Autumn Bridge (7 page)

The lid had been sealed to the rest of the box with wax, which also coated the entire surface of the container. Flecks of broken wax indicated it had been opened only recently, which was somewhat strange. Genji had told her that it was the duty of every Great Lord of Akaoka to read the history in its entirety upon his ascension, so of course, it should have been opened long ago. Genji must have resealed it with wax after he had read the scrolls, then opened it again before Emily received it. She would ask him about it later.

Inside, a rough cloth covered the contents. Within this cloth was another, of embroidered silk, brilliant with color. When Emily unfolded the first flap, she saw a pattern of roses, a wild profusion of them, in red, pink, and white, against a field of billowy white clouds in a bright blue sky. Since the American Beauty rose was near to being an unofficial symbol of the clan, it was more surprising that this was the first time she had encountered it among the cloths that always wrapped the scrolls within the trunks.

She removed one and unrolled it. Unlike every other scroll she had seen so far, this one was written almost entirely in the simple native Japanese phonetic script, called
hiragana
. The others had been written primarily in
kanji
, the Chinese characters which had been adapted by the Japanese to render complex ideas in their own language. Kanji had proved difficult for Emily in her studies of Japanese, but hiragana was another matter. She read the first line with little difficulty.

Lord Narihira learned from the visitor that the arrival of American beauty —

She stopped, surprised, and reread it. Yes, she had made no mistake. There were the phonetic marks for “American” —
ah-me-li-ka-nu.
If the word was mentioned, the scroll must date from a time after the Japanese were aware of the existence of the New World. The previous scroll she had translated covered much of the late eighteenth century. Perhaps this was also from that period. She began again.

Lord Narihira learned from the visitor that the arrival of American beauty in Cloud of Sparrows Castle would signal the ultimate triumph of the Okumichi clan. Fool that he was, he caused roses to be planted in the inner garden of the castle, and named them American Beauty roses, thinking that by so doing, he was bringing the prophecy to fruition. Is this not typical of a man, to try to force the river to flow in a certain way, rather than to understand its currents, and ride it effortlessly to its natural destination? It is hard to imagine a woman so foolish, is it not? When heaven gave men command of the world, the gods above were surely displaying a most mischievous sense of humor.

The style of the narrative was quite different from the formality of the writing in the other scrolls she had translated so far. The archaic language posed a challenge, but with the help of the bilingual dictionary she and Genji had been compiling, she was able to understand what she read with comparative ease, thanks to the absence of kanji. She continued without bothering to write down any immediate English translation. That could come later. She was too excited.

She finished the scroll just as Genji came to take his midday meal with her. By then she knew this trunkful of ancient writings contained something other than
Suzume-no-kumo.
That clan history had been written by the succeeding lords of the domain, beginning in 1291. The author of this scroll was surely a woman.

She had written her chronicle around the same time that the official one was begun.

And she told, as if from direct experience, of occurrences that spanned centuries beyond her lifetime.

“I don’t understand this at all,” Lady Kiyomi said, pouting at her husband. “Why must you help the Lord of Hakata? Has he not been an enemy of our clan for generations?”

Masamuné calmed the impatient warhorse beneath him. He wanted to sigh, but his five hundred retainers were gathered around him on their own horses, and he could hardly do something so unmartial in front of them. He should have listened to his father and married a woman less beautiful and less obstreperous.

“As I have already repeatedly explained, our sacred homeland has been invaded by the Mongol hordes.”

“You have
said
repeatedly, my lord, but merely saying explains nothing. Hakata Domain is not our sacred homeland. Why should we care if Mongol hordes, whatever they are, invade Hakata? Let them destroy the place. Then we would have one enemy less, would we not?”

He turned to his chamberlain for help, but that man, being gifted with both experience and wisdom, had fixed his entire attention on the distant tree line some minutes ago.

“If the Mongols destroy Hakata, then it is only a matter of time before they come here.”

She laughed. “Please be serious. Hakata is on Kyushu island and we are on Shikoku.” She said it as if it clarified all that needed to be understood.

Though Kiyomi had been his wife for ten years and borne three children, she still seemed so very young to Masamuné, especially when she laughed. He could not find it within himself to be angry with her, despite her painful lack of political understanding.

He bowed in the saddle. “I will return with many Mongol heads.”

“If you must bring back something of the Mongols, bring back Mongol jewels,” she said. “I don’t understand your fascination with heads at all.”

This time, despite his every effort, Masamuné sighed before he turned his horse’s head toward the castle gate. “Farewell.”

When the men were gone, Lady Kiyomi’s senior lady-in-waiting said, “I understand why you are behaving in such a way, my lady, but is it wise to do so? Wouldn’t Lord Masamuné benefit more from your actual wisdom at such a time rather than your pretended silliness?”

Lady Kiyomi said, “If I had knowledge unavailable to him, or if I could give advice he could not get elsewhere, yes, then your concern would be well-founded. Our lord has good counselors around him. He doesn’t need yet another. Better that he thinks I don’t understand, then he won’t worry about me worrying. When I come to mind, he will smile in amusement. Then he will focus his full attention on his task. Perhaps, in such a way, I can help him to come back.”

“Surely there is no doubt of that,” another of her ladies said. “Lord Masamuné is the greatest warrior of Shikoku.”

“Shikoku is a speck in the sea,” Lady Kiyomi said, “and the other islands of Japan just more specks. The Great Khan of the Mongol Empire commands armies numbering in the millions. He and his ancestors have conquered kingdoms many times the size of this insignificant place. Our lord is more likely to die in battle than to return.”

They walked in silence to the courtyard where the children played. There they joined in the childish games and spoke no more of war.

“Masamuné!” Gengyo, Lord of Hakata, was stunned to see one of his worst enemies arriving with reinforcements.

Masamuné bowed, a broad smile on his face. Gengyo’s dismay alone was worth the rigors of the arduous journey. “We have come to help you expel the arrogant invaders.”

“My deepest thanks to you. Unfortunately, we are not yet in a position to expel. With your help, we can perhaps hope to slow their advance until the Shogun’s main armies arrive.”

“Nonsense! When the Mongols came seven years ago, they broke and ran as soon as we charged.” If Masamuné tried to recall the details, he would remember that this was not quite true. The fighting had been hard and bloody, and it was quite possible that had the storm not come and driven their ships away, the Mongols would have taken the field. But his perception of the first invasion had taken on an entirely different shape, thanks to exaggerated retellings of those battles.

“There are more of them this time,” Gengyo said, “many more.”

“What does it matter? Let us charge immediately. What barbarian can stand against an all-out samurai attack?”

Gengyo gestured for Masamuné to follow him. He led the way to earthwork walls on the rise overlooking the shoreline plain. “See for yourself.”

Hakata Bay was filled with ships, hundreds of them, and hundreds more approached from the horizon. On land, Mongols were encamped in well-spaced, well-defended groups behind earthwork walls of their own. Masamuné estimated the number of Mongols he could see at twenty thousand. But their camps extended all the way down the shore and out of sight behind the western hills. If all the troops aboard the ships had come ashore, there could be as many as fifty thousand Mongols already in Japan, with many thousands more soon to land.

“Horses,” Gengyo said. “See? They have horses, too. Many of them. What we heard about them, the way they conquered China and Korea, and unknown empires in the Far West, must be true. We’ve skirmished a few times. The way they fight from the saddle is incredible. I don’t remember them fighting that way before.” No doubt Gengyo, too, had done his share of reshaping memories. “Our brave sailors from Choshu and Satsuma Domains have been climbing on board the enemy ships at night and killing many of them. But for every one that’s killed, ten more arrive.”

“What are they unloading now?”

“Those tubes and cylinders?” Gengyo looked very worried. “I don’t know. But they are pointing them in our direction.”

“When will the Shogun’s forces arrive?” Masamuné asked.

“Tomorrow. Or the day after. The Mongols will probably attack in force at noon.”

Masamuné and Gengyo watched the Mongols for several minutes in silence. Finally, Masamuné said to his lieutenant, “Remove the horses to safety. Bring the men forward on foot with their bows.” He turned to Gengyo. “They must cross a wide stretch of open terrain to reach us. We will cut them down with a barrage of arrows before they’re halfway here.”

“You!” The Mongol brigade commander pointed at Eroghut. “Bring your troop forward. You will attack with the first wave.”

Eroghut said to his brother, “Mongol dogs. They send us out to die. Then they will claim their cowardly victory riding over our bodies.”

“We won’t die,” his brother said. “Remember what Mother said. Our blood will outlive that of Kublai the Fat. When the Mongols are gone, the Nürjhen Ordos will rise again.”

Eroghut said nothing. His little brother’s faith in their mother’s words was touching. Like the rest of the surviving Nürjhen tribesmen, he believed her to be a sorceress in the same line as the legendary Tangolhun, who supposedly instructed Attila the Great to follow the sun westward to the destined homeland of the Huns. The same legends claimed for the Nürjhen kinship with the Huns, traditional enemies of the Mongols. All nonsense and children’s fables. Eroghut didn’t believe there was ever a Tangolhun or an Attila of such incredible greatness. As for the revival of the Nürjhen Ordos — from whence would it arise, when there were now barely enough of them to call a clan, much less a tribe, and an Ordos was no less than a hundred tribes? No, he and his brother and their kinsmen, the last Nürjhen warriors on earth, would die here in this wretched place called Japan. They had lost, and the hated Mongols had won. But they would not die alone.

Eroghut said, “They will send us against those fortifications on that rise above the beach. They will send the Uighurs and the Kalmuks and the Khitan along with us. Use them for cover as best you can. The Mongols will follow in our shadows like the shit-eating dogs they are. As soon as we crest the hill, turn and kill Mongols.”

“But what of the Japanese?” one of his cousins asked. “As soon as we show our backs, they will attack us.”

“They will not,” Eroghut said, not believing his own words for a moment. “They will see we are enemies of their enemy and fight with us shoulder to shoulder.”

“Eroghut, you are our clan leader, and we will obey you,” another cousin said, “but these wild natives are adherents of a vicious, mindless cult of death worship. Once the bloodlust is upon them, they do not stop to think. I agree with our cousin. They will attack us as soon as we are vulnerable.”

“If you must die, would you prefer to die fighting for the Mongol scavengers,” Eroghut said, “or against them?” That silenced all protest. The remnants of the great Nürjhen Ordos tightened the armor on their horses, adjusted their own, and rode to the front rank of the heavy cavalry. Behind them, the Chinese artillerymen and rocketeers prepared to fire.