Imperial Woman (8 page)

His soul’s voice was stilled, he felt his conscience die and he lifted the beautiful girl in his arms and carried her to the bed.

…The drums of curfew beat through the courtyards and the corridors of the city of the Son of Heaven. It was the hour of sunset when every man must be gone from within the walls. The ancient command fell upon the ears of lovers hidden deep within the secret rooms and in Yehonala’s bedchamber Jung Lu rose and drew his garments about him while she lay half asleep and smiling.

He leaned over her. “Are we sworn?” he asked.

“Sworn,” she put up her arms and drew his face down to hers again. “Forever, forever!”

The drums died down and he made haste, and she rose quickly and smoothed her robes and brushed back her hair. When her woman coughed at the door she was sitting in her chair.

“Enter,” she said, and she took her handkerchief and pretended to wipe her eyes.

“Are you weeping again, lady?” the woman asked.

Yehonala shook her head. “I am finished weeping,” she said in a small voice. “I know what I must do. My kinsman has made me see my duty.”

The woman stood, peering and listening, head to one side like a bird’s.

“Your duty, lady?” she repeated.

“When the Son of Heaven summons me,” Yehonala said, “I shall go to him. I must do his will.”

The heat of summer lingered late in the Forbidden City. One brilliant day followed upon another, the palaces stood in the living light of the naked sun and no rains fell. So hot was the stillness of high noon that princesses and Court ladies, eunuchs and concubines, went to the caves in the imperial gardens and there spent the hours of the full heat. These caves were built of river rock, brought from the south upon barges floating up the Grand Canal. The rocks were shaped by men’s hands yet so cunningly contrived that they looked worn by winds and waters. Crouching pine trees hung over the entrances to these caves and inside them hidden fountains dripped down the walls and made pools where goldfish played. In the coolness the ladies did embroidery, heard music, or played at gambling games.

But Yehonala did not enter the caves. She was now always busy at her books, always smiling, silent more often than speaking as she studied her books. Seemingly her rebellion was forgotten. When the Emperor summoned her, she allowed herself to be bathed and dressed afresh and she went to him. His favor did not falter, and this compelled her prudence, for waiting concubines grew restless for their turn, and Li Lien-ying contended among the eunuchs to keep himself her chief servant. Yet if Yehonala knew of strife, she did not let it be known that she knew, unless it could be guessed from her faultless courtesy to all, and from her careful obedience to the Dowager Mother. Each day when she awoke she went first to the Dowager Mother to inquire of her health and happiness. The old lady was often ill and Yehonala brewed herbs in the tea to soothe her, and if she were restless she rubbed the withered feet and hands and soothed the Dowager by brushing her white scanty hair in long and even strokes. No task was too small or too low for Yehonala to perform for the Dowager Mother, and soon all perceived that the handsome girl was not only the favorite of the Son of Heaven, but of his mother, too.

Thus Yehonala knew how eagerly the Dowager Mother waited for the birth of Sakota’s child, and it was part of Yehonala’s duty daily to accompany the Dowager Mother to the Buddhist temple and wait while she made prayers and burned incense before the gods, beseeching Heaven that the Consort might have a son. Only when this was done did Yehonala return to her own chosen tasks, which were as ever in the library, reading and studying under aged eunuchs who were scholars, or learning music, and she spent herself in learning how to write with the camel’s-hair brush after the style of the great calligraphers of the past.

Meanwhile she hid a secret, or thought she did, until one day her woman spoke out. It was a usual day, the air cooler at night and morning than it had been, but still hot at noon. Yehonala slept late, for she had been summoned by the Emperor the night before, as many nights she had been summoned and always she obeyed.

“Mistress,” the woman said when she entered the bedroom on this day and closed the door carefully behind her, “have you not marked that the full moon has come and gone and you have no show of crimson?”

“Is it so?” Yehonala asked as if she did not care. Yet how greatly did she care, and how closely she had observed her own person!

“It is so,” the woman said proudly. “The seed of the Dragon is in you, lady. Shall I not carry the good news to the Mother of the Son of Heaven?”

“Wait,” Yehonala commanded. “Wait until the Consort has borne her child. If he is a son, does it matter what I bear?”

“But if she bears a daughter?” the woman inquired cunningly.

Yehonala threw her a long teasing look. “Then I will tell the Dowager Mother myself,” she said. “And if you tell even my eunuch,” she said, and made her eyes big and fierce, “then I will have you sliced and the strips of your flesh hung up on poles to dry for dogs’ food.”

The woman tried to laugh. “I swear by my mother that I will tell no one.” But who, her pale face asked, could know when this concubine, too beautiful, too proud, might turn teasing into truth?

While the Court waited, then, upon the Consort, each concubine woke in the morning to ask if there were news and the princes and the Grand Councilor Shun before they entered the Audience Hall at dawn demanded from the eunuchs whether the birth was begun. And still Sakota’s child was not born. In his own anxiety the Emperor commanded the Board of Astrologers to study the stars again and to determine from the entrails of freshly killed fowls whether his child would not be a son. Alas, they saw confusion. The signs were not clear. The child might or might not be a son. It was even possible that the Consort would give birth to twins, boy and girl, in which misfortune the girl must be killed, lest she sap the life of her royal brother.

The autumn deepened, and the Court physicians grew anxious for the health of the Consort. She was worn with waiting, her frailty much increased because the child would not be born, and she could not eat or sleep. Once Yehonala went to see her, but Sakota would not receive her. She was too ill, the eunuch in attendance said. She should see no one. And Yehonala went away in doubt. Illness? How could Sakota be too ill to see her own cousin-sister? For the first time she wished Sakota did not know that Jung Lu had come to her in private. True, she knew no more, but even to know so little put a weapon in Sakota’s hand—a weak hand that might be used by a stronger one as yet unknown. Alas, she knew by now that intrigue was everywhere throughout the palaces, and she must be strong enough to break through its meshes. Never once again, not for an hour, would she put a weapon of secret knowledge into another’s hand.

The days went on, each long, and all omens were dire. Evil news came from everywhere throughout the Empire. The long-haired Chinese rebels in the south had seized the southern capital, Nanking, and many people had been killed. So ferocious were those rebels that the imperial soldiers could not win a single battle. And as a further sign of evil, strange swift winds blew down upon the city, comets crossed the skies at night and in many places rumors rose that women gave birth to twins and monsters.

On the last day of the eighth moon month there appeared at noon a thunderstorm, which changed itself into a typhoon more fit for southern seas than for the dry northern plains upon which the city stood. Even the elders had never seen such lightning nor heard such crashing roaring thunder, and hot winds blew from the south as though devils rode upon the clouds. When rain fell at last it came not in a gentle downpour upon the dried fields and dusty streets but in such floods and lashings and fury that torrents ate the earth away. Whether from fright or deep despair Sakota upon that day felt the pains of birth begin inside her body and no sooner did she cry out than the news spread everywhere through the palaces and all stopped whatever they were doing to wait and hear.

At this hour Yehonala was in the library and at her usual books. The sky had grown so dark that eunuchs lit lamps, and by her lamp she was writing under the eyes of her tutor as he read aloud an ancient sacred text for her to copy. Thus he read:

“Chung Kung, the minister of the House of Chi, asked for advice upon the art of government. The Master said, ‘Learn above all how to use your subordinates. Overlook their lesser weaknesses, and raise up only those who are honest and able.’”

At this moment Li Lien-ying appeared at the curtain and behind the tutor’s back he made signs to Yehonala whose meaning she understood at once. She laid down her brush and rose.

“Sir,” she said to her tutor, “I must hasten to the Dowager Mother, who has sudden need of me.”

Long ago she had planned what she would do when Sakota was in labor. She would go to the Dowager Mother and stay with her, soothe her and amuse her, until it was known whether the birth was of a female or a male. Before the tutor could reply she had left the library and was walking ahead of the eunuch toward the Dowager Mother’s palace. The lightning darted above the treetops and the courtyards sprang into livid light as she went, and through the roofed passageways the wind blew the rain like spray from the sea. But Yehonala hurried on, and behind her Li Lien-ying followed.

When she reached the palace she went in without speaking to any of the waiting women. The Dowager Mother had gone to bed as she did always in a thunderstorm, and now she lay raised on her pillows, her hands clasped about a jeweled Buddhist rosary, her thin face as white as mutton-fat jade. When she saw Yehonala she did not smile. In a solemn voice she said, “How can a sound child be born at such a time? Heaven itself rages above our heads.”

Yehonala ran to her and knelt beside the bed. “Be soothed, Imperial Mother,” she coaxed. “It is not because of us that Heaven rages. Evil men have rebelled against the Throne, and the child to be born will save us all. Heaven is angry on his behalf and not against him, or us.”

“Do you believe it so?” the old lady replied.

“I do,” Yehonala said and she knelt on, speaking soothing words and rising only to fetch hot broth for the Dowager Mother to drink down and uphold her strength. Then she found a pleasant book of tales to read and she played upon a lute and sang a song now and then, and helped the old lady at her prayers and so the hours passed.

At sunset the wind died down and a strange yellow light suffused the palaces and courtyards. Then Yehonala drew the curtains and lit the candles and waited, for she had continuing news, which she did not tell the Dowager Mother, that the birth was very near. After the yellow light the darkness came down suddenly and when night fell the Chief Eunuch, An Teh-hai, came to the palace of the Dowager Mother. Yehonala went to meet him, and from his face she saw the news was evil.

“Is the child dead?” she inquired.

“Not dead,” he said heavily, “but it is a girl—a sickly female—”

Yehonala put her handkerchief to her eyes. “Oh, cruel Heaven!”

“Will you tell the Venerable Mother?” he asked. “I must hasten again to the Emperor. He is ill with anger.”

“I will tell her,” Yehonala promised.

“And you,” the Chief Eunuch continued. “Make yourself ready to be summoned in the night. The Emperor will surely need you.”

“I am ready,” she said.

Then slowly she went back to the Dowager’s bedchamber and gave no heed to the waiting women who had guessed the news and stood with bowed heads and eyes streaming tears as she passed. She entered the great bedchamber again and when the Dowager Mother saw her face she too knew all.

“It is not a male child,” she said and her voice was weary with all the weariness of her years of waiting.

“It is a female,” Yehonala said gently.

She knelt beside the bed again and took the Dowager Mother’s hands and stroked them with her own strong young hands.

“Why do I live?” the Dowager Mother inquired piteously.

“You must live, Venerable Mother,” Yehonala said. She made her deep voice tender. “You must live—until my son is born.”

Her hope was revealed. She had saved her secret and like a gift she gave it now to the Dowager Mother.

That old face quivered and broke into a wrinkled smile. “Is it true?” she asked. “Can this be Heaven’s will? Yes, it is so! The child will become from your strong body, a son! Buddha hears! It must be so. And I called you fierce, I said that you were too strong. Oh, daughter, how warm your hands are on me!”

She looked down into the young and tenderly beautiful face so near her and Yehonala looking up saw adoration in the Dowager Mother’s eyes.

“My hands are always warm,” she said. “It is true that I am strong. And I can be fierce. And I shall bear a son.”

When the Venerable lady heard what Yehonala said she rose out of her bed with such energy that all around her were frightened.

“Save yourself, Imperial Mother,” Yehonala exclaimed.

She ran forward to support the Dowager Mother, but the lady pushed her away. “Send eunuchs to my son,” she exclaimed in her quavering voice. “Tell him I have good news.”

The ladies in attendance heard these words as they waited outside. They looked at one another with doubt and joy, while in great commotion the eunuchs were summoned and sent off.

“My bath!” the Dowager Mother commanded her women, and while they hastened to make the bath she turned again to Yehonala.

“And you, my heart,” she exclaimed, “you are more precious to me now than any except my son himself. You are the destined one. I see it in your eyes. Such eyes! Nothing evil must befall you. Return to your own chamber, my daughter, and rest yourself. I shall have you moved to the inner courts of the Western Palace, where the sun falls upon the terraces. And let the physicians be summoned without delay!”

“But I am not ill, Venerable,” Yehonala said, laughing. “Look at me!”

She stretched out her arms, she lifted her head, her cheeks were red, her dark eyes bright.

The Dowager Mother stared at her. “Beautiful, beautiful,” she murmured. “The eyes so clear, the eyebrows like moth’s wings, the flesh as tender as a child’s! I knew the Consort would bear only a girl. I told you so, you women—do you remember I said a creature of such soft bone, such slack flesh, would bear only a girl?”