yet I disregarded that,

laid out spurious justifications—

that Xau should inspect the eastern borders,

that he could discuss strategy

with the horse lords,

that Queen Hana might accept

court life more readily

after a hiatus—

Why? Because I wished him to be happy.

He had spent his youth in service to Meqing,

and I, I had come to care for him

as though he were my son.

I gave him the same poor advice

each year after that.

And I’m glad—write that down—

glad that I did so,

glad that he went.

ENTOURAGE

“We had thought,”

King Xau said deferentially, respectfully,

“of taking one of the younger amahs.

We will be sleeping in tents,

riding for hours at a stretch—”

“Despite my advanced age,” said Gek,

the inestimable gray-haired woman

who served as senior amah

to the king’s children,

“I still remember how to ride.

And I have no intention

of abandoning the children

for the entire summer.”

“Thank you.”

Xau bowed very deeply.

“We are both grateful and relieved.

May we assist you in any way?”

“Tell me,” said Gek,

“do they drink tea

in the horse country?”

∗

Accompanying King Xau when he set out:

his wife, his children, their guards,

packhorses, mounts, spare mounts,

and a single solitary servant,

the inestimable Gek.

No valets, no aides, no advisors,

but two saddlebags filled

with cakes of the finest tea,

carefully wrapped tea bowls,

tea tongs, brazier, ewer.

Early each morning King Xau himself

went to the children’s tent

and dismissed his children

to run around outdoors

while he brewed tea for Gek.

BETWEEN

Behind, ahead,

the dawn, the dusk,

the undimming and the dimming

of the bounded, measured world;

time’s unremitting tread.

But that morning as Xau set out,

his horse beneath him,

his men about him,

his wife beside him,

leaving court and capital

for the windblown grass

of the horse country,

day warming round them,

hooves sounding on the road—

that morning on the cusp of summer,

time paused.

Held still.

No cloud could mar Xau’s mood,

brimming and overbrimming

as he shared his horse with Suyin,

his youngest,

four years old, going on five,

her hair fresh-washed,

the smell of it,

her laugh.

Behind, ahead,

his crown, his duty,

the large and lesser loads:

the battle’s dead,

a child unheld.

THE WILD HORSES CAME HASTENING

On the rain-blown steppe

the wild horses came hastening,

hooves denting the mud.

Warm but wet, that first night

in the horse country,

rain trickling down his neck

as Wen Xun stood sentry duty.

He heard the horses

before he saw them,

unshod hooves sounding

softly on sodden grass.

Eight horses, riderless,

halted on the low hill crest

overlooking the king’s camp

by the Guang Yun river.

Asleep in his tent,

how could the king summon them?

What call did they hear?

Wen Xun went into the king’s tent,

woke Captain Li, who woke the king.

Through darkness and rain,

the three men walked up the hill.

King Xau signaled the guards to halt,