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

he hadn’t known that Torluk was also part of Yukio’s Mongol contingent. All he could think of was the memory of Torluk seated on his pony in front of his silent tuman, giving the signal to fire on the samurai.

“Jebu, sit by me,” Yukio called.

It was past bearing. Jebu turned and began to push his way out of the room.

As he crossed the market square, he sensed that he was being followed. Port cities like this were infested with thieves. Also, there were secret societies of Chinese rebels that still harassed the Mongols. Jebu stepped into a side street and a hand seized his sword arm. Thinking he was about to be attacked, Jebu whirled with his hand raised to strike a killing blow.

The man holding his arm was Yukio. His brown eyes were furious. “You embarrass me in public with your rude behaviour,” Yukio growled.

“Is it possible to be rude in a riot like that?”

“You are determined to destroy everything I am doing. Nothing means more to you than your hatred of Arghun.”

“You mean more to me, Yukio,” Jebu said sadly. “I still think you’re making a mistake allying yourself with Arghun.”

Yukio spoke more calmly. “I realize it is worry for me as much as anything that makes you act as you do. If it reassures you, I know Arghun and his Mongols are dangerous. It’s just that there is a certain kind of risk a military man must take, if he wants to win wars.”

They began to walk, side by side, down to the riverfront docks. Only the red and green lanterns on the masts of the junks lit their way. Jebu walked warily, keeping his hand near his sword hilt.

“Perhaps you’re too concerned with winning and losing,” Jebu said.

“That’s one part of the Zinja philosophy I’ve never been able to accept fully,” said Yukio. “What is the point of fighting if you do not try to win?”

“We fight because we choose to fight. We hope to achieve a state of insight which unites us with the Self.”

“Is that better than winning?”

Jebu laughed. “It’s something you can get whether you win or lose. That can be very convenient, sometimes.”

Yukio laughed with him. “You realize, Jebusan, you’ve made me look like a fool, running after you when I should be with my guests?” Yukio walked over to the river’s edge and sat down, looking out at the water. “You are very important to me. You are so important I seriously considered giving up ten thousand fighting men, just to please you.”

“You didn’t consider it for a moment.”

“Jebu, I’ve known you for fifteen years. The night I escaped from the Rokuhara, I probably wouldn’t have reached the first farmhouse outside Heian Kyo without your help. You swore that night to serve me. You held out your sword to me. Ever since, you’ve kept me alive. You’ve given me strength when I was convinced the Muratomo were finished and was ready to cut open my belly. You sustained me through these years of exile. You’ve taught me your skills, given me good counsel, been my friend. I put all that in one scale and Arghun’s tuman in the other, and you, by yourself, nearly outweigh the ten thousand men.”

Jebu sat silently beside Yukio at the river’s edge. He felt his eyes grow moist. The bright lanterns reflected in the river blurred. Mooring ropes creaked, and Chinese sailors called to one another.

“If you think so highly of me, why won’t you listen to me?” “Because in the most crucial moments of my life I can listen only to myself.”

“Perhaps that’s your way of achieving union with the Self.”

Yukio turned to Jebu with appeal in his eyes. “You say a man does what he thinks he must do, and the desire to succeed must take second place. That is all I am doing. I may lose this war with Sogamori if I bring in Arghun and his men. But bringing in Arghun and Torluk and their ten thousand warriors is what I must do. It is an opportunity I cannot turn away from. The Mongols may betray me, but not until after we have conquered Sogamori. Then I will be invincible. Jebusan, if you believe I am going into danger, come with me. In the name of all that has happened between us, do not force us to break with each other. I need you now more than ever. I am on the verge of winning. My whole life has been leading up to this moment. Stay with me now.”

Ever since Yukio had announced that Arghun was going with them, Jebu had been thinking about the fact that he was well past thirty years old; in fact, he was closer to forty. Zinja generally retired from the field and often married after the age of thirty. He had found Taniko again. If they could overcome the obstacle of Kiyosi’s death, why couldn’t he and Taniko go_ to a Zinja temple somewhere and live as Nyosan and Taitaro had? Except that he would never leave Taniko as Taitaro had left Nyosan.

Jebu contemplated his dream. He looked into Yukio’s wide eyes, saw the call for help in his face. He reached out and took Yukio’s hand.

“When I first met you, I swore to serve you and offered you my sword. I will never take back either, the promise or the sword.”

The next morning the samurai were out earliest of all. No one had suggested it, but by some unspoken agreement they all came down to the wharves to watch the sunrise. A fresh, sea-scented breeze blew up the river from the coast, gently rocking the anchored junks.

Yukio stood in the stern turret of the junk nearest the sea, the one that would be first to sail. It was an awesome ship, with seven raked masts. Elat-bottomed so it could navigate both rivers and ocean, it was unpainted and undecorated, as was customary among the northern Chinese.

Jebu stood beside Yukio and looked down at the samurai, less than three hundred of them, who had survived the years of China. Most of them had long since adopted the dress of Chinese or Mongol warriors, but on this day they were all wearing the battle dress of the Sacred Islands. They must have scoured their belongings to find every helmet, every breast plate, every gauntlet and skirt they still had.

Yukio addressed them. Later he would be talking to all the warriors under his command, but he wanted to begin the day with a special word for the samurai. Gripping the railing, he leaned towards them.

“We fled the Sacred Islands five years ago, impoverished and defeated. Since then we have won victory after victory. We stopped a Mongol army at Kweilin. We helped Kublai Khan triumph over Arik Buka. We have learned new ways of fighting and the use of new weapons. We have been handsomely rewarded by the Great Khan of the Mongols, and the wealth we bring back with us will buy us power.

“We leave behind the ashes of many mighty warriors in this foreign land. Sakamoto Michihiko … Imai … Kiyowara . Tajima … Jomyo … Oba … Saito … so many others I cannot name them all. All their names are inscribed on the scroll of honour which accompanies us on our return to the Sacred Islands.

“During these years we have fought not just for ourselves but for the house of Muratomo. We now return to the Sacred Islands to overthrow Sogamori and his family, and we will call upon the brave men in all provinces to lend their efforts to the cause. We will rid the realm of Takashi tyranny. We will restore the holy institutions that have been abused or destroyed by the Takashi. We will win even greater glory for ourselves and our ancestors than we already have won by our deeds here in China. Today we sail into history.”

He lifted his arms over his head, and the samurai shouted, “Muratomo!” three times in unison.

While Yukio was speaking, the rest of the warriors were gathering on the docks. Yukio came down from the ship, mounted his horse, and joined Arghun and Torluk in overseeing the assembly of their troops. Seated on the ponies that would sail with them in the holds of the junks, the Mongols formed a great half circle facing the ships. In front of each unit of a thousand men stood an officer bearing a standard on a long pole. The samurai took their position in the circle, the White Dragon banner of the Muratomo fluttering before them. To one side waited the noncombatants who would be sailing with Yukio’s warriors, among them Moko and Taitaro, and, modestly hidden in a sedan chair, Taniko.

Horns sounded. An officer tied a long strip of white cloth to each standard. He brought the other ends of the strips together in the centre of the half circle. Yukio, Arghun and Torluk dismounted and stood on the ends of the cloth strips. A shaman added another ribbon to those under the feet of the leaders. He tied the other end to the thigh bone of an ox and, gesturing with the bone, began a series of incantations in Mongol.

At this moment the ceremony was interrupted. A band of riders in black sable cloaks came thundering down the street that led from the outskirts of Haitsin to the docks. Arghun, surprised, reached for his sabre as the riders swept down on them.

“Prepare! The Great Khan comes!” shouted one of the riders, an officer wearing a gold tablet.

Jebu expected to see Kublai Khan’s elephant-borne tower. Instead a small group of men on horseback approached at a trot. He recognized Kublai Khan immediately, the man in the centre of the group who was taller and darker than the rest. He had never before seen the Great Khan on horseback, but like all Mongols he rode as one born in the saddle.

Kublai Khan rode directly into the centre of the assembly. He wore a long white satin riding coat and sat astride an unblemished white horse. One Mongol tribe of famed breeders supplied him with a thousand head of these horses each year.

Yukio, Arghun, and Torluk immediately fell to their knees. In silence all the warriors dismounted. They knelt and stood nine times, paying homage in the Mongol fashion.

It made Jebu uneasy to see Yukio kneeling to the Great Khan at this moment. True, Yukio was still in the Khan’s service, but he was about to become a new person by crossing the sea. No longer one of the Great Khan’s warriors, but chieftain of the Muratomo clan.

Kublai Khan spoke in a voice that carried along the waterfront. “My hunting led me in this direction, and I remembered that my fierce warriors from the Sunrise Land were about to depart. I came to add my blessing to the shaman’s. Let me not interrupt these ceremonies. Muratomo no Yukio, may Eternal Heaven grant you success in your war across the sea. May you crush your enemies, may you see them fall at your feet. May you know the great happiness of a conqueror.”

Yukio was a tiny figure looking up at the Great Khan on his white horse. Jebu could see that his face was flushed with excitement. Bowls of mare’s milk were brought to Kublai Khan and the three leaders of the expedition. They dipped their fingers in the milk and sprinkled it towards the standards. Trumpets shrilled and drums thundered. Three times the warriors-Mongols, samurai and others from many lands-raised their war shout, shaking the walls of the warehouses nearby.

Kublai Khan waved a hand in farewell and rode his horse slowly across the open space before the assembled horsemen. He smiled and nodded as he