Bloody Sunrise

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘When do we leave this place?’ Tom asked.

  Nicholas could not resist a sly smile. ‘Are you not happy here?’

  ‘I could be, certainly. But we have things to do.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nicholas was not looking forward to facing his superiors to tell them he had been unable to control the crew, and had let a hundred men go to their deaths. He watched Masaru Toshiro leave the inn and come across the garden towards them. The innkeeper had the same sunny disposition as his daughter; his plump face was usually wreathed in smiles, causing him to appear like some happy attendant on Father Christmas at the festive season. But this morning the smile was absent.

  He came up to them, and bowed; he also had sufficient Flemish to carry on a conversation with Nicholas; as both an innkeeper and a farmer he had dealings with the Dutch factors in Nagasaki. ‘Honourable gentlemen,’ he said, in halting Dutch. ‘I must ask you to accompany me.’

  ‘Where to, Mr Masaru?’ Nicholas asked.

  The innkeeper bowed again. ‘Lord Shimadzu-no-Takanawa would receive you, honourable sir.’

  *

  Nicholas determined that he and Tom should appear as British officers rather than castaways. They put on their uniforms, buckled on their swords and revolvers, and followed Masaru up the hill beyond the village, the sea and the sun at their backs, for it was still early in the morning; Nicholas would have liked to be able to say goodbye to Sumiko, but she was not to be seen. They made slow progress, because of the steep slope of the road – although horses were apparently known in Japan, they were very scarce, and not for the use of common folk – yet the walk was pleasant enough. They first of all passed a high wooden redpainted torii, the simple gateway to the Shinto shrine outside the village, the only obvious symbol of religion in these people’s lives. Beyond the shrine were terraced fields, swamped with water so as to allow only a few blades of green to show, yet this was not grass, Masaru informed Nicholas, but rice, the staple foodstuff of the country. The fields were presently empty, but soon they would be filled with men and women, Masaru said, for the harvesting was a matter for all Shimadzu tenants. The fields apparently were not their own, but held in fief from their lord, or daimyo, in this still feudal society, the Shimadzu of Satsuma; at this distance from his seat of power he was represented by his deputy, Shimadzu-no-Takanawa.

  The nobleman’s fortress crowned the hill, and the path ran absolutely straight up to it from the village, which was some two miles away, although undulating up and down between the low hills. At the end, they faced a high wooden palisade made of timbers lashed together and cemented in place with earth and mud, in the centre of which a gate opened as the Englishmen approached. But apparently the time for their audience was not yet. Masaru Toshiro motioned them to halt, slightly to one side of the road, and to wait, for there was already business being conducted before the lord. ‘Is this then a court of law?’ Nicholas asked, for there was quite a large crowd of people in front of them; he had been hoping for a private audience.

  ‘It is the duty of the daimyo to dispense justice, to all his tenants,’ Masaru agreed. ‘But he will not keep you long. The case being heard is that of a wanton woman. While her husband was away from Bungo on business for my lord Takanawa, she did entertain at her home not one, but two men, at various times. As it happened, each of these learned of the other’s visit, with the result that they quarrelled, and would have fought each other. Thus they are brought to justice. But it is finished.’

  From the crowd there came a piteous wailing. ‘Whatever can the sentence be?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘Why, they are to be executed.’

  ‘Executed? Which one?’

  ‘All three of them, honourable sir. What other punishment would you inflict upon criminals?’

  Nicholas scratched his head. During the year he had spent in China he had come into contact with very summary justice, meted out to anyone who was considered to have offended the majesty of the state. It was carried out with no regard for anything an Englishman might consider legality. But this was a domestic matter. ‘The punishment must surely depend on the crime, Mr Masaru. Adultery is a serious business, certainly, and perhaps the woman should be whipped. But the men cannot be condemned for taking what was offered to them, or for falling out over it afterwards. It does not appear as if any blood was spilt.’

  ‘Blood would have been spilt had they not been separated and arrested,’ Masaru argued. ‘None of those three is being condemned for adultery. The men have been found guilty of breaching the peace, and the woman of inciting them to do so, by her actions. It is against the law to fight without proper cause. Even samurai may only fight each other in battle or in the pursuance of a blood feud.’

  ‘But still . . . death, for a breach of the peace?’

  ‘Surely the only punishment for any criminal act must be death? For that is the only punishment which affects young and old, man and woman, prince and pauper alike. To adopt another system, to attempt to differentiate between crimes or between ranks, would be to initiate injustice.’

  Nicholas watched the group come towards him. It had taken on the form of a ceremonial procession, grim enough in view of what he had just heard. First there walked a man carrying a pickaxe, followed by one equipped with a shovel; clearly the gravediggers. Then came another man, carrying a long scroll on which was written a series of Japanese characters, no doubt outlining the offence for which the punishment was being inflicted. Then came the three condemned, their hands bound behind their backs with lengths of silk. Thrust down the back of each kimono was a thin pole, at the top of which, waving above their heads, was a little banner of paper, again bearing Japanese characteristics. The men seemed unconcerned; the woman was a most distressed-looking creature, her hair loose on her shoulders and back, her head bowed, her eyes red with weeping. Last came the executioner. He carried a huge sword in his right hand, resting on his shoulder; in his left hand, like reins, he held the ends of the cords binding his victims’ wrists. On either side of him there walked a soldier, in full armour, carrying a pike, the head of which rested on the shoulder of the male prisoner in front. The woman, in the centre, was spared this indignity, but tears streamed down her face as she passed the dumbfounded Englishmen. ‘How will she be executed?’ Nicholas whispered.

  ‘Oh, by beheading,’ Masaru replied. ‘There is no other custom recognised for common malefactors.’

  ‘When will it happen? Presumably there will first be an appeal to a higher court?’

  Masaru frowned in bewilderment. ‘Appeal? The sentence will be carried out immediately. Watch.’

  Nicholas turned, and gasped in horror. The procession had stopped at the edge of a shallow pit, only a few yards to the right of where he was standing, and the three victims were being made to strip. This seemed an unnecessary obscenity to Nicholas, but Masaru did not appear to find it so. They were then forced to kneel. There was no preamble, and no prayers. The huge sword, held now in both hands, swept above the executioner’s head and crashed down on the first exposed neck. The head disappeared into the pit, carried onwards by the impact; the trunk remained upright for what seemed a full second while blood pumped upwards, cascading down on to the shoulders, Then it slumped forward. But by then the executioner had already moved round to stand by the second man. ‘God in Heaven,’ Tom whispered. ‘Can this be true?’

  The second man was dead. The woman’s shoulders continued to shake as she wept. But neither the constant movement nor the profusion of scattered hair seemed to concern the executioner. Once again the blade, no longer gleaming but instead dark with blood, swept through the air. The executioner stepped down into the pit beside her still shuddering body. Nicholas licked his lips. ‘Must he also bury them?’

  ‘No,’ Masaru said. ‘That is the duty of the eta. But as this is a peculiarly iniquitous crime, my lord Takanawa has decreed that their bodies are to be cut to pieces after death.’

  Nicholas found difficulty in swallowing. But the sword was already
rising and falling with rhythmic power. And half an hour ago he had been considering himself thrown ashore into a perfect paradise, his only discontent that he had not been able to see enough of Masaru Sumiko.

  ‘Now come,’ Masaru said. ‘My lord Takanawa awaits you.’

  *

  Nicholas found himself walking forward, Tom at his shoulder. Between themselves and the palace there remained a dozen heavily armed soldiers. They were helmeted with their fearsome face-masks in place, and inspected them before allowing them to pass and approach an open porch which fronted the main building. Nicholas was for the moment distracted by the large number of people gathered to either side. He saw women as well as men, and no peasants these: the women wore brightly coloured silk kimonos, and carried dainty little fans, and the men’s robes were hardly less brilliant. Everyman had tucked into his girdle the two swords that distinguished the samurai, as well as the other marks of his rank. Each had the shaven scalp with its top-knot of hair, and above everything else the enormous air of arrogance they seemed able to project even when standing still. Incongruously, each man also carried a fan, which he used as vigorously as did the women.

  But these were the onlookers. On the porch, facing them, were the principals. Nicholas was relieved to see Tadatune kneeling on the floor next to his father in the peculiar Japanese fashion. His face was composed but not hostile; Shimadzu-no-Takanawa however, was grim-faced and scowling as he surveyed the two young men. Behind the pair were other men, seated on the floor in the shadows. Nicholas could not help but wonder if they were judges.

  Tadatune stood up. ‘Lieutenant Barrett,’ he said. ‘I speak for my father, because I speak a language we both understand. He wishes me to ask you if you have been well-received since landing in Bungo.’

  ‘We have indeed,’ Nicholas said. ‘And we are most grateful.’

  Tadatune translated, and then turned back to Nicholas again.

  ‘My father now wishes to know the purpose of your visit to our land.’

  ‘As you know, Mr Tadatune, it was not my purpose to come to Bungo at all. We were on passage to Edo when we were wrecked.’

  ‘Well, then, your purpose in going to Edo.’

  Nicholas decided to avoid politics. ‘I am a serving officer in Her Majesty’s Navy, Mr Tadatune. My ship was ordered to go to Edo. My captain did not inform me of the reason.’

  Once again there was a brief conversation between Tadatune and his father. Then Tadatune said, ‘My father says that your purpose in going to Edo was clearly to reinforce the foreign vessels there, with a view to imposing barbarian threats upon the Shōgun, upon all Japan.’

  Nicholas experienced a certain apprehension; up till now Tadatune had been entirely friendly. ‘There is a treaty between the Government of the Shōgun and the Government of Great Britain,’ he said. ‘I assume my ship was being sent to Edo to implement that treaty.’

  ‘The treaty was forced upon the Shōgun, by the black ships. Ships like your own, Lieutenant Barrett. Only larger and more powerful. Ships of war, bringing the threat of war to Nippon.’

  Nicholas licked his lips; the Japanese was unfortunately speaking the exact truth. ‘We do not think in terms of war,’ he protested. ‘Only of trade.’

  ‘Then why are your ships armed?’

  ‘They are armed because your government has for centuries refused to allow honest traders into their waters,’ Nicholas said.

  Tadatune frowned, and translated. There could be no doubt of Takanawa’s anger. He spoke in a high voice, pointing as he did so. Nicholas realised he had perhaps spoken too tartly, but he could not now take the words back. ‘What was your duty on board the wrecked ship, Lieutenant Barrett?’

  Nicholas squared his shoulders; in for a penny, in for a pound. ‘I commanded the guns, your excellency. I estimated the ranges and the charges, aimed them and fired them.’

  ‘You are an expert in gunnery?’

  ‘I am a trained gunner, yes. It is my specialty.’

  ‘And you had to throw your weapons overboard,’ Tadatune said, with considerable sympathy. ‘That must have been difficult for you.’ He conferred with his father. The conversation became quite animated, but Takanawa’s face remained unchangingly hostile, and at last Tadatune gave up and faced the two Englishmen again. ‘You have confessed to a criminal intent, Lieutenant Barrett. You admit that your people have used your warships to force the Shōgun to allow the barbarians into Nippon. You have confessed that your vessel was to be a part of this process. And you have confessed that your specific task would have been to command the guns which would have reduced the Shōgun to obedience to your demands. The Shōgun is old and weak. He is frightened. The Shimadzu are not frightened. They have always opposed the Shōgun’s submission to barbarian threats. To the Shimadzu, all barbarian ships are intruders and pirates, and their crews should be treated as such. Have you anything to say before my father pronounces sentence of death upon you?’

  Nicholas stared at him in consternation. To have survived a shipwreck, been made apparently welcome, and then to be executed . . . ‘Were there guns on board your ship, Lieutenant Barrett?’

  Nicholas’s head jerked. The voice was quiet, but filled with authority; at its sound all the murmuring and rustling around them was stilled. But more important, and amazing than that, it was speaking English! ‘There were nine guns on board my ship,’ Nicholas said.

  There was movement from in front of him, as the various men parted. Tadatune stepped aside, and even Takanawa seemed to bow to the authority of the man who had interrupted his pronouncement of sentence. Nicholas gazed at a very big man, for a Japanese; he stood nearly six feet tall, and had matching shoulders. He was dressed and coiffured as a samurai, his kimono being yellow, but even the loose robes could not conceal the fact that he possessed a powerful body. But it was his eyes that fascinated Nicholas. They gazed at him so penetratingly he almost felt they could see into his brain. ‘I have visited the wreck,’ the big man said. ‘There are gun ports, but no guns.’

  ‘I had them cut loose and jettisoned,’ Nicholas said. ‘In an effort to keep the ship afloat.’

  ‘You were the captain of this vessel?’

  ‘No, your excellency. I was gunnery officer, but when my captain and senior officer were drowned, I took command.’

  The big man gazed at him for several seconds. Then he said, ‘You jettisoned your own guns? How may a man do this?’

  ‘In the Royal Navy, your excellency, the life of the ship, and the men who sail in her, are more important than the guns.’

  Another long stare. ‘What were these guns?’

  ‘We had two seven-inch muzzle-loaders forward, six muzzle-loading sixty-four pounders on the main deck, and another aft.’

  ‘Tell me what you mean by seven-inch?’

  ‘The gun fires a shell seven inches in diameter, your excellency.’

  ‘How big is that?’ Nicholas spread his hands. The samurai made a peculiar whistling sound through their noses in disbelief; obviously some of them understood English. ‘How much might a shot that thick weigh?’ asked the big man.

  ‘About as much as a man,’ Nicholas told him. That was not strictly true, of an Englishman, but a shot weighing a hundred and fifty pounds was certainly as heavy as the average Japanese.

  Once again the samurai whistled their disbelief. ‘And the others?’ asked the big man.

  ‘Just under half of that, your excellency.’

  ‘And your ship had nine cannon capable of firing such shots. But we have seen bigger ships in these waters.’

  ‘We have warships which can carry a hundred such guns, your excellency.’ Again, this was stretching the truth a little; the Royal Navy’s first-raters were being phased out as no longer able to compete with armoured, steam-driven vessels, but there were still a few around; and again, no first-rate was armed with anything heavier than thirty-two pounders. But the big man’s interest was giving him some hope of saving their lives.

  ‘And you were
in charge of these guns,’ the big man commented. ‘Do you know about all guns?’

  ‘Yes, your excellency. I do.’

  The big man turned to Takanawa and spoke brusquely. The daimyo was obviously protesting in reply, but equally obviously he was outranked by the stranger. The big man turned back to Nicholas. ‘My name is Saigo-no-Takamori,’ he said. ‘You will accompany me to Kagoshima, that you may be interviewed by Lord Shimadzu himself.’

  Nicholas allowed himself a sigh of relief. ‘Does this mean we are no longer sentenced to death?’

  Saigo-no-Takamori allowed himself a grim smile. ‘It means that if you are to be sentenced to death, it will be by Lord Shimadzu himself.’

  But at least they had received a reprieve, and there was something peculiarly attractive about Saigo-no-Takamori. Nicholas gazed at Tadatune, who seemed relieved, at his father, who was still angry, and then at the people to either side, whispering amongst themselves behind their fans. All except one, who stood by herself, quite close to the porch of the house, and next to her father; Nicholas realised she must have gone on ahead to be present when they were sentenced. Masaru Sumiko’s fan hung at her side, drooping from the end of her fingers, as she gazed at him. But when she saw him in turn looking at her, the arm came up, and the fan extended, almost as if it were an extension of her fingers, to cover her face, and then drooped again. Nicholas silently cursed the sunlight, which still half dazzled him, as he cursed the variety of colour and movement on either side of him. It was impossible to make out the expression in her eyes, to determine what she had intended by raising her fan and then lowering it again. Certainly his blockheaded stare had at once confused and concerned her. The fan was back in place, and now she turned away. Masaru Sumiko!

  *

  Saigo-no-Takamori travelled to Kagoshima Wan, the Bay of Kagoshima, by boat, and this was at least a pretence at a ship, Nicholas reflected. The galley was some forty feet long, propelled by a single bank of oars, a dozen to a side, and slid through the now calm waters at considerable speed, although it never left the sight of land. They remained within half-a-mile of the coast at all times – the helmsman clearly knew where all the reefs and outlying rocks were situated. The men sang, as they dipped their blades in the water, while the samurai who formed Saigo’s escort took their places in the bow; the wind played with the brilliant paper pennants fluttering from their helmets, as the sun glinted from their armour. Fine armour it was, too, even if, Nicholas discovered, made of heavily lacquered layers of paper rather than metal, and painted in a variety of colours, with red and black and gold the principal choices. They seemed to wear no distinguishing marks, although they uniformly carried their long swords in white scabbards.