Tokyo Bay

by Anthony Grey

  Eden froze for a moment as the implications of these words sank into his mind; then Yakamochi sprang forward, swinging his sword through a savage horizontal arc in an effort to decapitate the American with one stroke. Ducking quickly to one side, Eden swung his own blade upward with all his strength and squarely intercepted the blow; Yakamochi’s sword flew from his hand and he stumbled, falling momentarily to one knee in the snow. In the same instant another piercing battle-cry rang in Eden’s ears, and he saw Motohiro’s sword whirling down towards him. He tried to duck and twist away from this new danger but moved too late and could only partly parry the heavy blow. The two swords locked at the hilt and Eden and Motohiro teetered and swayed against one another for a moment before the weight of the samurai’s rush carried Eden backwards against the rock with a sickening crash. The collision knocked all the wind from him, and his sword fell into the snow as he sagged forward, gasping for breath. His face came close to his opponent’s and he saw an anticipatory gleam of triumph appear in Motohiro’s eyes.

  ‘You wished to die for the traitor, wretched gai-jin!’ grunted the Japanese. ‘Now I grant your wish.’

  Growling like an animal, the guard captain heaved himself backward, swung his blade behind his shoulder and slashed viciously at Eden’s throat. Still struggling to regain his breath, Eden tried, to sway out of range, but he was hemmed in too tightly against the rock. At the last moment he ducked below waist level to avoid the blow and the samurai captain’s weapon clanged against the rock face, creating a bright cascade of sparks.

  While Eden was snatching up his fallen sword, Motohiro closed in again, cursing loudly, aiming to impale him with an underarm thrust of the long, curved blade. Before he completed the stroke, however, the air around them came alive with the whine of arrows. Two or three shafts ricocheted harmlessly against the rock face above Eden’s head, while half a dozen others thudded into the flesh and body armour of the watching half-circle of Makabe samurai, scattering them amidst a chorus of curses and agonized screams. A few arrows sped harmlessly wide of their targets to fall unnoticed in the snow, but one drove itself bloodily through the throat of Motohiro from behind, its honed metal head forcing its way obscenely into view beneath his dim as he froze in mid-stride. Choking horribly and pumping crimson blood onto the snow, he pitched forward, dropping his sword, and lay still only a few feet from the spot where Eden was struggling shakily to his feet.

  ‘It’s the men of the Kago clan, who were following us, master!’ gasped Sentaro, pointing across the slope. ‘They’re running to the attack!’

  Eden looked up and saw a disciplined formation of twenty helmeted Kago samurai charging across the gradient towards them with swords drawn. A handful of their bowmen, standing on rocks amongst which they had previously been hiding, were still firing repeated salvoes of arrows towards Yakamochi and his men, and the swordsmen, leaping determinedly across the broken banks of snow, began to yell loud battle cries as they drew nearer. Some carried freshly lit torches of orange flame which clearly illuminated the Kago clan symbols emblazoned on their shields and pennons, and by their light Eden spotted the fast-striding figure of Prince Tanaka charging at their head.

  ‘Take cover there, Sentaro,’ hissed Eden, pointing urgently to a nearby jumble of rocks. ‘And get away down the mountain if you can. I’ll try to follow.’

  ‘Are the Kago warriors coming to our rescue, master?’ asked Sentaro in an agonized voice.

  Eden shook his head quickly. ‘For their own purposes perhaps - not ours. We seem to have become a battle prize. Go now! Before it’s too late!’

  As Sentaro scuttled off, Eden realized that Yakamochi had climbed the ridge and was roaring out angry new commands from overhead. Looking up, he saw that a short line of archers, kneeling along the edge of the rocks, were bending their bows furiously to pour a continuous shower of arrows into the ranks of the advancing Kago clansmen. Because the approaching samurai were running with their shields raised to buffet away the arrows, few if any found their mark, and the voice of Yakamochi rose higher in angry exhortation.

  The half-dozen Makabe samurai below the ridge, who had been scattered by the first shock fusillade of arrows, were re-forming themselves hastily into a new battle group in the lee of a rock, preparing to confront the charging Kago force. Some were still tugging out or breaking off the feathered arrows that jutted harmlessly from their thick body armour of bamboo, leather and chain-mail; other fighters, who had arrived from the summit by the longer route, were jumping down from the ridge to augment them and as soon as he saw that a company had formed up around one of his officers, Yakamochi yelled a fresh command to send them into action.

  ‘Charge bravely now, men of Makabe! Charge!’

  As his samurai lunged into action, Yakamochi turned and looked down towards Eden. Only seconds had passed since the surprise attack was launched out of the darkness, arid in that time he had rapidly marshalled his forces to a disciplined resistance. Without taking his eyes from the American, he barked another order over his shoulder, and three more of his helmeted samurai immediately drew their swords and separated themselves from the protective formation drawn up around him. They ran forward to the lip of the rock and flung themselves down towards Eden, yelling hoarse battle cries as they came.

  In response Eden took a step forward, raised his sword, and dropped into a defensive crouch. From the corner of his eye he saw the two opposing ranks of charging samurai crash together in a maelstrom of kicked-up snow and whirling steel. Battle cries and shouts of pain rang loud across the snowy cliffs of the volcano as the warriors of both clans hacked and slashed at one another in a cold, sustained frenzy Their archers had ceased to fire arrows now that battle was joined at close quarters and some were shouldering their bows and leaping down from the vantage points to rush through the snow towards the heart of the fighting. In the moment before his first attacker sprang at him, Eden saw the white-clad figure of Sentaro dash out suddenly from a cluster of rocks to his right. Keeping clear of the fighting, he started to run unsteadily downhill through the snow, apparently unnoticed, and Eden felt a surge of exultation rush through him; if somehow he could get free and follow the castaway down the mountain into the darkness, there was still a chance that all might turn out well!

  The battle scream of the leading samurai who flung himself at Eden seemed to issue from the gaping jaws of a ferocious animal. Beneath the horns of his elaborate helmet, the protective mask was a bestial grimace composed of jagged teeth, a flattened, animalistic snout, and flaring eye-holes. Framed against the starlit heavens and the snow, the lunging warrior looked and sounded like some terrible avenging deity of Fuji, and in response Eden’s own throat opened by instinct to roar out a primal Indian war-cry

  The Japanese warrior’s long killing sword, held fast in two fists, came flashing down through a perpendicular arc, aiming to hack off his adversary’s sword-arm at the shoulder. But as the atavistic war- whoop welled out of Eden, it seemed to send new strength surging through his limbs. Stepping swiftly sideways at the last moment, he swung his own sword in a mighty overhead blow that split the Makabe samurai’s grotesque helmet and drove him unconscious to his knees in the snow. The warrior rushing up behind him stumbled over the fallen man, and lost his balance. As he staggered, lie slashed wildly at Eden’s head, but Eden dodged the wild stroke with ease and thrust his blade swiftly through the samurai’s shoulder, withdrawing it in an instant and stepping clear as the man doubled over, groaning in agony, and dropped his sword.

  The third warrior threw himself at Eden in a headlong dive, aiming a ferocious killing thrust at his heart. Eden turned his body in time to avoid the jabbing weapon, but the warrior’s momentum knocked him to the ground. They rolled over and over in the snow, grunting, grappling fiercely and lashing at each other with their swords - but neither was able to land a disabling blow

  Although night had fallen, arid the stars seemed to be whirling and spinning above him in heavens of the darkest velvet, the
snow itself seemed to glow with a fluorescent whiteness that bathed objects near and far in a strange bright glare. As Eden rolled and fought and struggled to preserve his life, the shimmering peak of Fuji overhead spun repeatedly through his field of vision, outlined against the starry sky with the unnatural clarity of a giant painting. The continent of fleecy cloud that cloaked the whole world below had turned a deep, thrilling purple - but to his eyes it also seemed to have been etched meticulously from horizon to horizon by some gigantic ethereal artist.

  One hand of the samurai was locked on Eden’s throat, the other was restraining his sword arm, and the American simultaneously held the warrior in a similar stranglehold. As he strove in vain to break free from this rolling embrace, Eden wondered if he was seeing the mountain, the sky and the battling warriors with such spectacular sharpness because he was about to die. For years he had not cared whether he lived, indeed he had been continually careless and contemptuous of his life; but facing almost certain death amidst a bloody mêlée of feudal swordsmen, to his astonishment he was filled suddenly, as never before, with an overwhelming desire to live. Life in its every detail seemed to shimmer with a new force and, whenever his head turned, he saw Yakamochi on the ridge, watching his struggle with the sharp, intent eyes of a hovering hawk. Then he noticed Yakamochi making angry gestures to despatch half a dozen more warriors in his direction, and the men leapt down immediately from the rock to run yelling towards him.

  He also saw archers at Yakamochi ‘s shoulder, pointing urgently down the mountain. When he rolled over again he could see that they were drawing the nobleman’s attention to Sentaro, by then a small, diminishing figure descending shakily through the snow towards the rim of the side crater. Eden saw Yakamochi gesture angrily, he saw the bows of the archers bend suddenly to the limit, he saw their arrows fly, and an instant later he saw Sentaro fling up both arms and pitch forward on his face in the snow. He could even see the dark feathered shaft of the arrow protruding from the red stain in the middle of his back - and the castaway did not make any further move.

  Eden was making another frantic effort to break free of the Makabe samurai’s tenacious grasp, when he saw Yakamochi urge two more swordsmen down the mountain in the direction of the side crater. He still had a troop of two dozen fighters grouped around him on the ridge, and in that instant Eden became aware that the numerical superiority of the well-disciplined Makabe warriors would prove decisive. The Kago samurai led by Prince Tanaka had launched a brilliant shock assault with fewer men, and had even achieved total surprise. At least ten bleeding bodies, most of them Makabe, already lay crumpled on the snow, and bloody hand-to-hand battles were still raging fiercely around them - but whatever the Kago objective had been, he could see that the smaller force was not going to be strong enough to achieve it.’

  When the new group of Makabe attackers surrounded him, their clan emblems of symbolized clouds and pine trees seemed to Eden to gleam as though freshly painted on their bobbing helmets and sword hilts; their bamboo and chain-mail body armour glowed brightly too, each segment distinctly visible to him. They yelled fresh battle cries as they swung their swords up above their heads and seeing the blades start to descend towards him, Eden made one last effort to break free from the grunting samurai who was pinning him against the ground. He finally succeeded in throwing him onto his back, but still he clung on, and knowing it was too late, Eden closed his eyes involuntarily to blot out the falling death blows.

  He heard the angry swish of swords, without seeing them; a strangled, gurgling cry followed, then died abruptly, and Eden wondered if it might be his own. Then he was struck by the weight of an inert body, and he felt the shock of other sword blows finding their mark. Screams of agony and rage mingled nearby, and fire flared suddenly, brightening the darkness behind his closed eyelids. At the same moment all the strength went out of his samurai adversary and he went limp in Eden’s grasp.

  Opening his eyes, Eden found the headless body of another of his attackers sprawled bloodily across him. The man with whom he had wrestled was also dead, his back ripped open by a terrible wound. Frantic feet were trampling the reddening snow all around him, and on looking up he instantly recognized Prince Tanaka: holding a flaming torch aloft in one hand, the Kago nobleman was driving back another pair of Makabe warriors with a flurry of furious blows. In close support, Gotaro and three other Kago samurai were engaging those around them with equal fury and Eden saw them hack down two more screaming opponents who tried to rush Tanaka simultaneously from different sides.

  As he dragged himself to his feet, Eden became aware of Yakamochi ranting along the ridge, gesticulating towards Tanaka. Within moments another assault group had been formed from the Makabe reserves and, hurling themselves down from the rocks, they began to charge across the snow towards Tanaka, yelling in unison as they ran. Still clutching his sword, Eden bent low to make himself as inconspicuous as possible in the darkness, and began to run too - in the opposite direction. Skirting the frenzied tangles of fighting men he raced on downhill, still nourishing the faint hope that he could somehow reach the wounded Sentaro in time to escape with him into the safety of the lower darkness.

  Ahead of him he spotted the two samurai who had been sent after the castaway. Running surprisingly fast over the broken snow, they had covered half the distance to the rim of the side crater, and Eden gritted his teeth fiercely, trying to accelerate. But a dull pain in his right thigh grew more agonizing with each step, and looking down he saw blood was soaking rapidly through his white kimono below the waist. The wound, which had obviously been inflicted during the long struggle in the snow, made him cry out and he slowed to a hobble. A wave of dizziness swept through him, and he heard a new outbreak of shouting from behind; the voices grew louder, as though they were moving rapidly down the mountain, and although he did not look round he guessed the clamour meant he had been spotted from the ridge and more Makabe warriors were setting off in pursuit. Another fit of dizziness made him stagger suddenly, and he knew then that his hopes of escape were forlorn.

  The two samurai despatched by Yakamochi had now reached the inert form of Sentaro, and something in the quick decisiveness of their movements made Eden’s blood suddenly run cold. One of them had drawn his sword and he took up a careful stance with his feet apart at the very edge of the side crater. The other warrior squatted quickly, hauled Sentaro’s limp body to its knees, and dragged it forward. The arrow which had felled him still jutted from his back and the castaway’s head hung down on his chest, suggesting he was not fully conscious of what was happening. The sword swung once through a deadly arc and Eden watched in horror as the kneeling samurai rose to his feet, lifted the headless trunk of Sentaro’s body and tossed it casually over the rim of the crater in its turn. The two warriors stood looking down into the scorched abyss for only a brief instant before turning away to retrace their steps up the mountain.

  Eden realized then that he had stopped in his tracks, to witness this moment of horror. The two samurai executioners caught sight of him for the first time as they began to jog-trot back up the snowy slope, and in that moment Eden plucked his cutlass from his belt and began moving down towards them at a stumbling run. Another primitive battle roar, in which grief and rage were mingled equally, burst from him and he brandished his weapon wildly above his head as he ran on. Ignoring the fierce pain from the thigh wound, he fixed his agonized gaze on the two surprised swordsmen, his mind emptied of everything except a blind urge to avenge the brutality and humiliation of Sentaro’s death. He fell to his knees twice in the deep snow, but scrambled up each time and struggled on, oblivious to all except the two executioners who stood watching calmly from the foot of the slope.

  Although the shouting from behind him had grown louder, Eden seemed not to hear it, and when his leading pursuer drew close enough to aim a blow at his head, he did not turn. The sickening impact of the sword, when it fell, spun him around but his eyes saw only the glittering peak of the volcano. His arms f
lew wide, his own sword spun away into the darkness, and his hands seemed to reach up as they had done in his dream towards the heavens and its countless stars.

  As he sank onto the snow, the stuff of which the starlit night was made seemed to tumble easily into his hands like glistening silk, and he wound it softly around his body, luxuriating in the sudden feeling of ease and relief it brought him. Then another blade smashed sickeningly against the side of his head, and the millions of stars exploded in a blinding flash of white light. In the same instant the mountain, along with everything else, dissolved into a cold, silent void.

  PART IV

  The Black Ships Land

  12-17 July 1853

  As the dramatic summer days of mid-July 1853 ticked by, the American sailors watching from the US warships in Yedo Bay sometimes relieved their growing tension by poking fun at the antiquated defence works that were becoming ever more visible on the shore. ‘Another dungaree fort’s gone up, sir,’ lookouts would cry jestingly as new lengths of coloured canvas screening were erected to conceal further contingents of Japanese fighting men clad in medieval combat costumes. The banners, pennants and insignia under which the Japanese were gathering did indeed look more like the decorations for a jousting tourney in King Arthur’s England than preparations for modern nineteenth-century warfare. Their outdatedness helped confirm prevailing American feelings of superiority - but the two and a half centuries of s4f-imposed feudal isolation which those trappings symbolized had in fact been of vital importance for Japan. During a crucial historical period when European nations had begun to colonize and control vast areas of Asia, this fiercely guarded seclusion had helped the Japanese to consolidate and expand unique national characteristics that were to make their country one of the modern world’s great powers within a few short decades.