Taiso
By
Peter G Bailey
Smashwords Edition
PGPublishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 by Peter G Bailey
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First published in Great Britain by PG Publishing
First published electronically in Great Britain by Amazon in 2011.
All characters in this book are fictitious and bear no relationship to any person, alive or dead, known to the author.
A catalogue record for all published eBooks is held in the British Library.
ISBN 978-0-9569572-7-6
Dedication:- To Joy - From darkness lead me to Joy
Dedicated US Naval Captain takes command of a newly commissioned super aircraft carrier hoping to influence American foreign policy. His intentions are frustrated when ‘The Whisperer,’ a large asteroid strikes the Earth’s surface and wipes many countries and most of the world’s population.
14 ‘God’s Playthings II’ Published on Amazon, Kindle, iPad, iPhone, Android devices, PC and Macs. ISBN 978-0-9569875-3-2 Sequel to 14.
With the world virtually destroyed by ‘The Whisperer’ asteroid, US Captain Marcus Kelloway steers his giant aircraft and battle fleet into clear air to be found in the Antarctic and only returns to Norfolk, Virginia after four years to find the US President, having survived the asteroid in underground shelters is keen to take advantage of the World situation and introduce a new World order. Sent to China to replenish his sister battlefleet Kelloway finds himself fighting Chinese survivors and in an IBM exchange the rest of the world, including the two American super fleets, is obliterated leaving just a few pockets civilisation. Two thousand years later the world still has not recovered and is populated by using flint using beings.
Glossary of terms used.
One Sentence Synopsis:-
Returning warlord settles neighbour dispute.
Synopsis
Kumi Takura, acclaimed Taiso in the shogun’s sixteenth century samurai army, returns home after a long absence to find his sick father is about to lose his province for non-payment of tax dues. Discovering the taxes have been collected and converted by his father’s unscrupulous chancellor Takura dispenses quick justice only to find settling one dispute leads to others until he finds himself fighting a full scale war to achieve justice, but his actions lead his sweetheart and a suspicious shogun to suspect his motives.
Brief Synopsis.
One sentence synopsis:
Returning warlord robustly settles neighbour dispute.
One paragraph synopsis:
Kumi Takuma, acclaimed taiso in the Shogun’s sixteenth century samurai army, returns home to find his sick father’s liege lord is about to foreclose on his province for non-payment of taxes and tithes and grant the title to his manipulative uncle.
Historical briefing notes:
In sixteenth century Japan (1590AD) Toyotomi Hideyoshi finally establishes himself as military dictator over the whole country by means of multiple alliances or by cowering those who oppose him and begins planning to extend Japanese hegemony to mainland Asia and beyond.
An uneasy and resentful peace in Japan has settled after many years of military campaigning throughout the length and breadth of the Japanese mainland and islands. The fictitious Kumi Takura fought in many of these battles on the orders of Hideyoshi, his leader.
There is little European influence in the land apart from a few Portuguese missionaries trying to convert the predominantly Zen Buddhist population to Christianity. They mostly fail after falling under the suspicion of being a subversive influence to the newly unified state.
Two years earlier in Europe the Spanish Armada had been defeated.
Taiso
Chapter One
Return to Yamanashi.
On the lug-sailed warship bearing the thousand gourd Mon of the Japanese military dictator Toyotomi Hideyoshi the oarsmen gratefully shipped their paddle bladed oars soon after passing the island of Awaji to allow a kindly current sweeping down the Kii Suido from the inner sea to bear them effortlessly along the coast of Shikoku and around the headland of Muroto Saki at a greater speed than they could achieve by their own physical efforts. Ahead lay the broad Tosa Wan bay where fickle sea currents would not be so favourable, nor indeed, would the wind. That had been light and uncertain on leaving Osaka several hours earlier.
Above the oarsmen’s bowed heads the huge white lug sail hung limply from its single braced crossbeam, its only movement an occasional ripple across the face of the heavy material induced more by the rolling motion of the moderate Pacific ocean swell sweeping regularly spaced waves under the keel and on to the far shore, than by the efforts of the light breeze. The wind would not rise again until the evening, and that, coming from abeam, would merely add leeway without greatly aiding progress through the water. With seventy-five miles still to travel the rowers knew the stroke master would soon be rapping out a warning beat on his animal skin drum to prepare them to resume the heavy rowing task.
Yamanashi, the destination of the warship, lay on the far side of the bay just below the headland of Ashizuri Saki. Rowing at a steady seven-and-a-half knots an hour, the journey normally took forty-eight hours of continuous effort, but this voyage would not take so long. The rowers were well ahead of schedule and they were not seeking to break any records, although had the captain known how favourable the wind and tide would be, a prestige making record attempt might have been attempted; but the only passenger of note, Lord Kumi Takura, returning home for the first time in fourteen years, lacked interest in such records. After many years of continuous military campaigning on the mainland with Taiso Kato Kiyomasa’s all-conquering army, he needed relaxation and a peaceful sea voyage helped that.
Kumi Takura was to lead one of the armies in a forthcoming Japanese invasion of Chosen, a country on the mainland of Asia known, in later years, as Korea. He once hoped to be the lead general, but Kato Kiyomasa impressed the military dictator, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, with a startling and successful campaign against the warlike Hojo clan while Takura found himself bogged down in a wearing, time-consuming siege in northern Honshu. The comparison between the two records had not worked in his favour.
Having brought the warring clans of Japan under one authority for the first time in over one hundred years Toyotomi Hideyoshi intended to extend Japanese influence over Mainland China and Mongolia with the attack on Chosen being the precursor. Two invasions in 1582 and 1592 failed through the erosion of home support and through the threat of coups and counter-coups amongst the turbulent mainland military clans. Realising the need to set his own house in order before embarking on foreign adventures Toyotomi Hideyoshi launched a campaign of suppression in his own country. From unpromising beginnings and in a series of brilliant military campaigns, he gained total dominance. Spurred on by that success he now contemplated colonial acquisitions.
As he rested Lord Kumi Takura felt content with life and his future looked promising. In the hold under his feet lay the accumulated plunder of years of fighting all over mainland Japan and that made him a wealthy man. As a samurai general living and fighting to a very tight code of warrior ethics and dubious morality he never failed to profit from his enemies’ misfortunes by translating military success into personal gain.
Between decks rested his personal bodyguard, retainers and servants. For the one important passenger the ship’s captain carried an endless list of extra passengers.
The midday sun shone warmly as Takura sat on the upper deck watching the distant shoreline drift slowly past. Dressed in a comfortable bronze coloured kami-shimo he carried only a single short tanto thrust through a reddish gold tasuki tied ceremonially around his slim waist instead of the more usual but cumbersome dai-sho sword and dagger combination.
His personal bodyguard, the giant Korean, Chiyonofuji sat in watchful silence on his master’s lacquered armour trunk between him and any source of danger. Besides his lord’s fighting katana placed on the deck under one huge foot Chiyonofuji carried a long no-dachi sword strapped to his broad back. This ferocious two-handed weapon was a longer version of the normal katana and had many of its lethal characteristics. A strong man wielding such a weapon could slice a victim in two with a single vicious sweep of its razor sharp edge, and at six foot four inches in height and the same apparent width across his broad shoulders, Chiyonofuji, or ‘the Wolf’ in his native Korean tongue, was assuredly strong enough to perform that gruesome task with ease. Huge and ferocious he lived without the redeeming virtue of mild manners and pacific inclinations possessed by some giants. Instead, he carried the awesome reputation of violence, unpredictability and utterly pitilessness with contempt and disdain. He was a man to avoid in good or bad humour: in him the two moods were barely discernible.
At the moment he wore a long sleeved ornate haori covering muscular arms as thick as a man’s thigh, but hands capable of bending iron bars, or breaking bones as easily as fracturing rotten bamboo poles were bare. His intimidating appearance cast an aura of palpable fear wherever he went. Even the bravest samurai gave way in a possible hostile confrontation even though they recognised him as being many strata below their social class.
After taking his midday meal in his personal cabin the warship captain appeared on deck to review the rate of progress. In a long career he had carried many important people and had gained a high degree of proficiency in reading their body language and anticipating and pandering to their perverse and often arbitary wishes. The ability served him well in an era when nobody questioned the trail of dead and dismembered bodies left in the wake of a disgruntled samurai. Some passengers, nervous of the sea, gave him little trouble; others, to disguise that fear, displayed unpredictable tempers.
They were the ones to fear.
From a safe distance the captain regarded the relaxed Takura and quietly judged there would be no need to become the oppressive slave driver of his rowers on this journey. This passenger seemed in no hurry and in their brief discussions on boarding he set no limit on the time he wanted to reach his destination. A quick glance around the horizon and at the passing sea told the captain they still moved ahead relative to the land, although their progress through the water appeared static. The tide would soon turn against them and in a short while they would be carried backwards.
He nodded to the watching beat drummer. It was time for the rowers to earn their rice, vegetables and sake.
In response to a sharp rattle on the stretched skin drum, the sweep oars extended over the water and remained stationary until a heavier thud signalled the rowers to dip their oars into the water and pull backwards in unison and under the strain of strongly muscled backs the warship began moving forward at a faster rate. Eddies of swirling waters marked the spot where the oars left the water ready for the next stroke.
Slowly the drum tempo increased until the desired strike rate became hypnotically rhythmical and productive. With a ten-minute break every hour the rowers could maintain a speed of seven-and-half knots for a whole day, or longer, if they needed to make the effort.
The captain looked at the dragging sail as he debated whether to invite his deck crew to swing the cross beam into wind where it caused less drag, but he decided the effort might disturb his passenger: better to irritate his rowers than annoy him, especially as the Wolf became decidedly edgy and gripped his sword tighter when anyone came near his master. One sailor had already felt the impact of a giant fist for approaching too close while working and after that sailors hesitated to occupy the same stretch of decking as the evilly disposed Korean.
Satisfied with his observation the captain ordered his junior deck boy to pass him an extending brass and leather bound telescope from his sea cabin.
It was time to look important.
With the telescope to his right eye he surveyed the horizon for signs of danger. With the seas around Japan infested with pirates unarmed ships lay in constant danger of attack, day or night, although it was unlikely they would interfere with warship belonging to the Shogun. Apart from Takura’s personal guards the wiry oarsmen were tough fighters when defending their lives, ship and jobs. In addition to swords and stabbing weapons ten of the ashigaru carried European arquebuses, a recently introduced Portuguese flintlock feared equally by attacker and defender: the uncertain weapon killed or maimed either without distinction or favour.
Assuring himself that no immediate danger lurked from the seaward side, the captain turned his attention to the distant ports of Waseda and Koichi. His interest in both directions lay more in satisfying his professional curiosity than in searching for danger. From experience he always found it politic to know who sailed in the area around him just in case he could render assistance to an ally, or flee from a superior foe. It was a tribute to the uncertain times that he did this instinctively and very thoroughly. He had sailed the seas off the coasts of Japan, Chosen and China for many years and had never been caught unawares and unprepared. With his present passenger he had no wish to appear too casual in respecting the man’s personal safety. Apart from the guaranteed irritation of the massive Chiyonofuji, there existed the real danger of falling foul of the uncertain temper of Lord Takura’s mainland patrons, all ruthless men whose anger was worth respecting.
Some distance from the port of Koichi and heading out to sea with furled sails he detected three warships under oars. All three cut swiftly through the water with a stroke rate indicating they wished to be somewhere in a great hurry, although the direction they headed pointed to the wide endless Pacific Ocean.
Perhaps they raced to win a bet; he mused, since there appeared no good reason for the expediency, not in that barren direction anyway. He turned his telescope out to sea again to make sure that he had missed nothing on his first survey, but saw nothing, not even a floating log to arouse the racers’ interest. After a few minutes observation he slowly came to the astonishing conclusion that they themselves might be the object of the vessels’ interest. Their courses would intersect some distance ahead he calculated with a worried frown.
The split sun motif painted on the furled sails and carried in several places about the ship’s structure told him the three vessels belonged to Lord Nuruhito Nakashima of Koichi province. Takura’s father, the daimyo of Yamanashi, and many other daimyos from other provinces owed personal servitude to him, but Nakashima had no claim over this ship, crew or passengers, they belonged to, or served a greater lord, Toyotomi Hideyoshi. No one would dare lay a finger on his property.
The captain watched the progress of the three ships for several more minutes to confirm their intentions before deferentially drawing his passenger’s attention to their presence. By that time the ships were close enough to be seen clearly without the aid of a telescope.
Takura stood up and looked across the sparkling water with narrowed eyes before asking: ‘How do they stand?’
‘They stand armed,’ the captain informed him after closely examining each ship again. Suddenly he felt nervous.
Takura nodded. It was no more than he expected of ships patrolling the coastline. Doubtless they wanted to know the identity of an unknown ship passing through their waters. He looked up at the huge lug sail and noted it pointed in a direction where the identifying Mon could not be easily seen by the approaching ships, although the smaller personal mons would be more noticeable as the distance closed. Hideyoshi was not shy about advertising ownership of his property.
‘Shall we stand to?’ the captain asked. He needed time to ship oars and prepare the men for fighting rather than to exhaust them in an effort to outrun an attacker and then fight. Already one of the vessels had positioned itself to cut off the route to Yamanashi. The other two steered closer for an approach on either side, a manoeuvre that could quickly change from a friendly escort gesture to one threatening attack. The captain could read the developing signs with greater authority than Takura, a man more at home on dry land and who only took to the sea for passage from one port to another.
‘No! Proceed to Yamanashi. Let them make the moves,’ Takura decided. He turned to his bodyguard. ‘Tell the ashigaru to prime their weapons, but keep out of sight. We may need the element of surprise if the ships are hostile.’ He spoke without concern for his, or the ship’s safety.
‘Hei,’ Chiyonofuji acknowledged, bowing low before moving with the loping speed and dedicated purpose of his namesake to cross the deck planking in a few strides. Within seconds his bass voice could be heard barking out the orders his master had just given him. Obedience would be instant, not only to avoid the wrath of the far from tolerant Lord Takura, but also to forestall an encouraging blow from the messenger.
With their higher strike rate and superior speed, the two overhauling vessels quickly came within hailing distance where a figure confidently climbed into the mast rigging of the closest vessel. Wrapping his body around a standing shroud for safety, he cupped his hands to his mouth.
‘With the respects of the governing council of Lord Nuruhito Nakashima, you are to accompany us into port.’ The messenger repeated the call three times to ensure his words were fully understood. ‘Will you comply?’
Takura joined the captain so that he too was visible to the approaching ships. If they failed to respect the Mon of Toyotomi Hideyoshi there could be no doubting the substance of the passenger. The style and quality of his dress would instantly send alarm signals to most warship commanders.
‘Who makes such a demand of a warship of the Shogun? Be on your way and show respect for our Mon.’
The captain shouted the bold riposte with the confident expectation that all vessels would immediately shear away with fulsome apologies when they realised their dreadful mistake.
Takura remained silent. No one would issue such an audacious instruction to a representative of the military dictator unless they possessed a death wish and wanted to exercise it. On the Japanese islands all clans bent their knees to the new power on the mainland, and that applied to the island of Shikoku where the dominant Sogabe clan, the one to which Takura and Lord Nuruhito Nakashima both belonged, had prudently conceded Hideyoshi’s authority to avoid his military attention. With that foresight they were spared much of the incessant fighting and upheaval that raged over the islands of Honshu and Kyushu during much the last few decades. Had they not it was possible that Takura himself would have descended on the island with an army to subdue those who doubted the wisdom and strength of the premier Warlord and military dictator of Japan.
‘The council of the Lord Nuruhito wishes to discuss issues of importance with your passenger, Lord Kumi Takura,’ the megaphoned voice responded.
After a few brief words with Takura, the captain cupped his hands over his mouth again and shouted back.
‘Stand clear! We are bound for Yamanashi. Lord Takura has nothing to discuss that his father Lord Shunsuki is not better qualified to deal with.’
He returned to his command position and ordered an increased stroke rate, that casual action should let his molesters know he was not in the business of responding to the harassment of petty officials from minor seaports.
Undeterred the two Koichi vessels steered closer to repeat the message and to ensure that it was understood and was not being misinterpreted, wilfully or otherwise.
‘We are instructed to accompany you into the port of Koichi. The council orders it thus,’ the messenger shouted with a note of rising desperation.
There was no mistaking the intention to use force if the order was not obeyed. Although a fighting ship, the trapped vessel stood little chance of overcoming the combined strength of the three ships without a fierce and bloody fight, and that might be an unnecessary indulgence without knowing the reason for the invitation.
With a shrug Takura acceded. He could better deal with the impertinence shown to himself, and the Mon of Hideyoshi, when ashore. Heads would be separated from bodies if good reasons for this stoppage could not be offered.
Surrounded by the three escorting vessels the warship altered course for the distant Koichi at a reduced stroke rate to show that its crew obeyed their captain and not the orders of the escorts. The debatable point helped assuage offended dignity.
Set on the Pacific side of the island the port of Koichi was a large and well used fishing and commercial port with its produce carried to all parts of Japan and to distant ports of China. More adventurous traders even penetrated as far as Annan, a country later known as Vietnam. There, traders and seamen came into contact with ships of other nations and often returned with strange tales and even stranger commodities. The telescope used by the captain had been acquired from a Portuguese captain in exchange for artefacts considered worthy of barter.
As an important harbour Koichi maintained protection from typhoons that swept across that part of the Pacific Ocean between July and October each year. These strong winds claimed as many victims ashore as they did afloat and were greatly feared as well as venerated as a spirit to be placated in times of calm as well as tempest. To prevent damage to boats in the outer harbour during the worst of the high wind vessels crowded into a safer inner harbour. The higher stone built sea walls there offered better protection from the huge waves that battered the shorelines with uncontrolled fury at these tempestuous times. In calmer periods the inner harbour was less frequently used because of the difficulty of moving vessels in and out of the restricted entrance. The season of strong winds and oceanic storms was many months away yet a pilot, coming aboard from a rowing skiff, took them to the inner harbour, a move the disgruntled warship captain foresaw as meaning he would not be sailing again that day.
The ship’s arrival was greeted by a lightly armed escort of mounted samurai drawn up on the harbour wall as a diplomatic sop to their important and increasingly irritated guest, but far from being a guard of honour their presence looked like an escort, a grim thought that registered in the mind of the watching passenger as the ship tied up alongside the jetty.
On the way in Takura donned the full panoply of military armour appropriate to his taisho status so there would be no confusing his identity. His oroi-hitatare was of the finest decorated armour, cloth and strapping, but instead of his war helmet he wore the black stiff eboshi on his head. Loosely laced under his chin it would take a matter of moments to remove and replace with an armoured helmet should the situation require drawn weapons and fighting. He scorned the adornment of the lacquered arrow quiver of his rank, preferring the richly decorated armoured jinbaori instead. In his left hand he carried a jewelled gumbai uchiwa, a warfan he used with elegant gestures to indicate his desires and instructions. As a taiso he was too grand to speak to lesser beings making his guards and retainers watch the warfan with closer attention than they paid to the face, or voice. For them it would be unhealthy to misinterpret gumbai uchiwa gestures. Those around him learnt his moods over years of service and obeyed swiftly and without question. He was not a tolerant man and those who failed to act instantly usually suffered for their tardiness and lack of perception.
In this magnificent dress and with his military bearing Lord Takura would be the most impressive dignitary to visit the port of Koichi for some while and he knew it.
His appearance ashore, with Chiyonofuji following close behind, created a dread and consternation not seen or felt amongst the citizens of that part of the country for many years. By custom, they showed respect to any passing samurai by falling to their knees and pressing their foreheads firmly into the dirt under their noses. On these occasions it was their fervent wish to present the smallest and humblest spectacle possible. Most visibly trembled in terror of being noticed and used as an object to vent some real or imagined grievance the passing dignitary might feel for his being in that location. The slightest suspicion of disrespect to the elaborate and often arbitrary samurai codes of military honour meant instant death and a victim’s first intimation that an offence had been committed would be to find themselves hauled unceremoniously to their feet by personal retainers, their arms forced backwards in a manner than made the victim bend forward with head and neck thrust outward. The last sound they would hear on earth would be the thin whistle of a hissing katana blade as it severed head from neck. No explanation and no excuse was offered, or needed, for this casual atrocity. The samurai’s sword was the law and justice its hissing sweep. The corpse and the decapitated head would be left to lie by the wayside as a reminder, and a lesson to others. Later, relatives could claim the butchered remains for a civilised burial for an uncivilised act of brutality for which there was no redress. The lesson that Samurai were not a class to be trifled with was quickly learnt. They carried easily bruised egos along with low tolerance thresholds.
On the quayside, Takura was met by a Koichi taisho of lesser status, a mere general of the daimyo’s militia whose sycophantic greeting only partially soothed and mollified his visitor’s ruffled feelings.
‘My Lord Taisho!’ he began obsequiously with a bow significantly lower and more formal than his reluctant guest offered in return. ‘My master, Lord Nuruhito, welcomes you to his unworthy province and invites you to talk to his council of ministers about a matter of some importance to the stability of the provinces of Tosa.’
He bowed again; keeping his eyes deferentially lowered while waiting for a response.
‘Since your Lord must have a good reason for interrupting my journey I trust you will expedite my passage to his presence,’ Takura grunted condescendingly. ‘His reason will need to be pressing and appropriate for I am much irritated by this unnecessary diversion.’ He eyed the taisho coldly and noted the deferential lowered eyes with pleasure. Dominance was everything in the deadly games samurai played. ‘Take me there,’ he ordered.
Two ornate shuttered kagos, borne by four runners each, quickly appeared for the use of the taisos and the doors of both were swung open invitingly for the favoured occupants to enter. In a nation that eschewed the use of the wheel except for farm carts and for use by the emperor, this was the preferred method of carrying high status passengers around the streets of towns and in the countryside beyond. Inside the kago pampered passengers found better protection from the weather and from violent assassination, a constant danger for every man and woman of wealth, rank and privilege needing to travel the unruly Japanese roads and footpaths.
Before deigning to enter Takura allowed Chiyonofuji to search the inside of the carriages for hidden knife blades that could impale his unsuspecting master. These unfriendly devices were not unknown in Japanese society where the untimely death of a master could bring an instant change in the allegiance of staff and retainers. After a quick search Chiyonofuji reappeared with a brief nod of approval. The kago was safe for Takura to enter.
Leaving the harbour the armed column made an impressively long procession through the bustling commercial section of the town before entering the quieter more subdued administrative area. Chiyonofuji kept pace alongside the closed palanquin with armed guards marching in files on either side. Footmen formed groups at either end, while the mounted Koichi samurai remained on the quay guarding the ship.
Expecting to be taken to the castle sitting dark and brooding a short distance outside the port and on the edge of the town the two kagos stopped outside the municipal building marking the border between the residential and the business sections of the town.
Unlike the majority of buildings in the harbour and city, civic administration in Koichi was conducted from a building constructed of stone blocks cut in the distant hills and transported to the site at the same time as the castle was built, even so timber formed the elaborately structured swooping roof and ornately carved balconies. The fine well-balanced structure gave the appearance of municipal rectitude and good management.
Climbing unaided from his grounded kago Takura mounted the white stone steps with easy strides and entered the cool interior of the building with barely constrained arrogance. Inside, he was conducted into a large room occupied by several figures seated on low legless leather covered zaisus. The interior walls were covered with oiled paper shoji each elaborately decorated with ink washed pictorial scrolls of rural or historical symbolism. Impressive floral and shrub displays stood in stone glazed pottery vases at various points around the room giving an air of peace, harmony and tranquillity. At regular intervals earthenware charcoal-burning hibachi stood on tall metal stands ready to provide heat during cold weather. At the moment they remained unlit.
Grim faced men sat in a line, all dressed informally in colourful kami-shimos making their disgruntled guest appear excessively over-dressed for the occasion. Their style and the quality of dress placed them as samurai status, although most looked beyond their best active age even with their katanas and tantos thrust nonchalantly through obi sashes instead of using the gunyoki method preferred in more formal dress. They bowed deferentially without rising to their feet when the disgruntled Takura joined them.
After imperiously calling for a zaisu with wooded arms he seated himself facing the group while Chiyonofuji settled behind and slightly to his right ready to intervene should that become necessary. His master needed arms on the low seat because they made it easier to spring upright when wearing full armour.
The escorting general took his place at the end of the seated figures. Plainly a member of the council he did not make that distinction clear at the harbour.
‘Greetings, Lord Takura! Your exploits in Honshu bring you much credit, as does your promotion to taiso of the Imperial Army. Lord Nuruhito extends his welcome on your safe and welcome return to your native land after such a long absence.’
The speaker sat in the centre of the group and showed nothing to indicate his feelings on the validity of the fulsome welcome.
Takura grunted to indicate his displeasure at being there before demanding: ‘Which of you is Lord Nuruhito? To whom do I express my outrage at being kidnapped on the high seas and brought here under armed escort?’
‘Lord Nuruhito is not amongst us,’ the speaker apologised without feeling the need to offer an explanation for the noble’s absence. ‘We apologise for the unconventional manner of your invitation, my lord. We have tried all means at our disposal to produce a representative of your distinguished family to favour us with their presence, but to no avail. Lord Nuruhito is a patient man but cannot wait until your excellent father dies before claiming what is rightfully his...’
‘Why cannot Lord Nuruhito speak for himself? Is this a case of gekokujo?’ Takura interrupted imperiously. These men plainly had some complaint against the Takura family, but if this matter was a grievance between families, then it should be between heads of families and not between lesser men. He wondered if the seated men had usurped power from the feudal lord and were exercising his authority vicariously.
His barbed comment caused an uneasy stir in the controlled demeanour of the grave men opposite.
‘Lord Nuruhito appoints us to speak on his behalf. We make decisions after receiving his inspired guidance. My name is Chancellor Yoshido and these are Councillors Kazama, Isozaki and Fujita. We form the council of Koichi.’
Takura regarded each of the men in silence for several minutes trying to dominate them with fierce eye contact.
‘And what is the nature of the complaint that gives you the right to divert the Shogun’s envoy from his business?’ he demanded when none of the councillors averted their eyes in defeat. The justice of their cause must be overwhelming if they could each summon the courage and boldness to ignore his fierce insolent stare in that impassive manner. ‘The reason must be compelling because the consequences of your action will bring dire restitution to the your necks, and on your families heads for generations to come if the response is unacceptable.’
‘Bear with us, my Lord,’ Councillor Yoshido requested patiently. ‘We have tried for several years to extract the tithes we are due from your province, but with your father no longer of this world and your elder brother more interested in academia than in provincial administration we have nowhere else to turn. Your chancellor has moved from Castle Yamanashi and does not respond to our messages. We have not been paid any taxes or tithes for seven years. Last year we applied to the tenno for permission to reallocate your province and the Emperor was pleased to suspend your father’s tenancy in favour of Councillor Kazama who, as you may recognise, has a family claim to the title as the brother of Lord Shunsuke’s wife, Lady Yuka. We tried to contact you in the field, but received no response; presumably because your campaigning across the length and breadth of Honshu prevented contact. The situation must be resolved.’
Inured as he was by years of passivity training Takura could not prevent his eyes flicking open in stunned surprise. It was true he had not been in touch with his family since joining Hideyoshi’s army and more recently that of Kiyomasa’s. Communications, even for the military, were at best uncertain and hazardous in the times they had just been through and it was no wonder that messages sent by the Koichi council would fail to reach him, and if they did he would have responded with indignation.
‘I am unaware of the circumstances about which you speak and it is a subject I have no wish to comment without consulting my father,’ Takura said after a moment spent in thought. ‘The tenno’s writ must be suspended until I consider the matter. In the meantime, I will pay all dues...’
‘The sums are large and the time has run out for settlement,’ Councillor Yoshido demurred hastily. ‘His Excellency, Toyotomi Hideyoshi demands large sums from us to fill his war chest for the coming conquest of Chosen and he will not wait, nor can we. Toshio Kazama is to take possession of his new province. Everything is settled. The sands in the hourglass cannot run backwards. Is that not so, Councillor Kazama?’ All eyes turned to the councillor for the armed services of the Koichi province for confirmation. ‘The esteemed councillor has undertaken to repay all dues within two years, and to maintain full payments into the future.’
‘And how does the councillor intend to achieve that?’ Takura demanded. These were his kinsmen they were discussing, but although Toshio Kazama was a relative, they had never met, not even in childhood. He looked along the line of councillors and settled on the youngest. He needed to fix this complacent image firmly in his memory. Should they meet again he would need to make the correct responses.
‘The chonin and peasantry of Yamanashi must be fat with seven years of uncollected taxes,’ his uncle announced with a degree of affable reasonableness. ‘I will wring the dues from their swollen purses, or take it from their full larders and warehouses. A few public executions will do wonders for the loosening of tight purse strings.’
Kazama spoke in a contemptuous tone unacceptable even for an oppressive provincial ruler, and with that uncompromising attitude he would soon face problems as his newly acquired subjects ran out of commodities to meet a seven year tax demand on everything they owned.
‘The councillor shows the compassion of a rat chewing on a live hedgehog,’ Takura hissed. ‘If he seeks to take Yamanashi he does so without my blessing.’
Takura hid his boiling inner feelings as he again stared fiercely at each member of the council. He was used to assessing characters from very brief acquaintanceship and of the five he instinctively disliked Kazama. The thin black line of the moustache on his thin upper lip and the narrow epicanthic squinting eyes gave the seated man a particularly menacing appearance. It would take a minute and the faintest of signals for Chiyonofuji to rise and tear his head from his shoulders, but Takura knew they were in hostile territory and nothing would be gained by exercising that sanguine luxury: not at the moment. Takura was a percentage man and did not take risks lightly.
‘We regret your unhelpful attitude, my lord, but right and the law are on our side. The tenno will not relent over a matter of land forfeit for unpaid taxes, nor will the military dictator - Toyotomi Hideyoshi. However, now you understand the position, have you any suggestions on how your province’s transfer might be accomplished without trouble? We are not unreasonable people…’ The chancellor paused as he heard Kazama’s hiss of protest at the apparent weakening of his position.
Takura ignored the interruption. ‘First, I must see the situation in Yamanashi for myself. I need to find out what has gone wrong over the last seven years for the taxes not to be paid. There must be an explanation and I will find it. I will sail immediately and give you my thoughts within seven days, two if you let me have carrier pigeons?’
He spoke slowly, forming thoughts as he went along. It was unreasonable to expect him to make suggestions without knowing the facts.
Time however was a commodity the council were unwilling to grant.
‘We can do no more than tell you the way things are,’ Yoshido informed him uncompromisingly. ‘Councillor Kazama will set out with a regiment of Koichi troops to take over his commitments within the week. Any resistance to his occupation will be ruthlessly crushed. You are entirely free to visit your home as long as you understand that ownership will pass to Councillor Kazama and you will owe him the courtesy of homage when he takes over. We can certainly supply you with carrier pigeons, but your ship is impounded. You must proceed from here overland on horseback, or on foot. Your ship will be returned unless sold to recover some of your father’s debts.’
‘You play a dangerous game when you interfere with the shogun’s vessels and with the passage of one of his taisos,’ Takura reminded them ominously. ‘I trust you know that his arm is long and his vengeance implacable?’
He spoke with a degree of bravado based on nothing more than the inbuilt fear of the Osaka rulers that rested in the heart of every Japanese citizen. Takura knew he was in a position from which he could not force an immediate favourable issue. He needed to be out of Koichi with his own armed men around him before he could exact the punishment he intended to wreck upon the foolish men before him.
‘If you say I do not have the use of the shogun’s warship, then I will leave you to consider the wisdom of your unwise actions. I will travel overland to Yamanashi to visit my honoured father leaving this very afternoon and I trust you will supply horses and saddles of appropriate standard, quality and number for that purpose.’
He stared fixedly at the taiso who brought him to the council, daring him to refuse and was gratified to receive a reluctant nod of approval. It was over eighty miles to Yamanashi by road and it would not be dignified for a man of his status to be seen walking that distance, although Takura could doubtless buy animals in the town if he needed to.
With the assurance needed he rose to his feet. He had heard enough of the offensive deliberations of the council. If there was anything else they wished to discuss he was not prepared to listen.
Before the council could react he strode from the building with Chiyonofuji following close on his heels, the long no-dachi sword handle strapped to his back striking the wooden doorjamb with a solid thump as he strode through.
Outside Takura angrily entered the kago he arrived in and slammed the door shut to the outside world. He hated travelling in the closely confined spaces these travel carriages provided and roundly condemned anyone who did. They were for women and aged men who could no longer contemplate falling off a mettlesome horse’s back. Now he swallowed hard to hide his boiling fury.
When upset his men knew better than to focus his rage on any one of them. Sensing his master’s discomfiture and cursing profusely in response Chiyonofuji cuffed the carriers into action and set them running at a brisk pace for the harbour. They were not part of his master’s retinue and he felt no remorse as he belaboured them into making greater efforts with fist and foot. The hastily reassembled bodyguard found it difficult to keep pace without throwing elegance to the winds and breaking into an ungainly trot while trying to control their flailing weapons and equipment.
So swift was the return to the ship that few Koichi chonin had time to fall to their knees as the procession sped by, but Takura was in no mood to reprimand such discourteous. Their council had dishonoured his family name and his personal Wa and a few courtesy omissions added little to his growing feelings of injured outrage towards anyone associated to the blighted seaport and town of Koichi.
At the ship he leapt from the palanquin almost before the panting carriers could lower their load to the ground. The captain greeted him and listened politely as Takura explained the change of transport plans and detailed what he wanted done to protect his treasures. The captain nodded with increasing feelings of alarm. His ship had never been impounded for debt, but he doubted the embargo would last long. The Koichi council of toad miscreants would quickly realise their mistake and his ship would be released, but he could see Takura was less certain of that outcome. He had been at the meeting and had made his assessment of the council’s determination to proceed with the provincial take-over regardless of the consequences. Nor was Takura too sure of Hideyoshi’s support. The military dictator disliked interfering in provincial affairs and might even overlook the temporary distrainment of one of his ships, especially if not greatly inconvenienced by the loss.
Meanwhile, the captain could do little to prevent a determined take-over of his ship by armed militia, but he could prevent petty thieving. He controlled enough manpower to ensure the ship’s integrity from most eventualities, but he knew his main defence rested on the all-powerful aura surrounding the ship’s owner.
While Takura briefed the captain, Chiyonofuji collected their personal belongings, armour and money chest.
An hour later, a troop of forty Koichi arrived with the horses and saddles promised by the taiso. The animals were not the best riding stock available, but the furnishings of the horse selected for Takura were of the finest quality and had probably been donated to the Koichi exchequer as unpaid taxes, or had been forfeited in death by a high status victim on some far flung field of battle. The horse under it, however, was not even as good as the one rode by the mono-gashira commanding the escort, a fact that did not escape Chiyonofuji.
After securing his master’s equipment and personal effects on some pack horses and setting guards over them Chiyonofuji walked slowly through the unhelpful Koichi as they sat watching Takura’s troops and retainers preparing to leave on their enforced overland trip. He moved casually to the mono-gashira’s horse and gently ran his huge hands over the quivering flanks and neck muscles as though admiring its sleek thoroughbred lines and noble stance. It was a fine animal and one the army captain was inordinately proud to own, but he scarcely gave the Korean a second glance as he moved appreciatively around the horse. Reaching the saddle, Chiyonofuji slipped his tanto under the girth and slit the gaily-coloured cloth band with a swift twist of his thick wrist. Reaching up at the same time with his left arm, he caught the mono-gashira by the thick waist obi and with a backward step brought officer and saddle crashing to ground at his feet. Unperturbed that anyone might suspect he was responsible for the horsemen’s misfortune, Chiyonofuji calmly sheathed his tanto and stood looking disdainfully down at his spread-eagled victim, daring him to rise and seek redress for the public indignity just visited on him.
Taken by surprise the mono-gashira lay on his back winded and gasping for air. He could do nothing but wheeze and weakly wave for help as Chiyonofuji took the reins and led the horse to where one of the Takura’s pages held the animal previously destined to carry his master.
‘Change the saddle and bridle over,’ he ordered. ‘The generous mono-gashira is waiting to mount this fine creature.’
Behind him two Koichi samurai leapt from their horses and advanced on the unconcerned Chiyonofuji with drawn katanas and belligerent intentions. A third helped the deposed captain to his feet. This was serious. Face had been lost before a hated foreigner, Chiyonofuji. Only blood could assuage the indignity suffered by the status conscious samurai; hinkaku demanded no less. This martial concept demanded that the dignity of the samurai should be upheld by doing the right thing at the right time. In this instance it meant that Chiyonofuji’s head was required to be separated from his body; no mean feat even if the giant Korean did not object to such radical surgery.
With an almost resigned look of reproach Chiyonofuji stepped away from the two horses and drew his massive no-dachi from his back sheath with a prolonged hiss of steel on steel. Where an untrained peasant might have blanched at the prospect of facing one armed samurai warrior with battle and grievous injury on his mind Chiyonofuji faced two with apparent relish. He stood with the massive two-handled sword looking no larger than a normal weapon when held in the huge fist and mighty forearm as he contemptuously flicked the blade in a series of sweeping movements that invited his prospective assailants to attack. The two samurai advanced slowly, sensing the mettle and the awesome physical power of the opponent they faced. Neither wanted to make the first move, each hoping their watching comrades would sense their predicament and join the fight in sufficient numbers to overwhelm the impertinent giant.
This looked a ten-man war with the result going to either side.
Much blood might have been spilt had not another troop of fifty samurai, this time bearing the boxed falcon Mon of Lord Masugi, ridden into the potential battlefield and reining to a dusty halt. Their unexpected arrival forced the combatants to jump apart to avoid the flying hooves of the prancing horses. The unexpected arrival provided time for raised tempers to cool and prudence to take a grip on the heated protagonists.
With the thunder and confusion of the arriving horsemen Takura appeared on deck, one hand gripping his katana, lips drawn into a tight line of grim anticipation as though fearing the worst. Noticing the Mon, he clicked his katana back into place and strode ashore. At his approach many of the samurai flung themselves off their horses to bow with deferential respect in his presence.
‘Who commands?’ he demanded, regarding the new arrivals with as much relish as he would the appearance of a fresh water lake in the middle of a barren desert.
‘Lord Osamu, taiso. He comes now.’ One of the samurai pointed in the direction of an approaching group of horsemen following in the rear.
Takura moved back to allow himself to be seen.
‘Forgive my men, Taisho. We were not warned of your presence,’ a senior samurai apologised before pausing to stare at Takura with disbelief written in his increasingly incredulous gaze. He dismounted and approached closer, never removing his gaze from the stationary general. ‘It’s Kumi Takura...?’ he began hesitatingly, not sure of his recognition and expecting the wrath of a taiso to descend on his head if proved wrong.
‘It is, if you are Osamu Masugi of Uwajima?’ Takura responded allowing a welcoming smile to spread over his bleak features. ‘It’s been many years, my friend. Come aboard and take tea while we talk.’
The two men gripped arms and clasped each other to their chests in a very un-samurai gesture of friendship. Such displays of emotions were seldom seen between husband and wife let alone between two grown fighting men. The Masugi clan were vassals of the daimyo Takura, and the two men had played together as children and had remained friends up to the time Takura joined Oda Nobunaga’s cause many years earlier.
The ship’s captain, hearing the unexpected invitation welcomed his departing passenger’s newly arrived guests back on board, and stood aside to allow them the use of the poop deck to drink tea, talk and fill in the details of unknown events in each other’s lives.
Chiyonofuji, having sheathed his weapon, remained in glowering eye contact over the backs of the horsemen separating him from his opponents as he took up a position on the gang plank where he could guard his master on board the ship. Meanwhile, the horse acquired in such brutal fashion stood furnished in more suitable harness by the gangway to await the pleasure of its new owner.
Osamu Masugi had arrived in Koichi to collect goods delivered to the port by sea cargo, he informed Takura as they sipped tea on the sunny deck. His clan normally used the smaller and closer port of Yamanashi, but lately, he admitted ruefully, its usefulness had declined remorselessly for the want of administrative control. Takura listened with a slight frown of concern while his childhood friend regaled him with items of news missed during his long absence from Yamanashi.
Little of what he heard pleased him.
After collecting goods from a nearby warehouse and loading them on to pack animals Osamu Masugi suggested the two groups combined making the journey safer for their cargoes and more congenial for the two men as they continued their recollections from the backs of their horses. The provincial town of the Masugi clan, Uwajima, lay some distance further along the coast facing the Bungo Suido.
With that decided Takura sent the ship’s captain to inform the Koichi samurai that their escort services would not be required. He would use his own samurai, ashigaru and the Masugi horsemen. He also thanked their disgruntled mono-gashira for the donation of his horse, a gesture that found no favour in the aggrieved officer’s eyes as he took his bad-tempered leave of the troublesome mainland taiso.
After his servile valedictions to Takura the mono-gashira fixed Chiyonofuji with a hard stare designed to firmly impress the image of the giant in his mind should they meet again. The Wolf stood calmly under the surveillance as though hewn from granite. It would take a brave man to threaten someone of his forbidding size and visual menace and it said much for the invincibility each samurai felt he possessed that the mono-gashira did contemplate aggressive action. A sane man would mount a fast horse and head non-stop for the outer reaches of Hokkaido before drawing a sword on such a fierce opponent.
When sure that his stowed treasure would be secure in his enforced absence Takura bade the ship farewell and set off with Masugi for the road out of Koichi. The journey to Yamanashi would take some time and they wanted to be well into the mountains before dark.
The loaded group, as it left the harbour, extended to well over one hundred and fifty horses and three hundred men, either mounted, or on foot. Some marchers looked after loaded packhorses while others acted as pack animals themselves. They hoisted lacquered boxes on to their backs and carried long spears to balance and steady their progress. This straining, sweating and grunting group brought up the rear.
Strident shouts demanding a clear passage marked the group’s progress through the crowded city. Chonin unable to escape down side roads prostrated themselves respectfully on the ground as the samurai passed and remained there until the last of the column moved by.
Progress through the town was steady and uneventful, although whether by accident or design a large number of Koichi troops, mounted and on foot, appeared at strategic positions on the route out of Koichi and they were seen loitering by the track side well into the mountains. None of them adopted a threatening posture, but no friendly or boisterous comments were exchanged between the two groups, an unusual event Takura observed without comment. He had long trained his mind to take note of such small details and then store the information for future use. He did this automatically and on this occasion he had more than a passing interest in what he saw and heard.
The town no longer boasted a defence wall on the land side, that had long since fallen into disrepair, or it had been swallowed up in the expanding housing needed for Koichi’s growing population. Cultivation of the fertile ground now began abruptly where buildings ended, and even this space was gradually disappearing as the need for more accommodation put pressure on the outer limits of the town.
The castle and seat of Lord Nakashima sat some distance from the town and from the sea, dominating neither. The town now owed its protection from marauding bands of ronin and pirates entirely to rural and urban militia. In times of danger the two united to form an effective defence force under the guidance and control of the councillor for self-defence and public safety, Toshio Kazama. The castle played only a minor role in that combination.
The combined group travelled through a part of the island of Shikoku formed from a mountainous interior tableland rimmed by a narrow skirt of fertile coastal plains that provided space to live and cultivate crops for local consumption and for export to the mainland. Away from the salty environment of the coast and where abundant fresh water flowed from the mountains, low-lying areas permitted rice cultivation to take place. Paddy fields for this product were concentrated around small villages each administered by a shoya who controlled the life of his village. Nothing happened without his approval or authority, and it was to him that all edits from the local or provincial daimyo were addressed. Also, when a passing dignitary needed assistance in the form of accommodation, porterage, repair work or fighters, the headman was expected to provide the service, even when his village comprised of nothing more than a rude collection of timber-framed, one storied houses built on stilts over muddy rice fields. Demands, often difficult to undertake and sometimes impossible to complete, could not be ignored.
Life in the closed communities was hard and unrelenting. Brutal backbreaking fieldwork continued all through the year and took place from dawn to dusk, in fine or foul weather. The only time allowed from fieldwork was reluctantly granted to attend religious festivals and for important family occasions, like marriages and burials. Childbirth was not expected to keep a working mother too long from her field tasks.
As the travellers climbed towards the tree-clad mountains the cultivated areas became fields of barley; wheat and millet interspersed with root vegetables. This was a productive area and even when bad weather wiped out a year’s growth of a staple crop hunger was unknown on the island. Every square inch of arable soil was terraced, tilled and watered for maximum food production. Apart from the demands of their uncaring, disdainful masters in times of provincial warfare the field workers waged an unending struggle against storm, tempest, weeds and pests, all events that could wipe out a year’s crops.
Three hours after leaving Koichi, the travellers breasted a ridge marking the end of cultivation and the start of the stony tree covered plateau leading into the high mountains. Like most land in Japan, Shikoku was more than sixty-percent tree covered giving the overwhelming impression of great verdancy and richness.
After a while the route turned south-west, parallel to the mountain chain running almost the whole length of the island. The high peaks ensured that a fair proportion of any moisture picked up over the vast areas of surrounding seas fell as rain on the high slopes to run down to the cultivated slopes below.
The many streams and flowing rivers made travelling difficult along the rudimentary tracks forming the only communication routes on most of the island. With no wheeled vehicles allowed little effort was expended in improvements and ironically roadways were often in their best state of repair in times of the worst inter-provincial tension and conflict. In those uncertain times the warring military commanders needed to move their troops around the country quickly and they forced local shoyas to repair roads and build bridges running through their areas. These tasks, although necessary and often of great local benefit, were not wholly appreciated by the headmen of the villages concerned. The peremptory orders to repair and build rarely came with any material, funding or labour. Everything needed for road and bridge building had to be provided locally, and if the demand came on top of a previous call for all able bodied men to take up arms, the liability became onerous. Excuses for non-fulfilment were rarely tolerated and shoyas often lost their heads and a more compliant one appointed.