song followed a little behind. As they approached the Gate of the Vermilion Sparrow they met a group of fleeing men. The retreating soldiers stopped in their tracks at the sight of Captain Xiao in his blood-stained armour and exchanged fearful glances. One by one, they fell to their knees. The familiar spell was whispered
Captain Xiao! He’s come back. He wants to fight them!
The Mongol river fleet was manoeuvring into an attack formation upstream from the Floating Bridge. Ordinarily, such a frontal assault would have been suicidal. In addition to a man-made island constructed in the middle of the river, topped by a high tower, hundreds of iron-tipped stakes were embedded in the mud to halt attacking ships. But these defences meant nothing without determined men to hold the ground.
Confusion was everywhere. News of the vast army outside Swallow Gate had thrown many into despair. The soldiers wavered, debating in groups or slipping quietly towards Nancheng and the possibility of a hiding place if the city fell.
Then the floorboards of the Floating Bridge resounded with heavy footfalls.
Some peered in disbelief, unwilling to trust their own eyes.
Could one who had been carried out feet first recover so quickly? Of course it could be so! His features were well known. How proudly he walked beside his companion, the Honourable Chen Song!
When Captain Xiao marched down the wooden planks of the Floating Bridge in his mauled armour, nearly every man present took it as a reproach to their faltering courage.
At the man-made island he addressed a gathering of officers, Chen Song whispering in his ear. Certainly it was Captain Xiao’s voice that spoke, though less harshly than usual. It seemed a clear sign of his unshaken confidence. Meanwhile the Mongol fleet drew closer.
‘They cannot defeat us if we hold firm!’ he cried.
There was a pause.
‘They are fools!’ shouted Commander Yun Guang, after more murmuring from his lieutenant. ‘Their ships shall be trapped on our lines of iron-tipped stakes! Burn them with naphtha and maintain a wall of crossbowmen! All we need do is stand firm!’
Now the assembled officers grasped a course of action.
Crates were hurried along the bridge from the Gate of the Vermilion Sparrow. As the enemy ships entered range, the air filled with crossbow bolts and fire arrows. Meanwhile Captain Xiao had climbed the tower for a better view and was hurriedly conferring with Chen Song. When he had finished, Commander Yun Guang raised his tasselled halberd and strolled from the tower to join his men on the Floating Bridge.
‘A thousand years!’ he cried.
That fervent hope flew from mouth to mouth.
A thousand years! A thousand years!
‘Terrible to be born a wretched woman!
What on earth is so forlorn?
Nurtured without true affection,
For her family a temporary burden.
On the board of marriage a pawn,
In shuttered rooms she sits hidden,
All contact with her family forsaken,
Her husband’s love as distant as the sun,
Yet she follows his moods as leaves do the sun!
What misdeeds in a former existence
Condemn one to rebirth as a wretched woman?’