Free Breaking Bamboo by Tim Murgatroyd Page B

force, Guang! You must keep away from them, the temptresses!’
    ‘What happened, Father? If only I had been there! I was on the coastal frontier, thousands of li away.’
    The old man was mumbling: ‘When I was young I was the handsomest man in our district. No, in our province! In the whole of Chunming Province! When I rode to visit the Prefect, everyone stared and admired my fine figure. So noble on my horse! I had whatever I wanted. And then spring passed.
    And in autumn Bayke came.’
    Guang almost wept. In all the years he had known him, Father had never spoken so frankly. He didn’t like it. He preferred him mocking and distant, ineffably cold.
    ‘Everything I wanted was mine by right!’ cried the old man, growing agitated. ‘Everything! How dare your mother hint otherwise? She betrayed my wishes like the others.’
    He turned to face the wall and Guang attempted no further conversation. Who might these others be? It seemed better to think about plans for escape; that, at least, brought a kind of relief.
    Each time Chen Song visited, Guang learned more about the actor’s delicate position. His troupe consisted of a dozen performers and musicians, as well as porters to set up the stage.
    The company’s previous owner had sold the entire business to Chen Song, who assumed the role of manager. None of the actors knew government funds had hired them. Neither did they know the true reason for their tour of the occupied lands, believing it was for mutual profit, and indeed they were making plenty of money.
    On his next visit, Chen Song revealed that although the Empire and the Khanate were officially at peace, various spies had been sent into the Mongol territories. Given the free passage accorded to actors, Chen Song had been instructed to travel and observe, noting the enemy’s weaknesses and strengths. He came from a family of notable scholars in Sichuan, but the ancestral estates had been seized by the enemy.
    His grudge was much like Guang’s own.
    ‘We shall go no further west than Chunming,’ said Chen Song. ‘I have learned enough for a full report.’
    ‘What have you learned?’ asked Guang.
    It was their third night among the actors. Now they shared wine like old comrades.
    ‘That the people are fickle,’ said Chen Song, bitterly. ‘Many place their necks under the yoke for an easy life. I tell you we must extinguish the Mongols or find our ancient ways snuffed out forever. Then we will live in darkness. When war resumes, as surely it must, I will no longer skulk as a spy but seek a good commander to serve!’
    Guang nodded approvingly.
    ‘I long to be such a commander,’ he said. ‘It is my fate.’
    He glanced at Father, who was snoring on the bed.
    ‘Perhaps I may help in a small way,’ said Chen Song. ‘When we reach Nancheng, I shall inform the authorities of your valiant conduct.’
    Guang looked downcast and poured more wine.
    ‘You would speak in vain, my friend. I lost my last commission for criticising a superior officer’s timidity. In short, I have been branded a hot-head.’
    His new friend snorted contemptuously.
    ‘When the temporary peace ends we shall need bold officers.
    Consider the indecision of the court! The Chief Minister veers between appeasing the Mongols and arresting their ambassadors. We must be decisive! They respect only force.
    And Guang, consider how you have proved your courage! I have made enquiries about this Khan Bayke – who, by the way, is still scouring Chunming for you. He is only a minor commander, yet news of your revenge has been sent to the Great Khan’s court.’
    Guang did not like this news.
    ‘How shall we escape if they are searching for us high and low?’
    Chen Song spread his hands.
    ‘Tomorrow we shall board a boat I have chartered to take us east, performing in cities on the way. Your filial piety will be a guarantee of divine favour!’
    The young man’s enthusiasm made Guang smile. It was both pleasing and novel to be treated