by Clint Dohmen
“In spite of?” Taro questioned.
“Never mind that, let’s get back to true love. Are we on the magical island of Avalon? Is Excalibur going to emerge from the pond in your front garden?” Restraint began to lose its shaky hold on Simon’s mouth. “Do leprechauns make gold in these forests?”
Taro’s grasp of English was being overwhelmed. “Lepurakans?”
“Nasty little Irish faeries. Like I said before, and I’ll say again, not much good comes out of Ireland. There’s a reason they call it Bog Isle.”
“Bogu Airu?”
Aldo, having nearly caught his breath, plopped down next to them on the portico and interrupted. “I know a bit about geography myself, and I’m pretty sure it’s called the ‘Emerald Isle.’”
“Not by anyone who has ever met the bogmen and bandits that inhabit the nasty place it isn’t.”
Lost in the excess of new vocabulary and uncomfortable discussing sex, Taro changed the subject. “With the death of the monks, Kojiro is ronin once again. I fear he may commit seppuku if we can’t convince him that he now owes his service to you.”
“Let me catch you up, Aldo,” Simon said. He then proceeded to relay the story Taro had told him, which seemed all the more fantastical on the second telling.
“This is true, Taro?” Aldo asked, suspecting Simon had “added” a few details, as was his wont. Taro just nodded.
The wheels started turning in Simon’s head, which happened occasionally. Simon could see a personally beneficial arrangement in his and Kojiro’s future. Simon had no swords pledged to his name, and a long list of Yorkist arseholes to kill, beginning with one Percy Blythe. A warrior the likes of Kojiro would be an offer he couldn’t refuse. “What is this alternative of service to me? You said seppuku? What is that?”
“It is a ritual form of suicide. One cuts the belly to spill one’s insides, then continues to cut or stab oneself to death if he has no help. Usually the throat or heart are good places for follow-up thrusts. It is much better to have a friend, however, who will sever your head after the initial cut. I would be honored of course, were Kojiro to ask me to be his ‘friend.’”
Taro watched as his words sank in. He knew the foreigners had watched an Ouchi captain perform the ritual without benefit of a second, and he trusted they didn’t want to see it performed by Kojiro. He had no comprehension of the foreigners’ lot in the world, but who would turn down the service of a legend?
Simon considered the concept of “give and take,” to which he had just been introduced. For three months Kojiro had been teaching his fighting methods to Simon, perhaps he could return the favor by taking Kojiro into his service? Although, that seems a little more akin to take and take, Simon thought.
Chapter 6
Kannoura Village
“THE GAIJIN SEEM to be a stout and healthy breed despite their unnaturally pale skin,” Kojiro began as he walked with Inotogo Arai through the paths of the vast family garden.
“Yes, they are strange, but…” Lord Arai tried to think of a suitable word.
“Likeable,” Kojiro prompted.
“Yes, exactly,” Lord Arai said with a smile. “Likeable, and at least two of them are very intelligent, one deceptively so, the other conspicuously so. The captain of the gaijin ship has picked up our language very quickly.” Lord Arai paused. “And it is rumored that you have a gift for languages, too.”
“Iie,” Kojiro modestly denied this fact that they both knew to be true.
Inotogo got to his point. “There is a rumor. It is said that you are composing a death poem.”
“Your household spies are good,” Kojiro said, a little taken aback. “My daimyo and clan were killed at Sanpo-in. The monks who rescued me were slaughtered at Tenryu-ji. I would have already done the honorable thing, but I had an obligation to return your son to you. Selfishly, I also wished to live until I saw him regain his health, which he has now done. It seems my duty has been fulfilled and there is nothing left for me.”
“You seem to be forgetting something,” Inotogo said, beginning his part in the plot he had hatched with his son to preserve Kojiro’s life.
“Am I?”
“From what I gather of the story, those ‘likeable’ gaijin saved the lives of you and Taro with their attack on the Ouchi ship.”
“I would say that is accurate. Doubtless the Ouchi had a poor death planned for us.”
“Then it would seem that your duties in this life are not yet fulfilled.”
Kojiro was not following. “They aren’t?”
“You owe the foreigners your service now.”
“But… they are foreigners.”
“Did your teachers at Tenryu-ji differentiate in their lessons as to whom the teachings of Buddha shall apply?”
“No, but…”
“But?”
“But they are foreigners.”
“Your logic eludes me. Perhaps ‘they are foreigners’ is a Zen koan that I missed in my own studies?”
“It is not.”
“You alone must decide your fate, but I believe you owe your service to the men who saved your life,” Lord Arai continued. “And I hope you will forgive me, but I would put you doubly in their debt. I cannot afford to allow my only son to leave again. With a weak emperor, our country will descend into war. Too many minor lords wish to expand their domains, and with no control from the capital in Kyoto, there is nothing to stop them. I must protect my people, and I need my son to help me do it.”
After many long moments of reflection that went uninterrupted by Inotogo, Kojiro spoke. “I cannot answer at this point; I must observe them further. Indeed, they saved my life, but I cannot in good conscience serve a people who are unworthy, and being ‘likeable’ does not make one worthy. However, if I do decide to serve them, I will willingly serve long enough to repay your son’s debt as well.”
“I thank you for that. I’ve studied men for a long time. I think you may find these men worthy of your service, despite their barbarian nature.”
The issue was postponed, however, when one of Lord Arai’s shinobi ducked into the garden through the small servants’ entrance, spotted Inotogo, and came running over.
The breathless spy, still dressed in the elegant, yellow silk robes of the Kono court, dove into a kneeling position before Lord Arai and Kojiro. “Arai Sama, Lord Kono marches on Kannoura,” he blurted out as he handed Inotogo a slip of paper.
Lord Arai’s features steeled.
He had known trouble would follow the unfinished business in Kyoto, but he was surprised that it had come so quickly. The fact that it was the Kono riding against him was disastrous, but not unexpected; it was why he had placed his best spy, the man kneeling before him, in that court.
“How much time do we have?”
“They are waiting for their more distant levies to arrive now. I’d say three days at the least, five at the most.”
“Why did I not hear of this earlier?” Inotogo scolded his spy.
“Honto ni, Gomen nasai,” the spy apologized. “Lord Kono sent me away on a trade mission while he gathered his host. It’s possible he suspected me. I came straight here when I discovered his intentions.”
“So be it.” It was not within Inotogo’s character to hold men responsible for events outside their control. “I have another mission for you.”
“Anything, my lord.” The spy was desperate to make up for a mistake that could be fatal to the entire clan.
“Ride to the castle at Kochi and ask the Hosokawa to fulfill the terms of our alliance. Explain the urgency. Take a fresh horse from the stable and leave yours.”
“Hai, wakarimasu.” The spy hustled back through the short door.
“Why are you being attacked by the Kono clan?” Kojiro asked after the shinobi left.
Inotogo sighed. “The Kono have coveted my lands for generations,” he explained as they increased their pace across the garden. “They have not dared to invade because we supplied swords to the Ashikaga
Shogunate. It would seem the current weakness in both the shogunate and the Imperial Court has made them bold.”
“What are their numbers?” Kojiro asked.
Inotogo unfolded the note that the spy had given him. “Six hundred samurai cavalry, and an estimated eight hundred peasants with spears.”
Kojiro looked at Lord Arai. “I have met your household samurai. You have little more than forty. Do you hold the allegiance of more?”
“Some of their uncles and cousins, but no more than seventy, all told.”
Kojiro thought back over what Inotogo had said. Gradually, the lord’s words sank in. “Six hundred cavalry?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, the Kono cavalry are notorious on Shikoku. I’m surprised word has not spread to Honshu. They are the only clan I’m aware of that fights primarily on horseback.” He stiffened. “No clan on record has ever stood against the speed and brutality of a Kono cavalry charge.”
“Over the last ten years of constant battle, I have seen all matter of fighting, but I have never seen the charge of that many cavalry. How do you defeat such a thing?”
“With our numbers, I don’t know that we can. As you may be aware, we are known for the quality of our blades and the skill of our swordsmen, but unless we get the Kono off their horses, it will mean little.”
“Sun Tzu says that when the few fight the many, the battlefield must be restricted.”
Lord Arai knew the proverb. “I will flood the rice fields. It will limit the avenues of approach.”
“Can you increase your numbers?”
“As you heard, I have sent for help from the Hosokawa, but I have low expectations there.”
“Wise,” Kojiro replied with more than a hint of bitterness.
“And I have peasants.”
Kojiro was not encouraged by this last statement.
Chapter 7
Yuzuki Castle, Shikoku Island
THE MUSCULAR BLACK stallion pawed at the frost-covered dirt with his iron-shod hooves. He snorted his impatience, and the vapor in his breath cooled into visible white clouds in the late winter air. “Kuro,” named unimaginatively for the color of his gorgeous coat, understood what was coming and hungered for it to begin. Selectively bred through generations of swift Mongol steeds and brute Korean warhorses, he could feel the excitement of an upcoming battle in every fiber of his body.
Kuro had maimed his first man before the age of two. A sadistic blacksmith had been too careless in his hoof-trimming duties, and a rearward kick to the head permanently ensured that Kuro would suffer no more indignities at the man’s hands. He didn’t really know what it meant to maim or kill, but he knew that his actions sometimes caused humans to move differently, or sometimes to stop moving entirely. Kuro had caused many enemies of his master to stop moving entirely.
Men had tried to break him, scared men. Kuro, like all horses, could sense and smell fear: a man’s eyes might get wider as he approached; his voice might not be confident or sound overconfident; he might be too stiff in the saddle or not stiff enough. Kuro had many ways to tell, but the result had always been the same: the man dismounted either of his own accord or of Kuro’s doing.
That is, until he met his master. His master had handled Kuro with unshakeable confidence from the first day they met. The man seemed to know instinctively what Kuro was going to do before he did it, and that had made him impossible to unsaddle. Eventually, Kuro learned to trust his master, and now Kuro would follow his human’s commands without hesitation.
Lord Kono spent a great deal of time caring for his high-maintenance horse. It was unusual for a man of his stature to do work that was normally relegated to a lowly groom, but his horse rewarded this caring treatment tenfold. In battle, Kuro was utterly fearless and responded to Lord Kono’s most subtle commands instantaneously. Kuro had struck, fractured, and trampled men to death; he feared nothing. Lord Kono knew that this time would be no different. The Arai clan would be brought to its knees, and their fertile land would finally belong to the superior Kono clan.
Kuro’s heart raced as he saw the colorful standards raised throughout the assembly grounds. His spirits soared at the sounds of armored men marching and the issuing of harsh commands. He even allowed the lesser horses to assemble close to him. Kuro did not understand the idea of a “lesser” animal the way a human would, but he knew that all the other horses were slower and weaker than he.
Lord Kono surveyed the mounts of his men. In a Kono cavalry charge, the mettle of the mounts was as important as the mettle of his samurai. It would be the first battle for some of the horses. Some of them would shy away from the enemy spears, and their riders would die. Other horses would panic in the chaos of battle, and their riders would die, too. However, through experience, he was confident that most horses would follow Kuro’s lead and drive straight into the enemy; Kuro’s brothers certainly would, for they had the same good breeding. Together, the Kono horses would shatter and break the Arai lines. Lord Kono strode to the nervous, fidgety groom holding his magnificent stallion.
Kuro’s master approached him in full armor, as Kuro knew he would when the flags flew and the men gathered in formation. Amongst all the armored men, Kuro knew his rider by his unmistakably confident gait as much as by his yellow-lacquered chest plate and stag-antler helmet. Kuro heard his master shout in his deep, gravelly voice. It was followed by an answering cry from the gathered masses that never failed to fire the blood in his veins. Kuro then felt the light tap of his master’s heels on his flank. Kuro restrained himself from leaping forward, instead willing himself to walk at a dignified pace, neck erect and head held high.
As Kuro moved forward between the columns of riders on either side of the parade grounds, the other horses fell in behind him in orderly rows. Kuro fought his instinct to jump to the front of the formation, but he did stay at least a neck’s length ahead of any other horse. Even his master knew better than to try to prevent him from holding the lead, small though it might be.
They left the castle and parade grounds behind them, bright yellow sashimono flags rippling on the riders’ backs in the stiff morning breeze. The winding wooded road to the coast unfolded before them as Kuro led his master’s army to war.
Chapter 8
Three Days Later,
Kannoura Village
THE GRIM-LOOKING SAMURAI archers, with unstrung daikyu strapped to their backs, marched into the village in perfect formation. The archers’ sashimono, also strapped to their backs, bore the kamon of the Hosokawa clan: eight circular stars surrounding one larger circular star. Unfortunately, as Inotogo observed, they were woefully few in number. As Inotogo walked to the center of the village to greet them, he estimated perhaps a hundred and ten men. Their leader, a young man named Tomohisa Okuda, bowed and apologized for the lack of resources that he brought.
Lord Arai returned the respectful bow of the Hosokawa leader and replied, “Iie, domou arigatou gozaimasu.” Inotogo thanked the man, both because it was customary and because he knew that the size of the contingent was not this man’s fault.
He had shinobi in the Hosokawa court as well, and he knew Lord Hosokawa was scheming to expand his territory and influence near Kyoto. The Hosokawa family and their grand plans would give little thought to who controlled a minor seaside fiefdom on Japan’s smallest main island. On the off chance that Inotogo was able to hold his territory, this small contingent of archers would be used as an excuse to demand his continued fealty. If, on the other hand, the Arai family fell to the Kono clan, the Hosokawa would merely be out a few archers.
Inotogo recognized it was the same logic that had consigned Kojiro’s clan to its death at Sanpo-in. I wonder what this Tomohisa Okuda did to earn himself a suicide mission, Inotogo pondered.
Later that night, Lord Arai called a council of war. His spies and cavalry scouts reported that the Kono force had swelled at camp to comprise a final number of roughly eighteen hundred men. This included approximately a thousand peasants variously arm
ed and armored, two hundred horse archers, and six hundred of their famous elite spear cavalry.
Lord Arai spoke.
“I, along with many of you at this table, have defended this village from bandits on land and pirates from the sea. We have fought in campaigns for our emperor and campaigns for our daimyo.” Inotogo looked at Tomohisa here, not out of vindictiveness, but because if they survived this war, he wanted to communicate that the Arai clan would be asking the Hosokawa to answer for their meager support.
Tomohisa looked at the floor as Inotogo continued. “We have never fought against such numbers, and none of us has faced a Kono cavalry charge.” The samurai around the room, battle-hardened though they were, exchanged brief but nervous glances.
In fact, only one person at the table had ever stood in the face of massed horses bearing down on him with lances leveled: Simon. Simon was surprised to find out that cavalry charges were not a regular thing for these warriors, so he wondered if he might not have something to contribute.
For now, he kept his mouth shut; it was something he was getting better and better at. Simon had fond feelings for the Nihon-jin, and they had nursed him and the Tigre’s crew back to health. He wanted to help them, but he wanted to survive long enough to exact his revenge back in England as well. If it were just a matter of heart versus head, his heart would win out every time, but in this case it was heart versus heart: it would not be terribly grateful to pack up and run, but he needed to ensure that he’d be alive to cut off Percy Blythe’s balls. It was a serious dilemma, but then again, Simon was a natural-born sucker for lost causes.
Lord Arai, followed by the man who appeared to be his oldest lieutenant, seemed to do most of the pointing and speaking. The language used was rudimentary, and with the aid of the map, even Simon was able to follow the discussion. The plan they came up with was simple, which as far as Simon was concerned, was the hallmark of any great plan. Given their limitations in terms of manpower, it was also sound.