The Prince

I’m so elated at the thought of getting my hands on real weapons that I’m hardly concentrating as I saddle and bridle Little Ears and hoist myself up.  And of course that damned horse knows it, so no sooner am I settled in the saddle than he bucks, kicks and takes off for the horizon as if he has a wolf-pack at his heels.  I narrowly avoid being ignominiously dumped in front of the whole camp, regain my balance and hold on tight.  We’re encamped in a wide plain with no cultivation and a few sparse trees.  Brown hills rise in the distance, faintly illuminated by the late afternoon sun.  Little Ears is showing a surprising turn of speed and pulling on the reins has no effect whatsoever.  All I can do is hang on and hope he exhausts himself.  Then, to my relief, he starts to slow down.  My relief’s premature, for he immediately starts to buck in earnest, determined to shake me loose.  I grip with my legs and clutch his mane while he shakes me about like a sack of grain.  My leg muscles are growing numb and my tender parts are being mercilessly battered, but I’m not …going …to… let… go. 

But Little Ears has one more surprise in his bag of tricks.  Abruptly abandoning his antics, he folds his forelegs and drops his head to the ground.  Unprepared, I lurch forward, slide down over his neck and land on my back in the grass with a thud.

But I’ve remembered Mo Jiang’s advice.  I have not let go of the reins.

After a while, a big soft nose nudges me.  I open my eyes and we stare at one another.

Little Ears, you’re dog-meat.

I get painfully to my feet and reel him in.  To my surprise, he comes to my hand and waits docilely while I haul myself aboard again.  I turn his head towards camp and off he goes, just like the best-behaved horse in the world.  Heads turn as we canter in.  Faces look surprised.  I come to a halt by my wagon, where Mo Jiang’s standing, his face red with suppressed emotion.  Sub-Commander Shao Ru walks over, not hurrying.  He never seems to hurry.

“We weren’t expecting you back till tomorrow,” he says, grabbing the bridle as I slide off.

“Didn’t want to miss supper,” I reply, straight-faced. 

He grins.  “Congratulations, you’ve graduated.  Tomorrow you get your own horse.”

Get my own………?

Old Hong appears, with what looks suspiciously like a smile on his wooden face.  He pats my shoulder and leads Little Ears off.  I turn to Mo Jiang.

“My own horse!”

We grab each other’s shoulders and do a little jig of triumph.

“I knew you could do it,” says Mo Jiang.

“Well, it’s all thanks to you.  You told me not to let go.  Come on, let’s grab some supper.  I’m starving.”

We eat our meal on the steps of my wagon, while Mo Jiang tells me all the tales of previous recruits’ experiences with Little Ears.

“Sometimes he just gallops straight back to camp and leaves you out there and you have to walk back.  Or else he starts grazing just out of reach, but whatever you do, you can’t catch him.  One poor guy got lost and had to be rescued.  Humiliating.”

“What about you?”

He grins.

“I fell off when he started bucking and it was already getting dark, but I had some rice-cakes in my pocket so I managed to catch him.  Then I just rode in the direction of the campfires.”

The grey dog has appeared silently beside us and is sitting looking at us eat.  I throw him a chunk of food and he snaps it up in mid-air.

“Does he belong to anyone?” I ask.

“No, he’s a camp dog.  He’s the best tracker.  And the pack leader.  He ought to be tied up with the others, he must have escaped.”

The dog edges nearer and lies down, front paws stretched out, looking at me.

“He seems to like you.” Mo Jiang says.

“I think you’re right.  That night I tried to escape, I woke up very early in the morning and that dog was cuddled right up against me.  It was freezing cold, but I had the dog on one side and the Commander on the other, so I was really warm.”

Mo Jiang’s hand stops short on its way up to his mouth and I suddenly realize what I’ve just said.  My face feels hot and I start to flounder.

“I – I mean, it was so cold and there was only one quilt, so…. Nothing happened.  What could happen?  He was furious with me.  He was really scary.”

Mo Jiang nods.  “I know.  I’ve seen him lose his temper.”

“Who’ll be teaching me to shoot?”  I say, changing the subject hastily.

“Master-at-arms.”

“What’s he like?”

“A clam.”

“Worse than Old Hong?”

“They’re probably brothers.”

We look at one another and chuckle.

Next morning I head over to the medical wagon as usual.  Liang Zhou seems distracted, but we get on with the inventory of herbs which, thank goodness, is nearly finished.  There aren’t many patients this morning, so I get a bit of free time, reading one of the doctor’s medical treatises, my legs hanging over the tail-gate of the wagon.  There’s something odd about the atmosphere, but I can’t put my finger on it.  I turn to the doctor, who’s laying out bandages, his lips compressed.

“Everybody’s very quiet today.  Is something going on?”

His face takes on a grim look.  “One of the men was caught stealing food last night.  When we stop tonight, he’ll be punished.  Flogged.  Thirty strokes.”

I feel my stomach clench.  Looking at Liang Zhou’s dark face, I ask hesitantly.  “You don’t approve?”

“I’m a doctor,” he says bitterly, “How can I approve?”

“Isn’t there another way to punish him?  Surely the Commander….”

“The Commander has to maintain discipline.  Stealing food’s a breach of trust and puts us all in danger.  Most of these men are from rough backgrounds.  Physical punishment’s something they all understand.  So an example has to be made.”

“But why was he stealing?  We get plenty to eat.  There’s no need to steal.”

“He’s one of the team that goes into towns and villages to get supplies.  He was selling the stuff on.  People are hungry so he could charge high prices.”

He looks up at me.  “We all have to be present.  You’d better be prepared.”

I look at him, a sick feeling rising up as some very bad memories are stirred. 

I say no more, but the sick feeling intensifies as the day drags on.  Everyone’s disturbed and on edge.  The horses catch the mood and are unusually restless.  Even the dogs seem nervous.  That afternoon, we stop earlier than usual and as soon as camp’s set up, the horn blows and the men assemble.  We’re drawn up to form three sides of a square.  In the middle of the fourth side, a man’s tied to the side of one of the wagons, his back bare, his arms spread out.

I don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle this, but there’s no escape.  I’m standing with the sub-officers.  The Commander and Sub-Commander march out, together with the master-at-arms, Fan Feng, who’s holding a black-handled whip.  The atmosphere’s tense, the men shuffle and murmur around us.  Some of them look eager, others look angry.  Doctor Liang takes up a position with the other officers, his medical bag to hand.

There’s not much ceremony.  The Commander lifts his hand and the punishment begins.  The crack of the whip sounds clearly in the air, together with the sound of the lash hitting flesh.  Blood flows.  The man makes no sound at first, but after a while, the sound of groaning comes with each stroke.  I want to put my hands over my ears, hide my eyes, anything  to stop the memories from creeping out of the dark place where they’ve been hiding.  I gulp back the sickness rising in my throat.  My legs are trembling.

The punishment finishes promptly, the criminal’s untied and laid face-down on a stretcher and Liang Zhou bends over him.  As the stretcher’s carried off, the men disperse silently.  I make it back as far as my wagon but then nausea overcomes me.  I lean over, clutching at the tail-gate and vomit into the dust.  As I straighten up, gasping, I hear a derisive voice.

“The Young Master can’t take it?  That’s what a sheltered upbringing does for you.”