Jinhai

 

The grey dog’s sniffing at Lang Huo’s body and the smell of blood has upset the horses. 

“Well, you weren’t much use,” I say to the dog, gasping with pain.  I sheathe the boot knife and with shaking hands I push my trousers down to reveal a long diagonal slash on my right hip.  Not too deep, but really painful.  Got to stop the bleeding.  Not easy to bandage. 

Fumbling in Lang Huo’s baggage, I find spare undergarments.  I rip them apart, make a pad and bind it to my body, first rinsing the wound with water.  Can’t do anything about the pain.   I’m shivering with reaction, but all I can think is, I’ve got to get out of here.  I recover my sleeve sword from Lang Huo’s body, saddle the chestnut horse with clumsy hands and load my other horse up with my gear.  I’m obliged to find a convenient rock in order to mount up. 

Our camp is some distance from the road and hidden by rocks.  No doubt Lang Huo chose it with privacy in mind.  But sooner or later, the body will be discovered.  Maybe somebody will remember that we were together at Jiayuguan Pass, but no-one can prove anything.  Lang Huo’s two horses are cropping grass with sublime indifference.  Someone will find them.  Finders keepers. 

My mind’s wandering.  I need to get on the road.  If I can get to River Town, I can find an inn, take care of my injury and figure out what to do next.  If only I can get to River Town.

A fine rain starts to fall.  By mid-morning, I realize that I’ve got a fever.  The pain’s increasing.  Blood’s seeping through the makeshift bandaging.  There are trees at the side of the road and through them, I glimpse a river. I turn the horses and we make our way down to the water.  It’s a wide clear shallow stream with shingle banks.  Sliding down off my horse, I stumble to a large rock right at the edge and sit down, panting slightly and holding my side.

The grey dog growls.  Behind me, a voice says diffidently, “Sir, are you hurt?  Can I help you?”

He comes round in front of me:  a boy of perhaps sixteen, well-built, with a plain face and a nose he has yet to grow into.  He’s well-dressed, not one of the common folk, though obviously not noble either.  His look of concern grows as he sees the blood on my clothes.

“Your wound needs treatment.  Let me help you.  Our wagon’s over there.”

He doesn’t really give me the chance to refuse.  Lifting my left arm and placing it round his neck, he helps me stumble to a wagon standing under the trees.  The grey dog trots after us.

“Dad,” he calls, “I’m bringing someone in.  He’s hurt.”

We negotiate the steps with difficulty.  The interior of the wagon’s dim.  The boy lowers me carefully to the floor, upright with my back against the wall.

“I’ll get the horses,” he says, “And then I’ll come back and see to your wound.”

I manage to mutter thanks, but he’s already bounded off down the wagon steps.

As my eyes grow used to the dim light, I see that the wagon contains a low table, a stove, a chest or two, some floor cushions, a folded screen and a bed in which a man is lying.  He’s looking at me with concern.

I summon up a voice from somewhere.  “Sir, please forgive the intrusion.  I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.”

“You’re hurt.  We must help.” The voice is cultured, but has a breathless quality which tells me that its owner is very unwell.  This is confirmed by his next words. “I’m afraid I can’t get up to help you but my son will be back in a moment.  Our name is Yao.  I’m Yao Yuhan and my son is Yao Lin.”

“I’m Zhao Jing,” I say, my words coming out slowly.  “I’m most grateful to you, Sir Yao.”

The boy comes leaping back up the steps, carrying my gear.

“I’ve brought your stuff in,” he says.  “That’s a really great horse, that chestnut of yours.  What’s his name?

I say the first name that comes to mind.  “Blaze.”

“Ah, yes, of course.  Now let’s take a look at this.”

“It’s a knife-wound.  Not deep, but painful.  Just needs cleaning and bandaging.  There are herbs in the saddle-bags.”

“Got it.”  He puts a pan of water on the stove to heat and rummages in a chest for cloths.

“We’ve introduced ourselves,” says his father.  “This is Young Master Zhao Jing.”

“Ah.  I’m Yao Lin,” the lad says, carefully baring the wound.  His hands are competent and gentle.  He cleans the wound with warm water.

“Black saddle-bag, pot of ointment,” I say.  “For wounds.  Only needs a little.”

He finds the ointment and brings it to me. 

Liang Zhou’s wound-remedy’s as pungent and painful as ever.  I grit my teeth and feel the sweat come out on my forehead.

“Does it hurt?” Yao Lin asks, concerned.

“Agony.  But very effective.”

“It smells terrible.”

Despite everything, I have to smile.  Yao Lin carefully applies a pad and winds bandages round me, with some difficulty given the position of the wound.

“Now, look for a blue paper packet,” I say.  “Take a small spoonful of the herb and pour a cupful of hot water over it.”

He obeys, with the same deft, competent movements.

“What’s it for?” he asks.

“Pain.”

He blows on the water to cool it and hands it to me.  I drink.  “Thank you, Young Master Yao.  I’m most grateful.”

“You should rest now,” says Yao Yuhan.  “Ah-Lin, spread Young Master Zhao’s bedding out and help him lie down.  And harness up the horses.  We must get to River Town before nightfall.”

Before I know it, my bedding’s been arranged and I’ve been tucked in like a child.  The warmth feels deeply comforting.  I feel the herb taking effect slowly and know I’m going to fall asleep.

“I have supplies,” I murmur, “Please feel free to use them.”

I hear a voice responding, but my consciousness is already fading.

The herb I’ve taken can cause strange dreams and I’m not really sure if what’s happening is in fact real.  I feel the wagon moving, but am I really remembering the long journey from the capital last year?  Consciousness is coming and going.  One minute there’s daylight and the wagon’s moving.  Then I wake up and it’s dark and I can hear someone’s harsh breathing and coughing before sleep swallows me up again.

When I really come to myself, daylight’s filtering through the shades on the windows.  Yao Yuhan’s bed is blocked off by the screen, which has been pulled across and hooked on the opposite wall.  A heap of rumpled bedding shows where Yao Lin spent the night.  A chamber pot’s sitting in a prominent position near my bed and it’s very welcome.  My fever’s gone.  The wound’s aching, but not seriously.  My body feels empty and weak, but my mind’s clear.  I breathe out in relief.  I’m going to be all right.

Cautiously, one hand pressed to my side, I get up and walk with difficulty to the half-open door.  Outside, there’s a hustle and bustle of activity.  We’re camped among a number of other wagons.  By the quality of the light, it’s still early morning and the smoke’s rising from numerous camp-fires.  As I limp towards the wagon steps, Yao Lin leaps up from the fire, where he’s stirring something in a pot, and dashes towards me.

“Sit down,” he says, helping me sink down onto the top step.  “How are you feeling?”

“Still alive.”  In fact, I’m starting to feel aches and pains all over my body.  You can’t be in a fight without getting multiple cuts and bruises, although you don’t feel them at the time.  Now I do.  My lower lip’s swollen where Lang Huo bit it and there are painful bites on my neck.  The fingers on my sword hand must have taken a blow, because they’re stiff and sore.

“You look rather battered,” Yao Lin says anxiously.

“I’ll be fine in a day or two.  Where are we?”

“River Town.  I’m just making breakfast.  You wait there.”

A moment later, he puts a bowl of porridge into my hands.

“Got to take this to Dad,” he says, disappearing inside with another bowl.

I eat slowly, blowing on the porridge to cool it.  Nobody takes much notice of me except a few children who stop and stare before rushing off shouting, playing some game or other.  The sun’s starting to get higher.  The blessed warmth is life-giving.

Yao Lin comes out, fetches a bowl of food and sits down next to me on the step to eat.

“What are you and your Dad doing out here alone?” I ask. 

“We were part of a caravan coming from Emporium City – that’s out to the west.”

“I’ve heard of it.  A trading hub, isn’t it?”

“Yep.  My Dad and the others in the caravan are all merchants, heading for the capital.  But Dad caught a bad chill and the others went on without us.  The wagon-master’s a guy called Hao Meng.  He’s paid to get to the capital by a certain date and he can’t stop and wait for people who fall out.  We were supposed to wait for the next caravan to pass through, but there wasn’t going to be one for two or three weeks and Dad’s really anxious to get on and catch up.  So we took the risk.”

“How far ahead is Hao Meng?”

“Dad reckons about a week.  He says one wagon will go a lot faster than nine or ten, so we should catch up with them quite soon.  More porridge?”

He jumps down to fill the bowl and brings it back to me.

“Have you seen my dog?” I ask, looking round.

“He was here a few minutes ago.  He’s really wild, isn’t he?”

“He was an army dog, a tracker.  But he took a liking to me.”

“Were you in the army?”

“For a year.”                   

“What was it like?”

What can I say?  That it saved my life?  That it brought me friendship for the first time?  That it brought me love?

“It was good.”  I must sound a bit choked because he looks at me closely and stops asking questions.

He finishes his bowl of porridge and says, “It’s good you’re here.  I have to go into town and get some stuff but I don’t like leaving Dad alone.  D’you mind keeping an eye on him, in case he needs anything?”

“No problem.  Hey, look, take this.”  I fish inside my tunic and bring out my money pouch.  “Buy two or three chickens.  Have you got a coop?”

“Sure, but it’s broken.”

“Get what's necessary and I’ll mend it.  And get anything else you need.”

“That’s awfully generous,” he says doubtfully.

“I owe you.  If you hadn’t picked me up, I’d be in real trouble.  I’ll square it with your father.”

His brow clears.  “All right then, thanks very much.  I’ll bring you some water.  You could probably do with a wash.  And then I’ll be off.”

The water’s cold, but even so, a wash is very welcome.  I change the dressing on my wound.  I need to be careful not to open it up again.  Then I knock on the screen and say, “Sir Yao, may I have a word?”

“Please come in,” he says.  “If you wouldn’t mind, would you fold the screen up and put it away.”

Moving carefully, I do as he asks. 

“Come and sit down,” he says.

I get my first good look at him.  He has the family nose, prominent in a face that’s thin to the point of emaciation.  His colour’s poor, his breathing heavy and ragged even though he’s not exerting himself.  His body’s painfully thin too and he seems very weak.  But his eyes are lucid and thoughtful.

I have to give him some sort of explanation.  “I respectfully offer my grateful thanks for your kindness,” I say, bowing as best I can.  “Please let me know how I can repay you.”

“No need,” he replies.  “I’m glad to be of help.”

“Since you’ve shared your food with me, I took the liberty of contributing to the housekeeping.  I hope you’re not offended.”

He smiles.  “You’re very generous, thank you.  How are you feeling?”

“Battered,” I say ruefully, remembering Yao Lin’s words.

“May I ask what happened?”

I tell him as much of the truth as I can.  “I’ve spent the past year in the army, up in Qiu City, but I quit when the troop was ordered back to the capital this spring.  I was heading for Eagle Rock because I have – had family there and I fell in with a man on the way.  In fact, he saved my life when I was attacked by robbers.  We travelled together for a few days, but I started to have doubts about him for one reason and another.  Anyway, I split off from him to go to Eagle Rock, but when I got there, I found the place had been attacked.  The servants were dead and my family gone.”

“Do you know where?”

I shake my head.  “So I got back on the road, hoping to avoid this – this man, but he was waiting for me.  Then he …..” I stop, not knowing quite how to go on. 

But Yao Yuhan’s not a sixteen-year-old boy.  He’s seen my bitten lip and the marks on my neck and he knows what they mean.  His calm voice says, “He assaulted you?”

“He tried to.  So I fought him and ….”  I stop again.

“Killed him?” says the calm voice.

I nod, wordless.

“I’m so sorry,” Yao Yuhan says.  “You seem to have been through one ordeal after another.”

His gentle sympathy suddenly brings moisture into my eyes.  He continues, “If I may suggest it, I think you should stay with us till you’re quite well.  Would that be agreeable to you?”

“Yes – yes sir, it would.  Thank you.”

Suddenly, he’s seized by a fit of coughing so violent that his frail body threatens to fall from the bed.  Without thinking, I get up, take him by the shoulders and prop him upright, holding him till the seizure passes.

“How long have you been ill?” I ask, frowning.

“A year.  I had an accident.  I was crushed by falling timber.”

“In the army, I trained under the troop doctor.  I know something about medicine.  May I look?”

He nods, faintly astonished.

Propping him up on the pillows, I untie his sash and push back the robe, which is damp with sweat.  His chest’s almost concave and covered with scars.  When I put my hand on him, I can feel his heart and lungs labouring and I hear a faint bubbling or crackling every time he takes a breath.

“My legs were broken too,” he says.

I roll up the trouser legs.  Just like Lord Zhao's, the smashed legs were badly-set and there’s nothing to be done.  Yao Yuhan sees the expression on my face and smiles wryly.

“I don’t have much time left,” he says, “The boy doesn’t know.  I only want to stay alive long enough to hand him over to my brother in the capital.”

That’s why you didn’t want to wait for the next caravan.

“There are ways to make you more comfortable,” I say.  “And you need more nourishment.”

“I have trouble eating solids.”

“How are you sleeping?”

“Badly.”

“Well, I can do something about that.  What’s more, my father had a similar accident to his legs.  Our doctor worked out a programme of exercises and massage which eased the pain and gave him back some mobility.  I could try that, if you’ll allow me.”

”That sounds interesting.  And I have nothing to lose.”  He looks at me, again with that faint astonishment in his eyes.  “You’re a surprising person, Young Master Zhao.”

We get under way as soon as Yao Lin gets back, laden with bundles and carrying three live chickens.  He brings me the wooden chicken coop which is attached to the side of the wagon and I spend the morning mending it before releasing two of the indignant chickens into it.  The third’s destined for our evening meal.  I see that the bumping of the wagon is desperately uncomfortable for Yao Yuhan, so despite his protests, I spread beneath him one of the fine quilts I took from Eagle Rock, and have the satisfaction of seeing his tired body relax.  By the time we camp for the night, I’ve plucked and prepared the chicken, so all Yao Lin has to do is put it in a pot with vegetables and water.  While it’s cooking, I help Yao Lin as best I can with the horses.

“It’s great having you to help,” he says, as we rub the animals down.

“You’ve been doing all this stuff by yourself?”

He nods.  “It’s not so bad.  I’ve got into a routine now.”

“Well, just tell me what to do.  I’ll be more use in a couple of days’ time.”

“I’m glad you’re staying,” he says, going a little red.

“I’m grateful you and your father are being so kind.”

That evening we have a feast.  Chicken soup is Liang Zhou’s universal remedy for recovering invalids and Yao Yuhan finds it easy to swallow.  As darkness falls, I prepare a cup of the herbal sleeping potion and bring it to him.

“I can personally guarantee that this’ll give you a good night’s sleep,” I say, smiling.  “It tastes horrible but it’s very effective.  And if you sleep propped up a little more on the pillows, you won’t cough so much.”

“Thank you, Young Master Zhao.  You should rest too.”

“I’m sure I will.”

The potion takes effect after a few minutes.  I wait to make sure Yao Yuhan’s breathing steadily, then pull the screen across and hook it before retreating to my own bed.  I’m still feeling tired and weak, despite the relief at having found a refuge.  But I need to get my strength back as soon as possible, because a single wagon out here’s going to be easy prey for every low-life along the road.