The oriole flew toward the sun rising over Mount Wadung and there he lost sight of her, blinded by white beams. He turned to tell Shih what had happened but found him gone. His brother had joined Cao in teaching the children how to identify and gather useful herbs – though it was quite obvious his real intention was to divert them from ruining their holiday clothes.
Guang shielded his eyes against the sun’s brightness and stared up at Mount Wadung. She must be far away by now. But he sensed the meaning of the song she had trilled on the battlements – or possible meanings, so many were plausible. Perhaps she meant to tell him that forbearance outlasts all empires; that all are granted little and much, or. . . oh, he hardly knew what.
Instead her lovely face filled his mind and he remembered her laughter and dignity as he lay wounded in Apricot Corner Court, the pleasing music of her voice. Her fragrance as she leant over him to straighten his pillow, and her sadness. Even when gay, she had retained a secret core of sadness.
In his very human ignorance he bowed to her grave tablet and wandered over to join his brother and sister-in-law. While Shih’s pedantic voice explained to the children how the ‘hidden rabbit root’ benefits one’s
qi
, not to mention
yang
, Guang drank the remaining half of his ‘thrice-blessed’ wine and watched the Han River wink a million silver eyes like fitful stars.
As with the first volume of this trilogy,
Taming Poison
Dragons
, all characters and places are fictional apart from the Imperial capital, Linan, now known as Hangchow. However, military historians will detect echoes of the epic siege of Xianyang in the geography and fate of Nancheng. They might also scratch their heads over the dates. If so, I would advise them to waste no more time. My chief concern in terms of accuracy is not chronology, but a convincing depiction of human nature while not succumbing to anachronisms. If readers find that faulty, the fault is mine. Mankind’s institutions, customs, culture and attitudes vary endlessly over the millennia, but I believe our essential humanity is more prone to continuity than change.
A note on gunpowder, invented by the Chinese in the 9th Century. Many might find the Song Dynasty’s gunpowder weapons scarcely believable, yet none are fictional: fire lance, thunderclap bomb (we might use the word ‘shrapnel’), rocket-propelled arrows. . . all were deployed to deadly effect. As were fleets of paddle-wheel warships.
Recently it has become popular to present history from the Mongol perspective in fiction. And why not – as long as one does not minimise the dreadful sufferings of those they slaughtered and the civilizations they permanently erased. They were not the first to believe destiny had granted them a right to conquer and rule the world. Sadly, they are not the last.
The third instalment of my trilogy,
The Mandate of Heaven
, will explore the Yun clan’s continuing story in Mongol-occupied China.
Thanks to everyone at Gregory and Company, especially Stephanie Glencross whose incisive editorial advice smoothed my way. Thanks again to those people generous enough to read and comment on early drafts of the novel: Richard Murgatroyd; my parents, Dori and Jim Murgatroyd; Alex Quigley (who deserves special thanks for some very useful suggestions); and, last but not least, Bob Horne. Thanks also to Craig Smith for his illuminating thoughts on the writer’s craft.
Gratitude and appreciation, as ever, to my wife Ruth for her tireless support and inspiration. Finally, many thanks to Ed Handyside for his sharp editorial eye and for making this book possible.