"He made us strong," Yoshi muttered.
"His Legacy gave us power to keep the land pure, and at peace in the way he designed."
I must not fail him.
Eeee, what a man! How wise of his son, Sudara, the second Shogun, to change the name of the dynasty to Toranaga, instead of the real family name of Yoshi--so that we would never forget the fountainhead.
What would he advise me to do?
First patience, then he would quote Sun-tzu: Know your enemy as you know yourself and you need not fear a hundred battles; know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat; know neither the enemy nor yourself and you will succumb in every battle.
I know some things about the enemy, but not enough.
I bless my father again for making me understand the value of education, for giving me so many varied and special teachers over the years, foreign as well as Japanese. Sad I did not have the gift of tongues and so had to learn through intermediaries: Dutch merchants for world history, an English seaman to check Dutch truth and to open my eyes --just as Toranaga used the Anjin-san in his time --and all the others.
Chinese who taught me government, literature and Sun-tzu's "The Art of War"; the old renegade French priest from Peking who spent half a year teaching me Machiavelli, laboriously translating it into Chinese characters for me as his passport to live in my father's domains and enjoy the Willow World he adored; the American pirate marooned at Izu who told me about cannon and about oceans of grass called prairies, their castle called White House and the wars with which they exterminated the natives of that land; the Russian emigr`e convict from a place called Siberia who claimed he was a prince with ten thousand slaves and told fables of places called Moscow and St. Petersburg, and all the others--some teaching for a few days, some for months but never a year, none of them knowing who I was, and I forbidden to tell them, Father so careful and secretive and so terrible when aroused.
"When these men leave, Father," he had asked in the beginning, "what happens to them? They're all so frightened. Why should that be? You promise them rewards, don't you?"' "You're eleven, my son. I will forgive your rudeness in questioning me, once. To remind you of my magnanimity you will go without food for three days, you will climb Mount Fuji alone and you will sleep without covering."
Yoshi shuddered. At that time he did not know what magnanimity meant. During those days he had almost died but achieved what was ordered of him.
As a reward for his self-discipline his father, daimyo of Mito, had told him he was being adopted by the Hisamatsu family and made heir of that Toranaga branch: "You are my seventh son. In that way you will have your own inheritance, and be of a slightly higher lineage than your brothers."
"Yes Father," he had said, holding back his tears. At that time he did not know he was being groomed to be Shogun, nor was he ever told.
Then, when Shogun Iyeyoshi died of the spotted disease four years ago and he was twenty-two and ready and proposed by his father, tairo Ii had opposed him, and won--Ii's personal forces possessed the Palace Gates.
So his cousin Nobusada was appointed.
Yoshi, his family, his father and all their influential supporters were ordered into severe house arrest. Only when Ii was assassinated was he freed and reinstated with his lands and honors, along with the others who survived. His father had died in house confinement.
I should have been Shogun, he thought for the ten millionth time. I was ready, trained and could have stopped the Shogunate rot, could have formed a new bond between Shogunate and all daimyos, and could have dealt with the gai-jin. I should have had that Princess as wife, I would never have signed those agreements, or allowed the negotiations to go so badly against us. I would have dealt with Townsend Harris and begun a new era of careful change to accommodate the world outside, at our pace, not theirs!
Meanwhile I am not Shogun, Nobusada is elected Shogun correctly, the Treaties exist, Princess Yazu exists, Sanjiro, Anjo and gai-jin are battering at our gates.
He shivered. I had better be even more careful. Poison is an ancient art, an arrow by day or by night, ninja assassins in their hundreds are out there, ready for hire. And then there are the shishi. There must be an answer! What is it?
Sea birds circling and cawing over the city and castle interrupted his thought patterns.
He studied the sky. No sign of change, or tempest, though this was the month of change when the big winds came and, with them winter. Winter will be bad this year. Not a famine like three years ago but the harvest is poor, even less than last year...
Wait! What was it Anjo said that reminded me of something?
He turned and beckoned one of his bodyguards, his excitement rising. "Bring that spy here, the fisherman, what's his name? Ah yes, Misamoto, bring him to my quarters secretly at once--he's confined in the Eastern Guard House."
Tuesday, 16th September: Precisely at dawn the cannon of the flagship bellowed the eleven-gun salute as Sir William's cutter came alongside the gangway. From the shore came a faint cheer, every sober man there to watch the departure of the fleet for Yedo. The wind was strengthening, sea fair, light overcast. He was formally piped aboard, Phillip Tyrer in attendance--the rest of his staff already aboard accompanying warships. The two men wore frock coats and top hats.
Tyrer's arm was in a sling.
They saw Admiral Ketterer waiting for them on the main deck, John Marlowe beside him, both in dress uniform--cocked hats, gold braided and buttoned blue cutaways, with white shirts, waistcoats, breeches and stockings, buckled shoes and gleaming swords--and, immediately, Phillip Tyrer thought Damn, how handsome and elegant yet masculine John Marlowe always is, just like Pallidar in his uniform. Damned if I have any dress clothes, or any clothes for that matter to rival them, and poor as a church mouse compared to them and not even a Deputy Secretary yet. Damn! There's nothing like a uniform to flatter a man and give him standing with a girl ...
He almost stumbled into Sir William who had stopped on the top step as the Admiral and Marlowe saluted politely, ignoring him.
Blast, he thought, concentrate, you're equally on duty, equally at the beck and call of the Mighty! Be careful, become part of the scenery too, Wee Willie Winkie's been like a cat with a hornet in his bum since you reported yesterday.
"'Morning, Sir William, welcome aboard."
"Thank you. Good morning to you, Admiral Ketterer," Sir William doffed his hat, followed by Tyrer, their frock coats tugged by the breeze. "Set sail, if you please. The other Ministers are on the French flagship."
"Good." The Admiral motioned to Marlowe.
At once Marlowe saluted, went to the Captain who was on the open bridge, just forward of the single funnel and main mast, and saluted again.
"Admiral's compliments, sir. Make way for Yedo."
The commands went rapidly down the line, the sailors gave three cheers, in moments the anchors were being chanted aboard and in the cramped boiler room three decks below, teams of stokers, stripped to the waist, shoveled more coal into the furnaces to another rhythmic chant, coughing and wheezing in air permanently fouled with coal dust. The other side of the bulkhead in the engine room, the chief Engineer engaged "half ahead," and the huge reciprocating engines began to turn the propeller shaft.
She was H.m.s. Euryalus, built at Chatham eight years ago, a three-masted, one-funnel, screw-assisted, wooden cruiser frigate of 3,200 tons burthen, with 35 guns, a normal complement of 350 officers, seamen and marines--while below decks were 90 stokers and engine room staff. Today all sails were sparred and decks cleared for action.
"A pleasant day, Admiral," Sir William was saying. They were on the quarterdeck, Phillip Tyrer and Marlowe, who had greeted each other silently, hovering close by.
"For the moment," the Admiral agreed testily, always uncomfortable near civilians, particularly someone like Sir William who was his senior in rank. "My quarters are available to you below you if you wish."
"Thank you." Sea gulls were dipping and cawing around their wake. Sir William studied them for a moment, trying to throw off his depression. "Thank you but I'd rather be on deck. You haven't met Mr. Tyrer, I believe? He's our new apprentice interpreter."
For the first time the Admiral acknowledged Tyrer.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Tyrer, we can certainly use Japanese speakers here. How's your wound?"
"Not too bad, sir, thank you," Tyrer said, trying to retreat once more into anonymity.
"Good. Rotten business." The Admiral's pale blue eyes ranged the sea and his ship, his face florid and weatherbeaten, with heavy jowls and a choleric roll of flesh on the back of his neck over his starched collar. For a moment he watched the smoke critically, noting its color and smell, then grunted and brushed some specks of coal dust off his impeccable waistcoat.
"Something's amiss?"
"No, Sir William. The coals we get here don't compare with Shanghai best, or good Welsh or Yorkshire coals. Too much clinker in it. It's cheap enough when we can get it but that's not often. You should insist on an increased supply, it's a major problem for us here, major."
Sir William nodded wearily. "I have but they don't appear to have any locally."
"Filthy stuff, wherever it comes from. We can't use sail today, not with this wind against us. Engine assists are perfect for this sort of exercise and close inshore maneuvers, or docking. With the best man-of-war afloat, under sails, even a tea clipper--we'd take five times as long to get to Yedo and not have enough sea room for safety.
More's the pity."
Sir William was out of humor after another sleepless night and reacted instantly to the Admiral's discourtesy and stupidity telling him something that was obvious. "Really?" he said thinly.
"Never mind, soon we'll have a completely stinkpot navy, no sail at all and that will be that."