Beware a dagger hidden in a smile. (Shi Nai-an, Ming)

  Yung-T’ai sighed and rising from the small backless chair, walked over to the window, opened the shutters and looked down on the courtyard below. Occasionally she was allowed to walk around in the fresh air, accompanied by her aunt or Su Lin, her personal maidservant, but never in all her sixteen years had she been outside the palace. Many times she had wondered what lay beyond the high walls and towers. She knew there was another world, having heard stories from the older ladies in the women’s quarters, those who, in their youth had been escorted by husbands, now departed to the gods, to functions given by high-ranking officials who had their own houses in the city besides grace-and-favour apartments in the Imperial Palace. Confined to their own apartments, the other female members of the T’ang royal family and the concubines were only brought into contact with the men at their bidding, so the world for them was restricted. Topics of conversation scarcely rose above the gossip and intrigues of the close society in which the lived, but at times memories would surface and tales of mad carriage rides through the streets of the city at dead of night, when high spirits of youth were only curtailed as the horses approached the Palace gates, had Yung-T’ai breathless with excitement.

    ‘Oh, if only I could ride in a carriage throughout the city streets!’

     Being a princess was no escape. But she had been born with an inquisitive nature, a sense of the ridiculous in the pomp of the female hierarchy around her and an ability to instil loyalty amongst the servants who attended her. Sometimes when she hinted that she wished to wander around the palace, doors would be opened by shadowy figures in long black flowing robes, then quickly disappear as silently as they had come. Not that they went far. She knew their eyes were upon her, following her every movement and when danger loomed, the click-clicking of their tongues would signal them to gather around, hiding her, and slowly, as if going about their normal business, escort her back to the women’s quarters. These escapades had not been without some excitement as she crept through the long passages, and her inquisitive ear had gathered gossip she knew she ought not to have heard. Her heart would beat wildly at the thought of bring discovered, but it became a game she and the servants played. A game that could result in tragedy, but the sheer adrenalin rush affected them too, and once they were all back they would laugh and giggle in sheer relief that once again they had come out unscathed.

     Now she was waiting in this ante-room, feeling alone and uncertain. She had never been here before and looking round the walls was aware of the exotic paintings of flowers and birds. With the lattice shutters open the afternoon sun bathed each one in a warm glow, enhancing the artist’s colours of vermilion, jade green, sapphire blue and yellow. At any other time she would have been happy to look carefully at each one, admiring or criticising form and brush stroke for she knew there was a new artist appointed to the court, Wu Tao-hsuan, who had been doing work in the royal apartments. Her education had been scanty but it had not neglected the finer subjects which all ladies of the Royal family were expected to learn. But today was different. She was waiting to be called into the large throne room where her fate would be determined. Art was far from her mind.

     The message had been brought to her while she was eating with the other women and girls in the dining room that morning. Brought by one of the senior servants and spoken to her through an oval hole in the door, he had said,

    ‘Princess Yung-T’ai, His Highness, your uncle requests that you make yourself ready to be presented to Her Royal Highness, Empress Wu, this afternoon to make arrangements for your marriage.. He tells you to dress appropriately as befits a princess. And not to speak unless spoken to!’ These last words had been said louder than the rest, and Yung-T’ai knew this was for the benefit of the other women who were listening intently. She knew also that for this brief moment he felt superior. They were only women, of no great importance, whereas he was a man and had a most important job to do. Anger rose within her at his presumption but curbing it, she had answered sweetly and politely.

    ‘Thank you, Tsui- san. Please tell my uncle I shall be there.’

    ‘I shall come to escort you, so be ready,’ he said authoritatively and turned away.

    Yung-T’ai had made a face at his back and returning to the table, was confronted by the twittering ladies of the house of women, eyes agog. Amongst them was her aunt, sister of her father. She had been mainly responsible for nurturing the Princess during the past few years since her mother died. The father, Chung-tsung, elder son of the Empress and legitimate heir to the Chinese throne, had been deposed within months of his succession by his mother, and later sent to a remote part of the Palace where her spies made sure he had no access to government affairs. Yung-T’ai had been too young to know or understand what happened, but she felt the absence of both parents deeply, and without brothers or sisters, life could be lonely at times.

    ‘My dear, this is a great moment,’ the aunt said. ‘You have the chance to become a very important married lady, with a luxurious home of your own, many servants and rich gowns and jewels. And if you produce a son, your future will be even more brilliant. Oh, if only I were younger!’ Her plump homely face had crumpled and tears came into her eyes. Yung-T’ai knew some of her aunt’s history. It was said that once she had had a suitor, but he disappeared mysteriously, giving rise to the rumour that he had been executed for daring to make rude comments upon the features of the Empress, whose beauty had vanished with the years. Whether this was true or not, Tai-ping had never married. Now it was the Princess’s turn to be wooed, but was she ready?  It seemed only yesterday she had been playing with her young cousins, and now the Empress was to decide her fate and future. Suddenly she had felt cold.

    ‘Yes, Aunt, I know it is my duty to marry well, and I am excited to meet the man who is to be my husband.’ Yung-T’ai had said these words in as cheerful a voice as   she could manage, but deep inside her heart was heavy. She was about to make a marriage arrangement with a stranger, an arrangement concocted between her grandmother and her uncle, Jui-tsung. He was a weak and ineffectual Crown Prince, no match against his mother. She dominated China, ruling with a tyrannical fervour that terrorised the population, and made no differences as far as family was concerned. The merits of several would-be suitors had been discussed, some of whom looked upon marrying Yung-T’ai as a means of furthering their advance into the royal household, but it was Wu’s decision that mattered and she had selected a commander of the second rank of Imperial Carriages. He was a high born member of the Tang court, eminently suitable to be the husband of a princess, and surely there’s no chance of Yung-T’ai ever becoming empress, as that formidable female kept assuring herself. The fact that he was somewhat older than the Princess, a widower with sons, scarcely mattered.

    ‘He’ll be a steady influence. Curb that flightiness in her!’ she’d said to Jung-tsung, who had nodded his agreement, as he did to most of her suggestions.

     The Princess had taken great care over her appearance, with the help of Su Lin, and by mid-afternoon was waiting to be summoned to the throne room. Her best dress of rich green silk had gold-threaded birds embroidered all round the narrow skirt. The  bodice and sleeves were full, to conceal her womanliness, and her jet-black hair piled high above her forehead, secured by a jade comb. As a young unmarried girl, her jewellery was scant. Only a long gold chain round her neck, holding the figure of a jade Buddha. She was young, beautiful, on the threshold of life, and in the next few hours that life would be put into the hands of a stranger.

     The large doors opened and Tsui-san, accompanied by another servant, approached. They bowed and Tsui-san said,

    ‘Princess, Her Royal Highness, the Empress is ready to see you now. Please come with us.’

     One on either side, they escorted her into the long throne room, their feet in soft flat shoes making a gentle swish as they half-ran, half-slid along the floor, propelling Yung-T’ai towards her destiny. With heart fluttering, she looked to the far end where her grandmother sat, stern, forbidding. As she approached the throne, it seemed that two black eyes, sunk in their sockets, watched her every movement and bore into her soul.