The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (25 page)

They turned to leave. A rat ran the length of the yard. From behind them they could hear the murmur of prayers.

It was as they were walking down the main street on the way to Helen Frances's hotel that they were overtaken by the crowd hurrying to the execution. Young and old, shopkeepers and artisans, men and women, fathers carrying their sons on their shoulders, an old lady hobbling with a stick, the glee and anticipation on their faces disgusted him. They might have been rushing to the circus or a carnival. At the same time a sense of guilt and shame overpowered him. How ineffective he had been—what protection for that poor innocent boy, or succour for his sad, misguided parents had he been able to provide? For all his well-intentioned efforts, was he, as Nellie had said, only a foolish busybody? How blind he had been to trust in his friendship with the Mandarin and Chinese justice.

Here was Chinese justice about to be demonstrated. Three heads would hang in cages that evening on the city gates, and the city would go about its business as if nothing had happened. A note in the
yamen
records. Murder and summary execution. A pronouncement in the morning and three heads rolling in the afternoon. Harmony restored. The tragedy of Hiram and the execution of his murderers had become an afternoon's entertainment for the mob.

He wanted to rail against the pity of it and the waste, the lightness with which the Chinese disposed of human life—even these wretched peasants. Presumably they were guilty of the terrible crime for which they had been condemned. But why the hurry to dispense with these witnesses of Hiram's final hours? Why had the doctor not been told about their trial? Since Hiram was a foreign child, did not the laws of extraterritoriality apply? He realised, with shame, that one of the main reasons for his anger was that the Mandarin had not informed him of what was happening. He felt in some way that his friendship had been betrayed. As the dust of the procession settled, and as he raised his fist impotently after the stragglers running to catch the show, he saw in his mind the calm, cruel features of the Mandarin, who even now would be presiding over the barbarities taking place in the square. The sardonic smile seemed to be mocking him and everything he was attempting to achieve.

He was started from his gloomy reverie by a well-spoken voice above his left ear. ‘Dr Airton. Miss Delamere. How interesting to find you here. Are you on your way to the execution or coming away from it? I hope that I'm not too late.'

He looked up and saw, silhouetted against the blaze of the afternoon sun, Henry Manners on his horse. He was neatly dressed in tweeds and bowler hat, and the brown leather of his boots and saddlery gleamed with soldierly perfection. His grey mare was snorting and jerking its head, but Manners held the frisky animal effortlessly in position with a tight rein.

‘The doctor is taking me home, Mr Manners,' said Helen Frances. ‘He says this is not a place for a young lady to be.'

‘Assuredly not,' said Manners. ‘Very grubby affairs, executions. I was afraid, for a moment, that after your experience in Fuxin you were developing most unladylike tastes.'

‘Then you needn't be concerned. One horror was quite enough,' she replied, ‘but please do not let us keep you from your own entertainments.' Airton was amazed that she was using the same bantering tone as Manners. They might have been flirting in a salon. And there was the same strange gleam in her eye that he had noticed when the procession of condemned men had passed by.

‘Alas, no entertainment for me. All work, I'm afraid,' said Manners. ‘Unpleasant circumstances, no doubt, but I think I might find the person I want to meet there. Executions are something in the way of being social occasions, are they not, Doctor? In a barbarous land, I suppose we must learn to adopt the heathen customs.'

‘I don't understand you young people,' said Airton. ‘If you must attend such a spectacle, then I suppose I can't stop you. But, Miss Delamere, I do have a responsibility to your father, and I insist we be going.'

‘It was a pleasure, Doctor, no less for being so brief,' said Manners. ‘A splendid dinner too last night, by the way. My thanks. And I look forward to our first tour together, Miss Delamere. Tomorrow, I believe? I'll be at your hotel at two.'

Putting his crop to the brim of his hat in salute, he spurred his horse into an easy trot, and within seconds had disappeared behind the
pailou
to the square, his erect figure melting into the dust and the crowd, which they could see dimly in the distance. As the doctor and Helen Frances turned to leave, they noticed that the murmur of voices had stilled to an ominous silence.

‘Oh, goodness, they're reading the pronouncements before the sentences are carried out,' said Airton. ‘Please, please, can we go now?'

*   *   *

The Mandarin was seated on a simple wooden platform set up close to the entrance of the temple in the market square. A servant was holding an umbrella above his head and he was sipping tea while he conversed with Major Lin. In front of them Jin Lao was reciting from a scroll to the now silent crowd, his naturally high-pitched voice wavering with literary emotion. The Mandarin doubted whether half of the mob could understand a word of what he was saying. He was certain that the three wretches suffering their last moments on earth, their faces pressed into the dust by Lin's soldiers, would not be appreciating the finer flourishes.

His eyes moved lazily over the townsmen listening to the proclamation. There was an atmosphere of tense expectation as their faces fastened with hungry attention on Jin Lao, or fixed with a furtive fascination on the miserable felons about to be executed. What brought these peaceful shopkeepers to this butcher's yard? he wondered idly. Curiosity? Blood lust? It was a crowd like this that had exploded into riot in Fuxin. He would have to pay attention that none of this Boxer madness took root here.

At the back of the crowd he noticed a foreigner on a horse. A well built, soldierly looking young man, who sat well in his saddle. He had not seen him before. It was strange that a foreigner should come to witness an execution. It was difficult to make out the man's expression at this distance, but he thought he could detect an amused smile. The man was looking in the direction of the Mandarin. It was as if he had detected the Mandarin's attention upon him, because he suddenly and deliberately raised his hat in a salute, all the time staring with the insolent eyes. For the second time that afternoon, the Mandarin was intrigued, but he allowed no change of expression on his bland features. Instead he inclined his head towards Major Lin. ‘What was Iron Man Wang's answer? Has he made the contacts?' he asked. It was the first time that he had had a chance to talk to Major Lin since the troop had returned from the Black Hills.

‘Lieutenant Li received further assurances, but he was not given any date for a shipment.' Major Lin's voice was languid but his body was at half attention, and he was watchful of the crowd.

‘Is there going to be a shipment at all?' asked the Mandarin scornfully. ‘I've paid enough for promises. When am I to see my guns?'

‘Lieutenant Li was told that the guns are still at the depot near Baikal. Iron Man Wang claims that there is a new commandant at the depot who requires payment.'

‘Lieutenant Li was under instructions to refuse any further demands for payment until the shipment arrives.'

‘Those were his original instructions, but then he had to negotiate the acquisition of these criminals according to your new instructions, and that complicated matters. It gave Iron Man Wang a lever to bargain with.'

‘New instructions?'

‘The instructions transmitted by Chamberlain Jin, Da Ren. Iron Man Wang struck a hard bargain because of them.'

‘I see. In future, take your instructions directly from me. It's a pity that you did not lead the troop yourself.'

‘I was ill, Da Ren.'

‘You were besotted by that courtesan.'

Major Lin reddened, stiffened. Then, seeing the Mandarin was smiling, grinned too. ‘You remind me how honoured I am by your gift, Da Ren.'

‘She pleases you?'

‘More than I can say.'

‘Well, don't let her take your mind off your work. Or I'll take her away from you. Give her to someone else. Perhaps I should take her to my own quarters. I've heard she's comely.' The Mandarin glanced up at his subordinate, noticing the red flush of anger. He laughed. ‘Jealousy, Major? Of a whore? Come, come. I'll tell you what I'll do, get me my guns and I'll buy her out of that brothel for you for good. Then you can marry her if you're so infatuated.'

Major Lin spat on the ground. ‘I don't see why we don't just apply to Peking for more guns. My troops certainly need them. It's humiliating to have to deal through a bandit with corrupt Russian barbarians, whom I don't trust anyway. I'm sorry to be critical, Da Ren, but this is what I think.'

The Mandarin closed his eyes. ‘My dear patriotic Major Lin. How I value your honesty. If only our government had these guns to spare. But they don't. We are in a precarious position, as you know. Both the Russians and the Japanese want to establish spheres of influence here. The Russians have already moved their troops into great parts of Manchuria, so what can I do but deal with the enemy? We must be thankful that they are corrupt because, through them, we can acquire the weapons we need to protect ourselves against them.'

‘But dealing furtively through a bandit, Da Ren? Is there no other way?'

‘The Black Stick Society and Iron Man Wang have channels to the Russians. Do you have any other suggestions? If you could use your own relationships with the Japanese…'

‘My captors were honourable men, Da Ren.'

‘Of course they were, Major. Even so … But what is happening now?'

A man was struggling through the press of the crowd. Curses and jeers as he passed were beginning to drown the sound of Jin Lao's recitation. A murmur of anger rippled through the throng as Septimus Millward stepped into the cleared circle. His jacket was torn and a thin trickle of blood could be seen on his forehead. ‘Stop,' he was yelling, in his deplorable Chinese, pointing his finger at the bewildered Jin Lao, who had ceased reading from his proclamation and was standing with his mouth open. ‘Stop your bad work. God says my son lives. These men,' he cried, swinging his arm round to point at the equally amazed felons, who were staring up at him from their prostrated positions in the dust, ‘these men are without drums. Without drums I say, in the sight of gods and men.'

Major Lin, quivering with anger, was shouting instructions to his men, who were hesitantly converging on the large blond man who was still screaming his nonsense at Jin Lao. The Mandarin saw him effortlessly shake off the attempts of one of the soldiers to pinion his arms. The crowd itself was showing signs of restlessness, straining against the barrier of Lin's troops. Vegetables and other missiles were being hurled indiscriminately at the condemned men, the soldiers and Millward. The Mandarin thought he heard the cry, ‘Death to foreign devils!' and this was confirmed a moment later when it was repeated as a baying slogan by ever larger sections of the mob. He noticed the brothel-keeper's son, Ren Ren, and some of his cronies on the balcony of the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure on the other side of the square waving their arms and leading the chorus. The Mandarin recognised the incipient signs of a riot.

He rose to his feet pushing aside the umbrella. At the same moment one of Lin's soldiers hit Millward with the butt of his rifle. He fell, stunned, to his hands and knees. Another soldier clubbed him in the small of the back and he slumped on his face. The knot of soldiers began to beat him as he lay on the ground. The crowd howled.

‘Fire your pistol,' shouted the Mandarin at Lin.

The sound of the six shots fired in rapid succession froze all activity in the square. One of the soldiers still had his rifle butt raised above Millward's body. An orange thrown a second before the shots were fired bounced off the head of one of the condemned men and rolled in the sand. The Mandarin stepped into the silence.

‘This madman will receive twenty lashes for disturbing the peace,' he cried. ‘Take him to the
yamen
.'

Lin barked an instruction and two soldiers dragged the groaning, bleeding body of Millward out of the square, the crowd respectfully making way.

‘You've heard the proclamation. Get on with the execution,' the Mandarin shouted. The crowd roared with approbation. The executioners with their large blades, naked to the waist, their bodies oiled, stepped into the ring.

‘You are fortunate, Chamberlain Jin,' said the Mandarin quietly as he passed, ‘that nobody could understand the utterings of that barbarian. When he said that the condemned men were “without drums” he was trying to say that they were “innocent”. You keep that boy hidden, or I will disown you.'

‘
Shi,
Da Ren,' said a shaking Jin Lao.

The Mandarin sat back in his chair and reached for his tea. The executioners' assistants were pulling forward the pigtails of the condemned men to bare their necks for the cut. He saw that the other foreigner was still sitting his horse at the back of the crowd. The disturbance had not affected him: there was a sardonic, almost bored expression on his face. The Mandarin watched him all through the execution. The man's expression did not alter even when the blades fell, or when the heads were held up, then poled; there was not even a flicker of interest when the crowd rushed forward to grab souvenirs from the carcasses for their medicines. Obviously this was a man of very different mettle from his sentimental friend, the doctor.

‘Ride with me in my palanquin,' he told Major Lin. ‘The Chamberlain can walk back.'

The drums beat, the horn blared, and the procession moved through the now dissolving crowd out of the square heading back to the
yamen
.