Bloody Sunrise

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘You have all of your life left, to be alone with your wife, Barrett san. Do not be impatient. There will even be time left for that, tonight.’

  *

  All his life, to be alone, with Sumiko. How vast was the room, on a sudden. The dais was at the farthest end away from the doorway, through the two opened walls. Sumiko knelt, her body arched forward, her forehead close to the floor. Her brief enjoyment of power was over; now she was alone with her lord.

  ‘Do not kneel, Sumiko,’ Nicholas said. ‘Not to me.’

  Her body slowly raised itself. She wore, so far as he could see, a single robe of white silk, and knelt beside the mattress on which they would consummate this night’s work. Beside her was a tray, on which was a cup of sake. She gazed at him, her black eyes pinpoints in the whiteness of her face. Her face itself was expressionless. He crossed the floor, slowly. Incredibly, at this moment he had no desire. Tadatune’s words hung in his brain, and he was overwhelmed with the responsibility of what he had done. She watched him approach. ‘May I serve my lord?’ she whispered. Her voice trembled. The composure was, after all, only as deep as her paint.

  He halted at the dais. ‘I will serve you, Sumiko.’

  He reached for the cup, lifted it to her lips. Her hand came up, and closed on his, and was as quickly withdrawn. She sipped the sake, watching him all the while. ‘My lord has but to command,’ she whispered.

  Only command, he thought. Whatsoever I wish, from the sublime to the obscene, and my bride will humour me. He shook his head. ‘I have commanded, without intending it. I had no wish to make this happen, this way, Sumiko.’

  She gazed at him, uncertain what he meant. He chewed his lip, took the cup from her hands, drank some sake. If ever he needed stimulation, it was now. ‘Do I not please you, my lord?’

  ‘You are like a gift from the gods, Sumiko. I meant that in my country, a man is allowed to plight his own troth.’

  ‘For what reason, my lord?’

  ‘Why, because, if he is a man of any sensibility, he will be able to discern whether or not his future wife would have it so.’

  ‘And he would be concerned with her wishes, my lord?’

  ‘With common folk, yes. Where property or station is involved, probably not.’

  ‘And I bring you nothing, my lord. I am a desolate creature.’

  He knelt beside her. ‘You bring me yourself. Willingly, Sumiko?’

  ‘Willingly, my lord.’

  He took her hands, drawing them from the sleeves of the kimono. So small, so delicately formed. And now indeed his heart was pounding. Because, after all, there was mystery here. He had touched her hands, and nothing more, all this while. ‘I have dreamed of you, Sumiko.’

  ‘And I of you, my lord.’

  ‘But I am a stranger to Japanese customs, Sumiko. I am prepared to learn, but I would wish my wife to share in my customs, equally.’

  ‘You have but to command, my lord.’ But her gaze was watchful. What new, and strange, and perhaps terrible, fate was he about to inflict upon her? The bodice of her robe rose and fell more quickly. What lay beneath that? What beauty? What treasure? She had seen everything he had to offer. And he had done nothing more than touch her hand. He touched her chin, and her eyes flickered. He gripped the chin, and heard the sharp intake of her breath. Perhaps she expected to be throttled. Still holding her chin, he brought her face forward. Her eyes widened, the pupils dilated. But she would submit, to whatever he wished, because she had been trained, for that.

  His lips touched hers. Her eyes were an inch away, gazing at him, wider than ever. He moved his lips against hers, inhaled her breath as it came from her nostrils, felt the lips parting as he touched them with his tongue, and withdrew it in haste; her teeth were painted black. Sumiko gazed at him, a faint line creasing the white paint between her eyes. ‘My lord?’ she whispered.

  ‘Why do you blacken your teeth?’

  ‘Because I am married, my lord. It is to signify my fidelity. Tomorrow I will shave my eyebrows.’

  ‘Shave your . . . does what I have just done please you?’

  ‘I am here to please you, my lord.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I would have it so for both of us. Sumiko, I would like you to wash your face, remove your paint, and take the blackness from your teeth. Will you do that for me?’

  Still the unblinking gaze. ‘I will do whatever you wish, my lord. But the teeth . . . I cannot cleanse them completely.’

  ‘Nonetheless, do what you can. Now, Sumiko.’ She knelt over the basin of water. Her back was turned to him, her body a wisp of life in the huge empty room. She was his. The thought came to him with increasing force. The realisation, the understanding, reached down from his mind into his belly. He had to touch her. He placed his hands on her thighs, moved them upwards and forwards. Beneath the silk there were small, hand-filling, hard-pointed mounds of flesh.

  His fingers released her girdle, parted her kimono while he knelt against her back, feeling the silk against him. Her hands scooped water to her face. Did she shiver? Was the water too cold, or was it the touch of his fingers as they slid inside, to reach the firmness of her belly, stroke down to thigh and groin, move inwards to jungle and gateway, prison and paradise. ‘My face is clean, my lord,’ she whispered.

  And wet. His hands moved backwards, bringing the robe with it. He knelt, away from her, the robe in his hands. She rose to her feet, her back still to him, went down the steps to reach the towel rack, dried her face with careful pats, hesitated, and turned to face him. Perhaps consciously, she inhaled, to swell her chest, sucking her belly flat. Her midnight hair drifted forward over her left shoulder, and lay in strands around her nipple. The breasts were small, but still compelling. And beneath the lurking forest of love the legs were delicate stems, neither long nor strong, but entrancingly youthful. He realised that he had no idea how old she was, but she could hardly be a day over fifteen. And she was his wife. ‘Come,’ he said.

  She knelt beside him. And looked beyond him, to the shrine. Now she bent forward from the waist, and gave two quick claps with her hands. ‘Why do you do that, Sumiko?’

  ‘To summon the kami of the shrine, my lord. That I may pray to him for his protection.’

  ‘Do you fear me, Sumiko?’

  ‘No, my lord. Not if it is in my power to make you happy.’

  ‘And have you prayed?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Then give me your tongue.’ She hesitated again, opened her mouth, waited, and thrust her tongue forward to be kissed and sucked, caressed with his own. Now she did tremble, but she did not move. ‘In Japan,’ he said, ‘men and women do not kiss each other’s mouths. Is it not stimulating, Sumiko?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  He sighed. She would not resist even his thoughts. And so, he felt frustrated. Was this manhood? Or was there a devil lurking in the pit of his belly? She was an utterly beautiful child, who belonged to him, utterly. And yet he could not accept what she would so willingly give, without fear or without anger, without haste and without reluctance. ‘Does my lord wish, again?’ she asked.

  She was bewildered. He had chosen her as his bride, after living for six months in Kagoshima, surrounded by all the beauty of the city women. And now she could see the conflicting emotions in his eyes, perhaps feel the anger emanating from his body. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not now. Lie down, Sumiko. On your back. Stretch your arms above your head, and spread your legs as wide as you can.’

  Prostrate yourself, he thought. But she obeyed, without question. Before him, then, was all a man could ever want: surrendered womanhood. Surrendered girlhood. Girl into woman, before him, at his feet. His to do with as he wished. She gazed at him, with anxious, watchful eyes, wishing only to anticipate his desires. To please him. Christ in Heaven, he thought: where then are the sweet words of love, the soft caresses, the gentle touches, if this is the truth of the matter?

  He knelt, between her legs, to take possession of his bride.
>
  *

  ‘Left, left, left right left!’ Nicholas bawled, as the company of riflemen shambled along. ‘Do they not know their right from their left?’ he asked Togo Heihachiro, who had been deputed to help him with the drill.

  ‘I doubt they care, Barrett san. They wish only to fire these new rifles. What difference does it make where a man puts his feet?’

  ‘The important thing, Togo san, is that they move as a unit. That is the secret of successful manoeuvering. Surely the samurai understand this?’

  ‘Each samurai is his own man, Barrett san.’

  ‘But in battle . . .’

  ‘In battle more than at any other time.’

  Nicholas scratched his head. ‘Your samurai do not fight as an army? In divisions?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Then they must do what their commander tells them to, as one man.’

  ‘How may one samurai tell another how to fight, Barrett san? It is the duty of a commander to bring his men to the field, in good order, and with their equipment intact, and there show them their enemy. From that moment onwards, it is up to the individual samurai to face up to an adversary and despatch him.’

  Nicholas was aghast. ‘You mean, you do not seek advantage of ground? Surprise marches? Manoeuvres out of sight of the enemy? Subterfuge? General Saigo told me you Japanese believe in subterfuge.’

  ‘Of course, Barrett san. Before a battle, and during a campaign. But once the decision to fight has been taken, why . . . you speak of surprise marches, of seeking a better ground – these things are surely dishonourable.’

  ‘Togo, they may have been dishonourable when you could approach within two hundred yards of your enemy at no risk. But let me tell you this: if you attempt to bring a body of men on to a field for a series of individual combats against an enemy armed with these rifles, which can kill at half-a-mile, you are not going to have any troops left to bring to battle.’

  ‘It is honour which is important,’ Togo insisted.

  *

  Nicholas went off to have a word with Saigo, but he found the general preoccupied. Lord Shimadzu had left Kagoshima some time before, to visit Edo, and make a last appeal to the Shōgun to unite his people against the barbarian threat; he felt that now his army was being equipped with modern weapons, he was in a much stronger position to press his point of view. Nicholas had been pleased to see him go, for he had been promised that if Shimadzu succeeded, he and Tom would be released and allowed to rejoin the Navy. He did not know how much he could believe that, but it was at least a hope . . . now, one look at Saigo’s face indicated that a crisis had arisen.

  ‘These intolerable barbarians,’ Saigo growled. ‘They dare to flout every Japanese law and custom. Thus it was that as Lord Shimadzu and his escort marched through the streets of Yokohama, this white man dared to ride his horse across their path. Across the path of a daimyo! And what a daimyo!’

  ‘He was arrested?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘Arrested? He was cut down, on the instant, by Lord Shimadzu’s guards.’

  ‘Cut down?’ Nicholas cried. ‘You mean, killed?’

  ‘When a samurai cuts a man down, Barrett san, the man dies.’

  Nicholas scratched his head. ‘This man, what was his nationality?’

  ‘I am sorry to say he was English, Barrett san.’

  ‘The deed was well done,’ said one of the samurai in attendance on the general. ‘It should be done to all who defy the laws of Japan.’

  ‘Of course I agree with you.’ Saigo said. ‘But the British are making much trouble about it, and demanding great indemnities and goods and the punishment of the men who defended our lord. These things Lord Shimadzu has refused to concede, and thus he has cut short his visit to the north, and is returning here with all haste, to await the outcome of negotiations between the Shōgun and the British. The British are saying that if their demands are not met, they will attack Kagoshima. Ha! We shall teach these insolent barbarians that they cannot provoke Japanese samurai. Death to the British!’

  ‘Death to the British!’ shouted the samurai.

  And death to you all, Nicholas thought, if it does come to a fight. But if it came to a fight . . . ‘You must realise that my position would be intolerable,’ he explained to Saigo. ‘You cannot ask me to fire upon my own countrymen.’

  ‘It is a question of where your interests lie, Barrett san.’

  *

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Tom asked, as they sat at supper with Barrett Sumiko. It was, Nicholas supposed, a charming domestic scene. Sumiko, as might have been expected of a Japanese woman, had settled in very quickly as the wife of the Shimadzu military instructor. She ruled the household with an iron will, although she was younger than the majority of her servants. Even Kisuda did not dare purchase any fish or vegetables without first submitting them to the inspection of his mistress, and she would turn away anything of which she had the least doubt.

  Equally did she supervise the household chores with meticulous inspection. Nicholas had not found anything to complain about before her arrival; like most men he had not noticed the odd cobweb or speck of dust. He had been content as long as his clothes were laundered and his food was tasty and on time. Sumiko decided, within an hour of her arrival, that the place was filthy, and again, in true Japanese fashion, had disciplined the maid servants herself. The sight of four girls bending their naked bodies before his very young, so apparently fragile wife while she applied a bamboo cane to their buttocks until they screamed in agony, was at once titillating and disturbing. ‘Do you not think you are a bit hard on them?’ he had ventured.

  ‘Bah! They are honin,’ she had replied. ‘They only understand the rod.’

  ‘Perhaps it should be a man’s work.’ He had not been thinking of himself – he would have been quite unable to do it the moment they started crying – but of Kisuda.

  ‘You would demean yourself,’ she pointed out, quietly but firmly. ‘It is my business.’

  What she thought of having Tom as a permanent guest Nicholas did not know. Clearly she accepted the midshipman as a member of Nicholas’ family much as she would have accepted a true relative, or relatives. He understood that she was very pleased to have no senior females about; in a normal Japanese household the son’s wife was entirely the servant of his mother, forced to obey her in all things, and if indeed she was the wife of a younger son her entire future was one of servitude; the senior wife could expect to succeed to the management of the household in due course. Certainly Sumiko and Tom seemed to enjoy each other’s company; they were more of an age. Nicholas recognised that it was an absurdity that he, aged only twenty-three, should feel so much older than his fifteen-year-old wife or his seventeen-year-old friend, but he did feel they were no more than children, and therefore an immense responsibility.

  No thought of impropriety, of course, ever entered any of their heads, even if all three of them bathed together every morning. Even had Sumiko not been brought up to believe her husband was everything, she as much as he was aware of the likely punishment for adultery. ‘We simply must escape, now,’ Tom said.

  Nicholas looked at his wife; Sumiko did not understand English. ‘You know that is impossible.’

  ‘You mean you are too comfortable,’ Tom said.

  ‘Do you not hope to be equally comfortable, some time soon?’

  Tom sighed. ‘Not soon. I have discussed the matter with Sumiko.’ Tom changed to Japanese. ‘I have been telling Nicholas of your advice, regarding Ise Suiko.’

  Sumiko gave Nicholas an anxious glance, and bowed her head.

  ‘And her advice was?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘Roughly the same as yours. That I have no chance of obtaining her hand until I am a samurai. But that when I do become a samurai, there is every possibility of success.’

  ‘Well, then?’

  ‘There’s not much chance of that now, is there?’ Tom demanded. ‘If the Navy does decide to bombard Kagoshima, and we refuse to figh
t the guns . . .’

  ‘I think it is a good idea not to cross our bridges until we come to them,’ Nicholas said. ‘The Navy may never bombard Kagoshima. In fact, I doubt it will happen. The matter will be amicably resolved.’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’

  ‘We must believe it, Tom. And in the meantime, continue to train Shimadzu’s troops. And become samurai.’

  *

  He could only wait, and pray. Lord Shimadzu duly returned to Kagoshima, but not in the least conciliatory. As far as he was concerned his men had done nothing less than their duty – the fact that the man they had killed was English was neither here nor there. They would have cut down a Japanese with equal celerity. It was the Shōgun who had allowed the barbarians to settle in Japan and make themselves a nuisance; it was up to the Shōgun to sort out this problem. He was, however, very pleased with the progress of the Satsuma army, and publicly congratulated Nicholas. ‘Does that mean we can look forward to being allowed to leave?’ Nicholas asked.

  Saigo gave one of his inscrutable smiles. ‘I would say the time is coming closer, Barrett san. But you understand this crisis must first be resolved. If the Shōgun does not behave honourably, then we of Satsuma can no longer accept him.’

  ‘And you’ll expect Midshipman Ebury and myself to fight for you?’

  ‘Will it not be a brief campaign, with our new weapons and training?’

  In all the circumstances, Nicholas reckoned the sooner this expected confrontation took place the better – certainly before the British Government made up its mind what it was going to do. His situation became even more complicated when Sumiko, with great delight, informed him that she was pregnant.

  ‘You’re going to be a father!’ Tom remarked in disgust. ‘That puts back any chance of escaping.’

  ‘There was never any chance of escaping,’ Nicholas told him.

  *

  He could not prevent himself from being equally delighted, and concentrated on his duties in preference to attempting to foresee the future. He was drilling his riflemen on a field outside the city, and at last feeling he was getting some concept of unity into their heads, an understanding that together they might be invincible, while individually they would be just as vulnerable as any other samurai, when he was disturbed by Togo, running towards him. ‘Barrett san!’ the young samurai shouted. ‘Come quickly!’