III
The Last Service
The wise and accomplished Emperor Kwo Kam (to whom later historians have justly given the title “Profound”) sat upon his agate throne in the Hall of Audience. Around him were gathered the most illustrious from every province of the Empire, while emissaries from the courts of other rulers throughout the world passed in procession before him, prostrating themselves in token of the dependence which their sovereigns confessed, and imploring his tolerant acceptance of the priceless gifts they brought. Along the walls stood musicians and singers who filled the air with melodious visions, while fan-bearing slaves dexterously wafted perfumed breezes into every group. So unparalleled was the splendour of the scene that rare embroidered silks were trodden under foot and a great fountain was composed of diamonds dropping into a jade basin full of pearls, but Kwo Kam outshone all else by the dignity of his air and the magnificence of his apparel.
Suddenly, and without any of the heralding strains of drums and cymbals by which persons of distinction had been announced, the arras before the chief door was plucked aside and a figure, blinded by so much jewelled brilliance, stumbled into the chamber, still holding thrust out before him the engraved ring bearing the Imperial emblem which alone had enabled him to pass the keepers of the outer gates alive. He had the appearance of being a very aged man, for his hair was white and scanty, his face deep with shadows and lined like a river bank when the waters have receded, and as he advanced, bent down with infirmity, he mumbled certain words in ceaseless repetition. From his feet and garment there fell a sprinkling of sand as he moved, and blood dropped to the floor from many an unhealed wound, but his eyes were very bright, and though sword-handles were grasped on all sides at the sight of so presumptuous an intrusion, yet none opposed him. Rather, they fell back, leaving an open passage to the foot of the throne; so that when the Emperor lifted his eyes he saw the aged man moving slowly forward to do obeisance.
“Ten-teh, revered father!” exclaimed Kwo Kam, and without pausing a moment he leapt down from off his throne, thrust aside those who stood about him and casting his own outer robe of state about Ten-teh’s shoulders embraced him affectionately.
“Supreme ruler,” murmured Ten-teh, speaking for the Emperor’s ear alone, and in such a tone of voice as of one who has taught himself a lesson which remains after all other consciousness has passed away, “an army swiftly to the north! Let them dispose themselves about the eleven villages and, overlooking the invaders as they assemble, strike when they are sufficiently numerous for the victory to be lasting and decisive. The passage of the Ram’s Horn has been found and the malignant Fuh-chi, banded in an unnatural alliance with the barbarian Kins, lies with itching feet beyond the Kang-lings. The invasion threatening on the west is but a snare; let a single camp, feigning to be a multitudinous legion, be thrown against it. Suffer delay from no cause. Weigh no alternative. He who speaks is Ten-teh, at whose assuring word the youth Hoang was wont to cast himself into the deepest waters fearlessly. His eyes are no less clear today, but his heart is made small with overwhelming deference or in unshrinking loyalty he would cry: ‘Hear and obey! All, all—Flags, Ironcaps, Tigers, Braves—all to the Seng valley, leaving behind them the swallow in their march and moving with the guile and secrecy of the ringed tree-snake.’ ” With these words Ten-teh’s endurance passed its drawn-out limit and again repeating in a clear and decisive voice, “All, all to the north!” he released his joints and would have fallen to the ground had it not been for the Emperor’s restraining arms.
When Ten-teh again returned to a knowledge of the lower world he was seated upon the throne to which the Emperor had borne him. His rest had been made easy by the luxurious cloaks of the courtiers and emissaries which had been lavishly heaped about him, while during his trance the truly high-minded Kwo Kam had not disdained to wash his feet in a golden basin of perfumed water, to shave his limbs, and to anoint his head. The greater part of the assembly had been dismissed, but some of the most trusted among the ministers and officials still waited in attendance about the door.
“Great and enlightened one,” said Ten-teh, as soon as his stupor was lifted, “has this person delivered his message competently, for his mind was still a seared vision of snow and sand and perchance his tongue has stumbled?”
“Bend your ears to the wall, O my father,” replied the Emperor, “and be assured.”
A radiance of the fullest satisfaction lifted the settling shadows for a moment from Ten-teh’s countenance as from the outer court came at intervals the low and guarded words of command, the orderly clashing of weapons as they fell into their appointed places, and the regular and unceasing tread of armed men marching forth. “To the Seng valley—by no chance to the west?” he demanded, trembling between anxiety and hope, and drinking in the sound of the rhythmic tramp which to his ears possessed a more alluring charm than if it were the melody of blind singing girls.
“Even to the eleven villages,” replied the Emperor. “At your unquestioned word, though my kingdom should hang upon the outcome.”
“It is sufficient to have lived so long,” said Ten-teh. Then perceiving that it was evening, for the jade and crystal lamps were lighted, he cried out: “The time has leapt unnoted. How many are by this hour upon the march?”
“Sixscore companies of a hundred spearmen each,” said Kwo Kam. “By dawn four times that number will be on their way. In less than three days a like force will be disposed about the passes of the Han-sing mountains and the river fords, while at the same time the guards from less important towns will have been withdrawn to take their place upon the city walls.”
“Such words are more melodious than the sound of many marble lutes,” said Ten-teh, sinking back as though in repose. “Now is mine that peace spoken of by the philosopher Chi-chey as the greatest: ‘The eye closing upon its accomplished work.’ ”
“Assuredly do you stand in need of the healing sleep of nature,” said the Emperor, not grasping the inner significance of the words. “Now that you are somewhat rested, esteemed sire, suffer this one to show you the various apartments of the palace so that you may select for your own such as most pleasingly attract your notice.”
“Yet a little longer,” entreated Ten-teh. “A little longer by your side and listening to your voice alone, if it may be permitted, O sublime one.”
“It is for my father to command,” replied Kwo Kam. “Perchance they of the eleven villages sent some special message of gratifying loyalty which you would relate without delay?”
“They slept, omnipotence, or without doubt it would be so,” replied Ten-teh.
“Truly,” agreed the Emperor. “It was night when you set forth, my father?”
“The shadows had fallen deeply upon the Upper Seng Valley,” said Ten-teh evasively.
“The Keeper of the Imperial Stores has frequently conveyed to us their expressions of unfeigned gratitude for the bounty by which we have sought to keep alive the memory of their hospitality and our own indebtedness,” said the Emperor.
“The sympathetic person cannot have overstated their words,” replied Ten-teh falteringly. “Never, as their own utterances bear testimony, never was food more welcome, fuel more eagerly sought for, and clothing more necessary than in the years of the most recent past.”
“The assurance is as dew upon the drooping lotus,” said Kwo Kam, with a lightening countenance. “To maintain the people in an unshaken prosperity, to frown heavily upon extortion and to establish justice throughout the land—these have been the achievements of the years of peace. Yet often, O my father, this one’s mind has turned yearningly to the happier absence of strife and the simple abundance which you and they of the valley know.”
“The deities ordain and the balance weighs; your reward will be the greater,” replied Ten-teh. Already he spoke with difficulty, and his eyes were fast closing, but he held himself rigidly, well knowing that his spirit must still obey his will.
“Do you not crave now to partake of food and wine?” inquired the Emperor, with tender solicitude. “A feast has long been prepared of the choicest dishes in your honour. Consider well the fatigue through which you have passed.”
“It has faded,” replied Ten-teh, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, “the earthly body has ceased to sway the mind. A little longer, restored one; a very brief span of time.”
“Your words are my breath, my father,” said the Emperor, deferentially. “Yet there is one matter which we had reserved for affectionate censure. It would have spared the feet of one who is foremost in our concern if you had been content to send the warning by one of the slaves whose acceptance we craved last year, while you followed more leisurely by the chariot and the eight white horses which we deemed suited to your use.”
Ten-teh was no longer able to express himself in words, but at this indication of the Emperor’s unceasing thought a great happiness shone on his face. “What remains?” must reasonably have been his reflection; “or who shall leave the shade of the fruitful palm-tree to search for raisins?” Therefore having reached so supreme an eminence that there was nothing human above, he relaxed the effort by which he had so long sustained himself, and suffering his spirit to pass unchecked, he at once fell back lifeless among the cushions of the throne.
That all who should come after might learn by his example, the history of Ten-teh was inscribed upon eighteen tablets of jade, carved patiently and with graceful skill by the most expert stonecutters of the age. A triumphal arch of seven heights was also erected outside the city and called by his name, but the efforts of storytellers and poets will keep alive the memory of Ten-teh even when these imperishable monuments shall have long fallen from their destined use.