by John Norman
“You hate all of the house of Yamada,” I said.
“Of course,” he said.
“But your grandson would be of that house,” I said. “In him is the blood of Yamada, and it may be as dark, as narrow, as implacable, as fierce and cold, as his.”
“I am troubled,” said Haruki.
“But, too,” I said, “in him would be your blood, and that of your daughter.”
“It is difficult to choose a path,” said Haruki.
“I shall convey the projected fate of the Lady Sumomo to the House of Temmu,” I said.
“They should find it of interest,” said Haruki.
“Perhaps others, too, might do so,” I said. “When is she to make the acquaintance of the eels?”
“There are hundreds, half starved,” said Haruki. “One can almost walk upon them.”
“When?” I said.
“Soon,” he said, “when the daimyos are gathered, that they, and others, may take notice, and be apprised of the dangers of displeasing the shogun.”
“Lord Yamada has been patient,” I said. “But I think he now despairs of enlisting the cavalry, but he needs no more than its neutrality, of which he feels assured.”
“As long as you are his guest,” said Haruki.
“Yes,” I said, “as long as I am his guest.”
“Perhaps, one day,” he said, “the demon birds will fly.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“You wish to summon demon birds?” he said.
“If necessary,” I said.
“Do not do so,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“On that day they will die,” he said.
“How so?” I said.
“They will perish in the flames of the iron dragon,” he said.
“There is no iron dragon,” I said.
“Even Lord Yamada fears the iron dragon,” he said.
“There is no iron dragon,” I said.
“I have seen it,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Stadium
“I trust that you will not interfere,” said Lord Yamada, pleasantly.
“Your Ashigaru will see to that,” I said.
From where I was, in the stands, I could see both the platform of execution, far above and to my left, and the wide surface, some ten paces in width, of the deep, stone-encased pool of death eels. The stones of the pool’s circular containing wall were cunningly fitted and bright with color, for the Pani have a finely developed aesthetic sense. The handle of a tool, a wooden hinge, a gatepost, the prow of a fisherman’s humble craft, the threshold of a peasant’s simple hut, may be models of carving. Even the roofings and walls of their fortresses, structures betokening the dark needs and sober exigencies of fearful times, are graceful, and companions to their background, not intruders. They are such as to be welcomed by the sky, the clouds, and mountains. Even the blades with which the Pani kill are beautiful. The water was still roiling for an attendant, but Ihn ago, had cast a bucket of scraps of raw tarsk into the water, not to feed the massed, swirling, snakelike fish but to excite them, to sharpen their hunger into a frenzy of anticipation.
“A pleasant day for an execution,” commented Lord Akio.
“Indeed,” said the shogun.
I supposed the day was pleasant enough, at least in itself, as it was neither too warm nor too cold, and the sky was a bright, unblemished, cloudless blue. Too, there was a slight, refreshing breeze.
How could it be then that it seemed I felt the balmy air concealed a veiled chill and the bright sky lied?
“One is surprised,” said Lord Akio, “in the light of the prodigious nature of the offense, that the punishment of the criminal should be so mild.”
“Lord Yamada is well known for lenience and mercy,” said an officer.
“It is his only fault,” said Lord Akio.
“It was primarily the petition of our guest, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Yamada, “which swayed me.”
“Perhaps a guest presumes too much,” said Lord Akio.
“I think I shall withdraw,” I said.
“Please remain, dear friend,” said Lord Yamada.
“One does not, of course, die in the pool immediately,” said the officer.
“It can take a full Ehn,” said another officer, “before the bones reach the bottom of the pool.”
“It is preferable, is it not, to the straw jacket?” asked another.
“I see little to choose between them,” said another.
“It is festival,” said Lord Akio. “The straw jacket will be for others, later.”
“How so?” I said.
“Peasants delinquent in taxes, thieves, deserters from villages, defamers, the disrespectful, perpetrators of incivility, those forgetful of rank, and such,” said Lord Akio.
“I am reminded,” said Lord Yamada. “I must seek a new gardener.”
I must have started.
“What is wrong?” asked Lord Akio.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Why, Lord,” I asked the shogun, “do you need a new gardener?”
“As it is your habit, from time to time, to honor my humble garden with your presence, perhaps you know him.”
“I know one named Haruki,” I said.
“I know you do,” said the shogun. “He has been with me for years. I shall miss him.”
“I trust he is well,” I said.
“Quite well,” said the shogun.
“Why, then,” I asked, “do you need a new gardener?”
“He is a thief,” said the shogun. “He was apprehended in the cot of message carriers.”
“What was he doing there?” I asked.
“Such birds, well prepared,” said Lord Akio, “are a delicacy.”
“He was hungry?” I said.
“More likely he intended to sell the bird to another,” said Lord Akio.
“For food,” I said.
“It would be of no use to him otherwise,” said Lord Akio.
“Perhaps he was curious,” I said.
“Curiosity,” said Lord Akio, “is unacceptable in one of his rank.”
“I have never been in such a cot,” I said.
“You need only ask,” said Lord Yamada.
“He loved the garden,” I said. “It seems a pity to relieve him of his post for so small an indiscretion, particularly in the light of his experience, knowledge, and diligence.”
Lord Akio smiled.
“He is a thief,” said the nearer officer.
“He will wear the straw jacket,” said another.
“When did this crime take place?” I asked.
“Days ago,” said Lord Akio. “We are saving him, and others, for this evening, after dark, to line the avenue leading to the courtyard gate.”
“There will be a feast in the outer courtyard,” said an officer, “to celebrate the justice of the shogun.”
“After dark?” I said.
“Illumination,” said an officer.
“To light the way to the courtyard,” said another.
“Still,” said Lord Akio, thoughtfully, “the punishment of the Lady Sumomo seems light, compared to the gravity of the offense.”
“I thought,” said the shogun, “you aspired to the hand of the Lady Sumomo.”
“Before I knew of her grievous iniquity,” said Lord Akio. “But Lord Yamada has other daughters.”
“Several,” said Lord Yamada.
“May I withdraw?” I asked.
“Please remain, dear friend,” said the shogun. “I am sure you will enjoy the spectacle, or, at least, find it amusing, or of some interest.” He then turned to Lord Akio. “I am sensitive to your concern, beloved Akio,” he said. “But one in power must weigh diverse quantities; it is with delicacy that scales are to be balanced; one must proportion right with prudence, truth with utility, appropriate desserts with judicious policy. First, I wished to please Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, as it seemed incumbent on the hospit
ality of my house to do so, but, too, second, the public execution of a miscreant is likely to have its independent value, as it should be a warning to, and be instructive to, any who might secretly harbor regrettable thoughts.”
“Of course,” said Lord Akio.
Several hundred were in the stands, mostly men of rank, high followers of Lord Yamada’s ten daimyos, who had been summoned to the gathering, several with their warriors, Ashigaru, porters, and servants. In settled times, a given daimyo, in his turn, will commonly spend half of the year in the palace, subject to the scrutiny of the shogun, and the other half in his own dominion, supervising his lands and retainers. When I had come into the power of Lord Yamada, betrayed into his hands by Lord Temmu, however, Lord Akio was the only daimyo then in attendance at the palace. Some others, I gathered, who might have been in attendance, had been released to their lands to marshal resources and men in anticipation of an impending campaign, and then, there, in their lands, to await the summons of the shogun. As I may have mentioned, the failure of a daimyo to respond to the shogun’s summons is considered an act of treason, putting at risk his own life and those of others associated with him, his family, his high officers, and his loyal warriors, and would customarily involve, as a matter of course, the confiscation of properties, and the seizure of lands. It might also be noted that while a daimyo is absent from the palace, it is often the case, though not always, that his wife and children will be guests of the shogun.
“A pleasant day, indeed,” said Lord Akio, looking about. His raiment was splendid. His colorful fan, with its heavy, edged metal blades, rested across his knees.
“Indeed,” agreed the shogun, once again, as pleasantly as before.
There were also hundreds of Ashigaru about, though standing before the tiers of the stands. Most, I supposed, would be in the vicinity of their daimyos.
Narrow, rectangular banners, bearing the sign of Yamada, fluttered on the height of the stands. They would be visible from far off. They gave the scene a festive cast. I supposed that they would well mark the likely place of execution.
“The procession to the platform should begin soon,” said an officer.
“Behold, it emerges from the courtyard gate,” said one higher in the stands.
From where I sat, I could not see the courtyard gate. When I stood, I could do so.
“Can you see?” inquired Lord Yamada.
“Now,” I said.
I gathered that it was inappropriate for high Pani, in such a situation, to evince curiosity or impatience, by rising to their feet, as might less couth individuals, anxious to satisfy their curiosity.
Hundreds, however, were doing so.
A group, indeed, had emerged from the gate.
It had turned toward the stands.
Beyond it I could see the broad avenue which led from the east toward the courtyard gate. It was lined, on both sides with what appeared to be cylindrical bundles of some sort.
Another path lay through flowers; it was this path, from the courtyard gate, which was being utilized by the recently emerged group, that now approaching the stands.
“I shall go,” I said.
“Please remain,” said Lord Yamada.
I could now hear the sound of small gongs, these carried by four solemnly treading, white-robed individuals with black, square headgear of a sort, fastened under their chins with black ribbon. Following these four men with the gongs were two lines of masked, glaive-bearing Ashigaru, each line consisting of five men.
“I cannot see the faces of the approaching Ashigaru,” I said. “They are covered.”
“Such do the dark work of the shogun,” said Lord Akio. “It is best that their faces are not known to others.”
“Thus,” I said, “when one is about, in the field, the barracks, the dojo, or such, one might have at one’s elbow, for all one knows, such a one, an executioner.”
“The killers, of course,” said Lord Akio, “are known to the shogun.”
“Only to him?” I said. Indeed, how else could they receive their assignments and be set about their duties.
“And to one another,” said Lord Akio.
“Of course,” I said.
“They are not known to you?” I said.
“Of course not,” he said. “But those who are loyal to the shogun need fear nothing.”
“On the continent,” I said, “there is the Caste of Assassins.”
“Interesting,” said the shogun.
“They do not conceal their faces,” I said.
“But perhaps they conceal their caste,” said the shogun.
“Sometimes,” I said.
I could think of at least one individual I was sure was a member of that caste.
The four individuals striking the small gongs were walking abreast. The two lines of masked Ashigaru walked behind them, one line behind the fellow on the left, the other line behind the fellow on the right. Three other individuals were parties to this small procession, two more masked Ashigaru, each of which was behind one of the two center individuals, some steps back, of the four who sounded the small gongs, and a smaller figure, barefoot, and clad in simple white, who preceded them. Her long black hair had been unbound, and fell behind her. Her hands were behind her back, where I supposed them thonged, or braceleted. On her neck were two leashes, each in the keeping of one of the two Ashigaru who followed her.
“The wicked Sumomo!” cried a man.
“To the eels with her!” cried someone in the stands.
The small procession would enter the area of the stands from my right.
“The daimyos and high officers are looking forward to this evening’s feast,” said Lord Akio.
“It will be scarcely worthy of their attendance,” said Lord Yamada.
“A hundred porters labored through the night,” said Lord Akio.
“The day after tomorrow,” said Lord Yamada, “the drums and horns of war will sound.”
“The roads will be filled with Ashigaru,” said a man.
“For pasangs,” said another.
“Perhaps, great lord,” I said to Lord Yamada, “such a march might be premature. What if the cavalry should intervene, on behalf of the house of Temmu?”
“Two golden chains,” he said, “may perhaps purchase its quiescence.”
“Those were freely bestowed,” I said, “and not the fruit of contracting, or bargaining. They impose no obligation on the two distinguished officers to whom they were graciously allotted.”
“I think their weight will be felt, dear friend,” said the shogun. “Gifts give pause. Who will betray the good will of a benefactor? It will doubtless, at least, slow the responses of junior officers, disengaged from, and uncertain as to, the will of their commander.”
“Perhaps not,” I said.
“You are not in touch with them,” he said. “The chain of command is broken. A link is missing. Vacillation will reign. Decision will dangle in the wind. What junior officer will assume the responsibility for ordering war?”
“I can think of two,” I said.
“At present,” said Lord Yamada, “I am better aware of what transpires in the camp of the demon birds than many in the camp itself.”
“Your spies,” I said.
“Dutiful informants,” he said. “Much animus burns in the camp of the demon birds. The House of Temmu betrayed their commander. A pebble in the scale could put the cavalry aflight in my interest.”
“Surely not,” I said.
“I fear so,” he said. “And, in the meantime, I trust you will continue to enjoy my hospitality.”
“As you hold me, you hold the cavalry?” I said.
“Is it not so?” he asked.
“I trust not,” I said.
“If the cavalry does not fly for Yamada,” he said, “it will not fly at all.”
“But perhaps it will fly for you, great lord,” said Lord Akio.
“Surely that is a possibility,” I said.
“I judge it
remote, dear friend,” said Lord Yamada.
“By now,” I said, “the holding of Temmu will have been resupplied, its reservoirs replenished, its trails narrowed, its walls strengthened.”
“I have the means with which to reduce it,” said Lord Yamada.
“A siege might last years,” I said.
“There is always a means of last resort,” said Lord Yamada.
“I do not understand,” I said.
There was one last ringing of the gongs.
“Behold,” said an officer. “The Lady Sumomo!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
What Occurred in the Stadium
I looked down, and to my right, at the opening between the two sides of the stands.
“Has she been drugged?” I asked.
“Certainly not,” said Lord Akio, snapping his fan open and shut.
“Surely, in the mercy of the shogun,” I said, “she has been administered an anodyne, a numbing salve, something to deaden pain?”
“No,” said Lord Akio.
“But the eels!” I said.
“It is important,” said Lord Akio, “that her punishment be mete, that she will feel excruciating pain however inadequate and incommensurate it may be, compared to what her guilt deserves.”
“At least it will be brief,” I said.
“Thanks largely, I gather,” he said, “to you.”
“She has not been drugged, dear friend,” said Lord Yamada. “But she is, I take it, stiff, uncertain, numb with fear.”
I saw the two leashes removed.
“It is as though she were scarcely conscious,” I said.
“One blots out things,” he said. “It is like the mind closing its eyes. But she will soon realize what is occurring. They all do, sooner or later.”
“She is being taken to the edge of the pool,” said a man.
Sumomo, bound, an Ashigaru holding to each arm, ascended the three wide steps encircling the pool.
She looked down, into the pool.
She stood still for a moment, as though not comprehending, and then, suddenly, she uttered a long, weird, terrified scream, and began to struggle in the grip of the two Ashigaru.
