Gai-Jin by James Clavell
Again Saigo signalled. His two strongest fighters broke out of the bushes on his extreme right and ran for the far southeast corner. Almost at once they were spotted. Cursing, the two nearest samurai rushed to intercept as others ran to their aid. Violent hand-to-hand combat began again, darkness helping the attackers immeasurably. One defender screamed and went down clawing his half-severed arm. More samurai were drawn away from the hedge immediately in front of Saigo and just before the samurai overwhelmed the two fighters, in a coordinated maneuver the two shishi broke off the battle and pretended to flee pell-mell for the fence near the kitchens, well away from Saigo and the three final teams. As they fled they unwound ropes from their waists with small grapples on the end. Nearing the fence, they threw them deftly, caught the top, and began to climb, their pursuers redoubling their efforts.
By now all attention was on these two. Guards near the entrance and the far side of the Shōgun’s complex, still not knowing exactly what was happening other than that two ronin were loose in the compound and were now trying to escape over the fence, hurried to intercept them. Others ran out and down the perimeter fence to catch them on that side.
One of the shishi reached the top of the fence but before he could scramble over it a knife impaled him and he fell backwards into the shrubberies. The other man abandoned his rope, leapt beside his friend and just had time to see him bury his own knife in his throat to avoid capture before he went down under a flurry of blows. He twisted and turned and fought with great strength but was soon disarmed and pinioned to the earth by four samurai.
“Now, who are you?” a samurai asked, out of breath. “Who are you and what’s your game?”
“Sonno-joi…. obey your Emperor,” the man panted, and again tried to fight out of their grip but could not. Others were collecting around him and he was confident he had done his part in the attack and could continue his diversion for a little while longer, unafraid of capture, because there was a poison vial in the neck of his kimono within reach of his teeth. “I am Hiroshi Ishii of Tosa, and demand to see the Shōgun.”
From where he was hidden Saigo and the five men with him could hear their compatriot but their attention was fixed on the hedge facing them and on the far entrance. The few remaining guards left it to gather around the doomed man and now, at last, the target was open. “Attack!”
The six men leapt to their feet and charged, Saigo and Tora leading the wedge. They had covered perhaps half the distance before there was a warning shout and samurai surrounding the bodies of the first team began running back to head them off. At once Ishii redoubled his efforts to escape, shouting and raving to distract those holding him but a fist smashed him into unconsciousness.
“You two stay here,” the samurai panted, sucking his bruised knuckles. “Don’t kill the son of a dog, we’ll need him alive.” He got up painfully and limped off to join the others, a bad sword cut on his thigh.
Some of the defenders were gaining on the six shishi who still ran directly at the hedge that curled away in both directions. “Now!” Saigo ordered. Immediately the pair to his right turned back into defensive positions, shurikens in their hands. Warily the running samurai slowed, darted left and right, feinted, then attacked, the shurikens finding targets but not wounding badly enough and another hand-to-hand began, six samurai against the two of them.
Reinforcements were running from the main gate, others from the first diversion, all of them, defenders and attackers, converging on their lodestar—the gateway to the Shōgun’s lair. When the men from the Inn’s main gate saw to their horror that the hedges and entrance had been left completely unguarded—though the doors were closed—with Saigo and three others running fast and not far from the hedge, they swung away to position themselves between the shishi and the entrance, leaving others to attack them, and frantically raced to protect the gate. Behind Saigo and Tora the two fighters were attacking, retreating, still covering their rear. Both men had sustained wounds but two samurai were on the ground, writhing with pain. Four against two with others not far away.
“Now!” Saigo ordered, and the pair on his left broke away and stabbed for the entrance. No doubt they would reach it before the defenders and this caused others heading for Saigo also to change direction and make for the entrance as well. At once Saigo and Tora whirled and joined the fight behind them. Their ferocious charge dispatched two of the remaining four samurai and helped eliminate the remaining enemy—only Saigo and Tora, though breathing heavily, were untouched.
At once Saigo ordered, “Go!” the two men sang out, “Sonno-joi,” and, painfully, rushed to support the attack on the entrance, drawing off more samurai, leaving Saigo and Tora to resume their headlong charge for the hedge.
The first pair of shishi attacking the gateway reached the narrow path and ran for the doors. One man began to push them open. At that moment an arrow thwacked viciously into the wood and then both men were hit and shortly riddled with more arrows from bowmen amongst the reinforcements. They cried out, impotently tried to continue, and died on their feet. The second team gained the pathway. One rushed at the oncoming samurai, the other went for the gates, stumbled over his dead comrades, and died, pierced with four arrows. His friend hit the samurai head-on, and was quickly killed. Only minutes had passed since the beginning.
Now the way was open to the pathway. In moments the fleetest of the defenders would reach the entrance and then there would be no way that Saigo and Tora, almost at the end of their run and due to turn for the gateway, could reach their goal. So the pace of the defenders slackened, the bowmen took aim leisurely, confident of victory. To their astonishment, instead of wheeling along the hedge, Saigo and Tora kept the straight line of their rush and hurled themselves forward at the hedge, side by side.
Their momentum caused them to burst through it, that and the accuracy of their leap. Over preceding days, Saigo found that though the branches were tightly interwoven, the trunks of the trees were about half a metre apart, and, he had surmised, if judged correctly, a rush would carry them through.
It did, successfully, though the branches lashed them bloodily around the face and arms. The two men picked themselves up exactly where Saigo had planned—on the meandering path beside the veranda that led to the bathhouse. For a moment no one was in sight, then several terrified maids and servants gaped at them from a doorway and vanished. Saigo led the soundless dash down the path and up the steps and around the veranda corner. Two anxious officials came out of nowhere, unarmed and unprepared, one of them the Chamberlain. Saigo cut both down, killing the Chamberlain instantly, and wounding the other, and charged onwards. Tora finished off this man, jumped over the bodies and rushed in pursuit.
Along the veranda and around the corner and smashing through the light shoji screen, they burst into the bathhouse. Half-naked maids stared at them panic-stricken: swords bloody, faces scratched and bloody, kimonos ripped and bloody. The air was warm, sweet-smelling, humid.
Saigo bellowed with rage. The steaming, shallow bath, fed from a natural hot spring, was empty, so were the four wooden steam boxes, and so were the massage tables, except one. In an instant he saw every detail of the tiny naked girl lying there, the shock in her eyes, her half-opened mouth, teeth blackened, her plume of jet hair twisted into a stark white towel, more towels under her, small breasts and limbs and feet, dark brown nipples, all of her curved, inviting, golden skin now pinkish from the heat of the bath, oiled and fragrant—and the blind, half-naked masseuse, standing motionlessly over her, head cocked, listening intently.
So easy to kill the girl and all of them, but his orders were not to harm the Princess at all costs. Nonetheless his fury at being cheated—for their timing had been perfect, their intelligence perfect and the Shōgun’s pattern never varying—made his head seem about to explode. The fury turned to lust and shivered him, all of him wanting her, now, fast, brutally, any way, the wife before the husband, death to both of them but first her splayed.
His lips
No guards in these rooms. Yet.
Still no opposition. Yet.
A few more rooms to pass, doors, faces, and then he would turn the last corner and last veranda. Saigo’s anticipation crested, for this was a delightful covered walkway, gardens right and left, no more rooms with waiting guards to worry about, and at the end the Shōgun’s sleeping quarters where he himself and the courtesan had secretly bedded.
All senses tuned for expected danger, Tora a few paces behind him, running as fast, sounds of men approaching, pounding feet. Another room passed. Only one more doorway, last danger. Faces at the door, a doctor and a coughing youth stared at him in shock, then he was around the corner, and together they began the last charge.
Both men skidded to a stop. Their hearts stopped. Ahead an officer and three samurai came out of the sanctuary door, swords drawn, to stand waiting for them. The barest hesitation, then Saigo rushed to the kill, his or theirs, Tora equally committed—only these four men between them and the Shōgun they protected. “Sonno-joi!”
The Captain held the first charge, parried the blow and locked sword to sword, then twisted and hacked at Saigo as two other samurai attacked Tora, the last staying in reserve as ordered. Saigo deflected the blow and slashed back but missed. Another ferocious flurry of blow and counterblow, Saigo supremely confident, so near to success, pressing the attack, feeling superhuman and that his blade, almost of its own volition, was seeking enemy flesh as it would in seconds destroy the boy Shōgun …
There was a blinding flash behind his eyes, the pounding in his head soared and he suddenly saw that doctor again and that boy again and remembered someone telling him it was believed the boy Shōgun had a hacking cough—no portraits of him, of course, not one of the shishi ever having seen him, of course: “If you do not catch him in the bathhouse,” Katsumata had said, “you will recognize him by his blackened teeth, the cough, his nearness to the Princess, the quality of his robes—remember, both he and the Princess detest guards nearby.”
With enormous, heightened strength, howling like a wild beast, Saigo hacked at the Captain, who slipped on the polished floor and was, for an instant, helpless. But Saigo did not deliver the death blow, instead whirled back for the boy—and the last samurai saw the opening he had been ordered to wait for. His sword went deep into Saigo’s side but Saigo felt none of it and cut impotently at the Shōgun wraith in front of him, again and once again and slid to the floor stabbing, already dead but not knowing it.
The Captain had leapt to his feet and hurtled to the attack on Tora, impaled him, and then like an expert butcher withdrew the blade and beheaded him with a single blow.
“Do the same to him,” he gasped, pointing at Saigo, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath, and rushed back up the veranda. At the corner, men from the entranceway came pounding up, headed by his second in command. He cursed him and them, shoved him out of the way and hurried past saying: “Every man on this shift ordered to the square outside the Inn, disarmed and on their knees. You too!”
His heart was still pounding and he was enraged and not yet over his panic. Just before sunset Nobusada had testily sent for him: “Take all guards from inside the hedge. Ridiculous to have them here, the rooms so small and awful! Are you helpless, so inept you can’t secure this nasty little Inn? Must we bathe with guards, sleep with guards, eat with them looking at us? Go away, tonight I forbid all guards here!”
“But, Sire, I must ins—”
“You will insist on nothing. No guards inside the hedge tonight. This meeting is ended!” There was nothing the Captain could do, but then there was no need to worry. Of course everything was secure.
When the first muffled sounds of the attack had reached him he was making a final, satisfactory circuit inside the hedge, four men with him—the hedge also acting as a fine sound barrier. By the time he had reached the gate doors and looked out, he had been appalled to see four men charging the hedge, two rushing for the gates. His first thought was for the Shōgun and he ran for the bathhouse but the Chamberlain had called out: “What’s going on?”
“Men are attacking us, get the Shōgun out of the bath!”
“He’s not there, he’s with the doctor…. ”
Another panicked dash, bypassing the bathhouse to the inner quarters, finding them empty, a frightened maid saying that the Lord Shōgun was in one of the rooms on the next veranda and then coming out and seeing the two men charging, no way to protect the Shōgun now but thinking if these two were attacking here perhaps they had missed his liege lord….
He knew he would not truly be alive until he found him alive. This took no time. Nobusada was coughing and raving, still in fright, others around him adding to the tumult. Quickly he learned the Princess was unharmed though also hysterical. His panic left him. He disregarded Nobusada’s rage, his voice icy, and every soldier nearby quailed: “Get a courier and four men on the double to rush a report ahead and except for this present shift, all guards here on the double, every man within the compound, fifty men around the sleeping quarters, two men at each corner of every veranda. And ten men permanently in sight of the Lord Shōgun until he and she are safely within the palace walls.”
In midmorning the next day, within the palace walls, Yoshi hurried through the outer rim of gardens in the light rain. General Akeda was beside him. “This is terribly dangerous, Sire,” he said, afraid that every shrub or thicket, however carefully tended, might hide enemies.
Both men wore light armor and swords—a rarity here where all samurai and all weapons were forbidden, except for the ruling Shōgun and an immediate guard of four, the Leader of the Elders and Guardian of the Heir.
It was almost noon. The two men were late and noticed none of the beauty surrounding them, lakes and bridges and flowering shrubs and trees groomed and cherished over centuries. Whenever a gardener saw them, the man would kowtow until they were out of sight. Over their armor were straw overmantles against the rain. All morning there had been intermittent showers. Yoshi’s pace quickened.
This was not the first time he had hurried to a clandestine meeting within the palace grounds—safe but never truly safe. So difficult to have a truly safe meeting anywhere, with a spy, informer, or adversary—in secret almost impossible—always afraid of ambush, poison or hidden bowmen or musketeers. The same applied to every daimyo. His own safety factor he knew was very low. So low in fact that his father and grandfather had taught him to accept the fact that death from old age had no place in their karma.
“We are as safe as anywhere on earth,” he said. “It would be unthinkable to break a truce here.”
“Yes, except for Ogama. He is a liar, cheat, he should be meat for vultures, his head spiked.”
Yoshi smiled and felt better. Since the appalling news of the shishi attack had arrived in the middle of the night he had been more on edge than ever—more than when on the death of his uncle he had been passed over as Shōgun and Nobusada appointed instead, more than when tairō Ii had arrested him, his father and their families and sent them to rot in foul quarters. He had made preparations to rush two hundred men to meet the entourage at the Kyōto barrier, and at dawn had sent Akeda secretly to Ogama to relate what had happened and why a large party of men equipped for war were leaving his stockade.
“Tell Ogama all that we have been told, and answer any of his questions. I want no
“There will be none from me, Sire.”
“Good. Then give him the letter and request an immediate answer.” Yoshi had not told Akeda what the letter contained, nor did his general ask. And when Akeda returned Yoshi said, “Tell me exactly what he did.”
“Ogama read the letter twice and spat, cursed twice, threw it at his counselor, Basuhiro, who read it with that stony, slimy, pockmarked face of his that gave nothing away, who said, ‘Perhaps we should discuss this in private, Sire.’ I told them I would wait, I did and then after a reasonable time Basuhiro came out and said, ‘My Lord agrees but he will come armed and I will be armed.’ What’s this all about, Sire?”
Yoshi told him and the old man went purple. “You asked to meet him alone? With only myself as guard? That is craziness, just because he says he will come only with Basuhi—”
“Enough!” Yoshi knew the risks were great but he had to gamble again, had to have an answer on his proposal about the Gates and then, when he was about to leave and one of the surfeit of Shōgunate spies reported certain conversations overheard between the shishi Katsumata and others at the Inn of Whispering Pines, he had been elated he had asked for the meeting. “There he is!”
Ogama was standing in the shade of a wide-branched tree where they had agreed, Basuhiro at his side. Both were clearly suspicious, expecting treachery, but not as visibly nervous as Akeda. Yoshi had proposed that Ogama come in through the South Gate, he would use the East Gate, leaving his palanquin and guards outside with their safe conduct guaranteed. After the meeting, all four would walk out of the East Gate together.
As before, the two adversaries walked towards each other to speak alone. Akeda and Basuhiro watched tensely.
“So!” Ogama said after their formal greeting. “A handful of shishi attack through hundreds of guards like a knife through dung—and almost in Nobusada’s bath, naked wife and bed before they are caught. Ten men, you say?”