Merlin's Ring

by H. Warner Munn

  Gwalchmai hesitated. If it were true that Cambaluc had been partly burned, the invasion, set for midsummer, might have suffered a temporary setback. He did not wish to rouse false hopes or to pretend knowledge he did not have, or to disclose his own share in upsetting the schedule of the Khan…

  It seemed that, even across the Narrow Sea, he could feel the powerful stare of seven thousand painted eyes, fixed malevolently upon Nihon and upon himself.

  To claim that he had interfered against such power, in such an odd way, might seem that he spoke in vanity or self-aggrandizement. If he told the embarrassing truth it might prove himself a clumsy ally. He had already decided he must be an ally to these people.

  The Baron, seeing his indecision, misunderstood. “If it is a matter of honor, you shall not be pressed for information that you cannot give.”

  He rose with a stern countenance and was about to clap his hands together, signifying the talk was at an end, when the Lady Mitami delicately touched the sleeve of his Tdmono.

  “Honored Father, I am sure that our guest pauses only to choose his words with care. Sir, are you for us or against us?”

  Gwalchmai folded his hands and bowed. He looked steadily into her eyes. “For you, now and always. Never let it be doubted.”

  She bowed in return and as she raised her head their eyes met again and clung. Her lips curved sweetly and he knew that the slight emphasis he had employed had not gone unnoticed.

  “Be seated, Father, and ask what you would know. I am sure honor is not a factor in this matter.”

  Skillful questions brought forth the information the Daimyo desired. Gwalchmai held back nothing, and as he spoke on and on, the pertinent information was taken down upon rice paper with brush and ink block, in exquisite calligraphy. The ships were numbered in their thousands, their probable armament and materiel were recorded; the tumans of cavalry were set down by name and emblem, the hordes of foot soldiers, the engineers were described along with their resources and equipment. Everything he told was mentioned in this report, even such intangibles as audacity, obedience, and 61an.

  When it was considered complete, a thick pad of paper sheets Jay before the Baron’s scribe. Gwalchmai felt exhausted, his mind plucked clean.

  Kuroki rose and this time did clap his hands. He gave the account to the retainer who answered the summons.

  “Have^twenty copies made at once. One shall be sent to the Mikado at Kyoto in all haste. One goes to the Shogun at Kamakura, and the others to the heads of all clans, far and near. Specify that this is of the utmost urgency and urge that all personal animosities should be set aside and that the seacoast is to be guarded so tightly that not a crab will cross a beach unseen or a bird nest upon a cliff be visited by the bird uhwatched.

  “When the copies are ready, bring them to me, no matter how late, and I will sign them. At that time, have twenty couriers ready to start.”

  By the hour of the Horse, which is midnight by Western clocks, the scrolls were signed and sealed. Long before another bell had marked the hour of the Sheep, the lighted torches that the couriers carried were far out of sight in twenty different directions. Fortunate indeed were those runners whose destinations were those of the nearer great houses.

  Kyoto was six days from Shori Castle; Kamakura, another three hundred miles, four days’ journey for couriers who ran in relays at speeds fit to burst the heart of a strong, dedicated man; they often fainted when they felt their message seized and knew they need run no farther.

  While the messages went on their way, the people on this little section of coast made ready. In one of the loveliest lands on earth, man must gear for war that it remain so. There were beacons on headlands, armed men on guard, and fishing boats swept the seas on patrol, doing double duty as they brought in then- nets.

  Food was brought in to the castle, walls were strengthened while the merlons upon them were raised higher and the crenels were widened to give the archers better aim. The armorers worked in shifts through the day and night, repairing armor, sharpening swords, making the turnip-shaped arrowheads that screamed so dreadfully to affright an enemy.

  Every householder knew that when the time came all must enter the castle; everyone had laid a train to fire his home when he left; everyone had sworn a renewed allegiance to the lord, which would hold till death.

  The Itari River runs turbulendy over sharp rocks into Haga Bay. It is no considerable waterway at the present time, but then it was deeper and lapped the cliff, forming a natural moat. Here the water was swift and was crossed by two bridges of wood and turf, supported by pilings. Above lay a small lake, artificially impounded by a dam of logs and earth, its spillway faced with stone. This body of water served as an attraction for wild fowl and a source of fresh-water fish. The bridges and the dam lay well within the range of longbows from the castle battlements, which also supported catapults that commanded most of the harbor.

  Long ago Shori Castle had exacted tribute from all who passed by land or sea. It was a strong hold. Its keep, five stories high, lay flat against a backing cliff, which was fortified and crowned by a beacon. It looked down upon the whole of the fortifications below, which were high earthen ramparts, three in number, ten feet thick, lined on both sides-with stone and pierced by passageways that were like tunnels with heavy gates at each end.

  On the sea side these triple walls were protected by the aforementioned moat, which had been made wide and also sheathed in smooth stone, moss-grown and slippery. If these walls and moat should be passed, attackers still had to cross a wide courtyard under arrow fire from the castle or the fort on the cliff, which could be entered only through the castle, since the cliff itself had been made smooth by chipping away the original paths that had once given access to its pinnacle. It was a monolith and its landward side was as smooth as the others. The tunnels ‘inside it represented the last redoubt of the defenders.

  Above the ramparts was a superstructure of fascines, wattled stakes, sharpened and burned hard, in double rows of bundles, with an inner core of earth and pebbles, whitewashed on the outside and loopholed for the archers. Above those, in stepped-back series, rose the heights of the castle, its walls, its embrasures, and its battlements.

  Higher yet, its steep roofs caught the setting sun. As they were covered with red tiles, they were visible far out to sea—a landmark for sailors. Because this was such a conspicuous sight, the advance elements of- Kublai Khan’s mighty fleet set in toward it to accomplish a landing when the coast of Nihon was sighted.

  Upon the flagship, the Admiral Chepe Ketoyan Be studied this natural pass into fertile hinterland beyond. Through a tube of leather his keen sight made out the column of rising smoke from a beacon and the burning thatch of the fishing village and he knew that the fleet had been seen and the countryside was being warned.

  His lips writhed in a sneer. Fluttering signal flags went up and the following squadrons of junks spread out, up and down the coast, seeking other harbors and beach heads. The Admiral’s unit drove straight ahead for Haga Bay.

  Shori Castle was as ready as it would ever be. No answer had as yet come back from Baron Kuroki’s runners, but he knew the clans must be gathering. He thanked Inari that there had been time to prepare.

  It had been fortunate that this stranger Gorome had arrived. He seemed a man of many talents. To his superior plans, stone throwers had been constructed and their raised arms pointed heavenwards along the battlements. The Baron had never seen such increased strength before, but he appreciated their worth.

  Gorome stood now by his side, gazing out to sea. It was late in the evening, but it was still summer—August of 1281 by Western reckoning, 1941 by the Baron’s. The stars were huge and bright and by the aid of a fingernail paring of new moon it was still light enough for them to see the wide spread of the dark massed fleet lying at anchor off the harbor mouth. They could also discern the small boats issuing from“ it, rowing out on either wing to secure the two headlands.

  The Baron kne
w that although the outworks had been cleared of visible observers, a select few remained below ground in well-covered pits, awaiting complete darkness.

  The Mongols, with their auxiliary Chinese and Korean forces, met with no resistance in occupying these strategic points. To all purposes, the harbor now belonged to the invaders.

  The Baron turned to Gwalchmai. “It is the hour of the Tiger and the Tiger is the symbol of our power as the Dragon is theirs. If we strike now we will gain face and they will lose it. Yet I should prefer complete darkness.”

  Gwalchmai smiled. “If I may make a suggestion, Noble Sir, the Mogu have a contempt for face. Whatever small advantage this sally may accomplish will mean nothing to them. They are a fierce people and respect only strength,”of which we have little.

  “However, it is undoubtedly true that anything we do tonight will give our people heart If we can hold out until the Shogun’s army arrives, we can ask for no more. We should leave no expedient untried and the correct hour is of the utmost importance. If we can gain a little time while we still live, it is possible that they may not get farther than this pass for a few days. If the army can meet their array on the plain beyond the pass, it may be in more even battle.

  “Wait a little longer. Strike at the hour of the Chicken (three A.M.) when they will be at their coldest hour and heavy with sleep. They may be expecting nothing. Perhaps they will be at their weakest. A chicken is not noted for bravery.”

  The night“ wore on and the campfires of the Mongols on the two points sank low. The riding lanterns of the motion-Jess fleet cast long streaks across the calm bay. There were no sounds of labor upon either ships or shore. All but the sentinels on each side were apparently sleeping. It was the hour of the Chicken.

  Then an eye of light winked thrice upon the battlements of Shori Castle; an instant and it winked again thrice more, but the angle had been changed. It had beamed first at the left headland. Now it was directed toward the right.

  Silently, on oiled hinges, trap doors povered with cemented gravel were raised, disclosing deep pits. Out of them came naked men who ran, bearing sword and dagger, into the Mongol camps.

  Sentries choked on their blood and died without a cry. The attackers shouldered the sentries’ spears and walked the posts of the slain. Others slipped into the water and swam out toward the fleet, leaving no more ripples than the fish. It was all very quiet and quickly accomplished.

  Time passed. Gongs marked the hour of the night, but before the watch was changed strange things began to happen out on the placid sea.

  Some of the farther junks swung erratically upon the rising tide; they drifted in toward shore, deeper into the close-packed gathering of stationary ships. They collided. Startled sailors woke and rushed toward the companionways to find the hatches battened down, smoke everywhere and dead sentries underfoot.

  The holds might still be Mongol, but the decks belonged to Niapn!

  Next, the furled sails caught flame as the captured vessels still came drifting in, but now as fire-ships. With their hawsers cut, they smashed into the anchored vessels, tangling their rigging inextricably. The fire spread.

  The naked men of Shori, distinguished only by a white fillet binding their hair, Dignifying their willingness to die fighting, leapt from the burning junks into the excited mass of bewildered enemies. They slashed in all directions with knife and sword and the Mongols likewise struck out blindly, not knowing friend from foe in the dark. A score of bloody battles raged before all were cut down who had come up out of the sea.

  On shore, the tents burned, set alight by those who had played sentinel. These hurled their brands at random and then plunged into the water. Of these, half a score reached the castle to receive the plaudits of their companions. None came back from the fleet.

  Less than forty minutes had passed. It was not yet the hour of the Dog. The beleagured defenders now took what rest they could, but there was no sleep for the invaders the remainder of that night.

  In the smoke of morning, it could be seen that much damage had been done. Smoldering hulks were canted over the rocks where the falling tide had left them. The fleet, widely scattered during the night, was now beating back against an off-shore wind. There were dead horses on the beach and gashed bodies of men floating half submerged in the water, but too distant to identify from the castle. Still, to the Mongols, all of this was no more than a minor irritation. As far as the eye could see, smokes were rising up and down the coast, signifying where landings had been successfully made and villages or fortifications were burning. There was no need for beacons now.

  Against these overwhelming numbers disembarking upon the shores of Nihon from the Mongol armada, such an affair as Haga Bay was no more than a flea bite to an elephant. Now it was the elephant’s turn to retaliate.

  Already many tumans of soldiers were in formation. Scaling ladders were being prepared. There was a great bustle of carpenters and engineers, bringing up and assembling missile throwers, constructing hoardings to protect them, stacking stone balls, fire bombs, and explosive petards for their use.

  By ten in the morning, Chepe Ketoyan Be gave the signal for the first assault, feeling that the time was auspicious. It was the hour of the Dragon. The scaled, many-legged mon-ster went against the ramparts, roaring in angry fury. It went back moaning and limping—upon fewer legs.

  Two columns of armored attackers ran across the two bridges, holding their shields high against a dropping fire of arrows that slithered through the interstices and took a bitter toll. As they came into the range of fire from the loopholes between the fascines on the first rampart, many felL Perforce they must lower their shields for protection. A dropping fire continued from the castle heights, gravity lending impetus to the drive of shafts.

  Sheer force of numbers carried the host on and up the earthen rampart. Digging their toes into the cracks between the stone blocks, forming human pyramids or swarming up the ladders to be hurled down by the falling dead, they finally gained the top of the wall and leapt—upon sharp stakes’set to greet them. Those who survived found themselves penned in a narrow corridor, between the first and second walls, with barred gates on either side and no enemy to meet.

  The indomitable men of Shori had fallen back into the second line.

  Now the attackers were in a precarious position. Those in the corridor, being without ladders, were helpless to get out. The Agates were jammed with bodies. More dead feQ upon this heap, out of the ranks of those who still flooded the rampart. Into both masses, Shori archers shot with deadly speed and precision, from the second and third walls. From the battlements, skilled marksmen placed their arrows more slowly, picking off officers.

  Some Mongols never went farther than the stakes of the fascines. Impaled, unable to move, they screamed, struggled, or limply hung.

  Eventually, the hampering bodies against the first double gates were hauled away. When the gates were unbarred from the inside by what few survivors still remained between the walls, the corridor was clogged with dead. The toll had been severe and the gains questionable.

  The reinforcing columns clattered across the bridges. When the narrow strip of landing between the moat and bridges was full of men, the first corridor jammed and heads rising upon the fiercely contested wall, a buzzing shriek wailed overhead. All eyes followed its course through the air, as a massive boulder tumbled jaggedly into the center of the first bridge, splintering, tearing it away, smashing down through the thickly packed men, and driving its stout fabric in nun into the swift current

  An instant later came the thump of the released arm of the catapult that had flung it, but no one below heard the sound. The screaming of the crushed and drowning men was too loud. Almost instantly the second bridge collapsed under a similar blow from another catapult on the cliff. The Mongols at the ramparts were separated from the main camp by the rushing Itari, which for a little while ran vividly pink.

  By midday there were no Mongols left in the corridor. .A few clustered in
the shelter of the river side of the first rampart, not daring to raise their heads, waiting for others to come so that they might advance again hi strength.

  This the attackers were preparing to do. Movable bridges were being constructed and missile throwers being brought up just outside of archery range. These movements were covered by a wasteful outpouring of arrows from Mongol bowmen, well shielded by plank hoardings that inched their way up almost to the edge of the moat,

  In the meantime, companies of pioneers were pecking holes and driving phis in order to scale the cliffs and come above the defenders. They hoped to sefee the cliff top by sheer force of numbers, but were hampered and harassed as they climbed by stones rolled down upon them by the fishermen, supplied by their women and children. Yet, because of the seemingly endless crowds of men who climbed, the lines of warriors steadily neared the top, although many fell.

  An artillery duel now began. Soon the catapults upon the battlements came under fire by the more powerful Mongol engines set up on the beach. Many were struck and disabled by the exploding bombs, which were strong enough to do terrible damage, though not filled with the mighty powder which Gwalchmai had first developed. Now he thanked God that it had not been a success.

  Under the protection of this bombardment, the troops brought up the bridges they had constructed and began pouring across the moat in their disciplined order. Clouds of smoke from the black powder and burning fascines now darkened the sun and cast a murky red glow over the distorted faces of the howling besiegers.

  Looking down, the defenders could see only eyes and open mouths. It was a day of horror.

  Then, as the climbers finally gained the top of the cliffs in spite of the heroic opposition, the people of Shori were forced back. The men fought desperately, contesting every inch of the cliff top, while their supporting families turned and ran for the openings that led down into the tunnels and rooms in the rock against which the castle was built