How to Train Your Charioteer

Chariots of Sire

I had never given too much thought to chariots in Ancient China until I came across a list in the Book of Zhou (周禮, 2nd century BCE) of the five essential skills of the charioteer. As I started to explore this intriguing resume, I realised that my mental image of the chariot had been totally wrong. I had been imagining a very nimble thing for a solitary rider, or perhaps a pair: essentially, I suppose, a Spartan chariot or something out of Ben Hur. In reality, these things were much more like tanks – large, armoured, packed with gear, and frequently accompanied by large numbers of protecting troops. This makes much more sense of the fact I was aware of, that by the end of the Zhou dynasty they were being phased out entirely, in favour of speedy mounted cavalry.

And really, what a revelation that must have been when first encountered: by dint of a simple stirrup, those sinewy stallions were no longer tethered like heads of cattle to a glorified cart but released into all their mighty potential; galloping around the battlefield at the hands of a skilled warrior who, flowing as one with his steed, could twist around, shoot arrows, strike with sword or halberd. It is difficult to think of something that quite matches this Gestalt shift, whereby a known quantity is completely reimagined. Risking bathos at the turn from equestrianism to horseplay, there exists a memorable episode of the TV show Taskmaster in which contestants were tasked with tying themselves up in such a way that the assistant Alex would take as long as possible to untie them. While the other four competitors spent their time furiously tying themselves in intricate knots, comedian Rhod Gilbert focused instead on tying up Alex (thus ensuring the latter could never even get close to him, let alone untie him) before adding a single perfunctory knot to his own hands. So effective, so utterly new, was the approach that it almost seemed like cheating, while staying completely within the rules. I imagine a similar reflection might have passed very briefly through the head of a traditional charioteer just before the blade of a mounted foe did much the same thing.

For now, though, we remain with the chariot, which had a certain majestic charm of its own. One of the odes in the Book of Songs rhapsodises about this war machine:

In the sixth month all was bustle and excitement,

The war carriages had been made ready,

With the four steeds of each, strong and eager;

And the regular accoutrements had been placed in the carriages.

(…)

Matched in strength were the four black steeds,

Well trained to observe every rule.

On this sixth month,

We completed our accoutrements.

(…)

The four steeds were long, and stout,

And large-headed.

We smote the Hién-yün(1),

And achieved great merit.

(…)

Ten large war chariots

Led the way in front.

The war carriages were well made,

Nicely balanced before and behind.

Their four steeds were strong,

Both stout and well trained.

Exerpts from Book of Songs, James Legge translation

(1) Hién-yün = Xiǎnyǔn 獫狁- a nomadic people in North China. They were later referred to as the 匈奴 Xiōngnú in the Qin and Han dynasties

19th century Sinologist George Biot scoured this ancient poetry collection, to develop an account of various aspects life in the Zhou dynasty (1024-256 BCE). He characterises warfare of the period as essentially an extension of the hunt. The primary military challenge facing the plains-dwelling inhabitants of the Zhou dynasty was dealing with the nomadic steppe-dwellers to the North; formations, weaponry and strategy were built around keeping a mobile and hostile alien people in check. Military campaigns were built around the chariot, which often refers to not simply the vehicle itself, but the whole formation around it, with armed guards to the sides and foot soldiers trailing behind.

From his researches, Biot compiled the following facts about chariots of the period: A regular chariot was typically pulled by two or four horses. In the case of four, two would be hitched to the central beam, and two were in the lead. Riding in the chariot was a team of three: an officer in the middle, a squire to his right who passed him weapons, and a driver to his left. Around them were 25 armed soldiers to help steer the horses and guard the sides and behind them, 72 light infantry. These were ideal numbers and in reality there were often far fewer. A king or military commander had the deluxe version of a chariot, with four or six horses armoured harnessed together with richly decorated reins. The chariots were strengthened with wooden plants on the side and a mat of bamboo or an embroidered rug was placed inside. The axels were reinforced with green silk or leather, and the central beam was wrapped in multicoloured leather.

Drive It Like You Toll It

With this image of the chariot in our minds, we turn to the list of five essential skills for the Zhou Dynasty charioteer. This is mentioned in the Book of Zhou as one of the Six Arts. (The full list is rituals 禮, music 樂, archery 射, charioteering 馭, writing 書 and mathematics 數). The term itself, which cannot be literally rendered into English, is simply the ‘five drivings [of a team of horses]’, so there is a certain degree of creative license in describing them as essential skills, though this is the implication. Whether, as some modern commentators I have read would have it, these formed the syllabus of some kind of pre-imperial driving test for would-be charioteers, I am not at all sure. Regardless, we can be sure that the five items were considered central to driving a chariot.

The original text leaves it at that, so for the actual list we have to turn to a later commentator of the Book of Zhou, one Zheng Xuan (127-200), who took the trouble to name them. Here the plot thickens, because the list provided by Zheng Xuan, while delightfully poetic, is a little mystifying. ‘The call of the he and the luan’, the most abstruse-sounding of all of them, is probably the easiest to unpick. We know that the he and the luan were bells fitted to the chariot in different places, so having them sound alternately in rhythm had to do with smooth forward motion and good pacing. A commentary on the Book of Songs (詩經), the Hanshi Nei Zhuang (韓詩內傳), explains the bells like so: “When chariot rises, the horses move. When the horses move, the luan sounds. When the luan sounds, the he responds. (升車則馬動，馬動則鸞鳴，鸞鳴則和應).

So far, so good. As for the other four items on the list, I am calling them: “following the water bend”, “passing the lord’s banner”, “dancing the crossroad criss-cross” and “pursuing to the left of the quarry”. Once again, English could learn a thing or two about pithiness from Classical Chinese, since each of these are three-character phrases in the original.

As with a similar list about choosing a good bow that I covered recently, you really need an expert with some hands-on experience to explain why these items might have made the top five and what on earth they mean. Unfortunately, the Zhou dynasty chariot reconstruction scene is not as vibrant as the composite bow community (so far as I know), so a fair amount of speculation is involved. “Following the water bend” is presumably to do with guiding a chariot on some kind of meandering course. Some have it that the list in general is the syllabus of a pre-Imperial driving test and part of it was steering a chariot through a watery ditch to ensure adroit handling across tricky terrain.

“Passing the Lord’s banner” could refer to some kind of ceremonial act of paying respect to the lord’s colours, while others say the jūnbiǎo (君表) was the name given to a narrow gate topped with flags through which the charioteer would have to drive. I cannot find a reliable source for this definition (in fact my trusty dictionary of ancient Chinese does not even give the flag/banner definition among its many listings for 表, let alone the gate) but it seems a reasonable theory. Squeezing a chariot through one of these archways, perhaps made trickier still with extra stones added, would certainly be a worthy test of a charioteer’s skill.

“Dancing the crossroad criss-cross” is intriguing. There seems to be some sort of intersection involved (衢), some form of crossing over (that’s the 交), and it is definitely referred to as a dance (舞). Beyond that, it is hard to know what those chariot drivers actually had to do. I have found confident but contradictory assertions that the test involved either speeding through an intersection at will, or dodging pedestrians in a kind of high-stakes obstacle course. Short of stumbling on to a contemporary account, I will just have to add my own speculation here that this skills test involved navigating some kind of crossroad protocol, perhaps involving another chariot. I’m imagining the vehicular equivalent of a do-si-do from the occasional barn dances that peppered my youth in rural England.

Finally, we have another fundamental charioteering skill “pursuing to the left of the quarry”. Based on the fact that chariots were built for a three-man team: the chariot owner who stood in the middle, chariot driver to his right, and the servant who handed weapons to the chariot owner. Since the driver was on the right hand side, he had to make sure that the warrior was on the same side as the quarry i.e. keeping the chariot to the left of it. How this skill was tested remains unclear to me. I have read outlandish theories that a test involved driving game birds to the left using the chariot but cannot find any evidence for this. Again, this assumes the the list of five was the syllabus of an ancient driving test (as opposed to just a set of principles), which I do not think is confirmed anywhere, pleasing idea though it is.

So there you have it. I hope you’ve enjoyed this quick survey of charioteering in ancient China, which honestly just sounds extremely difficult. How to train your charioteer? Buy them a set of stirrups and leave the chariots back in the imperial storeroom.

Head here to see the list.