They seemed to be tipped with a phosphorescent material: the twirlings made arcs and twists and circles of luminescence in the darkness. And Bei W’ih began to tell a tale, a flight of fancy involving a noble hero, pure and lovely maiden, wicked villain, and a host of minor characters.
The twirlings continued all the while—pretty, Simon thought, but pointless. But the audience, as he realized from their vigorous expressions of approval, horror, anger, were getting a lot more out of the proceedings than he was. The tale wound to its climax, signalled by a delirious twinkling dance of lights, which was greeted with sustained and rapturous applause.
As their mules jogged along next day, Simon asked: “The storytelling is something expected?”
“Hoped for, shall we say? And so provided, in return for hospitality.”
“And shaking the rods is a necessary part?”
Bei W’ih looked at him. “When the rods danced, what did you see?”
“Moving lights.”
“The others saw much more: men fighting, a boy and girl embracing, a boat buffeted by rough waters on a river flowing between high cliffs, dragons soaring through skies pierced by lightning bolts. . . .”
“So the lights were helping you to create illusions which they believed?”
“Yes. But illusions which existed for me, too. I saw all those things. But not for you, Si Mun? I wonder why. Because you are of the Lomani? But you are not the first such to visit the Celestial Kingdom and witness its wonders. Others have seen the pictures. I wonder why not you?”
Simon did not reply. It was interesting, he reflected, that this time the illusions had worked for others, if not for him. Maybe his negative vibes were getting less powerful—as a result of his contacts with Bei Pen? It was just as well anyway: the villagers might have been less civilized than the members of the imperial court about losing their evening’s entertainment. They jogged on in silence.
Twelve days later, at a point where the rough track they were following crested a hilltop, they came in sight of the Wall. Simon had been prepared to be impressed, but the actuality bludgeoned him. No pictures in books or on television had adequately prepared him for the impact of the vast bulwark of stone striding across the valley floor and climbing hundreds of feet over the next hill.
He remembered reading somewhere that even in his own world this had been the only work of man visible from the Moon. And here it was no crumbling ruin but an artifact in good repair and in use—he could see the heads of a troop of soldiers bobbing above the battlement as they marched towards the fort at the top of the hill. There banners, twisting in a stiff breeze, decorated a central tower. A stream ran through a culvert beneath it, and huts stretched away on either side to form a straggling village.
They were respectfully greeted and taken to a room looking south along the valley towards hazily sunlit hills. They were brought water and oils for washing, and a change of linen. Tea with the General followed.
He was short even for a Chinese, but colourful in a scarlet robe trimmed with jade and silver, and his wispy beard had been lacquered into the shape of an out-thrust dagger. He had deep-set eyes which darted, quickly and penetratingly, to whatever took his attention. Although small in stature, he was well muscled; as a bare arm demonstrated. His appearance, Simon thought, could be called birdlike, but the bird was a fighting cock.
Following the formalities of the tea ceremony, practical considerations formed the basis for discussion. Over recent years, the barbarians had grown increasingly troublesome. In the previous six months, they had destroyed several villages north of the Wall and, in one impudent invasion of the sacred territory of the Celestial Kingdom, three south of it.
It would not, the General said, have been difficult to move at once against those daring to encroach on the domain of the Son of Heaven, and destroy them; but he felt a more signal retribution was appropriate. Spies reported that the barbarians, flushed with their success, were moving south in great numbers and that a large-scale invasion was intended.
Bei W’ih asked: “Is it good terrain for dragons?”
“There are three valleys through which the lawless ones might come south. One of these, the Valley of Winds, is excellent dragon country. The remaining two will be strongly defended. They will come, therefore, through the Valley of Winds.”
Bei W’ih nodded. “How soon?”
“We can choose the moment to lance the boil. A weak assault will lure them into counterattack. Defences at the valley’s entrance will also be weak. Three miles in, the valley narrows, and if battle is joined there, retreat will not be easy. There will be estimable slaughter.”
During the days that followed, Simon had time on his hands. As long as he wore the robe marking him as an acolyte to the priesthood, he was treated with wary respect; but when he changed it for an ordinary tunic, the men of the garrison proved more amiable. It was not very different from being in a Roman military station. There were the same grouses, the same distractions—above all, the same resignation, stemming from the realization that others were in charge of one’s destiny, and that there was nothing to do about that but grin and bear it.
He felt he might have adjusted to the situation and settled down, except for worrying about Brad and wondering what might have happened to him. He still found it difficult to accept what had happened—that Brad, whom he had thought of as both brighter and more level-headed than himself, should have done something so totally irrational. There was obviously a compulsive element in his behaviour, like a moth pursuing a flame. But a moth had no brain, and this particular flame, as had been so clearly and shockingly demonstrated, was nothing but an ugly guttering candle.
He could not believe that Brad would not, sooner or later, free himself from the net of fantasy Li Mei had thrown over him. But he felt also that there should be some way in which he could help. He hadn’t made much impression on Brad at the bonzery, but if he were in a position to keep on hammering away it must be possible to do something. The difficulty about that was that he needed to be with Brad to exercise persuasion, and he didn’t have the remotest idea where Brad might be. He reminded Bei W’ih of his promise of using the army’s sources of information to help trace Brad. Bei W’ih told him instructions had gone out; but reminded him in turn that the Middle Kingdom was a vast country.
He also found himself missing Bei Pen. In the first days after leaving the bonzery, he had had a sense of relief: each mile they travelled made him more confident that his mind was his own again, free of external intervention either for good or ill. But here, without the distractions of travelling, his thoughts often went to Bei Pen and, at times, with a recollection that pierced and troubled him, to the strange mental closeness they had shared. He both wished for and dreaded its renewal.
Altogether he was glad when rumours of impending action began to circulate and still gladder when the army finally moved.
He resumed his acolyte’s robe and travelled with Bei W’ih in the rear of the long column of men and horses and wagons. They took a separate course on reaching the Valley of Winds; their mules laboured up a steep and stony track, which led them to a village several hundred feet above the valley’s floor. Almost directly below lay the narrower section of which the General had spoken.
In the morning, Bei W’ih chose a position on a spur some distance from the village. The night had been dry, and the tops of the hills were etched by the glow from the still unrisen sun. A coruscation of campfires glimmered beneath them. Bei W’ih pointed north. Far off, at the mouth of the valley, there was movement: it looked like a horde of trekking insects, dimly visible in the half-light.
Simon had seen armies moving into battle before, but always as a prelude to action in which he himself would be involved. His chief concern had been with the part he was going to play, with excitement and apprehension warring in his mind. In this case, he was condemned to be a spectator. Although they looked like insects from this vantage point, he knew they were men—men who would
soon be joined in a frenzy of bloodletting with those other men now munching breakfast beside the campfires. He had an unhappy consciousness of the absurdity of it all. He said to Bei W’ih: “You came to help win a battle. Is there no way of preventing the battle taking place?”
Bei W’ih looked at him. “Would you have me make an end of the follies of mankind? Have they learned that secret in the land you come from, Si Mun?”
“These dragons of yours—if they showed their power before the fighting started . . .”
Bei W’ih shook his head. “There are no easy ways. And all has to be repeated, over and over, until men find wisdom, or time itself ends.”
• • •
The advancing line halted about a hundred yards from the opposing ranks, and a bombardment started. Both sides had field artillery: cannons boomed, sending dark specks of cannonballs hurtling through the air, and there were the fiery streaks of rocket arrows. The remote thin cries of the wounded punctuated the deeper din. After about half an hour, the interchange died away; there was silence apart from distant moans of pain, and everything seemed frozen into tranquillity. Then, from a rattle of orders, movement began again. The gap between the lines narrowed and disappeared. There was the sudden roar of men hiding their fears in anger.
The imperial troops wore green uniforms. Simon saw patches of green encircled and swallowed up, the green line generally falling back. Unexpectedly he had a feeling of partisanship, an urge to be down there fighting with them. He said urgently: “What about the dragons?”
“Look.”
His eye followed Bei W’ih’s pointing finger. In the rear of the imperial army, objects were rising into the sky. They were in a multiplicity of colours—scarlet and yellow, blue and green and vermilion. They had tails trailing behind them and crudely shaped heads. Even so far away, he could see just how crude, and could recognize the constructions of paper and bamboo, flying from strings. They were kites.
It was ludicrous—a line of kites flying above forces locked in desperate battle. He said disbelievingly: “Is that what you call dragons?”
“Watch.”
Carried on a stiff breeze, they advanced steadily as the lines controlling them were paid out. They soared above the rear guard of the imperial army and onwards over the fighting. At the same time, the noise of battle had a new cacophony added to it: of gongs, trumpets, rattles, exploding crackers. There was a surge of whiteness like a wave, as thousands of faces turned upwards to the sky. Then a yell of despair, an answering shout of triumph, and the barbarians broke and ran, with the victorious greens pursuing them.
Bei W’ih turned to Simon. “Well?”
“I saw what happened. I don’t know why it did.”
“For you there were no dragons, only kites. But there was nothing for you when my bright sticks danced for the villagers. There are things you do not see.”
“That was in a darkened room, with only twenty or thirty people.”
Bei W’ih smiled. “You seek to put limits to something you do not understand. There is also expectation.”
“Expectation?”
“The dragons have flown before. Not in every battle, but the tales are told, from generation to generation, of how, when the Son of Heaven’s need is great, his dragons fly over his warriors and scatter his foes. So in the minds of all, there is that hope, that dread.”
Simon began to see, vaguely, how it might work. The stress of battle could have strange effects on the human mind, as he knew from experience. The imperial army must have spies in the barbarian ranks. If they were ready to raise the panic cry of “Dragons!” at a critical moment—at the same time as the gongs and trumpets and crackers went off—it could induce mass hysteria, maybe a mass hallucination. He asked: “What if the imperial army were faced by an enemy that didn’t know the legend of the dragons?”
“There is no such enemy.”
“Not now, perhaps. But maybe in the future.”
Bei W’ih smiled his disbelief.
“The army that conquered Rome might march east.”
“Their feet would be sore after such a march, if they were not worn away. And it would make no difference.”
“Why not?”
“Because the dragons would still be real for our soldiers. Who can suffer defeat when the Emperor’s dragons ride the skies above him?”
Simon saw the point: the roar of triumph had been louder than the cry of despair. Bei W’ih was right. It wasn’t easy to set limits to the power of illusion.
9
THE VICTORY BANQUET BEGAN WITH the sun still high above the valley’s western escarpment and went on until the night was heavy with stars. Simon and Bei W’ih sat with the General and his senior officers beneath an awning lined with green velvet, open to the air and to the songs and laughter of the increasingly drunken soldiery. Many of the officers were drunk, too, though Simon noticed that the General limited his consumption of the freely flowing rice wine to small sips in response to toasts. There were plenty of those, and all were coupled with the long life and health of the glorious Son of Heaven.
Sipping himself, Simon thought of the thin boy, weighed down by gold-embroidered robes. Remembering the Roman custom of triumphs, he wondered if there might be a possibility of the General taking his victorious army back to parade it through the imperial city. It would give him a chance of seeing Cho-tsing again. It might also provide the opportunity for getting a better line on Brad’s possible whereabouts. Cho-tsing, he was sure, would be willing to help, and the government’s spy network must be far more extensive than the army’s.
This possibility, though, was knocked on the head when the General began talking to Bei W’ih of his plans for the future. He intended to move his army north of the Wall for a spell. It was known which villages had given aid and comfort to the barbarians. And it was proper that the Emperor’s displeasure should be made plain and that they should be reminded of his might.
Bei W’ih agreed that such action was justified and might well be of value in persuading the villagers to resist evil suggestions in the future.
The General said: “And what of you, priest of Bei-Kun—will you return now to the Bonzery of Grace?”
“Yes. My dragons are no longer needed and will not be for many years, I hope.”
“And will you take this young Lomani with you?”
His tone was speculative. Both men looked at Simon.
In a neutral voice, Bei W’ih said: “He has taken no vows.”
“If you have no objection,” the General said, “and it is the young Lomani’s wish, I could find him employment here with the army.”
“Would it be your wish, Si Mun, to accept a post in the service of the Lord General?” Bei W’ih asked.
They both looked at Simon with courteous attention. It sounded like the offer of a choice, but Simon knew better than to think the choice was free. What surprised him was that the General, who had shown no particular sign of interest, should want to keep him; but if he did, it was elementary common sense to go along with that.
And in fact from his own point of view, it wasn’t a bad idea. Not as good as going to Li Nan would have been, but better on the whole than going back to the bonzery, knowing Brad would not be there. There was also the unresolved problem of his relationship with Bei Pen. The authority he would be under here, however irksome, would not touch his mind.
He bowed to the general. “I shall be most humbly grateful for the opportunity to perform any service Your Highness may require of me.”
Bei W’ih, when they said good-bye next morning, said: “It is likely to be a long time before we meet again, if we ever do. I shall miss you, Si Mun, but this is a better thing for you. I do not think you would have been suited to life as a priest.”
“If any word of B’lad reaches the bonzery . . .”
“It will be sent on to you without delay.” He pressed Simon’s shoulder. “The Great Spirit be with you.”
• • •
In the
succeeding days, Simon acquired a better understanding of the General. Initially he had formed the view that he was intelligent, but also a vain man and a martinet. Closer acquaintance confirmed the opinion, but with interesting modifications. The intelligence, for instance, was wider ranging and less fettered than he would have expected in a military mind; and the vanity was actually founded on a diffidence about his personal appearance, which was almost endearing.
For instance, he was very much aware of his lack of height and, on ceremonial occasions, wore boots with raised soles which gave him a curious clumping walk. But this led him to admire taller men rather than resenting them. In fact it was probably Simon’s own tallness—he stood seven or eight inches higher than the General—which had attracted his interest. He had an extensive collection of different uniforms and an even wider selection of hats, some of which were very ornate. Before leaving his quarters, he invariably made a close examination of his image in a glass; yet the peering inspection was not self-congratulatory but anxious.
As to the martinet aspect, he was certainly a disciplinarian but, Simon realized, a reluctant one. When a soldier had to be flogged—for drunkenness which had led to the wounding of one of his companions—Simon was aware that the gaudy little man by his side, though outwardly grim-looking, was liking it as little as he did and was heartily glad when the ceremony was over. And the punitive parties which were sent against the villages north of the Wall were given specific instructions to spare women and children.
The brightness of mind, and voracious appetite for information which went with it, had probably also formed part of his motivation in commandeering Simon’s services. Now that campaigning was over and he had more time on his hands, he was able to pursue an interest in Simon’s Lomani background. The questions he put were pertinent and searching, especially on military subjects.