“I hope you will not think of the Queen,” she said. “Let her solve the troubles she has brought upon herself.”
He looked up at her quickly. “I am not thinking of the Queen,” he told her and knew he lied.
Indeed, why should he think of the Queen? He could not help her and he would only be blamed if he came out of exile and went to her now. Nor could he keep himself secret if he went. Where the Queen was, nothing was secret. Her every word, her every look, was seen and pondered. Spies surrounded her, and though she was reckless and did what she willed, he who was known as her adviser in the past, if he left his house would be killed somewhere in a side street of the city or in a secret corridor of the palace, and no one would know. He did not lack courage but must he die, he hoped that it could be for a worthy reason and with an effect that lived beyond his death.
He continued nevertheless in dread of what he would hear, for his private spies, now increased to eleven men, brought him further reports of the confusions which were taking place. China and Japan, these two, were in constant combat for the prize of his country, its trade, its central position in that part of the world, and the Japanese were carrying the war into China itself, and with every victory they seized new territory. Meanwhile they made this war an excuse for their armies to pour into Korea as reserves, and every day Il-han heard of fresh outrage against his people.
… “The strong have now become too strong,” Il-han’s wise old man servant told him.
The day was hot, in the midsummer of that year, and Il-han sat in his white undergarments under a persimmon tree in the garden. The fruit was small and green and the tree was overloaded so that some fruit fell to the ground, and his younger son was throwing the fruit against a target fixed on the trunk of the tree.
Il-han watched the game while he listened to his servant. “I have been waiting for some other nation to see it,” he now said. He clapped his hands as he spoke, for his son had struck the target in the middle. Then he went on speaking. “Yet there may be a benefit for us in the rising jealousy between the nations. None will want to see Japan grow too powerful.”
“Ah ha,” the servant said, “you have hit the target, too!” He came closer and made his voice low. “The Russian Czar today warned the Japanese Emperor through his envoy here that the territories newly seized from China must be restored.”
“Will it be so?” Il-han inquired.
“Is Japan strong enough to fight Russia?” the servant asked. “Some day yes, but not yet. That is what I hear said in the streets and in the shops. Japan must yield now but she will hate China the more, and this war will go on. As for Russia — perhaps war in another ten years.”
He waited for his master to speak. Instead Il-han cried out in sudden pain. His son, misjudging distance, had let fly a hard green fruit and it struck Il-han just below the left eye.
Il-han pressed his hand to his eye and the boy was overcome with remorse and burst into tears. Sunia came running at the sound of sobbing, and Il-han hastened to explain that he was not blind, that it was a small matter, an accident, but between comforting the child and reassuring his wife he did not say what he had been ready to say. When the hubbub was over, his servant was gone and then he was glad he had not said what troubled him so deeply. He knew now that the Queen was doomed.
Two days before the mid-autumn festival, in the tenth month of that solar year, Il-han’s spies reported that it was common talk in the streets that the guards in the Queen’s palace were being replaced. Outwardly all was as usual, they told him, but those within who were old servants of the Queen said that arms and accouterments were being taken from the palace on the pretense that they were needed elsewhere, and useless weapons were put in their place. The King’s palace was also thus weakened and this at a time when he needed the best defenses. On the afternoon of the seventh day of the festival, one of Il-han’s spies observed that even the gates and doors of the Queen’s palace seemed to be open and unguarded, and he returned with the news.
“Did you speak to anyone of this?” Il-han demanded.
“How could I speak?” the man replied. “It was seen, but no one cried danger.”
“Saddle my horse,” Il-han commanded, and dismissed the man. He would go himself to inquire into what was taking place. Then he considered. Should he tell Sunia or should he not? Not, he decided. Quietly as a thief he went to his own rooms and changed his clothes to old garments Sunia had put aside for the poor. He clung by habit to certain garments and it was his demand that she should always let him see what she gave away so that he could reclaim what he would not part with. In the midst of this changing he heard her flying feet and the door slid back.
“So — you think to steal out of the house!” she cried. “And why do you drag forth those rags which are only fit for beggars?”
He looked at her, half rueful, half smiling. “How is it you smell out my least coming and going? What if I only put on old clothes to go into the garden and — plant a tree — or—”
“Make no games with me,” she said, coming full into the room. “You never plant trees. Why should you plant one now?”
He saw that deceit was impossible and he gave way. “Sunia, the Queen is in danger.”
She advanced on him. “Is she your concern forever?”
“She is our concern,” he pleaded. “She is the concern of every Korean.”
The red flew into her cheeks and the fire into her dark eyes. “And why do you think only you can save her?” she cried.
“At least I can see for myself—”
“See her for yourself, you mean!”
“Sunia!”
“Dare to call my name!” she cried. “I am no Queen — and if you care more for her than you do for us who are your family — you have two sons, if you care nothing for a wife, and are they to lose their lives because you hanker for a Queen? They will be caught and killed, but that does not matter, I suppose, although you will have no more sons from me — but you care nothing for that, either, I suppose!”
She was beside herself and he in turn grew angry. He let her rail and in cold silence he drew on the old clothes and tied a wretched hat on his head and pulled it low on his face.
She ran to the doorway as he came and stood there to prevent him. He lifted her as though she were a child and set her aside and went on his way, looking neither to the right nor to the left.
… It was late when he arrived at the city gate, but it stood open and unguarded, as though prepared for those who must flee. He passed through, none noticing, and guided his horse to the northern part of the city, where the Queen’s palace stood at the far end of the approach to the royal palaces. This approach was a fine road three hundred feet wide and one third of a mile in length. On both sides stood the ministries of State, some of which he saw were newly built. And new, too, were barracks where Japanese soldiers came and went, marching and countermarching. The palaces were surrounded by a wall twelve feet high and the gates were, as the man said, open and unguarded. Il-han descended and tied his horse to a bent tree. He then went through the entrance which was in the western wall and came to the small lake and the foreign house belonging to the King and where he sometimes stayed. The palace where the King lived usually was close by and the Queen’s palace was to the east but adjoining. To the left were the quarters where lived the Royal Guard. This afternoon Il-han saw no guards, but the sun was very hot, and it was possible that some were sleeping inside the palaces. Beyond all these was a pine grove covering some five acres of land.