Heart of the Ronin (4 page)

—Sun Tzu,
The Art of War

The tall, waspish man dabbed at his sweating forehead with a soft cloth held in a thin hand, frowning. The tavern keeper kept his establishment far too warm for Yasutoki’s liking. The hubbub of the common room was only slightly muffled by the rice-paper walls of the private room where Yasutoki sat, sipping his sake. Window shutters kept out the chill spring night. The sounds of gulls had subsided with the fall of darkness, but the ceaseless rumble of the surf remained. A little fresh air would do him good. And since the man he awaited was late, he opened his mouth to request that a servant open the small window.

The door slid open suddenly, and the smells of the sea wafted in with the man who entered. The stranger gazed down at Yasutoki with hard, slitted eyes. Then he spoke in his own barbarian tongue, without politeness or preamble. “You are the one called ‘Green Tiger’?” His voice was rough and uncultured.

Yasutoki’s nose wrinkled. This man was more uncouth than a common fisherman, and worse, he was a foreigner. Yasutoki answered him in the barbarian tongue, “I am Green Tiger. Come in and shut the door.”

The man snorted with a wolfish smile, but he slid the door shut behind him. “I was expecting someone a bit more . . . a bit bigger, perhaps.”

Yasutoki studied the man’s strange, blunt features, and his long, thin mustache. His clothes were rough and simple, but not ragged. At his belt, he wore a short, broad-bladed sword, or perhaps a long knife, in a leather scabbard. He stank of sweat and the sea, and even after a sea voyage, he still smelled of the horses for which the Mongol people were infamous.

The man’s gaze flicked purposefully here and there. Finally, he settled himself on the other side of the table. Yasutoki allowed a measure of quivering into his hand as he poured warm sake into the bowl in front of the stranger, until he steadied himself with his other hand. Portraying a bit of weakness would put the barbarian at ease. He felt the stranger’s taut power even across the table, like a drawn bowstring.

The man took the bowl of sake and downed it in one gulp. He grimaced. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this stuff,” he grunted. “Perhaps when the Great Khan is in charge, you people will learn to drink real liquor! Those Koryu dogs had better than this on the boat!”

Yasutoki sat back, smoothing his fine silk robes. “I trust your journey was a safe one.”

“The most miserable experience of my life! I dread the day I have to return. I would rather stay in hell than ride a boat back to heaven!”

“This is a bad season for sea travel.”

“Between bouts of vomiting I thought I would drown,” the man grumbled.

“What a terrible experience.”

The man grunted and held out his bowl.

Yasutoki poured again. “The Great Khan has sent messages to the Imperial court, has he not?”

The man’s face grew sober. “Yes. The Golden Horde’s lands extend so far to the west that our empire cannot easily be crossed. We have reached the lands where the sun sets. The Khan now looks toward the rising sun, to the sea. The Khan has ordered your Emperor to submit to his rule, or face invasion.”

“Our lord is direct, as always,” said Yasutoki. “I suspected that was his intention. Has the Great Khan sent a message for me as well?”

The Mongol withdrew a bamboo tube from his tunic and placed it on the table between them.

Yasutoki took the tube, pulled the waxed stopper from one end and dumped a small scroll into his hand. He carefully unrolled the paper and read it. Allowing the Mongol to see no hint of his reaction to its contents, he rolled up the scroll again and placed it back in the tube, secreting the container within his robes. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The Emperor and his courtiers are weak and soft. The mere thought of war with the Khan would fill them with fear. They might well consider his request. The Shogunate, on the other hand, is a different story. The Hojo clan will never agree to such a demand.”

“But is not the Emperor in charge?”

Yasutoki shook his head. “My uncouth friend, you are ignorant of Japanese politics.” The Mongol stiffened, as Yasutoki had intended. “The Emperor is our divine ruler, descended from the gods, but he has little real power. He and his court live in splendor and opulence, heedless of the lives and suffering of the people outside the palace. The Emperor relies on tradition and prestige to see his will done.” He laughed harshly. “He is not even in charge of his own court! He is the impotent clown leading a parade of fools! Even the feeble power of the court lies in the hands of the Emperor’s predecessor, the
retired
Emperor, who guides all decisions of importance in the capital from his sequestered chambers.
 
But the
real
power does not lie in the capital. It resides in the Shogun.”

“The Great General,” said the Mongol. He had been listening intently, absorbing what he had heard with a sharp intelligence that Yasutoki had overlooked. He reminded himself not to underestimate this barbarian. His manners were rough, but his mind was as sharp as a katana.

“Yes! You understand military power, don’t you, my horse-loving friend?”

“The only true power is military power. There can be no political power without it,” said the Mongol. “When the Great Khan’s grandsire, Genghis, united all the clans of the steppes, those soft Yuan emperors and their minions learned what real power was. The power of the horse and the bow and the steel thews of the men who use them!” His eyes flashed fiercely, and he clenched his fist.

“Yes, the power of the horse and the bow. The same is true here, but it wears a different face. We pay obeisance to the cloistered Emperor while the Shogun runs roughshod over our backs.” A contemptuous smile twisted Yasutoki’s lips. “But even the Shogun is weak. It seems that every stronghold of power in my land is merely a façade. The true power of the Shogun does not lie in the hands of the Shogun anymore. It is in the hands of the Hojo clan, the Shogun’s regents. The Shogun is a mere boy, a puppet, like the Emperor. The Hojo sometimes allow him to believe he is in control—and sometimes, perhaps, he truly is—but they make all the real decisions. And their spies are everywhere.” Yasutoki realized that his voice had lost its careful neutrality, had grown fierce. He took a deep breath and composed himself, looking at the table. “A change is coming.”

The Mongol laughed again. “Yes, a change is coming, and it rides on the backs of Mongol horses!”

Yasutoki nodded. “With regards to the Khan’s demands, I am sure that nothing will happen quickly. The debate in the court and the Shogunate about how to reply could take months, perhaps even years. I would welcome the Khan’s rule and be done with weak, corrupt officials. It would be better for the country.”

The Mongol barked a laugh. “You’re a fine one to call others ‘corrupt!’ I can hardly imagine someone more treacherous than one who betrays his own people.”

Yasutoki pushed down a stab of anger. “Only the most corrupt can easily recognize corruption.”

“I am certain the promise of riches beyond counting makes you all the more convinced of what is good for your country,” said the Mongol. The contempt in his voice was plain.

Yasutoki tried to ignore the Mongol’s jibe and kept his voice steady. “My reasons are my own. They do not concern a barbarian such as you, much less one who reeks of horseshit.”

The Mongol laughed again, a deep, booming sound. “So the limp-wristed bureaucrat has a spine after all!” Then his voice grew grim, and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “You should not forget who your master is.”

“I do not forget. I serve the great Khubilai Khan,
not
his unwashed, uncouth messenger boy.”

The Mongol’s eyes flashed, and his grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

Yasutoki kept his voice calm, slipping his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “Kill me, and you will displease the Great Khan. There are few men willing or able to provide the information I possess. I can provide the Great Khan with the knowledge of troop strength and movements, suitable landing sites, fortifications. I can give him Hakata Bay, and with Hakata Bay as a landing point and a foothold, conquering the rest will be easy.”

The Mongol snarled, “The Great Khan could take this measly island and the entire country without your help!”

“Perhaps he could. But the capital is far from here, and you must take not only the Imperial palace, but the headquarters of the Shogun. It is a dangerous gamble, but with my help, the gamble will be less risky. Of course, a lowly horse-shagger like you would not understand such things.”

“Why you sniveling—!” The Mongol’s sword jumped halfway out of its scabbard.

Yasutoki’s right hand flicked out of his sleeve, and something silver flashed through the air, quicker than sight. The Mongol flinched and stiffened. A small needle now protruded from his throat. His eyes bulged, and a great vein emerged on his reddening forehead. He froze in mid-movement. Yasutoki stood up, a calm smirk on his thin lips. With his toe, he pushed the paralyzed man onto his back, then leaned down and plucked the needle from his throat.

He leaned down and spoke into the Mongol’s frozen face. “The Great Khan is powerful, and he does not remain so by being foolish. Fear not, barbarian dog, the poison is not fatal. You will be able to move again in a few hours. That is, after your bowels have emptied themselves into your trousers. Take this message back to Khubilai Khan. He should not underestimate me or my people. Not all of us are as weak as the Imperial court. I serve him by my own choosing. You may tell him that his offer is acceptable. He shall have what he desires from me. You understand, do you not, horse-shagger? I can see from your eyes that you do.”

Then he straightened and smoothed his robes. “Well then, I have spent enough time in your distasteful company, and in this dismal place.” He gathered his robes and turned toward the door, picking up his large basket-hat and dark coat. The hat was a fine thing for moving about discreetly; it concealed his face, and the dark coat would help him blend into the night.

After he had put on the hat and coat, he turned to the paralyzed man lying quivering in the middle of the floor. “My people feel that manners are important. Perhaps you should learn some. Good evening.”

As Yasutoki faded into the darkness of the city of Hakata, plans were already forming in his mind. The half-moon gleamed on the bay, broken up by the dark shapes of ships and a tangle of masts around the docks. He would send out messages and put the first parts into motion. Tomorrow he would travel over the mountains to Dazaifu, ancient seat of this island’s government, and meet an old kinsman and “friend.”

Three

“Not to borrow the strength of another, nor to rely on one’s own strength; to cut off past and future thoughts, and not to live within the everyday mind . . . then the Great Way is right before one’s eyes.”

—
Hagakure

Ken’ishi lay under a rock outcropping on the forested hillside, wrapped in his meager blanket. The spring night was cool and quiet, and he was well concealed. He felt Akao’s warmth through the blanket as he lay beside him, and he smelled the warm, earthy scent of the dog’s fur as the animal slept. He looked up through the bamboo leaves at the great black inverted bowl dusted with silver above him. He waited for sleep to come, and he thought back on the day’s events.

How could some people be so cruel and others be so kind? He had done nothing to provoke the response he had received in that village. Never before had a village constable reacted with such hatred toward him. It had been a humiliating experience. As he thought about the duel itself, he realized that it had been easy. His training had taken over, and his actions had been effortless. His victory had never been in question. At that, he felt a surge of pride. Takenaga had been a good swordsman, but not a great one. Ken’ishi’s teacher had been great. His sensei had extolled his own prowess many times, saying that he was superior to nearly any swordsman walking the land, so Ken’ishi had learned from the best. The perfection of the movements and the finality of the act held a certain kind of beauty, almost like the majesty of nature. But the act of killing another man was ugly. His pride now fought with remorse for taking the man’s life. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he could have done nothing else. Takenaga’s arrogance and hatred had been his undoing. Martial prowess could lead one down the path of arrogance, and ultimately death, like the incident in the capital. There is always someone in the world that is stronger, and one must recognize that person when one meets him.
 

* * *

All roads in the province seemed to have led Ken’ishi to this thriving, ancient city called Kyoto. He had been in the capital for two days, trying to find his way through the endless warrens of streets, palaces, and tenements. The spectacle was more than he could fathom. The avenues and alleys swarmed with richly dressed courtiers and nobles riding in palanquins, gruff samurai bristling with weapons and pride, merchants and artisans in their shops, commoners hurrying about their work, and beggars sitting in doorways with thin hands raised in supplication. He had never seen anything like it. He had never imagined that so many people existed in the world. Akao had been the braver one, fascinated by the vast array of smells wafting on the breeze and in the wake of every passerby.

At first, it had been frightening, incomprehensible. He had seen scores of shops with placards outside that he could not read. He had seen hundreds of people going about business he did not understand, because he had never encountered a city before. He was hungry, but he did not know how to get food, thirsty, but he did not know where to drink, weary, but he did not know where to sleep. He knew not a soul in the entire world. There was no one who could help them.

And the women. The women were so beautiful and delicate, with their dark, sparkling eyes, full lips, and lovely throats. Many of them smelled so wonderful, like goddesses. He could only stare after them in helpless amazement. They were so much more beautiful than Haru. But why, then, did he still think of her so often? Even after what she had done to him? And it had been so many months since he had seen her. When he saw her face in his memory, her pretty eyes glinting with deceit, he felt such a strange mixture of emotions. Desire, regret, longing, shame. Ken’ishi pushed thoughts of her aside as he passed a trio of lovely girls who had caught him staring at them. They giggled at him, covering their mouths with their hands as he moved away, blushing with embarrassment.