The Prince

 

The fan Qin Feng has found for me is beautiful, with bamboo ribs and delicately-painted paper.  He shows me how to use it, how to flirt with it, hide behind it, use it to express emotions.  He’s an accomplished flirt himself.  I realize with a slight shock that he’s actually flirting with me.   It’s not really serious.  At least, I hope not.

Someone’s been sent post-haste down the mountain to Border Town and has come back with a bundle of peasant clothing, men’s and women’s.  In the morning Qin Feng assembles his half-dozen volunteers and dresses them up.  He himself takes the lead.  Mo Jiang and I watch in fascination.

“Just wearing women’s clothing makes you walk more like a woman,” he says, demonstrating.  “You have to swing your hips more.  Pick up the hem to get up and down steps.  Keep your knees together when you sit down.  Don’t lounge about.  Remember women are more restricted in their behaviour than men.  Now, let’s see you walk, like this.”

His imitation of a woman’s walk is spot-on and with the clothes and his pretty face, it’s difficult to tell at first glance whether he’s male or female.  It’s not quite the same with the others.  Some of them get it, but others are resolutely masculine no matter what they do.  The rehearsal rapidly descends into farce and ends up with us all weak with laughter.  Mo Jiang and I are leaning against each other, helpless.  But Qin Feng’s patient with them.  He keeps them at it till they can all move in an approximately female manner.  He’s an expert on hair and make-up too.  Peasant women wouldn’t be wearing make-up.  That’s reserved for high-born ladies and courtesans.  But I can see that with shaved eyebrows and feminine hair-styles, these young men, who are all short and slender, really will pass muster as women.

“Great job,” I say, “I wouldn’t have believed it this morning, but I think you’ve done it.”

“Your praise is praise indeed,” he replies, smiling sideways.

As Qin Feng moves off, shedding the cumbersome clothes, Mo Jiang says thoughtfully, “What are these cross-dressing parties he mentioned?”

“I dread to think.  But his knowledge has come in very useful.”

We haven’t anything much to do, which is bad because it allows us to dwell too much on what’s going to happen in the next few days.  It’s noon, so we grab some food and huddle round the brazier in our tent to eat it.  The temperatures are decidedly cool even during the day and plummet at night.  Tents don’t really keep the cold out and we’re sleeping under piles of quilts and cloaks. 

“I’ll be glad when we’re in the city and can really get warm,” Mo Jiang says, shivering. 

“Aren’t you worried?” I ask, looking at his serene countenance.

“No.  I trust the Commander.  We just have to do what we’re supposed to.  You’re the one with the difficult job.”

I have to say that although I'm trying to appear calm, underneath I have more than a few qualms.  There are still two days to go before I get to go on stage, as it were, and time’s really dragging.  It’s only too easy to get nervous under these circumstances. 

The next day crawls by.  Then it’s market-day.  We’re all up before dawn preparing the infiltration group.  Outside, a steady stream of people is coming up the road with their goods for market.  As we turn out our “peasant families”, they join the stream and head off up to the gate.  I see Mo Jiang go off with a bamboo pole over one shoulder carrying dried fish.  Where on earth did they come from?  Qin Feng follows behind him with a large bundle on his back.  He’s too pretty.  The guards will certainly try and take liberties.  We see the last of them off and then there’s nothing to do but wait.

It’s a long day.  In the afternoon, one of the disguised soldiers comes back with a detailed description and drawing of the Palace gate.  He reports that everyone got in successfully and mostly unmolested.  Those of us who are left are summoned to the Commander’s tent and the drawing’s passed round.  The gate is iron, set into the outer wall of the palace.  Above it is a walk-way for archers.  Like the city gate, it opens manually.  There’s no complicated machinery, only an iron bar.  It’s guarded day and night.  Our spies saw four men above the gate, but we have no idea how many are guarding it inside.  As we thought, the Palace guards are Tibetans.

“Stage three tomorrow,” the Commander says crisply.  “We’ll send a message in the morning that the Prince will enter the city mid-afternoon.  We’ll take you in by wagon, Young Master Yan, and request a palanquin to take you up to the Palace.  Final briefing tomorrow morning.  Dismissed.  Young Master Yan, please stay for a moment.”

I wait, surprised, my heart beating fast. 

He says,” How are you holding up?”

“I’m really nervous.  It’s the waiting.  I just want to get on with it.”

“Yes, the waiting’s always the worst part.  Do you have everything you need for tomorrow?”

“I think so.”

“Don't worry,” he says, “You’re intelligent and resourceful.  You’ll be fine.  Just keep in mind everything you’ve been taught.  And get a good night’s sleep.  Here, take this, courtesy of Liang Zhou.”

He throws a packet on the table.  I recognize the smell from here.  It’s sleeping herbs.  I’m not going to argue.  I take the packet and thank him.

Back in our tent, I sit staring into space.  I miss Mo Jiang.  The tent seems empty without him and Qin Feng.  Lin Chen and Wu Shun are silent.  We each have our part to play in this plan and we’re all equally serious.  In two days’ time, we’ll either be sitting in the city celebrating, or dead on the battlefield.  It’s a sobering thought.

After supper, I take the sleeping herbs and fall mercifully asleep.

In the morning, I wake up feeling relieved that at last I can get on with the job I have to do.  I’ve slept the night through.  In fact, Wu Shun has to come looking for me to remind me about the final briefing.  I didn’t take my clothes off last night because of the cold, so I scramble to wash my face and run over to find them all waiting for me.
“I see you slept well, Young Master Yan,” the Commander says drily.  “We sent a message to the Palace this morning and we’ve had a reply granting our request for a palanquin.  Liang Zhou and I will accompany you to the main square.  We’ve prepared a small amount of personal baggage for you, apart from your own belongings.  This piece of baggage should stay with you at all times.  It contains food, water and wine.  Remember not to eat or drink anything they give you.  Since your excuse for delaying is ill-health, this can also be an excuse for not eating and for asking if you can retire as soon as possible.  And remember that our contact in the Palace will be watching out for you.”

“The baggage will also contain the antidotes to various poisons, and a powerful sleeping drug.” says Liang Zhou, “I’ll come and explain it to you in a moment.”

“Once you set off for the Palace, we’ll strike camp and move off down the mountain.  Hopefully, they’ll think that with the job done, we’ll be eager to get off home.  We’ll get far enough down to dispel suspicion and then come back towards dawn to enter the city.  Just as a precaution, we’ll have ropes and grappling hooks in case there’s a problem with the gate.  Any questions?”

There are none.  We’re dismissed.  My stomach growls because I missed breakfast, so I go and get food, finding that suddenly I’m starving.  While I’m eating, Liang Zhou comes into my tent with a small wooden box.  Inside are porcelain jars containing pills.  He explains them all.  If I start to feel sleepy, it’s the blue jar.  If I feel sick suddenly, it’s the white jar.  The green jar’s for cramps.  The red jar is the sleeping drug which I’m supposed to give to Wang Meng.  There’s also a black jar.

“What’s in there?” I ask.

Liang Zhou hesitates.  Then he says, “It’s a poison pill.  In case you find yourself in an extreme situation.”

“You mean – a suicide pill?”  I feel a sudden chill in my spine.

He nods.  “Just in case,” he says.

Like a bride getting ready for her wedding, or a human sacrifice, I have to prepare.  I heat water so I can wash, thinking nostalgically of the hot baths at Eagle Rock and in Border Town.  In this cold weather, it takes a while to dry my hair, sitting over the brazier in my tent.  Somebody brings me food at noon and though I’m not hungry, I tell myself I have to eat it.  My clothes are ready.  I’m going to wear the blue robe that caused such a sensation at Jiayuguan Pass.  Qin Feng has taught me how to do my hair in a simple but sophisticated way, pulled high with one long side piece coming down alongside my face.  I push in the ornamental hairpin that doubles as a murder weapon.  One knife’s hidden in my boot. I fasten to my forearm the sheath which holds the sleeve sword.  After hours of practice, I’m an expert with it.  The under-robe sleeves are close to the wrist and hide it perfectly.  The over-robe sleeves are long and flowing.  I fasten the sash and adjust the lapels.  As I bend to pick up Qin Feng’s fan, a voice says, “Can I come in?”

It’s the Commander.  I turn towards him as he enters and he stops on the threshold as if stunned.  For an instance, taken unawares, his face shows an expression that makes my heart lurch.  Is it possible …..?  But then it’s gone and he comes forward with his usual calm appearance.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Will this do?”

“I think so,” he says with the hint of a smile.  “How are you feeling?”

“Terrified."

He comes forward and puts a hand on each of my shoulders.

“You’ll be fine once you get out there.  Remember everything you’ve been taught.  It won’t be for long.  I’ll come and get you tomorrow.”

“Promise?” I say, a little shakily.

His grip tightens.  “Promise.”

What I really want to do is ask him to hold me close, just for a minute, but I don’t dare.  In any case, the tent-flap opens and Shao Ru’s voice says:  “The wagon’s waiting.”

The Commander’s hands drop from my shoulders.  “Let’s do this,” he says.

Once in the wagon, I feel better.  The carpenters have used all the luxurious stuff from my old wagon to convert this one into a royal conveyance, even though the journey up to the city’s barely half a mile.  There’s a red and gold curtain hanging over the entrance, so I can’t see anything as we go up the road, but the angle’s very steep.  I hear voices shouting, then the sound of the wheels changes as we leave the road for the paved square.  The wagon comes to a halt.  The curtain’s pulled aside.

The Commander’s voice says, respectfully, “Your imperial Highness, we’re here.”

Everyone’s depending on me.  I can do this.  I walk to the entrance of the wagon.  The square’s huge and full of people.  The Commander and Liang Zhou are kneeling at the foot of the steps.  I look round haughtily, shake my hair back and descend the steps with an arrogant air borrowed directly from my bitterest enemy, the Dowager Empress.  I ignore the two kneeling men, snap my fan open and take a few steps forward.  Not far off there are two palanquins waiting.  Standing beside them is a tall thin man with an unhealthy complexion, whom  I recognize as the royal steward Yi Yong.  I raise my eyebrows and he strolls forward and bows.  This won’t do.  I’m an Imperial Prince.  I make a gesture with my fan and after a slight hesitation, he kneels.  His expression is resentful.

“You may rise,” I say and he does so.

“Please, Your Highness, this way.” He indicates the first of the palanquins.

“Where is His Majesty?” I enquire, not moving.

“Waiting to greet Your Highness in the Palace.”

“I see.”

I move towards the palanquin and then, as if by an afterthought, I turn and gesture with my fan towards the Commander and Liang Zhou, still kneeling by the wagon.

“You may go,” I say.

Then I get into the palanquin. 

It’s a long bumpy journey up to the Palace and the palanquin’s completely enclosed so again, I can’t see anything.  When we reach our destination, the palanquin door’s pulled back and I emerge into a courtyard entirely lined with troops, all of them Tibetan.  I make a great show of straightening my robes and fixing my hair, then snap the fan open and turn to Yi Yong, who’s struggling to get out of his conveyance.  The Palace towers above us, a monstrosity built of black stone.

“Take me to the King,” I say.

He’s furious, he looks as if he’d like to slap my face, but he has no choice but to obey.  Bowing again, he indicates an open doorway and says, “This way, Your Highness.”