of uniform. No one suspected that they shunned allegiance to the Emperor. Whenever they paused to rest, they stirred up quietly a brew of terror.
"I wonder if the rumor is true," one mused, "that after a victorious encounter in Honan, An Lu-shan cut off the heads of forty thousand prisoners?"
A half-drunk poet laughed shrilly. "I wonder how it feels to have one's head spin freely about in the dust of a country road!"
Kuo-chung overhead the conversation, but it scarcely disturbed his thoughts. In the shadows of a deserted hut, he held Kuo Kuo in his arms. What use had he for aught that was not concerned with pleasure?
On and on they marched. Some sang, some laughed, some were gripped with fear. Duke Yang, too, was disturbed. He hoped his supply of almonds would last until they could return to the Imperial Palace at Changan.
Despite the comparative hardships of the road, Ming Huang could find little cause for complaint. Yang Kuei-fei was with him, riding a splendid Arabian stallion. She rode astride. She had dressed carefully in vermilion trousers and a yellow silk riding jacket embroidered with glittering butterflies. Her face was pale, emphasizing the ripe glory of her lips. In her hair were entwined hibiscus blossoms. Her moth eyebrows were the envy of every woman who crowded the roads of the small villages through which the cavalcade passed.
By nightfall, the troops were in an evil mood. Many had tossed aside their rude clubs. There were far from
enough swords and spears to arm everyone. A loutish
