CHAPTER XVII: Banrion's Folly
The child so joyously anticipated by Cui-Baili and his Empress, Banrion, was stillborn, and the tragic loss of the babe cast a pall of despairing gloom over the imperial palace. Other children there were born to their union, but sadly, none survived past infancy. After several abortive attempts Banrion became barren, and as the empty years mounted it is said the impetuous empress became ever more vain and cruel and darkly envious. She banned mirrors from the palace, lest she be reminded of the passage of time, and banished from court any maid deemed fair among the nobility. She was quick to anger, and woe be to the servant who by some mischance erred in her presence! In her deepening mania, Banrion took to studying the stars, consulting with astrologers to divine a means of enhancing her fading fertility. When the fickle heavens failed to enlighten, she delved into the darker arts, consorting with self-proclaimed sorcerers in an effort to retain the appearance of everlasting youth. But naught did their philters and balms aid against the slow creep of advancing age, save to mask wrinkle with rouge and hide with henna hair of graying cast.
Cui-Baili became a somber and solitary figure, finding his wife had become a stranger to him. In her fervent but fruitless effort to bear an heir for the emperor, Banrion had lost that which had so enamored Cui-Baili to her during their youth: her laughter became mocking, her high-spirits mere extravagant whim, and her fiery passion now a coruscating jealousy. But Cui-Baili still sympathetically indulged his willful wife, commiserating in their shared sorrow and endeavoring to show her guidance and understanding in her growing eccentricity made manifest through loss, even though they now no longer shared a bed or the romance that had so warmed the palace earlier in their reign.
Eventually the rift between emperor and empress became profound, to the point where the estranged royal couple had separate courts, each unlike to the other as day is to night. Whereas Cui-Baili maintained the august and austere presence that was the noble hallmark of his forefathers, the court of Banrion became the gaudy and frivolous den of fortune-seekers, charlatans and freakish monstrosities. Banrion also attracted those voices of dissidence and rebellion who had seethed hidden and latent in the glorious years of Cui-Baili's masterful conquests, and she surrounded herself with men of cunning and evil intent. Many a conniving suitor found his way to Banrion's bed in the vain attempt of producing an heir to the throne; but like a black widow spider, the empress consumed her ill-fated favorites, leaving them dissolute and broken, or sentencing them to the assassin's blade if they became too brazen. Still, there was no shortage of starry-eyed adventurers or cynical flatterers to take the place of the fallen, nor wont of fawning sycophants, court-weary courtesans, misshapen midgets, lolling giants, sinister seneschals and devious diplomats to fill her obscenely gilt and garish palace.
But despite repeated warnings from his trusted advisors, Cui-Baili remained oblivious to the chancrous blister that festered beneath the glittering façade of Banrion's halls. Consumed with a lonely passion for the prosperity of his realm, Cui-Baili delved into the detailed workings of empire, forsaking personal pleasure and even sleep for the betterment of his people; and, although Tsin-Quinqan grew outwardly in magnificence, inwardly it became rotten at its very core. Perhaps if Cui-Baili had been less indulgent of his haughty wife, much sadness may have been averted, and the course of history in the East would not have plunged into the abyss of a long, dark age. But hindsight is the best sight, they say, and the self-inflicted blindness of the present precludes foresight into the future.
Some say that Banrion at last went utterly mad with yearning for an heir -- and thus regaining control over her husband and the throne -- having reached middle-age and the uttermost end of hope for offspring from her desolate womb. In her turbulent heart, she blamed the distant Cui-Baili for abandoning her, for casting her aside as a master of hounds would when putting down an old dam who could no longer whelp puppies. But this bitch still had fangs! Banrion secretly smiled in the slow seething of her madness, and thus she stooped to plotting for the succession to the throne. And she put forward her cousin, Baois, a bastard of the line of Baolach, to be her unwitting pawn in a dynastic game of cat and mouse. Of Baois, little can be said, save that he was a weak-minded youth, prone to stuttering when excited; but Baois' dullness and lack of diction were of little concern, for it was in truth Banrion whose machinations supplied his speech and controlled his every action.
Cui-Baili was at first amused with Banrion's less-than-subtle positioning of her lackluster kinsman as heir to the throne, but with time, the emperor discovered his estranged wife was deadly serious in her intent. Growing ever more concerned, Cui-Baili at last commanded Baois to appear before him. Much to Banrion's chagrin, the audience between the emperor and her protégé was held in private, depriving her the chance of speaking for the boy whenever he might stumble. And stumble he did. Certain that Baois had been well-prepared by Banrion for a test of his mettle in wise governance, the wily Cui-Baili spoke of everything but the empire and the rule of men. The emperor's subjects for discussion were varied and delivered in such a way that they seemed non-consequential and unobtrusive; yet every question was penetrating and pregnant with purpose, and every reply given by Baois revealed his true abilities and uncovered his gravest flaws.
In the space of a few hours, Cui-Baili had shrewdly ascertained the measure of the boy, and found Baois totally lacking in the qualities the emperor deemed necessary for an heir to the throne. The shy boy lacked subtlety of mind, and was easily intimidated, Cui-Baili rightly surmised; he would be a pawn for whichever stronger personalities might seek to corrupt his rule. But for all his faults, Cui-Baili found Baois to be inoffensive and gentle of manner when not overtaxed greatly. Discovering Baois was fond of horses, Cui-Baili offered the boy a post in his cavalry, as that of head-groomsman in the imperial stables. The delighted Baois, forgetting completely about kingships and crowns, eagerly accepted the position, stuttering in overenthusiastic thanks as he bolted from the emperor's halls.
Banrion was infuriated at the utter failure of the witless Baois, and she cursed Cui-Baili for turning her chosen heir-apparent into a mere stable-boy. The perceived insult was further magnified by her fawning followers, creatures who sought power merely for self-aggrandizement and the habituating allure of greed (and some, it was rumored, were in the secret employ of Sauron himself!). Their sly insinuations fanned the flames of Banrion's smoldering wrath, causing her to fly into an inchoate rage from whence there was no returning. And in this blind fury Banrion's inner-voices spoke plainly to her: 'If thou cannot produce and heir to the throne, then shalt thou take the throne for thyself!' Supremely confident in her strength -- as only one who is truly mad could be -- the deluded Empress gathered together those dispossessed Houses of the realm who still chafed at the yoke of empire, and with the goading whispers of her vainglorious vassals swarming in her head, Banrion set forth on the bloody path of open rebellion.
Yet from the very start, Banrion's Folly (as it was later named), was ill-omened and beset with confusion. First, the Empress failed miserably in her attempts to bribe to her service the veteran generals of the imperial legions, all of whom remained steadfastly loyal to Cui-Baili. Second, in the dark tower of her pride, Banrion had overestimated the dubious prowess of her own forces, an ungainly confederacy loosely comprised of her own rash and luxury-loving vassals, private armies of unwilling conscripts and sodden retainers sent by the rebellious nobility, and fickle mercenaries culled hastily from the four corners of the empire. Finally, Banrion had unwisely appointed her personal favorites to marshal the army. These pampered princelings fell into immediate disfavor with the professional generals and captains among the retainers and mercenaries, who despised and disobeyed the unskilled fops, while they, themselves, wrangled for elite positions within their own ranks. Thus with nominal and fragmented leadership, Banrion's army, a great seething mass of disparate divisions, lumbered out to seek its foe.
Upon hearing from his spies of Banrion's treachery, Cui-Baili was saddened by the bitter turn of events, but adamant nonetheless that such a threat to his empire should be quelled without remorse; therefore, Cui-Baili set out with ruthless efficiency to vanquish the rebel forces. Cui-Baili was relentless in his prosecution of the war, choosing to once again don his bright mail and high-crowned helm and personally lead his armies into combat. Riding forth with his vaunted cavalry, Cui-Baili immediately took the offensive, and with a series of lightening-quick strikes to the rebel's flanks and rear, seized his enemy's supply train and destroyed what mounted forces his opponent could muster. With the confederates thus immobilized and lacking food or water, he delayed a direct attack with massed foot soldiers and cavalry for several weeks, forcing the rebels to forage the land about them until it was stripped bare. When Cui-Baili was assured that Banrion's army had scavenged the last morsel and were evermore sullen from privation, the Emperor fell with his main might on the listless and starving rebels.
Although the battle was never in doubt, and Cui-Baili's imperial forces inflicted a crushing defeat on Banrion's confederates, still there were, here and there, pockets of valiant resistance where rebel soldiers adhered to their captains' commands, holding their ground in futile defiance while their army collapsed about them. But without a unified strategy and central leadership, all such fierce bravery came to naught against such a disciplined and implacable foe. By noon, Cui-Baili's cavalry had overrun the rebel's center, driving an immense wedge between their left and right flank. With his enemy so divided, the Emperor marshaled his foot soldiers and decimated the rebel left, while the right flank of Banrion's army fell under withering volleys of arrows from the imperial archers. Cui-Baili's cavalry had run clear through the enemy lines and were waiting in the rear when the routed rebels at last broke and ran. As the acrid smokes of the battlefield mingled with the gloaming of dusk, Cui-Baili's victory was complete. So overwhelming was the Emperor's triumph that his reserves had not been pressed into battle at all, having only been used to round up the straggling remnant of Banrion's retreating army.
But Cui-Baili did not gloat on the utter defeat of the confederates. So unlike was he to the other brutal rulers of his time that he did not exact summary and cruel vengeance on his prone adversaries. In the magnanimous mold of his sire and grandsire before him, Cui-Baili granted a general amnesty to the weary and ragged bulk of Banrion's army, and offered positions in the imperial legions to those rebel captains who showed conspicuous bravery and unflappable leadership under trying circumstances. To the leaders of the rebellion, however, the Emperor's retribution was swift: the bellicose lords of the confederate Houses he did exile, and confiscated all their worldly goods to be distributed amongst the commoners -- the crofters, cotters and villagers -- who suffered greatly in the paths of the warring factions; the avaricious vassals of Banrion, those war-mongers and malingerers who incited the Empress to treason, Cui-Baili sold to the slave markets of Bajazet -- even then an iniquitous den of cupidity and commerce -- where they lived out the rest of their brief, miserable lives as human pack animals, trudging under heavy burdens back and forth across the newly created desert trade routes. This left but one malefactor for Cui-Baili to confront, one last rebel to contain: the Empress Banrion.
The Empress's ostentatious palace Cui-Baili had stripped of its gilt ornamentation, so that he might repay his generals for their unswerving fidelity, the lavish hanging gardens and grounds he decided would remain -- an evergreen memory of a love lost to madness and sorrow. And when the last of the tapestries had been torn down and the ornate furniture had been packed away, Cui-Baili somberly walked the wide, airy corridors that led through the center of the palace, his footsteps echoing in the empty expanse. There, at the far end of the great hall sat Banrion, clutching the arms of her throne defiantly as if she would not be moved when the soldiers came at last to collect her chair. She had the look of a caged animal, crazed and frightened as her enemies surrounded her; yet as she looked upon Cui-Baili her mood softened, as if conflicting forces did battle within her very soul. But such sentiment was transitory.
'Hail, the victor!' she said with a hint of malice as her madness returned. 'Look about thee, Cui-Baili,' she seethed, pointing with manic gestures at the threadbare palace, 'see now thy handiwork -- this final indignity thou hast wrought! Wilt thou strip me to naught as well, and cast me enchained to the slavers as thou hast done my retainers? Shall my continuing disgrace further ennoble the illustrious House of Chullain, and gain accolades for its scion, our most beloved Emperor?'
Cui-Baili stopped just short of the dais and looked piteously upon Banrion. 'There is no victory here, my queen,' the Emperor replied quietly, 'only loss. That I should have to witness such a day only brings me sorrow.'
'Ever the generous warrior, ever the benevolent prince,' Banrion hissed. 'Save thy generosity! I would rather have thee look upon me with scorn than have to endure thy pity! Thou didst abandon me years ago, and now thou seekest to cut the last, frayed cord!'
Cui-Baili gazed long upon the sad remains of a once vibrant soul, now crouched like some wild thing on the edge of her throne. There were no words he could say to assuage her bitter ravings, nor could his pity stay the command he must enforce. Banrion was a menace to the empire and to herself.
'Banrion…our empress and lady,' Cui-Baili said dispassionately, choosing his words carefully, but with full imperial force, 'extraordinary need impels us to cast aside personal considerations to ensure the greater good of our realm; therefore, we do henceforth banish thee for willful rebellion and grievous acts of treachery against us. Thou shalt be taken forthwith from here to a place of internment -- a tower, guarded and inescapable -- there to spend the remaining years of thy life. Thou shalt be well-provided for, with some of the luxuries thou hast become accustomed to; but thy every footstep shall be shadowed, and thy every utterance recorded. Never again wilt thou meddle in the affairs of state, nor have occasion to seize the reins of power. So sayeth I, Cui-Baili, Imperial Khan of Tsin-Quinqan.'
Banrion moved to snap again at Cui-Baili, to spew forth with vitriol how the Emperor had wronged her, but he merely raised his hand, and she stopped in mid-sentence. 'There was no need for thee to take my throne, milady,' Cui-Baili said sadly, 'for it was thine all along.'
To this, Banrion made no reply. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched her husband, the Imperial Khan, stride forcefully away from her. She would never see or speak to Cui-Baili again.