Edo Bay, Japan
Early November 1836
The morning sky was clear when the Japanese delegation set out.
The water across the bay lay calm and undisturbed, but no one aboard the small vessels treated it as an ordinary day. The men moved with quiet discipline, each motion deliberate, each expression held in check. Even so, the weight of what lay ahead hung over them.
At the front of the lead boat stood Abe Masahiro.
He wore formal robes suited for negotiation, not armor, yet there was nothing soft in the way he carried himself. His posture remained firm, steady, like a man stepping into a battlefield he simply chose not to name as one. Around him stood several samurai, their hands resting close to their swords. They made no move to draw them, but the intent was clear enough.
Behind Abe stood the Dutch translator. He said nothing, his focus fixed ahead, aware that every word spoken today would pass through him.
In the distance, the Rivoli waited.
