Tokyo Bay (29 page)

norimono
once more. Fresh bearers, under the urging of the samurai guard, rushed the enclosed conveyance back over the forested hills towards Uraga, at the same breakneck speed as before, never changing their pace and never pausing for rest. As they ran they chanted and sang in a noisy, undisciplined way, as if they were carrying an empty chair, but with each step they took they delivered a newly
painful
jolt of discourtesy to the kimono-clad interpreter cowering uneasily inside.

TRA
V
ER
S
ING SLOWLY
back and forth across a steep face of red and black ash, Eden and the former Japanese castaway edged slowly upwards towards a rocky shoulder of the volcano. The almost vertical cliff of crumbling slag was too soft to scale directly, and their feet slipped constantly in the loose volcanic ash as they followed their laborious zigzag course. They were digging their staves and heels in deep to prevent themselves sliding back, and the effort this required caused them to grunt with exertion at every step. The thick white vapour of a dense cloud through which they were climbing blotted out the sun’s glare from above and a sharp wind, which had forced them to tighten their hat strings, whipped constantly at their faces.
Both men were panting for breath and perspiring freely as they reached a winding lav
a
gully filled with volcanic rubble and cinders. Big, s1g-covered stones jutted through the floor of the gully, giving it the appearance of a crumbling staircase, and Eden took the opportunity to scramble up this natural f
l
ight of steps to the jutting shoulder of rock. Resting breathlessly on his stave, he turned to watch Sentaro stumble up behind him. The castaway’s straw sandals, he noticed, were badly frayed and worn, like his own, and he could see that the soles of his feet were blistered and bleeding in places; one of Eden’s own feet was also gashed and its sandal was stained with fresh blood.
‘Sit down on this rock, Sentaro said Eden firmly, as the Japanese arrived gasping beside him. ‘Your feet need attention.’
Once the castaway was seated, Eden knelt and removed the mangled wisps of straw from his swollen feet. Uncorking the drinking bottle, he poured a few drops of water onto a cloth and wiped away the blood. Taking a fresh pair of straw sandals from Sentaro’s waist-pouch, he slid them on and fastened them around the castaway’s ankles. Then he tended his own gashed foot, and took out a new pair of sandals for himself
‘Thank you, master,’ said Sentaro, still struggling to catch his breath. ‘You show me much kindness I don’t deserve.’
Eden looked at him for a moment. ‘You’re a brave man, Sentaro
-
and a loyal friend. I owe you a great debt of gratitude for all the help you’ve given me...’ He looked away and slipped his feet into the fresh straw sandals, tying them quickly. ‘And it’s not necessary for you to call me “master”. Such deference is not needed between friends.’
Eden stared downward, trying to penetrate the grey-white cloud that swirled about them: small, ragged gaps had begun to appear through which fleeting glimpses of the lower slopes were becoming visible, but the main bulk of the mountain remained shrouded in dense vapour. Immediately below them the land fell away with a dizzying sudde
nn
ess to disappear into the churning billows of cloud and, looking over what seemed to be a virtual precipice, Eden realized for the first time how high they had climbed. This first disturbing view of the mountain’s massive black bulk, seen from on high, also renewed more intensely the feelings of foreboding that had seized him soon after dawn and he shuddered involuntarily.
‘I thank you for the kind warmth of your words, master: said Sentaro quietly, bowing his head once. ‘But I address you like this to show proper respect and admiration for a good man. .
They stared down into the fog in silence for some moments; then the Japanese j
u
mped to his feet and pointed to a dark patch of mountain which had become visible far below, where the forest finally gave way to the harsh expanses
of
treeless lava and sand.
‘Look, master! Down there!’
Eden strained his eyes, unable to see anything. ‘What is it, Sentaro? What do you see?’
The Japanese moved closer to him, pointing through a gap in the scudding clouds. ‘A line of men
-
look, master! And climbing very fast.’
Eden looked again, and caught sight of a dozen or more figures, ant-like in their smallness, snaking out of the forest in single file. At their head were three quick-striding figures clad entirely in white, but the remainder wore darker clothing. From time to time the white-robed men stopped to peer up into the racing clouds and, on seeing this, Eden rose and clambered swiftly over the ridge of rocks on which they were resting, calling for Sentaro to follow him. Sprawling face-down in the lee of a lava knoll which made them invisible from below, they studied the line of moving figures more closely.
‘The men in white must be
goriki,
master,’ said Sentaro in a hushed voice. ‘They are men of the mountains who act as guides for climbers. They know every track and path...’
‘And the other men are samurai: murmured Eden grimly, after pulling out his miniature field-glasses from his pouch and focusing them. ‘I can see they are wearing cloaks and helmets
-
and twin swords.’
‘Somehow they’ve followed us,’ said Sentaro in a surprised voice, watching the line of figures scurrying swiftly upwards. ‘I think they know w
e a
re here. They’re coming after us!’
Eden nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the moving column of climbers, ‘I’m sure you’re right. But this is a very big mountain. It will have many hiding places. We have several hours’ start and today there’s much cloud,’
‘What do you plan to do, master?’ asked the Japanese with a puzzled frown. ‘How can we possibly escape them?’
Eden turned and peered along the face of the mountain, which had previously been hidden from their view. He could see a narrow ledge, wide enough to walk on, that wound away over another shoulder of rock, and he turned back to Sentaro with a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘There must be many different routes up Fuji-san, am I right?’
‘Yes, master, there are at least five or six. They lead up from different directions, because pilgrims come to Fuji
-
san from all parts of Nippon.’
‘Good.’ Eden nodded quickly and rose in a crouch, keeping his head below the level of rocks. With one hand he gestured towards the narrow ledge. ‘We’ll turn north now
-
and stay at this level until we can find another route leading up from the other side of Fuji-san. That way we’ll get to the summit without being seen
-
and we’ll avoid them by coming down a different way.’
He peered cautiously over the ridge to take a last look at the line of climbers far below. Under the leadership of the white-clad
goriki,
the whole column was moving smoothly upwards, evidently following a more direct path that had not been discernible to Eden from below. The
goriki
had long ropes slung over their shoulders and they were using them frequently to help the samurai clamber up the steepest slopes. They were ascending at more than twice the rate he and Sentaro had achieved and after watching their progress for several moments, Eden turned and laid an encouraging hand on his companion’s bony shoulder.
‘They’re catching us up fast. We must try to move more quickly ourselves.’
‘I am rested now, master,’ said the castaway eagerly. ‘I am quite ready to c
lim
b again.’
Eden looked at him for a moment. His narrow, unlined face was serious, its expression calm and determined. In his eyes there was an excited brightness, but there was no sign of doubt or lack of confidence in Eden’s leadership.
‘Good, Sentaro. Then we’ll go on.’
Eden tapped his closed fist gently against the castaway’s upper arm and, without speaking further, turned and led the way onto the narrow, northward
facing ledge.

FROM THE SADDLE
of his moving horse, Yakamochi, eldest son and heir of Lord Daizo of Haifu, gazed angrily up at the dark mass of Mount Fuji that towered above him. Thick cloud still enveloped its upper regions, but high on an area of its harsh sable flanks that was still visible from belo
w
the file of Prince Tanaka’s samurai and their
goriki
could be seen mo
v
ing steadily upward. As they approached the lower banks of cloud, the leading climbers were already becoming indistinct shapes, and Yakamochi cursed softly beneath his breath.
‘How far ahead of us are the men of the Kago clan?’ he asked, continuing to watch the tiny moving specks through narrowed eyes. ‘How many hours will it take for us to reach that level?’
‘At least two hours, my lord replied the stocky leader of a group of shaven-headed monks who were trotting beside his horse, carrying staves and coiled ropes of plaited cotton. ‘Possibly three hours, if the mist comes down heavily again.’
Yakamochi’s face creased into a scowl and as the hillside was becoming too steep for horses to negotiate easily, he reined in his mount. Behind him his troop of fifty warriors immediately brought their horses to a standstill, and the monks who had been hired from a nearby mountain monastery to guide them also came obediently to a halt.
‘Is
it
possible for us to catch them up?’ demanded Yakamochi of the leading monk. ‘If we dismount now and go forward quickly on foot?’
The monk glanced up the steep slopes of the volcano. ‘The guides, my lord, are the most experienced in these regions. They are
goriki,
trained men of the mountains, and they have already led the Kago samurai to a considerable height. By following in their footsteps
it
would be impossible to catch them up before they reach the
summit
.’
Yakamochi cursed again and raised his head to look skyward. A lone eagle was floating silently in and out of the mists high above them, and he gazed at
it
for a long moment in silence.
‘If we had the wings of the eagle, we would be able to find the foreign barbarian very quickly he said vehemently, watching the great bird glide effortlessly through the lower clouds. ‘But, earthbound, we are blind in these mists.’
‘My lord, if you wish to look down on the world like an eagle,
it
would be better for you to fly up quickly above the clouds.’
‘What do you mean?’ Yakamochi looked down sharply at the leading monk, who had made his suggestion in a calm, gentle voice. ‘How can we fly up above the clouds?’
‘On such days as this, my lord, the peak of Fuji- san itself almost always stands above the clouds...’
‘That is possibly true,’ broke in Yakamochi impatiently, ‘but how can
it
help us?’
The monk gestured briefly towards two riderless horses that were being led by Yakamochi’s samurai guard captain. ‘At the inn where you found these horses, the
teishi
said the foreign barbarian and his collaborator left to climb Fuji-san alone and without guides. Therefore they will be moving only slowly. But by riding fast for a few short miles, you could climb quickly to the peak by a route which is little known...’
‘Do you truly know such a route?’
‘Yes, I do, my lord. And by using
it
you will be able to overtake both the men of the Kago clan and the foreign barbarian at a single stroke! From the summit you could then look down on your approaching enemies before they see you
-
just like the emperor of all birds’
Yakamochi stared hard at the monk, his face alight suddenly with excitement. ‘A worthy suggestion
-
that way we will prevent the foreign barbarian from reaching the peak and profaning the most sacred precincts of our gods!’
‘We pray so, my lord.’ The monk bowed his head low to acknowledge Yakamochi’s praise, then glanced up the mountain again to where the last of the distant climbers could be seen disappearing into the bank of low cloud. ‘But to ensure we reach our goal in time, my lord, we should leave at this very moment.’
‘We shall go on at once! Can you ride?’
The monk bowed low again. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Then you will take the horse of the foreign barbarian
Yakamoc
h
i turned and signalled to his guard captain, who immediately brought one of the riderless horses forward. After conferring with his fellow guides, the leading monk swung himself easily into the saddle.
‘You will wait here for our other search troop Yakamochi ordered the guard captain. ‘Find enough fresh horses for the remaining monks. When our other troop arrives, ride hard with them and the monks, and follow us as swiftly as possible to the summit of Fuji-san. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
The guard captain bowed low to acknowledge his instructions but, before he straightened up, Yakamochi and the monk had turned their horses’ heads to the north
-
east and were spurring them into a fast gallop across the slopes of black cinders, followed closely by all the other samurai.

IN
THE LUMINOUS
white fog of a higher cloudbank Robert Eden felt his heart begin to thud heavily against his ribs. A feeling of tightness in his lungs indicated that the chilled air was becoming more rarefied, and he stopped to lean against a rock, gasping for breath. His head was starting to ache and a dizzying sensation gave him the impression that the steep slope beneath his feet was shifting and rolling. The fog swam before his eyes and when he turned to look back over his shoulder he saw that Sentaro had dropped a long way behind and was barely visible, stumbling with difficulty over a cluster of basalt rocks thirty feet below. Eden stopped climbing and waited for the castaway as he had done many times before, again searching the blanket of whiteness for shadowy shapes that might betray the presence of their pursuers. But he saw nothing to arouse his suspicion and he turned his attention back to the slow-moving figure of Sentaro.
They had struck upward again in the direction of the summit after trudging along the narrow ledge for more than an hour. Remembering the determined speed at which he had seen the group of samurai climbing, Eden had tried to press onward at a much faster pace than before, but as they moved higher he had to wait more frequently for the Japanese to catch up. As the mountainside became steeper and the cold increased, Sentaro’s rate of climb had slowed noticeably, and soon be was stopping to rest every few minutes. Although he had not seen or heard anything to suggest that their change of direction had been discovered, Eden found himself glancing back constantly over his shoulder as they moved higher to check that they were not being overhauled.
Above and below them, the slopes of volcanic ash and sand had now given way to ugly escarpments of black stones, gritty pumice and sharp rocks which rattled back down the mountain in streams from every step they took. The wind had recently died away and their laboured breathing and the clatter of these miniature landslides were the only sounds to be heard in the eerie silence. They were climbing beside a high ridge of soot
-
coloured lava, which had spouted violently from the still
-
invisible crater during one of Fuji’s many past eruptions, and -the ferocious energy locked up inside its frowning bulk seemed to add a new dimension of threat to the endless wilderness of stark black rubble all round them.
‘Are you all right, Sentaro?’ asked Eden, scrutinizing the Japanese closely as he scrambled up the slope to join him.
‘Yes, master. Don’t worry My chest hurts a little, that’s all.’
‘The air is much thinner at this height try to breathe slowly and evenly until you get used to it.’ Eden could see from the castaway’s weary face that the long, arduous climb was beginning to take its toll, and he patted him encouragingly on the shoulder. ‘You’re doing fine
-
keep going. We’ll take a rest soon.’
As they continued to scramble upward, sometimes on all fours, rain began to fall and was soon lancing down in freezing torrents; the wind also rose again to lash the rain against their faces. Eden moved closer to the wall of black lava, seeking its limited shelter, but within a few seconds the rain had turned to hail and bullet-like fragments of ice bounced and cracked ferociously against the lava rock all around them. Behind him, Eden heard the castaway cry out suddenly and he turned to find that he had fallen and was lying motionless face-down among the black stones.
Slithering quickly down the slope, Eden knelt to gather him up in his arms. On turning him over, he saw there was a gash three inches long above his right temple; his eyes were closed and his face was very pale. A faint blueness was visible around his mouth, but after a moment his eyes flickered open and he struggled into a sitting position, a bewildered look in his eyes.
‘Forgive me, master! What happened?’
‘Don’t try to talk,’ shouted Eden, leaning closer to protect him from the driving hailstones. ‘You slipped and gashed your head.’ He looked round desperately. ‘We’ve got to find shelter:
The rising wind was tearing ragged holes in the cloud and Sentaro raised himself suddenly to point ahead to the foot of the next drift of volcanic rubble above them.
‘Look, master, there’s a pilgrim hut!’
Following his pointing finger, Eden spotted what appeared at first to be a small tunnel leading into the mountainside. Lifting Sentaro in his arms he bowed his head against the storm and scrambled up the rocky slope at a stumbling run. As he drew nearer, he realized that what he had thought was a tunnel was in fact a square door of discoloured wood. It covered the entrance to a small hut so deeply submerged under tons of rock and cinders that
it
seemed to be part of the mountain slope. Eden tugged open the door, and ducked into the small dry interior, where bundles of firewood and other pilgrim supplies hung from low wooden rafters blackened by the smoke of countless fires. Rolls of bamboo matting covered the rocky floor around a central stone hearth and, after lowering Sentaro gently onto one of the mats, Eden closed the door and barred
it
against the wind.
‘The gods of Fuji-san have been kind to us, master gasped Sentaro, smiling weakly up at him in the near darkness. ‘They’ve led us to a shelter when we most needed it. I’ll make a fire now and prepare some food for us.’
Still breathing raggedly, the Japanese tried to struggle to his feet but found he was too weak. Sinking back onto the mat, he began to shiver violently from the cold.
Outside, the wind was moaning and blowing more f
u
riously, and hailstones flung themselves angrily against the door. With each gust, the drifts of rock and stones on the roof moved with a roaring re
mi
niscent of shingle on a beach, sending fine showers of grit and sand drifting down into the hut.
‘You need to rest until you recover your strength,’ said Eden, hauling a dusty bale of padded quilts down from the rafters. ‘Wrap one of these around yourself I’ll make a fire.’
Eden used matches from his waist-pouch to kindle a fire with twigs and wood in the stone hearth. The hut filled quickly with blue wood-smoke which stung their eyes, but the cheering flames soon brought a reviving warmth to their shuddering bodies.
Kneeling beside Sentaro, Eden inspected the gash on his forehead by the firelight; although the wound had not bled profusely, his temple was bruised and badly swollen, and a faint blurring of his gaze hinted that he might be suffering a mild concussion.
‘After some food, you must sleep,’ said Eden firmly. ‘I’ll bathe the wound later with hot water.’
Among the rudimentary utensils stowed above the rafters, Eden found iron cooking pots, wooden plates, beakers, and a vegetable-oil lamp. He lit the wick of braided cotton and heated water over the fire to make black tea which Sentaro gulped down gratefully while the eggs, rice and vegetables he had bought were cooking in another pot. Afterwards, Eden washed and dressed Sentaro’s head wound with a makeshift bandage, and as soon as they had eaten the food the castaway lay down close to the fire and fell into an exhausted sleep.
Outside, the noise of the hailstorm, which had abated temporarily, grew suddenly loud again as though
it
were deliberately launching a renewed assault. Shrieking gusts of wind tore at the tiny hut, seeming to snatch away its entire covering of rock and stone one moment, then dashing an unbearable new deluge down upon its roof the next. Furious showers of hailstones were being hurled simultaneously against the door, and the whole hut began to sway under the awful barrage. Puffing a quilt round his shoulders, Eden added more wood to the fire and shifted nearer to the comforting flames himself Fresh falls of grit and sand were pouring through cracks in the roof and
it
seemed suddenly to Eden as though the whole mountain might be starting to rumble and sway beneath him.
In his troubled sleep, Sentaro whimpered and groaned as though unconsciously aware of the storm’s heightened ferocity and Eden watched the castaway’s eyes f
l
icker repeatedly as though he was trying in vain to wake himself from some unbearable nightmare. A long-drawn-out, growling roar seemed to accompany each new swirl of wind and hail and as Eden looked around at the quivering walls and rafters of their precarious shelter, a cold worm of fear began to wriggle somewhere deep in his brain.
He remembered suddenly, with great clarity; his first moonlit glimpse of Mount Fuji seen from the darkened ocean. The image of peerless beauty had so overwhelmed his senses that
it
made him wonder whether he was seeing some ethereal vision of God
-
a God he had long since rejected. But he also remembered, with even greater clarity; the alarming sensation that had swiftly followed: the suspicion that the unearthly vision shimmering in the night might equally be a beacon warning him or the American warships or both
-
against some terrible tragedy.
Those moments of matchless beauty had drawn him towards the volcano like a moth to a flame
-
but even though the great mountain was now shuddering terrifyingly all around him, he found he still did not regret his response to that irrational impulse. Instead, he was seized by a strange feeling of near-ecstasy at experiencing for himself the gigantic power of the natural forces swirling around the volcanic cone. He had felt similar stirrings of awe during violent sea tempests, but never before so intensely, and something deep within him seemed to throb suddenly in response to the wildness of the storm.
With part of his mind he found
himself
wondering how far they might be from the summit crater. And what thickness of rock might exist between his back and the mighty funnel through which the white-hot lava of any new eruption must gush. Listening to the primal rumble of the wind and earth after climbing Fuji’s desolate, black flanks for several long hours, it seemed perfectly possible that at any second the sacred volcano might erupt for the first time in two hundred years, and send molten lava gushing skyward.
The more he thought about
it,
the more likely it seemed, and his acceptance of the possibility eventually helped to calm his fears. If that same eruption swept away the hut and both its occupants in a sudden blaze of light, as in his dream, that too, he told himself, he was prepared for, because something unimaginably greater than himself had seemed to demand it.
Perhaps, he thought suddenly, that was the whole reason for his coming there
-
to give sacrificial point to the cataclysmic warning, to become part of it, to become its very essence! But whether that was true or not, in abandoning himself to this invisible force, he felt again the same profound sense of peace and serenity which had flooded into his mind as he looked on the image of Fuji for the first time; and in that same moment he knew with total certainty that, however great the risks had seemed, it had been right to come.
While these extraordinary thoughts and feelings were coursing through him, the wind rose to a howling crescendo, and Sentaro began to moan incoherently in a loud voice as he slept. A new avalanche of rock and sand was hurled onto the roof of the hut with a shuddering crash, and great clouds of grit fell on the fire, smothering some of its flames. The volcanic dust peppered Sentaro’s sweating face, too, but still the castaway did not waken. Looking down at him, Eden was seized by an intense feeling of compassion, and in the next instant a cold calm rationality surged back into his mind.
Sentaro was injured and now feverishly ill; and the troop of samurai pursuing them was as great a threat to him as
it
was to Eden himself. Therefore it was suddenly clear that the wisest course would be to abandon their attempt to reach the summit and head back down the mountain as soon as the storm abated. They had already climbed high, and experienced at first hand something of Fuji’s extraordinary power. But turning back now would give them at least a practical chance of escaping unscathed from the region. Exposing Sentaro to further risks, he reasoned, would be a betrayal of the castaway’s unflagging loyalt
y
as well as an act of the greatest foolishness.
Another louder rumble came from the mountain, rocking the hut on its foundations, and the next moment there was a deafening crash as a further shower of rocks and volcanic debris smashed down onto its roof. Dust poured through the rafters in torrents, extinguishing the lamp and the remaining flames of the fire. The interior of the hut was plunged into darkness and Sentaro awoke with a wild shout of alarm. To comfort him Eden lunged across the hearth and cradled the castaway’s head in his arms.
‘It’s all right,’ he shouted above the frenzy of the storm. ‘Don’t be afraid!’
‘What’s happening, master?’ croaked the castaway. ‘Where are we?’
‘The storm’s put out our fire,’ shouted Eden. ‘We’re still in the hut.’
Several more waves of debris broke over the shelter in quick succession, and Eden felt the castaway’s body shaking with fear. The wooden walls creaked loudly, as though on the point of collapsing under the assault; then, as abruptly as it had begun, the storm began to subside and the wind slackened. Within minutes the frightening noise had died away and only the faint drumming of gentle rain on the roof could be heard. Soon even this sound ceased, and almost immediately the darkness inside the hut was penetrated by a bright ray of yellow light. It fell directly onto the face of Sentaro, and the Ja
p
anese looked up fearfully at Eden.
‘Who is that, master?’
For a moment Eden stared uncertainly at the light; entering horizontally through a crack in the door, it fixed itself unwaveringly on the face of the Japanese, growing brighter with each passing second.
There’s no need to worry’ said Eden at last, speaking in a relieved voice. ‘It’s the setting sun.’