Shike by Robert J. Shea (the reading list txt) 📕

“I tested this device many times in Kamakura, and it worked most times. A hundred things could go wrong, though. If all happens as planned, I truly will believe that the kami are with us.”

“What is it?” Jebu asked.

“Wait and watch,” said Yukio.

Moko lit the rocket’s fuse and stepped away. A ring of curious samurai had formed around him, and they gasped and drew back as, spitting yellow sparks, the rocket leaped into the air. All heads aboard Soaring Crane tilted back as the blazing trail rose as high as a gull can fly and still be visible, arcing towards the midpoint between the Muratomo and Takashi fleets. There came a thunderclap and a flash of light. The noise startled the fighting men, and a silence spread over the two fleets. Now a great square of white silk unfurled in the sky. Light as a cloud, the white banner floated and rippled on the currents of the upper air, while the men below shouted in awe.

“Indeed, Hachiman has declared for us,” whispered Moko. In Moko’s hand Jebu now saw an almost invisible white string that guided the banner in its descent. Majestically the banner drifted downward towards Yukio’s ship. Moko gave a signal to the men with the wicker cages. One by one they opened the cages, and a flock of white wood doves, the birds of Hachiman, whirled into the air with a drumming of wings. They circled around the white square of silk, then flew off to the north-east. Moments later the banner draped itself over the stern of the Soaring Crane. An utter silence had fallen over the strait.

“We could have used the exploding devices of the Chinese as weapons,” said Yukio. “But I am already blamed for unleashing Mongols against my countrymen. At least I will not be accused of bringing another horror to the Sacred Islands.” He turned away from Jebu, leaped to the gunwale of the Soaring Crane, and stood with his sword drawn where all could see him. “Nail the heavenly banner to our mast. Hachiman wills victory to the Muratomo.”

As a crewman scrambled up the ropes to the tallest of the Soaring Crane’s three masts and attached the banner there, Jebu noticed that the wind blew the flag towards the west. It was midday. The wind had shifted. Now it was behind the Muratomo ships.

Within the hour the Takashi fleet was falling back in disorder. Directed by a system of flag signals Yukio had learned from the Mongols, the Muratomo regrouped and sailed to the attack. Yukio’s standing order to concentrate fire on the crewmen of the enemy junks and galleys soon had its effect. Stricken Takashi ships wallowed and spun in the powerful westwards-flowing current, the samurai on board helpless targets for Muratomo archers. Takashi ships crashed into one another, driven against the northern shore of Shimonoseki Strait below the town called Dannoura.

“When the tide ran against us,” said Yukio, “we had all of the Inland Sea at our backs and plenty of room to run before the Takashi. Now the current is driving them into the narrows, and there is no space for them to manoeuvre.”

Some Takashi samurai beached their ships and swam to shore, but they died there under volleys of arrows fired by former allies gathered on the cliffs above them. As one ship after another in the Takashi fleet was captured, sunk or burst into flame, the balance of numbers shifted over to the Muratomo. Now an arm of the Muratomo fleet, some of the junks designed by Moko that were so much faster than those of the Takashi, outraced the enemy and blocked their escape route into the western sea.

The man who had nailed up the white banner was still aloft. Now he shouted, “I see His Imperial Majesty. He’s on a red-painted junk with gold dragons painted on the after cabin. He’s just come out on deck with his courtiers around him.”

Yukio peered in the direction of the man’s pointing arm. “The Emperor is the only strength they have left. We must capture him. I see his ship.” He snapped orders to the captain of Soaring Crane, who relayed them to his crew. The junk plunged through the smoky chaos of ships locked in combat, relentless in its pursuit of the Emperor’s vessel. Yukio gripped the rail, staring ahead, oblivious to the arrows and spears that showered down on him.

There was a cry of horror from the lookout. “A woman has jumped overboard with the Emperor in her arms. His Majesty is in the sea.” Jebu stared at the ship that was their objective. His mouth dropped open. Erom this distance it looked as if someone had spilled a basket of flowers into the water. Men and women in the brightly coloured robes of the Court were jumping to their deaths. Eor a moment the bright reds, greens and blues billowed out upon the waves, then the many-layered costumes soaked up water and the courtiers sank out of sight.

“His Imperial Majesty is drowning,” Yukio roared at his crew. “Easter.” But Soaring Crane was already making all possible speed. When they arrived at the ship, there was no one left aboard. Even the crewmen, all Takashi samurai, had drowned themselves. A shout arose from one side of the Muratomo ship. Jebu ran to the rail. Yukio’s men had sighted a woman still afloat and were pulling her in with grappling rakes. Two samurai stripped off their armour and undergarments and dived naked into the water. Soon they had the woman kneeling on the deck before Yukio. She wept bitterly as torrents of salt water ran from her sodden robes.

“Who are you?” Yukio demanded.

“My name is Takashi no Harako. I was an attendant to His Imperial Majesty’s grandmother, the widow of the late Chancellor Sogamori. My husband was General of Cavalry Takashi no Mizoguchi. I am carrying his child. Now my Emperor, my lady and my husband are all dead. I beg you to let me join them beneath the waves.”

“What happened to His Imperial Majesty?” Yukio demanded.

“His grandmother told him that his cause was lost and his enemies would never permit an Emperor related to the Takashi to remain on the throne. It was time for him to leave this sorrowful world, she said. She gave him the sacred sword to hold and the sacred necklace to wear. He asked her if it would hurt to drown. She told him, “We will find another capital beneath the waves. Grandfather Sogamori will be there, along with all Your Majesty’s ancestors.” Then he said he was ready to go, and, weeping, she enfolded him in her arms and jumped over the side of the ship. They sank out of sight at once.” Lady Harako burst into sobs. “The poor little Emperor. He was only ten years old.”

“My lord, come look at this,” a samurai called. Yukio went to the rail, followed by Jebu. The heaving waters were dotted with bobbing heads, heads that disappeared as quickly as splashes of raindrops on a pool, to be replaced at once by hundreds of others, as more men jumped from their ships. The last of the Takashi warriors were following the example of the boy Emperor and his Court and giving themselves to the waves.

“Let me drown, too,” Lady Harako begged.

“You said the sword and the necklace went to the bottom with His Imperial Majesty,” said Yukio. “What of the sacred mirror?” “Eor all I know, it is still aboard the ship.”

Sending Lady Harako below deck despite her pleas that she be allowed to die, Yukio summoned Soaring Crane’s priest and ordered him to board the late Emperor’s ship, search for the sacred mirror and bring it back to Soaring Crane. Then he turned back to the rail to watch the end of the Takashi. Many of the drowning warriors had jumped into the water clutching their red banners. As their armour pulled them under, only the red squares of silk remained on the surface. It was all over in moments. The empty ships bobbed on the waves. The Takashi banners were strewn over the strait like red maple leaves on a woodland stream in autumn. A cold evening mist spread from the shore.

The cries of the victorious Muratomo echoed like the screams of gulls over the dark water.

A rowboat pulled up beside Soaring Crane, and a man with bound arms was pushed over the railing to stand sullenly before Yukio. He was unarmoured, and his under robe, the red brocade of a general, dripped on the planking. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken and lifeless. After some prodding by the samurai who had brought him to Yukio, he gave his name in a low voice.

“I am Takashi no Notaro, commanderin-chief of His Imperial Majesty’s forces and son of the late Imperial chancellor Takashi no Sogamori.”

“Lord Notaro,” said Yukio wonderingly. “How is it that all your clansmen have destroyed themselves and the chieftain alone is left behind?”

“We saw it all, Lord Yukio,” one of the samurai with Notaro said. “All the men on his ship were jumping into the water while he hesitated. At last one of his own officers pushed him over the side. Whereupon the coward stripped off his armour and tried to swim to shore. We fished him out.”

“If I ever again hear any man refer to a son of the great Sogamori in rude terms, I will personally take his head,” said Yukio evenly. “Lord Notaro is to be treated with all courtesy and given every comfort that we can supply. Escort him to the master cabin and move my things out of there. And untie him.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Notaro asked.

“I must send you to my brother, Lord Hideyori, for judgment.”

“My father should have killed both you and your brother when you were children,” said Notaro. “His generosity has destroyed his family.”

“Excuse me, but it was not your father’s generosity that moved him to spare my brother and me, Lord Notaro,” said Yukio with a smile. “It was my mother’s beauty.”

A rowboat carried the priest back from the Emperor’s abandoned vessel. A samurai walking before the white-robed priest struck a small gong to call attention to the holy object being carried on board. All on Soaring Crane prostrated themselves. In trembling hands the priest held a silk bag. Within, Jebu knew, was another, more worn, silk bag, and within that another, and so on to a number no one knew. Each time the outer covering of the sacred mirror began to deteriorate, it would be placed in a new one without removing any of the previous silk bags. The reflection of the sun goddess herself, it was said, could be seen in the sacred mirror, death for any mortal to look upon. The priest carried the one surviving Treasure of the Realm below to the ship’s shrine.

Placing Muratomo crews aboard the abandoned Takashi ships, Yukio ordered the victorious fleet to sail at once for Hyogo. Homing pigeons were released to carry word of the victory of Shimonoseki Strait to the capital and to Kamakura. Yukio leaned on the rail and looked out at the drifting red banners receding sternwards. Joining him, Jebu saw tears on his face.

“Why are you crying, Yukio-san?” said Jebu softly. “Is it from joy at our victory?”

“I am thinking about the Takashi, and how nothing lasts,” said Yukio slowly. “How magnificent they were when I was a boy. How swiftly their glory has vanished. How long will the kami permit us to enjoy our own victory?”

The following morning, as they sailed eastwards past jewel-like islands, a samurai reported to Yukio that Lady Harako had disappeared during the night.

“It is better for her,” said Moko. “She