‘We have archers and crossbowmen,’ said Guang. ‘Let us tempt them to charge us across the square.’
‘These men would serve our cause better on the ramparts of Nancheng than in their graves,’ replied Chen Song.
‘We must delay the enemy until reinforcements come!’
‘There are no reinforcements! All that matters now is securing the Floating Bridge.’
Their debate was cut short by a company of Mongol cavalry cantering into the square. Guang and Chen Song began to loose the remaining arrows in their quivers and all around them crossbows clicked as they discharged. Dozens of rocket-arrows were lit, whooshing at the enemy, throwing their horses into panic. The square filled with confused shouts and neighing. For a moment the Mongols seemed about to charge, then they retreated and found their way blocked by a column of their own infantry, mercenaries from North China serving the Great Khan.
The air filled with arrows until the sight of so many enemies brought Guang to his senses.
‘Back!’ he shouted. ‘While they are in disarray! Every man to the Floating Bridge! Maintain order! Close the ranks!’
A terrible retreat followed. Weighed down by their officers’ armour they made slow progress. At one crossroads they encountered a melee between Mongol cavalry and a company of Guards. When the latter realised Captain Xiao had joined them, they regained courage and drove back the horsemen.
Smoke and the reek of burning were beginning to thicken. To the North, where the enemy first gained entry into the city, screams could be heard – women, perhaps children, it was hard to be certain amidst the uproar. One thing was sure: many tens of thousands lived in Fouzhou.
‘The Floating Bridge!’ urged Chen Song. ‘We must secure the Bridge!’
‘It’s not far, sir,’ called out a sergeant beside them. ‘I know the quickest way.’
They hurried after the man down a narrow alley at the rear of a Daoist temple. Suddenly they were on the wharf-side where a large crowd of soldiers and townspeople waited to gain passage to the Floating Bridge. Hundreds streamed across it to Nancheng, a headlong, terrified mass of every age and degree. All distinctions perished in the desire for safety.
Inevitably, many were trampled. As Guang watched, he saw a young woman holding a baby forced by the crowd into the river. She splashed helplessly for a while, struggling to keep her child above water then vanished.
‘We must regain order!’ he bellowed. ‘Close the ranks! Force a way through!’
He led their company of men slowly into the crowd, shoving and beating to create a path. Those paralysed by fear were brutally thrown to one side or trampled by the advancing Guards. At last Guang reached Jasper Gate, where the Floating Bridge connected to the shore. Its defenders had already fled back to Nancheng, apart from a single officer, who struggled to control the flow of refugees. Guang ordered his men onto the battlements and, above all, to prepare for the closure of Jasper Gate.
‘Chen Song,’ he said. ‘It is clear Fouzhou is lost. We must destroy the Floating Bridge. To do this we must seal Jasper Gate, otherwise it will be impossible to stop the fleeing people.’
Chen Song looked at him in revulsion.
‘There are thousands waiting to cross!’ he cried. ‘We cannot abandon them! Such a decision lies with the Pacification Commissioner.’
‘If we do not act now the Mongols will be the ones crossing to Nancheng!’
Did he think of protecting Shih and Cao? Of Lu Ying awaiting his return to Apricot Corner Court? Later he could never be sure. Still the refugees streamed onto the wooden planks, so that the timbers shook and vibrated dangerously. At last enough of Guang’s men were in position, ready with axes to sever the thick hemp ropes binding the pontoon bridge together.
Guang stood by the entrance to Jasper Gate, urging the refugees onwards with his sword. He could not bring himself to close the gates until the last possible moment. Above all he longed for General Zheng Shun to appear, so he might relinquish command to the more senior man. Finally he heard the sounds he had been dreading. Wails and the clash of weapons. Cries of panic. The Mongols were attacking the rear of the retreating column.
Instantly the shuffling crowd shoved forward, desperate to gain the safety of the Bridge and Nancheng. Moans and cries filled the air. Guang realised with horror that if he did not dam the flow of refugees soon, they would lose their chance to destroy the Bridge. ‘Close the gates!’ he roared.
‘There are still thousands on the wharf-side!’ protested Chen Song.
Several arrows struck the battlements of Jasper Gate.
Mongol archers had climbed nearby tall buildings and were firing into the crowd from rooftops and windows. Their intention was obvious. To goad the people into a fatal panic as one might a herd of deer.
‘We must close the gates
now
!’ repeated Guang.
Aided by Chen Song, dozens of sweating Guardsmen struggled to push the double gates, inch by inch, until finally they met with a bang and the vast bolts went home. Guang and the soldiers were left in the dark tunnel of the gatehouse, leading to the river and dragon-decorated entrance arch of the Floating Bridge. Terrible cries of despair reached them from the area outside Jasper Gate. They could hear the drumming of fists and feet kicking on the brassbound doors. It took little imagination to picture the tangle of limbs and bodies and bundles on the other side. Many of those on the wharf jumped into the river sooner than endure the crush. Meanwhile Mongol horsemen were harassing the crowd on all sides.
‘Cut the ropes!’ ordered Guang. ‘Cut loose the Floating Bridge.’
People were swimming towards the pontoons. Some crawled onto gravel banks and cried out for help. But there was no one to save them except themselves.
Guang saw General Zheng Shun gallop onto the wharf-side with a dozen men. They halted, surveying the chaos. At once Guang prepared to order the reopening of Jasper Gate. To do so would allow thousands to spill onto the Bridge. Yet he knew Zheng Shun would not thank him for risking the safety of Nancheng. Nor would he do the same if their positions were reversed.
Chen Song led the cutting of the ropes with axes and saws.
Finally the first section of the pontoon bridge broke free and was set alight. It floated downstream, trailing flames and smoke. Another soon followed. As each portion of the bridge drifted away, Guang’s men retreated closer to Nancheng.
More smoke was billowing from Fouzhou. A thousand voices screamed or begged, protesting at the absurd fate that had bred them for peace and civility then abandoned them to barbarity.
Guang realised he was shaking. Helpless tears were on his cheeks. Had he closed Jasper Gate too early? Perhaps he could have saved more. But already the Mongols had seized the gatehouse and were firing arrows at the Guards as they struggled to cut the ropes and set fire to the Bridge, section by section.
Finally, they had dismantled enough. They reached the island-fortress in the centre of the river and Guang ordered a halt to the destruction. He and Chen Song wearily climbed to the spot where Dr Shih had pretended to be Captain Xiao. For a long while they watched people being hunted like panic-stricken animals on the wharf-side of Fouzhou. They seemed small and far away. Amidst the billowing smoke one could hardly distinguish friend from enemy, butcher from victim, as night descended.
‘One need not die to witness hell,’ said Chen Song, at last.
*
Dr Shih helped Cao from their bedchamber to the shop. Here she was installed in an armchair padded with clean cloths and turned north to flatter her
yin
, so that the unseasonably hot weather might be offset. Dr Shih had prepared spells painted on coloured paper and, while his wife’s pain grew, he pinned them to doors and windows. That way fox-fairies could not enter the birth-chamber and steal the child’s soul.
Lu Ying found herself ignored. Yet she did not like to return to her room in case Lord Yun recovered consciousness. She took a seat in the corner and attempted to lift everyone’s spirits by smiling sweetly at the joyful event of Madam Cao’s confinement. The lady in question did not notice. Indeed she clutched her swollen womb as though it contained burning stones.
‘Do not be afraid,’ said her husband, soothingly. ‘Madam Midwife is boiling scented water and will join us soon. Do not distress yourself, dearest Cao.’
Tears streaked Madam Cao’s face.
‘I will fail you!’ she sobbed. ‘After all our waiting. . .’
She faltered, silenced by a wave of pain. Lu Ying rose from her corner.
‘Perhaps a little something?’ she whispered to Dr Shih, making a drinking motion. He blinked stupidly for a moment.
‘Of course! I have prepared a great quantity. Miss Lu Ying, if you could be so good as to serve Madam Cao whenever she asks?’
So Lu Ying was assigned a useful role and felt rather proud, as though her small suggestion had quite solved the problem of childbirth. However, Cao still moaned, even after several deep sips of Dr Shih’s medicine, an unappetising green brew that left specks of herb on Cao’s upper lip. Lu Ying took a gulp herself when no one was looking and felt remarkably serene afterwards.
The midwife returned with a large pitcher of hot water and a tray bearing covered bowls of rice. Shih waited patiently, holding his wife’s wrist, while Madam Midwife drifted over to the window and listened. Lu Ying also went over.
‘My daughter married a tile-maker from Fouzhou and moved across the water,’ explained the midwife. ‘I heard those devils,’ (she spat on the floor to banish any present) ‘tried to sneak into Fouzhou last night.’
‘Then you need not worry,’ said Lu Ying. ‘Captain Xiao himself informed me that the barbarians were driven back.’
Lu Ying renewed her smile but the midwife seemed far from reassured.
As if to confirm her fears a messenger arrived from Dr Du Tun-i, begging Dr Shih’s assistance at the North Medical Relief Bureau. He whispered to the man, a soldier wearing the uniform of the Militia, then returned to the birthing-chair with a troubled expression. He sat beside his wife who had grown comfortable as the herbal draught took effect, even a little dazed.
‘I have received an urgent summons from the Relief Bureau.
Fouzhou is once again under attack. There are countless wounded.’
Lu Ying noticed the midwife’s look of alarm.
‘You must go,’ said Madam Cao, reading her husband’s mind. ‘It is your duty. I feel quite at ease now.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘The pain may return soon and far worse. You will need me then.’
‘Madam Midwife and Lu Ying are here to help,’ said Cao.
‘And you are only a few minutes away when we must call you.’
Shih was on his feet by this time, pacing restlessly.
‘Then I shall go. Just for an hour. I know Dr Du Tun-i would not summon me without good reason. Send word as soon as your labour begins in earnest. I shall fly back like a swallow.’
Afternoon advanced into dusk and still Cao’s labour held back.
A messenger arrived from her husband but all the midwife could say was that she would summon him when the time came. Lu Ying remained in her corner seat, watching with great interest as the midwife murmured and counted the intervals between Madam Cao’s ‘lucky earthquakes’, as she called her contractions. Exactly what she meant was a mystery to Lu Ying, but she did not wish to show ignorance.
The room was close and dark. At Cao’s insistence Lu Ying opened the doors leading to Apricot Corner Court so that a breeze of sorts sluggishly explored the house. While doing so, Lu Ying decided to clear her head and wandered to the gatehouse of the courtyard. Here she met Old Hsu’s Widow, accompanied by her eldest son. He carried a roll of bedding and the urn containing her dead husband’s ashes and charred bones. All bowed solemnly.
‘Is Madam Cao at ease?’ asked Old Hsu’s Widow.
They had earlier sent gifts of food and a lucky fan bearing the character for ‘son’.
‘Exceedingly,’ said Lu Ying, though she had no idea whether it went well or not. Yet it was always best to maintain a good face. ‘You are going away?’
‘To my sister’s house. Such terrible news! Still one should not believe rumours – unless they float face up in the canal.’
Inexplicable fears woke in Lu Ying at these words. The old lady had merely used a common expression. But it made her think of something bad, something she had often dreamed or imagined. It seemed a terrible omen. She became aware of people hurrying through the twilit streets and realised that, for the first time in years, the curfew was being utterly ignored.
‘What rumours?’ she asked. ‘What is happening?’
‘Do you not know?’ asked Old Hsu’s Son. ‘Miss Lu Ying, the barbarians have entered Fouzhou! Some say it has already fallen.’
Lu Ying shrank back against the wooden statues of
Men
and
Shen
protecting Apricot Corner Court.
‘What of Captain Xiao?’ she asked, in a faint voice.
He shook his head.
‘I do not know.’
They hurried into the dusk and Lu Ying re-entered the house.
An unpleasant aroma assailed her nostrils as she crossed the central corridor. It came from Lord Yun’s room. Reluctantly, she crept to his open doorway. Now the cause of the smell was clear. The old man lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and occasionally twitching, as though struggling to move. In his distress he had soiled himself. The aroma, worsened by a long day’s heat, made Lu Ying gag and she hastily closed the door.
Someone should be informed of Lord Yun’s condition. One could not leave him lying in his own filth. Yet who would clean him up, if not herself? She shrank from such a prospect. The best thing was to pretend she had never seen his disgraceful state. Then he would not feel embarrassed when he was himself again. Assured she was doing the proper thing, Lu Ying sought out Madam Cao.
She arrived to an unwelcome sight. Madam Midwife had gathered her bags and stood at the open door of the shop, conversing with a short, swarthy man. Cao remained in the birth-chair, groaning softly to herself.
‘What is happening?’ demanded Lu Ying. ‘By opening that door you have broken the spells Dr Shih pinned there!’