Conn Iggulden - Conqueror (2011)

‘This humble soldier is Hong Tsaio-Wen,’ the man said. ‘I have orders to escort his majesty Xuan, Son of Heaven, to the Leopard barracks to be fitted with armour.’

‘What? What is this?’ Xuan demanded incredulously.

Tsaio-Wen stared at him with unblinking eyes. ‘His majesty’s men have been assembled there,’ he replied, stiff with the formal idiom that would not allow him to address Xuan directly. ‘His majesty will want to join them there.’ He raised an arm to gesture to his men and Xuan saw they had brought a spare horse, saddled and waiting. ‘His majesty will desire to come with me now.’

Xuan felt ice touch his heart and he wondered if the moment had come when the Sung emperor had finally tired of his existence. It was possible that he would be taken to a place of execution and quietly made to vanish. He knew better than to argue. Xuan had known many Sung soldiers and officials in the sixteen years of his captivity. If he demanded reasons or explanation, Tsaio-Wen would simply repeat his orders with placid indifference, never less than polite. Xuan had grown used to the stone walls of Sung manners.

To his surprise, it was his son who spoke.

‘I would like to come with you, father,’ Liao-Jin said softly.

Xuan winced. If this was an order for his execution, his son’s presence would only mean one more body at sunset. He shook his head, hoping it was answer enough. Instead, Liao-Jin stepped around to face him.

‘They have allowed your men to assemble, after how long? This is important, father. Let me come with you, whatever it turns out to be.’

The Sung officer could have been made of stone as he stood there, giving Xuan no sign he had even heard. Despite himself, Xuan looked past his son and spoke.

‘Why am I needed now, after so long?’

The soldier remained silent, his eyes like black glass. Yet there was no aggression in his stance. It had been a long time since Xuan had judged the mood of fighting men, but he sensed no violence from the rest of the small troop. He made his decision.

‘Liao-Jin, I commission you as yinzhan junior officer. I will explain your duties and responsibilities at a later time.’

His son flushed with pleasure and he went down on one knee, bowing his head. Xuan rested his hand on the back of his son’s neck for a moment. Years before, he might have resisted any sign of affection, but he did not care if some honourless Sung soldiers saw it.

‘We are ready,’ Xuan said to Tsaio-Wen.

The officer shook his head slightly before speaking.

‘I have only one spare horse and orders to bring his majesty to the barracks. I have no orders about any other.’

The man’s tone was sour and Xuan felt an old anger stir in him, one he had not allowed himself to feel in years. A man in his position could have no honour, could allow himself no pride. Yet he stepped closer to the soldier and leaned in, his eyes bright with rage.

‘Who are you to speak to me in such a way? You, a dog-meat soldier of no family? What I choose to do is no concern of yours. Tell one of your men to dismount and walk back, or give up your own mount.’

Hong Tsaio-Wen had lived his life in a rigid hierarchy. He responded to Xuan’s certainty as he would have to any other senior officer. His head dipped and his eyes no longer challenged. Xuan was certain then that this was no execution detail. His thoughts whirled as Tsaio-Wen snapped orders to his men and one of them dismounted.

‘Tell your brother to take your sisters home,’ Xuan said loudly to Liao-Jin. ‘You will accompany me to the barracks. We will see then what is so important that I must be disturbed.’

Liao-Jin could hardly hide his mingled delight and panic as he passed on the word to his siblings. He had ridden a few times in his life, but never a trained warhorse. He dreaded embarrassing his father as he ran to the mount and leapt up into the saddle. The animal snorted at the unfamiliar rider and Xuan’s head snapped round, suddenly thoughtful.

‘Wait,’ he said. He passed his eyes over the other horses and found one that stood placidly, without any of the bunched tension of the first mount. Xuan looked across at Tsaio-Wen and saw the man’s hidden anger. Perhaps the officer had not deliberately chosen the most unruly mount in his troop, but he doubted it. It had been many years since Xuan had managed soldiers, but the old habits came back to him. He strode across to another rider and looked up at him with complete certainty that he would be obeyed.

‘Get down,’ he said.

The soldier barely looked at Tsaio-Wen before he swung his leg over and jumped to the shingle.

‘This one,’ Xuan called to his son.

Liao-Jin had not understood what his father was doing, but he too dismounted and came over, taking the reins.

Xuan nodded to him without explanation, then raised his hand briefly to the rest of his family. They stood forlorn, watching as their father and brother mounted up and rode away along the shore of the lake, heading back into the city of Hangzhou.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Hangzhou had many barracks for the emperor’s armies. The best of them enclosed training grounds and even baths, where the soldiers could learn their trade, strengthen their bodies and then sleep and eat in huge dormitories.

The Leopard barracks showed signs of having been abandoned for many years. The roofs sagged and the training ground was overgrown with weeds poking through the sand and stones. Xuan rode under an archway covered in lichen and drew to a halt with Tsaio-Wen’s men in an open courtyard. He was flushed from the ride, long-unused muscles complaining in his legs and back. Yet he felt better than he had in years at just that taste of freedom and command.

Tsaio-Wen dismounted without a word or a glance at the two men he had brought with him. Xuan could see the traces of anger in the man’s walk as he strode into the first building. Xuan looked over to his son and jerked his head for him to get down from his borrowed horse. He did not know what to expect, but there had been so little novelty in recent years that almost anything would be welcome.

The troop of riders stood in silence and waited. After a time, Tsaio-Wen came out and took his reins. To Xuan’s surprise, he mounted, turning his horse back to the gate. Two of his men gathered the reins of the horses Xuan and his son had ridden and began to lead them away.

‘What is this?’ Xuan said. He knew Tsaio-Wen had heard him from the way the man stiffened. The officer chose to have his revenge in impoliteness and there was no reply.

A loud cry sounded from close by and Xuan spun round. Running towards him, he saw faces he knew, memories of a different life. Liao-Jin tensed as if they were about to be attacked, but his father laid a hand on his arm. When he spoke, his eyes were bright with tears.

‘I know these men, Liao-Jin. They are my people.’ He smiled, realising that his son would not recognise any of the men coming out and crowding around them. ‘They are your people.’

Xuan had to work hard to keep the smile on his face as he began to recognise men he had not seen for sixteen years. Time was never kind. Age had never made a man stronger, or faster, or more vital. He felt wrenched within, shocked over and over. He kept seeing faces he remembered as young, unlined, and somehow they were still there, but become wrinkled and weary. Perhaps at home they would have been less marked by the years. He doubted they had ever been well fed or allowed to stay fit.

They pressed in close and some of them even reached out to touch his clothes, almost to reassure themselves he was real. Then voices he had not heard for too long shouted orders and they fell back. The courtyard continued to fill as more and more came out from the dormitories, but those who had been officers were snapping orders at them to form ranks for an inspection. They smiled as they did so and there were many questions called from their number. Xuan could not answer them. He could hardly speak for the swelling emotions that filled him. He stood straight, his eyes shining as they made ragged groups of a hundred and marched out to take position on the weed-strewn parade ground.