The soldiers at the gate greet me with familiarity and tell me how to get to the Black Snake compound.  I plod off down the road.  There’s no-one about.  The people must be hiding in their houses, not knowing what’s going on.  I hope all the enemy soldiers have been dealt with because if anyone ambushed me right now, I couldn’t lift a finger to defend myself.  But I reach the Black Snake unmolested.

As I turn wearily in through the gate, a small round man comes rushing towards me, goes down on his knees, and bows to the ground.

“Your Highness,” he says, “Welcome to this humble house.  This humble person’s name is Shi Mu. ”

“Please rise, Sir Shi.  And could we stick to Young Master Yan for the time being?”

“As you wish, Your – Young Master.  Your quarters are ready, if you’ll just follow me.”

A servant comes and takes my baggage.  Shi Mu leads me through the main building and across a courtyard to a small separate pavilion.  It’s simply but adequately furnished and blessedly clean.  Large windows let in the light and a brazier’s filled with burning wood, taking the edge off the cold.  There’s a small bathing room to one side.

“Is there anything Young Master requires?”

“If you’d be so kind, a lot of hot water, a pot of tea and some food.”  I start to take off my outer robe and Shi Mu gasps at the sight of my bloodstained inner clothes.

“Does the Young Master need a doctor?”

“No, it’s someone else’s blood.  I just need to get clean.”

“I’ll see to it immediately.”

The tea arrives within a few minutes.  The food isn’t far behind, and servants come and go with buckets of hot water, filling the tub in the bathing room.  Then everyone disappears and leaves me alone.  At last I can shed these bloodstained clothes, which are damp and smelly, and sink gratefully into the full bathtub. 

The contrast with the previous twenty-four hours couldn’t be greater.  In fact, the previous twenty-four hours seem completely unreal.  I’m beginning to realize that I’m suffering some kind of reaction to the stress of the past few days.  I close my eyes and simply stop thinking, allowing myself to enjoy the deeply pleasant sensations of being safe, fed and lapped by comforting hot water.  

I lie there unmoving till the water starts to cool down, then wash myself all over and climb out.  The drying cloths are thick and warm.  I wrap myself up in a cocoon and try to sleep.  The bed’s wide and comfortable, but somehow sleep just doesn’t come.  Yesterday’s events keep playing themselves in my mind and I can't stop it happening.  I need to get up and find something to do to distract myself.  But looking round for clothes, I encounter a problem.  I have no underclothes and only three robes survived the accident to my wagon all those weeks ago.  The blue one’s now unusable.  The other two are far too elaborate for every day.  In a nutshell, I’ve got nothing to wear.

Wrapping myself more securely in the drying cloths, I venture to the door and peer out.  A servant comes running across the courtyard.  I explain my problem.  He blushes, stammers and looks bemused.  Shi Mu’s summoned.  Fortunately, he’s completely unfazed by the sight of me with my hair down and my feet bare, and grasps the situation immediately.  Half an hour later, a servant runs in bringing my uniform and a spare set of underclothes.  The story will no doubt be all round the troop in no time.  But I don’t care.  The sight of my uniform is immensely reassuring and restores me to some sort of normality.  I dress quickly and head out.  Liang Zhou will need help.

We work all through the rest of the day, aided by some of the Palace women and by doctors from the city who come to offer help.  Some of the wounded are beyond saving and can only be helped to die easily.  The medical wagon has been brought up and is standing in the courtyard, but we soon run out of medicine and bandages, so I have to go out to find more from the city apothecaries.  Messages are sent down the mountain to Border Town for supplies, but they won’t arrive for days.  Half way through the afternoon, a dozen or so people are brought in on stretchers.  They’ve been rescued from the Palace prison and they’ve all been tortured.  I search for the boy who attacked me, but he’s not among them.  I think I’ll remember his desperate cries till the day I die.

By nightfall, the wounded have all been treated and the work slackens off.  By this time, I’m so tired I can scarcely move. 

Liang Zhou says, “Go back and sleep.  The Commander’s sent all the sub-officers back.  I’ll handle things here tonight.”

“You should rest too.”

“I’m sleeping here in case I’m needed during the night.  Go on now.”

I find Mo Jiang and the others at the Black Snake, just about to start eating dinner.  We all hug unashamedly, like brothers, which we are.  We’ve all survived the battle.  Mo Jiang pats me on the back over and over again.  Wu Shun looks as if he’s about to burst into tears again.  Even Qin Feng’s looking suspiciously red-eyed

Servants come in with food and we sit down gratefully.  After a while, alcohol and post-battle relief loosen our tongues and we start comparing notes about what were, at the time, very scary experiences.   Mo Jiang and Qin Feng managed to get some sleep the previous night and aren’t too tired, but Wu Shun looks as if he didn’t sleep a wink.

“We were lucky,” Qin Feng says, taking another drink, “The guards in the barracks by the city gate didn’t catch on till most of our men were inside and then they came rushing out with their armour half-on and their eyes half-closed.  It was easy pickings.”

“I thought the Palace guards weren’t going to let Shao Ru in,’ Mo Jiang says, relishing the memory, “But he turned the air blue cussing them out, threatening them with instant retribution, heads being lopped and so on and they believed him.  There was a bad moment when there were only a dozen or so of us taking on those Tibetans but then the rest of you arrived and it was all right.”

“I was watching from my balcony,” I say, “And then I heard hammering on the door and realized that someone had come for the King.”

“Is it true that Thokmay killed the King in the end?  What happened?”

I tell the story and they listen with wide eyes as another round of drinks goes down. I feel that the alcohol’s having no effect on me at all.  But an hour later we’re all maudlin and somebody mentions Lin Chen.  We salute him in more wine, hoping that his journey to the underworld will be a smooth one.

“Do you really believe in the underworld?” Wu Shun asks, his nose getting red again.

“Don’t cry, Ah-Shun,” Qin Feng wraps a drunken arm round Wu Shun’s neck.  “Don’t cry.”

“I really miss him,” Wu Shun says sniffling.

“We all do,” says Mo Jiang, whose face is red with wine and emotion.

The door opens and we see a vague figure which turns out to be the Commander.  We struggle to our feet, but Wu Shun stumbles and leans against Qin Feng, who wraps an arm round his waist.

“It’s all right, sit down,” the Commander says.  “Carry on.  You’ve earned it.”

His appearance shocks me.  His face is grey with fatigue, his upper body soaked in dried blood.  He pulls the door to and I hear his steps go up the corridor.  Wu Shun and Qin Feng subside into a heap on the cushions, Qin Feng murmuring soothing words into Wu Shun’s ears and patting his head.  Mo Jiang sits down and goes quietly to sleep, his head on the table.

I get up and go to find Shi Mu.  I ask him to bring food to the Commander’s room.  I also ask for a basin of hot water and cloths.  When they arrive, I take them and find my way to the Commander’s door.  My anxiety’s such that I don’t knock.  I put the basin down, slide the door open, pick up the basin and go in.

He’s sitting at the table, his head pillowed on his arms.  I’m halfway across the room before he hears me.  He lifts his head.  He looks puzzled, as if he doesn’t know who I am.

I put the basin down.  “Let’s get that blood off you.  Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head.  “It's other people’s blood.”  He tries to take off his wrist-guards but his fingers seem unable to function.

“Are your hands injured?”  I ask in alarm.

“No, just numb from the battering.  They’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Let me do it, then.”

He holds out his hand.  I sit beside him, unstrap the first wrist-guard and start on the second. 

“Does it always feel like this afterwards?” I ask, “Empty and meaningless?”

“Always."

“I've tried to sleep but I can’t.  Even though I feel really tired.”

“That's normal.  You’ll feel better tomorrow.  Everything will feel better tomorrow.”

I stand up and we’re back in our old routine in his tent, in those days after the jiju game.  I slide his tunic and undershirt over his head, soak a cloth in the basin and start mopping the blood off his back.  He said he wasn’t hurt, but there are bruises forming everywhere.  I finish his back, wring out the cloth, and do each arm.  Then I move round to clean up his chest and he sits back to make my task easier.

“I killed somebody,” I say suddenly.  I haven’t said anything about this to the others.  I feel I can only talk about it to him.

“Who?”

“Yi Yong.  He was hiding in a secret room with a spyhole.  I suppose he wanted to see the fun.  Then when he saw the King collapse, he came staggering out, but luckily he was in such a state that he never thought about calling the guards, so I had time to - to kill him.  I broke his neck.”

There’s a silence and I look up anxiously.  Unexpectedly, the expression on his face is one of anguish.  “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m so sorry.”

I’m shocked.  “It’s not your fault.  None of it is.  I chose to go.  And you didn’t choose this battle, you had to follow orders.  None of it’s your fault.”

We stare at one another and I suddenly remember that fierce embrace back in the Palace.  I have the feeling that anything could happen, but there’s a knock at the door and a servant enters with a tray, breaking the mood.  I ask for more hot water. 

“You should eat,” I say to the Commander.  Despite my alcohol-fuelled boldness, I really don’t think I dare venture below his waistline with the cleaning cloths, so I add, “When they bring the hot water, finish cleaning up and I’ll come back with stuff for your hands.” 

A tired smile appears on his face.  “Yes, Your Highness,” he says, with a ghost of the old teasing voice.

I escape, feeling that my face is redder than it should be, and go back to my own room.  The night’s frosty and clear and the stars look very close.  There’s no bruise ointment left in my medical kit, but I still have herbs for the sleeping potion.  Ordinary massage oil will do for his hands.

I wait for half an hour, then pull myself together and go back to the Commander’s room.  The food’s been eaten and he’s changed into an old sleeping robe.  The alarming grey tinge has gone from his face.  He must have been very hungry.

“I’ve got stuff for your hands,” I say, waving the bottle.

I take one long-fingered hand in mine and pour a little oil into the palm.  Then it suddenly strikes me just how intimate an action this is.  My heart lurches and I feel my face getting hot again.   I shoot a quick look at his face and see that his eyes are closed.  Reassured, I start to massage the oil in.  We’re completely silent.  I finish the palm, rough with sword-callouses, and start on the back, massaging down the long finger bones from the wrist.  Suddenly, I remember the half-dream I had after the visit to the Lotus Garden.  These hands were gripping my waist. 

It’s not just my face that feels hot now, my whole body does.  I can’t let him see.  But if I stop now, he’ll wonder why.  Grimly, I repress the feelings that are threatening to overwhelm me, and continue till both hands have been treated.  As I cork up the bottle of oil, he opens his eyes and says, “That feels very good.  Thank you.”

“You should get some sleep,” I say.  There’s a teapot of hot water on the table.  I pour in the herbs.

“So should you.  I’ll do you a deal.  I’ll drink it if you drink it.”  There’s a slightly devilish look in his eyes.  I remember the time I cornered him into drinking the foul stuff when he didn’t want to.  He’s taking his revenge. 

“All right,” I say. “Deal.”

We hold our noses and drink together.  He tries and fails to loosen his hair-tie, so I have to do that for him.  He falls into bed with a grateful groan, pulls the quilt half up and is asleep just like that.

The herbs don’t seem to be working on me.  Perhaps it’s the amount of alcohol I’ve drunk.  I pull the quilt up to cover him properly.  I think, I’ll just lie down here for a minute and watch him, make sure he’s all right.  After a while I start to get cold.  I look around for another quilt, but there isn’t one.  But the wolf-skin cloak’s lying in a corner on top of his other baggage.  I retrieve it and snuggle down under it.  The scent’s familiar from that long-ago night when I ran away and we slept together under it.  It’s partly his scent and partly that of the wolves that contributed to it.  I think, in a minute, I’ll get up and go back to my room.  And then I’m asleep.