“Or else what?”
There was a movement in Lo Wen’s eyes, then he moved past the young prince and took a crop down from the wall behind him. “Here,” he said, beckoning to him.
But Kuei Jen shook his head and, with one final defiant glare, turned and ran from the stables.
“papa! papa!”
Li Yuan turned in his seat, startled by the sudden intrusion. As Kuei Jen rushed across the room toward him, scattering servants and supplicants alike, Li Yuan stood, frowning deeply.
“Kuei Jen! What is this? How many times must I tell you—“
He stopped. The new instructor, Lo Wen, stood in the doorway, his shaven head bowed, not wishing to intrude where he had not been invited. Kuei Jen came around the desk, then clung to his father’s side. “Papa!
Papa! He wants to punish me!”
Li Yuan took a long, shuddering breath, then looked across to where his cousin Tsu Ma sat in the window seat. Tsu Ma shrugged, yet his expression was eloquent.
Li Yuan turned, pulling his son away from him, and held him out at arm’s length. It was hard to do: the boy was not yet five and it felt like a breach of trust, yet he was convinced now of the necessity. Even so, he softened his voice, as if to soften the blow. “Kuei Jen. . . this will not do. You know how things are. Lo Wen. . . his word is as mine. I have commanded it.”
“But, Papa,” Kuei Jen pleaded, his eyes filling with tears, “I have done nothing wrong. Nothing ...”
Li Yuan studied his son a moment, then looked across to where the dour-looking Lo Wen waited.
“Lo Wen. Come closer. 1 wish to talk.”
Lo Wen gave a terse nod, then, with what seemed like great reluctance, threaded his way through the attendants until he stood before Li Yuan’s desk.
“Chieh Hsia?”
“Tell me. Why should my son be punished?” Lo Wen’s head sank almost to his chest. “He was disobedient, Chieh Hsia. I asked him to ride, but he refused. When I asked again he made the horse rear. And then, when I made to punish him for that, he ran away.” “I was tired, Papa! He makes me do so much. He never lets me rest. He’s always—“ “Quiet, Kuei Jen. Not another word now or I shall grow angry with you.” He looked back at Lo Wen, saw how the man stood there, his face expressionless, his whole demeanor graceful yet tense. “Is it true, Lo Wen? Are you working my son too hard?” There was the faintest movement of the head. “No, Chieh Hsia. He is a healthy boy. A little overweight for his height, perhaps, but sound. What he lacks is muscle tone. If he is to learn to ride and shoot properly, he must develop strength in his calves and upper arms. From such strength comes ch’i, the inner strength, the stillness, that a great man requires.” “That may be so, Lo Wen, but he is, after all, just a child. Can he not be eased into things?”
Lo Wen looked up, meeting the young T’ang’s eyes. “You gave me the boy, Chieh Hsia, and said I was to do as I saw fit, that I was to fashion him. But how can I do that when he runs to you each time?”
“But if it is too hard for him ...”
Lo Wen drew himself up slightly. “You recall the tale of Sun Tzu and King Ho-lu’s concubines?”
“I do.”
It was an old tale and probably apocryphal, but Li Yuan saw the point at once. In the tale the great Sun Tzu, given command of the army by King Ho-lu of Wu, was asked by the King to demonstrate his methods of training. To do so Sun Tzu had the King’s concubines line up with brooms in two groups in the palace yard, appointing the King’s two favourite concubines as “commanders.” He gave these two orders and told them to pass them on, but all the women did was giggle. Undismayed, Sun Tzu returned to the King and asked if, as his General, he carried his full authority. When the King said yes, Sun Tzu turned about and, after stating that the two “commanders” had failed in their duty, ordered them to be beheaded. King Ho-lu objected, saying they were his favorite concubines, but Sun Tzu outfaced him. Did you not say I spoke with your full authority? he asked, and when the King nodded, he proceeded with the executions. After that there was no more giggling. Within the hour the concubines were drilling like old hands.
Li Yuan looked down, then nodded. He wanted to say that he was sorry, to explain to his son why this had to be, but knew that even that was wrong. He had indulged the boy for too long, and indulgence bred a fatal weakness. If he truly loved his son he must make him strong. “You speak well, Lo Wen. Here, take the boy. Do as you must.”
“Papa!” Kuei Jen shrieked, but Li Yuan shook his head. “You are a prince, Kuei Jen, now act like a prince!” He turned the child about roughly—too roughly, perhaps—and pushed him toward LoWen. “Do as Lo Wen says. And if you burst in here again, J shall punish you, understand me, child?”
Kuei Jen turned, glaring at him, then, with a pride that seemed strange after his previous display, walked slowly from the room, Lo Wen following him.
Li Yuan sat, feeling weak, exhausted emotionally. Then, experiencing a vague anger that so many should have witnessed the exchange, he dismissed the waiting servants with a curt, ill-tempered gesture. “You did well, Cousin,” Tsu Ma said when they were gone, standing and coming across to him. “And don’t fear. He may hate you now, but he will love you for it when he understands.”
“Maybe. But he is all I have. I nearly lost him. To think that he might feel I do not love him ...” He shivered, then looked up at Tsu Ma again. “Why were we made to feel so much? Why can’t we who were born to rule have colder, harder natures?”
“Some have,” Tsu Ma answered, perching himself on the edge of the desk. “Our cousin Wang, for instance. And by the by, is he coming here tomorrow for the tournament? I hear he’s put on weight since we last saw him.” Li Yuan nodded. “We’ll see the fat bastard. At least, so his Chancellor informs us.”
“Things are bad, neh? They say his City is in chaos.” “Does it surprise you, Ma? He was never born to rule, that one. Why, if he hadn’t murdered his brother . . .” Li Yuan stopped, meeting Tsu Ma’s eyes. “You’ve heard the rumors, I assume?”
Tsu Ma leaned in toward his fellow T’ang, his voice suddenly much softer. “The version I’d heard was that he killed them all. Three brothers, his father, two uncles, and at least five of his father’s wives. It makes Tsao Ch’un seem like benevolence itself!”
Li Yuan smiled, but the smile quickly faded. “And if he falls? If he’s deposed and Africa goes the way of Mars and North America?” “Then we rule what we hold. You, I, and Wei Chan Yin. Until the times improve and we can take back what is lost. But let’s not think of that now. Let’s break for a while. Let’s saddle up two of your best horses and go riding for an hour or two. What do you say?” Li Yuan hesitated, conscious of all the work there was to be done before the morrow. Then, seeing the eagerness in his cousin’s face, he relented. “Okay. Let’s ride. But we must be back by six, or Nan Ho will be furious with me.”
“By six? Why . . . what’s happening at six?”
Li Yuan steepled his fingers beneath his chin, then looked back at Tsu Ma. “I’ll tell you later, Ma. Over dinner. But now let us go, while the day is still fresh.”
wang sau-leyan lay back on the heaped silk cushions of his bed, a wine cup propped against his bloated chest, watching the flickering screen. These were old tapes from the archives, scenes from the time of “The Seeding,” from those final days before the City had been built across Africa. The T’ang looked on, unmoved by the unfolding images of suffering, by the misery, the hopelessness, the camera revealed in every eye. “Bankrupt,” he said, turning to his Chancellor, who waited in the shadows close by. “They’re all morally bankrupt. They forget, Master Hung. Forget the truth of where they came from.” He laughed, then shifted his bulk on the cushions, spilling his wine, though he hardly seemed to notice. “These were the foundations,” he said, pointing a plump, jewel-encrusted hand at the screen. “Eight hundred million they killed in Africa alone. A further two and a half billion elsewhere. And for what? To build a world of walls and levels! A world lacking all decency!” Hung Mien-lo looked down, conscious of the gross irony of his T’ang’s words, yet also disturbed by what he’d seen. “It was the tyrant Tsao Ch’un, Chieh Hsia. All that was his doing.” Wang Sau-leyan made a noise of disgust and turned to stare at his Chancellor. “So they’d have you believe. But let me tell you, Hung, it wasn’t like that. It was our forefathers—our great-great-greatgrandfathers—who did this thing. It was they who organized and ran it, they who gave the orders. And all this crap about them overthrowing the tyrant. . . well, they did, but for no great altruistic reasons. The truth is, they wanted power. They were sick with desire for it. And this world of ours is infected with that sickness.” And you? Hung might have asked, but didn’t. He never did. Instead he handed Wang Sau-leyan the list, the latest list of traitors, more than a thousand names this time. Wang took it, scanned it idly, then laughed. “They hate me, don’t they, Hung? That’s why they take these risks . . . why they gamble their lives on taking mine. But what’s the point in all this plotting and scheming? If it were me, I’d simply wire myself up as a walking bomb and go blow the shit out of my enemy!” “It would not be so simple, Chieh Hsia. One must first be granted an audience. Besides, my guards search all who come here.” Wang stared at him a long time, then nodded. “Yes, Hung. You take good care of me, neh?”