James Clavell - Gai-Jin

by Gai-Jin(Lit)

  In the central keep, above and below him, were the most secure living areas and inner sanctum of the reigning Sh@ogun, his family, courtiers and retainers. And the treasure rooms. As

  Guardian, Yoshi lived here, unwelcome and on the fringe but also secure and with his own guards.

  Beyond the outer moat was the first protective circle of daimyo palaces. These were vast, rich, sprawling residences, then circles of lesser ones, then even lesser ones, one such residence for each daimyo in the land. All had been sited by Sh@ogun Toranaga personally and ordered constructed to conform with his new law of sankin-kotai, alternative residence.

  "Sankin-kotai," he said,

  "requires all daimyos to build at once and maintain forever a "suitable residence" under my castle walls in exact positions I have decided, where he, his family and a few senior retainers are to live permanently--each palace to be lavish, and without defenses. One year in three the daimyo will be allowed, and required, to return to his fief and to stay there with his retainers, but without his wife, consorts, mother, father or children, or children's children, or any member of his immediate family--the order in which daimyos leave or remain is also to be carefully regulated according to the following list and timetable..."

  The word "hostage" was never mentioned though hostage taking, ordered or offered to ensure compliance, was an ancient custom. Even

  Toranaga himself had been hostage when a child to the

  Dictator, Goroda; his own family had been hostage to Goroda's successor, Nakamura, his ally and liege lord; and he, the last and greatest, decided merely to extend the custom into sankin-kotai to keep everyone in thrall.

  "At the same time," he wrote in his

  Legacy, a private document for selected descendants, "Following Sh@oguns are ordered to encourage all daimyos to build extravagantly, to live elegantly, to dress opulently and entertain lavishly, the quicker to divest them of their fief's yearly revenue of koku which, by correct immutable custom belongs only to the daimyo concerned. In this way all will soon become debt ridden, ever more dependent on us and, more important, without teeth--while we continue to be thrifty and eschew extravagance.

  "Even so, some fiefs--Satsuma, Mori,

  Tosa, Kii for example--are so rich that even these extravagances will leave too dangerous a surplus. From time to time the ruling Sh@ogun will therefore invite the daimyo to present him with a few leagues of a new trunk road, or palace, or garden, pleasure place, or temple, such amounts, times, and frequency are laid down in the following document..."

  "So clever, so far-thinking," Yoshi muttered.

  Every daimyo in a silken net, powerless to rebel.

  But all ruined by Anjo's stupidity.

  The first of the Emperor's "requests" brought by Sanjiro to the Council--before Yoshi had become a member--was to abolish this ancient custom. Anjo and the others had prevaricated, argued and finally agreed. Almost overnight the rings of palaces emptied of all wives, consorts, children, relations and warriors and in days became a wasteland with only a few token retainers.

  Our most important curb gone forever,

  Yoshi thought bitterly. How could Anjo have been so inept?

  He let his gaze drift beyond the palaces, to the capital city of a million souls that serviced the castle and fed off it, a city crisscrossed with streams and bridges, most constructed of wood. Now there were many fires--the blossoms of earthquakes--all the way to the sea. One great wooden palace was in flames.

  Yoshi noticed idly that it belonged to the daimyo of Sai. Good. Sai supports

  Anjo. The families are gone but the Council can order him to rebuild and the cost will crush him forever.

  Forget him, what's our shield against the gai-jin? There must be one! Everyone says they could burn Yedo but not break into the castle or sustain a long siege. I do not agree. Yesterday

  Anjo again told the Elders the well-known story of the Siege of Malta some three hundred years ago, how Turk armies could not pry even six hundred brave knights from their castle. Anjo had said, "We have tens of thousands of samurai all hostile to gai-jin, we must win, they must sail away."

  "But neither Turks nor Christians had cannon," he had said. "Don't forget

  Sh@ogun Toranaga breeched Osaka Castle with gai-jin cannon--these vermin can do likewise here."

  "Even if they did, we would have withdrawn safely to the hills long since. Meanwhile every samurai, and every man woman and child in the land--even stinking merchants--would flock to our banner and fall on them like locusts. We have nothing to fear," Anjo had said contemptuously.

  "Osaka Castle was different, that was daimyo against daimyo, not an invasion. The enemy cannot sustain a land war. In a land war we must win."

  "They would lay waste everything, Anjo-sama.

  We would be left with nothing to govern. Our only course is to web gai-jin like a spider webs its far bigger prey. We must be a spider, we must find a web."

  But they would not listen to him. What's the web?

  "First know the problem," Toranaga wrote in his Legacy, "then, with patience, you can find the solution."

  The crux of the problem with the foreigners is simply this: how do we obtain their knowledge, armaments, fleets, wealth and trade on our terms, yet expel them all, cancel the unequal treaties, and never allow one to set foot ashore without severe restrictions?

  The Legacy continued: "The answer to all problems for OUR land can be found here, or in

  Sun-tzu's "The Art of War"--and patience."

  Sh@ogun Toranaga was the most patient ruler in the world, he thought, awed for the millionth time.

  Even though Toranaga was supreme in the land, outside of Osaka Castle, the invincible stronghold built by his predecessor,

  Dictator Nakamura, he waited twelve years to spring the trap he had baited, and lay siege to it. The castle was in absolute possession of the Lady Ochiba, the

  Dictator's widow, their seven-year-old son and heir, Yaemon--to whom Toranaga had solemnly sworn allegiance--and eighty thousand fanatically loyal samurai.

  Two years of siege, three hundred thousand troops, cannon from the Dutch privateer

  Erasmus of Anjin-san, the Englishman who had sailed the ship to Japan, together with a musket regiment also trained by him, a hundred thousand casualties, all his guile and the vital traitor within, before Lady Ochiba and Yaemon committed seppuku rather than be captured.

  Then Toranaga had secured Osaka

  Castle, spiked the cannon, destroyed all muskets, disbanded the musket regiment, had forbidden manufacture or the importation of all firearms, he had broken the power of the

  Portuguese Jesuit priests and Christian daimyos, reallocated fiefs, sent all enemies onwards, instituted the laws of the

  Legacy, forbidden all wheels, the building of ocean-going ships, and had, regretfully, taken a third of all revenue for himself and his immediate family.

  "He made us strong," Yoshi muttered.

  "His Legacy gave us power to keep the land pure, and at peace in the way he designed."

  I must not fail him.

  Eeee, what a man! How wise of his son,

  Sudara, the second Sh@ogun, to change the name of the dynasty to Toranaga, instead of the real family name of Yoshi--so that we would never forget the fountainhead.

  What would he advise me to do?

  First patience, then he would quote Sun-tzu:

  Know your enemy as you know yourself and you need not fear a hundred battles; know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat; know neither the enemy nor yourself and you will succumb in every battle.

  I know some things about the enemy, but not enough.

  I bless my father again for making me understand the value of education, for giving me so many varied and special teachers over the years, foreign as well as Japanese. Sad I did not have the gift of tongues and so had to learn through intermediaries:

  Dutch merchants for world history, an English seaman to check
Dutch truth and to open my eyes

  --just as Toranaga used the Anjin-san in his time

  --and all the others.

  Chinese who taught me government, literature and Sun-tzu's "The Art of War"; the old renegade French priest from Peking who spent half a year teaching me Machiavelli, laboriously translating it into Chinese characters for me as his passport to live in my father's domains and enjoy the Willow World he adored; the

  American pirate marooned at Izu who told me about cannon and about oceans of grass called prairies, their castle called White House and the wars with which they exterminated the natives of that land; the Russian @emigr`e convict from a place called Siberia who claimed he was a prince with ten thousand slaves and told fables of places called Moscow and St. Petersburg, and all the others--some teaching for a few days, some for months but never a year, none of them knowing who I was, and I forbidden to tell them, Father so careful and secretive and so terrible when aroused.

  "When these men leave, Father," he had asked in the beginning, "what happens to them? They're all so frightened. Why should that be? You promise them rewards, don't you?"'

  "You're eleven, my son. I will forgive your rudeness in questioning me, once. To remind you of my magnanimity you will go without food for three days, you will climb Mount Fuji alone and you will sleep without covering."

  Yoshi shuddered. At that time he did not know what magnanimity meant. During those days he had almost died but achieved what was ordered of him.

  As a reward for his self-discipline his father, daimyo of Mito, had told him he was being adopted by the Hisamatsu family and made heir of that Toranaga branch: "You are my seventh son. In that way you will have your own inheritance, and be of a slightly higher lineage than your brothers."

  "Yes Father," he had said, holding back his tears. At that time he did not know he was being groomed to be Sh@ogun, nor was he ever told.

  Then, when Sh@ogun Iyeyoshi died of the spotted disease four years ago and he was twenty-two and ready and proposed by his father, tair@o Ii had opposed him, and won--Ii's personal forces possessed the Palace Gates.

  So his cousin Nobusada was appointed.

  Yoshi, his family, his father and all their influential supporters were ordered into severe house arrest. Only when Ii was assassinated was he freed and reinstated with his lands and honors, along with the others who survived. His father had died in house confinement.

  I should have been Sh@ogun, he thought for the ten millionth time. I was ready, trained and could have stopped the Sh@ogunate rot, could have formed a new bond between Sh@ogunate and all daimyos, and could have dealt with the gai-jin. I should have had that

  Princess as wife, I would never have signed those agreements, or allowed the negotiations to go so badly against us. I would have dealt with Townsend

  Harris and begun a new era of careful change to accommodate the world outside, at our pace, not theirs!

  Meanwhile I am not Sh@ogun, Nobusada is elected Sh@ogun correctly, the

  Treaties exist, Princess Yazu exists,

  Sanjiro, Anjo and gai-jin are battering at our gates.

  He shivered. I had better be even more careful. Poison is an ancient art, an arrow by day or by night, ninja assassins in their hundreds are out there, ready for hire. And then there are the shishi. There must be an answer! What is it?

  Sea birds circling and cawing over the city and castle interrupted his thought patterns.

  He studied the sky. No sign of change, or tempest, though this was the month of change when the big winds came and, with them winter. Winter will be bad this year. Not a famine like three years ago but the harvest is poor, even less than last year...

  Wait! What was it Anjo said that reminded me of something?

  He turned and beckoned one of his bodyguards, his excitement rising. "Bring that spy here, the fisherman, what's his name? Ah yes, Misamoto, bring him to my quarters secretly at once--he's confined in the Eastern

  Guard House."

  Tuesday, 16th September:

  Precisely at dawn the cannon of the flagship bellowed the eleven-gun salute as

  Sir William's cutter came alongside the gangway. From the shore came a faint cheer, every sober man there to watch the departure of the fleet for

  Yedo. The wind was strengthening, sea fair, light overcast. He was formally piped aboard,

  Phillip Tyrer in attendance--the rest of his staff already aboard accompanying warships. The two men wore frock coats and top hats.

  Tyrer's arm was in a sling.

  They saw Admiral Ketterer waiting for them on the main deck, John Marlowe beside him, both in dress uniform--cocked hats, gold braided and buttoned blue cutaways, with white shirts, waistcoats, breeches and stockings, buckled shoes and gleaming swords--and, immediately,

  Phillip Tyrer thought Damn, how handsome and elegant yet masculine John Marlowe always is, just like Pallidar in his uniform. Damned if

  I have any dress clothes, or any clothes for that matter to rival them, and poor as a church mouse compared to them and not even a Deputy Secretary yet. Damn! There's nothing like a uniform to flatter a man and give him standing with a girl

  ...

  He almost stumbled into Sir William who had stopped on the top step as the Admiral and

  Marlowe saluted politely, ignoring him.

  Blast, he thought, concentrate, you're equally on duty, equally at the beck and call of the

  Mighty! Be careful, become part of the scenery too, Wee Willie Winkie's been like a cat with a hornet in his bum since you reported yesterday.

  "'Morning, Sir William, welcome aboard."

  "Thank you. Good morning to you, Admiral

  Ketterer," Sir William doffed his hat, followed by Tyrer, their frock coats tugged by the breeze. "Set sail, if you please. The other

  Ministers are on the French flagship."

  "Good." The Admiral motioned to Marlowe.

  At once Marlowe saluted, went to the Captain who was on the open bridge, just forward of the single funnel and main mast, and saluted again.

  "Admiral's compliments, sir. Make way for

  Yedo."

  The commands went rapidly down the line, the sailors gave three cheers, in moments the anchors were being chanted aboard and in the cramped boiler room three decks below, teams of stokers, stripped to the waist, shoveled more coal into the furnaces to another rhythmic chant, coughing and wheezing in air permanently fouled with coal dust. The other side of the bulkhead in the engine room, the chief Engineer engaged "half ahead," and the huge reciprocating engines began to turn the propeller shaft.

  She was H.m.s. Euryalus, built at

  Chatham eight years ago, a three-masted, one-funnel, screw-assisted, wooden cruiser frigate of 3,200 tons burthen, with 35 guns, a normal complement of 350 officers, seamen and marines--while below decks were 90 stokers and engine room staff. Today all sails were sparred and decks cleared for action.

  "A pleasant day, Admiral," Sir

  William was saying. They were on the quarterdeck,

  Phillip Tyrer and Marlowe, who had greeted each other silently, hovering close by.

  "For the moment," the Admiral agreed testily, always uncomfortable near civilians, particularly someone like Sir William who was his senior in rank. "My quarters are available to you below you if you wish."

  "Thank you." Sea gulls were dipping and cawing around their wake. Sir William studied them for a moment, trying to throw off his depression. "Thank you but I'd rather be on deck. You haven't met

  Mr. Tyrer, I believe? He's our new apprentice interpreter."

  For the first time the Admiral acknowledged Tyrer.

  "Welcome aboard, Mr. Tyrer, we can certainly use Japanese speakers here. How's your wound?"

  "Not too bad, sir, thank you," Tyrer said, trying to retreat once more into anonymity.

  "Good. Rotten business." The Admiral's pale blue eyes ranged the sea and his ship, his face florid and weatherbeaten, with heavy jowls and a choleric roll of fle
sh on the back of his neck over his starched collar. For a moment he watched the smoke critically, noting its color and smell, then grunted and brushed some specks of coal dust off his impeccable waistcoat.

  "Something's amiss?"

  "No, Sir William. The coals we get here don't compare with Shanghai best, or good

  Welsh or Yorkshire coals. Too much clinker in it. It's cheap enough when we can get it but that's not often. You should insist on an increased supply, it's a major problem for us here, major."

  Sir William nodded wearily. "I have but they don't appear to have any locally."