The Sword of Faith

"A staff officer in the Duke of Yue's service, you said?"

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Bukha Temür, Pingzhang of the Fujian Branch Secretariat, studied the envoy before him—Huang Kuan—and then let his gaze fall.

Huang Kuan had brought a dispatch from the Jiangzhe Branch Secretariat. Bukha Temür broke the seal and read it through, his face settling into a deep gravity.

It was an order from Dashi Temür, Grand Councilor of Jiangzhe, on whom the court at Khanbaliq had conferred full authority over the armies, the civil administration, and rewards and punishments throughout Jiangnan.

Bukha Temür sighed, his expression dark.

"Is the Censor-in-Chief of the Jiangnan Censorate not His Excellency Qingtong?"

"His Excellency Qingtong has returned to the imperial capital by sea. He has been named Pingzhang of the Central Secretariat, and is to assist His Highness the Heir Apparent at court…"

"Mm…"

At Huang Kuan's words, Bukha Temür shut his eyes tight.

Two years ago, when he had taken up his post in a Fujian already sliding into chaos, his ambitions had been large. He had sworn to steady the disordered province, raise an army, and do his part in crushing the rebels who threatened Jiangnan.

The problem had been Banya Temür, Assistant Surveillance Commissioner.

A censor of the Jiangnan Branch Censorate—the very man charged with watching and inspecting the officials of Fujian—had colluded with the great local clans and the resident bureaucracy, raised a private army, and committed the outrageous act of seizing Fuzhou itself, the seat of the branch secretariat. A mere functionary of the upper fifth rank, openly slighting the senior officials of the province…

Bukha Temür was a noble of the Naiman clan, born to an illustrious house. He could not stomach the arrogance of Banya Temür, who was nothing more than a Semu official, one of the assorted Western peoples in the empire's service.

And so, in the end, he had done the thing he should never have done.

"I am told a Muslim army, the Huihui, is quartered in Fuzhou even now."

"Ahem… They submitted once more, at my urging. They cast aside the way of rebellion, returned to rightful allegiance, and pledged to fight with all their strength for the court. How is that not a good thing?"

Bukha Temür turned his eyes aside and slurred through the answer.

The Muslim host of Persian origin that had risen in revolt and seized Quanzhou—he had brought them in, and with them had succeeded in removing that insufferably arrogant Banya Temür. That had been last year's work.

They were still garrisoned in Fuzhou. Invoking Bukha Temür's own name, they levied taxes on the people and jerked the righteous militias of every prefecture and county about as they pleased. He had succeeded in calling a tiger to drive off a wolf. He had no power to control the tiger.

"And yet, is the Duke of Yue not already Pingzhang of Jiangzhe? Now he is to hold Fujian as well? The court permitted this?"

"A formal proclamation and seal have come down from the court. It is not without its irregularities in law, but with the realm in such disorder, what else was to be expected?"

"Hnn…"

Bukha Temür did not want to admit his failure. In his heart he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would not have minded leaving this loathsome land of Fujian for Hangzhou—or, better, going all the way back to Khanbaliq. The trouble was the business he had already set in motion.

"His Grace the Duke of Yue bade me ask when, and in what manner, you mean to hand over your duties. He says that if you wish it, he will bring his army at once and assume the post in Fuzhou…"

"Th-that is…"

Bukha Temür was still floundering, unable to answer, his face tight with embarrassment, when the door of the office burst open and a warrior in foreign armor strode in.

Iron chain mail covered his body. A round iron helmet sat on his head, wrapped in white cloth. Thick, dark brows; deep-set eyes; a high, exotic bridge of nose; a full black mustache. Huang Kuan knew at a glance that this was the commander of the Muslim army quartered in Fuzhou.

"Pingzhang—I hear an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠envoy has come."

"Mm. Huang Kuan, envoy of the Duke of Yue. This man is Sa'if al-Din, myriarch of the righteous army."

At the introduction, Huang Kuan offered the foreign-looking Sa'if al-Din a correct bow.

"I am honored to meet you, Myriarch."

Sa'if al-Din—Sayf al-Din. Inwardly he sneered at their ignorance, these men who understood neither a Muslim title nor a Muslim name.

Sayf al-Din meant the Sword of the Faith: a guardian of the faith, a commander of a Muslim army. His true name was Sa'id ibn Muhammad. He had no intention of wasting breath explaining as much to ignorant unbelievers.

"Is it true the Pingzhang is to be replaced by another man?"

"Well, you see…"

"Does that even bear saying?"

Sa'if al-Din's eyes bulged, and a growl rose in his throat.

"This Duke of Yue, from what I hear, is neither a Mongol of the imperial people nor the heir of any great house. And such a man is to govern Fujian? Who would obey that order?"

"You go too far, Myriarch."

"Silence! A base Southerner, and you dare run your mouth!"

Sa'if al-Din glared at Huang Kuan.

"Enough of this! What discourtesy is it? The Duke of Yue received his title formally from the court!"

Bukha Temür hurried to restrain him, but Sa'if al-Din only stared at Huang Kuan, his face flushed dark red.

"The man threatened the court, didn't he? And you mean to let yourself be taken in by his tricks? Speak plainly, I say!"

At the question, Bukha Temür sighed.

Huang Kuan did not waver. He regarded the furious Sa'if al-Din and answered with perfect calm.

"I came only to carry out His Grace the Duke of Yue's command and deliver the order of the court. If you will look at the dispatches drawn up in Dadu and in Jiangzhe…"

"And how are we to trust that? Can you prove the Duke of Yue did not forge them?"

Sa'if al-Din cut him off and turned a burning stare upon Bukha Temür.

"Your Excellency! How is this Duke of Yue any different from that villain Banya Temür? All this talk of law, of the court's command—can you truly swear it isn't just another scheme to raise troops on his own say-so and seize Fujian?"

Fearing the seething man might do something violent, Bukha Temür hastily waved Huang Kuan away.

"You may go."

"Have you any word for His Grace?"

Bukha Temür hesitated a moment, then raised his head.

"Tell him, for now, to put off his arrival and wait a while. There are matters I set in motion here. I can hardly abandon them all and simply leave."

"I will convey as much to His Grace."

Huang Kuan bowed correctly to Bukha Temür and to Sa'if al-Din alike, turned his back, and departed.

"Your Excellency! You're just letting him go? Better to deal with him quietly and say we never heard a word…"

"Enough! What nonsense is that? If we blunder and a greater disaster comes down on our heads, what then?"

When Bukha Temür, his patience spent, snapped at him, Sa'if al-Din struck his own chest in frustration.

"Your Excellency! Was it not you who begged us so earnestly? You asked us to submit to the court and help you pacify Fujian!"

"Mm…"

"And now you would wipe the bond clean and leave? What becomes of us, then? What of the pledge you made to us?"

Bukha Temür sighed, his face caught between shame and helplessness.

Rude as the man was, he was not wrong. It was Bukha Temür himself who had promised them pardon, office, and reward, and drawn them in. The Muslim army had sent their deputy commander, Sa'if al-Din, and several thousand elite troops; they had not only taken Fuzhou, but given Bukha Temür the armed foundation he lacked. They did levy military grain from the people and stir up their share of trouble, yet when he admonished them they restrained themselves as far as they were able. They had kept faith, after a fashion.

"I will speak well of you to the Duke of Yue. If he means to pacify a Fujian in the midst of all this upheaval, he will need brave men such as you, will he not?"

The persuasion did nothing for the scowl on Sa'if al-Din's face.

"We came here trusting you alone. On what grounds should we open the gates to this Duke of Yue?"

"But the court…"

"We will not accept this. Remember that!"

"You—!"

Bukha Temür pressed a hand to his brow as Sa'if al-Din turned his back and walked out.

Returned to the camp where the Muslim army lay quartered, Sa'if al-Din summoned his officers at once.

"Na'ib, what did His Excellency say? Is he leaving?"

"We've cleared one hurdle, at least. I told that Duke of Yue to wait."

Sa'if al-Din was the Na'ib, deputy commander of the Ispah army that held Quanzhou.

As rebellion broke out on every side of Fujian in the chaos of the age, righteous militias had formed around the mercenaries hired by the Persian merchants who came and went through the port. Their chief, Amirdin—Amir al-Din—led them all as commander of the faith. Sa'if al-Din, the second man, served as his valiant vanguard, guarding Quanzhou, where Sunni and Shia Muslims dwelt in vast numbers, and together the two had received the office of myriarch of the righteous army.

The officials of Fujian had failed to deliver the rewards originally promised, or even proper military rations, and discontent ran deep. Amirdin and Sa'if al-Din, moreover, could feel that the Yuan, masters of all under heaven, were showing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the signs of their fall. Three years ago the two of them had risen in revolt and taken Quanzhou.

They had not stopped there. Hungry to push their power north through the Xinghua Route and on into the Fuzhou Route, they had joined hands with Pingzhang Bukha Temür.

"Amir—aren't we cut off, now that we've lost Xinghua? Things being what they are, wouldn't it be better to pull back to Quanzhou?"

At his officer's words, Sa'if al-Din frowned.

The Ispah army had once succeeded in holding all three routes—Quanzhou, Xinghua, and Fuzhou. Before long they had fallen into conflict with the local people. The righteous militias holding Xinghua would not stomach foreigners, Persians and Arabs at the core of the Ispah host, taxing them and throwing their weight about in the name of rule, and they rose.

The local fighters could not meet the Muslim elite, armored in chain, head-on. But they had the numbers, and they knew the ground, and rooting them out entirely proved impossible. In the end Amirdin, supreme commander of the Ispah army, thoroughly plundered Xinghua and had no choice but to drag his captives back to Quanzhou—leaving Sa'if al-Din's fourteen thousand behind in Fuzhou.

"If we withdraw from here, do you think that Duke of Yue will leave us be? Once he has Fuzhou, Xinghua is right under his nose, and Quanzhou comes after."

He looked at his shortsighted officers with something close to pity.

"Why can't you see that we have to hold Fuzhou if we mean to hold Quanzhou?"

"But I hear the Duke of Yue has thirty thousand men. We have barely fourteen thousand. If this goes wrong…"

"You all know how stout the walls of Fuzhou are. Hold the walls fast, and that is enough. Numbers alone will not carry a man over them."

Since taking the city the year before, they had driven the people hard at thickening and extending the walls. Sa'if al-Din was certain that not even a great trebuchet or two could bring this iron fortress down.

"But what if they surround us and simply wait us out? Three months at the outside, and the grain inside the walls will be gone. We'll start to starve…"

"Mm…"

If it was true that the Duke of Yue had been formally named Pingzhang of Fujian, the other righteous armies around Fuzhou were likely to take his side. Then Sa'if al-Din's men would be shut inside the city, and starve to the bone.

"The Duke of Yue will probably move his grain by ship. If we can cut their sea route, hunger will drive them to plunder the countryside."

He stroked his handsome black mustache and smiled.

"Send a fast boat to the Amir in Quanzhou at once."

"Then…"

"We bring up our fleet from Quanzhou. We show the unbelievers the strength of the faithful."

From Hindustan in the west, through Zirbad, the land beneath the hot wet winds, all the way to Zayton, the greatest port in the world—Quanzhou. Seas where pirates swarmed without number, and it was they who rode ships through them. Sa'if al-Din was certain of victory on the water.

"If it goes well, we might even take the Duke of Yue himself."

He amused himself imagining what ransom he might demand for the man. He had long since heard the rumors that the duke was very rich indeed.

"Zhu Yuanzhang has dealt Chen Youliang a heavy defeat?"

"Yes. Everything has fallen out just as Your Grace predicted."

In Mingzhou I quietly read through the report my uncle had sent.

Merchants taken in by Heukwol, word gathered from the great clans of Jiangdong—the report drew it all together, setting down how Zhu Yuanzhang had lured Chen Youliang to the very gates of Jinling and broken him in an ambush.

"They say he has taken Anqing as well. Chen Youliang has fled to his capital at Jiangzhou and gone on the defensive…"

Hmph. A man born to it is born to it. If I hadn't known that Zhu Yuanzhang is the one who wins in the years to come, I would have thought, like everyone else, that this time he was finished. He had been driven that far into a corner.

"How were you so certain of Zhu Yuanzhang's victory, Your Grace?"

"Didn't you yourself say, Master Bowen, that Zhu Yuanzhang would not fall easily?"

At my counter, the middle-aged scholar Liu Ji gave a bitter smile.

"I only judged that Chen Youliang was pressing too hard, and that a stumble was likely. Military men prize speed, it is true—but to slay one's own lord, mount the throne at once, and then reach for Jiangdong besides…"

"He did move too quickly."

"But you were certain Zhu Yuanzhang would win a great victory. I thought only that he would come to grief. I was not certain the victory would be so large."

Of course that was because I knew Zhu Yuanzhang was the victor. My own existence, and his earlier defeat at my hands, might yet prove variables.

On the other hand, I had to weigh this as well: after losing to me, he had made peace with Zhang Shicheng, pared the threat at his back down to almost nothing, and could throw his full strength onto the front against Chen Youliang.

"What do you think, Master Bowen? How do you see the struggle between Zhu Yuanzhang and Chen Youliang unfolding from here?"

"Mm…"

Liu Ji brooded, his face heavy, and looked down at the map spread before him.

"Chen Youliang has suffered a great defeat, yet his power is nothing to dismiss. Zhu Yuanzhang may hold Anqing, but between that earlier setback and the fighting that followed, his own losses must be severe. He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠will pause to catch his breath."

"…"

"Once both sides have mended their hurts, they will go on contending with the Anqing region as their front. The difficulty, however…"

Liu Ji set a finger on Jiangzhou, Chen Youliang's capital.

"Jiangzhou lies too near Anqing. And if Jiangzhou is lost, the water road into the Jiangxi that Chen Youliang holds will be cut."

The waterways of Jiangxi spread out in every direction around the vast Lake Poyang, but the vital artery runs through the Yangtze. Chen Youliang's capital, Jiangzhou, sits at that mouth. The moment the place is lost, his power in Jiangxi is severed from its home ground in Hubei.

"If Zhu Yuanzhang loses Anqing in the midst of the fighting, he has only to fight again and take it back. But if Chen Youliang is pushed back even once in earnest, Jiangzhou—his capital, and the key to the whole position—falls into danger. Lose Jiangzhou, and he loses Jiangxi entire."

"Indeed. Just so."

Seen this way, Zhu Yuanzhang and Chen Youliang were bound to fight. It was inevitable. Just as Chen Youliang had pushed on to Taiping and threatened Jinling, Zhu Yuanzhang's home ground, so if Zhu Yuanzhang went up the river he threatened Jiangzhou, Chen Youliang's capital. Each held the other by the throat.

I nodded. He really was the Zhuge Liang of this age.

For soothing the people and keeping the revenues, in the manner of Xiao He, that famed minister of old, Jo Gwan-gwang's practical ability was the stronger. For producing military supplies, overseeing every sort of enterprise, gathering intelligence, and carrying out the countless tasks I set him, my broadly learned teacher Song Han-gi was the better man.

But strategic sight—the eye that judged the great drift of the realm—there was no one who could match the Liu Ji standing before me.

As for me, well, I know the future in rough outline, and the depth and breadth of what I've been exposed to are simply different from the men of this age. I have to count myself an exception.

"If Zhu Yuanzhang takes Jiangzhou, he will go on through Lake Poyang and seize Jiangxi as well. Then his power will rival Chen Youliang's, and if we are careless…"

"If he absorbs Chen Youliang's strength on top of his own, no one will be able to stop him."

Liu Ji nodded, grave.

Jiangdong. Jiangxi. Hubei. Hunan.

If all of that fell into Zhu Yuanzhang's hands, a host of a million might truly take the field. Not that I had any intention of letting it come to that.

"For now, let us do what can be done. We have time, at least for a while, to pacify Fujian."

I was just bringing the talk to a close.

"My lord, Staff Officer Huang has returned from Fuzhou."

1) Reference for the armor of the Ispah army. By the Metropolitan Museum, CC BY Public Domain Mark.

2) Reference for the accompanying map. By Kimjaesung.