by Gai-Jin(Lit)
Tyrer said importantly, "A league is approximately three miles,
Mademoiselle." He was tall and lithe, not long out of university, and besotted by her blue eyes and Parisian elegance. "You, er, you were saying, Mr. Canterbury?"
The trader tore his attention off her bosom.
"Just that it won't be much better when the other ports are opened. Soon, very soon we'll have to break out of them too if we're to really trade, one way or t'other."
Tyrer glanced at him sharply. "You mean war?"
"Why not? What are fleets for? Armies? It works fine in India, China, everywhere else.
We're the British Empire, the biggest and best that's ever been on earth. We're here to trade and meanwhile we can give them proper laws and order and proper civilization."
Canterbury looked back at the road, soured by the animosity there. "Ugly lot, aren't they,
Miss?"
"Mon Dieu, I do wish they wouldn't stare so."
"'fraid you just have to get used to it. It's the same everywhere. As Mr. Struan says, Hong
Kong's the worst. Even so, Mr. Struan," he said with sudden esteem, "I don't mind telling you what we need here is our own island, our own Colony, not a rotten, smelly mile strip of festering coast that's indefensible, subject to attack and blackmail at any moment if it weren't for our fleet! We should take an island just like your granddad took Hong
Kong, bless him."
"Perhaps we will," Malcolm Struan said confidently, warmed by the memory of his famous ancestor, the tai-pan, Dirk Struan, founder of their company and main founder of the Colony twenty-odd years ago in '41.
Without being aware of what he was doing,
Canterbury slipped out his small flask, tipped it back and drank, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slid the flask away.
"Let's go on. Best I lead, single file where necessary, forget the Jappers! Mr. Struan, perhaps you'd ride alongside the young lady and Mr.
Tyrer, you keep the rear." Very pleased with himself, he spurred his pony into a brisk walk.
As Angelique came alongside,
Struan's eyes crinkled in a smile. He had been openly in love with her from the first moment he had seen her four months ago in Hong Kong, the first day she arrived--to take the island by storm.
Fair hair, perfect skin, deep blue eyes with a pleasing upturned nose in an oval face that was in no way pretty but possessed a strange, breathtaking attractiveness, very
Parisian, her innocence and youth overlaid with a perceptible, constant, though unconscious sensuality that begged to be assuaged. And this in a world of men without eligible wives, without much hope of finding one in Asia, certainly never like her.
Many of the men rich, a few of them merchant princes. "Pay no attention to the natives,
Angelique," he whispered, "they're just awed by you."
She grinned. Like an Empress, she bowed her head. "Merci, Monsieur, vous etes tr`es aimable."
Struan was very content and now, very sure. Fate, joss, God threw us together, he thought elated, planning when he would ask her father's permission to marry. Why not Christmas?
Christmas will be perfect. We'll marry in the spring and live in the Great House on the Peak in
Hong Kong. I know Mother and Father already adore her, my God, I hope he really is better.
We'll give a huge Christmas party.
Once on the road they made good progress, taking care not to impede traffic. But, whether they liked it or not, their unexpected presence and, for the vast majority of incredulous Japanese who had never seen people of this size and shape and coloring, particularly the girl--along with their top hats and frock coats, stovepipe trousers and riding boots, and her boots and riding habit and top hat with its saucy feather, and riding sidesaddle
--inevitably created traffic jams.
Both Canterbury and Struan watched those on the road carefully as the oncomers swirled past, around them, though always giving way to their progress.
Neither man sensed or expected any danger.
Angelique kept close, pretending to ignore the guffaws and gaping and the occasional hand that tried to touch her, shocked at the way many men carelessly tucked up their kimonos exposing their skimpy loincloths and ample nakedness: "Dearest
Colette, you'll never believe me," she thought, continuing the letter she would complete tonight to her best friend in Paris, "but vast majority of the legions of porters on the public highway wear ONLY these tiny loincloths that hide almost nothing in front and become a thin string between the buttocks behind! I swear it's true, and I can report that many of the natives are quite hairy though most of their parts are small. I wonder if Malcolm..."
She felt herself flush. "The capital,
Phillip," she said, making conversation, "it is truly forbidden?"
"Not according to the Treaty." Tyrer was vastly pleased. Only a few minutes and she had dropped the Monsieur. "The Treaty arranged for all Legations to be in Yedo, the capital.
I was told we evacuated Yedo last year after the attack on ours. Safer to be at
Yokohama under the guns of the fleet."
"Attack? What attack?"
"Oh some madmen called ronin--they're some kind of outlaw, assassins--a dozen of them attacked our Legation in the middle of the night.
The British Legation! Can you imagine the gall!
The devils killed a sergeant and a sentry..."
He stopped as Canterbury swung off the roadway and reined in and pointed with his riding crop. "Look there!"
They halted beside him. Now they could see the tall, thin banners held aloft by the ranks of samurai tramping around a bend towards them, a few hundred yards ahead. All travellers were scattering, bundles and palanquins hastily thrown to the ground, well out of the way, riders dismounting hurriedly, then everyone knelt on the sides of the roadway with heads bowed to the packed earth, men women children, and stayed motionless. Only the few samurai remained standing. As the cortege passed, they bowed deferentially.
"Who is it, Phillip?" Angelique asked excitedly. "Can you read their signs?"
"Sorry, no, not yet, Mademoiselle.
They say it takes years to read and write their script." Tyrer's happiness had evaporated at the thought of so much work ahead.
"It is the Shogun perhaps?"
Canterbury laughed. "No chance of that. If it was him they'd have this whole area cordoned off.
They say he has a hundred thousand samurai at his slightest beck. But it'll be someone important, a king."
"What shall we do when they pass?" she asked.
"We'll give them the royal salute,"
Struan said. "We'll doff our hats and give him three cheers. What will you do?"
"Me, cheri?" She smiled, liking him very much, remembering what her father had said before she had left Hong Kong for Yokohama:
"Encourage this Malcolm Struan, but with care, my little cabbage. I have already, discreetly. He would make a marvelous match for you, that's why I advocate this sightseeing trip to Yokohama, unchaperoned, providing he escorts you in one of
.his ships. In three days you're eighteen, time you were married. I know he's barely twenty and young for you, but he's smart, the eldest son, he'll inherit the Noble House in a year or so--it's rumored his father, Culum, the tai-pan, is much sicker than the company publicly allow."
"But he's British," she had said thoughtfully. "You hate them, Papa, and say we should hate them. You do, don't you?"'
"Yes, little cabbage, but not publicly.
Britain's the richest country in the world, the most powerful, in Asia they're king, and Struan's the
Noble House--Richaud Freres are small.
We would benefit immensely if we had their
French business. Suggest it to him."
"Oh I couldn't Papa, that would be... I couldn't, Papa."
"You're a woman now, not a child my pet.
Beguile him, then he will suggest it himself. Our future depends on you. Soon Malc
olm
Struan will be the tai-pan. And you, you could share it all..."
Of course I would adore such a husband, she thought, how wise Papa is! How wonderful to be
French, therefore superior. It's easy to like, perhaps even to love this Malcolm with his strange eyes and young old looks. Oh I do so hope he asks me.
She sighed and turned her attention to the present. "I will bow my head as we do in the
Bois to His Majesty, the emperor Louis
Napoleon. What is it, Phillip?"
"Perhaps we'd better turn back," Tyrer said uneasily. "Everyone says they're touchy about us near their princes."
"Nonsense," Canterbury said. "There's no danger, never has been a mob attack--this isn't like India, or Africa or China. As
I said, Japanners are mighty law-abiding.
We're well within the Treaty limit and we'll do as we always do, just let them pass, raise your titfer politely as you would to any potentate, then we'll go on. You're armed, Mr.
Struan?"
"Of course."
"I'm not," Angelique said, a little petulantly, watching the banners that now were barely a hundred yards away. "I think women should carry pistols if men do."
They were all shocked. "Perish that thought.
Tyrer?"
Feeling awkward Tyrer showed Canterbury the small derringer. "It was a going-away present from my father. But I've never fired it."
"You won't need to, it's only the lone samurai you have to watch, the ones or twos, the anti-foreign fanatics. Or the ronins," then added without thinking, "Not to worry, we haven't had any trouble for a year or more."
"Trouble? What trouble?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said, not wanting to concern her and trying to cover the slip. "A few attacks by a few fanatics, or two, nothing important."
She frowned. "But Monsieur Tyrer said there was a mass attack on your British Legation and some soldiers were killed. That's not important?"
"That was important." Canterbury smiled thinly at Tyrer who read the message clearly: you're a bloody idiot to tell a lady anything of any importance! "But they were an isolated gang of cutthroats. The Shogunate bureaucracy have sworn they'll catch them and punish them."
His voice sounded convincing, but he was wondering how much of the truth Struan and Tyrer knew: five men murdered on the streets of Yokohama in their first year. The next year two
Russians, an officer and a sailor from a
Russian man-of-war, hacked to death, again in
Yokohama. A few months later two Dutch merchants. Then the young interpreter at the
British Legation in Kanagawa stabbed from behind and left to bleed to death. Heusken, the Secretary of the American Mission, butchered into a dozen pieces while riding home after a dinner party at the Prussian Legation. And last year a
British soldier and sergeant cut down outside the Consul General's bedroom!
Every murder premeditated and unprovoked, he thought, incensed, and committed by a two-sworder.
Never once was any offense given--and worst of all, never once has any bastard been caught and punished by the Shogun's all-powerful
Bakufu, however much our Legation Heads screamed, and however much the Jappers promised.
Our leaders are a bloody bunch of stupid bastards! They should have ordered up the fleet at once and blown Yedo to hell, then all the terror would stop, we could sleep safe in our beds without guards, and walk our streets, any streets, without fear when any samurai's nearby.
Diplomats are anus eaters and this young popinjay a perfect specimen.
Sourly he watched the banners, trying to decipher the characters. Behind the cortege, once it had completely passed, travellers picked themselves up and went on again. Those going the same way as the column, followed at a judicious distance.
It felt curious to the four of them to be mounted and so high above the ragged lines of kneeling figures on both shoulders of the roadway, heads in the dust, rumps in the air. The three men tried not to notice the nakedness, embarrassed that she was there, equally embarrassed.
The ranks of samurai banner men approached relentlessly. There were two columns, each of about a hundred men, then more flags and massed ranks surrounding a black lacquered palanquin carried by eight sweating porters. More banners and samurai followed, then more leading pack ponies and last a motley crowd of ladened baggage porters. All samurai wore grey kimonos with the same insignia, three interlocking peonies, that was also on the banners, and straw hats tied under their chins. Two swords in their belts, one short, one long. Some had bows and arrows slung, a few carried muzzle-loading muskets. A few were more elaborately dressed than others.
The columns bore down.
With growing shock Struan and the others saw what was on all the faces, all eyes fixed on them: fury. He was the first to break the spell. "I think we'd better move farther back..."
But before he or any one of them could start, a young, broad-shouldered samurai broke ranks and charged up to them, closely followed by another man, planting himself between them and the approaching palanquin. Choking with rage, the first man threw down his banner and shouted, cursing them away, the suddenness of his blazing anger paralyzing them. The columns faltered, then picked up the cadence and continued passing. The kneeling people did not move. But now, over all was a great, sick silence, broken only by the sound of marching feet.
Again the samurai cursed them. Canterbury was nearest to him. Obediently, nauseated with fear, he spurred his pony. But the turn was inadvertently towards the palanquin, not in the other direction. At once the samurai jerked out his killing sword, shouted "sonno-joi!" and hacked with all his might. In the same instant the other man went for Struan.
The blow took off Canterbury's left arm just above his biceps and sliced into his side. The trader gaped at the stump with disbelief as blood sprayed onto the girl. The sword whirled in another brutal arc. Impotently Struan was groping for his revolver, the other samurai charging him, blade raised. More by luck than judgment he twisted out of the path of a blow that wounded him slightly on his left leg and sliced into his pony's shoulder. The pony screamed and reared in sudden panic, knocking the man aside. Struan aimed and pulled the trigger of the small Colt but the pony reared again and the bullet went into the air harmlessly. Frantically he tried to steady the animal and aimed again, not seeing that now the first man was attacking from his blind side.
"Watchouttt!" Tyrer screeched, coming back to life. Everything had happened so fast it was almost as though he was imagining the horror--Canterbury on the ground in agony, his pony fleeing, the girl stupefied in her saddle, Struan pointing the gun a second time and the killing sword arching at his unprotected back. He saw Struan react to his warning, the frantic pony skittering at his touch, and the blow that would have killed him was deflected somehow by the bridle or pommel and sliced into his side. Struan lurched in his saddle and let out a howl of pain.
This galvanized Tyrer.
He jammed in his spurs and charged Struan's attacker. The man leapt aside untouched, noticed the girl and ran for her, sword on high. Tyrer spun his terrified pony, saw
Angelique staring at the approaching samurai in frozen horror. "Get out of here, get help!" he screamed, then again slammed at the man who once more twisted to safety, recovered perfectly, and stood with his sword in attack position.
Time slowed. Phillip Tyrer knew he was dead. But that did not seem to matter now for in the moment's respite he saw Angelique whirl her pony and flee safely. He had forgotten his derringer. There was no room to escape, or time.
For a split second the youthful samurai hesitated, exulting in the killing moment, then leapt. Helplessly, Tyrer tried to back away. Then the explosion happened, the bullet thrust the man sprawling and the sword failed, cutting Tyrer in the arm but not badly.
For a moment Tyrer did not believe that he was still alive then he saw Struan reeling in his saddle, blood seeping from the wound in his side, the gun levelled
at the other samurai, his frenzied pony twisting and cavorting.
Again Struan pulled the trigger. The gun was near the pony's ear. The explosion blew away her control and she took the bit and charged off,
Struan barely able to hold on. At once the samurai rushed after him and this moment gave Tyrer the chance to dig in his spurs, spin away from the road and race in pursuit, northwards.
"Sonno-joiiii!" the samurai shouted after them, enraged that they had escaped.
John Canterbury was writhing and moaning in the dirt near some petrified travellers, all of them still kneeling, heads down and frozen.