by John Allyn
“Oh? And what do the visiting merchants find to occupy themselves with in Edo nowadays?”
“Lessons,” Kataoka said in confidential tones. “Lessons in the tea ceremony.”
“Tea ceremony!” Oishi exploded.
The others looked at one another in surprise. Had Kataoka lost his mind to be playing games with them at a time like this?
“Of course I know the ceremony better than he does,” Kataoka went on calmly, “but the tea master talks a lot and that part is entertaining.”
“I’m glad you’re amused,” Oishi said sarcastically. “Some of us are not so fortunate in being able to choose the way we spend our time.”
But Kataoka was not the kind to take a gentle hint.
“I learn much gossip of the court from my teacher,” he went on imperturbably. “About many of those in high places.”
“And how does this help us?” Hara asked impatiently. “I couldn’t care less about the gossip of the court.”
“But it would be nice to know Kira’s plans in advance, wouldn’t it?”
“Of course it would.”
“Well, my teacher has a client who should be an excellent source for such information.”
“And who is this client?” Hara asked wearily.
“I thought you’d never ask. He used to be court Master of Ceremonies. His name is Kira.”
All those present reacted in pleased surprise. Kataoka had indeed made progress.
“Well done, Kataoka,” Oishi said with a smile. “I knew you weren’t just wasting our time.”
“I didn’t,” Hara growled, and then laughed along with the rest of them.
Onodera nodded his gray head.
“I can’t think of a better way to keep up with Kira’s social life—and as it appears, that’s what we need to know about most. If we can pin him down to a specific place and time . . .”
There was no need to say more. All were busy with their own thoughts until Oishi remembered some unfinished business.
“Hara, you were reporting on the men’s tours of duty. Did you say that there are still some who haven’t seen Kira?”
Again Hara hesitated.
“That is true.”
“And for what reason?”
Hara scowled at the floor. This was the kind of report he hated to make.
“Because some of the men on the list have—disappeared.”
“Disappeared,” Oishi echoed bitterly. “You mean deserted, don’t you?”
Hara made no answer and Oishi sighed.
“How many have left us?”
“About a third of our force.”
“And you didn’t mention this before?” Oishi asked in some anger.
“It makes no difference,” Hara said doggedly. “We’ll go ahead without them.”
“You shouldn’t be too surprised,” Onodera said gently to Oishi. “You yourself said some men would turn from us when the scent of battle was actually in the air.”
Oishi nodded.
“I know. Forgive my outburst.” He shot a glance at Horibe. “You were right, Horibe, when you said time was against us. How could I expect to keep the men at a fever pitch for battle when I kept putting them off?”
Horibe shook his head.
“It’s not time that’s working against us—only fear.”
“Caused partly by the disunity of our organization,” Oishi said, “which will become worse with my isolation.”
He sighed. A drastic move was evidently called for. In spite of the dangers involved, it was important to do something about their unity. He went to the door and beckoned to the man outside.
“Mimura,” he said as the servant stepped in, “I have a special mission for you.”
Mimura’s head bobbed rapidly as he listened.
“I want you to find a suitable place—a public restaurant, perhaps—where we can all assemble.”
“All of us?” asked Hara in alarm.
“Yes,” Oishi said grimly. “It’s time for one last meeting to reaffirm our purposes before our ‘fighting men’ drift away, one by one.”
The others murmured among themselves in concern but Oishi continued with his instructions to the servant. It was essential that the loyal band grow no smaller.
After a few days of searching, Mimura found that Oishi’s suggestion of a public restaurant as a meeting place was a good one. They could meet in the middle of the day like any other group of merchants and call themselves a “social group.”
In Fukagawa, a central district of the city, he found an inn with large private dining rooms and reserved one on the ground floor. His reasoning was that in a downstairs room they would have a better chance of fighting their way out of any trap that might be sprung. He asked to see the kitchen on the pretext that his group was particular about the food it was served, and noted the location of the rear door for use in case of an emergency. He also asked that his party be disturbed as little as possible during the meal as the financial measures under discussion would require great concentration.
When the arrangements were completed, Oishi sent out word to all the Ako men remaining in Edo and on the appointed day they began to gather. Mimura entered the dining room with Oishi, then went to make one last inspection of the kitchen to be sure the rear exit was unobstructed. He had barely put his head in the door, however, before he quickly closed it and ran white-faced back to Oishi.
“We can’t meet here,” he spluttered excitedly.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Mimura,” said Oishi gruffly. “I’ll decide whether we meet here or not.”
“I’m sorry,” Mimura apologized. “I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds. . . .”
“Get to the point,” Oishi said. “What is the matter?”
“It’s the boy—the fire boy who was in our house in Edo before . . . before our Lord Asano’s death. He’s here in this kitchen! Fortunately, I got out before he saw me. But if he should come into the dining room for any reason . . .”
Oishi thought rapidly. “The chances are if he’s only a kitchen helper, he won’t be serving us. . . . How did you happen to miss him before? I thought you’d inspected this place and found it safe?”
“I’m sorry,” Mimura said in abject apology. “He wasn’t here the other day. I should have checked this morning. . . . It is an oversight I most seriously regret.”
“There’s no help for it now,” said Hara, who had entered in time to learn of their difficulty. “We must move elsewhere.”
“We can’t switch our plans at this late date,” objected Oishi. “Everyone will be here soon. We have no alternative but to go ahead and meet as planned.”
“But if the boy sees any of us from the old house . . .” said Mimura despairingly.
“If he does,” interrupted Oishi, “it will be your job to take care of him. You got us into this, you’ll have to get us out. . . . Sit by the door leading to the kitchen. Listen for approaching servants and warn us when they’re coming. You can clear your throat or propose a toast or something. And if the servant who enters is that wretched fire boy, I want you to cause him to die a ‘natural death’ on the spot. How to do it I leave up to you. Understood?”
Mimura nodded helplessly.
“Now take your place. The meeting will be starting any minute and we don’t want to cause any delays.”
With a quick look around, Oishi went to take his place at the head of the table. Mimura stationed himself as ordered and Kataoka sat beside him to furnish aid if required. The others were now beginning to arrive.
When they were all present, the lunch began and Oishi was relieved to see that the serving was all handled by waitresses. The dishes were brought rapidly and the girls then withdrew in accordance with their instructions. Now Oishi called for everyone’s attention. He wasted no time in getting to the point.
“Comrades,” he began, with great emotion in his voice, “I’m glad to see you all here. The time we’ve been waiting for is near, and final plans must be made
. Before going ahead, I must know who I can count on. With fewer men than this we cannot hope to succeed. I hope you can appreciate that fact and will respond honestly.”
There was a murmur of agreement and he continued, much encouraged. He announced that he had a new oath to present which they were all to sign in blood. He paused and then began to read it to them.
“No matter what one’s assignment may be in this matter, or no matter how menial one might consider such an assignment, there shall be no difference in honor or merit between one follower and the next, provided that he fulfills his duty to the best of his ability. Each of us must help the others at all times, seeking no individual glory. It must also be thoroughly understood. . . .”
He was suddenly interrupted by Mimura who was coughing loudly. “A toast,” he called out, “a toast to Hara, I mean Harano, the rice dealer!”
“To Harano, the rice dealer,” the others echoed and drank down their cups of saké as a waitress entered from the kitchen to check their progress.
“To the drapery dealer from Kyoto,” called out Mimura next and the others repeated the toast and drank to Kataoka, who grinned sheepishly. Then the waitress was gone and Oishi concluded reading the pledge.
“It must be thoroughly understood that none of us are free to act as we wish even after Kira has been killed. Procedures to be followed then will depend on circumstances we cannot foresee and will be announced at that time.”
The men murmured in approval and when lunch was over and they came to bid farewell to their leader each signed his name in blood. There were forty-seven signers to this document, including one man in his seventies; five in their sixties, including Yoshida and Onodera; four in their fifties, including Hara; four in their forties, including Oishi; eighteen in their thirties, including Kataoka and Horibe; thirteen in their twenties, including Onodera’s son Koemon; and Yato and Chikara, who were both seventeen. Each was handed detailed instructions as to armor, weapons, signals, meeting places, and names of their immediate leaders. The actual time and place of the attack remained to be set. All else was decided.
The men went as they had come, in twos and threes, until only Oishi and Mimura were left. Oishi now permitted himself to relax and even smile. Mimura came toward him tentatively with a crooked little smile of his own and they went out together, both pleased at the success of the meeting.
After a moment some kitchen helpers came in to clear the tables. One of them was the fire boy from Lord Asano’s mansion. He was picking up some dishes at Oishi’s place when he noticed a soiled napkin on the floor. He picked it up and looked at it curiously. It was covered with dots of blood and he threw it onto the table distastefully. If his curiosity had been more intense, he might have counted the stains and found that there were exactly forty-seven.
Not to be outdone by Kataoka, Hara established his own contact with Kira’s household. He opened a rice shop and actually got their enemy’s kitchen steward for a customer. The steward demanded a large discount so that Hara actually sold the rice for less than he paid for it, but in this case a business loss could be profitable in other ways. He was not allowed to deliver the rice inside Kira’s gates—the security measures were much too strict for that—but he was in a position to know when extra quantities of rice might be needed for entertainment purposes. Horibe had already befriended a priest who was a social acquaintance of Kira’s; some of the other followers used their own methods to try to pin down the movements of their elusive quarry.
But it was Kataoka, through his tea master, who got the first real lead.
He had gone for his weekly lesson and was bravely sipping the poorly made tea from an oversized cup when the tea master was called to the door to receive a message. While his back was turned, Kataoka dumped the tea into the hibachi, but the tea master, a cherubic fellow with a shaved head like a priest, was so excited when he returned that he failed to notice.
“Guess what,” he gushed. “I’ve been invited to a party!”
“That’s nice,” murmured Kataoka, as he pretended to sip from his cup. “It must be an important occasion to give you so much pleasure.”
“Oh, it is! At Lord Kira’s house . . .”
Kataoka caught his breath and held it.
“. . . a ceremonial tea on the morning of December 6. I’m so flattered that he’s asked me. I haven’t been in Edo long, but already I’m beginning to make my way in society.”
“Yes,” said Kataoka, “you certainly are. And the ceremonial is to be at Lord Kira’s house?”
“Yes, at his mansion. Oh, I wish I could take you with me. You’ve never been inside a real Edo mansion, have you?”
“No,” lied Kataoka, who was remembering back to that fateful morning when Lord Asano had gone out of his mansion for the last time.
“But of course I haven’t the right to invite you. I understand Lord Kira is very particular about his guests and has guards to check the invitations. Do you suppose he’s still afraid some of Lord Asano’s followers might be after him?”
“I don’t know why he should think that—after so long a time.”
“Yes—that’s the way I look at it. If they really wanted revenge, they would have taken it a long time ago.”
Kataoka nodded as the man talked on.
“It only goes to show that the day of the samurai is over, after all. When they don’t uphold their own code, what can they expect will happen to the morals of the rest of the country?”
Kataoka gritted his teeth and said nothing.
“Anyway, it promises to be a grand occasion at Lord Kira’s. Now then, shall we get back to our lesson?”
Kataoka obediently raised the empty cup to his lips and pretended to sip, turning it a little at a time as etiquette required. The morning of the sixth, he was thinking, meant that an attack could be mounted on the evening of the fifth with reasonable assurance that their man would be at home.
Kataoka had already reported the party to Oishi when word came from other sources that it had been postponed. The monkey-faced man scheduled an extra session with his tea master and learned that this was indeed true. The tea master was tearfully disappointed and could only hope that another chance would come. It seemed that the Shogun was having a party on the same date and Kira had canceled his own arrangements so that he could attend.
The men’s spirits were deflated, but the following week when Kataoka went for his lesson they were again given reason for hope. This time he learned that there would definitely be a year’s end party at Kira’s some time in December. He relayed this to Oishi and the report was confirmed by Horibe, whose priest friend had asked him to deliver a letter of acceptance to the same party to Kira’s gate.
The party was set for the fourteenth and Oishi felt a cold chill when he heard the date. Kataoka and Horibe recognized its significance, too, and gave Oishi meaningful glances. It was the same day of the month as Lord Asano’s death and a sure omen that the time to strike had come at last!
Chapter Nineteen
Snow began to fall on the night of the eleventh. It was a heavy fall and looked as if it would continue for several days. The people in the streets were heavily wrapped, hurrying, and had no eye for such things as the movements of strangers. It was ideal weather for the conspirators from Ako.
Oishi’s final plan was simple: a simultaneous attack on both Kira’s front and rear gates with his full force. Once the gates were taken, the older men would stay by them to guard against outside interference while the younger ones would enter the house to find their man.
Oishi would lead the assault on the front gate and the subsequent invasion of the house itself; Hara would be in charge at the rear and Onodera and Yoshida would command the forces outside. Weapons and uniforms had all been obtained and would be donned just before the attack. Every man knew his place and his target; now there was nothing to do but wait.
As the morning of the twelfth came and then the thirteenth the snow still fell, but there was no word of cancelation
or postponement of Kira’s party. The excitement of the men from Ako grew day by day and Oishi felt as exhilarated as any of them.
On the morning of the fourteenth, he went alone to Sengaku-ji temple to pay his last respects to Lord Asano. It was the first time he had risked being free of the surveillance of his guards and he knew he was taking a risk, but it was less conspicuous to go by himself than with a small army.
In the cemetery he wiped the snow from the plaque before Lord Asano’s grave and once again raised his head to speak with his dead master.
“We are ready, my Lord, to take revenge.”
He paused and imagined that these words brought the same satisfaction to Lord Asano’s ears as they did to his own.
“Your loyal forces have gathered. Before the night is over some or all of us may have sacrificed our lives, but we count it as nothing because our cause is duty and our cause is honorable.
“Whether we succeed or not, we are sure to join you soon and this gives us courage in our undertaking. The forces we oppose are superior in number but with our spirit we are sure to vanquish them—or to die trying. We will have the element of surprise on our side and with luck will be able to find our man quickly with no unnecessary shedding of blood.”
Once again he pledged his loyalty to the death and then with a deep bow of respect, he left Sengaku-ji.
At the corner where the pathway to the cemetery joined the post road stood a small country inn and as Oishi passed he could hear music and drunken shouting. He frowned at the image this brought to his mind of samurai misbehaving; this was indeed typical of Edo.
But then his brow unwrinkled as the clear notes of a samisen were heard and a girl began to sing. He smiled and then felt a twinge of remorse. He saw Okaru’s face before him and knew that the days with her at Yamashina would haunt him as long as he lived. He sighed and after a while he moved thoughtfully away.
At the gateway to the inn, almost hidden by the snow, a blind beggar called for alms. Oishi almost stumbled over him, then walked on. After a few steps, however, he stopped. The beggar had a sword beside him, a samurai sword, and Oishi could not ignore it. For all he knew it could bear the crest of Asano—it could be one of his own men who had struck bottom.