Shike by Robert J. Shea (classic children's novels txt) 📖

the battlefield. I have fought for only one reason, that I might expunge the disgrace, defeat and sorrow suffered by our father. I accepted the title of lieutenant and the other honours because I thought they would bring glory to the Muratomo. You are our father’s successor on earth, and I live only to serve you. All that I have done, I lay at your feet. Let me come to you and plead my innocence face-to-face. Do not spurn me, for if you do, where on this earth can I turn?

-Second Month, twelfth day

YEAR OF THE SHEEP

A month after Yukio sent the letter, Jebu unrolled his futon and lay down to sleep, as usual, just outside Yukio’s bedchamber. Erom within he heard the plaintive sound of Yukio’s flute accompanying a woman’s sweet voice raised in song. The singer was a young woman named Shizumi, whom Yukio had taken as a mistress upon his triumphal return to the capital after Shimonoseki. Besides having a beautiful voice, she was considered the finest dancer in the land. Jebu lit a lamp and sat cross-legged on his mat, revolving the Jewel of Life and Death in his fingers as the mournful music fell, note by note, on his ears. That men and women could take the crude clay of painful human existence and shape it into poetry, music, art and dance was, at times, all that made life bearable. Tonight was the night of the full moon, whose beauty fascinated poets and scholars. Jebu lay down and dozed, but sleep came with difficulty. He could not forget that it was under a full moon that Taniko had lain in his arms for the first time.

He was suddenly awakened by the sound of stealthy footsteps in a near-by room. Eor a moment he was still reliving that night nearly thirty years ago when Taniko’s soft footfall had roused him from sleep. Then he came back to the present. As always when he was unexpectedly awakened, he remained motionless. To the ear of a Zinja or any welltrained assassin, there was a difference between the small sounds made by a sleeping person and those made by one only pretending to be asleep. Jebu knew how to imitate those sounds. He allowed his body to shift from time to time as a sleeper would, all the while listening carefully to the movements in the next chamber. There were two, perhaps three, men on bare feet. They had avoided the singing boards placed throughout Yukio’s mansion, floorboards that would creak loudly when stepped on. That meant they had help from members of Yukio’s household.

Jebu heard a screen sliding back. Clearly the intruders were not trained to make an inaudible approach. Yukio’s samurai guards might not hear anything, but to a Zinja it was as if an ox were being led through the mansion. The enemy probably knew Jebu was outside Yukio’s room, and now that they could see him, they would try to kill him. At that very thought, Jebu heard the faint rasp of an arrow being pulled from its quiver and the creak of a bow being drawn. When he heard the archer take a sharp breath just before he let go the bowstring, he rolled to, one side. The arrow thudded into the futon. Jebu shouted an alarm, seized his naginata and sprang. The archer was still holding the bow extended when Jebu drove his stiffened fingers into the man’s windpipe, crushing it.

“Wolf! Wolf!” a man cried from behind the falling archer. At that signal more dark figures crowded into the room. Jebu swung the naginata in an arc that sliced through two of the attackers. Now there was light. The young dancer Shizumi stood in a white silk robe like the statue of a goddess, calmly holding aloft a lantern as her lover, Yukio, rushed into the fray, slashing with his long sword, recklessly naked, as if he didn’t care whether an enemy blade bit into his unprotected flesh. Jebu scanned the raiding party looking for a leader. It would be important to leave at least one of the would-be assassins alive, to find out who was trying to kill Yukio. All the attackers were ragged Heian Kyo street toughs, except for one who wore black armour and had the shaven head of a Buddhist monk. As Yukio’s guard poured into the room and blood splashed on the floor and flecked the walls, Jebu fell upon the warrior monk and knocked him senseless with the pole of his naginata.

Moments later all the attackers except the monk had been cut to bits. The monk lay in Yukio’s bedchamber, glaring sullenly as Yukio pressed the point of his sword into his throat. He was stripped of his armour and wore only his saffron under robe. According to Yukio’s guards there were twelve dead raiders in the anteroom.

“Tell me at once who sent you, or I’ll cut your throat,” Yukio demanded.

The captured assassin’s brown eyes remained opaque, his thin lips closed. “I’ll have him talking in an hour, my lord,” said the captain of the guard, anxious to make amends for his failure to protect Yukio.

“I would rather you inspected the household,” Jebu said. “Eind out how many guards these men had to bribe or kill to gain access to Lord Yukio.” He smiled at the captive. “You and I are going to drink ch’ai and talk together, as one monk with another.”

When the ch’ai was brought, Jebu sat companionably on a straw mat beside the prisoner, who refused even to tell his name. Jebu poured a cupful of the steaming green liquid for himself and a cup for the monk. To the monk’s cup he added a white powder from a paper packet. When he held out the cup, the monk pressed his lips tightly together and shook his head. Still smiling, Jebu reached over and pressed a spot under the monk’s ear. The shaven-headed man’s mouth dropped open, though he remained seated upright. Jebu put his hand over the monk’s face, pinching his nostrils together and tilting his head back. He poured ch’ai down the captive’s throat.

“Now you will join me in prayer,” Jebu said. “Homage to Amida Buddha.” Slowly, softly, Jebu droned the invocation over and over. At first the monk sat silently. Then, as if his lips and tongue had acquired a life of their own, he joined in the prayer. “Very good,” Jebu said. “Continue by yourself, please.” The monk went on repeating the invocation, his voice flat, lifeless. At last Jebu said, “Now stop.” He leaned forward, bringing his face closer to the other man’s.

“What is your name?”

“Yato,” said the monk in an empty voice.

“What monastery are you from, Monk Yato?”

“The Rodojo-ji, at Hyogo.”

“That temple was endowed by the Takashi,” said Yukio. “Hyogo was their chief seaport. This monk must have been trying to avenge them.” He was sitting on his sleeping dais, dressed now in tunic and trousers, his sword in his lap. Shizumi crouched in a corner, the dark eyes in her pale face like two inkblots on a sheet of paper.

“I doubt it,” said Jebu. “Now, Yato. You are a holy man. You have taken the Buddhist vow never to injure any living thing. You should take up arms only in defence of your temple. Yet, you tried to assassinate this noble lord who has never harmed a holy place. You have broken your vow, have you not?”

“My abbot commanded me,” said Yato dully. “I could not disobey.”

“So, you had to choose between your duty to your abbot and fidelity to your vow,” said Jebu gently. “That must have been hard. You carry a heavy karmic burden. If you tell us now why your abbot commanded you to kill Lord Yukio, it would lighten your karma somewhat.”

The monk’s shaven head glistened with sweat. “I am not permitted to tell.”

“Your superiors have forfeited their right to your obedience,” said Jebu. “You are guilty of many wrongful deaths. The men you hired to help you in this attack, the guards you killed breaking into this mansion. Their angry spirits will pursue you until you atone.”

“We did not kill any guards. We bribed those who were on duty to let us in.”

“We will have to discover and execute the guards you bribed,” said Jebu. “You are responsible. Who instructed your abbott to send you?” The monk’s lips moved, but he made no sound.

“You must tell me, Yato.”

The cords in Yato’s neck stood out as he struggled with himself. At last, in a strangled voice, he said, “It was the lord of Kamakura.” “No!” Yukio cried.

Now that the barrier was broken, Yato’s words poured out. “It was Muratomo no Hideyori, honoured Shogun of the Sunrise Land. He promised benefits to our temple if we did what he asked of us and said we would suffer great harm if we did not. My Eather Abbot told me I would be acting for the protection of my temple.”

“This monk lies,” Yukio snarled, gripping his sword hilt.

Jebu held up his hand in a restraining gesture. “In his present condition, he cannot lie. You do not want to see what is so, do you, Yukio-san?”

Tears sparkled in Yukio’s eyes. “It is the end of all my dreams. I’ve helped to rebuild this land, and now there is no place for me in it. I can’t rebel against my brother. All I want to do is serve him. Why won’t he accept me? Why does he try to kill me? There is only one thing left for me to do. I must go to Kamakura alone and unarmed.”

“Do you think this monk is the only assassin your brother has sent out against you? He is too careful for that.”

“The Zinja monk speaks the truth,” a hollow voice said unexpectedly. Yukio and Jebu turned to Yato.

“What more can you tell us?” said Jebu.

“My abbot said that whether our effort to kill Lord Yukio succeeded or failed, the lord of Kamakura is sending an army to seize Heian Kyo and wipe out all Lord Yukio’s friends and followers. The barbarian horsemen from the Sunset Land are even now on their way.”

“The Mongols?” said Yukio, stunned. “Have the Mongols turned against me?”

“Were they ever really for you?” said Jebu. “You no longer have an army of your own to command, Yukio-san. You cannot make a stand here. We must gather those we trust and escape from the capital at once.” A picture of Arghun Baghadur riding at the head of his tuman arose in Jebu’s mind. If the Mongols travelled with their usual speed, they might be here before the news of their coming could precede them.

Staring uncomprehendingly, his cheeks still wet with tears, Yukio slowly stood up. Jebu had never seen him like this. He had to resist an impulse to shake his friend. He gestured to Shizumi, who was already gathering Yukio’s robes, to help him dress and went out to give the necessary orders to the household.