Shan

Remembering Jinhai’s white face, I’m so angry with Zhu Yu that if he appeared in front of me right now, I’d be tempted to give him a good beating.  Not that it would solve anything.  The memory of my failure with Yu Kang’s still fresh.  Zhu Yu’s sixteen.  How deeply-rooted can this viciousness be? 

By morning, the story has spread round the encampment.  Everyone knows what’s happened and there’s an expectant audience waiting when a bedraggled, hungry, angry Zhu Yu turns up on foot.  His father rushes to greet him, but Zhu Yu flings off the welcoming arm and disappears up the steps of his wagon. 

I give the order to move and the caravan creaks into motion. 

For some days, we proceed in relative peace.  Zhu Min finds the courage to apologize to me in person, but his son gives no sign that he’s sorry or indeed, that he realizes he’s done anything wrong.  He spends his days inside his wagon with the Fang boy, who fetches his meals and runs his errands.  But gradually, a shift in loyalties takes place.  Two teenage brothers and the strange Lai child join in our practice sessions in the evening.  I reward my trainees by allowing them to ride Jinhai's spare horses during the day, an immensely popular move.

I have a hidden agenda here.  It’s not just that these activities give the young men a way to work off their energy and stop them pestering the rest of us.  But I’m also hoping that training them up will provide extra security for the caravan in case of attack, if only by giving the impression that the wagons are well-guarded.  Whatever the reasons, the atmosphere in the caravan improves enormously.  But Zhu Yu’s still on my mind.

“He’s too quiet,” Jinhai says one evening, as we rub down the horses. 

I make a sound of agreement.  “Working up his grievances probably.  That’s a good-looking horse you’ve got there.”

“He’s Bamboo Hat’s horse.  He’s a real gentleman.  I think he was probably stolen from a victim.”  He looks at me with his enticing smile.  “When are you going to pounce?” he asks.

“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”

But if you look at me like that, it might be right now.

Next day Zhu Yu emerges from seclusion, once again the handsome and arrogant young master.  But rebellious teenagers are the least of my worries.  According to Hao Meng, bandits have been reported along the stretch of road on which we’re now travelling.  The countryside’s wild and there isn’t another town for many miles.  Although the backsides in saddles are better trained than they were, we’re still woefully under-protected, so Hao Meng stays back to ride with us.  I’ve thought out a plan to protect the caravan in case of attack and we’ve discussed it with the merchants, but I can’t rely on these civilians to follow orders as my men used to do.  It really is a case of hoping for the best.

We hold our practice session as usual that evening and at first there’s no indication of anything unusual.  But as I’m collecting up the wooden swords afterwards, I hear a yell of alarm and spin round  to see Zhu Yu rushing at me with a sword, not a wooden one, but my own weapon, which I’ve left standing up against one of the wagons.  His eyes are half-crazy, half eager.  I dodge, dive to the ground and roll, realizing as I come to my feet that he’s managed to slash my arm.  But my sword’s too big and heavy for him, he’s having trouble managing it.  Jinhai races over with sword in one hand and sheath in the other, Zhu Yu spins to face him, heaves his weapon up with both hands and brings it down like an axe.  Jinhai blocks the blade between crossed sword and sheath, lifts a long leg and gives Zhu Yu a solid thump in the midriff with the flat of his foot.  Zhu Yu staggers back towards me, I catch him in a chokehold with my left arm and grab his wrist with my right hand.  Clenching my fingers, I force him to drop the weapon.  He screams at the pain and I throw him to the ground and clutch at my left arm to staunch the blood.  Jinhai’s sword is at Zhu Yu’s throat. 

Everyone’s rooted to the spot except Hao Meng, who grabs Zhu Yu by his collars and drags him up, bellowing, “What the fuck d’you think you’re doing, you little shit, attacking an unarmed man with a sword?”

Then suddenly it seems there are dozens of people milling about.  My arm hurts like hell and blood’s pouring through my fingers.  Jinhai realizes I’m hurt, rips the sweatband off his forehead and starts to tie it round my arm to stop the bleeding.  Zhu Min appears, his face ghastly, and tries ineffectually to pacify Hao Meng, who’s still roaring threats at Zhu Yu.  “I’m going to lock this little bastard up in his wagon and if I see his face again, I’ll beat the living crap out of him.”

He drags Zhu Yu off, still bellowing. 

Jinhai says, “Come to the Yao wagon with me.  Sir Zhan, can you hear me?”

The sound of the name jerks me back to reality.  As we start walking, Yao Lin and Lei Qing rush over, their faces appalled.  Jinhai sends Lei Qing to boil water and Yao Lin to fetch his medical kit, and they dash off to obey as we approach the Yao wagon.  Jinhai sits me down on the steps.  I’m shivering slightly from the shock and the pain.  I should be used to it, I think wryly, but every time it happens, it’s the same.

It’s like those times last year, back in my tent on the journey out.  Jinhai eases me out of my robe and staunches the blood with clean cloths.

“Not too deep,” he says with a sigh of relief.  “It won’t need stitching.”

He cleans the wound with hot water, but the blood keeps on coming, so he binds it up firmly, helps me get my robe back on and puts my arm in a sling.

“You’ll need to rest it for a day or two.  I’ll get you something for the pain.”

He brings me food and a cup of Liang Zhou’s disgusting herbal potion, which eases the pain a little.

Hao Meng appears, red-faced with anger.  “How is it?”

“Not too bad.  But painful.  I’ll be good to go tomorrow.”

“Well, take it easy.  I’ve locked that little turd up.  He can stay in his wagon till we get to the capital.”

I doubt if this is the best way to handle the matter, but looking at Hao Meng’s obstinate face, I don’t reckon I’ll be able to talk him out of it just yet.  In any case, the herbs are already making me feel sleepy.

“You should rest,” Jinhai says.

I roll up in my quilts by the fire and quickly doze off, but my dreams are disjointed and disturbing.  I’m fighting the battle for Qiu City again, charging up the Palace stairs with fear in my heart to get to Jinhai.  Then I’m back with the troop, that dreadful day when the Imperial courier brought the news of the assassination.  Jinhai.  I’ve got to get to Jinhai.  I have to find him.  I have to …..

“No you don’t,” Jinhai’s voice says, “You don’t have to do anything.  I’m here.”

He’s bending over me, but I can’t see his face in the darkness. 

“Sit up,” he says. I obey, leaning back against him as he holds a cup to my lips.  I murmur his name and turn my head into his chest.  He says, “Shhhh, someone’ll hear,” and strokes the hair off my damp forehead.  As he lays me back down, I mutter, “Don’t leave me,” and he answers, “I won’t.”

I wake up next morning at daybreak, feeling clear-headed, but with a bad taste in my mouth from the herbs.  Jinhai’s lying next to me, wrapped in a quilt.  He’s still asleep but as I stir, his eyes open, he sees my face and he sits up, smiling.  A cool hand touches my forehead.  “No fever,” he says, “Let me look at the wound.”

The bandage comes away to reveal the pad that Jinhai has placed over the wound.

“It’s stuck to the cut, so I’m not going to pull it off.  I’ll use Liang Zhou’s method.”  He starts to smear ointment over the padding, which absorbs it quickly.  The wound’s painful, but not as bad as before, and I can see that there’s no redness or swelling.

“Looks good,” Jinhai says.  “But you’ll have to take care not to open it up again.”

Hao Meng’s cheerful voice says, “How’s the patient today?”  

“Much better.”

“Good to hear.  Take it easy today.  Don’t overdo it.”

I’m used to functioning with minor wounds, but today I’m astonished by the amount of attention I get.  When I was wounded in the past, I received Liang Zhou’s professional care and a bracing lack of sympathy from Shao Ru, but now I’m showered with kindness.  People queue up to help me saddle Swift.  Madam Zhong brings me tea and food, children shyly offer snacks and sweets and when we stop at noon, just about everyone comes by to ask how I am.  Zhu Min visits me and spends another painful half-hour apologizing for and excusing his willful son.  There’s nothing much I can say.  I suspect the boy’s an intractable case and I have no wisdom to offer the distraught father.  It’s a relief when he goes. 

The matter comes up in the evening when I’m playing chess with Yao Yuhan.   “You’re a father,” I say, “How would you handle it?”

“Difficult to say.  I might suggest a good college, but with his personality, he’d attract a following of the easily-led as he’s done here.  Perhaps an excellent tutor, if any would stay with him.  Or maybe the army.”

“He’d be a headache for any commanding officer,” I say drily.

“You speak from experience?”

“When you’re out in the field, you haven’t got time to deal with men who won’t fit in.  You’re too busy keeping everyone alive.  I had a young sub-officer who was full of arrogance and resentment, just like Zhu Yu, though from different causes.  I couldn’t rely on him and the men hated him.”

“What happened?”

“He committed a crime, deserted and was killed by bandits.”

“You feel responsible?”

“How not?  But even now I don’t know what I could have done to change things.”

“Some things can’t be changed,” he says.