Deadly injustice

FOUR

Our strange and erratic procession finally came together ten miles west of Khan-balik at the great marble bridge over the river called by some Pulisanghin. It was a big bridge with twenty-four arches and twenty-four piers because the river — that Lin called Hun-Ho — was a very big river that ran all the way to the ocean. The bridge was made of grey marble and ten horsemen could have ridden abreast across it. Our little entourage did not make such demands on it. While Gurbesu and I had ridden fast ahead of the others for the pure joy of it — and in my case to make sure I was well out of the reach of Mongotai — Tadeusz and Alberoni were plodding along at a more sedate pace. We had all arranged to meet up at the bridge, as Lin was to be coming from another direction in his carriage, according to the message sent by the ostler. Gurbesu and I knew we would have a long wait for the others to catch up, so we dismounted and sat in the shade of one of a row of columns along the bridge. Each one was set on the back of a marble turtle and topped by a lion. We sat fondling each other, watching the brown waters surge under the river.

Eventually, we could see the rest of our party arriving and rearranged our clothes. Lin must have encountered the slower riders some miles back, for they were all together now. Lin’s carriage was beautifully upholstered with fine-spoked wheels only marred by the mud they must have picked up from the building site that was Kubilai’s new citadel. Alberoni, uneasy on his docile pony, stared enviously at the ornate carriage. Lin, ignoring the friar’s stare, waved enthusiastically at me as he came closer. Gurbesu and I stood up and walked over to the carriage, leading our ponies by their reins.

Up front sat the driver of Lin’s carriage and his new servant, Po Ku. He was a tall, wiry young lad, whom Lin had personally selected from his own family’s province. Lin’s previous servant — Yao Lei — had been a two-faced traitor who had reported on his master’s activities to his real master, Ko Su-Tsung. Po Ku still had the scent of the farm about him, and was inclined to be clumsy. He had already driven Lin to distraction by breaking a fine bone-china plate that Lin treasured. But Lin bore the burden with stoicism in order to have a servant who, by virtue of his coming from Lin’s home region, he hoped had not infiltrated his household on the orders of his long-time enemy. Lin looked glad to see me again.

‘I have all the paperwork on the case right here.’

He patted at an ominously large heap of documents, some fastened with silk cords that lay on the seat next to him. My heart sank at the size of the pile.

With us all assembled together, Gurbesu and I remounted and, at the pace of Lin’s carriage, we began our long journey south-westward. Though I was all for pressing on, Lin insisted our first stop be a mere thirty miles beyond the bridge at Cho-Chau, where several fine hostelries were available. I think he was feeling the jolting of the carriage and wished to rest his back. Once we had settled in our accommodation, he and I decided to tackle the mountain of paperwork and plan our strategy.

Leaning back on a silk cushion to ease his backache, and picking diffidently at his rice-bowl, Lin began to tell me what he knew.

‘The accused is a girl of twenty, named Jianxu. Her mother-in-law, Madam Gao…’

I quickly interrupted.

‘Mother-in-law? Then this girl is married. Where is her husband?’

‘Dead. He died soon after their marriage apparently, leaving his mother and wife destitute. This was the beginning of their problems. In order to survive, the old lady agreed to marry a trader by the name of Geng Biao. He had a son — Geng Wenbo — who took a shine to the younger girl.’

‘The one found guilty of murder?’

Lin nodded patiently at this next interruption. I knew he liked to lay out the facts neatly and in chronological order, and I was for always irritating him by trying to cut to the chase. I raised both hands by way of an apology and let him continue. We had two weeks of travelling in which to examine the facts. There was no hurry. Though we also had to make a plan to extricate ourselves from the trap that Ko had driven us into. If we were to avoid putting ourselves between a rock and hard place, I would need to devise a strategy and soon.

‘I’m sorry. Go on.’

Lin smiled in that gentle but telling way of his, and continued his narrative. I could see that he was pleased at, once again, schooling the barbarian in the calmer ways of the Chinee. Outside, the sun was setting and the humidity of the day was falling away. A cooling breeze blew in through the open window. Lin carried on in that droning voice of his.

‘Jianxu, apparently, was reluctant to marry again. Maybe she was still mourning her first husband, maybe Wenbo was not much of a catch. The two ladies’ fortunes would, after all, be secured by the marriage of the older lady, her mother-in-law, to Old Geng Biao. There was no need for Jianxu to marry Geng Wenbo also.’

I was about to query Lin on his use of the expression ‘old’ in relation to Geng, but his raised eyebrow indicated to me that he would explain everything in time, and I needn’t interrupt again. I slumped back on to my own cushion and picked a pear off the low table at my side. Biting into it, I sucked up the juice noisily.

‘Old Geng is how he is called in Pianfu — P’ing-Yang-Fu — by his neighbours it seems. It is not a term of endearment, but accurate nevertheless. He is in his seventieth year. Or should I say he was, for he is our victim and therefore dead. Jianxu’s victim, if we are to believe the paperwork.’

He patted the pile of documents on the table then passed me a linen napkin.

‘Wipe your chin, Nick. I know a demon like Zhong Kui need have no manners, but I am determined to teach you some so you can carry them back to the barbarian West when you go.’

I laughed ironically.

‘If I go back. It seems I am not my own master any more, but the slave of Kubilai Khan. It is he who will decide if and when I can return to Venice.’ I was angered by the thought, but I wiped my chin as bidden. ‘But then his and my wishes coincide at the moment. I have no desire to return as yet. I am having too much fun.’

What I said was not entirely true. I yearned every day to return to La Serenissima, and Caterina Dolfin. But I had left under the cloud of an accusation of murder, and my safety, if I did return, was uncertain. I finished the pear, and wiped my lips with the back of my hand. Lin winced at the crudeness of my action, and continued.

‘Anyway, the question of Jianxu’s marriage to Wenbo became irrelevant a few days after the proposal was made. The old man suddenly upped and died. The details are unsavoury, so I shall not go into them now — you can read them for yourself.’ He waved at the pile of documents to indicate that the full gruesomeness of Old Geng’s death was recorded in detail somewhere in the heap. Lin did not like dwelling on the nastier aspects of death.

‘Suffice it to say that poisoning was the clear cause, and on her being examined, Jianxu confessed.’

I started up from my cushion.

‘Confessed? You did not say that before. Then why are we even going to P’ing-Yang-Fu? And who petitioned the Khan for a re-examination of the case, if she admitted she did it?’

‘Calm down, my little demon. Confession is part of the legal process in Cathay. Criminal law has a moral purpose in ensuring the guilty not only are caught, but that they repent and see the error of their ways. A person cannot be convicted unless he — or she — confesses.’ Lin pulled a face, turning slightly away from me. ‘Sometimes extreme measures are required to extract a confession.’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘You mean torture? So Jianxu will have been tortured in order to get her to confess to the crime that she may not have been guilty of committing?’

Lin calmly turned his face back to me.

‘Do not you have the same procedures in your world? I have met priests such as Friar Alberoni who tell me that torture is a normal procedure for Westerners too.’

It was my turn to look away, embarrassed by his retort. Of course he was right. The Church was prone to use torture on heretics to induce repentance. And in cases of treason, a man might be tortured to extract names of accomplices. But to torture a young woman merely to obtain evidence? I thought that was plain wrong, and I tried to make my point.

‘Yes, but in most cases in the West, what is called half-proof is needed before proceeding. That means there must be some initial evidence of guilt before torture is applied. Where was the proof that this girl may have murdered the old man?’

Lin pointed to the papers on the table again.

‘Read these, and tell me what you think.’

‘You know I cannot read Chinee or Mongol script, only Turkish. And that rather poorly.’

‘Then trust me. I have read them all. There was reason to examine Jianxu strongly. But of course you are right in another way. A confession obtained in such a situation is a flawed piece of evidence. That is why I need you to do what you do best, and uncover the truth.’

Lin knew he could always win me over with such flattery. And, predictably, I gave in to it.

‘Very well. But tell me one thing. You didn’t answer my question concerning who petitioned the court of Kubilai in support of this girl, Jianxu.’

Lin smiled his little enigmatic smile again, and patted my knee.

‘Ah, just a bunch of vagabonds, one of whom you will meet in ten days time when we get to T’ai-Yuan-Fu.’

He liked a good secret, did Lin Chu-Tsai, and refused to say any more to me about the matter. I could not imagine how a bunch of vagabonds and ne’er-do-well Chinee could exert any influence with Kubilai. But then they didn’t have to. It was the sneaky Ko Su-Tsung who had lifted the case out of obscurity and convinced the Khan to consider it. A hopeless case, supported by a ragtag of lowly Chinee, was a perfect trap in which Lin and I could be ensnared. I still didn’t know how we were going to save ourselves, and it was not until we reached T’ai-Yuan-Fu that I had an inkling of what truly awaited us.

The following morning, we reassembled and continued on our journey. A mile beyond Cho-Chau the road forked, one branch going westward still in Cathay, and the other south-east towards Manzi and the southern lands not yet conquered by Kubilai. Our direction was westward, and we passed on the way salt works where men laboured by pouring water over salt-laden earth then boiling the brine in big iron cauldrons. Lin told me they exported the pure, white salt to many countries, bringing in a great deal of wealth for Kubilai’s coffers. I have to say, I lost interest in his explanation of the industries that we passed. That was until I spotted some well-tilled fields and land dotted with low growing bushes that were very familiar to me. Lin saw where my gaze was turning, and nodded.

‘Yes, they are vineyards, Nick.’

Things were beginning to look up.

The girl sat and shivered in the cold mud hut that was her cell. Her thin green cotton robe did little to keep her warm as the night approached. She could almost feel the chill of autumn creeping across the barren land she could see outside the little window set in the door to her cell. There would soon be frosts turning the broken earth white and hard. But she would not see that. She would be dead by the executioner’s hand. Another shiver ran up her spine, this time caused by the fear that ran through her every fibre. She did not like the fact that the road to where she was being kept was also visible from the window. It was unlucky to have a door facing a road.

She huddled up on the little pallet which was the only furniture allowed in her cell, picking at the scabs on her feet. Her luck had been bad recently, particularly since the death of her husband. But she had turned twenty a month ago, and she was convinced that her big luck cycle was returning. She needed the luck — yun — or she would not survive to see the winter. She had begged the boy to help her, to petition the Khan if necessary. He was not the brightest person to have your fate dependent on, and had looked at her with horror when she had suggested going over the prefect’s head. But she had smiled at him through the bars on the cell window, and reached through to stroke his hairless chin, suggesting who else he might rally to her cause. She knew she had aroused him, and that should be enough to get him to do as she wished. He had left with a scared look on his face, but lust in his eyes. Pulling her knees to her chest, she felt a little warmer. Yes, the yun was flowing in her direction again. She could feel it.