Iron master, p.16
Iron Master, page 16
The door was opened and shut by one of a small group who had been sent ahead to make sure that it was safe to exit through the cleft on to the slope beyond. There was a muttered exchange with each of the mounted ronin as he passed by, then the foot patrol withdrew, closing the door behind them.
Clearwater, Su-Shan, Nan-Khe and Steve were led down the bare precipitous trail under a thinning moon which hung in a cloudless sky. Steve felt they were helplessly exposed, and what made it worse was the realisation that he was sitting there with his hands tied. But there was no deadly shower of arrows, and no sudden trumpet blast to signal a ferocious charge like the one he had witnessed in the river valley. The nerve-wracking descent seemed to go on for ever and he remained on edge, his stomach freezing every time his horse missed its footing, until they entered the tree-line.
For the next three hours they headed north-eastwards, along narrow winding forest trails, over hill and valley, across streams and small rivers until finally, in the grey twilight that preceded the dawn, they descended a tree-covered slope and came in sight of the highway. The old Pennsylvania Turnpike that Steve had been keeping an eye on since leaving the wheelboat at Pi-saba.
Noburo raised his hand, signalling the column to halt. Clearwater, Su-Shan and Nan-Khe were untied and lifted off their horses. Still blindfolded, they were led to within about a hundred yards of the road, then pushed into a kneeling position and harangued at some length in Japanese by six ronin. The female minders bowed repeatedly, bobbing up and down as if their bodies were on springs, then prostrated themselves at the ronins’ feet, pulling Clearwater to the ground between them.
Steve, who loved to know everything, found himself wishing he could understand what was being said.
The six ronin closed in and loosed off a final tirade, underlining their words with several toe-jabs to the ribs and thighs. Nan-Khe and Su-Shan lay there, silent and unresisting. Satisfied that the women had got the message, the ronin swaggered back to the rest of the party and mounted their horses. Noburo led them back up the forested slope. Steve glanced back as the trees closed round them and saw that all three were still lying flat on their faces, their heads towards the road.
*
Nan-Khe and Su-Shan counted to one hundred twice as instructed, then sat up and removed their blindfolds. The ronin had disappeared. Untying the cloth covering Clearwater’s masked eyes, they ushered her on to the highway, and set off towards the east.
The ronin had told them they were less than five miles from the nearest post-house. Once there, they would be able to discover the fate of the convoy from which they had been kidnapped. If it was still in one piece and had not travelled too far along the road, they might be able to catch up with it and continue their journey. After attacks like these, there were always delays while the local authorities took statements from eye-witnesses and recorded details of the stolen goods.
Had they been able to reveal that they were trusted servants of the Consul-General of Masa-chusa and Ro-diren, brother-in-law to the Shogun himself, every assistance would have been offered to them without delay. But they could not do so. Their employer had threatened to have their tongues torn out if they dared to utter his name. Their papers identified them as house-women of a dried-fish merchant residing at Nyo-poro. If anyone asked, they had been told to say they had escorted ‘Yoko Mi-Shima’ to visit her relatives at Kari-faran and were now returning with her to join said merchant at Firi, where he was due to attend the next slave market.
But no one had told them what to do if they and their charge were carried off by ronin. No one had foreseen a situation in which ‘Yoko Mi-Shima’ might be taken from the sealed carriage-box and released on to the highway where she would be exposed to the prying eyes of the general public – and to official scrutiny.
It was all very worrying, and things were made even more precarious by the fact that Su-Shan and Nan-Khe were duty-bound to report their kidnap and release to the local magistrates’ office – and answer any questions put to them. The greatest danger lay in the fact that they had been left stranded in one of the western domains which easterners such as themselves regarded as the boon-docks. If one of these unsophisticated provincial clerks insisted on seeing who was under the mask, instead of treating the ‘lady of pleasure’ with the customary discretion, it could prove extremely awkward. And it was bound to happen, because their charge could not speak Japanese and thus could not answer any questions put to her. Once the long-dog was discovered, it would be immediately obvious that her papers were forgeries.
Su-Shan and Nan-Khe both knew that the use of false documents was a serious criminal offence. Trusted servants they might be, but as Vietnamese, they were permanently relegated to the lower half of Iron Master society. In essence, that meant they had neither the social leverage nor the money needed to halt any legal proceedings. If the deception was discovered and they were arraigned before the magistrates for questioning, they could find themselves facing the removal of their ears, noses and other extremities if they refused to answer – and losing their tongues if they did.
Aie-yie-yieee…
*
The risks were real enough but, on this occasion, their fears proved groundless. Unbeknown to them, a member of the Se-Iko family who was linked through various business enterprises with both the Ko-Nikka and Lord Yama-Shita had ordered his samurai-captains to keep a discreet watch on the road convoy as it passed through the areas under their command. It was for this reason that, when the raid took place, the response had been unexpectedly rapid. It was only Noburo’s tactical skill and experience in covert operations that had prevented it from turning into a disaster.
Hideyoshi Se-Iko, the good neighbour whose task it was to ensure peace and tranquillity in the domain’s southern sector, had not been informed of the reason why this particular convoy was of interest to Yama-Shita. He had merely been asked by the Ko-Nikka to use his good offices to ensure its unhindered passage through his family’s domain. When the news of the raid reached him, he dispatched two trusted officials at the gallop to advise magistrates and other officials stationed along the route that any enquiries into the affair were to be made with the utmost circumspection.
Translated into Basic that meant: ‘Don’t ruin your career prospects by trying to solve this one, boys. If the case lands on your desk, just close up the office and take a long time over lunch.’
*
For the nervous Su-Shan and Nan-Khe, it meant that when they reached the post-house at Kara-li and explained what had happened, they found the innkeeper both sympathetic and concerned. Although not officially part of the law and order system, innkeepers were required to keep a beady eye on all comings and goings. It was in their interests to do so. As a result, they usually got the word on any sensitive issues or investigations ahead of everybody else. Such was the case now.
Ordering a room to be placed at the disposal of their mistress – who was so distressed by the experience that she was unable to speak – the innkeeper arranged for them to be conveyed to the nearby magistrates’ office and insisted on coming with them.
Filled with trepidation, Su-Shan and Nan-Khe presented their papers to the clerk, together with those of their mistress, and recounted their ordeal at the hands of the ronin. The innkeeper confirmed that the lady Yoko Mi-Shima was in no fit state to answer questions. To their utter surprise – which they hastened to conceal – the clerk appeared to accept this without demur. He made a note of what little they were able to tell him about the raid on the convoy and the ronin who had carried them off, made a cursory examination of their papers, then handed them back without comment.
Su-Shan and Nan-Khe could hardly believe their luck. The good kami had certainly favoured them today. Bowing gratefully, they enquired about the fate of the convoy from which they had been taken.
The clerk told them that the remaining travellers and wagons had reassembled and, after giving evidence and filing a list of the valuables that had been plundered, had been allowed to proceed. Did they intend to rejoin the convoy? They did. The clerk promptly provided them with a laissez-passer to get them across the ferry.
It was all quite bewildering. From past experience, both women knew that any procedures involving the issuing or examination of documents usually took hours, sometimes the better part of a day – no matter how piffling the transaction might be. Their audience with this particular clerk had taken less than an hour and they had not even been required to ‘polish the table’ – the phrase used to describe the payment of bribes. Billed as voluntary donations to assist the widows and orphans of low-paid clerks, such payments were on a scale which varied with the importance of the document required, and ensured that paperwork did not go astray. It was an entrenched tradition and everybody, from the top man down, had a hand in the pot.
Bobbing up and down from the waist, Su-Shan and Nan-Khe withdrew from the clerk’s presence and turned to beg the assistance of the kindly innkeeper. They had some money that the ronin had not found. Was it possible to hire a pushcart for themselves and a jinrikisha for their mistress? It was. The goddess of good fortune had smiled on them yet again. Both vowed to offer gifts and burn many joss-sticks in her honour at the next shrine they came to.
Having released the captives, Noburo now led the column on a circuitous route which took them across the highway west of the three women and into the trees on the other side. Dawn came, and soon the forest was pierced by slanting rays of light. Pausing only to feed themselves and the horses, the ronin pressed on throughout the day and the following night, riding first north, then east across the Susquehanna River where it swept into a narrow right-hand bend on its way south to Harrisburg – now a ferry-crossing known to the Iron Masters as Ari-saba. The Susquehanna was the border between the domain of the Se-Iko and their eastern neighbours, the Mitsu-Bishi – staunch allies of the Shogun. Provided they kept a low profile, Noburo and his men were relatively safe here.
They camped on the top of a forested ridge – one of the many hundred that Steve had glimpsed from his tree-top perch and had likened to the wave-crests of an endless tree-covered ocean. Noburo allowed his men three hours’ sleep then, after a pre-dawn breakfast, the column swung south in a wide curve around Ari-saba.
Steve, who had been noting the various changes of direction, sensed that their present course would eventually lead them back to the highway. As on the previous day, they stayed on the back trails and rarely broke cover. Each time they had to cross open ground, they sent a scout on ahead to spy out the terrain, and when they stopped to water the horses and let them crop patches of grass, everyone stayed in the saddle.
In the middle of the afternoon, Noburo gave the signal to halt and dismount. Apart from a few mild canters, the horses had covered the ground alternately walking and trotting, and were thus in fairly good condition when they were unsaddled. The same could not be said for Steve. As soon as he was released he slid to the ground, sank gratefully against the nearest tree and stayed there. Over the last three days, at his reckoning, he had been in the saddle for almost a day and a half. At this point, death would have been a blessed release and the direst threats his captors could utter would not have persuaded him to get up on a horse again.
As it happened, his mood of grim determination coincided with their arrival at the place Noburo had chosen to lie up for the rest of the day. So for the next eight hours, the only movement demanded of him was to sit up on the one occasion he awoke to find that a bowl of food had been thrust under his nose.
While Steve slept, Noburo stripped off his dusty clothes and washed himself from head to foot in the stream that ran past their camp site. After a vigorous towelling, he opened a saddlebag and took out the travelling dress and wig of a samurai. Two of his men helped arrange the folds in his tunic and made sure the wig was seated properly. Several more swapped the harness on his horse for a more elaborate set decorated with blue tassels, and laid a black cloth trimmed with blue over the horse before replacing the saddle. Noburo slid his two swords through the folds of the sash around his waist and, when he was assured that his appearance was correct in every respect, he mounted his horse and rode away accompanied on foot by two ronin dressed up as red-stripes.
Their destination was the post-house at Midiri-tana where he had met with the Herald Hase-Gawa some ten days earlier. Hase-Gawa had stepped out of the darkness swathed in black from head to foot like a ninja, and would no doubt appear in similar guise tonight.
Noburo smiled at the role the Herald had adopted. Despite his obvious flair for intrigue, the young man was a romantic at heart, with a taste for drama. In Noburo’s view, an ill-fitting combination. Nevertheless he was a Herald – and only the brightest and most capable young men were selected for that prestigious post. Noburo concluded that Hase-Gawa must have other, less obvious, qualities to recommend him.
Flanked by the two red-stripes – the customary escort for a single samurai – Noburo arrived at the post-house around six in the evening, intending to make his usual careful check of the location and the travellers who were planning to stop there overnight. He knew Hase-Gawa was anxious to hear his report on the outcome of the raid and his examination of the masked courtesan. The Herald would not be disappointed – but what would he make of the valiant grass-monkey who claimed to be a long-dog?
Entering the courtyard of the post-house, Noburo was surprised to see a large number of loaded ox-wagons, some of which looked vaguely familiar. Parked alongside them was a carriage-box. Passing the reins of his horse to one of his red-stripes, he dismounted and strode boldly around the veranda and terraces of the post-house, eyeing the faces of all those he encountered. One of them belonged to the master of the convoy his ronin had raided! By the sacred kami! It had reassembled and was stopping here for the night!
Noburo knew there was no danger of being recognised and accused of banditry. He had been masked during the attack and dressed as a disreputable, down-at-heel character. But what an odd coincidence! Making his way back to the courtyard, he met with an even bigger surprise. Only yards from where his own horse stood between the two disguised ronin, the two Vietnamese house-women were helping the masked courtesan down from a jinrikisha!
This was no longer mere coincidence, decided Noburo. Fate had conspired to bring the players in the drama together on the same stage. He would make his promised report to the Herald, but he would also arrange for the young man to discover the truth for himself!
Noburo watched discreetly from a distance as the two house-women were brought to the convoy-master, who welcomed them back into the fold and helped them secure the best possible accommodation for their ‘mistress’. When she had been whisked out of sight, Noburo sought out the innkeeper and his wife and announced that he wished to discuss a matter of some importance with them in private.
The innkeeper, who – like all men who plied his trade – was the social inferior of the samurai, led Noburo into his private quarters with the usual bowing and scraping, to which his wife added her abject apologies for the miserable state of their abode, et cetera, et cetera.
Once the niceties had been observed, Noburo adopted a cross-legged position facing the kneeling innkeeper. His wife knelt in her traditional place, facing her husband’s left shoulder. Noburo began by explaining that his previous visit to the post-house had been to verify its reputation as a clean, well-run establishment. He had been gratified to discover that everything he had heard was true. The high standards of service and heart-warming hospitality offered to weary travellers reflected nothing but credit upon its proprietors. Their honesty and zeal was, said Noburo, an example that the rest of their profession would be hard put to emulate.
Praise indeed.
While the surprised couple searched for the correct form of words to express their unworthiness to be the recipients of such a fulsome accolade, Noburo produced a wad of high-denomination notes and placed them on the mat in front of the innkeeper. The man and his wife exchanged a startled glance, then both stared open-mouthed at what was clearly a small fortune. Unable to believe his eyes, the innkeeper reached out towards the notes with trembling hands, then jerked them away. By the rules of etiquette he could not pick up the money until Noburo gave him permission to do so.
After receiving solemn assurances that they would treat what he was about to say with the utmost discretion, Noburo revealed that he was acting on behalf of a young nobleman of high birth who greatly desired to meet the masked lady – who they had only just received into their house.
Warming to his tale, Noburo painted a tragic picture of a young man’s awakening love – in this case reciprocated by the lady in question. But because of his family’s exalted rank the liaison could not be allowed to continue. Arrangements had been made for the young man to marry a daughter from one of the many branches of the Toh-Yota family – the rulers of Ne-Issan.
Hhhhaaawwww…! The innkeeper and his wife looked impressed. To think they were caught up in such great events!
For this reason, continued Noburo, the lady had been banished from court circles and was now on her way to become the chattel of some common east-coast merchant. This meeting – assuming that the innkeeper and his wife would graciously allow it to take place under their own roof – was their last chance to be together.
The innkeeper’s wife, a warm-hearted woman whose life had been entirely devoid of such grand passions, listened avidly to the ronin’s story. Her husband only had one aim: to make a profit out of every transaction. His fingers, which could flutter with incredible grace and speed over his abacus, no longer knew how to caress her body. As a consequence, her romantic appetite fed vicariously off the details of other people’s love affairs. The gift of money satisfied the husband, and the heart-rending tale brought tears to the eyes of his wife. On retiring to bed she would be able to close her eyes and project herself into the role of the courtesan locked in a last desperate embrace with her noble young lover. Always providing, of course, that her dull lump of a husband did not shatter the illusion by snoring his head off.
