Gai-Jin (8 page)

“Yes, Sire.”

He saw the glint in his counselor’s eyes. “Stupid to be disobedient. If such men wanted to remain alive their only recourse would be to flee and become ronin, even if they were to lose their stipends. A waste of their lives if they happened to be worthy.” Then he looked at the youths, scrutinizing them carefully. To his surprise he saw nothing on their faces, just the same grave impassivity. His caution increased.

“You are quite correct, Sire. As always.” Katsumata added, “It might be that some such men, if special men of honor, knowing that they had disturbed your harmony, knowing you would have no other option than to punish them severely, these special men even as ronin would still guard your interests, perhaps even forward your interests.”

“Such men do not exist,” Sanjiro said, secretly delighted his counselor agreed with him. He turned his pitiless eyes onto the young men. “Do they?”

Both youths tried to maintain their direct gaze but they were overwhelmed. They dropped their glance. Shorin, the older, muttered, “There—there are such men, Sire.”

The silence became rougher as Sanjiro waited for the other youth to declare himself also. Then the younger Ori nodded his bowed head imperceptibly, put both hands flat on the tatami and bowed lower. “Yes, Lord, I agree.”

Sanjiro was content, for now, at no cost, he had their allegiance and two spies within the movement—whom Katsumata would be answerable for.

“Such men would be useful, if they existed.” His voice was curt and final. “Katsumata, write an immediate letter to the Bakufu, informing them two goshi called …” he thought a moment, paying no attention to the rustle in the room, “put whatever names you like … broke ranks and killed some gai-jin today because of their provocative and insolent attitude—the gai-jin were armed with pistols which they pointed threateningly at my palanquin. These two men, provoked, as all my men were, escaped before they could be caught and bound.” He looked back at the youths. “As to you two, you will both come back at the first night watch for sentencing.”

Katsumata said quickly, “Sire, may I suggest you add in the letter that they have been ordered outcast, declared ronin, their stipends cancelled and a reward offered for their heads.”

“Two koku. Post it in their villages when we return.” Sanjiro turned his eyes on Shorin and Ori and waved his hand in dismissal. They bowed deeply and left. He was pleased to see the sweat on the back of their kimonos though the afternoon was not hot.

“Katsumata, about Yokohama,” he said softly when they were alone again. “Send some of our best spies to see what is going on there. Order them to be back here by nightfall, and order all samurai to become battle ready.”

“Yes, Sire.” Katsumata did not allow a smile to show.

When the youths left Sanjiro and had passed through the rings of bodyguards, Katsumata caught up with them. “Follow me.” He led the way through meandering gardens to a side door that was unguarded.

“Go at once to Kanagawa, to the Inn of the Midnight Blossoms. It is a safe house, other friends will be there. Hurry!”

“But, Sensei,” Ori said. “First we must collect our other swords and armor and money and—”

“Silence!” Angrily Katsumata reached into his kimono sleeve and gave them a small purse with a few coins in it. “Take this, and return double for your insolence. At sunset I will order men to go after you with orders to kill you if you’re caught within one
ri.”
A
ri
was about a league, about three miles.

“Yes, Sensei, I apologize for being so rude.”

“Your apology is not accepted. You are both fools. You should have killed all four barbarians, not just one—particularly the girl, for that would have sent the gai-jin mad with rage! How many times have I told you? They’re not civilized like us, and view the world, religion and women differently! You’re inept! You’re fools! You initiated a good attack then failed to press forward ruthlessly without concern for your own lives. You hesitated! So you lost! Fools!” he said again. “You forgot everything I’ve taught you.” Enraged, he backhanded Shorin in the face, the blow savage.

At once Shorin bowed, mumbled an abject apology for causing the Sensei to lose
wa
, to lose inner harmony, keeping his head bowed, desperately trying to contain the pain. Ori stayed ramrod stiff, waiting for the second blow. It left a livid burn in its wake. Immediately he, too, apologized abjectly, and kept his throbbing head bowed, afraid. Once a fellow student, the best swordsman amongst them, had answered Katsumata rudely during a practice fight. Without hesitation, Katsumata had sheathed his sword, attacked barehanded, disarmed him, humiliated him, broke both his arms and expelled him to his village forever.

“Please excuse me, Sensei,” Shorin said, meaning it.

“Go to the Inn of the Midnight Blossoms. When I send a message, obey whatever I require of you at once, there will be no second chance! At once, understand?”

“Yes, yes, Sensei, please excuse me,” they mumbled together, tucked up their kimonos and fled, thankful to be out of his reach, more frightened of
him than of Sanjiro. Katsumata had been their main teacher for years, in both the arts of war and, in secret, other arts: strategy, past, present and of the future, why the Bakufu had failed in their duty, the Toranagas in theirs, why there must be change and how to bring it about. Katsumata was one of the few clandestine shishi who was
hatomoto—
an honored retainer with instant access to his lord—a senior samurai with a personal yearly stipend of a thousand koku.

“Eeee, to be so rich,” Shorin had whispered to Ori when they had first found out.

“Money is nothing, nothing. The Sensei says when you have power you don’t need money.”

“I agree, but think of your family, your father and mine, and grandfather, they could buy some land of their own and not have to work the fields of others—nor would we have to work like that from time to time to earn extra.”

“You’re right,” Ori said.

Then Shorin had laughed. “No need to worry, we’ll never get even a hundred koku and if we had it we’d just spend our share on girls and saké and become daimyos of the Floating World. A thousand koku is all the money in the world!”

“No, it’s not,” Ori had said. “Don’t forget what the Sensei told us.”

During one of Katsumata’s secret sessions for his special group of acolytes he had said: “The revenue of Satsuma amounts to seven hundred and fifty thousand koku and belongs to our lord, the daimyo, to apportion as he sees fit. That’s another custom the new administration will modify. When the great change has happened, a fief’s revenue will be portioned out by a Council of State, made up of wise men drawn from
any rank of samurai, high or low, of any age, provided the man has the necessary wisdom and has proved himself a man of honor
. It will be the same in all fiefs, as the land will be governed by a Supreme Council of State in Yedo or Kyōto, drawn equally from samurai of honor—under the guidance of the Son of Heaven.”

“Sensei, you said
any?
May I ask, will that include the Toranagas?” Ori had asked.

“There will be no exception, if the man is worthy.”

“Sensei, please, about the Toranagas. Does anyone know their real wealth, the lands they really control?”

“After Sekigahara, Toranaga took lands from dead enemies worth yearly about five million koku, about a third of all the wealth of Nippon, for himself and his family. In perpetuity.”

In the stunned silence that followed, Ori had said for all of them: “With that amount of wealth we could have the greatest navy in the world with all the men-of-war and cannon and guns we could ever need, we could have the best legions with the best guns, we could throw out all gai-jin!”

“We could even carry war to them and extend our shores,” Katsumata had added softly, “and correct previous shame.”

At once they had known he was referring to the
tairō
, General Nakamura, Toranaga’s immediate predecessor and liege lord, the great peasant-general who then possessed the Gates and had therefore, in gratitude, been granted by the Emperor the highest possible title a lowborn could aspire to,
tairō
, meaning Dictator—not that of Shōgun, which he coveted to obsession but could never have.

Having subdued all the land, chiefly by persuading his main enemy Toranaga to swear allegiance to him and his child heir forever, he had gathered a huge armada and mounted a vast campaign against Chosen, or Korea as it was sometimes called, to enlighten that country and use it as a stepping-stone to the Dragon Throne of China. But his armies had failed and soon retreated in ignominy—as in previous eras, centuries before, two other Japanese attempts had failed, equally in disaster, the throne of China a perpetual lodestone.

“Such shame needs to be eradicated—like the shame the Sons of Heaven have suffered because of the Toranagas who usurped Nakamura’s power when the man died, destroyed his wife and son, levelled their Osaka castle, and have pillaged the heritage of the Son of Heaven for long enough!
Sonno-joi!”

“Sonno-joi!”
they had echoed. Fervently.

In the dusk the youths were tiring, their headlong flight racking them. But neither wanted to be the first to admit it so they pressed on until they were at the threshold of woods. Ahead now were paddy swamps on either side of the Tokaidō that led to the outskirts of Kanagawa just ahead, and to the roadblock. The shore was to their right.

“Let’s … let’s stop a moment,” Ori said, his wounded arm throbbing, head hurting, chest hurting, but not showing it.

“All right.” Shorin was panting as hard and hurting as much but he laughed. “You’re weak, like an old woman.” He picked a dry patch of earth, sat down gratefully. With great care be began to look around, trying to regain his breathing.

The Tokaidō was almost empty, night travel being generally forbidden by the Bakufu and subject to severe cross-questioning and punishment if not justified. Several porters and the last of the travellers scurried for the Kanagawa barrier, all others safely bathing or carousing at the Inns of their choice—of which there was a multitude within the post towns. Throughout the land, trunk road barriers closed at nightfall and were not opened until dawn, and always guarded by local samurai.

Across the bay Shorin could see the oil lamps along the promenade and
in some of the houses of the Settlement, and amongst the ships at anchor. A good moon, half full, was rising from near the horizon.

“How is your arm, Ori?”

“Fine, Shorin. We are more than a
ri
from Hodogaya.”

“Yes, but I won’t feel safe until we’re at the Inn.” Shorin began massaging his neck to try to ease the pain there and in his head. Katsumata’s blow had stunned him. “When we were before Lord Sanjiro I thought we were finished, I thought he was going to condemn us.”

“So did I.” As he spoke Ori felt sick, his arm throbbing like his heaving chest, his face still afire. With his good hand he waved absently at a swarm of night insects. “If he … I was ready to go for my sword and send him on before us.”

“So was I but the Sensei was watching very closely and he would have killed both of us before we moved.”

“Yes, you’re right again.” The younger man shuddered. “His blow almost took my head off. Eeee, to have such strength, unbelievable! I’m glad he’s on our side, not against us. He saved us, only him; he bent Lord Sanjiro to his will.” Ori was suddenly somber. “Shorin, while I was waiting I … to keep myself strong, I composed my death poem.”

Shorin became equally grave. “May I hear it?”

“Yes.

Shorin thought about the poem, savoring it, the balance of the words and the third level of meaning. Then he said solemnly, “It is wise for a samurai to have composed a death poem. I haven’t managed that yet but I should, then all the rest of life is extra.” He twisted his head from side to side to the limit, the joints or ligaments cracking, and he felt better. “You know, Ori, the Sensei was right: we did hesitate, therefore we lost.”

“I hesitated, he’s right in that, I could have killed the girl easily but she paralyzed me for a moment. I’ve never … her outlandish clothes, her face like a strange flower with that huge nose more like a monstrous orchid with two great blue spots and crowned with yellow stamens—those unbelievable eyes, Siamese cat eyes and thatch of straw under that ridiculous hat, so repulsive yet so—so attracting.” Ori laughed nervously. “I was bewitched. She is surely a
kami
from the dark regions.”

“Rip her clothes off and she’d be real enough, but how attractive I … I don’t know.”

“I thought of that too, wondering what it would be like.” Ori looked up
at the moon for a moment. “If I pillowed with her I think … I think I’d become the male spider to her female.”

“You mean she’d kill you afterwards?”

“Yes, if I pillowed her, with or without force, that woman would kill me.” Ori waved the air, the insects becoming a pestilence. “I’ve never seen one like her—nor have you. You noticed too,
neh?”

“No, everything happened so fast and I was trying to kill the big ugly one with the pistol and then she had fled.”

Ori stared at the faint lights of Yokohama. “I wonder what she’s called, what she did when she got back there. I’ve never seen—she was so ugly and yet …”

Shorin was unsettled. Normally Ori hardly noticed women, just used them when he had a need, let them entertain him, serve him. Apart from his adored sister, he could not remember Ori ever discussing one before. “Karma.”

“Yes, karma.” Ori shifted his bandage to be more comfortable, but the throbbing deepened. Blood seeped from under it. “Even so, I do not know if we lost. We must wait, we must be patient and see what will happen. We always planned to go against gai-jin at the first opportunity—I was right to go against them at that moment.”

Shorin got up. “I’m tired of seriousness, and kami and death. We’ll know death soon enough. The Sensei gave us life for
sonno-joi
. From nothing into nothing—but tonight we’ve another night to enjoy. A bath, saké, food, then a real Lady of the Night, succulent and sweet-smelling and moist …” He laughed softly. “A flower, not an orchid, with a beautiful nose and proper eyes. Let’s—”