by John Norman
“I bear, on behalf of my lord, and yours, Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands,” said Tyrtaios, “welcome, merciful words, words of exoneration, and clemency.”
Lord Temmu remained impassive.
“We have spared the holding of Temmu,” said Tyrtaios, “from the rain of burning arrows, because of our love for our wayward, misguided servitor, the glorious, honorable Temmu.”
It was easy to understand the reluctance of Yamada to destroy, or attempt to destroy, a fortress, castle, and holding as large and beautiful, and as nigh inaccessible and impregnable, as that of Lord Temmu. It had remained secure and undefiled even in the darkest days of the war, even before trapped Pani had mysteriously vanished from a beach several pasangs to the north.
“It is the word of my lord, and yours, Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands,” said Tyrtaios, “that peace, amity, harmony, and love, be between us, fully and forever.”
Lord Temmu sat in the center of the dais, cross-legged, toward the rear. His reader of bones and shells, a man named Daichi, was behind him, to his left. Ponderous Lord Okimoto was seated to his right, and lean Lord Nishida on his left. I was seated a bit to the side of, and behind, Lord Nishida. Other officers were about, as well. Several minor officers were standing about the dais, before it, on the left and right. Ashigaru guards were present. At the back of the dais, unobtrusive, demure, in their elegant kimonos, and obis, were several contract women. I knew few of them, as they tend to be shy and retiring. I did know Sumomo and Hana, contract women of Lord Nishida, largely from my relationship to Lord Nishida, to whom I usually reported. The only other contract woman I knew by name was Hisui, whose contract was held by Lord Okimoto. I recalled she had once worn about her neck the medallion of the Ubara of Ar. I had decided to accompany Lord Nishida to the World’s End. No slaves were present, but that would not be unusual, given the occasion. Certainly I had given it little thought at the time.
“We have been below your walls and before your gates, at the foot of your trails, for months,” said Tyrtaios. “The patience of Lord Yamada is known to be prodigious, but it is not inexhaustible. Accordingly, my lord, and yours, Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands, is willing, under certain conditions, to grant full amnesty to all rebels.”
I expected at least a ripple of interest to course through the assembled Pani, but they seemed impassive. Tyrtaios himself, as I, apparently expected a greater reaction to his words.
Lord Temmu nodded to his right, to Lord Okimoto, appropriately offering his senior daimyo, and cousin, the first opportunity to speak. The lips of Lord Okimoto moved but little sound emerged. He also shook his head, slightly, and moved his hand a little. He generally did not wish to speak publicly, and perhaps particularly not now, as several men of Yamada had accompanied Tyrtaios to the holding. I did not doubt, however, but what his counsel would be forthcoming in private. He was sensitive to, and well aware of, the difficulties attending his speech. Those accustomed to his infirmity scarcely noticed it. If one were within a few feet of him it was not hard to make out his words, once one had become accustomed to the lightness and articulation. The first times I had heard Lord Okimoto, in Shipcamp, Lord Nishida had been of great help, almost acting as an interpreter. Since that time there had been little difficulty in the matter. Tyrtaios, who had served as mercenary liaison to Lord Okimoto, and a guard, on the ship and in the holding, prior to his desertion, similarly, understood him without difficulty. Years ago Lord Okimoto, in serving his shogun, Lord Temmu, his cousin, had sustained a knife wound in his throat. This had impaired, or, perhaps better, changed, his natural speech. He seldom spoke loudly, but I supposed it would be possible for him to do so, if he should wish. In any event, Lord Okimoto, like many of the high Pani, of family and station, seldom raised his voice. This is, I suppose, a matter of seemliness, of decorum. Lower Pani, peasants, fishermen, Ashigaru, and such, seldom share such a reservation, unless speaking to those of a higher station. Amongst the Pani, rank, distance, and hierarchy tend to be strictly observed. One listens with care, of course, to high Pani, as softly spoken as they may be, for an expression, a measured word, a slight difference in an intonation contour, and such, may be quite as meaningful in their case as a shout or scowl might be in the case of another. To be sure, as always, much depends on the individual. I have encountered vulgar aristocrats and aristocratic peasants.
Lord Temmu then, politely, nodded to his left, where, cross-legged, reposed lean Lord Nishida.
If the shogun were to speak at all, in a situation of this sort, he would be likely to speak later, after others had spoken. And, of course, his word, should he wish to utter it, aside from possible formalities, ritual phrases and such, would be, in effect, the last word, the final word. He was shogun.
“We attend the words of noble Tyrtaios,” said Lord Nishida, “words spoken on behalf of his lord, noble Yamada, claimant to the islands.”
Tyrtaios bowed, slightly, warily.
“It is interesting,” said Lord Nishida, “that the great lord would send noble Tyrtaios, who served us well in Brundisium, and in the forests, and who accompanied us on the great ship, and who stood at our side in the holding, as an emissary to our court.”
“It is not without thought, Lord,” said Tyrtaios. “Lord Yamada knows the affection I bear toward my former fellows, and my desire for their well-being. He thought then that I, most of all, and surely more than others, might convey his lenient appeal and gracious offer. I served you diligently, hardily, and well. I withdrew from your service only under the most powerful of moral incentives, my recognition of the righteousness of the cause of Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands. Rather than form a party to conspiracy and rebellion I then chose, as an honorable man, at great personal risk, and with profound sorrow at parting from my friends, to abandon your misguided secession from right and truth.”
“The moral integrity and courage of the noble Tyrtaios cannot be but commended,” said Lord Nishida.
How a happy a coincidence, I thought, when the dictates of right and the prescriptions of prudence coincide so nicely.
“But it is our humble suspicion,” said Lord Nishida, “that the noble Tyrtaios may labor unwittingly, certainly through no fault of his own, under certain misapprehensions. Lord Yamada is not Shogun of the Islands though he may pronounce himself such. He may claim the islands; we may claim the yellow moon; the moon is not concerned. Too, Lord Yamada is not our lord. Lord Temmu is our lord, and, as we do not recognize Lord Yamada as our lord, we do not see ourselves as in rebellion, and thus do not see ourselves as rebels.”
“You are rebels,” said Tyrtaios, “for you have arrayed yourselves against Lord Yamada. It is a fact of history. He is here. The shadow of his sword is upon your lands. The fields are his. His troops are within your borders. Your holding is invested. The might of steel, victorious and decisive, proclaims him shogun. There is no answer to this. It is done. You have lost. And yet you dare to defy him.”
“The holding stands,” said Lord Nishida.
“Now!” said Tyrtaios.
I saw Lord Okimoto lean toward Lord Temmu. I could not make out his words.
Lord Temmu nodded.
I did not know what had passed between them.
“The straits in which you find yourselves,” said Tyrtaios, “are dire. You cannot hold out. It is known. In the last days, thanks to the compassion and generosity of my gracious lord, Lord Yamada, you have been permitted to trade some goods for food.”
At the new encampment I had not known of this. I had only yesterday been summoned to this council.
I did not understand this indulgence on the part of Lord Yamada. It seemed unlikely on the part of a siege master. I was curious as to what goods General Yamada was willing to accept, and why, in exchange, apparently, for supplies, presumably in limited quantities. When the holding fell, as seemed likely, perhaps within days, presumably its goods, gold, silver, jade, jewels, furniture, screens, scrolls, and such, would be his for the gathering. To be s
ure, some of it might be destroyed, but that was not likely, as Pani tend to be reluctant to damage or destroy objects and materials of value. What Pani, at least of noble birth and refinement, would burn a well-wrought fan, a samisen, a lovely painted screen, or a poem?
“Is it true,” asked Lord Nishida, “that you ask Pani warriors, many of whom are men of two swords, to surrender?”
“Surely not, Lord,” said Tyrtaios, hastily. “We request only that you desist in your honorable resistance.”
“If our resistance is honorable,” said Lord Nishida, “why should we desist?”
“It is misguided,” said Tyrtaios.
“You spoke of conditions,” said Lord Nishida.
“It is requested only that you live in peace and harmony with your lord, Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands.”
“He is free to leave the lands of Temmu,” said Lord Nishida.
“Why should he leave his own lands?” asked Tyrtaios. “These lands are his. The sword has spoken.”
“The holding stands,” said Lord Nishida.
“Welcome your rightful lord,” said Tyrtaios. “He is forgiving and kind, and holds in his heart only affection for his brothers.”
“It is said,” said Lord Nishida, “that a thousand posts surmounted by a thousand heads line the march of Yamada to the lands of Temmu.”
“Those of bandits and recreants,” said Tyrtaios.
“What would you have us do?” asked Lord Nishida.
“The conditions are simple,” said Tyrtaios. “Lay aside your arms. Abandon this fortress town, this citadel, this castle. Descend unarmed to the plain, rejoicing, in pure garments. Bring gifts to the pavilion of your lord, great Yamada, Shogun of the Islands.”
“You would have us descend from the fortress, defenseless, unarmed, amongst hostile forces, as alleged rebels and traitors, humbly bringing supplicatory gifts, and place ourselves at the mercy of Lord Yamada?”
“As friends, and allies,” said Tyrtaios.
“We attend to your words with care,” said Lord Nishida.
“Lord Yamada is kind, forgiving, and compassionate,” said Tyrtaios.
“What man of prudence would say otherwise?” said Lord Nishida.
I thought of the heads aligning a road to the lands of Temmu.
“You may trust Lord Yamada,” said Tyrtaios.
“The trustworthiness of Lord Yamada is legendary in the islands,” said Lord Nishida.
“Behold,” said Tyrtaios, “I bear gifts from my lord, in token of his good will and affection.”
As noted earlier Tyrtaios had not come alone. With him had come certain officers of General Yamada, presumably to monitor the proceedings and, later, to report upon them to the shogun, and several Ashigaru. These Ashigaru were unarmed, but each bore a large silk-covered hamper. At a gesture from Tyrtaios they brought the hampers forward, and placed them on the dais, across its front. They removed the silken covers and we noted the hampers were heaped with fruits, vegetables, cakes of rice, smoked fish, layers of dried, salted meat, and stoppered vessels which I supposed might contain sake, and perhaps, considering the continental mercenaries in the camp, none of whom had been permitted, save myself, to attend these proceedings, paga and ka-la-na.
Again I expected more of a response amongst the Pani at these abundances of displayed largesse, but was disappointed. Tyrtaios, too, seemed, surprised at the lack of response amongst the Pani.
Over the past weeks it had become more and more difficult to supply the holding. This was largely the result of two factors, the number of fields and farms now denied to us by the Ashigaru of Yamada, and the reduction of supplies, the thinning of flocks and the depletion of resources, at those villages still accessible to us. Too, though our supply lines could not be cut, given tarns, they were now considerably attenuated. In brief, supplies were scarce, and growing more scarce, day by day, and it took longer and longer, ever longer, from day to day, to obtain and deliver them to the holding. Too, understandably, peasants, uncertain of the war’s outcome, and in danger of starvation themselves, had begun to horde and conceal food. I neglected to convey this intelligence to Lord Temmu, as we were to discipline uncooperative retainers by means of the torch and sword. I personally saw little benefit to be derived from the pursuit of such a policy. Too, I was not a butcher. At the cavalry’s encampment matters, though austere, were less harrowing and strained, given the smaller numbers involved, and the availability of local game, tarsk, tabuk, and verr.
“The generosity of Lord Yamada is noted,” said Lord Nishida.
“Feast!” said Tyrtaios, gesturing to the heaped hampers of food and drink.
But no one rushed upon the hampers, crying out, crowding, and thrusting, to seize food.
“How soon,” asked Tyrtaios, “may we expect to receive your capitulation? How soon may we expect you to abandon the holding?”
“The holding stands,” said Lord Nishida.
“You are starving!” cried Tyrtaios, angrily.
“You think matters severe, so truly severe, so severe as that?” inquired Lord Nishida.
“Yes,” said Tyrtaios.
“Even if it were true, how would it be known to you?” inquired Lord Nishida.
Tyrtaios did not respond.
I supposed Tyrtaios’ claim might have been based on rational conjecture, but I supposed, as well, and more plausibly, that communication, of some sort, existed between the holding and the pavilion of Lord Yamada, far below in the plain.
“It is a matter of time, and not a great deal of time,” said Tyrtaios, “until resistance must end, until the holding must fall. In a few days, or less, your men will be too weak to man the walls and hold the gates.”
“Meanwhile, the holding stands,” said Lord Nishida.
“I warn you,” said Tyrtaios, “the patience of Lord Yamada is not inexhaustible.”
I feared there was much in what Tyrtaios had said. It seemed likely to me that the garrison, both Pani and mercenary, must soon succumb, if not to the enemy, then to hunger. I myself, several days ago, would have preferred a sallying forth from the holding, to charge, however fruitlessly, upon the enemy, that one might at least, enweaponed, facing the enemy, die as befits the warrior. Even the urt will snarl and attack the sleen rather than die of hunger in its den. But now I feared it was too late, even for the flourish of a last, gallant gesture. Now many men, I knew, could not even rise to their feet.
Lord Nishida turned his head to face Lord Temmu, who sat, cross-legged, near the back of the dais.
“We thank great Yamada for his patience,” said Lord Temmu. “Return to your master and tell him that, we, too, are patient.”
“Consider your words carefully,” said Tyrtaios.
Several hands went to the hilts of weapons.
“He is shogun!” whispered Lord Nishida, quickly, reprovingly.
But not a flicker of annoyance could be marked on the visage of Lord Temmu.
“I meant no discourtesy,” said Tyrtaios.
“Cousin,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Speak,” said Lord Temmu.
