THE SILK TREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Nicander, a trader who was comfortable among the many tongues of the Mediterranean, took to Chinese quickly. Hearing it spoken on every side from morning to night immersed him in the sound and feeling of the musical language – and he began developing an ear for it.

On show evenings his deliberate same-word-different-tone efforts brought the house down. Marius could only learn his lines by rote but his rough Latin manner got just as many laughs.

The act became more daring: some in the audience, like Kuo, were beyond teasing but a number of the more pompous officials were easy targets and one night Nicander even went so far as to take the Crown Prince himself as his mark.

Kao Yeh, Prince of Ch’i, was fat and witless. He had little to do, as the Emperor had no intention of dissipating power, and spent his hours in pleasuring, both public and private. He and his sycophantic followers were regulars at every evening performance, their presence marked by unrestrained chortling.

Nicander crafted a not too subtle routine involving him as a drunken reveller meeting another and completely mistaking the tone value of ou, the word meaning to vomit. The prince duly fell about in mirth.

Then the acid-faced Hao was the victim of an earnest enquiry about a taxation form – or was that a wireworm larva?

But he saved his most cunning confection for the beautiful woman who never missed a performance but always stayed in the shadows. He had never seen her smile – the Ice Queen, he’d privately named her. But there was something about her…

His sketch centred on a happy-go-lucky man about town coming upon such a paragon. In a series of loud asides he debated whether he should approach the lady in question and what he should say.

She must have known what was to follow but gave no sign of it, remaining cool and motionless.

He worked up to his climax – a play on ping, ice, but also ailment.

Turning to her, he prepared to deliver his line but saw in her features a starkness, a dark void of the soul – and the words came out weakly.

Then her attendant came forward and beat at him with her fan in a shrill invective that was too fast for him to follow. The audience was delighted but he’d been put off balance by the woman.

Afterwards Yi was unsympathetic. ‘O’ course! You know why? She’s the highest o’ the high, talking to the lowest o’ the low. Can’t expect anything else, can you? We call her “The Porcelain Doll” and wonder why she’s not married off.’

He sniffed. ‘Now just as you’re getting laughs with this wordplay, I’m thinking you can land yourself – and the act – in a lot o’ bother if you get rude with the customers without you know it. What I’m saying is, this court is a dangerous place and even if you don’t mean it, if you hand out insults to the wrong man, well, who’s to say what’ll happen?

‘So what I’m going to do is lend you Ah Lee, my brightest stable boy. He’s getting the same orders as you – if you’re not up to speed in Chinese in a very short while you’re both for the chop! You can play the fool kuei lao as much as you like, but now you’ll know what not to say.’

They scuttled off in a high storm of applause.

‘By glory but I think some of ’em wet themselves with your last act!’ cackled Yi. This was Nicander’s deliberate mispronouncing of the number nine to become the male appendage, at a crucial point in an interchange between a man and a maid.

As Nicander and Marius helped each other out of their costumes, a gong sounded.

‘Must be another act,’ Yi said. ‘Let’s see if they can do better!’

The hum of conversations and occasional laughter died away. Peeking around a column Nicander saw an old man shuffling in, helped by a younger. He reached the centre and insisted on a full kowtow.

‘Ah, that’s Ts’ao Fu. A famous poet but too heavy going for me,’ Yi whispered. ‘Haven’t seen him for a while. The Emperor’s got no taste for it but if he’s going to be mistaken for a scholar he has to put up with it.’

When the man rose he was handed a scroll which he held up proudly in a trembling hand and began reading. It was a thin, reedy voice – and barely audible.

There was an irritated shout from behind the gauze. ‘That’s better,’ Yi murmured. ‘He’s called for the court cantor. That’s their job.’

To Nicander’s astonishment the crowd gave way for the Ice Queen.

‘She used to read Confucius and stuff to the old emperor every morning. This one doesn’t like to be reminded, like.’

‘That’s why she’s here all the time?’

‘Her duty, isn’t it?’

She moved with a studied grace and after an impeccable kowtow took the scroll. With a respectful bow to the poet she stood to one side to read it.

Her voice was high and silvery, the correct delivery for an imperial court, but as she read her face blossomed into a transcendent radiance.

The poem was in quatrains; she gave it an artistic lilt and expression that brought it to life in a way that was truly enchanting. Nicander could only understand one word in five but he was held enthralled.

It went on until at a particular place she faltered, and glanced at the poet who drew himself up and nodded gravely.

She resumed but the words brought a sudden ripple of unease about the room.

‘Be buggered, but the old man’s treading on thin ice!’ Yi muttered.

‘What’s he saying?’

‘Why, not for your ears, really, but he’s waking up the old ancestors and comparing them to this one.’

There was a sudden bellow and savage words from the yellow gauze. She stopped instantly and lowered her head.

The poet shuffled forward.

‘That’s torn it – inviting Ts’ao Fu to change his words. He’ll never do it.’

Suddenly the gauze was ripped aside and for the first time Nicander laid eyes on a Chinese emperor.

He was magnificently dressed in the richest silks, pearls, jade, rubies and sapphires and wore headgear of an impossible elaboration but was grossly corpulent, his pig-like eyes nearly sunk into a fleshy red face.

He advanced to the front of the dais with an air of menace. ‘We mislike your words, poet. Change them!’

‘Sire, I write as the spirits call to me. I cannot desecrate their words.’ The voice was old and quavering but there was a pathetic strength behind it.

‘Do you question us?’ the Emperor roared. ‘No man defies the Dragon Throne.’

Ts’ao Fu stood his ground, remaining respectful but mute. It was moral courage on a scale that Nicander doubted he could ever find in himself.

In the icy stillness of the hall long moments passed.

Then the Emperor turned abruptly and ascended his throne once more. He addressed the poet, his voice silky with menace. ‘You sit under the old pagoda tree in the Bronze Sparrow Park for inspiration, do you not?’

‘I do, Great Emperor. I humbly listen to the seven worthies of the bamboo grove that-’

‘Yes, yes. Well, we know what to do about that. Imperial Guard!’

An officer jerked to attention and knelt before him.

‘Take our poet out to his pagoda tree where he got the inspiration for this dross. Then strike off his head as a warning to his seven worthies to do better next time!’

In a chill of horror Nicander watched the old man led away.

The Emperor settled back and beamed. ‘Well, why all the long faces? Music! Dancing! Strike up there!’

It was now clear they were walking a tightrope. Sooner or later this rabid despot would turn on them. Nicander whispered to Marius. ‘Just to say, m’ friend, I’m with you now. I want to get out of this madhouse situation as fast as we can.’

But they had long discovered that the palace was impossible to escape from. And even if they made it to the open country, what then? Two foreign devils on the run would not last out the day.

There was movement outside their room. It was Yi, who gave way to another. ‘Chief Scribe Wang, you bastards.’

A young man with the calm of a scholar bowed to them. ‘The Grand Chamberlain wishes to see you, should you be free.’

‘Go!’ commanded Yi.

Kuo’s modest lodgings spoke of higher and deeper reaches of the mind. In the first chamber were striking hangings of Chinese characters in many styles and exquisite watercolours of bamboo and flowers.

Beyond, was a neat room with solid, carved furniture; a single incense stick sent up a tiny spiral into the dark rafters of the ceiling.

Kuo met them with disarming courtesy. ‘Do forgive the untidiness. I now live alone and cannot be trusted with the civilities.’ Nicander tried to avoid staring at the Grand Chamberlain’s face with its empty eye sockets.

There were no chairs; Wang noiselessly led them to a low raised platform, inset with carnelian stone.

‘I shall not detain you long, gentlemen. I’ve asked you to me, more to indulge my own conscience than anything of consequence,’ Kuo continued. ‘The younger one. May I know your name?’

‘Sir. It is Nicander of Leptis Magna.’

Kuo faced him and tried to say the syllables. ‘Your grasp of our language is better than my foreign babbling, I fear. We’ll have to find you a Chinese name.’

He hesitated. ‘I believe you to be a man of intelligence, probably of some learning. That is why I asked you here, sir. I confess I feel it heavy on my spirit that you have, through no fault of your own, been deflected from your sacred purpose. To survive, you must suffer the indignity of actors, playing the simpleton for the common mirth.’

He paused, considering his words. ‘I wish to say to you that such sacrifice in two learned gentlemen – without repine – has won my most sincere admiration.’

‘That is most kind of you.’

‘At the same time I would have you know that the Chinese character is not one that is readily perceptible in the confines of a court. Rather it may be found in the company of scholars, men of discernment and delicacy in the arts of the gentleman. As the Master Wang Hsueh Che here.’

Wang flushed with embarrassment, protesting his unworthiness, which Kuo politely ignored.

‘I wish to say to you, that what you witnessed today was… in the way of a prince perhaps not yet fully enlightened in the tao of rulership under heaven. His youth as a warrior has made him impatient with the gentler and more demanding imperatives of an ethical ruler. I simply ask that you do not judge our civilisation by the hasty acts of one such.’

‘We shall reflect on your words, Lord Kuo,’ Nicander responded carefully.

‘And… and I’m obliged to say it, that if heaven wills it, the future may well be more blessed than the present.’

‘Sir?’

The Grand Chamberlain gave a slow smile. ‘How I wish… but you are bound men and cannot choose your path. In the fullness of time, perhaps…’

‘It makes no difference,’ Nicander said later after relaying the conversation to Marius. ‘There’s nothing here for us except what we saw today. We have to get away!’

Yi was consumed with curiosity at this second meeting with the Grand Chamberlain and demanded to know what had taken his slaves to his residence.

Nicander saw no reason not to tell him and detailed the meeting.

‘What did he mean by, “if heaven wills it, the future may well be more blessed”?’

‘Oh, that’s plain enough. The whole country hopes the bastard will drink himself to death, then Crown Prince Kao Yeh will succeed. He’s a sot and an idiot but hasn’t a grain o’ spite in him. We’ll then all breathe easy, believe me.’

They supped on delicacies from the royal kitchens but Nicander had little appetite.

Yi ate greedily then sat back. ‘We really ought to tighten up the paying taxes act. How do you feel about moving to levels?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Chinese levels. They love ’em. Let’s find you an example. Ah – here at the palace, Historian Shih. Now he was originally a Uighur – that’s a barbarian from the far borderlands. His name was some awful thing like Scythian. They had to give him a name they could get their tongue around so they gave him “Shih Toyun” which sounds like it to the Chinese. That’s the first level of meaning.

‘Now that makes him Mr Shih, but the whole three character thing means “One who holds up the clouds”. This is clever, because he’s taller than your ordinary Chinese. That’s the second level.’

‘At the third level we have that anyone who tries to hold up the clouds is ambitious to succeed, reaches for the highest, one to admire. Then the final level is that Shih sounds the same as Shih meaning “scholar of history”, which o’ course is what he does. See?’

‘You mean anything that’s said can have all these levels at once?’

‘Yes. Especially poems and stuff written down.’

Nicander frowned. His was a language of precision and logic, he was proud of its accuracy of meaning and definition. How could a language so loose compare to it?

‘You’d have to be very careful how you addressed the ladies, I’d guess.’

‘Ha! This is why I think we can do a lot with it. Hang a pause until they get it, let the brighter ones start the others off.’

They set to work but were interrupted by a gong somewhere beginning a regular boom.

Yi froze. ‘I don’t like it. That’s the general signal to attend the Emperor. Never done except at sacrifice time or…’

He pulled himself together. ‘Means all of us. At the Hall of Eternal Peace.’

It was the biggest of the palace halls, able to easily take the half thousand that were assembling. A vast, polished, black stone floor reflected the richness of the gowns and robes, the jewelled ceremonial headgear and peacock feathers.

Raised up on a dais at the far end was a colossal throne with extravagant carving glittering with gold leaf. It was set before an even more elaborately ornamented screen. On each side soaring dusky-red columns displayed tall yellow panels with giant characters in black.

The nobles and ladies assumed their places at the front, lesser mortals behind. From the back Nicander took in the sweep of majesty that was the Celestial Throne.

Then without warning there was a sudden crash as the main doors were closed. A detachment of guards took position in a single line around the assembly.

‘This is bad,’ Yi whispered. ‘Never had this happen before. Wonder what’s going on?’

There were frightened conversations, spreading confusion – would Emperor Wen Hsuan soon make an appearance?

A massive gong sounded. Then the personal bodyguard entered and formed up, halberds and swords gleaming. Finally the Emperor stalked in, glaring about him before ascending to his throne.

‘The Great Lord, Ruler of all under Heaven, the mighty and ever-victorious, Emperor of Northern Ch’i.’

The stillness was so acute that Nicander could hear his own breathing.

‘Summons his palace to hear vile and dreadful news.’ The herald was so nervous his scroll trembled as he read. ‘Signifying such foul omens that he deigns to speak to his liege subjects himself to allay their fears.’

The Emperor stalked to the front of the dais and looked out in terrible deliberation over the mass of his people, first to one side, then the other. Then he spoke in a heavy, intimidating growl.

‘I would have you know that an odious and abominable plot against ourself, the Son of Heaven and intercessory with the gods – has been thwarted.’

There was a tremulous hush.

‘Which was revealed in time by the selfless loyalty of one man – Chancellor Hao! Who brought to us proof of the plot, knowing it would cause us the utmost grief, but out of his duty to the Dragon Throne felt it necessary to acquaint us with its contents.’

Hao stood silent, head bowed, hands in his sleeves, the picture of rectitude.

‘I have it here!’ the Emperor roared, waving a grubby sheet. ‘Treachery, betrayal and filial impiety enough to make heaven itself weep!’

He lowered it, letting the tension build.

‘Kao Yeh! Crown Prince! Step forward and make your obeisance!’

At the front of the assembly there was a brief confusion and a chubby figure came forward and prostrated himself before the Emperor.

‘Rise up! Come before me.’

The Emperor thrust the sheet violently at his son. ‘Read! So all may hear!’

As he did so Nicander could tell what it was – a soulful attempt in verse at a bewailing of his situation, being the inheritor in due course of the greatest rank on earth but at the present time to be made to suffer under the tyranny of a despot.

‘This is yours?’

It would be useless to deny – Chinese writing was as individual to the writer as a portrait of them.

‘It is, Father – that is, Most Excellent and Wise Emperor of All Under Heaven.’

Without a doubt it was the result of a drinking bout which had young men competing in witty writings into the early hours. Nicander wondered if it contained clumsy attempts at levels of meaning which had been overlooked under the influence of the wine, but which now held a sinister significance.

It had to be Hao’s doing. To secure the trifle would have taken planning and guile. The prize was obvious: complete trust by the Emperor and therefore power over the entire court.

‘Then be it on your own head,’ the Emperor snarled. ‘To seek to usurp the prerogatives of the mandate of heaven – this is an act of treachery and filial ingratitude that may not be forgiven.’

He glowered at the hapless prince. ‘You have one course of redemption and one only.’

‘Sire?’

‘Master Feng!’

From somewhere close by the mute dwarf scuttled out.

‘Offer the chalice to Prince Kao Yeh!’

A dark-green jade cup was thrust under the prince’s nose.

‘No!’ he stammered. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong-’

Yi leant close to Nicander. ‘It’s poison!’ he hissed.

‘Take it!’ roared the Emperor, shaking in fury.

‘I-I can’t, it’s not fair, I didn’t-’

‘Seize him!’

There was a brief struggle as the prince was forced on his back on the front of the dais in full view.

His voice distorted into a shriek which turned to a bubbling squeal as the dwarf carefully emptied the cup into his mouth, deftly stepping back when his task was done.

The Emperor waited impassively until the last despairing spasms and contortions were over, then resumed his throne and declaimed, ‘Thus dies a vile and treacherous usurper! By this let it be seen and known that there are none – not a one – who may seek to defy their emperor’s majesty with impunity!’

Then he stood abruptly. ‘We see among you those with base treason in their hearts! But it is in vain, for let it be known – such perfidy will be found out. I have given special powers to Chancellor Hao to go among you and root you out! Know and tremble, for no mercy will be seen for any who cry against their emperor!’