Gai-Jin (77 page)

“Good. Always best to do it before a meeting—even so, a strong bladder is a most important boon to a diplomat.” After Sir William, mightily, and the other Ministers had relieved themselves, he led them through the door: Seratard, Count Zergeyev, von Heimrich, van de Tromp, Adamson and a newcomer by the last mail ship, Burgermeister Fritz Erlicher of the Confederation of Helvetia—Switzerland—a bearded giant from their capital Bern who spoke French, English, German, Dutch and many German dialects. Phillip Tyrer and Johann followed closely, André Poncin alongside Seratard.

The audience room was forty yards square with a massive, high-beamed ceiling, very clean, very drafty, and stone walls with arrow slits for windows. Impassive samurai lined the walls. Two rows of half a dozen chairs facing each other at the far end. Many doors. Only servants present to greet them. An elaborately garbed though low-rank Bakufu official motioned them to chairs without bowing as servants brought small trays, saying in Dutch: “Please be seated for tea.”

Sir William saw that Johann was deep in conversation with his Swiss Minister so he said irritably, “Phillip, ask that fellow where the Council of Elders, the
roju
, are.”

Hiding his nervousness and conscious that all eyes were on him and wanting to relieve himself again, Phillip Tyrer walked over to the official and waited for him to bow. The man did not, just stared at him, so he said sharply,
“Where are your manners? Bow! I am a Lord in my country and I represent these High Lords!”

The man flushed and bowed low and mumbled his apologies and Tyrer was exceedingly pleased that he had had the foresight to ask Nakama for some key phrases. He interrupted the man even more imperiously,
“Where are your masters, the
roju?”

“Ah, so sorry, please excuse me, Lord,”
the man stammered.
“They ask that you wait here to, er, to take refreshment.”

Tyrer missed words but he caught the gist.
“And after refreshments?”

“It will be my honor to conduct you to the meeting place,”
the man said, his eyes cautiously lowered.

Again, to Tyrer’s enormous relief, he understood. As he told Sir William what had been said he could feel the cold sweat on his back and knew he had been lucky so far.

Sir William snorted and leaned towards the others. “Damned if we should wait, eh, gentlemen? They’re overdue—it was agreed we’d go straight to the meeting—damned if I want to wait, nor drink their apology for tea. Good,” he said, and added to general approval, “Phillip, tell the fellow we came to see the
roju
. That’s what we want to do now. Now!”

“How, er, how strong do you, er, want me to be, sir?”

“For God’s sake, Phillip, if I wanted you to be long-winded and diplomatic I would have been long-winded and diplomatic. An interpreter’s job is to translate what is said exactly, not to give his interpretation of what is said.”

“The Great Lord says: he want see
roju
now. Now!”

The official was shocked at the impolite bluntness, an unheard-of affront, and was in a complete quandary. His instructions had been clear: The gai-jin will be kept waiting a suitable “face losing” period, about half a candle, when we will send word and you may escort them into our presence. He said rapidly,
“Of course I will take you the instant you have had refreshment and everything is ready for your perfect reception, but oh, so sorry, this is just not possible for a little while as their August Persons are not yet in their correct attire so it is not yet possible to comply with your Master’s unseemly request, Interpreter-san.”

“Please to say again, not fast,”
Tyrer said nervously, swamped. Another flood of Japanese. “Sir William, I think he’s saying we have to wait.”

“Eh? Why?”

“My Master say, why wait?”

More Japanese which Tyrer lost, so the man turned to Dutch, and Erlicher stepped into the conversation, further irritating Sir William and the others. At length Erlicher said, “It seems, Sir William, that the
roju
are not, how you say, ah yes, they are not quite ready, but when they are we’ll be taken to the audience room.”

“Please tell this—this fellow bluntly to take us there right smartly, that we are on time, that high-level meetings are always on time because both
sides have other important affairs of State to deal with as I’ve explained fifty times! And tell him to hurry up!”

Erlicher beamed and said it plainly and however much the official twisted and turned and eventually begged, he bowed and, as slowly as possible, led them through a door, down a corridor—first sending a messenger ahead to warn the Council of the gai-jin’s astounding impertinence.

Another corridor and then, ahead, samurai opened huge doors, the official went onto his knees and bowed his head to the floor. Four men in elaborate silk robes, swords in their belts, sat on chairs at the far end of the audience room on a slightly raised platform. The central chair was empty. In front of them, on a lower level—which all Ministers noted instantly—were six chairs for each of the Ministers and between the two knelt the official interpreter. A hundred or so samurai officers knelt in a half circle facing the door and as Sir William came in, all samurai in the room bowed. The four
roju
did not.

Sir William and the others bowed back politely, then approached the dais and took their seats: “Under no circumstances do Ministers of civilized nations get down on their knees and bow their heads to the floor,” Sir William had said, “whatever your customs, whether you do it or no and that’s the end of it!”

Phillip Tyrer, now an expert on bowing because of Nakama, noticed that each time an Elder bowed it was as superior to inferior. Never mind, he thought, awed and excited, we’re in the inner sanctum. When does the Shōgun arrive to take the empty chair? A boy? I wonder what he’ll look like and what—

An Elder began to speak. With a sudden start, Tyrer recognized him as the youngish official from their previous meeting at their Legation, and also the nervous, swarthy man sitting beside him who had said nothing then but had watched everything with his narrow eyes.

Why had two Elders come to meet with us without announcing themselves as such? he asked himself. Wait a minute, didn’t the young Official introduce himself as Tomo Watanabe, yes, certainly he did, “junior official, second class.” Obviously a phony name. But why? And why the disguise?

Unsettled, Tyrer left that to be answered later and gave his attention to what the man was saying, understanding almost none of it, as he had been forewarned by Nakama would happen, who had told him that Court-oriented words would probably be used, most of which, as with most ordinary Japanese words and phrases, had different, often conflicting meanings.

His concentration wandered. The third Elder was rotund with a pudgy face and feminine hands, and the last truly elderly, greying and thin-faced with a bad scar on his left cheek. All were barely over five and a half feet,
their winglike overmantles and wide-legged trousers and high-domed, lacquered hats tied under their chins and, above all their immobile dignity, making them imposing.

Now the Japanese interpreter spoke in Dutch: “The
roju
, the Council of Elders of the Shōgunate, welcomes the foreign representatives and wishes them to present their documents as has been agreed.”

Sir William sighed, mesmerized by the empty chair. “All right, Johann, let’s begin. Say to them, Shouldn’t we wait until the Shōgun honors us with his presence?”

This into Dutch into Japanese, much discussion, then again the young Elder, Yoshi, made a pronouncement, slowly and meticulously translated into Dutch, into English. “Basically, without the usual palaver, Sir William, the spokesman says the Shōgun wasn’t expected in this meeting, this is with the
roju
only. The Shōgun was to be later.”

“That was not as was agreed and I inform them again that Ministerial credentials are only presented to the Head of State, in this case the Shōgun, so we can’t proceed.”

Back and forth and then, to the Ministers’ displeasure: “The Elder says the Shōgun had to leave for Kyōto urgently and regrets he will not have the pleasure of meeting you, etc., but you can give the
roju
your credentials as they have his authority to accept them.”

Back and forth, Sir William’s annoyance reddening into visible anger, more discussion on both sides and more time consumed, then a scroll, heavy with characters and sealed importantly and handled as though it were the Holy Grail, was presented by a kneeling official to Sir William. “Phillip, can you read this?”

“I … no, sorry sir.”

“No need to worry.” Sir William sighed and turned to the others. “This is most improper.”

“Yes,” von Heimrich said coldly.

“Unacceptable,” Count Alexi Zergeyev agreed.

“A dangerous precedent,” Adamson said.

“It’s certainly most unusual,” Seratard said in French, “and they did promise the Shōgun. We could, for just this meeting, agree to their request, eh, my friends?” He was careful to hide his own annoyance and kept his voice smooth and gentle as André Poncin, at his elbow, had suggested in a cautious whisper the moment they had entered the room, adding: “Be careful, Henri, the
roju
spokesman is the same Bakufu official I … we made the offer to after the other meeting, to inspect a warship, remember?
Mon Dieu
, I thought he was important, but never one of the Elders! If we could get him on the side of France, it would be a marvelous coup …”

Count Zergeyev was saying, “Agreeing will create a deplorable precedent.”

“It will only be for this meeting. Yes?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s wind over a cow’s arse,” the Swiss, Erlicher, said. “Let’s get on with it.”

They argued. Tyrer listened but kept his attention on the Elders without being apparent, fascinated by them, wanting to take advantage of this rare opportunity to learn the maximum about them in the minimum time. His father had impressed on him from an early age: “In any meeting, always watch your opponent’s hands and feet, they are the giveaways, eyes too and faces, yes, but those are usually easily controlled. Concentrate! Observe, but cautiously, or the clues to tell you what he or she is really thinking will be obscured. Remember, my son, everyone exaggerates, everyone lies in some degree.”

The hands and feet of the swarthy, shifty-eyed Elder twitched constantly, little nervous movements, those of the young Elder hardly at all. From time to time, as in the other meeting, he saw the man he had dubbed “Shifty Eyes” whisper to the young Elder, the spokesman—only to him. Why? Tyrer asked himself. And why does Shifty Eyes take no part in any of their discussions, seemingly dismissed by them, keeping his eyes constantly on the Ministers and not the interpreters?

Abruptly Sir William motioned at the empty chair: “If the Shōgun was not expected at this meeting, and there are five Elders in the
roju
, why is there an empty chair?”

Back and forth, forth and back and then: “He says the President of their Council, Lord Anjo, has just been taken ill and cannot be here, but that does not matter, they have his authority to proceed. Please proceed.”

Von Heimrich said, in perfect French as a put-down to Seratard, “Doesn’t this invalidate the meeting, didn’t they keep harping on the ‘unanimous’ nature of this Council? Five men. This could be another deceitful ploy to be used in future to negate the whole proceedings.” Again an argument began.

Only Sir William was silent. He was keeping his fury, and anxiety, off his face. Clearly we’ve been duped again. What to do? Then heard himself say in a firm voice: “Very well, we will accept this authority as bona fide from your Shōgun, for this meeting only. We will inform our governments that prior agreement was not adhered to and
we will proceed to Kyōto as soon as possible to present credentials properly to your Shogun—and Emperor Komei—with a more than suitable escort.”

As Johann began to translate into Dutch, Count Zergeyev murmured, “Bravo—that’s the only way to deal with the
matyeryebitz!”
Von Heimrich and van de Tromp, the Dutchman, quietly agreed, to the objections of Seratard, Adamson the American and Erlicher.

The Japanese interpreter gaped and said loudly he was sure that he had misunderstood. Johann told him there was no misunderstanding. During
this lengthy back and forth, Sir William closed his ears to them, watching the faces of the
roju
intently as they listened to the interpreter. In varying degrees all of them became unsettled. Good, he thought.

“With the usual palaver, Sir William, but with a heavy load of polite apologies this time, he says it won’t be possible to see the Shōgun in Kyōto, the weather is very inclement at this time of the year, but they will make sure the moment he’s back, etc., etc.”

Sir William smiled mirthlessly. “Say to them: Inclement or not, we will visit the Emperor in the very near future. Stress that, Johann. On that basis only we will proceed.”

The
roju
received that in stony silence.

In turn, Sir William first, then the others, got up and bowed, spoke his name and rank and the country he represented, and offered his credentials. These were accepted with dignity. Each time the
roju
bowed back, respectfully.

“Now,” Sir William said, his chin jutting. “To proceed with the second business of the meeting: Her Majesty’s Government reaffirms that on Friday the 12th September, this Year of Our Lord, 1862, an English gentleman was foully murdered in daylight by samurai of the Satsuma contingent under the command of their king Sanjiro. Two others were wounded. Her Majesty’s Government demands the murderers be handed over or dealt with publicly according to Japanese law, that a reparation of one hundred thousand pounds sterling in gold be paid forthwith, an apology published and a public guarantee promulgated that this will not happen again. Next: the second and final payment of five thousand pounds sterling in gold as reparation for the murders of Sergeant Gunn and Corporal Roper in our Legation last year, weeks overdue, be paid in gold in three days or the amount is doubled every day thereafter …”