“You think we should shoot them like horses too?” he sniped and enjoyed the momentary hurt he saw on the Kapitan’s face, but it was unworthy of him and guilt over his cruel remark soon replaced the gloating pleasure of it. He asked his brother what he intended to do and translated the reply for Devlin’s benefit.
“Second Samurai Hiraiwa already sent rider to Temple of Amaterasu. Monks and priests there come and tend to wounded and dead. We must ride to Kyo-To-Shi.”
The ronin spoke without emotion, his voice flat and his expression dull. Devlin recognised the deliberate hardening of a mind that desires nothing greater than to grieve. He nodded his understanding.
“Is it far, this temple? Some of these men need help now,” he asked, reluctant to leave the wounded.
“No, it not far. They here soon. We must go,” Karasu replied as his brother shouted an order to the hundred or so survivors to mount horses and ride to the city.
“But Karasu, there surely are not enough of us. Even with bombardment from the Orca, they will be well defended. They will annihilate us!” Thom protested grabbing the ronin’s arm to stay his retreat.
“No, it is over,” Karasu stated with a conviction that caused his Western comrade to stare in amazed disbelief. He smiled. “Believe me Thom. With Kurohoshi dead, it take little to convince them. You not understand because it is not way of your people. We deliver head to them and they surrender. That is way of things here.”
Thom continued to stare with incredulity and finally Karasu laughed lightly.
“Trust me,” he said. “Now come, we need horse.” He began to walk away. Thom shook himself from his reverie and limped after the ronin, aware that most of the men were already mounted and that Hayato was being helped onto his horse once more. The proud young Lord surveyed the remainder of his Samurai and checked that his sibling and Devlin were with them and then he gave the order to follow. He turned his horse towards the road and as he did so the pirate Kapitan gazed agog at the blood soaked sack tied to the back of Hayato’s saddle. It dripped gore freely onto the trampled undergrowth and he shuddered at the thought of its gruesome contents. He climbed onto the same horse he and Karasu had left a life time ago and did not question how his young companion had found it so easily. He held a hand down for Karasu.
“If you still wish to ride with me,” he said with a crooked grin. Karasu echoed the expression and took the offered hand using it to pull himself up to sit behind the Kapitan.
“I sorry Thom. You did what Taku wish. I selfish in refusing to let him go. I beg his forgiveness and yours,” Karasu replied once seated astride the animal.
“Forget it. I would have felt the same as you if it were Dafidd or Josef in his place. Battle is a cruel and remorseless teacher. Are you alright now?” Thom asked and squeezed the horse’s flanks urging it to follow its stable mates.
“Yes. I endure pain I feel and I take solace from it. To not feel such grief is to not care, but I keep sorrow to myself now. My brother bade me do so and I obey. I dishonour both Jun and Taku by lamenting openly, but I carry them in heart until I join them,” Karasu answered wisely. “What of you? I notice you limp almost as badly as Hayato and hakama pants stained with blood. Is it yours?” he added changing the conversation.
“Tis the injury I sustained in the cave. Tis not a result of battle. Strangely I did not feel it during the exhilaration of the fight, but now it hurts like hell. I think some of the stitches have broken and I can tell you…,” Thom paused and laughed. “The prospect of being sewn up again by your dear sister scares me more than facing four hundred of Kurohoshi’s men.”
As they reached the road and turned towards Kyo-To-Shi the gentle, high pitched ring of bells announced the imminent arrival of the monks that had been sent for. The messenger rounded the corner at a canter to join his brothers-in-arms and as the diminished column of Samurai followed their Lord to free their home city, more than one stole a peek back and felt relieved at the sight of holy men, dressed in orange and white, riding into view atop carts and canvas covered, oxen drawn wagons.
FIFTY-SEVEN
On reflection and with some amazement Thom realised that Karasu was correct in his confidence that the holders of Kyo-To-Shi would give little resistance. It should be said, however, that the city was already subject to anarchistic uprisings from its inhabitants before the bedraggled remnants of Hayato’s proud Samurai reached its gates. The relentless pounding of the city walls and the castle ramparts by the Orca had at first terrified the subjugated citizens but had finally roused within them a latent bloodlust and a desire for emancipation. They had run from their houses in droves, armed with anything from swords to broom handles, from kitchen knives to walking sticks and they had taken to the streets.
It is a sad fact that at least twelve hundred were killed by either shells from the frigate’s undiscerning bombardment or from the desperate soldiers who fired upon them as the hordes advanced. But the soldiers had nowhere to go. They fled the barracks in the castle courtyard when a shell had crashed through its walls, killing half of those asleep and setting light to the building. The castle walls were crumbling and torn apart by explosions and the garrison commander had ordered his one thousand men to the streets to quell the uprising. But more shells had smashed into the thoroughfares of the city, sending burning shrapnel tearing through mortar and flesh alike. Citizens and soldiers died side by side.
But the masses had been unleashed and fear had finally given way to the desire for vengeance and retribution. The people charged at lines of guards and Samurai without a care for their own lives, and as the last great explosion rocked the gates from the Northern wall sending its guards tumbling to their deaths below, they had begun to turn the tide. If they and the retreating militia had but known that the ship out in the bay had fired her last shell, things may have turned out differently, but they did not. With rising confidence and brave resolve, the citizens climbed over the bodies of their neighbours and soldiers alike, liberating the latter of their rifles and swords as they did so and forcing the oppressors back to the castle.
It was shortly after the appointed Protector of the city, the garrison commander and his remaining men had locked themselves into the keep that a jubilant cry built like thunder and roared through the massed hordes as they crowded the courtyard and the wide Sakura street beyond. Like hay parting to make way for the passage of the deer that graze it the crowd stood aside and cheered as Hayato and his men rode, bloodstained, dirty and proud, through the shattered gates and through the streets unopposed. Their soiled banners still waved in the light breeze and as they passed, the people closed in around them, following. Women and children ran from the houses in which they had been hiding and joined their men folk running behind the little procession. This was liberation, this was freedom. They knew it and they wanted to witness it.
Hayato turned into Sakura Street and gasped. It was awash with people shouting and cheering. He had been spared the ghoulish sight of the spiked heads as the citizens had ripped them down during their uprising, but the castle of his father stood battered and scarred. It hurt his soul to see it thus, but with determination he rode on pressing himself through the throng, touching the hands that reached out to him, heartened by the shouts of joy and pledges of loyalty. He entered the castle grounds through a breach in the walls and more people clapped and cheered. He pushed on right up to the great wooden doors and then reined his mount to a standstill.
The masses, sensing something great was about to happen gradually fell silent so that their Lord was soon aware of only the clanking of armour as his men pulled up behind him, the snort of their tired horses and the occasional crack of a banner as it fluttered in the breeze. He reached behind him for the sack and heaved it onto the front of his saddle. He dipped his hand inside and did not flinch as he took hold of the blood matted hair within.
“You inside the Keep. It is over. Surrender yourselves to Lord Oyama, rightful Presidor of Kyo-To-Shi and Kiki Province. Surrender now and I will allow
you to live. Resist and you will all die. Your Lord is dead, his personal Samurai defeated. Kurohoshi is slain, killed by my noble brother!” he shouted and withdrew the head of the warlord from the sack holding it high in the air. The crowd gasped, some staring transfixed at the sightless, drooping eyes, sagging liverish mouth and oozing gore from the base of the severed neck; some averted their eyes completely. With his weight on his good leg Hayato stood in his stirrups and heaved the head at the Keep door. It arced lazily through the air and landed with a sickening, splattering thud on the steps below it.
“There is your Lord and master. The rest of him is food for crows and black kites. Show yourselves now or join him in Hell!” Hayato cried and sat back into his saddle, hiding the pain that shot through his splinted leg. He must appear strong. He must show no sign of weakness now. He waited. A low murmuring whisper ran through the crowd but no one spoke aloud. Time ticked laboriously by.
Thom pondered on what he beheld. His heart pounded with anticipation, not sure how the men within the Keep would react. He knew if he were they that he would find a window and shoot Hayato from his horse, but he was aware that he bore witness to some tradition, some feudal code of honour. He felt Karasu’s breath hot on his neck and the young man’s grip on his waist tighten as a heavy lock turned in the castle door.
Slowly and inexorably the great portal swung open. Around three hundred men advanced onto the wide platform at the top of the steps. Many of them glanced with horror at Kurohoshi’s head and purposefully stepped around it to descend the stairs. Once in the courtyard, the men knelt and threw down their weapons. They kept their heads bent to the ground and their arms by their sides. Hayato nodded to Hiraiwa and the latter ordered his men to dismount and secure the prisoners. The General jumped to the ground and walked directly to a fat balding man dressed in a dark red and gold kimono of elaborate decoration and rich silk. Hiraiwa dragged the man to his feet and over to where Hayato sat upon his horse. He then pushed the fat man to the ground so that he lay on his immense belly quivering with fear, his face in the dirt.
Hayato carefully dismounted. He still must not show weakness. And drew a katana from its sheath upon his back. He hobbled to the prone prisoner, whom Hiraiwa roughly pulled to his knees. The fat man’s face was streaked with tears and earth. He did not dare look up at Lord Oyama but snivelled and quivered instead his eyes riveted to the floor.
“Are you the Protector? Kurohoshi’s appointed ruler in his stead,” Hayato demanded his tone steady and displaying no emotion. The man heaved a tremulous sob and nodded.
“Yes. Please my Lord. Have mercy upon me. I only do my duty as you do yours. I beg your compassion,” he jabbered.
“My compassion! Like the compassion you showed to my people when you cut off their heads and displayed them along the street that my grandmother planted with cherry trees. I have been told of this atrocity, though I am glad to see that the evidence has been mercifully removed. But you expect compassion from me?” Hayato shouted loud enough for everyone within the courtyard to hear. The buzz of anticipation that had grown dropped with abrupt suddenness.
Thom watched, transfixed. He knew what was coming and felt the thrill of the horror of it course through his veins yet he had to see. He could not wrest eyes from the terrible scene unfolding before them. Karasu’s grip tightened even more and Thom knew that he felt the same too.
“He’s going to kill him,” he whispered.
“Execute, yes,” Karasu replied equally lowly.
Hayato walked around to the back of the jelly like Protector and nodded once at Hiraiwa. The Second Samurai released the fat man and took a step backwards. The fat man wailed in desperate pleading anguish. Hayato raised his katana above his head and with a cry of bloodcurdling ferocity he swept it down in a long swinging arc that sliced through the kneeling prisoner’s neck like a hot knife through butter. The body and head fell simultaneously to the ground.
“You deserve no compassion from me, yet your death was better than theirs,” he said to the corpse and lifted his eyes to the shocked people around him.
“Citizens of Kyo-To-Shi. My brave people. You are now free. Oyama has returned and your Lord humbly asks your forgiveness for leaving you in the grip of terror for so long. I honour you,” he cried and bowed from his waist so low that his nose nearly touched his knees. He remained in a posture of submission until the silence that had followed his execution of the fat Protector gave way to shouts of joy and triumph. Hayato raised his head and smiled at the thankful inhabitants of Kyo-To-Shi, enjoying their noisy approbation and the relief of knowing they accepted him as their own true ruler.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Three days later and the pirate Brig, the Rose, sailed majestically into the harbour at Kyo-To-Shi. The quay side was lined with people dressed in their finest clothes waving coloured scarves and flags and cheering. This was a day of celebration, a day to savour and remember; to tell one's grandchildren of when one grew old. For the past three days every man, woman and child that inhabited the battered city had laboured to clear debris, dispose of bodies and wipe clean the evidence of occupation from their home. It was not, of course, totally possible. Blood can be washed away, bricks and mortar removed and cleared but it takes time to rebuild homes, walls and to repair such devastation. Just as it takes time to heal the mental scars that the populace carried with them. But they had made a start and as the sun rose on the third day, the day that Lord Oyama had decreed would be a day of feasting and celebration, the population began to see the light return. Kyo-To-Shi, though still bruised and blemished, had been sanitised and cleansed. Once more it teamed with optimistic life.
The story of the escape of Lord Oyama and his lovely sister the Lady Mizuki had been told, retold and doubtlessly exaggerated in every household from the North Wall to the South and now, as the foreign ship gracefully manoeuvred into the harbour, the grateful citizens waited to welcome its sailors like conquering heroes. Standing amongst them, a young outcast priest dressed immaculately in black with a guard of Samurai around him. The ronin smiled broadly as the Brig bumped against the quayside and the tanned, lean Kapitan waved with almost childish enthusiasm, a wide grin brightening his handsome, swarthy face.
“Quite a welcome Karasu!” the Kapitan shouted down to the ronin.
“Deservedly so Kapitan,” Karasu replied and moved forward as a gangplank was lowered.
The Kapitan bounded from his ship, having given his final orders for securing her berth and denuding her rigging of its remaining sails. He clasped the outstretched hand of the welcoming dignitary and then bowed in formal greeting.
“Quite different vessel from last command Thom. Which you prefer?” Karasu asked as he nodded out at the grey hulk of the frigate Orca in the midst of the harbour.
“If I am honest I would take the Rose any day my friend, but she is not the most practical ship for modern warfare. Each has its place.
“We wait for my men?” Thom asked and waved at Aledd to come ashore.
“Yes if is wish. It not take long? My brother eager to start celebrations as are people,” Karasu said, sweeping an arm to indicate the happy crowd.
“Give me fifteen minutes and we will all be with you,” Thom said and bounded back onto his ship almost running into his First Mate who was atop the gangplank.
Thirty minutes later and the Rose’s entire company were being welcomed into the white Keep of Kyo-To-Shi castle by a splendidly dressed and proud Lord Oyama. It made for an odd sight. The pirates in their simple, box jacketed uniforms, their hair in pigtails and their skin scrubbed until it shone, mixing with the noble Samurai and dignitaries of Kiki Province in their formal kimonos. They drank saki together and sat down to a beautifully prepared meal.
Thom Devlin and his officers were allotted seats upon Lord Oyama’s table. He was seated with Karasu on his left and Stefan Marrel on his right. Aledd and Densall sandwiched Marrel’s wife and children and chatted happily, glad that they could converse in their own tongu
e rather than resorting to sign language. Hayato sat at the table head, slightly elevated above the rest. On his right, Hiraiwa, smiling brightly and swigging saki like it was going out of fashion. To the Lord’s right, his sister; demure, quietly dignified and stunningly lovely in a silk kimono of pale blue with gold embroidery. Other dignitaries, who despite their fine dress and cheeriness could not quite hide the scars of imprisonment that clouded their eyes, completed the grand table. None of them spoke Westlandish, but all treated the sailors with grateful respect.
There was music and dancing, several courses of different dishes and a plentiful supply of liquor and after an hour or so the fact that one half of the assembly could not understand one word the other half said became irrelevant. Pirates joked loudly with smiling and nodding Samurai and vice versa.
Thom drank moderately. He conversed with Karasu and Stefan, laughing at their witty quips and smiling at his men’s growing drunkenness, but his eyes continually sought Mizuki and hers his. He felt her presence in his mind, enjoying its sweet caress as surely as if he touched her physically. His desire burned and he made no attempt to hide his longing from her. He saw her face flush across the room and she lowered her gaze from his, but he caught the smile on those rosebud lips and he grinned at his glass of wine.
“Thom?” Karasu’s voice brought him back from his private fantasy and he realised he had been asked a question.
“What? Sorry, I was far away,” he apologised but could not resist a peek in Mizuki’s direction. Her attention was now being held by the wife of the First Minister and she was no longer with him. He felt surprised by the strength of his disappointment at this.
“I ask what plan now? You want go home?” Karasu repeated.
Stefan put down his chop sticks and picked up his glass sitting back upon his heels. He sipped his wine and listened with interest to Devlin’s reply.
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