TUN-HUANG Page 6

  Hsing-te, a member of the vanguard, was in the first unit to leave. Of the several units in the vanguard, more than half the troops in each were Chinese soldiers; the others were Asha, Tangut, and various other peoples. Soon after the vanguard had passed through the rich plains, the terrain alternated between sandy, gravelly areas and marshy swamp-lands, and from the afternoon of the day of their departure the advance was extremely difficult.

  The distance from Liang-chou to Kan-chou was one hundred and eighty miles. Between these two garrisons many rivers from the Ch’i-lien mountains flowed into the parched areas and formed oases. The first night the regiment camped on the banks of the Chiang-pa River; the second, on the banks of the Tan-shan River; and the third, on the rocky shores of a nameless river close by the mountains. All that night the wind howled ceaselessly. On the fourth morning the troops arrived on the banks of the Shui-mo River, and the following afternoon they entered a ravine enclosed by mountains to the north and south.

  When they had passed through the ravine on the sixth day, the men stopped to rest for a day. From this point on, the way to Kan-chou was almost all on level terrain. The men fell into battle formation and went on. It was a march across a desert, with not a single tree in sight. On the seventh and eighth nights the troops camped along the banks of a murky, yellow river which cut deeply into the yellow earth of the plateaus. Guards were posted from the seventh day.

  On the ninth day the scouts who had been sent out two days before returned. They reported that the Uighur army was advancing toward the Hsi-hsia. The battle troops got rid of their gear and kept only their weapons with them.

  On the morning of the tenth day the Hsi-hsia troops saw groups of what appeared to be black specks moving toward them in a wide band along the slopes of a rolling hill. As soon as the enemy was sighted, the whole army was ordered to attack. The first five units of the Hsi-hsia vanguard spread their columns into bands twenty horses wide. They were all cavalry. The infantry and supply units were far behind bringing up the rear.

  For some time the two armies advanced on each other over the gently undulating dunes of the desert. Hsing-te’s unit was assigned to a position about one-third of the way behind the front of the formation. Wang-li’s unit of about three hundred men had triangular yellow standards at its head and rear.

  Until the two armies drew quite near, everyone was silent. It was some time before the black specks, as minute as dust particles, grew larger and assumed the shapes of men and horses. As if involuntarily sucked together, the two bands gradually drew closer to each another.

  Suddenly the battle drums thundered out. Hsing-te was blinded by clouds of dust stirred up by the horses as they galloped forward. He gave his horse free rein. War cries filled the air, and from time to time arrows and stones grazed him. No sooner had the vanguards met than they began to run through each other’s lines. Knowing only that they had closed in battle, the troops of both sides began to batter the formations of the other.

  To his right and left, Hsing-te saw Uighur soldiers rushing toward him, one after another, in a continuous line like the flow of a mighty river. Almost all the Uighurs released their reins, hanging onto their mounts by gripping with their legs, and in this half-standing posture used both hands for their bows and arrows.

  As before Hsing-se leaned forward on his horse and shot stones from his whirlwind cannon. Arrows continued to whiz past him, and angry cries, the pitiful whinnying of horses, and blankets of dust enveloped everything. In the midst of the hail of stones and arrows, men and horses collided, ran away, broke their legs, fell to the ground. Hsing-te dashed on determinedly, but still the scene of carnage seemed endless.

  Suddenly he realized that his surroundings had brightened. He felt as though he had been thrown out from a terrifying, pitch black cavern into the bright sunlight. Instinctively he looked back. Wang-li was following directly behind with a murderous look on his face.

  The unit had come through the battle lines and was pressing on. After a while the events of the distant battlefield appeared to Hsing-te like a brief episode in a daydream. The men formed into a large half circle away from the chaotic ground they had just left, where the two armies still battled on. When his horse ascended a hill, Hsing-te was astounded at what he saw. Far out in the distance the enemy band, which had also gone through the battle lines, was similarly forming a half circle, and was heading toward them. Once more the vanguards of the two bands approached each other as if pulled together by some magnetic force, and the distance between the two was quickly swallowed up.

  The vanguards of the two bands clashed again. Shortly after, Hsing-te found himself in the center of the labyrinth. This time there was ferocious hand-to-hand combat. Swords glittered and battle cries echoed savagely. Once more two streams of men and horses, as if led by fate, ran through each other. Throwing away his whirlwind cannon, Hsing-te shouted something—unintelligible even to himself—swung his sword aloft, and raced forward into the endless stream of Uighurs.

  Again Hsing-te was pushed out from the battlefield into a patch of quiet light. The sun shone; there was a hill; the dust billowed upward; and there were clouds in the azure sky. Lines of troops preceded and followed him. But the formation had been reduced, there was only a handful of scattered survivors. Hsing-te could only see a few familiar faces nearby. He tried to find Wang-li, but he could not see him anywhere. As he rode on, Hsing-te looked out toward the plains. There were two battlefields. And in the vast plain, lines of men and horses emerging from the combat crossed and recrossed like silk threads being pulled from a cocoon. The battlefield and lines of horsemen seemed to have a life of their own and did not remain still for a moment.

  Hsing-te’s unit was again some distance from the battle itself and was forming a large arc. The survivors sought the enemy for a third time, but they were no longer in sight. After the second time, the Uighurs did not charge again.

  Leaving behind the combat area and the two battlefields where death struggles were still going on, Hsing-te’s group began to race toward the west. At a safe distance from the battle, the men paused. As soon as his horse stopped, Hsing-te felt himself falling off. He saw the blue sky and the expanse of white sand from a strange angle. As he hung upside-down from his horse, a huge man with a blood-splattered face came into view. He spoke to Hsing-te from above.

  “So you made it, too!” The voice had a familiar ring. It was Wang-li.

  “And you, of all people, have also survived, I see,” Hsing-te said. Wang-li was silent.

  “What a sight you are.” Wang-li pulled Hsing-te upright on his horse.

  “I’m glad you made it,” Hsing-te said as he looked at his commander. To this Wang-li answered, “That’s what I should say. We’re going to form a suicide corps and invade Kan-chou. I’m going to join it. I’ll let you come, too.”

  The company commander spoke gently. Hsing-te again slipped off his saddle. The war cries from the battlefield could still be heard, but they were now distant and faint.

  Shortly after this, three thousand vanguard troops were selected from among the survivors and were told to proceed immediately to Kan-chou. Wang-li was promoted to commander of five hundred men, and Hsing-te was transferred to his unit.

  When the men started forth, Hsing-te followed in a trance-like state, continually rocked by his horse, to which he was still tied. The troops rested briefly whenever the unit came across a spring or river. During each rest period, Wang-li brought water to Hsing-te.

  That day the troops continued their march far into the night, and the order to encamp was given only after they had reached an oasis. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, orchards of pears and plums stretched out as far as one could see. When Hsing-te dismounted from his horse, he fell to the ground and slept as if dead. When he awoke in the morning, he found himself in an area of numerous irrigation ditches and cultivated fields. Beyond the fields was a hill, and he could see a city wall. It was Kan-chou.

  In the clear, crisp air of earl
y dawn, the troops rode to the approach of the city gate, at which point hundreds of men let loose a hail of arrows into the garrison. There was no response. After about half a minute, another hail of arrows was shot off. Again, there was no sign of resistance from within.

  Wang-li came up to Hsing-te, who was sitting on the ground. The commander’s face was still covered with blood and looked as horrible as the day before, but it was impossible to tell whether it was his own blood or that of the enemy’s.

  “A suicide platoon of fifty men will enter the city. I’ll take you along, too,” Wang-li said.

  The fifty men selected crept toward the gate. They banded together with drawn swords and entered the city. Inside there was a pond full of clear water and two horses standing by its edge, but not a single human being was in sight. Nearby were a few houses enclosed within mud walls; each house was surrounded by trees with thick foliage.

  The men continued further into the city. Each time they turned a corner, they cautiously spread out in single file. At Wang-li’s orders, Hsing-te was sent to the head of the group. The number of dwellings gradually increased, but still there was not a soul in sight. Only once did an arrow come flying out; it hit a mounted horse. Thus they knew that the city was not completely abandoned.

  Whenever Hsing-te came to a fork in the road, he let his horse choose its own direction. The group turned many corners, entered many homes, and passed many wide streets. But they failed to find anyone.

  On Wang-li’s orders, Hsing-te set off at a gallop. Behind him the fifty invaders charged recklessly through the large fortress. As they raced about two arrows came flying out again, but both fell limply on the ground. They had been shot from a good distance. It seemed that there should be more people to fight the enemy, but almost all the Kan-chou natives had run off, abandoning the land which they had held for many years.

  “Make smoke signals with wolf manure,” Wang-li ordered. When he realized that Wang-li had spoken to him, Hsing-te dismounted. They were at a clearing by the city wall near the East Gate. A path led to the top of the wall, where he could see a round building resembling a beacon tower.

  Hsing-te took a bundle of wolf manure from a soldier and went up the wall. It was twenty feet high. From the top he got a panoramic view of the vast plains surrounding Kan-chou.

  “Get down!” Wang-li shouted to him from below, but Hsing-te would not lie down to take cover. His fear of death had completely vanished. At first, the beacon tower had seemed small, but now that Hsing-te had climbed up the wall, he discovered that it was quite large—about thirty feet high—and a ladder had been placed there to reach the tower platform.

  Hsing-te climbed up the ladder. Wang-li and the others below dwindled in size. The beacon tower was two-storied; on the lower level was a small room large enough to hold two or three persons; it housed an enormous drum. Hsing-te climbed another ladder from that room to the upper level. When he had gone several rungs up and half-emerged on the upper level, he suddenly tensed. He saw a young girl crouching on the beacon platform. Her aquiline nose was framed by a thin face, and her dark, frightened eyes were deep-set. Instinctively, Hsing-te knew that the girl was of mixed Chinese and Uighur blood. She wore a garment with narrow sleeves, open collar, and pleated skirt. At a glance he could tell that she was of high birth.

  Before he set foot on the platform, Hsing-te said reassuringly in Chinese, “There’s no need to worry. I won’t hurt you.” Then he repeated the same words in Uighur. Whether she understood or not, the young girl made no response and continued to eye him fearfully.

  Hsing-te placed the wolf manure on the platform and set fire to it. Immediately the stench filled the air and black smoke began to rise from the beacon tower. When the dark smoke formed a straight column and began to drift slowly upward, without changing its shape, Hsing-te set another pile of manure alight. He repeated this until five columns were rising, signalling to the distant main army and other forces outside that the vanguard occupied the city. When he had completed his task, Hsing-te turned to the girl and said, “There’s nothing to worry about. Stay where you are. I’ll come to get you later and take you to a safer place.”

  “Are you the daughter of a tradesman?” Hsing-te questioned her in Chinese again. Apparently she understood, for she shook her head slightly.

  “Is your father an official?” he asked.

  Again she moved her head. Hsing-te’s attention was drawn to the two necklaces around the girl’s neck.

  “Are you of royal birth?” She would not answer, but gazed silently at Hsing-te. “Who is your father?”

  In reply she whispered, “The king’s younger brother.”

  “The king?”

  Hsing-te looked at her with renewed interest. If her father was the king’s brother, was she then of royal lineage? Leaving the girl there, Hsing-te descended the tower to the city wall, and then down to a corner of the square where Wang-li and the other soldiers were gathered.

  “You were the first to enter the city; you were at the head of the search patrol; and you accomplished the great mission of making smoke signals at considerable risk to yourself. One of these days I may recommend you for promotion as commander of thirty men,” said Wang-li to the only survivor of his original unit.

  They waited there for the other units to join them in the city. Wang-li ordered five men to look for wine, then sent another five to search the nearby homes in case women were hidden inside. Hsing-te sat down on a rock, and from time to time looked up toward the beacon tower where the young girl was. He wondered what he should do with her, but he could come to no decision. He finally reached the conclusion that he had no choice but to tell Wang-li about the girl and seek his help in protecting her. But Hsing-te knew little about the man’s character except that Wang-li had expressed affection for him and was of matchless courage in the front lines.

  A moment later a group of three thousand soldiers, who had been waiting outside, began to enter the garrison. After quarters had been assigned, the men had time to spend as they wished, their first chance in days. They roamed around the abandoned town like starving wolves. When they found women’s clothing, they put them on over their uniforms; when they found wine jugs, they smashed them open and drank gustily, spilling wine all over themselves.

  As the darkness enveloped the town, however, the confusion gradually subsided. Hsing-te had remained by the city wall directly under the beacon tower from noon until nightfall, leaving briefly only once. He had stood guard to prevent any loiterer from going up the wall.

  The one time he had left his post was to locate a hiding-place for the royal maiden. He entered many houses in the vicinity, searching for a suitable place. Next to a relatively large house he found a hut, apparently a food store, in which there was a cellar large enough to hold two or three people. He decided that this was just the place for the girl to hide, and he took a mattress and blankets into the cellar.

  Late that night Hsing-te slipped out of the temple, which had been assigned as quarters for the fifty men of the suicide squad who had entered the city. High above, thousands of stars studded the sky, but the night was so dark that Hsing-te could barely see beyond his feet.

  He took some time to reach where he had stood that afternoon, and from there he groped his way up the city wall. When he reached the top, he could see hundreds of campfires scattered over the plain outside. The Hsi-hsia main army was probably camping there. Although he thought he would be able to pick out the movement of men and horses reflected in the glare of the campfires, only the flickering of flames was visible. The areas between the fires were buried in darkness, and there was no sign of any living creature in the shadows.

  Hsing-te went up to the upper level of the beacon tower. It was pitch black and he couldn’t make out the girl’s figure clearly, but she appeared to be lying down, crouched in the same position as that afternoon.

  He told her to come down with him so he could take her to a safe hiding-place. But the girl lay still and did no
t move. Finally, however, she spoke to him in Chinese in her penetrating voice telling him that she was no longer afraid to die. Hsing-te took this as a warning: she was uncertain of his friendship, and he was trying to spirit her away somewhere. Again ordering the girl to follow him, Hsing-te started down the ladder. Shortly after, she followed. His eyes had become accustomed to the dark by this time, and he could dimly make out the girl’s figure. She was much taller than he had expected.

  He forbade her to speak, and ordered her not to stir from his side under any circumstances. Then, leaving the vast plain with its scattered campfires behind, he slowly descended the city wall, groping for each rung of the ladder.

  The woman’s stealthy footsteps followed immediately behind those of Hsing-te. He cut across the square, went down the road, turned two corners, and then entered the mud-wall-ed enclosure of the house he had discovered that afternoon. Beyond the wall was a large front garden. From there, Hsing-te made the girl go in front of him toward the house and the hut.

  When they reached the door of the hut, Hsing-te urged the girl to enter, but she stood there hesitating. It was pitch black inside. Hsing-te handed her his own evening ration of noodles and onions and told her to go to the cellar of the hut at dawn, when she could see her surroundings. Then he said he would leave, since he felt that she would not go in as long as he remained. In contrast to the scorching heat of the day, the night air was bitterly cold. Hsing-te had brought some bedding into the cellar for the woman, but he felt that she was not likely to use it that night. She would probably find somewhere else to sleep. This was all he could do, and he quickly left the hut.