The Mandate of Heaven (38 page)

At a gesture from the Worthy Master the barge shoved off, twenty oarsmen bending and straightening, while Bo-Bai watched from the jetty. Soon the cliffs of Monkey Hat Hill and silhouettes of Cloud Abode Monastery fell away. Yun Shu’s heart fluttered with pride as the barge approached Eye Rock, dozens of smaller craft hastily moving aside to let them pass. In the midst of the crashing cymbals and drums she felt an urge to cover her ears and laugh with delight at the people’s enthusiasm. But the Worthy Master’s haughty, detached expression set the tone. Dense crowds had gathered on the shore, holding hands and swaying as they chanted Tien-Hou’s titles, led by the usual spirit-mediums in loincloths and short cloaks.

In a moment, it seemed, she was following the Worthy Master down a gangplank onto the shingle beach of Eye Rock. Countless lanterns had been scattered and hung over the island; many hundreds more surrounded it. In a daze she was led to the foot of a rough staircase cut into the rock. Now, away from the attendant priests, he turned to her: ‘I have chosen you out of all the priests and nuns and holy ones at my disposal,’ he murmured.

She lowered her head. ‘I am honoured, Master.’

‘Good,’ he said, in the same low tone, ‘that was my intention. Also, so the entire city – and especially the Buddhists from Tibet – witness the importance we Daoists attach to Cloud Abode Monastery.’

‘Thank you, Master,’ she said, risking a glance at his delicate, narrow face. Never had he seemed more powerful, replete with dignity and wisdom.

‘Come with me, Yun Shu,’ he murmured. ‘Do not fear what the Dao has in store for you.’

And truly all her fears vanished as she climbed the rough steps behind him, noting the tight sway of his hips as he ascended. At the top they found the shrine decked with dried flowers, food, wine, bronze bowls of smouldering incense. Facing one another over the ancient sacrificial altar, they chanted and bowed, repeating sutras to please the Goddess, matching each other like noise and echo. While they prayed, a ritual boat loaded with offerings was set alight on the shore.

When the sutras were spoken they watched the burning boat. Smoke billowed, flames roared and danced, sparks and ash drifted upward and across the lapping waters.

‘Yun Shu,’ said Worthy Master Jian, ‘I have recently gained a marvellous, secret knowledge that offers me the means to join the Heavenly Host on Penglai itself. The blessed means to unite myself with the Dao.’

His voice rose in volume and intensity.

‘A wonderful revelation has been offered to me by the ancient sages! That I might attain the diamond body of pure
yang
and take my rightful place among the Immortals!’

She shrank back. Never had she imagined such passion in the suave priest, usually so detached and restrained.

‘Yun Shu,’ he whispered, ‘I need the assistance of a
yin
-source rich in
ch’i
energy. For the sake of Cloud Abode Monastery, I urge you to join my Great Work! I swear that as long as you are my helper I shall protect all you hold dear. Think how many will be converted to the Dao when I ascend on a cloud to Immortality!’

Her head span at these predictions. Had he gone mad? But he was the same good, handsome, earnest man as ever.

‘How?’ she whispered. ‘Tell me how I can help.’

In a voice low and urgent, he explained how ancient books had revealed secret rites. That they might be partners in a Great Work. When he explained what he required she blushed deeply.

‘There is nothing improper in it, nothing at all,’ he concluded. ‘Will you do exactly as I ask? Become my spiritual spouse? I dearly hope you will.’

She found it hard to look at his face. For all his certainty, the rites sounded shockingly improper! Her heart beat quickly and tempting sensations stole through her body. She could not dispel a doubt struggling to find plain, intelligible words. Then Yun Shu dismissed it, imagining only her triumph in saving Cloud Abode Monastery, the honour and respect she would earn. Even Lady Lu Si and spiteful Three Simplicities would acknowledge she was worthy to be Abbess!

‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Yes, Master Jian, I will.’

Perhaps the Ceremony of Fortunate Weather pleased the goddess, for the months leading up to New Year were unusually free of storms. Hsiung had every reason to thank Tien-Hou: New Year’s Eve found him at the prow of a two-masted merchant junk converted into a warship, the largest vessel in a small fleet of thirty craft crammed with Yueh Fei rebels.

Many commanders leading such a flotilla would have paced with worry, mindful of how few men could be deployed for an action promising either triumph or utter defeat. But Hsiung’s heart sang like the wind in the stiff bamboo sails. Their progress was so steady that the square prow of the junk dipped and rose, casting up spray. New Year stars glittered, enticing him towards a future courage might construct – if he was bold and fortunate. His limbs itched for the release of battle, to prove himself so the grandees of Hou-ming Province took note, just as tigers in the forest assess a young challenger’s roar.

He was joined at the prow by an old comrade, Captain P’ao, once a mere sergeant-at-arms and now perfectly willing to assume the title of general if destiny – or Hsiung – saw fit. The grizzled soldier cast a thoughtful glance at the deck covered with lolling men.

‘Noble Count, I suppose it is too late to suggest we send scouts before landing the whole force?’ he said, quietly.

Hsiung frowned into the darkness ahead.

‘That would involve changing my plan. Besides, there will not be enough time.’

Captain P’ao tugged his luxuriantly fierce whiskers. ‘Still, it might be sensible,’ he said, even more quietly than before.

‘You trouble me unnecessarily,’ said Hsiung.

‘Perhaps, Noble Count, perhaps. But you will recollect from our days together in Hou-ming that I never staked all my
cash
on one throw when gambling.’

Hsiung chuckled. ‘Think of the prize, P’ao!’

Certainly it was huge. Spies reported that a convoy of a hundred freighters and warships had moored at the port of Chenglingji to celebrate the New Year Festival. All the merchant junks were laden with blocks of pure salt from the Salt Pans a hundred
li
to the south – a treasure of immense value in a province still gnawed by famine. Four-tenths of the Great Khan’s revenues flowed from salt taxes. Losing several months’ production from a source like Hou-ming Province would be a blow to the profligate Mongol Court in far off Dadu, as well as a barterable resource for the Yueh Fei rebels.

Just as crucially for Hsiung’s ambitions, he could capture a sizable fleet for conversion into his navy. No one truly ruled Hou-ming Province without controlling Six-Hundred-
li
Lake and that required many ships. Finally, by seizing Chenglingji – miserable hole as it was reputed to be – Hsiung could demonstrate that his power extended West and East, to the great benefit of his standing.

Even cautious Liu Shui had encouraged the raid, saying the soldiers and sailors of the Salt Fleet would be too drunk to resist. When the old chancellor learned the names of the two spies upon whom the whole venture depended his enthusiasm waned. So much so, he insisted on accompanying the expedition and was presently snoring in a cabin padded and draped with silks, a copy of Sun-tzu’s
Art of War
laid across his chest.

‘Ah, the prize,’ murmured Captain P’ao. Then he brightened. ‘Why shouldn’t it be ours?’

This was the style Hsiung preferred.

‘Unless,’ said P’ao, ‘your spies prove unreliable.’

‘Chao and Hua won’t let me down,’ said Hsiung. ‘You’ll all learn to trust my judgement. Even Liu Shui!’

P’ao bowed, his grin revealing more gaps than teeth. ‘As you say. But the Chancellor’s counselled you well for six long years.’ P’ao puffed out his broad chest. ‘And some of us have been saving you from yourself for three times six!’

Soon the lights of Chenglingji appeared on the eastern horizon and Hsiung grunted with pleasure. All was progressing in line with a plan that relied upon exactly timed arrivals and departures. The lanterns had been extinguished on the Yueh Fei vessels, despite the risk of ships colliding – for the next hour they must trust in starlight glowing on wave and foam to guide them.

‘Captain P’ao!’ he called. ‘Signal to the other ships. Form the line!’

A single, blue lantern flashed in the darkness and any drunken New Year reveller gazing at the lake from Chenglingji might have wondered if a water dragon was winking. Gradually the Yueh Fei fleet closed up and turned north, drawing nearer to the shore. Hsiung stared into the darkness for a signal. Time passed agonisingly. Had they missed the landing point? Turning the fleet round would take an hour in the darkness, assuming they did not run aground. He peered to the east. Could that be a glimmer of dawn?

‘Look!’ cried P’ao beside him. ‘Over there! Three fires alongside each other!’

‘Helmsman,’ called Hsiung, ‘light the rear lantern and make no mistakes as you approach the shore.’

There was a loud creak as the sailors scurried to adjust the rigid sails of the long junk, then a rattle as oars were run out.

‘Quickly!’ ordered Hsiung. ‘Why are they so slow?’

‘Best let the sailors manage it,’ murmured P’ao and Hsiung fell silent.

Soon the fleet had clustered round a shore of fetid mud and shingle. Lightly armoured men waded ashore while Guards in heavy lamellar armour were ferried from the larger junks in dozens of small boats. A breeze carried the bitter tang of reeds and the sweetness of decaying vegetation.

Hsiung stood beside the three fires as their flames cracked and waved with the wind. Chao and Hua knelt in the mud before him, foreheads pressed to the earth.

‘Look around you!’ he roared. ‘Do you think we came here to wet our boots then go home again?’

Hua lifted his head. ‘Noble Count, we cannot be blamed! When we sent messages to say the guards had been bought, we referred to
different
guards. All have been transferred unexpectedly!’

Hsiung tried to make sense of this. His entire plan rested on a gate through the city walls being left open by guards bribed at considerable expense. ‘How can we gain entry to the town?’ he demanded.

Now Chao looked up. ‘The walls are lower than you might expect, Noble Count,’ he said, ‘and the ditches are in disrepair. You see, the family who rule Chenglingji – the Zhongs – steal all the public funds for their own use. Perhaps you can storm the walls?’

Hua scowled at his partner and interjected, ‘Nevertheless these Zhongs are a most trustworthy clan, sire! If they divert funds it is because they hate the Mongols and long for a just ruler like yourself.’

Hsiung turned to examine the fleet. He could not care less about the Zhongs. Dawn was only three hours away by his calculation; one of those precious hours would be wasted in finishing the disembarkation, another in marching the men to Chenglingji. Storming the walls would squander any chance of surprise. But if the ramparts were as low as Chao seemed to think, perhaps his original plan might still work …

‘Draw me a map of the ramparts,’ he ordered.

After Chao and Hua had scratched it in the mud with a stick, Hsiung paced up and down. He could almost hear the dark lights whispering in his soul. How those swirling voices longed to rule him! One sweep of his sword would behead the wretched Chao and Hua and let the dark lights free.

Hsiung glanced guiltily at the ship where Liu Shui waited in his cabin. Instead of beheading the luckless spies he reached down, grabbing their shoulders.

‘Up!’ he said. ‘Prove yourselves to me now and I’ll forgive your failure.’

He hauled them to their feet.

‘Captain P’ao,’ he said, ‘as soon as the column is ready, take the road to Chenglingji. You’ll either find the gate open or the corpses of our friends here blocking your way.’

Hsiung took P’ao aside to whisper more confidential instructions. When he had finished the old soldier bowed low. ‘I’ll be following you soon enough, Noble Count,’ he said. ‘We’re nearly disembarked.’

‘The gate will be open,’ promised Hsiung.

It only took moments for him to gather his ‘bravest and best’ and join the road toward the winking lights of the town, a road travelled ten years earlier by Yun Shu fleeing in the opposite direction.