Gai-Jin by James Clavell
“Do not turn around yet,” he heard Katsumata say quietly. “I did not recognize you, your disguise is perfect.”
“Yours must be too, Sensei,” he said as softly, hardly moving his lips. “Twice I scrutinized this place carefully.”
The low, well-known and admired laugh. “Drop something and when you pick it up, look around briefly.”
Hiraga obeyed and when, momentarily, he saw the only man within hearing, a wild-looking, bearded, venomous ronin with the filthy thatch of hair glaring at him, he turned his back once more. “Eeee, Sensei!”
“No more ‘Sensei.’ There is little time, Hodogaya crawls with Enforcers and spies. Where can we meet safely?”
“Our Yoshiwara—the House of the Three Carp.”
“I’ll be there in two or three days—it is vital to create an incident with the gai-jin, quickly. Think about it.”
“What sort of incident?”
“A serious one.”
“Very well,” Hiraga said. “I was relieved to hear from you—we had no idea you were coming here. There have been wild rumors about fighting in Kyōto—Akimoto is with me but we are on our own and we lost many shishi in our Yedo attacks. There is much to tell about Yedo and the gai-jin. Quickly, what happened in Kyōto? Sumomo, how is she?”
“Kyōto was bad. Before leaving I assigned Sumomo to Koiko, who was returning here with Yoshi, to spy on him to find out who was betraying us—must be one of our men—too good an opportunity to miss and it got her out of Kyōto safely,” Katsumata said, his eyes constantly raking; the other men in this eating place, even though they were not near, avoided looking at him. “We mounted two attacks on Yoshi, both failed, our safe house was betrayed, Ogama and Yoshi working together ambushed us. We—”
“Eeee,” Hiraga murmured, gravely concerned. “They have become allies?”
“For the moment. We lost many leaders and men, I’ll give you particulars later but we—Sumomo, Takeda, I and some others—fought our way out. I’m glad to see you, Hiraga. Leave now.”
“Wait. Sumomo, I ordered her back to Choshu.”
“She brought me valuable information about the situation here and about Shorin and Ori. I suggested she continue on to Choshu but she wanted to stay, thinking she might help you. How is Ori?”
“Dead.” He heard Katsumata curse—Ori had been his favorite pupil. “The gai-jin shot him trying to break into one of their houses,” he said hastily, his nervousness increasing. “There’s a rumor there was a shishi attack on Yoshi at Hamamatsu, that Koiko was killed in the melee, a shishi also. Who was he?”
“Not he, she. So sorry, it was Sumomo.” Color drained from Hiraga’s face. “Koiko betrayed her, the whore betrayed her to Yoshi and so betrayed sonno-joi and us. But she died with Sumomo’s shuriken in her chest.”
“How did Sumomo die?”
“As a shishi, she will be remembered forever. She fought Yoshi, with shuriken and long sword and almost killed him. That was her mission—if she was betrayed.”
So Sumomo had a mission, Hiraga thought with sudden insight, his whole being a volcano—you expected her to be betrayed, and even so, sent her into the pit. There was a tightness in his throat. He forced himself to ask the essential question: “How did they bury her? Was it with honor?”
If Toranaga Yoshi had not honored her after fighting and dying bravely then he would hunt him to the exclusion of all else, until one or the other of them was dead. Hiraga was leader of Choshu shishi, the strongest contingent. Sumomo, though from Satsuma, had declared her allegiance to him and to Choshu. “Please, I must know, was it with honor?”
Still no answer. He glanced around. Katsumata had vanished. Hiraga’s shock was open. The other customers stared at him silently. To one side a group of samurai stood watching him. The hackles on his neck rose. He threw a few coins on the table and, his hand on his concealed derringer, went back the way he had come.
That afternoon, throughout Yedo Castle there was an air of premonition. Yoshi was hurrying after the Chinese doctor along a corridor, Abeh and four samurai guards followed. The doctor, tall and very thin, wore a long gown and his grey hair in a queue. Up some stairs and along another corridor and then the doctor stopped. Hostile guards stood in the way, hands on their swords, all their eyes on Yoshi and his men.
“So sorry, Lord Yoshi,” the officer said, “the tairō’s orders are that no one should pass.”
“And my orders,” the doctor said, his fear giving him false courage, “were to fetch Lord Yoshi.”
“Lord Yoshi, you may pass,” the officer said grimly. “So sorry, your men may not.”
Though heavily outnumbered, Abeh and his men went for their swords. “Stop,” Yoshi said calmly. “Wait here, Abeh.”
Abeh was sick with worry, adrenaline pumping, dreadfully aware of rumors in the castle that his master was about to be arrested, rumors that Yoshi scoffed at. “Please excuse me, Sire, but this may be a trap.” The opposing samurai stiffened at the insult.
“If it is you may kill all these men,” Yoshi said with a laugh. No one else laughed. He motioned the doctor onwards having decided that if they attempted to disarm him they might as well fight and die now.
They let him through unmolested. The doctor opened the far door and bowed Yoshi through. Yoshi’s hand was not on his hilt but he was ready for an assassin behind the door. There was none. Just four guards around the futons in the big room. On the futons, crumpled with pain, was Anjo. “So, Guardian of the Heir,” he said, his voice weak though spiced with venom, “you have information?”
“For your ears.”
“Wait outside, Doctor, until I call for you.”
The doctor bowed and left, glad to go. This patient was impossible, he despised him, and as he was slowly dying, only a few weeks or months left, there would be no fee. In China such was the custom—no cure, no fee—and it applied here.
The guards had not moved. Nor would they. The four were noted fighters and completely loyal. Some of Yoshi’s confidence left him. He knelt and bowed politely. This morning, after Inejin had left, he had sent Anjo a message asking for an urgent meeting to give him important information.
“Well, Yoshi-dono?”
“Yesterday I went on one of the gai-jin warships an—”
“I know that, do you think I am a fool and that I do not know what you are up to? You said medical information.”
“The gai-jin doctor at Kanagawa. The Furansu said he has made miraculous cures, with your permission I will have him brought here.”
“I do not need you for that.” In agony, Anjo raised up on one elbow. “Why so solicitous when you want me dead?”
“Not dead, in good health, Tairō-dono. It is important to have you in good health.” Yoshi kept a tight hold, loathing this man and this room with its stench of death and diarrhea and vomit—at the same time afraid he had miscalculated: This could easily be his death trap should the sick man give the order. “Why be sick if you can be cured? Also, I wanted to tell you I have learned the gai-jin battle plan, not on the ship but early today.”
“What plan, eh? How did you come by it?”
“It does not matter, except I know, so now you know.” He told him the substance of the plan, accurately, but left out the part about the ten days of grace after the ultimatum.
“Then we must leave!” The voice became shriller. The guards shifted nervously. “The roju must leave secretly at once, we will take up residence in … in Hodogaya. When we’re safe we burn the Settlement by night and catch them in their beds. What dogs! They deserve to die foully, without honor. We burn them out, kill all who escape, and return here when the fleet’s sailed away. In the spring we will be prepared. We fire Yokohama tomorrow.” Anjo’s eyes glittered, a string of saliva wet his chin. “You have the honor of leading the assault. Organize it, lead the attack tomorrow or the next day.”
At once Yoshi bowed in thanks. “I accept the honor, gladly, and while I organize it, I have a notion: first your health. Bri
“How?”
“By putting myself into their trap.”
“What?” The slight movement Anjo made to see Yoshi better caused him to bite his lip to prevent a cry of pain.
“I will risk putting myself in their power, meeting with them with only one or two guards. On the ship I found out they are on the point of lashing out at us, senselessly. We must prevent this at all costs, tairō. They are as dangerous as a pack of starving sharks.” This was said with all the sincerity at his command. He believed the opposite: that gai-jin were ready to negotiate and compromise, never really wanting to war unless pushed too far … like foolishly attacking them.
“It will be my risk,” he said, dangling the bait with a pretense of fear. “If they hold me hostage, that will cause all daimyos to rush to your support. If they do not, never mind, in either event, you forget that I am hostage and attack them—all this, of course, with your permission, tairō.”
The silence became heavy. Another spasm. Then Anjo nodded agreement and waved a hand in dismissal. “Fetch the gai-jin doctor at once, prepare the attack at once.”
Yoshi bowed humbly, and with difficulty stopped himself from shouting with glee.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
KANAGAWA
FRIDAY, 2ND JANUARY:
As Yoshi rode up to the Kanagawa Legation gateway leading the small procession, Settry Pallidar, officer commanding the honor guard, bellowed, “Pre sent aaarrmms!” and saluted with his sword. The soldiers brought their rifles off their shoulders, presented arms and stayed motionless; thirty Guardsmen, thirty kilted Highlanders, his mounted troop of Dragoons, equally smart.
Yoshi returned the salute with his riding crop and hid his anxiety seeing so many enemy soldiers with so many spotless rifles. Never in his life had he been so unprotected. Only Abeh and two guards, also mounted, in attendance. Following were a groom on foot and a dozen sweating, nervous porters carrying heavy bundles on poles swung between them. His other guards were waiting at the barricade.
He was dressed all in black: bamboo armor, light helmet, wide-shouldered tunic, two swords—even his stallion pony was jet. But the tasseled trappings and reins and blanket were deliberately scarlet, enhancing the black. As he passed Pallidar, turning through the gates, he noticed the cold blue eyes reminding him of dead fish.
On the steps above the beaten earth courtyard he saw Sir William, flanked by Seratard and André Poncin on one side, the Admiral, Dr. Babcott and Tyrer on the other—just as he had asked. All were dressed in their best, with top hats and warm wool coats against the damp morning, the sky overcast. His gaze flicked over them, paused a moment on Babcott, staggered by his great height, then he reined in and saluted with his crop. They bowed as, casually, the Admiral saluted.
At once Sir William, with Tyrer close behind, came down to greet him, smiling—both covering their surprise at the smallness of his guard. The groom rushed to hold the head of his pony. Yoshi dismounted on the right side as was customary in China and therefore here.
“Welcome, Lord Yoshi, on behalf of Her Britannic Majesty,” Sir William said. Tyrer translated at once, carefully.
“Thank you. I hope I am not putting you to any trouble,” Yoshi said, beginning his share of the ritual.
“No, Sire, our honor. You give us rare, great pleasure.” Yoshi noted an improvement in Tyrer’s accent and vocabulary and was even more determined to neutralize the traitor Hiraga, who, Inejin had found out, went under the pseudonym of Nakama. “Please, Lord Yoshi, will you take tea?”
Both men had already closed their ears to the meaningless phrases, concentrating on the other man, seeking clues that might help them. “Ah, Serata-dono,” Yoshi said pleasantly, though he was irritated to be standing, having to look up at them, their height—usually more than a head taller-making him feel inferior, though amongst Japanese, he would look down on most. “I’m please to see you again so soon. Thank you.” He nodded to André, then Seratard who bowed formally, André interpreting.
“My Master Seratar’ greet you, Sire, on behalf of his friend, Emperor of Furansu, High King Napoleon III. Honored to be of service.”
The moment Yoshi had left tairō Anjo, he had sent Misamoto with a letter to Seratard asking him if he would arrange an urgent, formal though very private meeting with Seratard, Sir William, the Chief Officer of the Fleet, the doctor of Kanagawa, and interpreters André and Tyrer only—no one else. He would arrive informally, with minimal escort, and asked that ceremony be minimal.
“What do you make of it, Henri?” Sir William had asked when Seratard had hurried to see him the moment André had translated the letter.
“I don’t know. He’s an impressive man. He was aboard over four hours so we had the opportunity of studying him carefully—perhaps you’d like a copy of my report.”
“Thank you,” Sir William said, knowing it would be revamped with all interesting information excised—no more than he would do. He had a slight cold and sneezed. “Excuse me.”
“As Guardian of the Heir, one of the Elders, of an ancient Japanese royal family—even connected to the Mikado, the Emperor, whose function you may not know is religious—this man is extremely well connected and important in the Shōgunate. Why don’t we see him?”
“I will,” Sir William had said dryly, well ahead of Seratard’s information, having spent many hours grilling Nakama for details of important rulers and their families, Toranaga Yoshi particularly. “We’ll do as he asks. Interesting that he wants Ketterer there, eh? That’s smelly. We’ll go by boat and take some crack troops, dress them up as an honor guard and have H.M.S. Pearl cruising offshore.”
“Mon Dieu, you suspect a trap?”
“It might be a cunning way to risk a knight to sweep our command structure off the board. Easy to sneak in samurai—Pallidar says they’re holed down both sides of the Tokaidō from here to Hodoyama and beyond. I don’t smell a trap but just in case we’ll put a round in the chamber. No French troops, old man. Sorry, no. No, Henri! But why should he want Babcott?”
“On behalf of France I proposed we set up a hospital for them, to cement ties. He was delighted … never mind, William, you can’t think of everything. We discussed Babcott who has a modest reputation. Perhaps Yoshi wants to consult him.” Seratard had seen no reason to divulge the intelligence André had uncovered about the tairō’s ill health.
Japanese tea was served in the big audience room. They seated themselves as protocol dictated and prepared for the interminable politenesses that would go on for an hour. One sip of tea and they were flabbergasted to hear Yoshi say, “The reason I called this private meeting, with the help of Serata-dono … naturally on behalf of the tairō and Council of Elders … is because it is time to make progress in our good relations.” He stopped and said curtly to Tyrer, “Please translate that first and then I will continue.”
Tyrer obeyed.
“First, the Doctor-sama, the rest of our meeting does not concern him.” Yoshi had intentionally waited the three days to seek the doctor. No need to hurry, he had thought cynically: Anjo said he did not need me to arrange it, let him ache!
Abruptly a crick soared from his own stomach at the thought of the unnecessary risks he had taken, putting himself at the mercy of Anjo, who every day became more dangerous. Stupid to agree to lead the attack and plan it—that part done, too easy—for he would have to do it unless he could finesse the barbarians into doing his will today: “Would the doctor please return to Yedo with me to examine an important patient who may not be named. I guarantee him safe passage.”
Sir William said, “An important perso
“I understand that, but in this instance, so sorry, it is not possible,” Yoshi said, and now, sitting as he was on eye level with them all, except Babcott, he was more at ease. “I guarantee him safe passage.”
Sir William pretended a frown. “George? What about it?”
They had already discussed this possibility. “I’d agree to go alone, Sir William. One of my assistants told me the tairō is rumored to be sick. It could be him.”
“My God, if you could cure that bugger—or poison him—I don’t know which is best. Joking, of course.”
“It’s no risk, not to me. I’m only valuable alive and no use as a hostage. To cure a V.I.P. would be terrific for us.”
“I agree. We’ll play it by nose. Talking of that, I heard Angelique consulted you yesterday.”
“Ha! The whole Settlement seems to have heard, you’re the eighth who has sidled into that one! She had a cold, in this weather everyone has a cold, you have a cold, and even if she had consulted me for any other reason, it is and always would be private, so give over.”
Sir William smiled to himself remembering how he had sniffed and protested he was not enquiring about private matters, like her possible pregnancy. Not many days to go and the whole Settlement nervous, no one ready to put down big money yet on what would be “P-Day,” or if there would be none—and less than five days for the first blast to arrive from Hong Kong about Malcolm, the funeral and what Tess Struan was going to do.
Sir William pulled his mind back to the issues at hand. Babcott was saying to Yoshi directly in halting Japanese, “Yes, go Yedo, Lord Yoshi. When go, please?”