Tag: historical fiction

“Put the clubs away, Hardy,” [Rannulph Junah] said in a voice nearly inaudible. “I see no profit in them or this whole fool enterprise.”

I turned desperately to Bagger Vance. The caddie as always was the soul of composure. He motioned me to set the bag down, there in the dune grass beside the champion.

“Your mind is clearly in torment, Junah,” Bagger Vance spoke slowly and evenly. “Tell me please: what is the nature of your complaint?”

Junah glanced up sharply at this word, which seemed to trivialize his emotion. “It couldn’t be more obvious, could it?” He gestured toward the multitudes in their bright battle lines, visible across the linksland. “This whole endeavor is a freak show. A joke. What good will any of it do me, or anyone attached to it?”

“I perceive much good,” Bagger Vance replied in that same even tone. “But tell me more specifically, what is it you perceive?”

Junah’s eyes remained cast down. You could see his shoulders tremble and broaden as anger, long and deeply held, began to swell powerfully within him.

“‘Victory’ and ‘defeat'”—he spat the words with revulsion, as if their very sound were obscene—”I’m sick to death of them, and of men contending as if there was any difference between them! What good ever came of human beings facing one another in conflict? To see men of such stature as Jones and Hagen steeling themselves for this child’s game, it was all I could do to keep from howling with hysteria, or despair, which would have been more appropriate. While the world is coming apart, our countrymen starving by the millions…here we disport ourselves, chasing a dimpled ball across a millionaire’s playground. And for what? An heiress’ greed and desperation? A few dollars to be scraped from our visitors’ pockets, the pathetic need of Savannah’s war-haunted psyche to ‘redeem itself’—and through my efforts! I won’t do it. I won’t be a part of this circus.

“They’re here for blood,” he said, gesturing with contempt toward the distant hosts, “make no mistake about it. To see men contend against each other, hoping to watch one or all be torn and fall. This is war, for all its summer cottons and ladies’ frocks, and nothing good ever came from that.” Junah’s hands were trembling. He ran them in pain through his hair, eyes gazing hollowly before him into the dunes. “What is ever gained by ‘defeating’ others? What can be gained here today? If I win I take no pleasure, and if I lose…”

Here Junah’s voice choked and broke off; not, one felt, with the thought of his own possible defeat or disgrace, but with the overweening futility of contention itself, which even at my tender age I could see he had wrestled with long and hard.

Junah’s eyes rose now and met Bagger Vance’s. “I have been a warrior,” he said in a voice tremulous with emotion. “I have fought, and nearly died, in battles as grave and calamitous as any in the history of man. I have seen friends perish, and enemies who might have been friends but for the madness of war. I will never take up arms again”—he gestured toward the bag and its clubs—”even surrogates as preposterous as these.”

Saying this, Junah slumped yet deeper onto the running board, his mind tormented by grief.

Now Bagger Vance spoke. “This conduct is disgraceful,” he said. “Unworthy of any man, but more so of you, Rannulph Junah, whom I hold dear and bless beyond all others. Get ahold of yourself! It provokes me to fury, to see you cast down your eyes and give voice to such ignoble thoughts!”

Vance’s tone had changed utterly. He did not, and never did in my hearing, regress to rage; rather he spoke with a fiery primordial force and emphasis. Junah’s eyes rose again, shaken by the tone of his servant’s voice.

“What do you know of life?” Bagger Vance stood before the champion. “Are you a god that you have plumbed the depths of existence’s meaning? What statement can you make about what is real or important? Have you pierced the veil? When you have, then you may display the temerity to which you now presume! Despair. Death. You know nothing of them! Are you a god? Then shut up and do your duty!”

Junah started to speak, but Bagger Vance’s force overrode him. “What if I tell you that before a thimbleful of sand has slipped through the glass, one of your opponents today will need another man’s hand simply to rise from his chair…and the other will have passed into eternity? What if I tell you of your own death? And how swiftly it follows on the heels of this disgraceful moment?

“And war, since you yourself raise the subject. Shall I tell you of another conflagration coming—soon, Junah, soon—which will dwarf your Great War, breaking nations and peoples in their millions and culminating in horrors beyond the race’s imagining?”

Junah’s countenance was now chastened, even fearstruck. He looked up at his servant, with pure heartbreak in his eyes. “You upbraid me as if I were a child, and no doubt I deserve it. But please don’t abandon me. Do you think I want to feel these awful emotions, that I take pleasure in the desperate conclusions my heart leads me to? I’m lost, Bagger. Help me, my friend and mentor. Tell me what I must do.”

Across the dunes now sped a Krewe Island station car, a marshal’s vehicle, with a blue-blazered official driving and Dougal McDermott white-faced in the passenger seat. Its high undercarriage skimmed clear, approaching fast over the tufted greenskeeper’s road.

It was coming for us. Beyond, we could see the galleries massed in readiness, swollen to six and seven deep along the first fairway. Jones and Hagen had finished on the practice green. You could see their party, moving along the crested path to the first tee.

“We have spoken in jest many times, you and I,” Bagger Vance addressed Junah, “about why I initially attached myself to you, and why I’ve never strayed far from your side all these years. It was for this day, Junah. As we go, I will teach you.”

He nodded to me; I bent to the golf bag and passed it to him. Bagger Vance set it upright before the champion, its hickory-shafted irons flashing like quivered arrows in the sun. The Krewe Island car pulled up alongside us. Across the duneland you could hear the galleries cheer as Hagen and Jones approached the first tee.

“Your heart is kind, Junah. You have seen the agony of war and you wish never again to harm anything or anyone. So you choose not to act. As if by that choice, you will cause no harm.”

“This intention is admirable as far as it goes, but it fails to apprehend the deeper imperative of life. Life is action, Junah. Even choosing not to act, we act. We cannot do otherwise. Therefore act with vigor!”

Vance glanced once to McDermott, to let the professional know we were coming. Then he turned back to his champion.

“Stand now, Junah, and take your place. Do honor to yourself and to your station!”

— The Legend of Bagger Vance, Chapter 13

[Rodrigo of Vivar spares the lives of two Moorish emirs he captured earlier that day. One is profoundly impressed by this.]

Yusuf al-Mu’taman:

Among our people, we have a word for a warrior with the vision to be just and the courage to be merciful. We call such a man, “El Cid.”

I, al-Mu’taman, Emir of Zaragossa, pledge eternal friendship to the Cid of Vivar and allegiance to his sovereign lord, King Ferdinand of Castile. May Allah strike the eyes from my head and the flesh from my bones if I break this pledge. In the name of Allah!

— “El Cid” (1961)

“Listen to me, Junah. All sport is holy, for it embodies the objectified search for the subjective experience of yoga, meaning union, union with the divine. But golf is supreme because it more closely mirrors the Reality of the way to Self-realization. Listen and I will tell you why.”

“In other sports the opponent is regarded as the enemy. We seek by our actions to disable him. In tennis our stroke defeats him; in football our tackle lays him low. This is not the way to salvation, or, more accurately, it is at one remove. The golfer on the other hand is never directly affected by his opponent’s actions. He comes to realize that the game is not against the foe, but against himself. His little self. That yammering fearful ever-resistant self that freezes, chokes, tops, nobbles, shanks, skulls, duffs, flubs. This is the self we must defeat.”

“Consider the golfer’s relation to the Rules, Junah. This too differs from every other sport. In baseball a batter, knowing a pitch to be over the plate, will argue vociferously with an umpire to the opposite effect, trying to avoid having a strike called on him. The tennis player will bitterly contest a line call he knows to be fair, the footballer vehemently declare his innocence of a penalty he knows he committed.”

“In other words they will lie. Deliberately. To gain selfish advantage.”

“It is only in golf, Junah, that players routinely call penalties on themselves. Look at [Bobby] Jones, striding there. Do you remember the ’25 Open at Worcester? That great man, your foe this day, lost by a single stroke, the result of his calling a penalty on himself in the first round when his ball moved accidentally. Jones finished tied for first and lost in the play-off. Take away that selfenforced penalty and he would have won outright.”

“The greatness of this is that it mirrors Higher Reality. There can be no cheating in the dimension in which the Self resides. There every action inexorably produces its result, every thought its consequence.”

“Therefore, Junah, love your opponents. When I say love, I don’t mean hand them the match. I mean contend with them to the death, the way a lion battles a bear, without mercy but with infinite respect. Never belittle an opponent in your mind, rather build him up, for on the plane of the Self there can be no distinction between your being and his. Be grateful for your opponents’ excellence. Applaud their brilliance. For the greatness of the hero is measured by that of his adversaries. In this too the etiquette and honor of golf reflect the Reality of the Field. Those new to the game often cheer an opponent’s misfortune, but the player of wisdom who has entered into the soul of the game schools himself to feel and act the opposite. This too is the greatness of the game.”

“But all this you know, Junah. I repeat it now only to focus your distracted mind under this excruciating pressure. To return you to the imperative to act.”

Here Junah, who had been listening with as much attention as he could muster under the circumstances, bridled and pulled up in midstride. “I don’t understand you, Bagger,” he said. “You order me to win, as if I could, but in the same breath you tell me to love my opponents. Please be clear. I need to understand what you’re telling me.”

“Act, Junah, but act without attachment, as the earth does. As I do. The rain falls, with no thought of watering the land. The clouds roll, not seeking to bring shade. They simply do. And we must too….

— The Legend of Bagger Vance, Chapter 16

Balian:

…It seems I have lost my religion.

The Hospitaller:

I put no stock in religion. By the word “religion,” I’ve seen the lunacy of fanatics of every denomination be called the Will of God. I’ve seen too much religion in the eyes of too many murderers.

Holiness is in right action and courage on behalf of those who cannot defend themselves. And goodness. What God desires is here and here…

[points to Balian’s head then heart]

…And what you decide to do every day, you will be a good man. Or not.

— “Kingdom of Heaven” (2005)

“Listen, Omi-san, the battle will begin in a few days. You’ve served me loyally. On the last battlefield, after my victory, I’ll appoint you Overlord of Izu, and make your line of the Kasigi hereditary daimyos again.”

“So sorry, Sire, please excuse me, but I don’t deserve such honor,” Omi said.

“You’re young but you show great promise, beyond your years. Your grandfather was very like you, very clever, but he had no patience….”

“May I ask what you mean by patience, Sire?” Omi said, instinctively feeling that Toranaga wanted the question to be asked….

“Patience means restraining yourself. There are seven emotions, neh? Joy, anger, anxiety, adoration, grief, fear, and hate. If a man doesn’t give way to these, he’s patient. I’m not as strong as I might be but I’m patient. Understand?”

“Yes, Sire. Very clearly.”

“Patience is very necessary in a leader.”

“Yes.”

— Shōgun, Chapter 61

Author’s emphasis is in italics. Mine is in bold.

King Baldwin:

The whole world is in Chess. Any move can be the death of you. Do anything except remain where you started, and you can’t be sure of your end.

— “Kingdom of Heaven” (2005)

“Yabu-san, what do you know about the Amida Tong?”

“Only what most people know: that it’s a secret society of ten—units of ten—a leader and never more than nine acolytes in any one area, women and men. They are sworn by the most sacred and secret oaths of the Lord Buddha Amida, the Dispenser of Eternal Love, to obedience, chastity, and death; to spend their lives training to become a perfect weapon for one kill; to kill only at the order of the leader, and if they fail to kill the person chosen, be it a man, woman, or child, to take their own life at once. They’re religious fanatics who are certain they’ll go directly from this life to Buddhahood. Not one of them has ever been caught alive.” Yabu knew about the attempt on Toranaga’s life. All Osaka knew by now and knew also that [Toranaga]…had locked himself safely inside hoops of steel. “They kill rarely, their secrecy is complete. There’s no chance of revenge on them because no one knows who they are, where they live, or where they train.”

“If you wanted to employ them, how would you go about it?”

“I would whisper it in three places—in the Heinan Monastery, at the gates of the Amida shrine, and in the Johji Monastery. Within ten days, if you are considered an acceptable employer, you will be approached through intermediaries. It is all so secret and devious that, even if you wished to betray them or catch them, it would never be possible. On the tenth day they ask for a sum of money, in silver, the amount depending on the person to be assassinated. There is no bargaining, you pay what they ask beforehand. They guarantee only that one of their members will attempt the kill within ten days. Legend has it that if the kill is successful, the assassin goes back to their temple and then, with great ceremony, commits ritual suicide.”

“Then you think we could never find out who paid for the attack today?”

“No.”

“Do you think there will be another?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. They contract for one attempt at one time, neh? But you’d be wise to improve your security—among your samurai, and also among your women. The Amida women are trained in poison, as well as knife and garrote, so they say.”

“Have you ever employed them?”

“No.”

“But your father did?”

“I don’t know, not for certain….”

— Shōgun, Chapter 18

Turkey Creek Jack Johnson:

Doc, you oughtta be in bed. What the hell you doin’ this for, anyway?

Doc Holliday:

Wyatt Earp is my friend.

Turkey Creek Jack Johnson:

Hell, I got lots of friends.

Doc Holliday:

I don’t.

— “Tombstone” (1993)

Judge Fenton:

[gestures to the large map hanging on the wall]

Here you are: the Oklahoma and Indian Territory, the Year of Our Lord 1889. Nineteen marshals. I was authorized sixty when I came here; told the President even that was not half enough.

Nineteen marshals—and one court—to cover nearly 70,000 square miles! A happy hunting ground filled with bushwackers, horse thieves, whiskey peddlers, counterfeiters, hide peelers, marauders that’ll kill ya for a hatband!

— “Hang ‘Em High” (1968)

Armand D’Hubert:

You have kept me at your beck and call for fifteen years. I shall never again do what you demand of me. By every rule of single combat, from this moment your life belongs to me. Is that not correct?

Then I shall simply declare you dead. In all of your dealings with me, you’ll do me the courtesy to conduct yourself as a dead man.

I have submitted to your notions of honor long enough. You will now submit to mine.

— “The Duellists” (1977)

Spoilers! 😀

[El Cid confronts the soldiers taking Prince Alfonso to the dungeons of Zamora.]

El Cid:

Will you give me your prisoner, or must I take him?

Guard Leader:

[incredulous] There are thirteen of us, and you are alone.

El Cid:

What you do is against God’s law. Were you thirteen times thirteen, I would not be alone!

— “El Cid” (1961)

That last line is a declaration of a D&D paladin, if there ever was one.

Narrator:

That year, at dawn of the twenty-first day of the tenth month—the month without gods—the main armies clashed. It was in the mountains near Sekigahara, astride the North Road. By late afternoon, Toranaga had won the battle and the slaughter began.

Forty thousand heads were taken.

— “Shōgun” (1980)

The year is 1600 C.E.

The book and television mini-series are a fictionalized account of the events leading up to this historical battle which de facto unified Japan.

40,000 heads!