The Red Queen by Margaret Drabble

that there was malicious gossip about our association. The Dowager Queen Inwŏn, her one-time employer and my stepmother-in-law, would have disapproved of it because she had been very strict about these matters: she had introduced a new rule that concubines and the daughters of concubines should not sit together with the wives and daughters of princes, in order to try to prevent such friendships and liaisons. But the dowager queen was dead, and I was lonely.
I loved Pingae’s stories because she had seen something of the world. At times, how I longed to escape and to see this other world. I had been trapped young, and imprisoned. Women of our time and of my rank led claustrophobic, indoor lives: our gardens were large, but they were walled and indoor gardens. Outdoor exercise was considered unseemly, un-Confucian. It is said that the little girls of the court were fond of swings because, if they swung themselves high enough, they could glimpse the world that lay over the compound wall. I was too grand and too noble to play on the swings, but my daughters used to sail into the sky in their coloured butterfly skirts.
I watched the marker of the round bronze sundial, as it caught the slowly moving shadow of the sun.
I watched the wind streamer, as it fluttered in the breeze that blew towards us from the granite mountains.
I watched the ginger dragonflies, as they hovered over the grasses.
I heard the rain drops, as they fell on the broad leaves of the foxglove tree.
I watched the kingfishers, as they darted through the reeds.
I watched the white herons, as they stood on guard at the water’s edge.
I listened to the cry of the cicadas.
I gazed at the silent golden fish in the lotus pond in the secret garden, and wondered if they knew their confines. Occasionally a fish would leap, hopelessly, upwards, into the dangerous air.
I liked this verse, by a kisaeng poet of the past century, whose name I forget. I often thought of it.
Who caught you, fish, then set you free
Within my garden pond?
Which clear northern sea did you leave
For these small waters?
I have seen more of the world now, and it is confusing. But I will make sense of it before time itself dies.
Despite her bright and worldly ways, Pingae was more superstitious than I was, and occasionally she would ask me if I wanted to consult a wise woman about Prince Sado’s growing illness. It was forbidden for us to consult these women, but, of course, the practice lingered on, particularly amongst the lower and merchant classes, and it was not unknown for ladies of the court to make contact with them. (I am told the practice still survives, even in your time. I am told the great spirit grandmothers in suburban Seoul are still greedy for the sacrifice of food and dollar bills.) These approaches to the spirit world were made through shamans (or mudangs , or mansins , as they were variously described), and most of them were harmless. Not all court ladies were intent on murdering their rivals by smearing the cotton lining of their robes with poisoned pastes. Some merely sought remedies for complaints and sicknesses, and these wise women knew of good herbal remedies. But bad advice was also given: one former queen was advised to propitiate the evil spirits that were attacking her son by bathing daily in a cold stream. Not surprisingly, this did her and him little good, for as a result of this practice she caught cold and died. Or so the story goes.
I resisted Pingae’s suggestion that we consult a shaman because I had little faith in a cure through such means, and because I wished to protect Prince Sado from gossip, and to conceal his affliction. But as I watched him deteriorate, I began to think we had nothing to lose, and at times I think I would have tried any remedy, however wild or primitive, or unlikely. All who have loved a person driven into insanity will know where this desperation can lead. How can one minister to a mind diseased? One will try any witchcraft, any