Bloody Sunrise

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Then, as you cannot save my life, slay me now. I have no wish to be exposed to the mob and then chopped into pieces.’

  Nicholas licked his lips. ‘I cannot do that, save at the expense of my own life, and those of Sumiko and the children. Nor would that save the life of Suiko. But there is a way of saving all of those lives, of dying in private and with dignity, and of regaining your honour.’

  ‘My honour,’ Tom said bitterly. ‘All for the sake of loving a woman! You are speaking of seppuku.’ He gazed at his friend. ‘Have I the strength to do it?’

  ‘I think you do, as you are a man of courage.’

  ‘Will you be my second?’

  Nicholas swallowed. But he could do nothing less. ‘If you wish it.’

  *

  At that, it was not such a private affair. There was no mob, to be sure, but the male members of the Ozawa and Ise families had gathered in some force to witness the suicide of the man who had disgraced their houses. Nicholas was relieved, however, to see there were no women present; he had been afraid that Suiko herself might have been forced to watch her guilt expiated.

  Having signified his willingness to commit seppuku, Tom had been released from prison, into Nicholas’s care. Nicholas was well aware of the thoughts which must be tumbling through the young man’s mind – he was still only twenty-two – of the temptation, if he was certain to die in any event, of attempting to escape and perhaps enjoying one last glorious, crowded hour of freedom. But to do that would be to compromise his honour as a samurai just as much as if he allowed himself to be publicly executed. Nicholas had his servants watch his friend every moment up to the appointed hour, which was at dawn the following morning.

  An hour before then, Tom was awakened – he was so emotionally exhausted he had slept heavily – and bathed. Then he was fed and given two cups of sake to drink. Sumiko came in to say goodbye; she did not weep, but her eyes were filled with an awareness of tragedy. She knew she was going to see a change in the demeanour of her husband, after this day. A few minutes later the Ozawa and Ise men arrived, and took their places in the courtyard behind Nicholas’s house. Togo sat with them. Here screens had been erected to hide the ceremony from the servants, but Kisuda accompanied Tom into the courtyard, and helped him disrobe. Nicholas carried the two swords.

  Tom sat cross-legged on the tatami, naked save for his loin cloth. He had not spoken since Sumiko had left him, and his face was composed, although there was a bright pink spot on each cheek. When Nicholas offered him the short sword he took it without looking up. Nicholas then drew the long sword, and took up his stance at Tom’s shoulder, and a little behind. He raised the sword, desperately trying to control his breathing, and aware that he was dripping sweat. I am about to kill a man, he thought. It was not something naval officers expected to have to do, close to; the engagement with the Tokugawa was the first melee in which he had ever engaged, and even then he had not come into physical contact with any of his enemy. But here was a friend.

  Holding the sword in both hands, he lowered it until the blade just tapped Tom on the neck, to inform him that everything was ready. Now it was up to him. The courtyard was utterly quiet; even the normal sounds of Kagoshima in the distance seemed to be hushed. The Ozawas and Ises might not have been breathing at all; their faces were composed and solemn. This was no act of vengeance they had come to witness, but rather a ceremony of age-old significance, a rebirth of the law of bushido. The seconds ticked away, and Nicholas, aware of how clammy his hands were becoming as he stood with the sword raised over his shoulder, remembering all the words of admonishment given him, by Saigo and Togo and Tadatune, began to tremble as he feared that, after all, Tom lacked the courage to cut his own belly. He had to shake his head to renew his concentration, for if he failed to strike off Tom’s head with a single blow, he would be the one disgraced. But as he did so, Tom moved. Holding the dagger in both hands, he drove it into his stomach, twisted it, and pulled it sideways. Not until he had completed the transverse cut did he throw out his hand. Instantly Nicholas swung the sword, praying for guidance. And he struck truly, the razor-sharp blade biting into Tom’s neck and continuing on its way with such force that Nicholas performed a complete circle before coming to rest, to gaze at his friend’s headless body, slumped forward; remarkably little blood flowed from the neck, as the initial gush had come from the gaping belly wound. Tom’s head had rolled against the screen.

  Nicholas stood absolutely still, his breath coming in huge gasps. Ise Kazuo slowly got to his feet. ‘That was well done, Barrett san,’ he said. ‘You are a true samurai.’

  *

  Tom was buried that afternoon. His corpse was attended only by Sumiko, Nicholas and Togo. But as they were leaving the temple ground they heard the beat of a drum, and saw several saffron clad Buddhist priests approaching, followed by the male and female members of the Ozawa and Ise families; six of the men bore a coffin. ‘My God!’ Nicholas said. ‘She really loved him.’

  ‘Who can tell?’ Togo commented.

  ‘If she killed herself on learning of his death . . .’

  ‘She did not kill herself, Barrett san. The Ise ladies would have strangled her this morning, the moment they knew Ebury was dead.’ Nicholas stared at him in horror, and Togo shrugged. ‘Ebury saved her the humiliation of a public execution, as he saved his own honour. But he could not save her family from everlasting disgrace. Only her death could do that.’

  That night Nicholas forsook Sumiko’s bed, for all that they had been separated for over a month, and went to the geisha house. When he left, Kiki was black and blue. Next morning he and Togo rode north, for Edo.

  *

  The Emperor sat in a chair on a dais in the Tokugawa audience chamber; Nicholas wondered if such a thing had ever been seen before. Around him, standing as European courtiers might have done, instead of kneeling, were grouped the great daimyo, as well as the ex-Shōgun, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, Lord of Mito: Keiko was not in fact a great deal older than the boy who had deposed him. In front of the dais were gathered all the samurai with ranks of hatamoto or higher; like their betters, they also stood, shuffling their feet and glancing at each other in consternation at this totally un-Japanese method of conducting an audience, at this lack of respect for the Mikado, even if it was he who had commanded them to stand. Nicholas was at the very back of the throng. He was tall enough to see over their heads, but he also had no wish to be singled out this day; after what had happened to Tom, he still could not be sure he truly wanted to belong to this society, however great the rewards it had promised him.

  An immense rustle spread through the chamber, and several men instinctively knelt, for to the amazement of all present, the Emperor himself got to his feet and advanced to the edge of the dais, where he gestured them to their feet again. ‘My lords,’ Mutsuhito said in his usual quiet but intensely clear voice. ‘I have summoned you here today because I know how many of you will be concerned at the events of the past few weeks. I wish to set your minds at rest, and more, to enlist you in the great tasks which lie ahead of us.’ He looked from face to face, to their great embarrassment; there was hardly a man present who would ever have seen an emperor before, much less been in a room with him and listened to him speak.

  ‘First,’ Mutsuhito went on, ‘I would have you know that in acting as I have done, I intend no disrespect to the Shōgun, or to the famous family whose name he bears. The Tokugawas have been the strong right arm of Japan for two hundred and sixty years. They ended a long period of internicine strife between the daimyos, because my ancestors, the then Sons of Heaven, lacked the strength themselves to do so.’ The samurai gasped: no one had ever dared criticise even a dead Mikado before. ‘And so well did Tokugawa Iyeyasu and his great successors manage our affairs,’ Mutsuhito went on, ‘that my more recent forebears were content to let them continue to deal with the day-to-day business of government. But today it is the present and the future with which we have to contend, and not the past. The weight of
the barbarians is pressing heavily upon our land. In dealing with this threat, it has become apparent that the Shōgun could no longer command the undivided support of the people of Japan. This is our first necessity, to restore the unity of our people, of our samurai, that we may face the barbarians with a single front. We have discussed the matter with the Shōgun, and he agrees that he should abdicate his responsibilities and retire into private life.’

  The silence was so acute it was possible to believe that no one in the room was even breathing. The eyes of the Satsuma and the Cho-Shu men gleamed with triumph, as those of the Tokugawa were clouded with dismay. But Mutsuhito was still speaking. ‘As a retired Shōgun, as the last Shōgun, Lord Yoshinobu will be accorded every honour that can be paid him by a grateful state. As of this moment he is Prince, and elder statesman of Japan. Prince Yoshinobu, in his gratitude, would renounce his estates, and this gift we are pleased to accept, as the offer reveals a true and contrite heart, and a willingness to serve our great purpose. May his example shine as a beacon to all of my lords.’

  The Emperor’s head turned, slowly, to look at the daimyo grouped on his right, who exchanged glances, before Lord Shimadzu knelt before the boy who had taken control of all their destinies. ‘There is no daimyo in Japan, Majesty, who is more loyal and devoted than myself, and I speak for my samurai. My lands are yours in deed, Majesty, as they have always been yours in spirit.’ ‘And mine,’ cried Yoshimune, kneeling beside Shimadzu. ‘And mine!’ ‘And mine!’ All the daimyo in the room were kneeling to make this extraordinary declaration.

  Mutsuhito smiled. ‘We thank you, loyal subjects, and accept your gracious gifts. These lands are now ours, by deed. But were they not always ours, by law? Our great ancestor bestowed them upon his sons and grandsons, for are not all of you also descended from our own great ancestor? That the fiefs of Japan have come to be regarded as the personal property of the daimyo has been one of the unlawful consequences of the Shōgunate. Glad indeed are we that this has now been corrected.’ The kneeling lords exchanged glances, as did their samurai; they were just realising that in their enthusiasm they had not only surrendered their power, but reduced themselves to poverty.

  Mutsuhito continued to smile. ‘But fiefs have to be ruled, and how may we govern without your support and advice? Arise, our lords. We give you back your lands, to be held in fief of our goodwill. Be sure that such laws as we shall decree for the better organisation and government of this realm will meet with your approval. As for Lord Yoshinobu, he will receive back his lands, and the respect of all men. In only one matter will we yield to his desire to surrender his every right. Prince Yoshinobu would abandon the city of Edo, his ancestral home, and retire forever to his estates. This we are prepared to permit him to do, for it is in our mind that Kyoto, hallowed as it is, is no longer a suitable capital for a Japan which is about to take its place in the community of nations. It is too far from the sea. Edo is much more suitable, with its magnificent natural harbour, and with the infrastructure of government already within its walls. We thus declare that from this moment, Edo will be our capital and our residence. And we further declare that Edo will have a new name. As Kyoto was and will remain the Western capital, so do we rename this city Tokyo, the Eastern capital of Japan.’

  The samurai shuffled their feet, uncertain what had just happened, while Nicholas again marvelled at the cool arrogance and political skill of this boy, who had just removed all of the daimyo’s power in law, returning only the substance, which, given the Japanese respect for the law, could be withdrawn at any time. To be held in fief of our goodwill. And who was now calmly appropriating the ancient seat of the Tokugawas, and at the same time eliminating the memory of Iyeyasu’s city from the minds of men.

  ‘It is the future that concerns us,’ Mutsuhito said. ‘I have given this matter much thought, and have determined, firstly, that if we are to rise above the level of mere servants to the barbarians, and regain jurisdiction over our own laws and customs, it must be the will and therefore the purpose of all our people, not merely a few daimyo and their retainers. In this, as in all things, we must not be afraid to borrow from the barbarians, for we must discover the source of their strength and put it to our own use. Thus my government will express the hearts and minds of all my people, whether samurai or scribe, merchant or daimyo. This is intended as no insult to our samurai, yet must I make my intention clear. For at least part of the barbarian strength is that of money, with which they can build great ships and employ great armies, and manufacture or buy great guns. We in Japan have for too long despised money, and have made do without it. Now it is necessary for our future. Thus the farmer and the manufacturer who can create wealth, and the merchant who can use that wealth in the international marketplaces, will be as important to the future of our country as the finest soldiers in the world.’

  This time there was at last a murmur of protest, instantly quelled as the Emperor searched with his eyes for the malcontents. Yet he still smiled. ‘When one dons a suit of armour, which will make one invulnerable to anything an opponent may do, it often happens that a strap is pulled too tight, or that the iron of a breastplate or greave scratches the skin and causes a momentary discomfort. Yet once the accoutrement is complete, how safe and secure do we feel, and how comfortable as well. We are now engaged in the process of arming all Japan, my samurai. You will have to lead that process. You must have firm foundations upon which to plant your feet as you advance to glory.’ Once again he had captivated them, and there was nothing but nods of approval to be seen.

  ‘Thus we would be served by an elected parliament,’ the Emperor continued, ‘as happens in the barbarian countries, in which will be represented the artisan as well as the samurai, the scholar as well as the merchant. The exact formation of such a parliament, and the method of holding elections for it, you may leave to ourself and our lords to determine, remembering always that our purpose is that Japan should at the earliest possible moment throw off the tutelage which has been imposed upon us. This tutelage, this barbarian strength, was displayed to us only a few weeks ago, when a barbarian, commanding the troops of the Satsuma, was enabled to overcome a vastly superior force simply by his understanding of modern weapons. There is no braver warrior in the world than a Japanese samurai. But no warrior, however brave, can oppose only a sword or a bow to a rifle capable of striking him down at half a mile distance. Just as the strongest fortifications in the world are useless against a bombardment by modern cannon. We must learn how to use these modern weapons, and we can only do that by employing the best to teach us.

  ‘It is our intention to create an army which will be the finest in the world, by employing as our teachers officers of the army which is at present considered the finest in the world; the French. We shall create the finest navy in the world by employing British officers, and more, we will have the British build our warships for us, until we can build our own. Yet must we match the barbarians also in what they call civilisation. They contend that our laws are out of keeping with modern thought. Our laws have stood us in sufficient stead for long enough, my samurai. Yet there is nothing that cannot be improved. We have considered all the legal systems presently in use, and have come to the conclusion that the laws of Italy provide the fairest concept of justice we have been able to discover. We shall therefore send to Rome for lawyers to reform our legal system, where it may be necessary.’ The samurai gaped at him; they had lost their breaths at the sweeping nature of the measures he intended.

  ‘But it is not sufficient for us to learn the barbarian techniques,’ the Emperor continued. ‘We also need to know them, to understand the secrets of their lives. For the past two hundred years the Tokugawa forbade any Japanese to travel abroad, on pain of death, for fear that what such travellers might learn in other lands would disturb the even tenor of our lives here at home. But now it is necessary for our lives to be disturbed, as it is going to happen anyway. The Shōgunate understood this when the black ships arrived, fourt
een years ago. During the last ten years the law against travel has been cancelled, but still only official embassies have been permitted to visit Europe and America. We wish to alter that. We wish as many Japanese as possible to travel, as far as possible. We would have our would-be sailors and soldiers attend British and French naval and military academies, as we would have our scholars attend their universities and our doctors attend their medical schools and our lawyers attend their courts, that we may discover everything that makes the barbarians strong.’ He smiled. ‘And perhaps, some of the things that make them weak. The future calls us, my samurai, and the prize is great. What lies ahead will not be easy of accomplishment, and it will not be to the liking of us all. Yet must it be done, for the sake of our children and our grandchildren. My samurai, my daimyo, will you follow your Mikado into the dawn of a new age for Japan?’

  *

  The cries of ‘Banzai!’ continued to ring out long after Mutsuhito and his lords had left the chamber. The samurai gathered in the gardens to exchange their views, and try to order the thoughts which tumbled through their reeling minds. Nicholas sought out Saigo. ‘A momentous day, Saigo san.’

  Saigo did not look as happy as most of the other samurai. ‘Momentous indeed. The boy would accomplish a revolution with words. I wonder if he himself understands what he is doing.’

  ‘I would say so,’ Nicholas argued. ‘He has indicated his intention of dealing with the barbarian threat as rapidly as possible.’

  ‘Do you think he understands that every word he said here today will be reported to the foreign embassies?’

  ‘Of course, and perhaps he intends them as a warning. But in calling upon them to assist him in modernising Japan he is offering a powerful temptation. They will feel they will have the influencing of this new Japan he would create. And consider this, Saigo san: what we heard today was no speech thrown together in a few hours, but the result of many years of thought. The Emperor is seventeen. When do you suppose he began to study the problems of the Empire? At the age of twelve? Ten? Even if his father saw to his education and planted these thoughts in his mind, understanding that Japan has reached a decisive moment in her history, he cannot have expected to die so unexpectedly, and no father would recommend to his seventeen-year-old son so bold and hasty a course, when his grasp of affairs can only improve by waiting a few years. Saigo san, I would say that we are dealing with no ordinary man.’