Conn Iggulden - Conqueror (2011)

It was not long before he realised the numbers coming out were thinning. Xuan’s heart sank. He had brought some forty thousand men into Sung lands. Some would always have died - the oldest among them would have been close to seventy by then. Natural causes would have taken a toll, but when he counted the silent squares, the total was only eight thousand men.

‘Where did you all go?’ he murmured to himself.

One man who had been shouting orders was dressed in little more than filthy rags. He was emaciated and where his skin showed it was marked in dirt that had almost been tattooed into him. It was pitiful to see such a figure trying to stand tall. Xuan did not recognise him, but he walked over and met the man’s eyes. They searched his, glimmering with hope where there should have been none.

‘It has been a long time,’ Xuan said. He was about to ask the man’s name when it came to him, with the rank first, flashing into his head from over the years. ‘Shao Xiao Bohai.’

Xuan blinked back pain as Bohai smiled to reveal just a couple of long yellow teeth in an empty jaw. The man had once commanded thousands, one of his experienced sword officers, but it was almost impossible to reconcile the memories with the skeletal figure who stood before him.

‘Is this all the men?’ Xuan asked.

Bohai dipped his head, then dropped prostrate on the ground. The rest of them followed on the instant, so that only Xuan and his son remained standing.

‘Up, all of you,’ Xuan ordered. His eyes had dried and he knew he could show no more emotion to these men. They needed more than that from him.

‘Well, Shao Xiao Bohai? You have not answered my question. You may speak freely to me.’

The man’s voice only creaked at first. He wet his lips and gums with his tongue until he could shape words.

‘Some of us ran. Most were brought back and killed in front of us. Others never returned.’

‘But so many?’ Xuan said, shaking his head.

‘His majesty will not want to hear the complaints of soldiers,’ Bohai said, staring off into the middle distance.

‘I order you to tell me,’ Xuan replied softly. He waited while the man wet his lips once more.

‘There were fevers each summer and some died from bad food. One year, some six thousand of us were taken away to work in a coal mine. They did not return. Each month, we lose a few to the guards they set, or Sung nobles looking for entertainment. We do not always know the fates of those who are taken away. They don’t come back. Your majesty, I have not seen the whole group together for sixteen years. I did not know until three days ago that we had lost so many.’ A spark appeared in the man’s dull eyes. ‘We endured in the hope of seeing his majesty one last time before death. That has been granted. If there is to be no rescue, no release, it will be enough.’

Xuan turned and saw his son standing with an expression of horror on his face.

‘Close your mouth, my son,’ he said softly. ‘These are good men, of your blood. Do not shame them for what they cannot control.’ His voice rose in volume, so that Bohai and those close by heard his words.

‘They are filthy because they have not been given water. They are starved because they have not been given food. See beyond the rags, my son. They are men of honour and strength, proven in their endurance. They are your people and they fought for me once.’

Xuan had not heard the Sung officer Tsaio-Wen approach behind him until the man spoke.

‘How touching. I wonder if their emperor will embrace them in their shit and lice?’

Xuan spun round and stepped very close to Tsaio-Wen. He seemed oblivious to the sword that hung from Tsaio-Wen’s belt.

‘You again? Have I not yet taught you humility?’ To Tsaio-Wen’s astonishment, Xuan prodded him in the chest with a stiffened finger. ‘These men were allies to your emperor, but how have they been treated? Starved, left in their own dirt without proper food? My enemies would have treated them better than you.’

Sheer surprise held Tsaio-Wen still for a moment. When his hand dropped to his sword, Xuan stepped even closer, so that their noses came together and angry spittle touched Tsaio-Wen’s face.

‘I have lived long enough, dog-meat. Show a blade to me and see what these unarmed men will do to you with their bare hands.’

Tsaio-Wen looked past him and was suddenly aware of all the ranks of furious men watching the scene. Carefully, he stepped back. Xuan was pleased to see a line of sweat along his forehead.

‘Personally, I would let you all starve,’ Tsaio-Wen said. ‘But instead, you are to be sent out against the Mongol tumans. No doubt the emperor would rather see Mongol swords blunted on your skulls than on Sung soldiers.’

He handed over a package of orders and Xuan took them, trying to hide his astonishment. He broke the imperial seal he knew so well and read quickly as Tsaio-Wen turned away. The Sung officer managed to cross some forty paces of the parade ground before Xuan raised his head.

‘Stop,’ he shouted. The soldier marched on, his stiff back showing his anger. Xuan raised his voice to a bellow. ‘You are mentioned in these orders, Hong Tsaio-Wen.’

The Sung officer scraped to a halt. His face red with rage, he came back. Xuan ignored him, continuing to read while the man stood quivering in indignation.

‘It seems my cousin the emperor is not a complete fool,’ Xuan said. Tsaio-Wen hissed at the insult, but he did not move. ‘He has recalled that there is only one group in his lands who have faced the Mongols before - and held them off. You see those men before you, Tsaio-Wen.’ To his pleasure, the closest ranks pulled their shoulders back as they heard. ‘It says that I should expect armourers and trainers to fit them once more for war. Where are these men?’

‘On their way,’ Tsaio-Wen grated through a clenched jaw. ‘Where is my name mentioned?’

‘Here,’ Xuan said, showing him the page of thick vellum covered in tiny black characters. It surprised him that the officer could read. Things had changed since his day.

‘I do not see it,’ Tsaio-Wen said, squinting at the page.

‘There. Where it says I may choose Sung officers to help with the supplies and training. I choose you, Tsaio-Wen. I enjoy your company too much to let you go.’

‘You can’t ,’ Tsaio-Wen replied. Once again his hand fell to the sword and then dropped away at a guttural snarl from the closest men.

‘Your emperor has written that I can, Tsaio-Wen. Choose to obey me or choose to hang, I do not care which. The emperor has said we will march again. Perhaps we will be destroyed, I do not know. Perhaps we will triumph. It will be easier to decide when we have eaten well and grown strong, I know that. Have you made your decision, Hong Tsaio-Wen?’

‘I will obey the orders of my emperor,’ the man said, promising death with his eyes.

‘You are a wise man to show such obedience and humility,’ Xuan said. ‘You will be a lesson to all of us. Now it says here that there are funds available, so send runners into the city for food. My men are hungry. Send for doctors to tend the weak and sick. Employ servants to clean the barracks and painters to make it fresh. Find roofers to repair broken tiles, carpenters to rebuild the stables, butchers and ice men to fill the basements with meat. You will be busy, Tsaio-Wen, but do not despair. Your work benefits the last Chin army and there is no better cause.’

Tsaio-Wen’s eyes drifted to the papers Xuan held in his hand. Whatever the injustice or humiliation, he dared not refuse. Just a word from one of his senior officers that he had baulked at a lawful order and he would be finished. He bowed his head as if he had to break bones to do it, then turned on his heel and walked away.