The Mandate of Heaven (45 page)

Meanwhile Gui continued to assess his gains, issuing precise instructions to clerks who had entered with writing materials and ledgers. Golden Lotus came over to Deng Nan-shi so he could whisper in his ear unheard.

‘We cannot free your son,’ he murmured. ‘What if he told our customers that the paintings they paid so much for are forgeries?’

Before Deng Nan-shi could protest, the library doors opened. Lanterns flickered. The soldiers sent to pursue Shensi had returned.

‘The other rebel escaped,’ reported one. ‘We think he fled over the cliff.’

The officer in charge glanced nervously at the Salt Minister. Fortunately the abacus was still calculating profit and loss, too busy for Shensi.

‘He is dead,’ declared the officer. ‘Good work.’ He turned to his superior. ‘Your Excellency, shall I also arrest the old …’ But Gui had already begun to leave, followed by Golden Lotus on his shuffling little feet. The officer shrugged. ‘Take this rebel but leave the old man.’

Though Deng Nan-shi remonstrated, it was no use. Teng was dragged into the courtyard and stripped of his new silk clothes. Meanwhile, servants collected every scrap of paper, scroll and ancient volume in the library, every painting and print, filling wooden crates under the direction of the clerks. A large cart hauled by oxen had been driven into the courtyard, overseen by a Salt Bureau official. What ensued was efficient and swift. Within two hours Teng was prodded down Monkey Hat Hill, his neck weighed by a huge wooden yoke and chain, stumbling behind the ox cart. It carried three centuries of the Deng clan’s elegant taste, passion, wisdom, acquisitiveness and – in the end – frailty.

What followed may have been an accident. Perhaps a soldier cast aside his burning torch as he left. Perhaps secret orders had been issued by the Salt Minister. Or even by Golden Lotus. Perhaps it was fate, insisting the past, however glorious, was dead. A space must be cleared for something new that would, in its turn, be replaced. Yet as Deng Nan-shi examined the empty shelves of Deng Library, tears running down his grizzled cheeks, desperate with plans to bribe the judge when Teng came to trial, he caught a scent of smoke. His old ears detected an unfamiliar rumble.

An entire wing of Deng Mansions was ablaze. A loud crash was followed by swarms of angry sparks as roof beams collapsed. The old man stumbled towards the well for a bucket of water. Then the wind changed direction and enveloped him in smoke. Flames danced and skipped like gleeful devils, leaping from roof to roof. Empty family apartments that once echoed with voices and gossip and ambition crumbled in on themselves. Kitchens where servants cooked three centuries’ harvests became giant ovens preparing a last banquet of ruin. Corridors raced with fire rather than heedless, running children. Everything burned, even Deng Mansions’ looted heart, the ancient library building where generations of scholars had come to study and learn. Finally the great reception hall converted into a classroom.

The ancient complex of buildings blazed on Monkey Hat Hill, visible from the city below. Some pointed in alarm. Others laughed to see the Dengs destroyed at long last. A crowd from nearby wards and Cloud Abode Monastery hurried to put out the fire but were too late. Two of Deng Nan-shi’s grown-up pupils braved the flames, wet scarves tied round their mouths, emerging from the smoke with the scholar’s limp body.

Deng Mansions burned through the night. Only rectangles of blackened, smouldering beams and ash remained, over-looked by a peculiar mound shaped like Holy Mount Chang. A battered moon-gazing pavilion perched on it, unscathed by the inferno.

Months later, two men – the first short, with an affable smile, the other broad as a village bully – bowed themselves out of the Noble Count of Lingling’s audience chamber.

‘Ensure refreshments are provided for these gentlemen,’ ordered Hsiung from his throne.

Chao and Hua, their silks gaudier than ever since the fall of Chenglingji, looked suitably grateful for this mark of favour. Once they had gone, Hsiung instructed the other servants to follow, so only Chancellor Liu Shui remained. Both sat in silence, considering the spies’ news.

It was noon and the broad window shutters were wide open, revealing all the glory of Holy Mount Chang, its slopes and many shrines bright in the crisp winter light. Within the audience chamber, lesser symbols of power – bronze offering tripods and carved friezes depicting Yueh Fei’s immortal deeds – also caught the pale sun.

Hsiung sighed heavily and removed a black scholar’s hat with long earflaps in the style of the previous dynasty. ‘I should have expected it,’ he muttered. ‘I should have offered them my protection here.’

Liu Shui pursed his wet, red lips. ‘They would not have come,’ he said. ‘It was their fate, perhaps. But to perish in such a way, that was unexpected.’

Rising from the chair, Hsiung threw down the hat and paced before the window. ‘I suspect murder,’ he said. ‘And when the time comes, those responsible shall pay with their lives. And the lives of their families to the third generation!’

‘Robbery certainly occurred,’ mused Liu Shui. ‘How else are we to explain the confiscation of Deng Library, a most valuable collection? Not least because it contains many unique papers relating to our great inspiration, Yueh Fei. I shall make enquiries about the whereabouts of those documents. Such artefacts must not remain in the hands of Salt Minister Gui.’

‘I say it was murder!’ exclaimed Hsiung.

Again Liu Shui pursed his lips. ‘Possibly. Probably. One must not jump to conclusions. That is how injustices occur that rob the wise ruler of his integrity before Heaven.’

‘How else can Teng’s death be explained?’

‘You heard the spies, Your Highness, he perished in the fire. The question is, was it started deliberately? Accidents are not murder.’

As usual Hsiung felt his rage deflate under the scrutiny of Liu Shui’s arguments.

‘At least my old master escaped,’ he said. ‘Hua believes he is treated well at Cloud Abode Monastery. I shall send a box of silver for his maintenance.’

Liu Shui nodded. ‘It shall be arranged, Your Highness. Now to the other matter they raised.’

Picking up his hat, Hsiung resumed his seat on the throne. ‘You refer to the transfer of troops?’

‘Yes, Noble Count.’

Chao and Hua reported the Mongols had halved their garrison in the Salt Pans. Instantly Hsiung had realised that revenge, complete and perfect revenge, lay within his grasp. Imagining such a possibility, he forgot the Dengs. There were enough bitter reasons of his own to seize the Salt Pans without using their fate as a pretext.

‘With my new fleet I could fall on them like a hawk! Then the Salt Pans would be ours and, with them, such revenue! Ah, that would be power, Liu Shui. The Mongols would fear me then! And any who have mistreated the slaves there will feel the harsh cut of their own whips.’

The Noble Count’s chancellor nodded: ‘They appear to have made a foolish blunder.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Hsiung, ‘according to the Zhongs in Chenglingji, the Salt Pans have not been so poorly defended since the last dynasty fell.’

‘Which is all very strange.’ Liu Shui shifted huge buttocks in his chair, a lower, plainer seat than the Count’s. ‘It seems rather too tempting, rather too convenient. Perhaps it is a trap.’

‘There is such a thing as good fortune,’ protested Hsiung. ‘One must not always be suspicious.’

‘Perhaps. Assuming you capture the Salt Pans, Noble Count, what then? For the first time the Imperial authorities in the capital would really take note of us. They would be forced to send a large force to crush you. The salt monopoly is vital to them.’

Hsiung put the hat back on his head, adjusting the earflaps so they pointed defiantly upwards. ‘Good! Then we can test my new fleet.’

‘A fleet, Noble Count, that is untrained and lacks experienced officers. What would be the consequence of its loss?’

Now Liu Shui had his ruler’s full attention.

‘Surprise is a powerful weapon in war,’ Hsiung countered, ‘as is courage. But do not be alarmed, Liu Shui, I will take to heart your wise warnings.’

‘Please do,’ said the Chancellor, blandly. ‘And, Your Highness, please ensure your bodyguard are always close. Your exploits at Chenglingji have earned you many enemies.’

‘You are like a hen fretting for its chick,’ said Hsiung.

‘Hens are known to drive away evil spirits,’ pointed out Liu Shui. Then he, too, bowed himself out of the audience chamber, leaving the Noble Count alone.

Shadows shifted. Hsiung remembered Teng as a boy, their games, alliances, quarrels. It seemed he had possessed no other friend since, at least, not of his own age or who shared so deep a bond. The audience chamber pooled with dark corners. Clouds advanced over the winter sun. Hsiung recollected Chao and Hua’s more pleasant piece of information – and how it might offer a temporary cure for loneliness.

All day, a chamber in the Noble Count of Lingling’s palace was prepared for a special entertainment. It involved a private performance by a notable actress from Hou-ming who happened to be in Lingling to visit the shrines. She also happened to have travelled under the protection of two merchants named Chao and Hua.

The lady in question applied much energy and enthusiasm to her preparations. Musicians were summoned from the town and auditioned. Several were rejected before she declared herself satisfied. Then came the matter of a suitable banquet while the entertainments unfolded, including those of the ‘looking at flowers and buying willows’ variety. In short, a delightful evening was planned for the Noble Count’s pleasure.

Once the many preparations were complete – not least the lady’s make-up and tantalising outfits – she sprawled on a divan, fanning herself with a vacant expression on her pretty young face. In this pose Chao and Hua found her, having slipped past while the maids arranged their own hair.

‘Ying-ge!’ called a knowing voice. ‘Idling, are we?’

She sat upright with a start. Her long-lashed eyes narrowed and her mouth – described by a recent admirer as resembling a carp’s – pouted angrily.

‘It is just you!’ she said, fanning herself with extra vigour. ‘What do you want?’

‘To see all is in readiness for the Noble Count,’ said Hua. ‘What else?’

‘With you, it could be anything.’

The understanding between them was revealed by the way she glanced sideways at him. Chao, who knew all about it, chuckled coarsely.

‘Now, you two!’ he warned. ‘Hands to the oars.’

Ying-ge rolled her pretty eyes. ‘Is it a large oar?’ she asked, sweetly.

‘You can tell me later,’ said Hua. ‘Now remember what we discussed.’

She hid a yawn behind her fan.

‘How can I forget when you say it so often?’

Hua grinned without mirth.

‘Well, that’s good then,’ he declared, stealing a sugared plum meant for the Noble Count on his way out.

Hsiung’s gloom persisted over the afternoon. He tried to dispel it through intense sword practise with a local master and four hundred arrows discharged at targets dragged on wheels. At least his exertions provoked an appetite. Hsiung donned fresh silks then proceeded to the Chamber of Willow Music – as he was begged to refer to it by a demure maid who accosted him on the way.