by Anthony Grey
The interpreter nodded obediently, his face clouded with concern. ‘And how exactly will the ceremony be concluded, Shacho-san?’
‘I will return to the chest to draw and fasten a scarlet cloth about the deposited letters. This will mark the closure of the proceedings. At the same time you will tell the barbarians that there is nothing more to be done.’
‘And when I have said that, what then?’
‘You and I will then walk from the chamber towards the front entrance, indicating that the foreign barbarians should follow in our footsteps and return quickly to their ships. As they leave, Prince Toda and Prince Ido will rise to bow silently in farewell...’
The interpreter was still staring down distractedly at the scarlet chest, but now he raised his head and looked up at the governor -with a perplexed expression in his eyes. ‘You haven’t yet told me what the secret purpose of this large box is, Shacho-san. Will you explain now, please?’
The governor nodded, his expression grave, and walked slowly to the rear of the chest, beckoning for the interpreter to follow. In the space between the chest and the silk hangings of the rear wall, he bent down and pulled aside a separate section of the red carpet to reveal a hinged trapdoor set in the wooden floor. Tugging it open, the governor stood back so that the interpreter could see the flight of rough steps that led down steeply into a dark cellar-pit dug out beneath the pavilion.
‘The secret purpose of the scarlet chest is to conceal this entrance,’ said the governor, glancing significantly at the startled interpreter and starting down the steps. ‘Follow me. I will show you. There is space for ten fully armed samurai to hide down here - and they will be able to rush out unexpectedly to make a surprise attack at any moment during the ceremony.’
The interpreter did not move at first, but stared down with frightened eyes into the gloom of the underground hideout.
‘What is it, Haniwara-san?’ enquired the governor in a puzzled voice. ‘Why are you so alarmed?’
‘I did not expect there to be any violence here said the interpreter in a horrified voice.
‘Come down and look for yourself,’ repeated the governor, beginning to descend. ‘And I will explain fully.’
The interpreter took a hesitant step towards the trapdoor then stopped on hearing a stir of commotion from the open side of the entrance hail. Turning his head he saw a group of several grandly dressed daimyo were arriving.
Each feudal lord was accompanied by an elite entourage of twin-sworded samurai ‘who were wearing braided leather and bamboo body armour as well as their branched helmets and fearsome fighting masks. The group of daimyo had stopped at the entrance to talk with the gowned official who was supervising the construction and preparation of the pavilion, and among them Haniwara caught a glimpse of the ominous, stocky figure of Lord Daizo. A sudden fist of fear clutched at his vitals as he recognized the face of the man who only two days ago had so shockingly revealed that he was holding Haniwara’s wife and children hostage. For a long moment he stared numbly across the pavilion, the colour draining from his face, his heart pounding erratically as he wondered for the thousandth time whether his family was safe; he fought down pessimistic feelings that they might already have been harmed, and he turned his head towards the governor again only when he repeated his invitation in a more insistent voice.
‘Come down quickly and look for yourself, Haniwara-san,’ the governor urged him, following his gaze towards the entrance chamber. ‘The daimyo have arrived for an inspection visit - but they won’t come over here for a minute or two, so be quick!’
Haniwara hurried down the boarded steps into the hot cellar-pit to find it lit by a single paper lantern. Some planks had been laid on its hastily excavated floor, and pine props bad been wedged into its walls. Clusters of long killing swords and lances hung from the rafters and shields, helmets and lacquered bamboo armour suits were piled in heaps in the corners. A second reinforcement tunnel led into the rear of the cellar, apparently from outside the pavilion, and a dozen flagons of drinking water had been brought in.
‘What purpose is this to serve, Shacho-san?’ asked the interpreter in an uneasy whisper, gazing round at the shields and weapons. ‘Is it our plan to try and murder all the barbarians by surprise at a single stroke?’
‘The Council of the Shogun has decided to take no risks,’ said the governor in a low voice. ‘So at least ten fully armed samurai will be hidden in here well before the ceremony begins.’
‘But what will their role be, Shacho-san?’ asked the interpreter insistently.
‘They will be acting under strict orders from Prince Toda. They won’t attack without reason. But if the foreign barbarians show any sign of resorting to violence, our samurai will swiftly rush out and slay the foreign admiral and his staff. .
The interpreter shuddered and peered round at the shadowy walls, which seemed to bulge dangerously inward. The damp air smelled strongly of the sea and, because he could scarcely stand up straight under the ominously low ceiling formed by the wood- plank floor above, the interpreter felt suddenly panicky as though he was trapped in a mass grave.
‘If there is a necessity; Shacho-san,’ he asked shakily, ‘who will pass on the orders for the samurai to attack?’
‘It has fallen to the two of us to be the joint master of ceremonies,’ said the governor slowly. ‘So we shall be closest to the foreign barbarians. Therefore, Haniwara-san, I fear, if it becomes necessary; one or both of us will be designated to pass on the final orders through the trapdoor.’
‘But surely we shall be given a signal by someone of higher authority?’ enquired the interpreter in a desperate tone. ‘We shall not have to make up our minds about it ourselves?’
The governor, noticing his sudden pallor and the panic in his voice, looked hard at his subordinate. ‘Of course, Haniwara-san, of course. Don’t be so afraid. .
The sudden sound of voices above the trapdoor reached their ears and the governor motioned silently for them to ascend. When the interpreter reached the top of the rough flight of steps he found his superior already bowing low in turn to each of the four or five daimyo who were grouped around the lacquered chest with their ferocious-looking samurai. They were discussing the procedures for the ceremony with the gowned official in charge, and Haniwara Tokuma in his turn bowed very low to each of the noblemen, reserving his last, deepest and longest prostration for Lord Daizo. He deliberately avoided looking the burly nobleman in the face at first but when, on straightening up, he darted a nervous glance in his direction, he was disconcerted to find Daizo staring intently at him, his eyes as cold and hard as they had been during their recent meeting at his castle.
‘Since we need an individual of the highest integrity to convey the vital order if an emergency arises, I propose Haniwara Tokuma,’ said Daizo suddenly, still staring hard at the interpreter. ‘He will be closer to the hidden trapdoor than anybody else, and is known for his absolute reliability...’
The gowned official, the other daimyo and the helmeted samurai all turned incuriously to look at the interpreter, on hearing Daizo’s proposal. None had noticed the pointed nature of the nobleman’s stare and there was a general murmur of disinterested approval. After glancing briefly at each other, the gowned official and the governor nodded their agreement.
‘Are you agreeable to Lord Daizo’s suggestion yourself, Haniwara-san?’ asked the governor formally. ‘Do you accept the honour of this responsibility?’
To hide his dismay Haniwara quickly lowered his eyes. He could feel the coldness of Daizo’s gaze upon him, and inside his chest his heart had begun to hammer painfully. But after a moment’s hesitation he silently conveyed his acceptance by bowing deeply again in the general direction of Daizo, the other daimyo, the gowned official and the governor.
‘Good. Then it is time to practise the secret procedure: said the official, gesturing for the samurai to move towards the open trapdoor. ‘I will seat myself in Prince Toda’s position. I will give the signal
for the attack by lifting my right hand across the front of my body to touch my left shoulder. You, Haniwara-san, should then move behind the lacquered chest to the closed trapdoor, and tap on it sharply three times with your heel.
Their leather and chainmail armour creaked and their swords clanked quietly at their sides as the dozen samurai moved away swiftly down the steps into the concealed pit. The last one lowered the trapdoor behind him and an aide of the gowned official straightened the red carpet over it before retreating. The group of daimyo moved to stand in a semicircle behind the porcelain stool on which the gowned official seated himself playing the role of Prince Toda, First Counsellor of the Empire. The hammering and the bustle of activity in the rest of the pavilion decreased suddenly, then stopped altogether as though by some silent command. The loin-clothed labourers and artisans paused in their work to stare towards the lacquered chest and the dignitaries ringed around it, aware from their demeanour that something of dramatic moment was being rehearsed.
The governor motioned to Haniwara Tokuma to kneel with him in formal fashion before the imperial stools. The interpreter, still very conscious of his fast- beating heart, tucked up his legs and tried to settle into the familiar posture, turning his head slightly so that he could see the seated senior official. Although he did not look directly at him, he was conscious of the burly figure of Lord Daizo standing among the other daimyo, and he could feel that his dark eyes were still staring fixedly at him.
‘Remember the foreign barbarians will be watchful,’ whispered the governor at his side, nodding faintly in the direction of the Buddhist funeral thrones a few yards away. ‘So when the signal is given, move in a slow measured way so as not to arouse suspicion.’
The interpreter nodded tensely and looked towards the empty chairs, imagining that they were occupied by the tall, haughty figures of the Americans whom he had met on the Susquehanna. The fist of fear inside him seemed to tighten further at the prospect of being involved in attacking them, and at the same time his apprehension for his family’s safety also grew more intense. An expectant hush had fallen over the interior of the pavilion, and no sounds came from beneath the trapdoor. When the gowned official at last moved his right hand to make the signal, it was done casually and unhurriedly and, because of his anxiety; Haniwara remained frozen for a moment in the kneeling position. Then he rose to his feet, trying not to hurry; and moved a few paces to the rear of the lacquered chest, where he tapped nervously three times on the trapdoor with his right heel before standing quickly aside.
At first nothing happened and he worried that he had tapped too softly and had not been heard. He was on the point of moving back onto the trapdoor to repeat the signal when it flew open with a crash and the hideous horned fighting mask of the first samurai appeared close before his face. He recoiled backwards in alarm as a bloodcurdling scream rang out from behind the mask and the warrior flung himself past the lacquered chest, his sword already in his hand. He lunged fast towards the three carved seats and slashed viciously left and right through the air above them, simulating killing strokes over and over again with great ferocity
Half a dozen more warriors leapt from the cellar close on his heels to charge forward en masse, each one yelling and flailing his sword at the imaginary enemies. For a few seconds their steel blades glittered and flashed furiously under the light of the paper lanterns, then, on a sudden shouted command from the first samurai, all the warriors became still and replaced their swords in their scabbards. Within moments they had run back to the steps and disappeared again into the cellar-pit. Following them, their leader quickly hauled the trapdoor closed, and almost at once orderly calm returned to the pavilion. As one man, the watching labourers restarted their work and the sound of hammering and sawing quickly filled the air again.
‘Quite satisfactory,’ said the gowned official, rising from his stool and glancing round at the assembled noblemen and the governor. ‘It is of course to be hoped that the foreign barbarians give us no cause to implement these purely defensive plans.’
Haniwara Tokuma, from his place beside the lacquered chest, watched the group fall into conversation about other aspects of the ceremony; but his heart sank suddenly when he saw Lord Daizo detach himself from the deliberations and walk towards him. In a loud voice the nobleman offered his congratulations on the efficient working of the plan but, on a pretext of asking a question about the trapdoor, he motioned for the interpreter to follow him behind the chest. When they were out of earshot, Daizo lowered his voice to speak more quietly and again, as at the castle, his tone was heavy with menace.
‘I have something important to tell you, Haniwara-san. Are you calm and listening carefully?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said the interpreter miserably. ‘I am listening.’
‘Then I can inform you that we have captured the hideous alien who came ashore secretly from the black ships to spy. Have you understood?’
The interpreter stiffened with shock, then nodded numbly without looking at the daimyo. ‘I have understood, my lord.’
‘Good. Because we intend to bring him to this pavilion by surprise, at the height of the ceremony. There will be a commotion at the sight of him. At that moment I shall appear in the entrance to the pavilion, and you are to be watching carefully. Is all that clear so far?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ murmured the interpreter.
‘1 shall make the same signal that you reacted to just now - and you will go unobtrusively to the trapdoor, and tap three times to order the attack on the other hideous aliens. If you do not obey these orders, your wife and children will all die within the hour.’ Lord Daizo paused and looked at the interpreter through narrowed eyes. ‘Are you quite sure you’ve understood everything?’
‘I am sure I’ve heard everything very clearly, my lord,’ replied the interpreter in a hoarse whisper. ‘I have no wish but to obey’
‘Good, Haniwara-san,’ said the daimyo with mock politeness. ‘I am very glad. You are, as I thought, a very wise man.’
Without speaking further, Lord Daizo turned and hurried back to join the other noblemen. They were inspecting the mural pictures of cranes and other great birds which were being fixed in place above the ornate seats to be occupied by the visiting American naval officers. A quiet discussion about the artistic merits of the silk scroll paintings was in progress, and Lord Daizo immediately joined in, nodding and gesturing naturally with the others and betraying no hint that he had just issued secret orders of his own to assassinate the leading foreign barbarians in the midst of the ceremony.
42
ON THE QUARTERDECK of the Susquehanna Samuel Armstrong raised a telescope to his eye shortly after dawn and looked apprehensively towards the shore. Billowing mists still obscured the distant valleys and ravines, but the rising sun was beginning to break through in patches and he swept the glass slowly along new stretches of canvas that had appeared overnight on the nearest cliff tops. Larger throngs of fighting men than he had seen before were becoming visible, patrolling briskly back and forth behind the blue-and-white screens with lances and muskets on their shoulders. Additional panels of canvas had also been erected around the forts and gun emplacements giving them a more substantial appearance.
He noticed too that scarlet streamers and flags bearing a variety of emblems and heraldic devices had been suspended from the tall posts supporting the screens. The new contingents of armed men he could see through the telescope wore a loose-skirted fighting dress - dark brown in colour, which he had not seen before - and they had broad sashes about their waists. At first glance these splashes of colour seemed merely to add a fresh dimension of ceremonial pageantry to the visible coast; but then he noticed that the soldiers were bare-armed, and after studying their movements closely he decided that the briskness of their demeanour indicated a new readiness, even an eagerness, for action. The unfamiliar banners and screens, he concluded, seemed more likely to have been erected for purposes of defence than for show
No brea
th of wind stirred the glassy waters of the bay and, from beyond the headland to the south, the noises of hammering and construction were still continuing intermittently. Armstrong listened for a moment, wondering anxiously again what would be revealed on landing. But his thoughts did not dwell long on the prospect because the decks of the Susquehanna and the other three warships anchored abreast before Uraga were already a-bustle with noise too, as they prepared to move smoothly to their battle stations.
The recently started engines of the flagship were throbbing steadily and black smoke was beginning to drift lazily from its tall black funnel. Neat piles of shot had been re-stacked beside each cannon and more carbines and pikes had been grouped in small pyramids, ready for use. Sailors dressed in freshly laundered white blouses, blue bellbottom trousers, blue collars and black neckerchiefs were dashing up and down the ladders between decks, tugging on new blue caps issued specially for the occasion. These caps were decked with bands of red, white and blue stripes - and thirteen blue stars representing the states of the Union had been emblazoned on the white stripe. The marines had donned their traditional blue jackets and white trousers, and were busy brushing their plumed shakos and whitening the gleaming bandoliers they would wear across their chests. Glancing back and forth from the ship to the shore, Armstrong reflected sadly that if the day were to end in killing and butchery the fighting men on both sides would have the satisfaction of being arrayed in their best military finery to perpetrate these terrible deeds.
On hearing a quiet footfall behind him, Armstrong turned to find Commodore Matthew Perry himself approaching. Although he was hatless and wore no sword, the commander-in-chief was also partly garbed in full-dress uniform. Gilded epaulettes enlarged the broad set of his shoulders, and the twin rows of gold buttons on the dark bole of his chest were augmented by an impressive cluster of decorations and star-shaped orders. His dark, curly hair flowed over his collar as usual but his leonine features were impassive as he scanned the fortified shore minutely without the aid of a glass.
