Instantly they fled again, leading the enemy deeper into the maze.
Almost stumbling, then rushing through the next narrow gap in the half-burnt wall where Akimoto and another waited in a second ambush. Without hesitation these two cut down the first of the attackers, screaming "Sonno-joi" while the remainder, stunned by the suddenness of the assault, halted to regroup. When they gave their battle cry and jumped over the body of their comrade through the bottleneck, Akimoto, Hiraga, and the others were nowhere to be seen.
At once the samurai fanned out and began a meticulous search, the sky filled with nimbus clouds and menacing.
In front of the burnt-out main gate, Anjo was now surrounded by guards. Five of his men had been killed, two were badly wounded. The two dead shishi had already been beheaded. The young shishi was helpless on the ground, one leg almost severed and he was holding on to it in agony, trying to stick it back together. Jozan was huddled against a wall.
Rain began.
The samurai standing over the youth said again, "Who are you? What's your name, who sent you, who's your leader?"
"I've told you, shishi from Choshu, Toma Hojo! I was leader! No one sent me.
Sonno-joi!"
"He's lying, Sire," a panting officer said.
"Of course," Anjo said, seething. "Kill him."
"Respectfully request he's allowed to commit seppuku."
"Kill him!"
The officer, a big, bearlike man, shrugged and went over to the youth. With his back to the Elder, he whispered, "I have the honor to act as your second. Stretch your neck." His sword sang in the air as he dealt the single blow. Formally he lifted the head by its topknot, presenting it to Anjo.
"I have seen it," Anjo said, following correct ritual, at the same time choked with rage that these men had dared to attack him, dared to frighten him half to death, him, Chief of the roju! "Now that one--he's a liar too, kill him!"
"Respectfully request he be allowed to commit seppuku."
Anjo was about to rave at him to kill the attempted assassin brutally or commit seppuku himself when he sensed the sudden collective antagonism of the samurai around him. The usual fear permeated him: whom do I trust? Only five of these men were his personal guards.
He pretended to consider the request. When his fury was contained, he nodded, turned and stomped off towards the castle gates in the increasing rain.
His men went with him. The remainder circled Jozan.
"You can rest a moment, shishi," the officer said kindly, wiping the rain from his own face. "Give him some water."
"Thank you." Jozan had prepared for this moment ever since, with Ori and Shorin and others four years ago, he had sworn to "Honor the Emperor and expel the foreigners." Summoning his waning strength, he groped to his knees, and was horrified to realize he was petrified of dying.
The officer had seen the terror, had expected it and quickly came forward and squatted beside him: "Do you have a death poem, shishi? Tell it to me, hold on, do not give way, you are samurai and this is as good a day as any," he said softly, encouraging the youth, willing the tears to stop. "From nothing into nothing, one sword cuts your enemy, one sword cuts you. Shout your battle cry and you will live forever. Say it: Sonno-joi... again ..."
All the time he had been preparing himself. With a sudden fluid movement, he stood erect and whirled his sword from the sheath--and the youth into eternity.
"Eeee," one of his men said with admiration.
"Uraga-san, that was marvelous to see."
"Sensei Katsumata of Satsuma was one of my teachers," he said throatily, his heart pounding like never before, but pleased that he had performed his duty as a samurai correctly.
One of his men picked up the head by its topknot.
The rain became tears, washing away the real ones. "Clean the head and take it to Lord Anjo for viewing." Uraga glanced at the castle gates. "Cowards disgust me," he said and walked away.
That night, when it was safe, Hiraga and the others sneaked out of the cellar that had been located in advance. By different routes they slipped away for their safe house.
It was overcast and black, wind strong with spattering rain. I will not feel cold, I will not show discomfort, I am samurai, Hiraga ordered himself, following the pattern of training in his family ever since he could remember. Just as I will train my sons and daughters--if my karma is to have sons and daughters, he thought.
"It's time you married," his father had said a year ago.
"I agree, Father. I respectfully request you change your mind and allow me to marry my choice."
"First, it is the duty of the son to obey the father, second it is the father's duty to choose the wives of his sons and husbands of his daughters, third, Sumomo's father does not approve, she is Satsuma and not Choshu and last, however desirable she is not suitable. What about the Ito girl?"' "Please excuse me, father, I agree my choice is not perfect but her family is samurai, she is samurai trained and I am possessed by her. I beg you. You have four other sons--I have only one life and we, you and I, we both agree it is to be devoted to sonno-joi and will therefore be short. Grant this to me as a lifetime wish." By custom such a wish was a most serious request and meant that, if granted, it precluded asking for any other, ever.
"Very well," his father had said gruffly. "But not as a lifetime wish. You may be affianced when she is seventeen. I will welcome her into our family."
That was last year. A few days later he had left Shimonoseki, supposedly to join the Choshu regiment in Kyoto, actually to declare for sonno-joi and become ronin--and put his secret four-year adherence and training to use.
Now it was Ninth Month. In three weeks Sumomo became seventeen but now he was so far outside the law there was no chance of safe return. Until yesterday. His father had written: Astonishingly, our Lord Ogama has offered a pardon to all warriors who openly embraced sonno-joi and will restore all stipends if they return at once, renounce the heresy and again swear allegiance to him publicly.
You will take advantage of this offer. Many are returning.
The letter had saddened him, almost destroying his resolve. "Sonno-joi is more important than family or even Lord Ogama, even Sumomo," he had told himself over and over.
"Lord Ogama cannot be trusted. As to my stipend ..."
Fortunately his father was relatively well off compared with most, and, because of his shoya grandfather, had been promoted to hirazamurai, the third rank of samurai. Above were senior samurai, hatomoto and daimyo. Below hirazamurai were all others--goshi, ashigaru, rural samurai, and foot soldiers, who were of the feudal class but below samurai. As such his father had had access to lower officials and the education of his sons was the best available.
I owe him everything, Hiraga thought.
Yes, and obediently I worked to become the best pupil in the Samurai School, the best swordsman, the best at English. And I have his permission and approval and that of the Sensei, our chief teacher, to embrace sonno-joi, to become ronin, to lead and organize Choshu warriors as a spearhead for change. Yes, but their approval is secret, for if known, surely it would cost my father and the Sensei their heads.
Karma. I am doing my duty. Gai-jin are scum we do not need. Only their weapons to kill them with.
The rain increased. And the tempest. This pleased him for it made interception less likely. The beckoning bath and sak`e and clean clothes kept him warm and strong. That the attack had failed did not concern him. That was karma.
Ground into him by his teachers and heritage was the certainty that enemies and traitors were everywhere until it was a way of life. His steps were measured, he made sure he was not being followed, changed direction without logic and, whenever possible, explored ahead before moving.