by John Norman
“It was expedient to do so,” she said. “It put them off their guard.”
“Not Pertinax,” I said.
“No,” she said, “not Pertinax.”
“You forswore your word,” I said.
“Of course,” she said. “Words are insubstantial, only puffs of air, about for a moment, and then vanished in the breeze.”
“Your captors would have been wiser,” I said, “to have stripped and gagged you, tied your hands behind your back, and then run you on the double leash to the rendezvous, adding to your speed, from time to time, if it were desired, with a stoke of a supple switch.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“And then transporting you as though a slave to the holding of Temmu, to be dealt with there as a spy.”
“But I am here,” she said, “safe in my father’s garden.”
“Better you had been tied across the saddle, like the slave,” I said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“What did you think of the slave?” I asked.
“Slaves are animals,” she said.
“I gather she was responsive,” I said.
“She was disgusting,” she said, “helpless, and squirming, beside herself with need.”
“In the belly of every woman,” I said, “are slave fires.”
“Not in mine,” she said.
“It is only that they have not been lit,” I said.
“You are a beast,” she said.
“You have not yet been in a collar,” I said.
“Apparently you cannot tell the difference between a free woman and a slave,” she said.
“The free woman,” I said, “is naught but a slave without her collar.”
“I see,” she said.
“One treats them differently, of course.”
“Of course,” she said.
“Tajima spoke to you in the garden,” I said, “on the night of the supper.”
“It was unpleasant,” she said. “It was insulting. He was drunk. He babbled absurdities.”
“Why do you think he risked much,” I asked, “to carry you from the palace?”
“For ransom,” she said.
“Scarcely,” I said. “Why should he risk golden chains, and handsome prospective emoluments, not to speak of the wrath of the shogun?”
“For what then?” she asked.
“To protect you,” I said, “to shield you from a prolonged, unpleasant death.”
“You, too, are mad,” she laughed.
“I have inquired,” I said. “Such deaths may be prolonged over weeks.”
“Such deaths,” she said, “are inflicted only upon those with whom the shogun is muchly displeased.”
“As might be the case,” I said, “if one had failed him mightily, so much so as to have seriously imperiled his plans?”
“Such things,” she said.
“Beware,” I said.
“You think the abduction was not with a ransom in prospect?” she said.
“No,” I said. “It was not with a ransom in prospect.”
“Excellent,” said she, smugly.
“How, excellent?” I asked.
“Permit me, kind guest,” said she, “to enlighten you. The contemptible Tajima, a lowly warrior, of no fine family, has dared to aspire to the hand of a shogun’s daughter.”
“No,” I said, “merely to afford the contract of one he believed to be a mere contract woman.”
“I played that role well,” she said.
“Excellently,” I said.
“The interest of the despicable Tajima,” she said, “was not unknown to me. Nor could it have been unknown to others! Was it not embarrassing? How often he dallied about, merely to catch a glimpse of me! It was amusing. I often joked with Hana about it.”
“You,” I said, “though a woman, and Pani, and supposedly a mere contract woman, did not trouble to conceal your contempt. Indeed, you frequently derided and mocked him, publicly. If you did not wish his attentions, why did you not simply avoid him, or ignore him? It was almost as though you wanted to intrude yourself into his thoughts and dreams. Were these things not provocative? What, rationally, might be the motivation of such hostility? I never understood the passion, the feelings, the hatred, which you evinced so freely.”
“How desperately he wanted me,” she laughed.
“Indeed, desperately,” I said.
“I would impose my beauty upon him,” she said, “to augment his suffering.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It pleased me,” she said.
“You regard yourself as beautiful,” I said.
“Certainly,” she said. “I am among the most beautiful of all women. Hundreds of men have lowered their heads before me, and languished in my presence, even daimyos, so consider the effrontery of a lowly warrior, one of no great family, who would dare to look boldly upon me!”
“He thought you a contract woman,” I said.
“He should have realized I was too beautiful to be a contract woman,” she said.
“But you played your role so excellently,” I said.
“That is true,” she said.
“And it is true you are very beautiful,” I said.
“That is true,” she said.
“I have seen many better,” I said, “taken from a slave block.”
“You speak boldly for a prisoner,” she said.
“I take advantage of the privileges accorded a guest,” I said.
“Do not presume too much,” she said.
“Are Ashigaru about?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said.
“Perhaps there is a way you might slip unnoticed from this garden,” I said.
“There is no such way,” she said.
“But if there were?” I said.
“I should report it to my father,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“I do not understand you,” she said.
“Flee,” I said.
“Are you mad?” she said. “What is wrong?”
“I hear the gate of the garden,” I said. “It is being opened. I suspect Ashigaru are coming for you.”
“Certainly they are,” she said. “And I will have them find and locate the guards past whom I was smuggled.”
“They thought of slaves,” I said, “and it would not have been unusual if one, in terror, knowing not to what fate she was being carried, had squirmed in her blanket.”
“Their conduct was grievously negligent and wholly inexcusable,” she said. “I will have them whipped, and whipped, again, to within a tenth of a hort of their life.”
“Lady Sumomo,” said the first Ashigaru, politely, “we have come for you.” There were two others with him.
“I have been waiting,” said Sumomo, unpleasantly.
“Forgive us, lady,” said the first Ashigaru. “Has your commission in the garden been discharged?”
“Yes,” she said.
This commission, I had gathered, was to inform me of the safety of my fellows, Tajima and Pertinax. Lord Yamada, who was thoughtful and sensitive, must have been aware of my likely concern in that regard, particularly if I might discover the return of Sumomo.
“Please place your wrists behind you, crossed, lady,” said the Ashigaru.
“What?” she said.
Her wrists were pulled behind her by another Ashigaru, and, with a short length of binding fiber, fastened together.
“What are you doing?” exclaimed Sumomo.
“Do not interfere,” said the first Ashigaru to me. I stepped back.
A leash then, by the third Ashigaru, was snapped about the neck of Sumomo.
“Release me!” cried Sumomo. “This is madness! This is unconscionable! Do you fools not know who I am?”
“You are Lady Sumomo, daughter of Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands.”
“Release me, immediately!” she demanded. “This is some intolerable mistake, some preposterous misunderstan
ding, some insane joke!”
She struggled. She could not part her tethered wrists. The leather of the leash danced between its encircling collar and the closed fist of an Ashigaru.
“No, lady,” said the first Ashigaru.
“My father will hear of this!” she said.
“It is on his orders that I act,” said the man.
“I demand to see him!” she cried.
“He has other concerns,” said the Ashigaru.
The leash grew taut.
“What have I done?” she begged.
“Displeased Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands,” said the man.
“What have I done?” she begged, again.
“You were observed on the outer parapet of the holding of Temmu,” I said, “casting a beribboned paper to someone below, apparently communicating with the enemy. Your role was revealed. The use of Daichi to influence Lord Temmu is thought at risk. You were to be cast from the parapet at a time corresponding to your casting of the note below, but you were extracted from the holding of Lord Temmu, by Tyrtaios, that you be spared this fate, though only, I fear, to endure one more to the liking of the shogun.”
“He is my father!” she said.
“He has many daughters,” I reminded her.
“What fate?” she cried.
“I do not know,” I said.
“Please, Lady,” said the first Ashigaru.
“Where are you taking me?” she said.
“To the chamber of the long death,” he said.
“No!” she wept.
“Its nature has not yet been decided,” said the Ashigaru. “I gather it is to be lengthy and exquisite, prolonged in such a manner as to satisfy the shogun. He is consulting with his physicians and advisors, his torturers and executioners.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
What Occurred During Tea with the Shogun
“Great lord,” I said to Lord Yamada, “I am come to beg the life of your daughter, Sumomo.”
“Have tea,” said Lord Yamada, gesturing to one of the four contract women in unobtrusive attendance.
“She is loyal to you,” I said. “She served you well in the holding of Lord Temmu, at great personal hazard. She admires and respects you, as is appropriate for a dutiful daughter. Her mistake was small, a momentary lapse of caution. Spare her life.”
Tea was placed before me on the surface of the table, with its intricate inlays of diverse woods.
“I ask this boldly,” I said, “fearing to abuse the consideration with which you have treated me, as your guest.”
“As you are my friend, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said, “there is little I would not do for you.”
“I ask only,” I said, “that you spare the life of your daughter, Sumomo.”
“Are you willing to pledge the cavalry to my service?” he asked, regarding me over the brim of the small cup of tea.
“Surely one might consider that,” I said. “But one would have to consult with the cavalry, the officers and men.”
“Your simple word would not be sufficient?” he asked.
“I would not have it be so,” I said.
“But it would be,” he said.
“I do not know,” I said.
“I do,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I said.
He took a sip of the tea, and placed it down on the table.
“I am sure,” he said, “you do not take me for a fool.”
“Certainly not,” I said.
“This matter of the cavalry,” he said, “has been beset with difficulties and delays. Too much so, for too long. Had you been willing, matters would have been resolved long ago. You have been playing for time while I have knowingly allowed you to do so, exercising considerable patience and forbearance. As I read the situation, the cavalry is estranged from the house of Temmu, given its betrayal of its commander. It would be ready to ride for the house of Yamada; yet you hesitate to have it take to the sky on my behalf. I am not clear on your reluctance in this regard. I think it does not have to do with bargaining, with an effort to extract greater benefits of service.”
“No,” I said. “The generosity of Lord Yamada is not to be denied. It is not disputed. It is legendary in the islands.”
“The other side of the matter,” said he, quietly, “is that the disfavor of the House of Yamada is not to be lightly countenanced.”
“That is well known, as well,” I said.
“I suspect,” he said, “that the most I may hope for is the neutrality of the cavalry.”
“Given the neutrality of the cavalry, and the forces, and generalship, at your disposal,” I said, “the war’s outcome may be easily envisioned.”
“In the meantime,” he said, “I think there is little to fear from the cavalry while you are my guest.”
“I am but one man,” I said.
“But he is Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he smiled.
“There is still the coveted holding of Lord Temmu,” I said, “it would be difficult to reduce. By now it has doubtless been resupplied.”
“It has been,” said Lord Yamada.
“Final victory then,” I said, “would not be soon at hand.”
“Perhaps sooner than you suspect,” said Lord Yamada.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Were I assured of the sessility of the cavalry, that it would not act,” he said, “I believe things might proceed apace.”
“As your guest,” I said, “I am in no position to speak for the cavalry.”
“It was once decimated,” he said.
“It would be difficult to accomplish that end again,” I said.
“Its location seems obscure,” he said.
“To some,” I said.
“I could send a thousand men into the mountains, to search,” he said.
“The cavalry,” I said, “might fly, and possibly south.”
“Hundreds of raids, thousands of fires?” he said.
“Possibly,” I said.
“Three tarns,” he said, “were captured, during the decimation. Two tarnsmen, who purchased their lives by capitulation, wisely changed their banner.”
“Doubtless,” I said.
“These were sent recently north, to search for the tarn base.”
“Were they successful?” I asked.
“They did not return,” said Lord Yamada.
“Then,” I said, “they were successful.”
I was pleased to get this count on the tarns which had fallen into the hands of the enemy after the decimation. Two of the original three were no longer available to Lord Yamada. This suggested that the tarn of Tyrtaios was the third tarn. Adding in my tarn, secured during my removal from the holding of Temmu, Lord Yamada would have at his disposal only two tarns. I knew the location of neither.
“I do not think the cavalry will act while you are my guest,” he said.
“I do not know,” I said.
“Yet matters might proceed apace,” he said.
“Your armies will march?” I said.
“Abetted,” he said.
“How so?” I asked.
“Perhaps by some mighty and unforeseen ally,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“It is not necessary that you do so,” he said.
“Surely my good will is of some value to you,” I said.
“As mine to you,” he smiled.
“I beg for the life of your daughter, Sumomo,” I said.
“She is beautiful,” he said, “but vain, and worthless.”
“Spare her,” I said.
“Do you want her?” he asked.
“I know one who does,” I said.
“The young Pani tarnsman?” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Surely you understand,” he said, “that the justice of the house of Yamada cannot be gainsaid.”
“I am your guest,” I said.
“I shall mitigate her punishment,” said Lord Yamada.
“I am grateful,” I said.
“It shall not be the long death,” he said, “but something public, something which will make clear to many, daimyos, warriors, Ashigaru, retainers, many, to all, the justice of the House of Yamada. She shall tread the narrow board of the high platform of execution, thence to plunge into the deep pool of death eels far below.”
“She is your daughter!” I said.
“I have many daughters,” he said. He then sipped his tea, and, a bit later, indicated to the nearest contract woman that his small cup might be refilled.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I Converse with Haruki
The Night Singers were abroad in the fields.
It was late morning.
“Your name is Haruki,” I said.
“Yes, noble one,” said the gardener, startled. He was standing, pinching off the tips of new branches on the Blue Climber, a vinelike plant with large blue bracts amongst its common leaves, and small yellow flowers, clinging to the railing of the small bridge in the shogun’s garden. This minor pruning stimulates new branching.
“I would speak with you,” I said.
“I am a gardener,” he said. “I am unworthy.”
“Recently,” I said, “an attempt was made on the life of the shogun.”
“I have heard so,” he said.
“That is lamentable,” I said.
“It is surely so,” he said.
“You are skilled in reading weather,” I said.
“One cares for the garden,” he said.
“You can read rain,” I said, “perhaps as much as four or five Ahn, even before the clouds gather.”
“I garden,” he said.
“It rained on the night of the attack on the shogun,” I said.
“I recall it so,” he said.
“The Night Singers, returned, were quiet,” I said.
“It was the rain,” he said.
“The attack took place in the dining pavilion,” I said.
“I have heard so,” he said.
“But from the garden,” I said.
“That cannot be,” said Haruki.
“I was there,” I said.
“I do not see how it could be,” said Haruki.
“On clear nights, in this time of year,” I said, “it is my understanding that the garden is alive with the songs of the Night Singers, songs of demarcating territory, of courting, and nesting. It is also my understanding that when these lovely guests are wary, uncertain, apprehensive, or frightened, they do not sing.”