Tokyo Bay (30 page)

THE EAGLE WHEELED
in a great, slow circle, drifting easily on the wind, its wings straight and unmoving. For several moments
it
hovered motionless,
then
it
turned and swooped majestically down towards a vast, fleecy sea of cloud that stretched from Mount Fuji to the horizon. Like the clouds themselves its plumage was turned to gold in the dying blaze of the sun and, watching the gilded bird swinging through its graceful gyrations thousands of feet below the open door of the tiny pilgrim hut, Eden marvelled at its grace and power.
‘Do you see the eagle, Sentaro?’ he asked quietly over his shoulder.
‘Where, master?’ The shivering castaway pulled his quilts more securely about himself and craned his neck towards the doorway.
‘There
-
look!’ Eden pointed into the vast abyss spread before them, to where the eagle, now little more than a glowing speck, was sliding closer to the mountainside.
Peering downward, the Japanese let out a muffled exclamation of awe when he spotted the great bird.
‘I’ve never looked down on an eagle in f
l
ight before,’ he breathed. ‘This must be how the gods see our world.’
The sun was dipping below the western rim of the dense continent of fleece, dispersing and unravelling vast regions of
it
at the same time with the aid of the wind. Crimson and orange light was flooding over the ragged vapour contours, setting them ablaze, and in the far distance purple peaks of real mountain ranges were coming into view, thrusting up like fingers of smoke through the clouds. Golden veins of light shimmered in the dark landmass emerging below, hinting at the presence of rivers and lakes. Valleys and gorges, forests and foothills were also being revealed as the vast tectonic plates of cloud slowly parted. Some regions remained deep in shadow, others glowed suddenly under the blaze of the dying sun, and as Eden looked at each boundless vista in turn he felt a sense of exultation at the lifting of the oppressive, day-long cloak of cloud, After the harrowing storm and the blind scramble up Fuji’s grim black sides, the beauty of the sunset seemed to heal and revitalize all his wearied senses within moments.
Above their heads the immense dome of the sky was fading from blue to a softer, more subdued luminescence, and for the first time Eden was able to see at a glance the whole of the mountain’s massive girth below them. The perfect, unwavering line of the western slope nearest to the pilgrims’ hut seemed to have been slashed down the sky with an unearthly geometric exactitude, never deviating a degree from its course: a diagonal horizon tipped at forty-five degrees to the earth below, it sped dizzyingly downward, as unerring as an arrow in flight, to disappear into a cluster of cloud still clinging around the mountain’s base. The uniformly black surface of sand looked as though it was raked daily with the greatest precision to preserve a total perfection of line, and Eden stared at the slope in silent, awestruck wonder.
‘I can understand now, Sentaro, why the people of Nippon have always considered Fuji-san to be a sacred dwe
ll
ing place of the gods,’ Eden whispered over his shoulder. ‘It’s not like anything else I’ve ever seen. It looks as if it was shaped quite deliberately with giant hands...’
‘They say that slope is the best way down, master,’ murmured Sentaro, looking in the same direction. ‘It is very soft sand, and you can run fast all the way to the bottom.’
Eden craned his neck, following the line of the western slope above their shelter. Because fresh heaps of rocks and black drift had piled up around the hut, he was unable to see very far, but the all-pervasive blackness of the volcano was relieved suddenly, within his range of vision, by the tail of a long gully of white snow. Sparkling brilliantly in the light of the sinking sun, it reached down almost to the level of the pilgrim hut, and the sight of it caused Eden to cry out in surprise.
‘Sentaro, we’ve reached the snow line!’
He rose and moved out impulsively through the door of the hut, trying to see further up the mountain. Then, remembering their pursuers, he dropped into a crouch and retreated into the doorway again. His face thoughtful, he turned and looked back at the shivering castaway.
‘While you slept I’ve been thinking, Sentaro,’ he said quietly. ‘It wouldn’t be wise for you to climb any further. Our best course would be to try and get back down the mountain under the cover of darkness. Then I’ll head for the ship and you can begin making your way to Yurutaki.’
The Japanese looked at Eden without replying; huddled in his quilts close to the dead fire, he was still shivering, his face was very pale, and he was perspiring more freely than before.
‘I know how much
it
means to you, master, to climb to the summit of Fuji-san,’ he said at last in an unsteady voice. ‘In your dream you reached the very top.
‘It’s not more important than your safety’ replied Eden gently. ‘And you’ll recover faster if we descend immediately.’
The Japanese bowed his head in a gesture of thanks, but his expression remained dogged. ‘I thank you, master, but remember I also want to climb to the peak of Fuji-san for myself I feel the gods have guided my thoughts, and I want very badly to pray at the peak and give thanks. ..‘
‘Sentaro, I don’t think you have enough strength
-
’
‘But, master, listen,’ pleaded the castaway. ‘Riding here, I’ve seen once more the great beauty of my homeland. I’ve moved among my own people for the first time in a long while. In my heart I feel quite different now. I am very sure my place is here, no matter how great the dangers are. I know something of your country... Perhaps I can help others here to know something of it too . . . And I want to pray at the summit of Fuji-san for all these things He paused and peered anxiously at Eden. ‘Do you understand?’
Eden stared at the castaway’s bruised and swollen face. ‘I understand, Sentaro
-
but I still don’t think it’s wise for you to climb any further. It would be better for you to rest a little, before we go down.’
‘Then you must climb on alone, master!’ the Japanese persisted. ‘Go right to the top for both of us. I’ll wait here.’ Eden began to shake his head, but a beseeching look came into the eyes of the castaway. ‘At least go out now and climb above the hut! You will be able to see then how far it is to the top. Soon the sun will go down
-
this will be your last chance.’
Eden hesitated; then he smiled and patted the castaway on the shoulder. ‘All right, I’ll go and take a look. You wait here and keep warm.’
After scanning the slopes below the hut to check that there were no signs of the pursuing samurai, Eden picked his way up onto the cliff of lava, taking pains to conceal himself amongst the black boulders as he moved. Slipping into a crevice which provided cover on all sides, he raised his head cautiously above the rocks until he caught sight of the volcano’s magnificent white crown rearing towards the evening sky The sun was by now sinking fast into the western clouds, but the pyramid of snow was sof
t
ly reflecting its golden light. A few thin wisps of vapour clung to the high crags of lava rock that ringed the crater, but otherwise the pinnacle of the volcano, remote and austere in its grandeur, had beco
m
e fully visible in the light of the setting sun.
Eden stared upward, feeling himself gripped by a new sense of excitement and awe. They had come very close to their goal without realizing it, and he felt a sudden urge to rush headlong up a stepped lava
d
yke which he could see leading across the remaining escarpment. He guessed that no more than five hundred feet separated them from the crater, and he was filled with the sudden conviction that he could spring lightly to the summit within a few minutes, with little or no effort.
It was at that moment that he sa
w
the tiny figure of a man appear on the crater’s white rim. Dwarfed by the mountain, the man remained visible only briefly as he moved in front of a column of snow
-
covered lava. A second figure followed, then a third, and all three men stood still as though looking down towards his hiding place. Then they disappeared abruptly and Eden’s heart began to thud faster in his chest as he ducked out of sight himself.
The figures silhouetted starkly against the snow had seemed so minute that he immediately revised his estimate of the remaining distance to be covered:
perhaps it was nearer a thousand feet than five hundred. But, more disturbingly, all three men, he was certain, had been wearing horned helmets and ribbed armour, and despite the distance it was clear that they were carrying the now familiar twin swords of the samurai tucked into their sashes.

PACING FRETFULLY
along the lip of Mount Fuji’s summit crater on its northern side, Daizo Yakamochi seemed to see neither the infernal signs of scorching inside the awful cavity nor the breathtaking beauty of the necklace of mountain lakes that shimmered in the gathering dusk beyond the volcano’s northern flanks. Swathed in a long, thickly padded white kimono, his breath steamed from his mouth in clouds in the cold air and he gazed distractedly ahead as he walked, his expression agitated and ill-tempered. The stocky leader of the group of mountain monks, who had guided him and his first troop of samurai swiftly to the summit by the little-known north-eastern route, was trotting respectfully at his heels. Whenever the heir to the leadership of the Makabe clan slowed his pace, the monk slowed down too, taking care always to remain two or three steps behind him out of respect for his exalted rank.
‘Why have we not made any sightings of the foreign barbarian yet?’ demanded Yakamochi in an impatient tone, stopping to peer down abstractedly at the seared and blackened walls of the crater. ‘Why does there seem to be no sign of him?’
‘He has probably taken shelter somewhere against the storm, my lord: replied the monk mildly, as he came to a dutiful halt behind the young nobleman. ‘And, until the cloud lifted, it was difficult for anybody to see very far down the
m
ountain.’
‘If we don’t find him soon, it will be dark,’ snapped Yakamochi. ‘The night will make our task more difficult.’
The monk glanced quickly across the gaping maw of the half-mile-long crater, checking in turn the positions behind rocks and lava knolls where he had stationed hidden groups of sa
m
urai alongside his guides. The second search group had long since caught up, swe
ll
ing the small Makabe clan force to more than seventy warriors. Some were crouched in hiding; others were stretched
out
flat on the frozen ground so as to remain unseen, and from time to time small knots of men rose silently to their feet to hurry surreptitiously to new vantage points.
‘I am confident all our sentinels are continuing to maintain vigilance, my lord,’ said the monk quietly. ‘You can rest assured that every known approach to the summit is under our surveillance.’
‘What is the latest information on the movements of the men of the Kago clan?’ asked Yaka
m
ochi, still staring absently into the crater. ‘Which route are they following now?’
‘They are apparently still
m
oving across the northern face of the mountain at the same level, my lord. They are heading westward. You will remember that, before the storm, one of my monks saw them change direction after they stopped to pick up some discarded sandals. It’s far from certain why they are going that way . .
The leading monk broke off, watching two samurai who had appeared suddenly in the distance at the western end of the crater. They were running swiftly side by side through the snow; and the monk watched without making any comment until he was sure that the two warriors were heading towards them.
‘But I think we can expect, my lord, that before the sun sets our patience will be rewarded. .
Yakamochi looked up sharply at him. ‘What do you mean?’
Instead of replying, the monk nodded silently in the direction of the fast
-
approaching samurai. One was Yaka
m
ochi’s guard captain and, on hearing their hurried footsteps, the nobleman turned quickly. When they slid to a halt to prostrate themselves on the snow before him, he signalled impatiently for both warriors to rise.
‘What do you have to report, Motohiro-san?’ demanded Yakamochi, addressing the guard captain. ‘Have you seen something of importance?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ gasped the captain breathlessly. ‘There is a single climber below the western end of the crater. He was concealed among the rocks when I first caught sight of him.’
‘Are you sure he was alone?’ demanded Yakamochi.
‘Yes, my lord, we are sure! Nobody else was visible.’
‘Do you think
it
was the foreign barbarian that you saw?’
‘It’s impossible to say for certain, my lord,’ replied Motohiro, his chest still heaving. ‘He was wearing white clothing, and a broad straw hat
-
but he seemed to be a very big man.’
‘How far down the mountain is he?’ asked the monk quietly.
‘Just below the point where the snow begins,’ said Motohiro, turning to his companion. ‘Am I right?’
The other samurai nodded his agreement.
‘About a thousand feet from the crater; that would make sense,’ said the monk, his voice rising a little with excitement. ‘There is a pilgrim shelter there, at that level. And that is also the direction in which the men of the Kago clan have been heading.’
‘Was the man you saw coming up towards us?’ asked Yakamochi.
‘No, my lord. He climbed a little way very cautiously, then stopped and hid among the rocks. We left our companions watching his hiding place.’
‘Then we must go down quickly to capture him! Otherwise he may fail into the hands of the Kago clan!’ Yakamochi turned to the leading monk, his eyes bright with excitement. ‘
I
want
y
ou to lead a dozen of my most nimble warriors quickly down that route.’
‘It is a good way up, my lord, but a dangerous way to descend from this peak,’ said the monk without any sign of emotion. ‘But
it
is
possible, with care. If you wish me to lead armed men down there, I will do my best.’
Yaka
m
ochi turned back to his samurai. ‘You, Motohiro, select the twelve finest fighters and lead them down to capture the foreign barbarian
-
alive if possible. But don’t let him escape or fall into the hands of the Kago warriors, whatever happens. If necessary we can even use his dead body to foment war at Uraga!’
Motohiro placed his hand on his sword hilt and bowed low. ‘I have understood, my lord
‘You, remain here on the peak in command of the rest of our combined troop,’ ordered Yakamochi, turning to the other samurai officer. ‘Guard all other approaches and be ready to send reinforcements down in case the foreign barbarian evades capture or the Kago warriors appear!’
The second samurai also bowed in acknowledgement, then both men prostrated themselves formally at Yakamochi’s feet again, before dashing away to carry out his orders.
‘I shall accompany you myself’ said Yakamochi, looking grimly at the leading monk and urging him into a fast walk. ‘I wish to be on hand to see the foreign barbarian captured
-
or killed.’