The Prince

“What does he mean, party pieces?” Wu Shun asks Lin Chen anxiously. 

Lin Chen explains in his big-brotherly way.  “Well, you know that usually at a banquet there are musicians and dancers to entertain the guests, but there won't be any of those out here.  So it’s customary for the guests to contribute a piece of music, a poem, a song or something like that.  I expect Lord Zhao has musical instruments in his house?”  He looks at me enquiringly.

“Yes, I certainly saw a zither.”

“That’s all right then.  Qin Feng and I both play the zither. What about you, Young Master Yan?”

“Zither as well.”

We look at Wu Shun and Mo Jiang, both of whom are looking absolutely horrified.

“There’s no problem,” I say consolingly, “Wu Shun, bring that hand-drum you play round the camp-fire.  And Mo Jiang, you’ve got your bamboo flute.”

There’s panic in Mo Jiang's voice.  “But it’s just a little whistle.  And I can only play ordinary tunes on it, nothing grand enough for a banquet!”

“It doesn’t have to be grand.  You should play that tune where we all clap and shout.  That’ll get the party going.  And Wu Shun, you’re really good at improvising on that drum of yours.  That’s what you should do.  It’ll make a good contrast to the zither.”

Wu Shun looks slightly reassured, but Mo Jiang’s still in a fluster.  As we walk away from the Commander’s tent he says, “I’ve never been to a banquet before.  I won’t know what to do.”

“There'll be little individual tables.  We'll have toasts first of all, but I expect the Commander will take care of that, so all we have to do is respond.  Don’t do what I did and drink too much.  Then they bring food and we eat and make conversation.  Lord Zhao’s the host, so he’ll be doing most of the talking.  And then I guess the entertainment comes after the food.”

“I’ll make a complete idiot of myself.”

“No you won’t.  Sit next to me and watch what the rest of us are doing.  It’ll be fine.  Now you're an officer, you’ll be going to plenty of banquets so you might as well get used to it.  It’s not so scary.  And the Commander’s right – the food’s good.”

It occurs to me to wonder what the Commander’s party piece is.  I can’t really see him playing the zither.  But maybe he’s exempt because of his rank. 

At the end of the afternoon, we ride up to the estate in a body.  Shao Ru’s not with us.  We’ve all done our best to smarten up.  Those of us with long hair are wearing crowns instead of the usual leather bands and Qin Feng has put on an earring.  It looks very dashing and I eye it with envy.  Mo Jiang’s short hair has been combed flat but is already springing up in the warm air.  Our horses are taken away and Zhao Zhan comes to greet us and lead us in.

The dining-room has been decorated with muslin curtains and floral arrangements.  In front of the host’s table, seven smaller tables are arranged, four on one side and three on the other, leaving a space in the middle.  Lord Zhao’s dressed with subdued elegance.  The greetings over, he seats the Commander on his right and Liang Zhou on his left, while the rest of us take the other seats.  I pull Mo Jiang down beside me.  He’s looking around with wide eyes.

“This place is ……” he searches for the right word.

“Amazing,” I say with a grin, “I know. You should see the bathing room.”

Toasts are proposed.  We start to eat.  Lord Zhao makes urbane, civilized conversation.  He knows a lot about what’s going on in the capital, and enquires after the families of the three Young Masters.  He asks Mo Jiang which village he’s from, and Mo Jiang manages a sensible and coherent reply.  We talk about hunting, falconry, weapons and the art of war.  He listens courteously to all our opinions and tells us stories about the countries far in the north and the tribes that inhabit them.  Servants come and go, deftly refilling our cups and plates. 

Mo Jiang hasn’t seen food like this before and can’t stop eating.  I’m being careful about the amount I drink, but I can see Qin Feng drinking cup after cup.  It doesn’t seem to have much effect on him.  Wu Shun looks as if he’s in a pleasant dream.  At the end of the meal there’s a short break to allow for natural relief and a quick stroll in the garden.  I show Mo Jiang the bathing pool and he’s lost for words.  Then the sound of a zither recalls us to the dining room.  Zhao Zhan has appeared, carrying a large drum.  The zither’s sitting on its table to one side.  We resume our seats.  Mo Jiang’s starting to look panicky again, but it seems that the Commander’s going to be the first to entertain us.

Zhao Zhan comes forward, bearing a long, ornately decorated sword.  He bows and offers it to the Commander with both hands.  The Commander whips it back and forth a few times, making a menacing whistling sound.  He’s going to do a sword-dance.

I’ve never seen this performed by an expert, though now and then some soldier has enacted a travesty of it round the camp-fire.  It requires speed, strength, agility and grace.  A short conversation takes place between the Commander and Zhao Zhan, then the latter moves to the side and sits with the drum between his knees.  He begins to tap out a rhythm, looking questioningly at the man in the middle of the floor.  When the rhythm reaches the right tempo, the Commander salutes and begins.

It’s breathtaking.  It’s as if he and the sword are one entity.  He lunges, spins and jumps, totally concentrated, his hair flying, the sword describing arcs and circles so fast that it seems to leave a silver trail behind it as it whistles shrilly through the air.  The drumbeats gradually increase in speed.  We’re all watching enthralled.  The drumbeats reach a paroxysm and then stop suddenly as he drops on one knee, the sword held out behind him, his head bowed.

We all burst into applause.  I feel as if I’m suffocating and realize that I haven’t breathed since the beginning of the dance.  I want to rush to him and…. well, I don’t know what I want to do, but my heartbeats are out of control.  Mo Jiang’s bouncing up and down in his enthusiasm.  The Commander hands the sword back to Zhao Zhan and thanks him, then returns calmly to his seat.  Lord Zhao turns courteously to Liang Zhou. 

Liang Zhou recites a beautiful poem about willow leaves floating down a river, but I can hardly take it in because of the pounding of the blood in my ears.  I don’t calm down till the end of Lin Chen’s correctly-played but soulless piece on the zither.  Then it’s Wu Shun’s turn. 

Because of the problem with his hands, Wu Shun hasn’t been able to master the zither, but there’s absolutely nothing wrong with his sense of rhythm.  He’s enlivened many an evening round the camp-fire with his drum improvisations, and tonight’s no exception.  He earns a compliment on his originality from Lord Zhao and blushes scarlet with delight. 

Qin Feng’s had too much to drink, but he conceals it well.  Only an expert could tell he’s making mistakes with his zither piece.  I’m one such expert.  Unfortunately, Lord Zhao’s another.  I see his brows twitching slightly, as if in pain.  His praise is muted.  I don’t think Qin Feng gives a toss.  He bows politely, goes back to his seat and has another drink.

Everyone looks at Mo Jiang.  Quickly, I whisper, “Don’t panic, just do it.  I’ll start you off.”

I clap my hands twice and Mo Jiang starts to play.  We’ve all heard this tune a hundred times round the camp-fire – it’s a very lively one which requires the audience to clap and yell “Ha!” at intervals.  All the Young Masters join in enthusiastically and Wu Shun starts to improvise on the drum again.  Mo Jiang gains confidence, he whistles away, we clap and shout as required and it all sweeps to a triumphant conclusion.  We laugh and applaud and pat Mo Jiang on the back.  The Commander and Liang Zhou look at one another and nod like pleased parents.  Lord Zhao asks to see the flute, which Mo Jiang has made himself, as children do in the villages.  He returns it with a word of praise that has Mo Jiang in a flutter.

Then Lord Zhao says,” Your Highness?” and makes an elegant gesture with his hand.

Maybe I’m getting overly suspicious, but I’ve an idea that this whole event has been designed to lead to this point.  I know what he wants as clearly as if he’d spelled it out.  He wants me to play something which will remind him of my mother. 

I sit down at the zither table and unobtrusively correct the one string which is slightly out of tune.  No-one else has noticed except Lord Zhao, who nods to himself with a satisfied look.  I’ve never played in front of anyone but my tutor, but music was one consolation during those endless days in the Palace and even though I haven’t practised for months, I can still play half a dozen pieces without thinking.  I choose a piece which my mother composed herself and which was one of the first things she taught me.

After the first few notes, there’s complete silence in the room.  The piece is full of lingering nostalgia and yearning and I can play it with my eyes shut.  It brings back many memories, which I resolutely tamp down   I can’t lose my concentration.  As the last plaintive note fades, the silence continues for what seems like an age, followed by a gratifying crash of applause. 

I think there are tears on Lord Zhao’s face, but in the candlelight I can’t be sure.  As the enthusiasm dies down, he asks, “Who composed that?  What’s the piece called?”

“The composer is Liu Lan.  The piece is called “Wild Geese in Winter.”

“Ah,” he says, “I thought I recognized the style.  Thank you, Your Highness.”

I bow again and go back to my seat.  Mo Jiang’s looking at me in awe.  “That was brilliant,” he whispers.  “I’d no idea you could play like that.”

“There wasn’t much else to do in the Palace,” I whisper back. 

We fall silent as we become aware that the Commander’s courteously thanking our host and taking our leave.  Qin Feng’s at the sleepy stage and has to be assisted out and onto his horse.  Liang Zhou’s looking at him with a frown.  The rest of us are in very high spirits, elated that we’ve upheld the honour of the troop.  The Commander’s smiling to himself.  We ride back under a big yellow moon, reflected in pieces on the surface of the lake.  Back in the camp, the Commander says, “You’ve all done very well.  I’m very pleased with you.  Now get some sleep.  We’ll be off tomorrow.”