Swords From the East (12 page)

And then he saw the shadow.

Inside the entrance to his room stood a screen, placed there so that evil spirits might not have easy access, because demons must walk in a straight line and cannot turn corners. In the corridor outside the screen a lantern was hung. Athwart the embroidered silk of the screen was now the black figure of a tall man whose head was bent a little forward.

Mingan smiled-he hardly ever laughed-thinking that it was one of the men-at-arms on guard in the upper halls, who had fallen asleep. The figure, however, held no spear, nor did it wear the helmet with the dragon crest of the Liao-tung guardsmen, who came from Mingan's province on the northern coast and were the picked men of the emperor's host. As he watched, the figure advanced a step, and Mingan knew that it was a man standing against his screen, listening. A cup-bearer or slave might, perhaps, do that. Many such were paid to listen at doors in the imperial pal- ace-Mingan had surprised them more than once, because the boy had been bred in the northern forests and could move as quietly as a panther when he chose. He wondered who paid them to do it.

Mingan put on the new garments-the soft boots, the silk tunic and wide, nankeen trousers, the over-robe of yellow and cloth-of-gold, and lastly the black velvet hat with its peacock feather-the insignia of manhood and nobility that he was to wear for the first time that day.

By now the man at the screen had come into view around the end, and proved to be a Cathayan of unusual stature, clad altogether in white, his head shaven.

"The Servant of Mercy," breathed Mingan, and no imaginable devil could have been a less welcome visitor in that place and hour.

Because the Servant of Mercy was the executioner of the court, serving the emperor by strangling culprits whose rank made them immune from beheading, Mingan's heart leaped and struck up a quick beat, akin to the roll of the kettle-drums of the mailed cavalry of Liao-tung whose regimental emblem the prince wore and whom he should command in a few years.

Without a sound Mingan moved backward and out of the tall window that gave access to the balcony of the tower where he was quartered. There was only the one door to his room, and there was no other entrance or exit to the balcony than the window. Leaning against a carved pillar, Mingan observed the Servant of Mercy advance soundlessly to the bed, feel of it, and peer around the ill-lighted chamber. The quilts in which the boy had slept were still warm.

"Wan sui-live for a thousand years!" the executioner whispered. "Ye Lui Kutsai Mingan, Bright One of the North, Prince of Liao-tung, it has been decided that you must go in this hour to the guests on high, to face the honorable ones, your exemplary ancestors. Are you afraid?"

Mingan had seen two of his kindred take the happy dispatch by poi son put into their wine cups, and he was afraid. The tall man was listening again, his head on one side. And then he was moving toward the balcony, where he had heard the prince breathing. From his right hand hung the loop of a silk cord.

The boy's body did not move, but his mind probed for the reason of his death-secret, and bloodless, by token of the strangler's cord.

His uncle, the emperor, had never noticed him; his father and his Liaotung mother were dead: Chung-hi, the heir and son of the emperor, was his classmate-a powerful youth, given to brooding and superstition.

Chung-hi had been good-natured with Mingan, had gone on escapades with him, when the two princes went out incognito and joined the ranks of the court troupe of actors, or played on the ten-stringed lute in the gardens of the courtesans.

Now Mingan's studies were at an end, and his tutors had announced to the emperor that Mingan was a little inclined to shirk his books for the hunting chariot, at night, when he climbed down from his room, and drove his matched horses out of the walls of Taitung. He was expert in swordplay, well versed in the wisdom of the sages, and in history.

An old proverb came into his mind as he pondered. "A hunted tiger jumps the wall," he said in a low voice.

The Servant of Mercy stepped through the window, made the triple obeisance of respect, and paused.

"An intelligent man recognizes the will of the heavens," said he.

"Panthers," rejoined Mingan steadily, "eat men in the northern mountains, and," he added reflectively, "panthers eat men in the southern mountains too. Yet it is written in the books that for everything there is a reason."

He perched himself on the railing by the pillar.

"Tell me who gave the order for my death. I will never speak of what you say."

The Servant of Mercy moved a little nearer, and the ghost of a smile touched his thin lips. No, Mingan would not speak hereafter. Yet now!

"Pledge your slave," said he, "that you will make no outcry, and I will relate the cause of my coming."

"I pledge it you."

"Then, 0 prince of Cathay, look into the sky behind you and see the cause."

Mingan turned a little, so that he could still watch the man in white. Hovering at the horizon was a red moon, as if a film of blood had been drawn over a giant eye of the sky.

Miles distant, outlined against the moon, Mingan could trace the line of the Great Wall. That night he had dreamed of the wall. Standing alone on the summit, he had labored at casting down rocks at a mass of beasts that had run in from the vast spaces of the steppe and the desert of Gobi, to leap and snarl at him-the beasts changed to a pack of horsemen clad in furs, figures that grinned at him and rode their shaggy ponies up the sheer side of the wall-

Mingan knew now that he had been thinking of the men from the country of the Horde that lay even beyond the hunting-preserves of the emperor. He had often been tempted to drive his chariot out to the steppe to catch sight of these barbarians, who-his tutors said-were no better than beasts. Perhaps-

"What mean you?"

He slid his boots from his feet and braced his toes in the lacquer work of the balcony.

"Your birth-star, ill-fated one, shines in the favorable constellation of the Lion, betokening power and success to you. The star of the dynasty of Cathay has entered into the region of ill-omen, foretelling disaster. So that the prophecy of the stars may not be fulfilled, your death has been decreed."

"By whom?"

Instead of answering, the executioner cast the loop of his cord at the boy's head. But Mingan gripped the pillar with both hands and swung himself out, over the railing. His feet found holds in the lacquer work on the tower's side, and he let himself down swiftly, escaping the clutch of the executioner's hand.

Often in this way he had escaped his tutors, to snatch the forbidden joy of the stables and a ride under the stars.

For the nonce he was free; if the emperor was his foe, he would not be safe, even beyond the wall; if, however, some favorite in the court had sought his removal, now that he was about to assume his rank and ride with the armies, there was hope. Mingan had been taught to obey implicitly the will of the Dynasty, yet he had in him a wild streak that would not let him be taken easily. He shivered a little, as he felt a surging impulse to turn and flee. To run would be to reveal his movements; to stay where he was would be impossible.

Mingan folded his cold hands in his sleeves and walked slowly to the stables, beyond the gardens of the palace enclosure. Here a Manchu slave nodding beside the glow of a horn lantern started up at sight of a young noble, clad in the dragon robe.

"I will ride," said Mingan composedly, "in a small hunting-chariot. Harness two horses to the shaft. Make no noise, for the Court sleeps."

The Manchu held up the lantern to look keenly into his face. Recognizing the prince, he hastened away. Often in the last months he had obeyed similar commands from Mingan, yet this time he was prompter than usual and the prince saw that the two matched horses were of the best.

"Wan sui!" breathed the slave, making his obeisance. "Live for a thousand years."

As Mingan stepped into the chariot-a low, two-wheeled affair of light, gilded cedar-the man's glance fell upon his bootless feet. The slave hesitated, and put the lantern behind him.

"The gate of the palace enclosure is barred and guarded, by the order of Chung-hi, the Discerning, the elder prince. Your servant dares to mention that the lane to the horse pastures behind the stable is not guarded. Drive with a loose rein and-forget not that the night air is not healthy for a Northerner."

Understanding the covert warning, Mingan nodded and turned his chariot slowly in the stable yard, until he reached the grass lane. Here he tossed the reins on the horses' backs and let them graze, while he slipped to the ground and walked back through the gardens, starting at glimpses of stone pillars and evergreens trimmed to the height of a man. He knew well the bypaths of the gardens and presently crossed a bridge over a miniature lake, entering a grove of plane trees where the shadow was like a heavy cloak over his head.

Feeling the tiles with his bare feet, he made his way to a wall illumined by the glow from an incense brazier. Taking fresh powder from the bowl under his hand, he dropped it on the smoking incense and kneeled in front of the tablet of his ancestors that hung in the shrine.

"Honored Ones of the North," he whispered, bending his forehead to the tiles, "I, unworthy, have put upon my person the insignia of a warrior prince, casting aside the garments of childhood. In this hour I, inexperienced, will set my feet on the highway leading from the palace where my elders have taught me wisdom. It is my prayer that no act of mine will make it impossible for me to look into the faces of my illustrious sires with clear honor."

Nine times he made the ko-tow, and withdrew, satisfied. The bronze tablets hung in their places as always, the smoke from the brazier curled upward; no sign was vouchsafed Mingan that what he was doing was dishonorable. His senses were keyed to perceive any omen. All he saw was a gleam in the upper corridors of one of the residence palaces of the enclosure.

It was the only light visible, and he stopped to puzzle over it, realizing that it must come from the palace of Benevolent Youth, the quarters of Chung-hi, the heir-apparent. Chun, hi, then, like himself, was awake. Mingan wondered if Chung-hi had sent the Servant of Mercy.

Then, as he passed the stables again, he caught the glow of the Manchu's lantern, and drew closer. The slave seemed to be asleep, but Mingan knew that he could not have dozed so quickly. The face of the slave was composed, but from the breast of the man who had warned him the hilt of a knife projected.

The Servant of Mercy had traced him to the stables, had discovered that horses were missing, and slain the attendant, and then-what? Although nothing was to be heard, Mingan caught the reflected glimmer of lanterns moving toward the gate of the palace enclosure. Guards were already searching for him in that direction; there would have been just time for the executioner to arouse them and order them to the gate to stop him. Then it was probable that his chariot, in the back lane, had not been discovered. Listening intently, he could make out the crunching of the horses as they moved over the grass, and the faint slap of the traces.

Seconds were precious, and he ran to the vehicle, caught up the reins, and urged on the horses. They were fresh, and he passed out of the lane to the pastures swiftly, turning here into a path that led to the highway running out of Taitung to the northwest. Once on the road, smoothed and beaten for the passage of the emperor that day, he gave the horses their heads and sped on through the darkness.

The moon had set and the brightest of the stars over his head was the planet of his birth. Mingan, feeling the damp of the dew on his face and the chill of the wind on his skin, wondered that men should so believe in the stars that they should be impelled to slay him because of this omen. It seemed ridiculous that he, cold, shivering, fleeing with throbbing pulse, should be destined to a higher fortune than the Dynasty.

And yet-he had been taught the stars never lied.

The dawn had flooded the sky behind him when Mingan reached the Western Gate of the Wall of China, and found a hundred men-at-arms drawn up beside the barred portal. The captain in command informed him respectfully that orders had been issued from the Court that no one was to pass through the gate before the emperor, who was on the way to the hunt.

Mingan decided to wait where he was. If he went back, he would meet the cavalcade from Taitung; if he turned aside from the highway into one of the earth lanes, his chariot would be bogged down in the mud before he had passed beyond view. So he stood in the miniature chariot, to hide his bare feet, and let his horses breathe.

By the eighth hour of the morning, the gong on one of the gate towers was sounded and the hundred soldiers lifted down the massive bar, swinging open the iron-studded gates. Then they threw themselves down on their faces. A troop of horsemen bearing wands appeared around the first bend in the highway.

Mingan, being of royal blood, and in robes, kept his feet while the horsemen passed, saluting him. He watched a company of the palace guards march past with drawn swords on their shoulders, followed by the dignitaries of the Court, under canopies carried by slaves. Then, at the head of the princes of the blood, and the palanquins of courtesans, appeared the sedan chair of the emperor.

The prince left his chariot and kneeled by the road, feeling his heart quicken as the sedan halted, and the side lattice was lowered at a command from within. The thin face and shrewd eyes of the Son of Heaven peered out at him. He heard the emperor ask his name, and the attendants answer.

"Young nephew," the modulated voice spoke from the opening in the yellow lacquer, "it was said to us that you had left our presence during a revel of the night, thus showing us disrespect, inappropriate in the young in years."

Mingan bent his head nine times.

"Live for a thousand years! I, presuming beyond my merit, ventured to await your passing, to pay my respects for the first time in the robe of a man."

"You are young to be a warrior and a councilor? Have you passed your examinations?"