Bloody Sunrise

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘My family is in there,’ Nicholas shouted, and ran down the slope, Fushida faithfully at his shoulder, into the hail of shot and the clouding smoke. But few men actually fell; the defenders’ fire, distracted by the shooting from below them, and by the fact that the assault was being carried out all round the landward circumference of the wall, was mostly wild. But they were not yet defeated. The first ladders were thrown down, only immediately to be replaced, while the honin swarmed up them like seamen going aloft in a gale.

  Nicholas, plunging through the midst of several men, found the ladder in front of him already occupied by another half a dozen eager infantrymen. They climbed over the rock base of the fortress to begin with, and thus gained the hill on which the walls were planted. Here they paused, waiting for the ladders to be passed up to them. Nicholas looked up at the angry faces staring down at him, leaning forward to aim their rifles, then the ladder was in place, and the honin were again clambering up, leaving several of their number dead and dying at the foot. Now Nicholas was at their head, sweat pouring from his hair and dribbling down his face, heart pounding, aware of nothing save his determination to reach the battlements before he was himself hit.

  A samurai leaned through an embrasure, swinging with his sword, and kept on coming, shot through the head by one of the infantry still waiting his turn on the ledge. Nicholas had to cling to the rungs with both arms as the heavy armoured body struck him on the shoulder on its way down, and blood splashed on to his face. He looked up again, drawing his revolver as he did so, and shot at the next face to appear, sending it dissolving into flying blood and bone. Then he was at the top, and bounding through the embrasure, firing to each side at the men who came at him, before holstering the gun and stooping to pick up one of the discarded samurai long swords. He wrapped both hands round the hilt, and swung left and right as he had so often practised with Tadatune. Men tumbled away from him, and he realised that he was no longer alone; Fushida and several honin infantry stood beside him, and others were climbing through the embrasures all the time, while from the far side of the castle there came shouts of ‘Banzai!’ to indicate that there too the attackers had gained a foothold.

  Nicholas ran forward through the smoke and the noise, and leapt down the stone ladder into the courtyard. He was approached by a mounted samurai armed with a lance, jumped to one side and swung his sword in an upward arc which tumbled the man from the saddle, blood spouting from the gaping wound in his thigh. Then he reached the inner gate. But this was open and abandoned, the samurai guards running this way and that as the riflemen began volley-firing from the captured outer walls. Nicholas thrust his sword through his belt in order to reload his revolver as he ran forward, encountered a group of men hurrying to attempt to close the gate, and scattered them with three shots. One of the remainder came at him, sword waving, and was sent reeling by a bullet from Fushida, who was following him though the gateway.

  The palace doors sagged open, unprotected; to Nicholas’s relief there was less smoke than he had feared. He dashed inside, and was challenged by a youthful figure, hissing and stamping and waving his sword. ‘I knew you would come,’ the boy snarled. ‘And have waited for you. Traitor!’

  Nicholas side-stepped the blow without difficulty, seized his son round the waist, and took the sword from his hand. ‘I am not a traitor, Takamori. The Satsuma are the traitors. I serve the Emperor.’

  ‘Mother says you are a traitor,’ the boy shouted.

  Nicholas looked over his shoulder at the faithful Fushida. ‘Take the boy to safety. I will explain it to you later, Takamori. Now tell me where your mother is.’

  Takamori bit his lip, but could not prevent his gaze from flickering to the stairs leading up. Nicholas left them and ran up to the first floor, looking left and right at the various corridors, uncertain which way to take, and heard his name. ‘Barrett san!’ He turned to his left, nearly tripped over a body, and stooped to stare at it in horror. It was Shimadzu-no-Tadatune, and he had just cut his belly open. Now he vainly tried to hold his intestines from spilling on to the floor. ‘I have been deserted by my second,’ he gasped. ‘Barrett!’

  ‘Where are my wife and daughter?’ Nicholas snapped.

  Tadatune panted and pointed at the next flight of stairs. ‘Up there! Help me, Barrett, as you are a samurai. I cannot stand the pain.’

  Nicholas bit his lip. Several soldiers were just reaching the top of the stairs, their bayonets already dull with blood. He waved them to halt, then stepped towards the dying man, long sword held in both hands, and swung it with all his strength, to slice through the tendons of Tadatune’s neck and send the head rolling across the floor. The honin roared their approval, but Nicholas was already mounting the next flight of stairs, hurling his shoulder against the closed door he found there, and stumbling into Shimadzu’s audience chamber. But today it was to be used for a vastly different purpose. Here were gathered the Shimadzu women, with their children. He estimated there were some forty of them, sitting on the floor, but now mostly rising as they saw the big man and took in the blood on his sword and on his clothes, and saw, too, the gasping, eager honin at his back. Then Tadatune’s wife stepped in front of them, her dagger gleaming in her hands, and with a single movement drove the blade into her own breast. For a moment no one moved, not even the dying woman. Then her knees gave way as her mouth flopped open in pain, and she struck the floor with a dull thud. As if that had been the signal the woman nearest her stabbed the babe she carried in her arms, and the self massacre became general.

  ‘Stop them,’ Nicholas shouted, as he charged into the room, seeking Sumiko. Behind him the infantry gave a roar and surged forward, but they had rape on their minds, and a quality of bestial sexuality was added to the obscene horror of death itself. Nicholas gained the far side of the room, and stared at Sumiko and Aki; Sumiko held a long-bladed knife. ‘Sumiko!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t do it!’

  Sumiko’s eyes gleamed, her freshly black-painted teeth showing through the parted lips to indicate her complete reversion to how she had always felt a samurai woman should appear and behave. ‘You are a traitor, to the Satsuma,’ she hissed, and turned to murder her daughter, who remained, bemused, at her side.

  Nicholas reached the girl in a single bound, dug his fingers into the shoulder of her kimono, and sent her stumbling backwards, out of range of her mother’s thrust. ‘Sumiko!’ he said, half commanding and half imploring.

  ‘You are dishonoured,’ Sumiko hissed. She looked at Aki, realised that she could not reach her, and before Nicholas could truly understand what she intended, drove the knife into her own belly.

  Chapter Nine – The Admiral

  ‘You will be the mistress of my house,’ Nicholas said.

  Aki sat, shoulders bowed, hair loose and trailing over her face to the tatami. She continued to wear white mourning. ‘Will you not marry again?’ she asked.

  ‘I should not think so.’ He looked at Takamori, who also sat, more sullenly than his sister. ‘You will join the Navy.’

  Takamori raised his head. ‘I am a samurai. I am a soldier, not a sailor.’

  Nicholas knew that now was not the time to be the heavy-handed father. Just as he knew that Mutsuhito was indeed bent on ending the samurai’s ancient traditions, and above all, the law of bushido. But now was not the time to press that point, either ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will speak with the Emperor, and obtain you a commission in one of the infantry regiments.’

  Takamori’s head came up in surprise, and for all his determined resentment he could not prevent an expression of delight from crossing his face. ‘You would do that?’

  ‘Am I not your father?’ Nicholas asked him.

  *

  There was clearly an enormous amount to be done before he could hope to be reconciled with his children, Nicholas knew, but Takamori, with his dreams of military glory, was obviously going to be the easier to deal with. As for Aki, he would have to find her a husband. She had actually watched her mother
die, and although he was sure she was secretly grateful to him for saving her life, she was too femininely proud to show it.

  Marriage was normally a business to be looked after by the wife and mother; Nicholas sought the advice and assistance of the Countess Ito, who was more than willing to help. As for himself, there was so much that needed consideration, but the situation was entirely resolved with total unexpectedness, when the Countess Rashnikov was announced. Nicholas, still on compassionate leave from the Admiralty, was at his desk in his study at home – which he had furnished European-style – and leapt to his feet in utter surprise, and consternation. Kisuda was bowing in the doorway as Elizabeth came through, wearing European clothes, her veil descending from a broad-brimmed hat to cover her face, as if anyone on the street could mistake the Countess Rashnikov. ‘I have embarrassed you,’ she said in English.

  Nicholas nodded at Kisuda, who withdrew, closing the door. ‘You could never embarrass me, Elizabeth. But . . . coming here?’

  ‘I had to come.’ She held out her hands. ‘I am so very sorry.’

  He took her in his arms, and kissed her mouth. ‘Are you?’

  She pulled her head back. ‘No. Not truly. Are you?’

  ‘Sumiko was the mother of my children.’

  ‘I apologise.’

  ‘There is no need to.’ They gazed at each other for several seconds, then she was in his arms. ‘But for you to come here!’

  ‘I could not keep away. I have been so terrified, not knowing whether you were alive or dead. Nicholas! Can I stay?’

  He pulled his head back to frown at her. ‘Do you know what you are saying?’

  ‘Yes.’ She freed herself, and stood before him, hands clasped in front of her.

  ‘Rashnikov will go mad.’

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath. ‘He has already gone mad.’ She half turned away. ‘I . . . I was so worried about you, and then he made a contemptuous remark, calling you a renegade whose heart was as yellow as his skin should be . . . I lost my temper.’

  Nicholas sat down. ‘And told him about us? What did he do?’

  ‘He made me strip naked, and then he beat me.’ Her shoulders heaved. ‘Then he raped me. Again and again and again. Oh, a man cannot rape his own wife. Not in Russia, anyway. And not in Japan, either. But he can still savage her. Paul savaged me, Nicholas. And I could do nothing, until I had learned that you had returned, safe and sound.’ She turned back to face him. ‘Shall I show you the marks? They have not yet faded.’

  He held her hand, and pulled her on to his knee. ‘I believe you. And you are welcome to stay here. But you understand that there will be a great scandal. Paul will not release you, at least to me.’

  ‘Then I will be your geisha.’

  ‘And little Paul?’

  ‘I have already lost him. When Paul was whipping me, he called in little Paul to watch. To watch his mother lying naked on the floor at his father’s feet.’

  ‘The man must be mad.’

  ‘He is. With jealousy over you.’

  ‘If we’re lucky, he’ll call me out.’

  ‘I told you, he will never do that. But he is asking for a transfer back to Russia. He assumes I will go with him. I will not, Nicholas. If you throw me out, I will walk the streets. But I will not go back to that man.’

  Nicholas kissed her, and rang the bell on his desk. ‘Kisuda,’ he said. ‘The Countess Rashnikov will be staying to dinner. And after.’

  *

  Aki and Takamori gazed at Elizabeth in stupefaction. They had never seen anyone quite so elegantly beautiful. ‘I am your father’s mistress,’ she told them; they both spoke English.

  ‘Then I must make you welcome,’ Aki said. ‘Will you take our mother’s place?’

  ‘I would like to. Will you permit me to try?’

  ‘No one can ever take my mother’s place,’ Takamori declared.

  Nicholas flushed, but Elizabeth laid her hand on his arm. ‘I can only try,’ she said softly.

  ‘You are welcome, Countess,’ Aki said again. ‘To try.’

  *

  ‘They’ll come round,’ Nicholas said. ‘They have no choice.’

  ‘They’re your children, Nicky. Not your servants.’ She rolled against him, twining her naked legs round his. How often had he dreamed of holding her in his arms, in his own bedroom? But he had never taken it beyond the realm of dreams, because he had been unable to envisage the reality. He supposed he should feel an overwhelming guilt. Certainly his children thought him guilty. But his marriage had been over long before Sumiko’s suicide, and her suicide had been nothing to do with Elizabeth; Sumiko had never known the truth of that. Her suicide had been an act of ritual savagery, lost in the murky mists of bushido, which was the reason their marriage had foundered.

  No doubt it had been doomed from the start, because from the start the difference in their cultures had been evident. He could remember that day in the bathhouse as if it were yesterday. He had fallen in love with a magnificent, strange, exotic flower, unlike anything he had ever experienced. But already, on the day of his marriage, he had known he was stepping too far into the unknown. Yet it might have worked, save for the coming of the Emperor, with his determination to drag Japan into the Nineteenth Century. It was on Sumiko’s refusal to accept that, refusal to understand that this was the only hope for Japan, that their relationship had foundered.

  The children would never understand that. And now they would have to accept an even more westernised way of life. They would never understand that, either. He realised that he was about to lose his children no less than Elizabeth had already surrendered her son.

  Her lips moved against his cheek. ‘I have brought you no happiness.’

  ‘I think you have brought me all the happiness in the world, Beth. But we may have to work a little to hold it.’

  *

  Next day he sought an audience with the Emperor. ‘The news is all over the city,’ Mutsuhito told him.

  ‘I will of course, resign, Your Majesty.’

  ‘To do what? Your own navy will not take you back.’

  ‘There are South American countries always looking for competent renegades to command their ships.’

  ‘Would you rather serve some banana dictator than us, Barrett?’

  ‘Of course not, Your Majesty, but I have disgraced the service.’

  ‘You have brought very great credit to our army, and our navy, by your deeds in battle. We have no doubt at all that we shall need you to perform even greater services in the future, Barrett. This business is an affair between barbarians, of which you are conveniently one, for that purpose. It does not, it cannot, affect your standing as a Japanese.’

  ‘I cannot repudiate the Countess Rashnikov, Your Majesty. Even if I did not love her, her fate in such circumstances would be unthinkable.’

  ‘Love,’ Mutsuhito mused. ‘Your western writers spend much ink in attempting to define the word. Has anyone ever succeeded? Here in Japan we prefer to define the relationship between a man and a woman in terms of duty, and respect, and intimacy. Your lady has forfeited all of those, save perhaps the last, but that should be with her husband. You understand that she cannot be socially acceptable.’

  ‘I understand, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Fortunately, the Count has applied for a transfer back to Russia, so that should be the end of the affair. Now we must consider more important matters. The Imperial Navy! I have decided to appoint you Chief of Staff to Admiral Count Ito, with the rank of Rear-Admiral.’

  Nicholas could hardly believe his ears, although at the same time he understood that he was being by-passed as captain for the Fuso, which had just been completed in England.

  ‘This will serve two purposes,’ Mutsuhito went on. ‘It will silence all those critics who will be sure you have lost my favour thanks to your romantic adventure, and it will also give you additional authority to seek new ships. I may as well tell you that our summary crushing of the Satsuma rebellion has been regarded
with disfavour by our neighbours. I am speaking of China and Russia. I do not think they care anything for the Satsuma, of course; with their own records of treatment of rebels they could hardly do so. What they find disturbing is the prospect of a united Japan becoming a force in East Asia and the Pacific. I have no doubt that we can expect some probes from them, to determine our strength and our resolution. I am satisfied with the progress made by the army. But there has been very little progress in naval matters.’

  ‘The problem lies in determining what is best for our purposes, Your Majesty,’ Nicholas explained. ‘Having regard to the limited funds that are available.’

  Mutsuhito shot him a quick glance, but he could not argue with the truth. Most of the recent budgets had been so far devoted to the Army and the civil service, as well as to the considerable cost of converting the koku economy into money. And although the Japanese political system, as revised by Mutsuhito, was based upon the German – which meant that while the new parliament could debate fiscal measures it could neither initiate them nor reject them so long as the Imperial Chancellor, Prince Yamagata, held the confidence of the Emperor – yet Mutsuhito knew that the national expenditure had to be held within the bounds of bankruptcy, or his international credit would be lost. ‘We must have ships, Admiral Barrett, even within the existing financial parameters.’

  ‘To have ships, Your Majesty, we must have more funds. However, there are ways and means of obtaining the protection we require at a lesser outlay than may seem necessary. Admiral Ito is still anxious to obtain a squadron of battleships, and I agree with him that this is the ideal at which we must aim. However, for the cost of one battleship, we could obtain two or perhaps three cruisers, depending on what we are looking for.’

  Mutsuhito frowned. ‘You are aware that Russia has authorised the building of four ten thousand ton ships, armed with twelve-inch guns?’