"And the alternative?"
"To take a much smaller number, say fifty thousand, from present strength, then recruit to make up numbers. This, too, creates problems, primarily in training. To accommodate such an influx we would have to expand our training program considerably. And the cost . . . forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but that alone would account for an estimated twenty billion, even before we equipped and trained the first recruit."
Li Shai Tung considered a moment, then shook his head. "I don't like it, ch'un tzu. To finance this would mean making cuts elsewhere, and who knows what troubles that would bring? But what choice do we have? Without enough food. . ."
He shrugged. It came back to the same thing every time. Population and food.
Food and population. How fill the ever-growing rice bowl of Chung Kuo?
Tolonen hesitated, then bowed his head. "Might I suggest a solution, Chieh Hsia?"
"Of course."
"Then what of this? What if we were to adopt part of Hans's scheme? Aim for a force of, say, a quarter-million, to be stationed on the plantations, concentrated at key points to maximize their effectiveness. This to be phased in by degrees, at a rate of, say, fifty thousand every six months. That would take the strain off the training facilities while at the same time minimizing the social effects." "But that would take too long, surely?"
"Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but the one thing Hans neglects to mention in his report is the effectiveness of his action against the Ping Tioo. If our problems of recruitment and training are great, imagine theirs. They've been routed. They won't easily recover from that. As I said earlier, it'll be a year at the very least before they're in any fit state to cause us problems, and there's no terrorist group of comparable size to take their place."
The T'ang considered a moment, then nodded. "All right. We shall do as you say, Knut. Draw up the orders and I'll sign them." He turned, looking at Ebert.
"You have served me well today, Hans Ebert, and I shall not forget it. Nor shall my son. But come, let's drink this fine ch'a you brought before it cools. The three men bowed as one. "Chieh Hsw . . ."
Li YUAN looked up from the document he was reading and yawned.
"You should take a break, my Lord," Chang Shih-sen, his personal secretary said, looking across at him from his desk on the far side of the room. "I'll finish off. There are only a few things remaining."
Li Yuan smiled. They had been working since seven and it was almost midday. "A good idea, Shih-sen. But it's strange that my father hasn't contacted me. Do you think he's all right?"
"I am certain of it, my Lord. You would be the first to hear were your father ill." "Yes . . ." He looked down at Minister Heng's memorandum again, then nodded. "It's interesting, this business with the Shepherd boy, don't you think?" -<.
"My Lord . . ." Chang Shih-sen was watching him, smiling, Li Yuan laughed. "All right. I know when I'm being bullied for my own good. I'll go, Shih-sen. But make sure you get an acknowledgment off to Heng Yu this afternoon. I've kept him waiting two days as it is."
"Of course, my Lord. Now go. Enjoy the sunshine while you can." Li Yuan went out into the brightness of the Eastern Courtyard, standing there a moment at the top of the broad steps, his hand resting on the cool stone of the balustrade. He looked about him, feeling totally at peace with the world. There was such order here. Such balance. He stretched, easing the tiredness of sitting from his limbs, then went down, taking the steps two at a time before hurrying across the grass, his silk pau flapping about him.
There was no sign of Fei Yen and her maids in the gardens, or in the long walk. The ancient wall-enclosed space was still and silent. At the stone arch he turned, considering whether he should go to her rooms, then decided not to. She needed her rest. Now more than ever. For their son's sake.
As ever the thought of it made him feel strange. He looked across at the ancient, twisted shapes of the junipers that rested in the shade of the palace walls, then turned his head, tracing the curved shape of the pool with his eyes. He held himself still, listening, and was rewarded with the singing of a bird, the sound distant, from across the valley. He smiled, sniffing the cool, late morning air, finding a faint scent of herbs underlying it. It was a good day to be alive.
He turned, looking at the great upright of the arch, then let his fingers trace the complex interwoven patterns in the stone. All this had stood here a thousand years and yet the pattern seemed freshly cut into the stone. As if time had no power here.
He turned, making his way toward the stables. It had been some time since he had seen his horses. Too long. He would spend an hour and make a fuss over them. And later, perhaps, he would exercise Fei's horse, Tai Huo.
The great barn of the stables was warm and musty. The grooms looked up from their work as he entered, then hurried forward to form a line, bowing from the waist.
"Please," he said, "carry on. I'll not disturb you."
They backed away respectfully, then turned, returning to their chores. He watched them a while, some part of him envying the simplicity of their existence, then he looked upward, drawing in the strong, heady scents of the barn—scents that seemed inseparable from the darkly golden shadows of the stalls.
Slowly he went down the line, greeting each of the horses in its stall. The dark-maned barb, Hei Jian, "Black Sword," lifted her broad muzzle in greeting, letting him pat, then smooth her flank. Mei Feng, "Honey Wind," the elegant akhal-teke, was more skittish, almost petulant; but after a moment he relented, letting Li Yuan smooth the honey-gold of his flank, his sharp ears pricked up. He was the youngest of the six horses, and the most recently acquired, a descendant of horses that had served the wild herdsmen of West Asia thousands of years earlier.
Next was his brother's horse, the black Arab he had renamed Chi Chu, "Sunrise." He spent some time with it, rubbing his cheek against its neck, feeling a kinship with the mare that he felt with none of the others. Beside it was the white Arab, the horse he had bought for Fei Yen—Tai Huo, "Great Fire." He smiled, seeing the creature, remembering the night he had brought Fei Yen blindfolded to the stables to see him for the first time. That time they had made love in the stall.
He turned, looking past the horse's rump, then frowned. The fifth stall was empty. The Andalusian—his father's present to him on his twelfth birthday—was not there. He stood at the head of the stall, looking into the empty space, then turned, summoning the nearest of the grooms.
"Where is the Andalusian?"
The groom bowed low, a distinct color in his cheeks. "I... I..." he stammered.
Li Yuan turned, looking back at the stall, his sense of wrongness growing. From outside he heard a clamor of voices. A moment later a tall figure appeared in the great doorway. Hung Feng-chan, the Chief Groom.
"My Lord . . ." he began hesitantly.
Li Yuan turned, facing him. "What is it, Hung?"
Hung Feng-chan bowed low. "The Andalusian is being . . . exercised, my Lord."
Li Yuan frowned, his eyes returning to the empty stall. "Exercised, Hung? I thought they were only exercised first thing. Is something wrong with the animal?"
"My Lord, I . . ."
"The gods help us, Hung! What is it? Are you keeping something from me?"
He looked about him, seeing how the grooms had stopped their work and were looking on, their flat Han faces frightened now.