Chapter Twenty-three

Tell me about it . . . tell me everything,” Joss demanded, after the army had reassembled and camped again in clear country beyond the large lake, safely past the narrow region of the ambush. Alasdair told her, detail by detail, everything he had seen.

The king’s exhilaration bubbled through the whole army like warmed wine. In fact, there was warm wine for everyone—a cupful for each soldier. The king himself sat in the royal tent, cheeks flushed from the drink and victory.

“We will march over them. They cannot withstand us. Wait until the next battle.” He waved his carved cup cheerfully. “When will it be, Ssu-ma? We must be close to their cities and towns by now.”

The Director of Horses stood beside the table, fingering the pile of maps. He hesitated a long time before replying, as if he was trying to work out the best strategy over a difficult terrain. Finally, the king pressed him again.

“Surely we should be planning for the next battle, soon.”

“Sire,” Ssu-ma said at last, “it is time we returned to our own country.”

The king paused, wine cup in mid-air, then slammed it down. “No,” he said. “No! You would not dare suggest such a thing.”

“Winter is coming,” said Ssu-ma, looking gravely down. “The best information my scouts can bring us shows we are still more than twenty pulses from any strategically important place of battle. We are at the limit of our supplies—we have enough to return to our own country, provided we go no further.”

“We would take supplies from the enemy.” Ssu-kung spoke patronizingly, as if giving basic lessons to a raw recruit. Ssu-ma frowned in annoyance, but he did not look up.

“We will take supplies only if we come into settled areas. And we have an army at least as large as our own between us and any settled country.”

“We’ll defeat them. We’ll break through.” The king’s voice trembled. “We cannot go back—we have our treasures to win back. We have the honour of our ancestors to think of. How can we go back with our hands empty?”

“You would have the honour of a victory to celebrate. You would have troops returned safely to their homes. You would have information with which to plan and execute another campaign when the omens were right.”

“Enough of this. We will not go back.”

“Sire, we must. You cannot throw your army away on a vain quest.”

“You dare tell me what I must do?” The king’s cup rolled in a puddle of wine on the floor. “I order you to continue . . .”

“Spilled wine can be mopped up sire. But be careful you do not say words that cannot be put back in the bottle.”

“Remember who you speak with,” Ssu-kung warned smoothly. “This is your king and overlord of the Middle Kingdom, sovereign of the Royal Domain and nine provinces. To him you have vowed absolute loyalty.”

Ssu-ma lifted his eyes at last to look at the other duke. “I keep all vows,” he said in a low, dangerous tone.

But Ssu-kung’s words seemed to have turned the last of the king’s self-control into flame. “Yes, remember who I am,” he said. “I tell you, this campaign will go forward, not back. You will set the men marching as usual.”

“Sire, I cannot give that order.”

“Then someone else will.” The king sat down again suddenly. “You are stripped of your office. Ssu-kung will act as Director of Horses in your place.”

Ssu-kung bowed his head, but not before Alasdair, standing forgotten near the doorway, saw the gleam of satisfaction in his face. He could also see Ssu-ma’s expression of wooden weariness, and had to fight back an impulse to protest, to speak up on Ssu-ma’s behalf. But the king seemed so far gone in anger that any interference would only make matters worse.

Ssu-ma did protest. “You must not do this sire,” he said. If so stern a voice could plead, he was pleading. “The oath I swore to you was matched by the one you swore to your people—to keep them safe, to rule them well.”

The king only turned his face and motioned for his wine-cup to be refilled. “Leave us,” he said curtly. And then, as Ssu-ma made no move, “Leave us, or you will leave at the end of a rope.”

The Director of Horses moved stiffly to the door. Alasdair slipped out behind him and raced to catch up with his long strides.

“What will you do?” he gasped.

Ssu-ma raised his arm swiftly, almost as though he was going to strike the impertinent questioner down, but the gesture turned into one of weariness.

“So you were there,” he said. “You would have done better for yourself to stay with Ssu-kung than to leave with me.” He spat the name out as though it blocked his mouth with straw.

“What will you do?” Alasdair repeated. “Will you go back home.”

“No. Whatever the king does to me does not break my duty to him. Nor to these men I have brought so far. No...” he forestalled any other questions with a wave, then turned and strode away. Alasdair watched him go with heaviness in his own heart.

News that Ssu-kung was now in charge spread through the camp like a wine stain, quenching the glow of victory. When the army woke on the following pulse to find a deep blanket of fog had rolled in again, it was received like a bad omen from the ancestors. The crusty soldier who had followed Ssu-ma on so many campaigns swore great oaths and cursed Ssu-kung’s name.

“What does he know about fighting?” he demanded with fierce contempt. “When did he ever bind up a soldier’s wounds with his own hand? Or share a blanket against the fog?”

The fog lifted again and the troops moved sullenly on. Ssu-ma’s war chariot was now placed towards the rear of the army, while Ssu-kung and the king took their accustomed positions at the front. Ssu-kung shone like a stroked cat and the king had apparently regained his high spirits. But when he looked back along the line of march, a stubborn expression settled on his face and no one dared mention Ssu-ma’s name. Defiantly, Alasdair wheeled his pony to ride close to Ssu-ma’s chariot.

Scouts brought news that the enemy camp on the plain to the east had packed up and disappeared in the fog—news that was also carried furtively to Ssu-ma after it was told to the king.

“Doesn’t sound good,” Alasdair muttered to Joss when she came back to ride beside him for a while. “That means there’s a whole army out there waiting for us and we don’t know where.”

Tension gathered as the hills loomed closer with every pulse. Once again, Alasdair felt sure soldiers were beginning to melt away from the army. They had probably pilfered some supplies and headed back in the direction of their homes, trusting that their chances would better alone in an empty countryside than with an ill-led army looking for an evasive enemy.

As they marched into the hills, the road became gradually steeper. Going uphill was hard on the horses labouring to pull the heavy war chariots. Going downhill wasn’t much easier. Finally, the road descended into a long, steep-sided gully. It opened at last into a broad valley cut through by a river—by far the widest river they had come to so far.

“What now?” said Joss as the army poured past her in confusion. The king’s war chariot was already drawn up close to the river and some mounted soldiers had been sent out to wade chest-high in the water, to find out whether it could be forded. Half the army was still filing through the gully.

Her pony was twitchy and restless and grunted unhappily as Chuan tried to tug him out of the way of the oncoming soldiers. Startled by a curse and a blow from a passing wagoner, he jerked back his head and half-reared. As Joss’s head went back with the motion, she caught sight of something moving on the hillside above—a quick, ducking motion.

“Look . . . something up there.”

Hardly anyone paid attention. She and Chuan got the horse pulled to one side and stood squinting upwards, trying to locate the source of the movement. She caught it again—a quick motion like a head being poked out of hiding and drawn back.

“Someone’s up there,” she said.

Chuan nodded. “We should tell the king.”

Joss agreed, doubtfully. “You go tell him.”

“What are you going to do?”

But Joss had already started moving across the stream of wagons and men moving through the gully. Ssu-ma’s war chariot was being hauled bumpily into the clear. She poked her fat pony desperately towards it.

“Up there. Up there,” she panted. “Heads . . . I’m sure they’re watching us.”

Ssu-ma cast a grim, experienced glance at the terrain around him and nodded.

“Ambush,” he said. “They want to corner us by the river.” He looked around at the disorganized array of wagons, hesitated a moment, then began giving orders. There were a few seconds of uncertainty as nearby soldiers wondered whether they should obey. Then, almost with an air of relief, they started to do as they were told.

“Get any men out of the gully. No, leave the wagons there if you have to,” he barked. “Just get the men into the open. You—get those wagons hauled out of the way. Over by that hillock. You too,” he snapped at Joss. “Get yourself out of the way. And that damned horse.”

The soldiers moved slowly at first. Then, as another voice shouted, “Look,” they began moving faster. Ssu-ma had his war chariot pulled well clear of the gully and was shouting orders from its high platform. Men formed lines and columns and freed themselves from their heavy packs. Archers formed tight clusters and strung their bows.

Ssu-kung himself came galloping up. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Are you mad to leave those carts back there? You have no right to give orders.” He was about to countermand Ssu-ma’s directions when the Director of Horses cut him off.

“We’re about to be attacked. Get those men back out of the river and get the mounted soldiers placed near the king.”

As Ssu-kung hesitated, the Director of Horses swung round on him and bellowed, “Move! By the ancestors, MOVE.”

However, before Ssu-kung had galloped half-way back to the king’s side, there was a clamour of gongs and horns from the hillside above. The White Ti poured down its banks like a torrent.