by John Norman
“Men swarm now at the gate!” cried Pertinax, from the height of the bridge.
“Hold!” I cried. “Those are not orderly troops. An avalanche, a flood, sweeping all away in its path, could not be less disciplined.”
Kameko screamed, struggling helplessly, in her tether.
“I will not die at the hands of such!” announced Lord Yamada.
“One often has little choice in such matters, father,” said Nodachi.
“Peasants!” cried Yasushi.
“Hundreds,” said Pertinax, pointing.
“Swords ready!” cried Lord Yamada.
The storm of men, like lava pouring through the gate, bearing arsenals of stolen weapons, glaives, and swords, and dozens of implements of farming, rushed forth upon us, and was as though it would engross us, when it stopped, but yards way.
A burly figure, large and thick, emerged before us.
“Where is the noble warrior, Tajima, of the house of Temmu, of the service of Lord Nishida, of the cavalry of Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” cried Arashi.
“Here!” cried Tajima, rushing forward, then stopping, abruptly, bowing, which bow Arashi, leader of the horde, returned.
“We have risen!” cried Arashi.
“And much destruction have you wrought!” said Tajima.
“The iron dragon flew!” said Arashi.
“Have you not done with looting?” asked Tajima.
“Much may be done in the shadow of the iron dragon’s wings,” said Arashi.
“The sky is clear,” said Tajima.
“The men of Temmu march,” said Arashi. “They are on the road now, but their foragers range widely. They will overrun the land. Villages will burn, fields will be harvested and drained, our flocks and herds will be taken, our women will be carried away.”
“How can you, a bandit, object to banditry,” asked Tajima, “whether that of a dozen greedy rovers or that of an army?”
“When an army passes,” said Arashi, “there is little left to steal.”
“Why are you here?” asked Tajima.
“The world crumbles,” said Arashi. “Our blood has raced. We have had our time. Now we do not know what to do. We need law, time to tend our fields, leaders, the protection of the mighty.”
“The mighty are fallen,” said Tajima.
“You are Arashi, the bandit?” asked Lord Yamada, striding forward, field sword gripped in two hands.
“Yes,” said Arashi.
“You are in the presence of the shogun,” I informed Arashi.
“Yes, great lord,” said Arashi, bowing.
“I shall have you crucified,” said Lord Yamada.
“Not today, Lord,” said Arashi, gesturing behind him, at the restless, massed peasants.
“Noble leader,” I said to Arashi. “You have not come to loot an empty palace, nor steal from the destitute.”
“No, noble one,” said Arashi.
“Great lord,” I said to Lord Yamada. “It is no accident that these troubled men have entered the palace grounds.”
“Unbidden,” said Lord Yamada.
“Yes,” I said, “even unbidden.”
“Some men cannot live without a tyrant,” said Haruki, “either to obey, or defy.”
“And service to the shogunate,” I said, “surely sponges away many stains.”
“We crave no pardon, great lord,” said Arashi.
“Why have you come, bandit?” asked Lord Yamada.
“To pledge to my shogun a thousand Ashigaru,” said Arashi.
The peasants behind him stirred, shouted, and lifted, and shook, their weapons of diverse sorts.
“Your crimes are no more,” said the shogun, “but now return to your villages.”
“How so, great lord?” said Arashi, startled.
“You are not Ashigaru,” said Lord Yamada, “but the metal from which Ashigaru may be formed.”
“We are your metal, great lord,” said Arashi, “shape us into your tool of war!”
There was acclamatory shouting from behind him, and it rang in the grounds of the shogun.
“There is no time, brave fellows,” called Lord Yamada. “The men of Temmu march. They are on the road, they are near.”
“We shall meet them!” cried Arashi.
“You would be cut to pieces, destroyed,” said Lord Yamada, “perhaps to a man. Return to your villages, and hope that you may be spared.”
“And what will you do, great lord?” asked Arashi.
“Wait here, to die,” said Lord Yamada.
“No, great lord,” I said. “You are shogun. You will march. You will advance to meet the enemy, though there be but ten behind you.”
“And would you, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he asked, “be one of those ten?”
“I am,” I said.
“That is a good way to die,” said Kazumitsu.
“I am with you, great lord,” said Katsutoshi.
“And I,” said Yasushi, coming forward.
“Where Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, goes, I go,” said Tajima. “He is my friend.”
“No more than mine,” said Pertinax. “I am with him.”
“There will be more than ten,” I said. “I have a plan. We will need the men of Arashi, but they will not be engaged. They are not trained. But their quality will be unknown to the forces of Temmu. We shall spread them about, and scatter them. Let them be glimpsed amongst trees and brush. They will move. They will not be closely seen. It will be difficult to assess their numbers. Caution will suggest there are many even where there are few. Lord Temmu has committed only a portion of his forces south. Meeting the appearance of stout resistance they will slow their pace, hold, and reconnoiter. This is the only pause I require, the opportunity to parley. Indeed, with them, I trust, will be members of the cavalry. This will allow me to communicate with the cavalry itself, which is important. The forces of Lord Temmu in the south, I speculate, will be commanded by either Lord Nishida or Lord Okimoto, or both. I know both. Both are rational men. I can speak with both. What I have to say will, I think, convince either Lord Nishida or Lord Okimoto, or both, to withdraw, or camp, and seek orders from the holding of Temmu, conveyed by tarnsmen. Personally, I need only communicate somehow with the cavalry itself.”
“We will march,” announced Lord Yamada. “Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, arrange matters with Arashi. See to the details of things. That is not the role of a shogun.”
“Yes, great lord,” I said.
“Great lord,” said Tajima, “I do not know the details of the plan of Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, but perhaps the mighty have not fallen.”
“They have not,” I said.
“Will you march with me, son?” asked Lord Yamada of Nodachi, the swordsman.
“I am at your side,” said he, “father.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
How Matters Turned Out;
I Look Eastward
It was a bright morning, with a pleasant wind, and I stood on the heavy planks of the great wharf, that at the foot of the long trail which led upward, within its walls, to the holding of Temmu, far above, almost obscured by clouds.
At the wharf, restless at its moorings, was the River Dragon, with its large, battened sails and high poop, brought across Thassa from Brundisium, on the continent, by Captain Nakamura. The ship of Tersites had demonstrated the possibility of reaching the World’s End, and, then, the River Dragon, in turn, inspirited by the success of the ship of Tersites, had dared Thassa, as well, but then eastward, and had managed to make the great harbor at Brundisium. It had then returned to its native port in the lands of Temmu. Here it had been refitted, and was now prepared to essay the bold and dangerous, but now-proven-practical, trip again. I would be aboard her.
“There is peace now, in the local waters,” said Captain Nakamura, “save for occasional pirates.”
“I am pleased,” I said.
“Many arrangements were made in Brundisium, for my return,” he said. “We shall bring kaiila, and bosk, back to the island
s, and the eggs of large tharlarion.”
“But no dragons,” I said.
“I do not understand,” said the captain.
“It is a joke,” I said.
“The humor of barbarians is fascinating,” he said. Then he looked down at the large, shaggy, sinuous beast by my side, Ramar, the lame sleen, brought from the camp of tarns, some one hundred and twenty pasangs north of the holding of Temmu. I learned he had often patrolled the perimeter of that camp, in the sleen’s territorial manner, as we had hoped, this much increasing its security, and he had on more than one occasion dealt with interlopers, or spies, who had attempted to infiltrate its precincts. This was determined by guards who detected the remains. He rubbed that large, triangular head against my leg, and I fondled his head, roughly. Had it been another’s hand, it might have been snapped away. “And sleen, too,” said Captain Nakamura. “They have many uses.”
“Tarns’ eggs were brought west from the continent on the ship of Tersites,” I said. “They have now been removed to the camp of tarns, and several have hatched.”
“Interesting,” said Captain Nakamura.
The cavalry had reserved to itself tarns, and their training. It was one of the provisions stipulated in the “Agreement.”
“Forgive me,” said Captain Nakamura, “but I must be about my duties.”
We exchanged bows.
“With the tide,” he said.
“With the tide,” I said.
The first gong had already sounded.
* * *
In the past months the skies had been clear. The shadow of the iron dragon had fallen on neither the lands of Yamada nor those of Temmu. Rumors abounded, normally spoken in whispers or hushed tones, for who knew the hearing of dragons. A thousand stories were about, in village markets, in the dojos and barracks, in courtyards and fields, in fortresses and sheds, about campfires, even in the corridors of palaces.
It had returned to its secret lair to guard its treasures, perhaps to sleep for another thousand years; it had returned to the country of mystery from which it had emerged, some fearful land, a far land of rock and flame; a vast, noxious crevice in the bowels of the earth, a dark, freezing country beyond the moons.
In any event, it seemed that the iron dragon had departed from the islands, and might never return.
The skies were clear.
Accordingly, given the nature of men, life began to form itself again in the ancient patterns of coming and going, farming and hunting, fishing and gathering, gaining and losing, accumulating and squandering, building and destroying, planning and plotting, loving and hating. Peasants returned to their villages; goods and wives returned to their houses and holdings; ornaments and coins were unearthed; fields were tended; palisades were rebuilt; gates were repaired; traders sought customers; and warriors, hungry and barefoot, weary, weapons in their sashes, drifted back toward rice and daimyos.
“You see your danger,” I had said to Lords Nishida and Okimoto, “thousands of warriors and Ashigaru.”
“The road was clear, there was no resistance,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Does that not seem to you odd,” I asked, “that you would not see the enemy until you were deep within his country, a hostile country, and far from reinforcements and supply lines?”
“It is a trap?” said Lord Okimoto.
“Obviously,” I said.
“I warned of this,” said Lord Okimoto to Lord Nishida.
“If,” I said, “you have several thousand troops, you may make a good show of it.”
Lord Okimoto looked displeased, visibly.
“You might be able to break through, and withdraw north.”
“Break through?” said Lord Okimoto.
“Yes,” I said, “clearly you must understand that you are surrounded.”
I had arranged that portions of Arashi’s men would hover about variously, behind and to the sides, as well as to the fore, allowing themselves to be detected, but not clearly. Surely scouts would have notified Lords Nishida and Okimoto of such sightings.
“I urged Lord Temmu to commit more troops to the south,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Perhaps five thousand?” I said.
To the best of my knowledge, Lord Temmu could not have brought four thousand men south, even with deserters and recruits, let alone five thousand. Indeed, had he emptied his holding and left it vacant, to urts and jards, he could not have brought five thousand men south.
Lord Nishida remained taciturn, not speaking.
“Lord Yamada,” I said, “has marched forth to meet you. He awaits you on the road.”
“Surely he is dead,” said Lord Okimoto.
“He is not,” I said.
“He has been defeated, and deserted,” said Lord Okimoto.
“That is your intelligence,” I said. “I inform you that it is inaccurate.”
“But Lord Akio—” said Lord Okimoto.
“Lord Akio is dead,” I said.
“Yamada lives?” said Lord Okimoto.
“Yes,” I said, “and commands his army, of thousands.”
“But,” said Lord Okimoto, “the iron dragon has flown.”
“The skies are clear,” I said.
“Why have you come here?” asked Lord Okimoto.
“I object to pointless slaughter,” I said.
“Yamada waits?” said Lord Okimoto.
“For now,” I said. “He trusts you will advance further, deeper into his trap.”
“And if we do not?” said Lord Okimoto.
“Beware the fall of darkness,” I said.
“What is your recommendation, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” asked Lord Nishida, politely. “That we turn about, and hasten north?”
“No, Lord,” I said. “I fear there is no time. I would recommend you hold here, and fortify your camp.”
“We have been betrayed,” said Lord Okimoto. “We have been informed the troops of Yamada are scattered, and most fled south, that he is vulnerable, and without support.”
“He has marched to meet you, and waits upon the road,” I said.
“We are assured he has no men,” said Lord Okimoto, uncertainly.
“This by whose assurance?” I asked.
“By that of Lord Akio,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Lord Akio,” I said, “is dead.”
“—no men,” said Lord Okimoto.
“And what are the reports of your scouts?” I said.
“That his minions are as the sands of the shore, and the leaves of trees,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Fortify the camp,” I said. “You may then survive the night. In the morning you may reconnoiter. If you deem it wise, you may then advance, or, if not, communicate with the house of Temmu, by message vulo, and await a response from the house of Temmu, brought by tarnsmen.”
“We shall await the word of Lord Temmu,” said Lord Okimoto. He turned then to a subordinate. “Fortify the camp,” he said.
I thought it fortunate that Lord Okimoto, cousin to Lord Temmu, was the ranking officer, the high daimyo, of this small invasion force, probably no more than a thousand men. Lord Okimoto was no coward, but he was amongst the most careful of commanders, his caution predictably exceeding his audacity. Lord Nishida, I thought, was a better commander, one capable of more judiciously balancing risks. Sometimes the arrow must rest on the string; at other times, the bow is to be drawn, and the arrow loosed.
The tarnsmen would almost certainly be of the cavalry. Communications would not be trusted to Tyrtaios, and his fellow, allegedly deserted to the banner of Temmu.
I would thus be able to transmit certain orders to the cavalry. Indeed, should time permit, I might, after these days of imprisonment and escape, be able to rendezvous with Ichiro, if he were still in the vicinity. He had had four tarns in his keeping, those on which he, Tajima, Pertinax, Haruki, and myself had ventured south, Haruki behind the saddle of Tajima. Also in the keeping of Ichiro we had left Aiko, the unclaimed slave from the market village. Few knew
of course, she was an unclaimed slave. Such are exceedingly rare, and are seldom long unclaimed. Indeed, any slave whose master’s identity cannot be readily established, is unknown, or is in doubt is likely to be promptly claimed. It is much the same with any other domestic animal, say, a kaiila or verr. Slaves, after all, have value. The slave collar commonly has two purposes. It, like the brand, proclaims its occupant a slave, and will normally, as most collars on animals, identify the beast’s master. The brand is commonly concealed by even a brief tunic. The collar, on the other hand, prominent on the beast’s neck, is to be clearly visible. This arrangement is demanded by free women in order that the worthlessness and degradation of the slave be dramatically contrasted with their own freedom, dignity, and station, and required by men, as it is appropriate that slaves be collared. Also, men like to see women in collars.
In fortifying the camp, as palisading was absent, a deep ditch was dug at the perimeter of the camp, and the removed earth was then piled at the edge of the ditch closest to the camp, this heightening the climb toward the camp. Various camp wagons were also brought toward the perimeter, that ensconced defenders, when not resisting intrusion, might be sheltered from arrow fire.
“I trust you will remain our guest,” said Lord Okimoto.
“I suspect I will have little choice in the matter,” I said.
“You are perceptive, for a barbarian,” said Lord Okimoto.
Lord Nishida smiled.
It turned out, however, that I soon, unexpectedly, departed from the camp. Haruki, not required in our perilous ruse, that of peasants and feigned readiness for war, had made his way to Ichiro’s hiding place, which, happily, had not been discovered in the long interval between our early visit to the market village to investigate stories of a mountebank, a master of sword tricks, and the present. Ichiro then brought the four tarns, three on leading straps, to the grounds of the palace of Yamada. With him, of course, came Haruki, and Aiko, bound, belly up, wrists back and down, ankles over and down, over the saddle apron of Ichiro. That night, about the Twentieth Ahn, the silhouette of a tarn was cast briefly on the white moon, and, a bit later, the snap of mighty wings disturbed the canvas of several tents.