第5节

pping in the sea-breeze.

The spectators on shore fell to their knees as Toshiro directed his

steed down the ramp, then pressed their foreheads to the ground as he

passed by. Their obeisance was a sign of the reverence accorded to the

Shogun and the government officials who, under his guidance, ordered

the affairs of their nation. A reverence accorded but also demanded.

Had Toshiro been ill received, he could have called for the immediate

execution of anyone deemed guilty of insolent behaviour and indeed, as

he had demonstrated in the past, was quite capable of carrying out the

sentence himself.

Toshiro let the pony take him slowly through the village at a pace

known among samurai horsemen as the 'parade trot' - a jaunty,

high-stepping walk. The laws that obliged the lower ranks to push

their noses into the dirt also obliged their superiors to conduct

themselves with a certain style. When he had passed the last prostrate

inhabitant, he spurred the pony into a canter along the winding road

that led to Yedo.

The road swung from side to side of a narrow, ragged peninsula which,

in the mind of the Shogun, formed the upper half of his fish-island's

forked tail. To Toshiro's right, waves from the Eastern Sea broke

gently on the smoothly curving shore. To his left, the land was eaten

away by backwaters and bays, some of which had joined to form islands

linked at low tide by threads of rock and sand. Ahead lay a forty-mile

stretch of open road. The pony, responding to his urging, lengthened

its stride.

Behind him, the tall slender poles arched gracefully, their narrow

banners with their word-signs and emblems ironed flat by the wind.

Toshiro Hase-Oawa was a Herald of the Inner Court, one of a small,

select band of samurai who received their instructions from and

reported directly to the Shogun.

Although such messengers were not of exalted rank, this privileged

access to the summit of power meant that Toshiro and his colleagues

enjoyed the favour of senior and sometimes envious - court officials.

It also meant they were accorded similar treatment in the houses of the

powerful domain-lords, whose hospitality was often designed to loosen

tongues.

Heralds of the Inner Court were the Shogun's eyes and ears and spoke

with his voice, carrying his innermost thoughts to the furthest corners

of his realm. Because of their highly public role they were not

officially viewed as being part of the Shogun's network of spies and

informers but, amongst the schemers and the power-hungry, they were

known to act as a conduit for sensitive information gleaned by

important government agents; men (and women) who played many roles and

assumed many guises.

If an imaginary line were to be drawn through the Shogun's fish-island

from tip to tail and the island then divided into three equal parts

along the line, Yedo would be found close to the line dividing the

second section of the body from the tail. Situated on high ground,

almost equidistant from both shores, the multistoreyed summer palace

stood aloof from the neat clusters of low-lying dwellings that had been

built near by. Under an edict issued by the bakufu, no dwelling place

could be erected within a league of its walls, and no home within ten

leagues could be inhabited by any family unless one or more member of

the household was in the direct employ of the Shogun or his court

officials.

Built from mortared blocks of stone from the quarries of Baru-karina,

the sloping walls of the Yedo palace rose from a huge square moat.

Perched atop the walls, fifty feet above the surface of the water, was

the first layer of its wood, stone and tile-roofed superstructure. The

towers at each corner rose another sixty feet into the air and these

were joined together by an intricate maze of screened galleries, with

ornate cross-beams and curving rooflines. The feeling it conveyed to

an approaching visitor was one of wealth, solidity and power; the