Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

Ying Mei stood, quite unconscious of the swan-like grace of her figure as she extended her arms to receive the broad-sleeved cream silk robe of the Presence. It was sumptuously embroidered with flowers and motifs from nature, with contrasting panels of rich brocade. Tai Yi fussed at the garment then fastened a wide girdle in the golden yellow of the imperial court under her breast.

With her fragrance pouch settled discreetly beneath her gown, Ying Mei went to a rosewood chest and carefully drew out a small case.

Leaving by the lion-carved gate that led into a shady courtyard, she approached an ornamental pond with multicoloured carp swimming languidly among the lilies. She paused to offer them a tidbit. Then into the stillness came the summoning of the stone chimes; she hurried on toward the Inner Court.

It had been a long time since her father had first presented her but she still felt a thrill of anticipation as she waited by the door of the Throne Room. A blank-faced eunuch in a cream and chocolate-brown robe with an elaborately embroidered breastplate and peacock feather cap motioned her in.

With quick, dainty steps she took her place before the Celestial Throne and knelt deeply, head bowed, arms extended to each side. A yellow gauze hanging from the gold ornamented canopy hid the Emperor from mortal gaze; she knew, however, that he was there, able to discreetly observe all that went on.

An incense brazier sent gentle spirals of smoke up into the lofty expanse above. On either side, Imperial Guards in rich surcoats with burnished halberds stood at attention and to the right was Grand Chamberlain Kuo Ming Lai, in full court gown and scholarly cap, his hands clasped within his sleeves, his countenance impassive.

She waited, her head touching the ground until, at a word from him, she rose and extracted a richly ornamented loose-stitched book from the case.

It was Emperor Hsiao Ching’s practice before the business of the day to listen to five verses from the Analects of Confucius . Ying Mei’s task was to read these passages, carefully chosen by the Grand Chamberlain.

Lifting the book with dignity and reverence she found the first selection and paused. As usual, her father had chosen a generality to begin.

To one side the soft reverberation of a gong sounded. In a courtly high-pitched chant she began: ‘The Master says: he who governs by his moral excellence may be compared to the Pole-star, which abides in its place, while all the stars bow toward it.’

She inclined her head and waited.

The gong reverberated again.

‘The Master says: “I will not grieve that men do not know me; I grieve that I know not men.”’ Ying Mei’s gaze remained resolutely on the parchment: this was a scholarly admonishment at the Emperor’s recent leniency toward the warlord Kao Yang. It could only bring trouble, for the man was an unprincipled viper and-

Another soft boom.

‘The Master says: “Observe what he does; look into his motives… can a man hide himself?”’ She remained bowed; it was a call to take heed of the reckless vainglory of the man, his barely concealed ambitions and dark streak of cruelty.

The melodious note from the gong never came. Instead there was a strident triple strike as a dusty messenger ran in, throwing himself prostrate before the throne.

No one except an imperial herald with tidings of the utmost urgency came into the Presence without obtaining leave at the highest level. First Eunuch Yuan shot a glance at Kuo.

‘What is this news, that you disturb His Imperial Majesty so?’ the Grand Chamberlain demanded, ignoring Yuan, who stood tight-faced.

‘Great mandarin, General Wu desires you should be aware that Lord Kao Yang is under arms and advancing on the city.’

Ying Mei caught her breath. Not only had Kao Yang betrayed the Emperor’s trust in refusing to disband but he was now insolently approaching the capital.

‘Sire, what I have feared has come to pass,’ Kuo said to the hanging gauze. ‘It is time to-’

‘Wu has six banners of Yeh spearmen. We are not concerned.’ The voice from within, however, was weak and elderly.

The Grand Chamberlain persisted. ‘Do not underestimate Kao Yang, Sacred Ruler. His spies and agents are everywhere and they cry disloyalty and insults to your august name upon the common people. If we-’

‘Minister Kuo! The Wei Lord of Ten Thousand Years is not to be dismayed by mere posturing. Instruct General Wu to offer Kao Yang mercy. If he submits to me this day, then his life will be spared, and that of his family. If not, then the wrath of heaven will surely be called upon his head. That is all.’

‘Sire, it is essential that-’

‘Enough! Let the readings continue!’

Ying Mei returned to her chamber shaken. The times were strange and disturbing. She recalled the portent of a golden eagle taking a fox within the imperial compound that had terrified many by its thinly veiled meaning; there were mutters that the previous month’s partial eclipse was the sun turning his gaze from horrors to come. Now, the warlord Kao Yang was not so far from the capital. Had he come to pledge fresh allegiance to the Emperor or was there a real threat? She knew much of the imperial army was away, dealing with an uprising among the peasants.

She busied herself and tried not to worry: in China’s long history there had been other disturbances and challenges to an emperor’s rule, this would not be the last.

Within the high walls of the palace, the morning wore on in its usual measured calm and after a delicate midday repast the Emperor honoured his court by attending a recital of music on the pipa, a five-stringed lute, played by his ladies at the Hall of Tranquil Longevity. Despite a subdued atmosphere, Ying Mei brought smiles of delight with her gay, ‘White Snow in Spring Sunlight’, and then the more introspective ‘Flute and Drum at Sunset’.

Another lady of the court stepped forward shyly to take her place, but in the stillness before she began, faint but insistent sounds of a disturbance came from somewhere out in the city. The Emperor frowned and Kuo immediately dispatched a uniformed eunuch to investigate. He returned minutes later, politely waiting while the pipa music drew to its close, then announced, ‘Sire, it’s nothing but the humble classes in a witless frenzy about the Lord Kao Yang.’

The Emperor held motionless for a space then said calmly, ‘They are my loyal subjects and without understanding. It is within my power to ease their fears. Grand Chamberlain – this night I shall offer sacrifice before the people.’

Emperor Hsiao Ching then retired to the Hall of Bright Holiness to contemplate and purify.

The imperial palace meanwhile hastened to prepare. The Grand Master of Tao carefully cast his horoscope. It transpired that the hour before midnight was the most propitious. Heralds and runners fanned out to every office and department with orders from the Grand Chamberlain, others carried gongs and trumpets to announce to the populace what was about to take place.

At the appointed time, on either side of the Imperial Way, thousands silently came up to witness the ritual that would see the Emperor join earth to heaven in personal supplication. The great families of state took position about the altar at the steps of the Supreme Temple in strict order of seniority. From her place in the centre, Ying Mei had a privileged view of the processional way, lined by the Imperial Guard in their finest robes with the Emperor’s insignia on their tabards. At the other end she caught sight of the ceremonial chariot being brought to the door, drawn by a pair of magnificent black horses.

The people pressed forward: peasants, beggars, shopkeepers, entertainers, thieves, brothel-keepers, all eager to catch sight of their near-mythical emperor.