The teams come cantering out, the Blue Team led by the Commander and the Red Team headed up by Shao Ru.  There are four men in each team and they and their horses are wearing ribbons in the team colours.  Each man carries a long wooden stick with a curved end. Master-at-arms Fan Feng and Quartermaster Mao Yun run onto the field carrying red flags.

“Referees,” Lin Chen explains. 

“What are the rules?” I really don’t have any idea how this is played.

Lin Chen grins.  “There’s only one really:  you’re not allowed to hit opponents or their horses deliberately.  The idea’s to score as many goals as possible in the time allowed.”

“How long’s that?”

“Probably about an hour, with a break in the middle.  They can change horses if they need to and when someone scores a goal there’s a short break.”

Liang Zhou takes up a position at the side of the field, accompanied by two men carrying a stretcher and another carrying the horn that wakes us up in the morning.  The horn blows, someone throws a leather ball onto the field and then they’re off.

This is truly the most terrifying, exciting thing I’ve ever seen. It’s played at top speed and absolutely no quarter’s given.  The horses collide and separate, sticks rise and fall, the ball whistles through the air and then they’re chasing it down from one end of the ground to the other.  The crowd’s bellowing itself hoarse.  The scuffle’s so fierce that clouds of dust half-obscure the view.  Then someone breaks away alone, it’s Shao Ru, he bashes the ball out ahead, chases after it and half-rising in the stirrups, clouts it into the goal.  I didn’t think the noise could get any louder, but it does.  The horn blows and Shao Ru trots back down the field grinning widely.  People rush on with water bottles.  A couple of players change horses.  Then the horn blows and they’re off again.

In what seems like no time at all, the mid-point’s reached and there’s a longer break.  People move off to get food and water or visit the latrines.  The players are resting in the middle of the field, the horses are being led off and others led on.  Red Team’s leading 5-4.  Shao Ru has scored two goals.  The Commander also has two to his credit, but it seems to me that his is the weaker side.  He’s talking to his team members.  I can see his hand-gestures and guess that he’s encouraging them and suggesting tactics.  Liang Zhou’s bending over someone with bandages in his hands.  I’m just amazed nobody’s been killed.

“Did you know,” Lin Chen says happily, “The barbarians used to play this using their enemies’ heads as balls?”

We all make vomiting sounds as the horn blows for the start of the second half.

The Commander’s encouragement seems to have worked, because not three minutes goes by before Blue Team scores another goal.  Everyone’s changed horses several times by now.  The play surges back and forth, but despite the urging of the crowd, nobody seems able to score again.  Mo Jiang and I are willing Blue Team on with all our energy.  There’s a break-away, quickly reeled in, a scuffle in mid-field, another break-away, another block.  It’s all too heart-stopping.  Then suddenly the Commander breaks out with the ball, heading for goal.  He’s back on his own black horse now.  Mo Jiang and I leap to our feet, urging him on.  But Red Team converges on him, there’s a mêlée, then nobody quite knows what’s happened, but all of a sudden everybody seems to be down.  The crowd gives out a huge sound, Aaaaaah. The dust clears slowly, a couple of horses trot away riderless, reins dangling.  One is a tall black.

Liang Zhou and the referees rush onto the field while the riders sort themselves out.  Someone’s lying motionless and my heart’s banging in my chest, but then Lin Chen says:  “The Commander’s up.  He’s all right,” and I realize I was holding my breath.  The stretcher-bearers run off with the unconscious man and I see Liang Zhou with his hand on the Commander’s arm, talking earnestly.  Liang Zhou then turns and makes a throat-cutting gesture to the man with the horn, who blows two short blasts.  Game over.  A draw.

Someone brings up the Commander’s horse and he gets aboard.  Because I’m watching closely, I see that Liang Zhou has had to give him a discreet helping hand.

“He’s injured!” I say.

Mo Jiang grips my arm urgently.  “He wouldn’t want everyone to know.”

He’s right.  I watch as the Commander waves to the crowd as if to say “I’m fine,” before cantering off.  A cheer goes up, but a rumour’s already spreading about the wine distribution, so there’s a definite drift away from the field.

Lin Chen and Qin Feng head off to get wine, but Wu Shun, Mo Jiang and I make our way slowly back to my wagon.  Before long, the other two rush up waving wine jars and leap onto the wagon steps with enthusiasm.

“We got your rations as well,” says Qin Feng, who's a good-looking, stylish youth.

“You can drink mine,” I say.  “What a day!”

“Great, wasn’t it?”

The two of them knock the wine back and things start to get rowdy.  There’s much jostling and pushing and enthusiastic leaping up and down the wagon steps as we compete to see who can jump furthest from the back platform. 

The wagon lurches.  As I look at Mo Jiang in alarm, it lurches again. 

“What….?

“It’s moving!”  Qin Feng has just leapt down, his eyes are wide, his mouth open.  He yells,   “Jump!”

The movement’s slow to begin with, but as we all jump off the back, the added impetus causes the wagon to pick up speed as it heads downhill.  From a relatively gentle slope, the hillside gets steeper before plunging suddenly to the valley bottom.  Nothing’s going to stop the wagon now.  There are people standing about, we yell to warn them and watch powerless and aghast as the wagon plunges over the edge, taking two men with it.  We have time to see their shocked faces and then one’s hit squarely and swept over while the other’s knocked sideways, grabs helplessly at the rocks and slithers down.  Then comes the crash from down below.

The five of us race to the edge and peer over.  Far below, the wagon’s been reduced to mere planks.  There’s no sign of bodies.  Then we hear a faint voice and see that one of the men is clinging to the rock-face a bare five metres down.  The cliff here isn’t sheer.  Time has shuffled the rocks out into horizontal layers like shallow steps, and some wiry vegetation has managed to take hold.  The man has slid down to a narrow shelf and is clinging to one of these shrubs with one hand above his head.  The other arm dangles.  His white face stares up at us.

“Arm… broken…can’t … hold on…”

I look at the rock-face and see a way down, clear as day.  I say to Mo Jiang:  “Get a rope.  I’m going down.”

“You can’t…” Lin Chen starts, but I cut him off regardless of rank.  “He can’t hold on.  Get help.”

Mo Jiang wastes no time and disappears.  I swing my legs over the edge and feel for the first step.

“Hang on,” I say to the white-faced soldier, who’s no more than a boy. ”I’m coming to get you.”

The rock-face slopes backwards and the mountain shrubs seem to be solidly anchored.  No doubt their roots have sunk deep into the crevices to seek water.  They might not hold my entire weight but they certainly help.   I make my way down slowly but steadily, aware of the heat coming from the rocks.  A slight nagging wind’s blowing up from the valley.  There’s the sound of voices from above, but I’m concentrating on what I’m doing, so they sound very far away.  I shuffle carefully up alongside the soldier.

“I’m going to get hold of you.  Don’t move.  Help’s coming, it won’t be long.  Just don’t move.”

If he panics, we’re both dead.  Carefully, I move my feet so they’re placed on each side of his, and I spread-eagle my body over his, catching hold of the shrubs to right and left and pressing him against the rock.  Fortunately he’s slightly-built, but even so, if he faints, I won’t be able to hold him.  With a lurch of my stomach, I suddenly think I might have overestimated myself.  But I keep talking to him.  “Stay awake, don’t lose it.  Help’s on the way, I can hear them coming.  You’ll be all right.”

And then there’s a shower of small pebbles and a man arrives quite unexpectedly on my right, bobbing on the end of a rope like a spider.  I don’t recognize him.   Two more ropes snake down from above.

“I’m going to tie this round you, Young Master,” he says and before I’m quite aware, a rope has been fastened round my waist.  Another moment and a rope goes round the young soldier too.

“Now Young Master, you just move aside to your left.  I’ve got him.”

I shuffle carefully aside, feeling my rope tauten. 

“We’ll get you up first, Young Master,” says the spider, but I say, “No, I can hang on.  Get him up first.  Be careful, his arm’s broken.”

Sharp slitted eyes assess me and then he grunts in agreement.  “Watch how I go up,” he says.  He looks up and shouts:  “Bring us up.”

The ropes tauten and slowly, the young soldier's raised up the cliff, while the spider-man, one wiry leg braced on each side, walks up the rock face protecting the young man’s head and arm.  They disappear over the edge.  I’m now aware of many heads peering down.  My rope tautens again.  Grasping it in both hands, I try and copy the spider-man’s technique, not very successfully, as I’m hauled up,.  As I reach the top, hands grab me under the arms and pull me to safety.

They’ve laid hides over the edge to prevent the ropes fraying.  It seems like everyone’s there.  Now it’s over, my arms and legs are trembling.  My hands are burned by the rope.  I’m clinging to someone.  It turns out to be the Commander.  Many hands are patting me, some in inappropriate places.

“Take the Young Master to the doctor’s tent,” the Commander orders.  I’m heaved onto somebody’s back and we jog off uphill as behind me, orders fly and people start going down the cliff to salvage what’s left of my possessions.

My next clear recollection is of a vinegary smell in my nose and the doctor’s face peering into mine.

“Ah, you’re back with us,” he says.  “You were out for a bit.  Delayed shock.  Sit back and take it easy.”

“How’s….?”

“He’ll be fine.  A broken arm, but it’ll mend.  The other man wasn’t so lucky.”

As I lie back on a heap of pillows, the tent flap’s pushed back and the Commander comes in.  Liang Zhou straightens up and turns round.

“The Young Master’s fine.  Just needs a good night’s sleep.”

The Commander comes right up and looms over me.  His brows are drawn together ferociously.

“What on earth did you think you were doing?” he snaps.  “You could have been killed.”

I instinctively shrink back.  Liang Zhou takes the Commander’s arm.  “Ah-Shan, take it easy,” he says.  “Take it easy.”

The Commander seems shaken.  He puts a hand to his forehead.  Then he gets a grip on himself.  He sits on the bed and reaches out to pat my shoulder.

“You did well,” he says.  “You did very well.  I’m proud of you.”

“We all are,” Liang Zhou says smiling.  “I’ve got patients to see, if you’ll excuse me.”

The Commander’s arm drops. “What happened?” he asks.

“We went back to the wagon after the jiju match and we were horsing around and the wagon just started to move by itself.  The brake must have failed.”

“Did you notice anything suspicious?  Anyone hanging around?”

“No, no-one nearby.”  I suddenly realize what he’s asking and blurt out, “Do you think it was deliberate?”

“I’ve spoken to the wagon-men and they say that not only did they put the brake on, but because of the slope, they also blocked the wheels of all the wagons with rocks.  And we found the rocks rolled to the side.”

“Are the other wagons all right?”

“That was the first thing we checked.  Only your wagon was targeted.”

“So someone took advantage of everybody being at the games?”

‘Looks like it.”

“Someone’s trying to kill me?”  I say in a small voice.

“Not necessarily.  Remember, if anything happens to you, all our lives are on the line.  Or someone might simply want to sabotage our relations with Qiu.”

“So we have to find out who it is. “

“We will.  In the meanwhile, you’ve got nowhere to sleep, so you’d better stay here till I sort something out.”

Then I remember.  “All my things are gone.  Everything.  My books, my clothes….”

“Everything that can be salvaged will be brought up,” he says.  “It may not be too bad.  I’ll get someone to bring you what they recover.”

“And that other man?”

“Dead.  Didn’t have a chance.”

Somebody comes to the tent opening and calls him.  He pats my shoulder again and gets up, faltering slightly.

“You’re hurt.” I exclaim.

“Slight sprain,” he says.  “Nothing serious.”

And out he goes.