Bloody Sunrise Read online

  ‘Well, there’s room for us both . . .’ Nicholas checked in consternation as the three young women also came in, and the door was closed.

  ‘What’s happening, sir?’ Ebury was nervous.

  Nicholas watched Masaru Sumiko, who had gone past them to dip her hand into the tub. Now she shook it dry, and faced them, smiling, and bowed, her hands once again disappearing into her sleeves. She said something in Japanese, gazing at their clothing. ‘We understand,’ Nicholas said. ‘And thank you.’ He bowed in turn, and moved to the door to open it and allow their mentors out, only to discover that it was bolted, and that one of the young women was there before him, also smiling like her mistress, and reaching up to unbutton and remove his tunic.

  ‘Nick!’ Tom cried, forgetting his rank in alarm, as the other girl started to undress him.

  Nicholas didn’t know what to reply. The girls were going about their duties with no hint of lewdness or levity, but with a grave and persistent concentration, carefully removing each garment and rather distastefully dropping it on the floor before turning to the next. ‘When in Rome,’ he suggested.

  And still Masaru Sumiko stood before the tub, gently smiling. Her presence disturbed Nicholas far more than the two girls, who were obviously servants. For now he was naked. No doubt, he thought, it was after all a good thing that he was so exhausted his reactions were less than normal. But still, he decided it would be a sensible idea to take refuge, as quickly as possible. He ran for the tub, but was stopped by Sumiko, who put her hands on his chest and shook her head. ‘Are we not supposed to bathe, young lady?’

  Still she smiled, and inclined her head towards his right shoulder. ‘Nick!’ Tom was exclaiming again.

  Nicholas turned, and watched the girl standing before him. She had removed her gown, and anything else she might have been wearing, and held a large pitcher of water. He realised she was very young, short and with slender arms and legs, even narrower thighs and shoulders, flattened belly and breasts which were hardly more than enlarged nipples, the whole shrouded in the long black hair. Scarcely nubile, he thought, looking at her pubes, and wondered that he could think such thoughts without immediately feeling a villain.

  He looked back at Sumiko, who slowly lowered herself until she knelt, pointed at him, and rose again. He hesitated, but it was necessary to do something, and quickly: he was not that exhausted, and was erecting very rapidly. He knelt as instructed, and the girl knelt beside him. On the far side of the room Tom was doing the same thing, gazing at his attendant like a petrified rabbit. The water was emptied over his shoulders; it was distinctly cold and made him shiver. But then the girl’s hands were at him, filled with sweet-scented soap, caressing his shoulders and thighs. ‘I do assure you, Miss Masaru,’ Nicholas gasped as the fingers slid between his legs and round his buttocks, ‘that we can manage.’

  Sumiko smiled at him. ‘Nick!’ Tom gasped. He had been without a woman for too long, and had ejaculated.

  Nicholas was close to one himself, and before he could check himself, his body was moving, involuntarily. The girl cast him a hasty look and was as quickly reprimanded by her mistress for any inconvenience she might have caused. Then she was washing him clean, while he stared at the smiling Sumiko.

  *

  The soaping finished, they were again rinsed and then at last allowed into the tub. Here the water was so hot it took Nicholas’s breath away. But it was wonderfully relaxing. He allowed his head to sink back, while he gazed at the three girls, standing in a row, anxiously watching the two men, and felt guilty for reflecting that he wished Sumiko had also stripped. Yet he could lie here forever, he thought, remembering what had just happened, anticipating what might yet be going to happen. But now Sumiko was beckoning them again, to leave the water, and a moment later they were encased in warm, soft towels, while the girls rubbed them dry, inducing at the same time a tremendous tingling of blood and muscle, a feeling of well-being which almost made up for the emptiness in his stomach.

  Sumiko smiled at him and indicated the garments she had brought. These consisted of a band to be worn round his waist, with an attachment to be passed between his legs and secured in the front, and on top a loose robe, rather like her own but made of cloth instead of silk, and secured with a girdle rather than a sash. It was utterly comfortable, even if it made him feel vaguely sinful to be so clad, his feet thrust into slippers.

  ‘Should we not don our other uniforms, Nick?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Perhaps they should be kept for later,’ Nicholas suggested, not wishing to oppose Sumiko in any way.

  She inspected him, her head on one side, and then bowed and laughed, the sweetest sound he thought he had ever heard, and took her hands from inside her sleeves to clap them together. He wished he could be sure whether she was expressing admiration or amusement. But now she turned to inspect Tom in turn, and Nicholas experienced a sudden pang of jealousy. Of Tom? Over a girl he had only just encountered and could hardly be described as having yet met? What was there about her, save that she had just seen as much of him as any previous woman, and there had only been a handful of those. Tom was in any event more concerned with mundane matters. ‘What of our weapons?’ he muttered.

  ‘We take them with us,’ Nicholas decided, and picked up his sword belt and the revolver holster, wondering if Masaru Sumiko would object. But she did no more than bow.

  The girl who had bathed him, having dried herself and resumed her kimono, opened the door for him. He stepped into the garden. But what a different place it was, on a sudden. And now he was to be fed. In the same style as he had been bathed? Sumiko hurried forward to lead them back into the inn, along the corridor, and into one of the rooms they had seen while passing earlier. Here Shimadzu no-Tadatune was seated, cross-legged, on a mat, his long sword resting on the mat beside him, his short sword still in his sash. ‘Ah, Lieutenant Barrett,’ he said. ‘Now truly you are ready to eat. Sit down, here on my left. Midshipman Ebury, will you sit on my right?’ Wondering at the honour done to the junior officer, Nicholas obeyed, motioning Tom to do the same. Carefully he laid his sword and holster on the mat beside him, knowing he was being watched with great interest by the hatamoto. ‘Now we can talk, while we eat.’ Tadatune clapped his hands, and three girls, no older than the pair who had bathed them, entered the room, bearing three low tables, each about a foot square and raised on short legs. One of these was placed in front of each of the men. The girls bowed and withdrew; Nicholas was disappointed to realise that Sumiko was apparently not to serve them, on this occasion.

  The three girls returned, each now bearing a tray on which there was a small, handleless cup of steaming green liquid. ‘Tea.’ Tadatune explained; he raised the cup, held in both hands, and inhaled rather than sipped.

  The liquid resembled no tea Nicholas had ever seen before, but he copied the Japanese, and wondered if he had scalded his upper lip; it was the hottest liquid he had ever drunk; equally, it did not taste like any tea he had ever drunk, either. He heard Tom spluttering, and watched the girls withdraw through the screen door. ‘It is good,’ he said. ‘Very warming.’

  ‘It will sharpen your appetite,’ Tadatune said. ‘But your friend does not like it.’

  ‘He is waiting for it to cool.’ But Nicholas’s curiosity, still mingled with jealousy, was getting the better of him. ‘He is also overwhelmed with the honour of being placed upon your right hand.’

  Tadatune raised his eyebrows. ‘He is less used to civilised company than you, perhaps, Barrett san. The post of honour does not seem to concern you in the least.’ Nicholas drank some more tea to hide his confusion; the liquid seemed to carve its way down his gullet and into his stomach. Tadatune was smiling. ‘Of course, I had forgotten. My teacher told me that in Europe the right hand is the side of honour. But how can that be so, Barrett san? My left hand is the side on which I carry my sword. Can there be a more honourable place than that for my guest to sit?’ The girls had returned with their trays. Now they bore plates, ea
ch containing two long slices of some brown, cake-like dish, covered with a dark sauce, and scattered over with ginger. ‘This is called manju,’ Tadatune said.

  ‘Oh, what would I give for a slice of beef,’ Tom muttered.

  ‘Just let’s be grateful for whatever we’re given,’ Nicholas told him, and to prevent Tadatune from taking offence, hurried on. ‘You value your sword, Mr Tadatune.’

  The samurai frowned, and then smiled. ‘Do you not value yours? Is it not said there is nothing between heaven and earth that a man need fear, who carries in his belt this single blade?’

  Nicholas made to carve the food with his knife, discovered to his surprise that the girl still knelt beside him, two small wooden sticks, perhaps nine inches long, held in her right hand. Using these as if they were extra fingers, she expertly broke off a piece of the cake, rolled it in the ginger, and held it to his mouth. An exclamation from beyond Tadatune told him that Tom was being similarly attended, as was the young nobleman. The food was extremely tasty, if again unlike anything he had ever had before; his saliva was almost painful as it poured into his mouth. He glanced down at the Japanese sword which lay beside him. ‘That is most certainly a splendid weapon, Mr Tadatune. May I look at it?’

  Once again Tadatune frowned at the Englishman’s importunity, but again his forehead cleared. ‘Certainly, if you wish. No!’ he cried, raising his voice for the first time as Nicholas reached for the hilt. It was richly decorated with a variety of designs representing animals, and was also studded with several semi-precious stones of a sort he had not seen before, and from its length clearly intended to be grasped in both hands. ‘No, my friend. No man may touch another’s sword, without joining him in combat. Allow me.’

  From his girdle he took a silk napkin, which he folded around the hilt before gripping it. He then carefully turned the sword over before drawing it, so that the reverse of the blade was now presented to Nicholas as it slowly left the scabbard. And what a splendid weapon it was, quite matching the hilt in beauty, although a good deal more purposeful. Nearly three feet long, and single-edged, it tapered from the quarter-inch-thick reverse to an edge with the sharpness of a razor, and obviously hardened with steel, for Nicholas could discern the difference in the metal over the last half-inch. The reverse was straight, but the blade was very slightly curved, until at the end it was rounded to indicate a cutting rather than a thrusting weapon. ‘A work of art,’ he commented, and looked up as the girls removed the remains of the manju and offered instead small cups of thin, clear liquid, rather hot.

  ‘Sake.’ Tadatune carefully replaced his weapon in its sheath, which was a brilliant red colour. The girls were now serving skewers on which there were small fish, apparently fried.

  ‘And the small sword?’ The fish was much more to Nicholas’ liking, and he was discovering that the liquid, which tasted like a hot sherry, was distinctly alcoholic. ‘For defence at close quarters?’

  ‘No, no, my friend. A man’s short sword is the ultimate guardian of his honour. For no samurai may surrender his person, following upon a defeat. In that eventuality, only death can absolve the shame.’

  Nicholas swallowed some fish before he had finished chewing, and drank some more sake. ‘You mean that should you be defeated in battle, you would take your own life?’

  ‘Defeat in itself is not dishonourable,’ Tadatune said. ‘Providing one can withdraw oneself and one’s forces in good order from the field, in the hopes of renewing the contest on a later occasion. But should one be forced to surrender, then certainly. Am I not a samurai? Would you not do the same?’

  The girl was kneeling before Nicholas, pouring more sake. ‘No.’ he said. ‘It is not the custom in my country.’

  The remains of the fish were removed, and in their place was a dish of two thin slices of goose, roasted and warm. ‘Now here is food!’ Tom exclaimed. ‘I wish there were more of it.’

  The girl smiled at Nicholas as she conveyed the first piece to his mouth.

  ‘And yet,’ Tadatune commented, ‘I have heard it said that there is much honour, in Europe.’

  ‘In my country,’ Nicholas said, ‘it is held that one’s prime duty, to one’s superiors, to one’s family, and to oneself, is to remain alive, if possible.’ The goose was finished. Nicholas drank some more sake, and watched the girl as she withdrew to the door, smiling at him. How good he felt, at once warmed and filled, and delighted by the wine fumes which circulated in his brain. How delightful the company. He thought he could sit there forever. And then he remembered the wreck, and the men whose lives had been lost through their own wilfulness . . . and the court martial he would have to face.

  ‘And yet you carry a sword,’ Tadatune remarked.

  ‘Would you like to look at it?’ Nicholas drew his weapon, and turned it over as Tadatune had done.

  ‘A splendid piece of workmanship,’ Tadatune observed, but Nicolas knew the hatomoto considered it inferior to his own. As it was.

  ‘We do not use swords for fighting, any more,’ he explained. ‘My weapon is strictly ceremonial.’

  ‘Then what do you fight with?’

  He clearly had no idea of the use of the revolver, and did not even suppose there might be a weapon inside the holster – Nicholas decided it might be best to leave things that way, for the time being. ‘We fight with guns,’ he explained.

  ‘There were no guns on board your ship.’

  ‘We had to throw them overboard, to stay afloat. But we also had rifles. Your people brought some of them ashore.’

  ‘They are strange muskets,’ Tadatune observed. ‘My people do not understand how they are loaded. You will have to show us. Is it true that your country is ruled by a queen?’ He gestured at the goblet placed in front of Nicholas by the girl, and raised his own. ‘Wine made from the plum. Is it not good?’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ Nicholas declared after a sip. ‘Yes. A great queen.’

  ‘There have been queens of Japan,’ Tadatune remarked. ‘Many centuries ago. But it is no longer possible. The Shōguns have forbidden it.’

  ‘You will have to explain your heirarchy to me,’ Nicholas said. ‘It is not really understood in the West. This Shōgun rules your country?’

  ‘The correct term is Sei-i-tai Shōgun,’ Tadatune said. ‘It means, the general who subdues the barbarians. This was his original function, many centuries ago, when first the Mikado, our emperor, found his sacred duties as vice-regent for the gods consumed too much of his time to permit him to look to the country’s defences. In time, the Shōgun indeed came to rule the nation, as regent for the Mikado himself. But since the Tokugawa came to power, more than two hundred and fifty years ago, the Shōguns have ruled as emperors; the Mikado is no longer seen or heard.’

  ‘You mean one family has held the prime ministership of Japan for two and a half centuries? You sound as if you do not altogether approve.’

  Tadatune’s face was grim. ‘A man should never forget his purpose in life, Barrett san. The shōguns were necessary. Many people consider that it is still necessary to have a shōgun. Does not his title mean, the general who repels the barbarians? Yet our present Shōgun, Tokugawa-no-Iemochi, tells us we must accept the Western barbarians, and allow them into our country. He is not fulfilling his purpose.’

  Nicholas finished his plum wine. ‘Midshipman Ebury and I are Western barbarians,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You are shipwrecked sailors,’ Tadatune said.

  ‘On whom you have taken pity. We are grateful. But is it not true that down to a few years ago we would have been murdered?’

  ‘Your fate lies in the hands of my father, who is daimyo of this district,’ Tadatune said. ‘In a few days time I will take you to meet my father. Until then, this room is yours. These girls will bring you anything you wish.’

  Nicholas reflected that any man who could father as charming a son as Tadatune was not to be feared. ‘I must confess that all I need at the moment is to rest,’ he said. ‘And I am sure Midshipman Ebu
ry feels the same. So if you would be good enough to ask the young ladies to show us to our beds . . .’

  ‘Beds, Barrett san?’

  ‘Couches for sleeping on, Mr Tadatune.’

  ‘These tatami are for sleeping, Barrett san.’ Tadatune gently tapped the mats on which they sat. ‘The girls will clear away these eating utensils and provide you with a mattress, with pillows, and a blanket, should you need it.’

  ‘The floor?’ Nicholas sighed. Tadatune was speaking to the girls, and the Englishmen watched them bringing in the mattress and two blocks of wood. ‘Those are our pillows?’ Nicholas inquired.

  Tadatune smiled. ‘You barbarians seek to ruin the strength of your bodies with too much softness. But fear not, Barrett san, these pillows are fashioned to fit your head and neck, and the wood is of a special quality.’

  *

  Nicholas felt he might have been shipwrecked on another planet, or been thrown back in time a thousand years, to a land where, it seemed, there was no religion or no inhibitions, where strength and the determination to use that strength was all. Where a man’s soul was kept in the custody of his sword.

  He walked the inn garden, his feet slopping in their slippers, his mind and body refreshed beneath his robe. His kimono. The very word, added to the slither of his naked flesh beneath it, indicated sybarism. He had just been bathed by a naked young woman. But because she had also bathed him yesterday and the day before, she had had almost no effect on him today. He had merely been disappointed that the innkeeper’s daughter had not attended them after that first morning. Masaru Sumiko! No doubt she had more important duties than looking after two shipwrecked mariners; the inn was always busy.