China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

“No,” I cried, and tried to cling on to the pendant.

But he only smiled and put it in his pocket.

I shook my head and tried to explain that it belonged to Prince Gong himself, so he’d better not touch it. But of course he didn’t understand a word I said. I fell to my knees and begged him. I was almost weeping.

The other officer said something and laughed. As for Goh-Dun, he gestured towards the pavilion, pointed to me, and made a grabbing motion. Then he pointed to himself, made another grabbing motion, and pointed to his pocket. His meaning was clear: I’d looted the pendant from the pavilion; and now he’d looted it from me.

After all, he and his men were there to loot. So he assumed that I was looting, too. When I remained on my knees, shaking my head and protesting, he took me by the arm, pulled me up, gave me a friendly whack on the backside with the flat of his sword, which hurt more than he knew, and then indicated that if I didn’t run off, he’d give me another.

It was humiliating, of course. Far worse was the thought that this jadeite pendant should be polluted by the touch of his barbarian hands. And worst of all, I was wondering: What was I going to say to Prince Gong and his auntie?

—

It didn’t go well. The princess was kind to me. She believed me, or said she did. But she looked so sad and disappointed I could hardly bear to see it. As for Prince Gong, I discovered what he thought that evening. I happened to be near the door of her room after he’d gone in to speak to her. So I listened to what they were saying.

“First he deserts instead of going north with the rest of the court,” I heard him say. “Then he fakes his own death. Then he steals a sword that’s worth a small fortune.”

“He was fighting. I saw the blood on it.”

“For all we know he stuck it into one of our own people who was trying to prevent him stealing it. Or a barbarian who tried to get it off him.”

“He saved my life.”

“If you say so, Auntie. It’s the only reason I haven’t thrown him in jail. But now he goes off to fetch your jadeite pendant and returns with a story that a British officer took it. Don’t we see a pattern here? He goes from one story to another, each more improbable than the last. I bet he’s hidden the pendant somewhere.”

“I believe him,” she replied. Then I heard footsteps coming towards the door, and I ran.

—

The next morning Prince Gong went to the Yuanmingyuan to inspect the damage. To my surprise, I was ordered to go with him. I suppose he wanted to keep an eye on me. We went up there with twenty bodyguards. He was carried in a sedan chair. I had to run behind it.

There were still no sentries at the entrance. When we got to old Mr. Ma’s enclosure, we stopped and Prince Gong got out.

Mr. Ma’s corpse was bloated and putrid now. The prince turned to me. “That’s him?” Seeing me nod, he asked me: “You knew him well?”

“He was very kind to me, Highness,” I answered.

“He shouldn’t be left like that,” the prince said. But we moved on.

We seemed to have the entire Summer Palace to ourselves. It was quite amazing. I saw no corpses at the entrance to the emperor’s residence, nor any sign of Shaking Leaf in the Noble Consort’s apartment, so I supposed that most of the palace people had got away.

We went from one pavilion to another, from island to island. Had I not seen with my own eyes what I saw that day, I do not think I would have believed it.

They had not taken everything. They had taken gold and silver, jewelry and pearls; they had taken paintings and religious statues and silken dresses by the hundred. I have heard that some of the soldiers put on the silk dresses—whether to carry them more easily or in the spirit of some festival of their own, I cannot say. But they had not taken everything for the simple reason that there was too much for even an army of thousands to carry away.

It was not the loss that shocked me most. It was the destruction.

Silken robes torn, priceless scroll paintings unrolled just to see how long they were and left on the ground to be trampled on. Lacquer boxes broken, mother-of-pearl smashed, temple ornaments torn down. This was not done in revenge or anger. Not at all. They were just enjoying themselves on their holiday. They had no respect for the Celestial Kingdom, its rulers, its scholars and artists, or any of the finer things of life.

I’d lingered behind the rest of the party for a few moments, and I was alone, kneeling in one of the temples on the far side of the lake, picking up the pieces of a cloisonné box that had been crushed under some barbarian’s boot and silently weeping, when I realized I was being watched. Was it one of the soldiers? I turned, brushing away my tears, and saw it was Prince Gong. I struggled to my feet and bowed. But my cheeks were wet.

“So what do you think, Lacquer Nail?” he asked me quietly.

“Truly, Highness,” I blurted out, “your slave thinks that these barbarians are animals. No,” I cried, “not animals. Lower than the beasts! I’d execute them, every one.” And I meant it. I meant it with all my heart.

He didn’t say anything, just turned and left, and I followed him out.

But as we came to the enclosure where Mr. Ma’s bloated little corpse lay, he stopped the cortege and called me.

“Lacquer Nail,” he said, “as soon as we get back to Beijing, go to the palace and see