Читать книгу 47 Ronin - John Allyn - Страница 9

Chapter One

MARCH 13, 1701.

The sun completed its route over the Pacific and began to set, the waters reddening around the islands of Japan. To the southwest, on a path near the Inland Sea, a tall man on an unkempt stallion shielded his eyes from the glare as he rode tight-lipped through the pines.

His name was Oishi; he was the chief retainer of the Asano clan, the rulers of this hilly domain. He was returning to the castle at Ako after an all-day horseback tour of the castle town with his master’s little daughter, who rode beside him on a pony with a tangled mane.

They made a strange pair. Oishi was a handsome man in his early forties with a high-domed forehead, a square jaw, and an air of quiet authority. His topknot, pleated hakama skirt, and two swords identified him as a samurai, a member of the warrior class. The child was petite and vivacious, bright as a butterfly in kimono and obi. Yet, in spite of their differences, each was comfortable in the other’s presence. The girl was freed from the strict discipline her parents imposed on her; Oishi was freer with a child, especially someone else’s, to relax his official manner and even joke a little.

At the moment, as their shabby horses jogged homeward, there was less conversation between them than usual. Oishi was appalled at what he had seen in the town, and the little girl respected his silence.

All his life Oishi had heard the Buddhist edicts against violence and cruelty, but in practice they had always been tempered with common sense. Sometimes one had to kill to defend oneself against an enemy, or, in the case of animals, to get food. Personally, he had always deplored the cruelty in tournaments where dogs were brought down by spears or arrows and he had no objection to such sport being abolished. But the Shogun’s new Life Preservation Laws went much too far. Animals were now apparently more privileged than humans and this topsy-turvy manner of thinking had brought the whole country to the brink of economic chaos.

In the town Oishi had seen once thriving farmers begging for jobs because they were not allowed to fight back against the pests that destroyed their crops. Foxes, badgers, birds, and insects ran rampant in the fields while those who had planted the seed stood by helplessly.

Oishi knew that poultry was secretly being sold in the back rooms of some otherwise respectable shops, but on the whole violations of the law were few. Not only was the administrative machinery of the Shogun’s government extremely effective in catching lawbreakers, but the penalty for injuring any living thing was severe. For taking the life of an animal, the punishment was the execution of the “criminal” himself.

There were others who were as badly off as the farmers. The occupations of hunter, trapper, and tanner had become obsolete and these men, too, were crowding the towns, seeking some way to support their families. To their consternation, they found that jobs were scarce and food prices high, boosted out of reach of the common people by the scant supply of farm products. The only commodity seemingly available at a low price was a young girl to sleep with, due to the growing number of farmers’ daughters who had been sold into the brothels to tide their families over the bad times.

As always, Oishi had skirted the so-called pleasure quarters when touring the town with Lord Asano’s daughter, but now the houses of prostitution were increasing so fast that they spread right out onto the main road and were impossible to avoid. Shocking was the word for it, and he was certainly going to bring it to his master’s attention when he returned.

As yet his own class had not felt the economic pinch—the samurai were paid out of funds that came from selling the rice grown on their lords’ fiefs at the going high prices—but their lives had been affected by the Shogun’s edict in other ways.

There was no more archery practice or competition, because they could not pluck goosefeathers for their arrows. There was no more falconry because all the birds had been set at liberty and even the Shogun’s Master of Hawks had been discharged. Horsemanship was becoming a lost art because the horses’ hooves could not be pared or their manes clipped under penalty of banishment. But worst of all, in Oishi’s mind, was the general laxity of morals that was spreading from the Shogun’s capital down into the provinces.

As the son of a samurai, Oishi had spent his childhood in the study of Confucian ethics as part of the necessary training of a soldier who must learn loyalty as well as fierceness on the field of battle. Because of this, he was shocked at reports that the dancing and play-acting that overran Shogun Tsunayoshi’s capital at Edo (Tokyo) was beginning to have a softening effect on the samurai quartered there. He had even heard rumors that samurai had been seen in the Kabuki theaters of Kyoto, the city of pleasure as well as of temples, but these he found hard to believe.

Such things had been going on for some time, but Oishi had not been aware of just how bad things had gotten in town until today. He began to compose in his mind the report he would make to Lord Asano, and as he thought of her father he turned toward the little girl riding beside him. She smiled at him but then her expression became more serious. She, too, had noticed a change in the countryside.

“Uncle,” she asked him, “why are all the farms so messy looking? They’re none of them kept up well at all. Don’t you think you ought to report the farmers to my father for not properly doing their jobs?”

Oishi laughed heartily and she was reassured before he spoke that things were not as bad as they seemed. “Let’s not blame the farmers until we know their side of it, too, shall we?”

“But what excuse could they have for neglecting their fields so?”

“It’s not because they want to neglect them, little daughter. It’s the animals they’re forbidden to kill by the Life Preservation Laws that are ruining the land.”

“But why are we forbidden to kill the animals—especially those that annoy us so?”

“Because the Shogun has said it is wrong to take the life of an animal and because we are loyal to our master, your father, and would not think of bringing shame on him by disobeying the orders of his lord, the Shogun.”

“But why did he make this hard law in the first place?”

Oishi sighed. As much as the law hurt, he could understand Tsunayoshi’s reasons for promulgating it.

“Because more than anything else in the world he wants a child. A sweet, pretty child like you. He lost one you know—a little boy four years old who died. And his priest has told him that in order to have another, he must atone for some sin committed in a previous life—one in which he most likely wantonly destroyed some living thing. You’ve seen that we don’t use dogs in our tournaments any more—that’s because our Shogun was born in the Year of the Dog and to kill a dog is now punishable by death.”

“Even if one should attack you?”

Oishi mused for a moment. “In that case it might be all right—but it would be a good idea to have witnesses that the dog took the first bite.”

He smiled at her and the little girl smiled back, but she was not sure whether he was joking or not. She decided she would ask her father about it when he got home from Edo.

With a shout she kicked her little feet into her horse’s flanks and lurched into a gallop. “I’ll race you home,” she cried, already ten lengths ahead, her long hair flying.

Oishi gave the fierce cry of the attacking warrior and galloped after her. He maintained the distance between them, and together they moved over the winding road and up the final hill. At the top they came in sight of the castle, far below in the middle of a large plain, strategically located so that invaders could not approach unseen. It was always a spectacular sight with its high stone walls and white tile-topped towers, but on this occasion neither of them paused to appreciate the view.

The sinking sun was throwing long clutching shadows behind them as they raced down the hill toward the gate. It crossed Oishi’s mind that when the same sun rose again in the morning it would be the beginning of Lord Asano’s last day in Edo. He hoped all was going well at the ceremonies in the Shogun’s capital where the etiquette was so unfamiliar and demanding. Lord Asano was not noted for his patience and the less he had to participate, the better. Anyway, he would soon know the whole story. As the little girl entered the gate, well ahead of him as always, and he followed to receive the salutes of the sentries, the thought came again: tomorrow would be the last day.