The Emperor of Nihon-Ja ra-10

  The Emperor of Nihon-Ja

  ( ranger's apprentice - 10 )

  John Flanagan

  The Emperor of Nihon-Ja

  John Flanagan

  Toscana 'Avanti!'

  The command rang out over the sun-baked earth of the parade ground and the triple files of men stepped out together. At each stride, their iron-nailed sandals hit the ground in perfect unison, setting up a rhythmic thudding, which was counterpointed by the irregular jingle of weapons and equipment as they occasionally rubbed or clattered together. Already, their marching feet were raising a faint cloud of dust in their wake.

  'You'd certainly see them coming from quite a distance,' Halt murmured.

  Will looked sidelong at him and grinned. 'Maybe that's the idea.'

  General Sapristi, who had organised this demonstration of Toscan military techniques for them, nodded approvingly.

  'The young gentleman is correct,' he said.

  Halt raised an eyebrow. 'He may be correct, and he is undoubtedly young. But he's no gentleman.'

  Sapristi hesitated. Even after ten days in their company, he was still not completely accustomed to the constant stream of cheerful insults that flowed between these two strange Araluans. It was difficult to know when they were serious and when they were speaking in fun. Some of the things they said to each other would be cause for mayhem and bloodshed between Toscans, whose pride was notoriously stronger than their sense of humour. He looked at the younger Ranger and noticed that he seemed to have taken no offence.

  'Ah, Signor Halt,' he said uncertainly, 'you are making a joke, yes?'

  'He is making a joke, no,' Will said. 'But he likes to think he is making a joke, yes.'

  Sapristi decided it might be less confusing to get back to the point that the two Rangers had already raised.

  'In any event,' he said, 'we find that the dust raised by our soldiers can often cause enemies to disperse. Very few enemies are willing to face our legions in open battle.'

  'They certainly can march nicely,' Halt said mildly.

  Sapristi glanced at him, sensing that the demonstration so far had done little to impress the grey-bearded Araluan. He smiled inwardly. That would change in a few minutes, he thought.

  'Here's Selethen,' Will said and, as the other two looked down, they could see the distinctively tall form of the Arridi leader climbing the steps of the reviewing platform to join them.

  Selethen, representing the Arridi Emrikir, was in Toscana to negotiate a trade and military pact with the Toscan Senate. Over the years, the Toscans and Arridi had clashed intermittently, their countries separated only by the relatively narrow waters of the Constant Sea. Yet each country had items that the other needed. The Arridi had reserves of red gold and iron in their deserts that the Toscans required to finance and equip their large armies. Even more important, Toscans had become inordinately fond of kafay, the rich coffee grown by the Arridi.

  The desert dwellers, for their part, looked to Toscana for woven cloth – the fine linen and cotton so necessary in the fierce desert heat – and for the excellent grade of olive oil the Toscans produced, which was far superior to their locally grown product. Plus there was a constant need to replenish and bring new breeding stock to their herds of sheep and goats. Animal mortality in the desert was high.

  In the past, the two nations had fought over such items. But now, wiser heads prevailed and they had decided that an alliance might be mutually beneficial for trade and for security. The waters of the Constant Sea were infested by corsairs in swift, small galleys. They swooped on merchant ships travelling between the two countries, robbing and sinking them.

  Some in the region even looked back regretfully to the time when Skandian wolfships used to visit these waters. The Skandians had raided as well, but never in the numbers that were seen these days. And the presence of the Skandian ships had kept the incidence of local pirates down.

  Nowadays, the Skandians were more law abiding. Their Oberjarl, Erak, had discovered that it was far more profitable to hire his ships out to other countries who needed to secure their national waters. As a result, the Skandians had become the de facto naval police in many parts of the world. The Toscans and Arridi, with no significant naval forces of their own, had decided, as part of their agreement, to lease a squadron of wolfships to patrol the waters between their two coastlines.

  All of which were the reasons why Halt and Will had spent the past ten days in Toscana. The longstanding enmity between the two countries, accompanied by the inevitable suspicion of the other's intentions, had led both sides to agree to ask a third-party nation to act as arbitrator in the treaty that was being put in place. Araluen was a country trusted by both Arrida and Toscana. In addition, the Araluans had close ties with the Skandian Oberjarl and it was felt that their intervention would be helpful in forming a relationship with the wild northern seamen.

  It was logical for Selethen to suggest the inclusion of Halt and Will in the Araluan delegation. He had included Horace in the request as well, but duty had taken Horace elsewhere.

  The actual wording and conditions of the treaty were not the concern of the two Rangers. They were simply here to escort the chief Araluan negotiator – Alyss Main-waring, Will's childhood sweetheart and one of the brighter new members of the Araluan Diplomatic Service.

  She was presently locked away with the Arridi and Toscan lawyers, thrashing out the fine details of the agreement.

  Selethen dropped gratefully into a seat beside Will. The three companies of Toscan legionnaires – thirty-three to a company, with an overall commander making up the traditional Toscan century of one hundred men – pivoted through a smart right turn below them, changing from a three-abreast formation to an extended eleven-abreast. In spite of the wider formation their lines were still geometrically perfect – straight as a sword blade, Will thought. He was about to voice the thought, then he smiled. The simile wouldn't be accurate so far as Selethen's curved sabre was concerned.

  'How are the negotiations progressing?' Halt asked.

  Selethen pursed his lips. 'As all such things progress. My chamberlain is asking for a reduction of three-quarters of a per cent on the duty to be charged for kafay. Your advocates,' he said, including Sapristi in the conversation, 'are holding out for no more than five-eighths of a per cent. I had to have a break from it all. Sometimes I think they do this because they simply like to argue.'

  Sapristi nodded. 'It's always the way. We soldiers risk our lives fighting while the lawyers quibble over fractions of a percentage point. And yet they look upon us as lesser beings.'

  'How's Alyss managing?' Will asked.

  Selethen turned an approving look on him. 'Your Lady Alyss is proving to be an island of calm and common sense in a sea of dispute. She is very, very patient. Although I sense that she has been tempted to whack my chamberlain over the head with his sheaf of papers on several occasions.' He looked down at the three Toscan companies, now reforming into three files.

  'A destra! Doppio di corsa!'

  The order was given by the century commander, who stood in the centre of the parade ground. Instantly, the companies turned right, reformed into three files, then broke into double time, the thud of their sandals and the jingle of equipment sounding louder and more urgent with the increase in pace. The dust rose higher as well.

  'General Sapristi,' Selethen asked, indicating the tight formations, 'this precision drilling makes for quite a spectacle. But is there any real benefit to gain from it?'

  'Indeed there is, Wakir. Our fighting methods depend on discipline and cohesion. The men in each century fight as one unit.'

  'Once a battle begins, my men fight largely as individuals,' Selethen said.
His voice indicated that he saw little value in this style of co-ordinated, almost machine-like manoeuvring. 'Of course, it's the commander's job to bring his forces into the most advantageous position on the field. But after that, I find it's almost impossible to control them as individuals. Best to let them fight their own way.'

  'That's why all this drilling is necessary,' Sapristi replied. 'Our men become accustomed to reacting to orders. It becomes instinctive. We teach them a few vital drills, and practise them over and over. It takes years to train an expert warrior. Constant drilling means we can have a legion ready to fight effectively in less than a year.'

  'But they can't possibly learn to be expert swordsmen in so short a time?' Will asked.

  Sapristi shook his head. 'They don't have to. Watch and learn, Ranger Will.'

  'Alt!' The command rang out and the three companies crashed to a stop as one.

  'A cloud of dust and a line of statues,' Will mused.

  Across the parade ground, a trumpet blared and warriors began to appear from behind the buildings there. They moved quickly to form an extended line of battle – not as disciplined or as rigidly maintained as the century's formation. They were armed with wooden practice swords – long-bladed swords, Will noticed, and round shields. Roughly one-quarter of them carried recurve bows in addition to their swords.

  At a command, the 'enemy' began to advance across the parade ground. The line undulated as some sections moved faster than others.

  'Tre rige!' shouted the century commander. Halt glanced a question at Sapristi.

  'Form three ranks,' the general translated. 'We don't use the common tongue for field commands. No sense in letting the enemy know what you have in mind.'

  'None at all,' Halt agreed mildly.

  Moving smoothly and without any undue haste, the three companies trotted into position, three ranks deep and thirty-three wide. The ranks were separated from each other by about a metre and a half.

  The enemy force halted their advance some sixty metres from the rigid lines of legionnaires.

  The wild-looking enemy tribesmen brandished their weapons and, at a shouted command, those among them with bows stepped forward, arrows ready on the string. The observers heard the faint sound of fifty arrows rasping against the bows as they were drawn back to the fullest extent. At the same time, the centurion called his counter order.

  'Tartaruga! Pronto!'

  Ninety-nine man-high, curved shields came round to the front, with a rattle of equipment.

  'Tartaruga means "tortoise",' Sapristi explained. 'Pronto means "ready".'

  The enemy commander shouted an order and the archers released a ragged volley. As the first arrow sped away, the Toscan centurion bellowed:

  'Azione!'

  'Action,' translated Sapristi.

  Instantly, the soldiers reacted. The front rank crouched slightly, so that their shields covered them completely. The second and third rank stepped close. The second rank raised their shields to head height, interlocking them with those of the front rank. The third rank did likewise. The hundred men of the century were now sheltered by a barricade of shields to the front and a roof of shields overhead.

  Seconds later, the volley of arrows clattered against them, bouncing off harmlessly.

  'Just like a tortoise,' Will observed. 'Who are the enemy?'

  'They're all warriors from neighbouring countries and provinces who have elected to join our empire,' Sapristi replied smoothly.

  Halt regarded him for a moment. 'Did they elect to join?' he asked. 'Or was the decision made for them?'

  'Perhaps we helped a little with the decision-making process,' the Toscan general admitted. 'In any event they are all skilled and experienced warriors and we use them as auxiliaries and scouts. They are extremely useful for demonstrations of this kind. Watch now.'

  The attacking force had stopped at the point from which they had fired the volley of arrows. The general pointed to where a group of orderlies were running onto the field, each one carrying a rough outline of a man cut from light wood. There were at least one hundred of them, Will estimated. He watched curiously as the men placed the upright targets in place, thirty metres from the front rank of the legionnaires.

  'For the purpose of the demonstration,' Sapristi said, 'we'll assume that the enemy has reached this position in their advance. We don't use real warriors for this part of the exercise. It's too costly, and we need our auxiliaries.'

  The orderlies, many of them glancing nervously at the still ranks of legionnaires, ran from the field once their targets were in position.

  Will leaned forward eagerly. 'What happens now, General?'

  Sapristi allowed himself a small smile.

  'Watch and see,' he said.

  Nihon-Ja, some months earlier Horace slid the screen to one side, grimacing slightly as he eased the door open. By now, he had learned to handle these light wood and paper structures carefully. In his first week in Nihon-Ja he had destroyed several sliding panels. He was used to doors that were heavy and needed some effort to get them moving. His hosts were always quick to apologise and to assure him that the workmanship must have been faulty but he knew the real reason was his own clumsiness. Sometimes he felt like a blind bear in a porcelain factory.

  Emperor Shigeru looked up at the tall Araluan warrior, noticing the extreme care he took with the door, and smiled in genuine amusement.

  'Ah, Or'ss-san,' he said, 'you are most considerate to spare our flimsy door from destruction.'

  Horace shook his head. 'Your excellency is too kind.' He bowed. George – an old acquaintance of Horace's from his days in the Ward at Redmont and his protocol adviser on this journey – had impressed upon him that this was not done out of any sense of self-abasement. The Nihon-Jan bowed to each other routinely, as a mark of mutual respect. In general, the depth of the bow from both sides was the same. However, George had added, it was politic to bow much deeper to the Emperor than you might expect him to bow to you. Horace had no problem with the custom. He found Shigeru to be a fascinating and gracious host, well worthy of deference. In some ways, he reminded Horace of King Duncan – a man for whom Horace had the deepest respect.

  The Emperor was a small man, much shorter than Horace. It was difficult to estimate his age. The Nihon-Jan all seemed much younger than they really were. Shigeru's hair was tinged with grey, so Horace guessed that he must be in his fifties. But small as he might be, he was amazingly fit and possessed a deceptive wiry strength. He also had a surprisingly deep voice and a booming laugh when he was amused, which was often.

  Shigeru clicked his tongue lightly as a signal that the young man didn't need to hold the position any longer. As Horace straightened up, the Emperor bowed in reply. He liked the muscular young warrior and he had enjoyed having him as a guest.

  In training sessions with some of the leading Nihon-Jan warriors, Shigeru had seen that Horace was highly skilled with the weapons of his own country – the sword, longer and heavier than the curved Nihon-Jan katana, and the round shield that he used so effectively. Yet the young man showed no sense of arrogance and had been keen to study and compliment the techniques of the Nihon-Jan swordsmen.

  That was the purpose of Horace's mission. As a Swordmaster in Araluen, and as a potential Battlemaster, it made sense that Horace should be familiar with as wide a range of fighting techniques as possible. It was for that reason that Duncan had despatched him on this military mission. In addition, Duncan could see that Horace was becoming bored. After the heady excitement of his clash with the Outsiders in company with Will and Halt, it was easy for the young man to become impatient with the humdrum routine of life at Castle Araluen. Much to the chagrin of Duncan's daughter, Cassandra, who enjoyed Horace's company more and more, he had sent him on this fact-finding mission.

  'Look at this, Or'ss-san,' Shigeru said, beckoning him forward.

  Horace smiled. None of the Nihon-Jan had been able to master the pronunciation of his name. He had become used to being addr
essed as Or'ss-san. After a few early attempts, Shigeru had cheerfully adopted the simplified version. Now he held out his cupped hands to Horace and the young man leaned forward to look.

  There was a perfect yellow flower nestled in the Emperor's palm. Shigeru shook his head.

  'See?' he said. 'Here we are, with autumn upon us. This flower should have withered and died weeks ago. But today I found it here in my pebble garden. Is it not a matter for thought and wonder?'

  'Indeed it is,' Horace replied. He realised that he had learned a great deal in his time here – and not all of it about military matters. Shigeru, even with the responsibility of ruling a varied and, in some cases, headstrong group of subjects, could still find time to wonder at the small occasions of beauty to be found in nature. Horace sensed that this ability led to the Emperor's enjoying a great deal of inner peace and contributed in no small measure to his ability to face and solve problems in a calm and unflustered way.

  Having shown the flower to his guest, the Emperor knelt and returned it to the neatly raked array of black and white pebbles.

  'It should remain here,' he said. 'This is where its fate decreed that it should be.'

  There were stepping stones through the garden so that the Emperor and his guest could avoid disturbing the symmetry of the raked stones. It was like a stone pond, Horace thought. He was aware that each morning, the Emperor would rake the pebbles into a slightly different pattern. A lesser man might have had servants perform this task, but Shigeru enjoyed doing it himself.

  'If everything is done for me,' he had explained to Horace, 'how will I ever learn?'

  Now the Emperor rose gracefully to his feet once more.

  'I'm afraid your time with us is coming to an end,' he said.

  Horace nodded. 'Yes, your excellency. I'll have to return to Iwanai. Our ship is due there at the end of the week.'

  'We'll be sorry to lose you,' Shigeru said.

  'I'll be sorry to go,' Horace replied.

  The Emperor smiled. 'But not sorry to return home?'