Shike by Robert J. Shea (the reading list txt) 📕

back by Governor Liu’s intelligence network, it might be some time before the Mongols returned. Eactions were forming behind two of the late Great Khan’s younger brothers, Kublai Khan and Arik Buka. Supporters of Arik Buka declared him a true Mongol, untainted by the Chinese influences that surrounded Kublai Khan. Arghun Baghadur had thrown his weight behind Arik Buka. The opposing party claimed Kublai Khan was far better fitted to rule the vast empire than Arik Buka, whose name in Mongol meant Little Man because he was the youngest of his family. Kublai’s backers frequently quoted the words of Genghis Khan, who said, when his grandson was but eleven years old, “Heed well the words of the boy Kublai. They are full of wisdom.”

If the Mongols chose peaceably between Kublai Khan and Arik Buka, China would feel the weight of a new onslaught in a year or so. But if the divisions were deep enough to lead to war among the Mongols, the Central Kingdom might be safe for generations.

Throughout the city which all summer long had heard nothing but the crash of stone and the roaring of fire and the screams of the dying, the most noticeable sound now was the rapping of hammers. Moko joined in the rebuilding, learning the Chinese methods of carpentry, suggesting economical ways of doing things from his own practice and spending hours down by the docks watching the building of new river-going junks.

Less than six hundred samurai had lived through the siege. Day by day, as it became clearer that the Mongols were really gone, Yukio eased them down from a war footing. Even though they heard nothing from Linan, much less received any payment for their services, the warriors were well fed and comfortable. Governor Liu gave Yukio whatever he asked. Weapons were repaired or replaced. The precious swords of the fallen were distributed among the living. With the governor’s help Yukio obtained three horses for each of his men.

After the samurai had rested for about a month, Yukio reintroduced discipline and training. Each day bands of mounted warriors rode through the beautiful blue hills around Kweilin, practising Mongol-style cavalry. tactics. About a hundred of the Chinese soldiers garrisoned at Kweilin who had come to admire the samurai and their way of fighting asked permission to join them. Since idle troops could be a problem, Governor Liu persuaded the soldiers’ commander to release them to Yukio. Yukio put Jebu to work bringing the new recruits up to samurai standards of fighting skill.

“You’re the best trained among us, Jebusan, and you’re always practising.”

“That’s because I don’t spend as much time in the Quarter of Ten Thousand Delights as you do.”

“I said you were well trained, Jebusan. That doesn’t mean you’re as much of a man as I am. Though more than once my arrival in the

Quarter has been greeted with mournful looks because I haven’t brought the red-haired giant with me.”

Jebu mulled over his education as a Zinja and his current practises and put together a basic course of exercises that combined physical and mental discipline. He chose the most competent samurai to help him conduct the training. The recruits took up the work eagerly, and after they had studied some days under Jebu, more Chinese soldiers were asking to join the group. After a month some of the samurai themselves were coming to Jebu to ask whether they could take the training as well, “to brush up their skills.”

“Clearly you are a great master,” Yukio said. “Everyone is clamouring to study under you.”

“Clearly I must be doing something wrong,” said Jebu. “If I were teaching as I should, I would be driving them away.”

Two months after the Mongols left, Jebu and Yukio heard that a Chinese army of five thousand was marching towards Kweilin. Their general sent word ahead that he had been dispatched there by the Emperor, to restore order in the regions invaded by the barbarians. Governor Liu had gone forth to greet them.

Jebu was in the great hall of the compound where the samurai were quartered, presenting the Chinese recruits who had survived his training programme with swords, when a samurai entered and called Jebu.

“Eorgive my interrupting you, shik��, but Lord Yukio requests that within this stick of time, you have your men ready in full parade armour to honour the Chinese general.”

Acknowledging the disruption as a problem set for him by the Self, Jebu finished the sword presentation ceremony quickly and set the recruits to polishing and donning their armour. He had hardly finished giving this order when Yukio sent for him.

Yukio was in a small room on the second floor of the samurai hall, which he used as a headquarters. A White Dragon banner hung on the wall behind him. Yukio sat cross-legged on a flat cushion, his face flushed with anger. A tall, grave-looking mandarin knelt before him.

“What would you say of a chief minister who repaid all the fighting we did for him by ordering us arrested and brought to him in chains?”

Jebu’s chest contracted. “I’d say he was a fool. But a fool such as many rulers have been.”

“If such behaviour is customary for rulers, then fighting men are the fools, to give their lives for them. We are betrayed, Jebu.”

The mandarin had come with a message from Liu. The general said he had orders from the Emperor to disarm and arrest the samurai and bring them back to Linan in chains. Chia Ssu-tao had accused Yukio of coming to China to overthrow the Son of Heaven and make himself

Emperor of China. He accused the samurai of ending the siege of Kweilin by making a secret pact with the Mongols.

“Such charges are incredible,” said Jebu. “Why do they really want to destroy us?”

The mandarin shrugged. “Someone has convinced the Emperor’s chief councillor that you are a danger.”

“We may have been fools to fight for the Sung Emperor, but we would be greater fools to surrender,” said Jebu. “We’ll have to fight our way out. Do we try to escape overland, or should we take some junks and sail down the river to Canton?”

“No,” said Yukio. “This gentleman tells me that Governor Liu intends to help. If the governor’s plan works, we’ll leave Kweilin without losing a single man.”

Jebu stood beside Yukio as six men pushed open the iron and wood outer doors of the double gateway. Solemn faces peered in at him. The people of Kweilin had cleared away the causeway built by the Mongols and had constructed a new wooden bridge at the juncture of the two lakes, calling it once again the Green Belt Bridge. There was a line of people along each rail of the bridge, leaving a broad aisle through which the samurai could ride. At the far end Jebu could see Governor Liu in his vermilion robes of state.

Beyond Liu, on the far shore of the lakes, were thousands and thousands of people crowding the land where the Mongols had been camped two months ago. Past the people, Jebu could see the long, gleaming spears of soldiers. The Chinese army.

“Are we sure this isn’t a trap?” said Yukio beside him.

“Nothing is certain,” said Jebu. “But I trust Liu. And I trust our horses, our swords and our bows.”

The sun, low in the south-west, sparkled on the silver dragon on Yukio’s helmet. He and Jebu mounted their horses. Behind them, the samurai followed suit. Yukio raised his arm.

“Forward.”

Holding their mounts to a walk, Jebu on Yukio’s left, they stepped out on to the bridge. Jebu wore his black-laced armour with his sword at his side and his bow in a saddle case, the long pole of a naginata held in his right hand and resting on his shoulder, the reins in his left.

The bridge shook as the horses of the samurai stepped on it. As they crossed, the people on either side were speaking softly to them.

“Goodbye. Thank you.”

“The gods be kind to you.”

At the far end of the bridge, Liu held up his arms to them. “If my son were alive, he would be marching with you today.”

Yukio held out his hand in appeal. “Why have the rulers of China turned against us?”

“Perhaps someone has poisoned Chia Ssu-tao’s mind against you,” said Liu. “But perhaps it is simply that the Court is afraid of you. At first it was thought you were ignorant barbarians. Now it is known that you are formidable fighters. Victorious generals have always been a menace to the throne. This Sung dynasty was founded by a successful general who overthrew his Emperor. Many times before and since, generals who fought too well have been imprisoned and executed.”

“I am ashamed to accept the protection of unarmed civilians,” Yukio said. “And you, Honourable Governor, are risking your career and your life for us.”

Liu pointed over the heads of the crowd. “There are five thousand soldiers there, sent to arrest you. You could fight them, of course, and you would kill many of them. But what a waste of lives on both sides.”

“We are grateful to you,” said Yukio.

Liu beckoned to Jebu. “A word with you.” Jebu dismounted from his horse and followed Liu a little way along the shore of Lake Rong hu.

“Head north and west, towards Szechwan and Tibet,” Liu said softly. “The Order has temples in that direction. You will be contacted.”

“Thank you,” said Jebu. He looked into Liu’s eyes and saw a warmth like a distant fire on a cold night. That sense of remoteness, he realized, was the remoteness of the Self, communicating with him from deep within Liu.

They returned to Yukio. “You will have to live off the land,” said Liu. “Which means you will take what you need from the peasants. In your baggage train you will find a cart carrying as much gold as I could spare from the city’s treasury. Pay the peasants as much as you can. They suffer abominably when any army passes through.” He reached into his sleeve and took out a scroll. “Here is a map of some of the lands through which you will pass.” He reached up and took each man’s hand. “I doubt that I will ever see you again, but you are sons to me. You saved the thousands of lives that were in my keeping.”

“The fortunate death of the Great Khan of the Mongols saved them,” said Jebu.

Liu shook his head. “Only because you held out so long did the death of the Great Khan make any difference. You fought like-” he smiled up at Jebu-“like devils.”

Liu turned and gestured to the people around him. A hundred red-robed officials of the city grouped themselves in front of the samurai leaders. Liu nodded, and the procession of samurai and their unarmed protectors started off.

The Chinese troops were massed west of the city. Between them and the samurai stood almost the entire population of Kweilin. Led by Yukio and Jebu, like a river flowing between steep banks, the mounted samurai moved slowly along a road that led northwest, the direction Liu had suggested.

In the distance, people were parting to let through a single chariot drawn by two horses. They pressed close around it, and then closed ranks behind it. In the chariot stood a stout man wearing a flowing scarlet cloak. His cuirass was shaped to cover and protect a huge pot belly, and it was plated with gold and decorated with a peacock design worked out in precious stones.

“The general who’s come to take us back to Linan in chains,” said Yukio.

The general drew up his chariot before Liu. The procession of samurai and their protectors stopped.

The general smiled. “A most impressive demonstration of public feeling. I imagine