Read Online Autumn Bridge by Takashi Matsuoka - Free Book Online
Authors: Takashi Matsuoka
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Americans, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Romance, Historical, Love Stories, Japan, Women, Prophecies, Americans - Japan, Women - Japan, Translators, Japan - History - Restoration; 1853-1870, Missionaries, Women missionaries, Women translators
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Eroghut. “Bring your troop forward. You will attack with the first wave.”
Eroghut said to his brother, “Mongol dogs. They send us out to die. Then they will claim their cowardly victory riding over our bodies.”
“We won’t die,” his brother said. “Remember what Mother said. Our blood will outlive that of Kublai the Fat. When the Mongols are gone, the Nürjhen Ordos will rise again.”
Eroghut said nothing. His little brother’s faith in their mother’s words was touching. Like the rest of the surviving Nürjhen tribesmen, he believed her to be a sorceress in the same line as the legendary Tangolhun, who supposedly instructed Attila the Great to follow the sun westward to the destined homeland of the Huns. The same legends claimed for the Nürjhen kinship with the Huns, traditional enemies of the Mongols. All nonsense and children’s fables. Eroghut didn’t believe there was ever a Tangolhun or an Attila of such incredible greatness. As for the revival of the Nürjhen Ordos — from whence would it arise, when there were now barely enough of them to call a clan, much less a tribe, and an Ordos was no less than a hundred tribes? No, he and his brother and their kinsmen, the last Nürjhen warriors on earth, would die here in this wretched place called Japan. They had lost, and the hated Mongols had won. But they would not die alone.
Eroghut said, “They will send us against those fortifications on that rise above the beach. They will send the Uighurs and the Kalmuks and the Khitan along with us. Use them for cover as best you can. The Mongols will follow in our shadows like the shit-eating dogs they are. As soon as we crest the hill, turn and kill Mongols.”
“But what of the Japanese?” one of his cousins asked. “As soon as we show our backs, they will attack us.”
“They will not,” Eroghut said, not believing his own words for a moment. “They will see we are enemies of their enemy and fight with us shoulder to shoulder.”
“Eroghut, you are our clan leader, and we will obey you,” another cousin said, “but these wild natives are adherents of a vicious, mindless cult of death worship. Once the bloodlust is upon them, they do not stop to think. I agree with our cousin. They will attack us as soon as we are vulnerable.”
“If you must die, would you prefer to die fighting for the Mongol scavengers,” Eroghut said, “or against them?” That silenced all protest. The remnants of the great Nürjhen Ordos tightened the armor on their horses, adjusted their own, and rode to the front rank of the heavy cavalry. Behind them, the Chinese artillerymen and rocketeers prepared to fire.
The ground shook with the concussion of charging Mongol horsemen. They came at high speed, in ordered ranks, with lances aimed straight ahead.
“Do not shoot until they reach the base of the hill,” Masamuné told his men.
An instant before they were there, flames flashed from the tubes the Mongols had set up on the beach, accompanied by smoke and a roaring like angry wind, and moments later, impossibly, stars and constellations exploded in the daytime sky above them. His men stayed where they were. Many others among the samurai ran screaming in panic.
“Shoot!” Masamuné said.
His archers felled many of the Mongols, but they were few and the Mongols were many. The samurais’ defenses were breached with little effort. Just as they were on the verge of being inundated, the right flank of the charging Mongol cavalry suddenly wheeled and attacked their own men. These renegades shouted a war cry different from that of the other Mongols, words that sounded to Masamuné’s ears like “Na-lu-chi-ya-oh-ho-do-su!”
This sudden treachery from within their own ranks confused the Mongols. Though they had the advantage of both numbers and position, they broke off the attack and retreated. In the lull that followed, the renegade closest to Masamuné hit his chest with his fist.
“No, Mongol,” he
Eroghut said to his brother, “Mongol dogs. They send us out to die. Then they will claim their cowardly victory riding over our bodies.”
“We won’t die,” his brother said. “Remember what Mother said. Our blood will outlive that of Kublai the Fat. When the Mongols are gone, the Nürjhen Ordos will rise again.”
Eroghut said nothing. His little brother’s faith in their mother’s words was touching. Like the rest of the surviving Nürjhen tribesmen, he believed her to be a sorceress in the same line as the legendary Tangolhun, who supposedly instructed Attila the Great to follow the sun westward to the destined homeland of the Huns. The same legends claimed for the Nürjhen kinship with the Huns, traditional enemies of the Mongols. All nonsense and children’s fables. Eroghut didn’t believe there was ever a Tangolhun or an Attila of such incredible greatness. As for the revival of the Nürjhen Ordos — from whence would it arise, when there were now barely enough of them to call a clan, much less a tribe, and an Ordos was no less than a hundred tribes? No, he and his brother and their kinsmen, the last Nürjhen warriors on earth, would die here in this wretched place called Japan. They had lost, and the hated Mongols had won. But they would not die alone.
Eroghut said, “They will send us against those fortifications on that rise above the beach. They will send the Uighurs and the Kalmuks and the Khitan along with us. Use them for cover as best you can. The Mongols will follow in our shadows like the shit-eating dogs they are. As soon as we crest the hill, turn and kill Mongols.”
“But what of the Japanese?” one of his cousins asked. “As soon as we show our backs, they will attack us.”
“They will not,” Eroghut said, not believing his own words for a moment. “They will see we are enemies of their enemy and fight with us shoulder to shoulder.”
“Eroghut, you are our clan leader, and we will obey you,” another cousin said, “but these wild natives are adherents of a vicious, mindless cult of death worship. Once the bloodlust is upon them, they do not stop to think. I agree with our cousin. They will attack us as soon as we are vulnerable.”
“If you must die, would you prefer to die fighting for the Mongol scavengers,” Eroghut said, “or against them?” That silenced all protest. The remnants of the great Nürjhen Ordos tightened the armor on their horses, adjusted their own, and rode to the front rank of the heavy cavalry. Behind them, the Chinese artillerymen and rocketeers prepared to fire.
The ground shook with the concussion of charging Mongol horsemen. They came at high speed, in ordered ranks, with lances aimed straight ahead.
“Do not shoot until they reach the base of the hill,” Masamuné told his men.
An instant before they were there, flames flashed from the tubes the Mongols had set up on the beach, accompanied by smoke and a roaring like angry wind, and moments later, impossibly, stars and constellations exploded in the daytime sky above them. His men stayed where they were. Many others among the samurai ran screaming in panic.
“Shoot!” Masamuné said.
His archers felled many of the Mongols, but they were few and the Mongols were many. The samurais’ defenses were breached with little effort. Just as they were on the verge of being inundated, the right flank of the charging Mongol cavalry suddenly wheeled and attacked their own men. These renegades shouted a war cry different from that of the other Mongols, words that sounded to Masamuné’s ears like “Na-lu-chi-ya-oh-ho-do-su!”
This sudden treachery from within their own ranks confused the Mongols. Though they had the advantage of both numbers and position, they broke off the attack and retreated. In the lull that followed, the renegade closest to Masamuné hit his chest with his fist.
“No, Mongol,” he
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