Tokyo Bay

by Anthony Grey

  For the first time he wondered if he had been insanely rash in surrendering to his wild impulse to climb the spectacular volcano. He was well aware he had been acting on instinct not reason, and had realized he would face considerable risks; but had he seriously miscalculated the degree of danger? Was the whole venture an act of extreme folly? He closed his eyes, pondering these questions with a mounting feeling of anxiety; yet, despite his misgivings, he found his inner senses did not urge him to abandon the attempt and turn back. Something beyond words, he felt, was drawing him on, and he shrugged his shoulders as he rode forward, trying to push all negative thoughts from his mind.

  ‘Look, there’s something ahead, master,’ said Sentaro a few minutes later, pointing towards what turned out to be a tiny pilgrim inn nestling in a fold of the land. ‘I will stop to get us extra clothing.’

  Eden was shivering continually now, and he spurred his horse into a clump of trees while Sentaro reined in outside the inn and dismounted. The former castaway joined him again fifteen minutes later, grinning broadly from under the brim of his wide hat. Across the neck of his horse he carried two black padded kimonos, two traditional pilgrim over-gowns of white cotton, thick white woollen tabi for their feet, and several spare pairs of woven- straw sandals. He had filled a new water bottle and also bought climbing staves, which he carried in one hand. Slung around his neck like necklaces, he wore two strings of eggs that had been cooked in their shells; each egg had been tied up individually inside a narrow strip of straw matting and, after riding far enough off the track to be invisible to anyone passing, they pulled on the warm garments, the white overgowns and the woollen socks. Bowing his head respectfully, and grinning at the same time, Sentaro hung one of the skeins of hardboiled eggs around Eden’s neck, as though honouring him with a decoration, and they paused long enough to devour two of the eggs from the other skein.

  ‘I have rice and vegetables in my pouch, master, so we are better prepared now to begin our climb,’ said Sentaro, his narrow face become serious again. ‘But the landlord of the inn warned me that it is very dangerous to attempt the climb at any time without a guide. When the mist is thick, it is especially dangerous. He also said the snows this year still look very deep near the summit.’

  ‘We will find our own way, Sentaro. A guide would only betray us.’

  Eden spurred his horse away with a sudden ferocity as if trying to calm the sense of disquiet nagging inside him. Sentaro followed quickly and they rode side by side without speaking up the winding track, noticing that the stretches of black sand and ash were growing larger. Very soon the surface of the moorland had become predominantly black, with only occasional splashes of green where small clumps of rank grass had taken root. In the dead grey light the whole landscape had taken on a charred and abandoned appearance as though it had been recently swept by fire, and the two mollusk hatted riders clad all in white passed steadily across it, moving forward like silent, insubstantial ghosts.

  ‘There was an eruption from this side of Fuji-san a hundred and fifty years ago panted Sentaro at Eden’s side. ‘The ashes rained down for many miles around - even the rooftops of Yedo were covered.

  The landlord of the inn back there told me this whole area was covered with black sand to the height of a man . .

  The hoofs of the horses were sinking deeper into the soft, volcanic cinders, slowing their progress, and the track grew steeper. Very soon the last patches of green and even the stunted trees disappeared, leaving the surface of the earth all round them ominously bare. As they climbed higher Eden began to realize that the frowning bulk of Fuji was not even the dark metallic blue it had seemed to be half an hour earlier:

  the whole of the mountain, like the moorland, was a shocking cinder-black. Framed within lines of extraordinary symmetry; the cone seen from those lower slopes was a daunting pyramid of dead ashes, lava and cinders. Only high above - many miles away, it seemed to Eden - was this grim colour relieved by the sudden whiteness of the snow- covered summit, which by contrast seemed purer and more dazzling than before.

  ‘We must leave the horses soon, master, and continue on foot,’ whispered Sentaro, gazing up towards the peak with a bemused expression in his eyes. ‘I was told there’s one last pilgrim inn where they can be sheltered.’

  Half an hour later, after Sentaro had stabled the horses, they were standing side by side, holding the staves in their hands, at the bottom of the steep cliff of black scoriae. Whenever they moved, their feet sank deep into the loose cinders, making a sharp crunching sound. A cold breeze was beginning to blow, chasing the fog, wisp by wisp, from the trackless mountain face and Eden stared through narrowed eyes at the harsh contours as they came gradually into focus.

  No other human figure was visible on the steep slopes ahead of them to give any clue where invisible paths might lie, and he searched in vain for some logical line of ascent through the drab wastes. A sense of bafflement engulfed him suddenly as he struggled to come to terms with the horror of the grim scene before them. The charred flanks of the mountain, abandoned by all visible life forms, were a seared and deserted realm that reeked of fiery death and destruction. An ominous silence had descended and in those moments it seemed impossible that the spectacular mountain which had captivated him at first sight as a vision of light and beauty could have transformed itself so nightmarishly into the opposite.

  ‘Which way shall we climb, master?’ asked Sentaro, speaking in an uncertain voice at his side. ‘Have you made up your mind?’

  Eden did not reply at once. Unable to formulate any rational plan of action, he jabbed his stave into the black cinders at his feet with a sudden decisiveness.

  ‘Yes, this way! Follow close behind me.’

  The next instant he lunged blindly away across the loose scree and Sentaro hurried after him. A sharp gust of wind whipped against their faces and with each step they took their feet sank deeper into the loose black sand.

  28

  RIDING FAST THROUGH the thick mist at the head of a group of twenty helmeted arid fully armed samurai, Prince Tanaka failed to spot the tiny pilgrim inn nestling at the edge of the moorland. He had already passed it and was spurring his horse onward along the winding track, when Gotaro, who was riding at the rear of the group, noticed the blurred outline of the little thatched building and reined in his mount.

  ‘O Kami-san, forgive me: he called out loudly. ‘There is an inn here. We could stop and seek information.’

  He waited respectfully while Tanaka wheeled his horse and led the rest of the samurai troop up to the inn gates. When Tanaka dismounted, the chief guard followed him to the doorway where the teishi, or landlord, had already appeared. Having caught sight of Tanaka’s richly embroidered jimbaori and the horned helmets of his escort, emblazoned with the Kago clan insignia, the landlord had already prostrated himself abjectly on the threshold with hands folded before him. He touched his forehead to the ground five times as the group approached, and remained in this position until he was addressed.

  ‘Rise,’ commanded Tanaka brusquely. ‘We wish only to ask you a question or two.’

  The teishi half rose, still bowing obsequiously, and began backing into the shabby inn, indicating with mumbled self-effacements that his lordly visitor was very welcome to enter his unworthy establishment.

  ‘We don’t require the service of your inn at present, Teishi-san,’ said Tanaka quick1’ ‘We wish only to know if any strangers have called seeking refreshment, or otherwise passed by here today.’

  ‘It is at present very quiet in this remote region, o Kami-san,’ said the teishi, bowing very low again. ‘When the snows have melted fully on Fuji-san, many pilgrims will come by as usual. Today only one man has called at my humble inn.’

  ‘What sort of man was he?’ asked Gotaro eagerly. ‘Did he look anything like a banzoku - a foreign barbarian bandit?’

  Tanaka shot an angry glance at his chief guard as the teishi’s eyes widened in alarm; then he bowed again before replying
.

  ‘The man who called today at my humble inn was an ordinary Nipponese - a farmer, a fisherman or some such, I should think..

  ‘What did he want?’ asked Tanaka, his eyes glowing with sudden interest. ‘Why did he call here?’

  ‘He merely bought some warm clothes, O Kami-san, to climb the mountain - and also some food. I warned him how dangerous it would be for them without a guide.’

  ‘Why do you say far them?’ asked Tanaka sharply.

  ‘Because he bought clothes and food for another man as well, and he said he was preparing to climb the mountain with a companion.. .‘ The teishi stopped speaking, suspicion dawning in his eyes; when he resumed his voice bad taken on a faint edge of excitement. ‘Yes, O Kami-san, that’s right! And one of my servants said he saw another man gallop up with him. But the other man rode on past the inn without stopping...’

  ‘What sort of clothing did you sell them?’

  ‘Warm clothes, O Kami-san. Pilgrim robes, tabi and thick kimonos...’

  ‘And what clothes did he buy for his unseen companion?’

  ‘The same - but the largest size of everything...’

  ‘It must be the banzoku, O Kami-san,’ said Gotaro excitedly. ‘And he clearly intends to commit the gravest of crimes by climbing sacred Fuji-san itself!’

  ‘How long is it since they passed?’ asked Tanaka, ignoring the samurai’s impetuous interruption.

  The teishi thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps three hours or so, O Kami-san. Four hours at the most.’

  ‘And which way did they go?’

  He pointed along the black shale track to the north. ‘That way, O Kami-san.’

  Tanaka reached into a pouch at his waist, extracted two silver coins and held them out. ‘I commend you for your assistance, Teishi-san. And I expect you to say nothing of these things to anybody else.’

  ‘O Kami-san does my humble dwelling the greatest honour.’

  The teishi received the coins in both hands and bowed from the waist again in gratitude. He remained in this respectful posture while Tanaka climbed into his saddle, and did not straighten up until the group of horsemen had swept from the inn yard, to disappear rapidly into the mist. For a moment or two he stood listening to the urgent, fading beat of their hoofs, his face indicating that he was deep in thought. Then he called over his shoulder to a young servant, who throughout the meeting had hovered judiciously out of sight just inside the door.

  ‘Saddle up a horse he said to the youth, ‘and ride fast to our lord’s castle. Tell him i is believed the foreign barbarian bandit passed by here this morning, in the company of a Nipponese fisherman. Say they were last seen moving up the slopes of Fuji-san! Say also that a prince of the Kago clan is pursuing him hotly, with twenty of his samurai.’

  ‘Yes, master!’ said the youth, his eyes wide with excitement. ‘I will go at once!’

  He dashed away towards the stables to prepare a horse and three minutes later galloped furiously out of the inn yard. Bent low over the horse’s mane, he swung away in the opposite direction to that taken by Prince Tanaka, and in his turn disappeared swiftly into the mist.

  29

  A WINDOWLESS black-lacquered norimono, being carried swiftly through the same persistent mists above Uraga, jolted and bounced alarmingly on the shoulders of its four fast-trotting bearers. A group of mounted samurai cavalrymen, holding aloft the fluttering clan standards of Lord Daizo of Haifu, were riding in close formation around the traditional conveyance that for many centuries had been employed to transport noblemen or officials of rank in secluded privacy Its small wooden cabin was suspended from a single, stout carrying-pole borne by two pairs of brawny coolies front and back, and the samurai escort cast watchful glances in all directions as they hurried them over the crest of a low wooded bill. In the distance the curved rooftops that crowned a daimyo’s hilltop castle became faintly visible and, on catching sight of the fortress, the samurai captain shouted urgent new orders to the bearers to accelerate their pace still further.

  Inside the wildly bouncing norimono the thin, scholarly face of Haniwara Tokuma, who had acted as interpreter for all the encounters on board the American black ships, was already pale with apprehension. He was trying to brace himself more rigidly on the conveyance’s narrow seat to lessen his discomfort, and from time to time he clutched frantically at his lacquered bonnet to prevent it being knocked askew. But on hearing the samurai captain’s order to speed up, his expression grew more agitated. Even though he could see little or nothing from inside what was effectively a tiny wooden cage, he sensed they must be approaching their destination and the headlong downhill gallop of the bearers, which jolted him more painfully than ever in his seat, seemed to confirm his suspicions.

  The unexpected arrival of the norimono and its escort, while he was resting in a guest pavilion at the governor’s residence in Uraga, had surprised but not alarmed him. The samurai captain had bowed and greeted him respectfully enough in announcing that he was summoned to an immediate audience with Lord Daizo of Haifu. But as soon as they had left the palace, the norimono had speeded up alarmingly and the guards had insolently ignored all his shouted demands for an explanation of their haste. His frantic requests for them to slow down had also gone unanswered and he had soon lapsed into a fearful silence, realizing that he was being subjected to these deliberate indignities in preparation for something worse.

  After reaching level ground and climbing gradually again, the norimono passed through several guarded gateways until at last it halted and the expressionless samurai captain wrenched open the tiny door of the conveyance inside the castle courtyard. He gestured for the scholar-official to disembark, without offering any of the courtesies appropriate to his rank, then turned and strode quickly away towards a portalled door.

  ‘You will follow me,’ he called brusquely over his shoulder. ‘You are to be received immediately by Lord Daizo.’

  Three other samurai fell into step behind him, their hands resting pointedly on the hilts of their swords, and he was marched into the castle. They passed rapidly along wide stone corridors hung with weapons and shields bearing the Makabe clan insignia, and mounted a flight of steps to a small, bare audience chamber where Lord Daizo, a glowering burly figure dressed in a formal kimono of dark blue silk, was seated cross-legged on a small cushioned platform. The taller, more youthful figure of his son Yakamochi, who wore the armour, battle-jacket and twin swords of a warrior nobleman, stood behind the dais, to one side, his features composed in an expression of hostility similar to his father’s. After prostrating themselves in their daimyo’s direction, the four samurai guards took up station watchfully beside the doorway, and motioned Haniwara Tokuma to step forward. The interpreter bowed low and prostrated himself in his turn, pressing his forehead three times against the tatami; then he looked up with an anxious expectancy towards the grim-faced daimyo.

  ‘Nippon’s most sacred laws are those which forbid the admission of all foreign barbarians to our country;’ snapped Daizo, gazing coldly at the interpreter. ‘And because those sacred laws have now been violated, the divine dignity of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor is grossly offended.’ The daimyo paused and glared challengingly across the audience chamber. ‘Do you agree, Haniwara-san?’

  ‘You speak the truth, my lord,’ said Haniwara uncertainly. ‘That is self-evident.’

  ‘If we revere His Imperial Majesty; and believe the land of the gods is sullied by the presence of even a single hideous alien, then we must strive mightily to expel him!’ The daimyo paused again to stare belligerently at the interpreter. ‘Do I speak with truth on that matter also, Haniwara-san?’

  ‘Your speech is very clear, my lord? The interpreter lowered his eyes evasively. ‘Very clear indeed?

  ‘I’m glad you think so - that will make it easier for you to assist me?

  ‘Rest assured, my lord, that is my wish,’ said the interpreter, still staring down at the tatami. ‘I will assist you in any way that is in my power?r />
  ‘Good: said Daizo heavily. ‘Because I have brought you here to help me find the foreign barbarian spy who has sneaked ashore from the black ships.’

  The interpreter looked up sharply, his anxiety showing more clearly on his face. ‘How can I do that, my lord?’

  ‘We shall see: said Daizo, staring intently at Haniwara to gauge his reaction. ‘But, to make your mind rest easier in these dangerous times, I should tell you I have sent guards to the home of your wife and children in Yedo. I have taken them all under my personal protection, and conveyed them to a secret destination. So you can help me now without fearing in any way for their safety... or informing anyone else of our conversations.’

  Haniwara’s face turned pale as he realized that his family had become helpless hostages of the ruthless daimyo. In Daizo’s hard, narrow eyes he could see a fierce glitter of satisfaction, and again he lowered his head in order to disguise his true feelings.

  ‘I am grateful for your concern about those dearest to me, my lord,’ he said unsteadily. ‘Tell me how I may offer you assistance.’

  ‘Yesterday I sent my best samurai to hunt down the hideous alien in the region of the coastal fort where he was found spying - but he had disappeared without any trace! I wish to know from you whether he has returned secretly to the black ships.’

  Haniwara continued to stare downward, avoiding the daimyo’s fixed gaze. ‘No, my lord, I am sure he has not yet returned to his ship. This morning the barbarian interpreter asked me in confidence if there was any news of him. And many guards are now patrolling the entire shoreline.’