Shogun (125 page)

“I was born the year the first Christians arrived and they’ve bedeviled the land ever since,” Toranaga said. “For fifty-eight years nothing but trouble.
Neh?”

“I’m sorry they offend you, Sire. Was there anything else? With your permi—”

“Sit down. I haven’t finished yet.” Toranaga rang the bell again. The door opened. “Send Buntaro-san in.”

Buntaro walked in. Grim-faced, he knelt and bowed. She bowed to him, numb, but he did not acknowledge her.

A while ago Buntaro had met their cortege at the castle gate. After a brief greeting, he had told her she was to go at once to Lord Toranaga. The Anjin-san would be sent for later.

“Buntaro-san, you asked to see me in your wife’s presence as soon as possible?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“What is it you want?”

“I humbly beg permission to take the Anjin-san’s head,” Buntaro said.

“Why?”

“Please excuse me but I … I don’t like the way he looks at my wife. I wanted … I wanted to say it in front of her, the first time, before you. Also, he insulted me at Anjiro and I can no longer live with this shame.”

Toranaga glanced at Mariko, who seemed to be frozen in time. “You accuse her of encouraging him?”

“I … I ask permission to take his head.”

“You accuse her of encouraging him? Answer the question!”

“Please excuse me, Sire, but if I thought that I’d be duty bound to take her head the same instant,” Buntaro replied stonily, his eyes on the tatamis. “The barbarian’s a constant irritation to my harmony. I believe he’s a harassment to you. Let me remove his head, I beg you.” He looked up, his heavy jowls unshaven, eyes deeply shadowed. “Or let me take my wife now and tonight we’ll go before you—to prepare the way.”

“What do you say to that, Mariko-san?”

“He is my husband. Whatever he decides, that will I do—unless you overrule him, Sire. This is my duty.”

Toranaga looked from man to woman. Then his voice hardened,
and for a moment he was like the Toranaga of old. “Mariko-san, you will leave in three days for Osaka. You will prepare
that
way for me, and wait for me there. Buntaro-san, you will accompany me as commander of my escort when I leave. After you have acted as my second, you or one of your men may do the same with the Anjin-san—with or without his approval.”

Buntaro cleared his throat. “Sire, please order Crim—”

“Hold your tongue! You forget yourself! I’ve told you
no
three times! The next time you have the impertinence to offer unwanted advice you will slit your belly in a Yedo cesspool!”

Buntaro’s head was on the tatamis. “I apologize, Sire. I apologize for my impertinence.”

Mariko was equally appalled by Toranaga’s ill-mannered, shameful outburst, and she bowed low also, to hide her own embarrassment. In a moment Toranaga said, “Please excuse my temper. Your plea is granted, Buntaro-san, but only after you’ve acted as my second.”

“Thank you, Sire. Please excuse me for offending you.”

“I ordered you both to make peace with one another. Have you done so?”

Buntaro nodded shortly. Mariko too.

“Good. Mariko-san, you will come back with the Anjin-san tonight, in the Hour of the Dog. You may go now.”

She bowed and left them.

Toranaga stared at Buntaro. “Well?
Do you
accuse her?”

“It… it is unthinkable she’d betray me, Sire,” Buntaro answered sullenly.

“I agree.” Toranaga waved a fly away with his fan, seeming very tired. “Well, you may have the Anjin-san’s head soon. I need it on his shoulders a little longer.”

“Thank you, Sire. Again please excuse me for irritating you.”

“These are irritating times. Foul times.” Toranaga leaned forward. “Listen, I want you to go to Mishima at once to relieve your father for a few days. He asks permission to come here to consult with me. I don’t know what…. Anyway, I must have someone in Mishima I can trust. Would you please leave at dawn—but by way of Takato.”

“Sire?” Buntaro saw that Toranaga was keeping calm only with an enormous effort, and in spite of his will, his voice was trembling.

“I’ve a private message for my mother in Takato. You’re to tell no one you’re going there. But once you’re clear of the city, cut north.”

“I understand.”

“Lord Zataki may prevent you from delivering it—may try to. You are to give it only into her hands. You understand? To her alone. Take twenty men and gallop there. I’ll send a carrier pigeon to ask safe conduct from him.”

“Your message will be verbal or in writing, Lord?”

“In writing.”

“And if I can’t deliver it?”

“You must deliver it, of course you must. That’s why I picked you! But … if you’re betrayed like I’ve … if you’re betrayed, destroy it before you commit suicide. The moment I hear such evil news, the Anjin-san’s head is off his shoulders. And if … what about Mariko-san? What about your wife, if something goes wrong?”

“Please dispatch her, Sire, before you die. I would be honored if…. She merits a worthy second.”

“She won’t die dishonorably, you have my promise. I’ll see to it. Personally. Now please come back at dawn for the dispatch. Don’t fail me. Only into my mother’s hands.”

Buntaro thanked him again and left, ashamed of Toranaga’s outward show of fear.

Now alone, Toranaga took out a kerchief and wiped the sweat off his face. His fingers were trembling. He tried to control them but couldn’t. It had taken all his strength to continue acting the stupid dullard, to hide his unbounding excitement over the secrets, which, fantastically, promised the long-hoped-for reprieve.

“A possible reprieve, only possible—if they’re true,” he said aloud, hardly able to think, the astoundingly welcome information that Mariko had brought from the Gyoko woman still shrieking in his brain.

Ochiba, he was gloating, … so that harpy’s the lure to bring my brother tumbling out of his mountain eyrie.
My brother wants Ochiba
. But now it’s equally obvious he wants more than her, and more than just the Kwanto. He wants the realm. He detests Ishido, loathes Christians, and is now sick with jealousy over Ishido’s well-known lust for Ochiba. So he’ll fall out with Ishido, Kiyama, and Onoshi. Because what my treacherous brother really wants is to be Shōgun. He’s Minowara, with all the lineage necessary, all the ambition, but not the mandate. Or the Kwanto. First he must get the Kwanto to get the rest.

Toranaga rubbed his hands with glee at all the wonderful new possible ploys this newfound knowledge gave him against his brother.

And Onoshi the leper! A drop of honey in Kiyama’s ear at the right time, he thought, and the guts of the renegade’s treason twisted a little, improved modestly, and Kiyama might gather his legions and go after Onoshi with fire and sword at once. ‘Gyoko’s quite sure, Sire. The acolyte Brother Joseph said Lord Onoshi had whispered in the confessional that he had made a secret treaty with Ishido against a fellow Christian
daimyo
and wanted absolution. The treaty solemnly agreed that in return for support now, Ishido promised the day you are dead that this fellow Christian would be impeached for treason and invited into the Void, the same day, forcibly if necessary, and Onoshi’s son and heir would inherit all lands. The Christian was not named, Sire.’

Kiyama or Harima of Nagasaki? Toranaga asked himself. It doesn’t matter. For me it must be Kiyama.

He got up shakily, in spite of his jubilation, and groped to one of the windows, leaned heavily on the wooden sill. He peered at the moon, and the sky beyond. The stars were dull. Rain clouds were building.

“Buddha, all gods, any gods, let my brother take the bait—and let that woman’s whisperings be true!”

No shooting star appeared to show the message was acknowledged by the gods. No wind sprang up, no sudden cloud blanketed the crescent moon. Even if there had been a heavenly sign he would have dismissed it as a coincidence.

Be patient. Consider facts only. Sit down and think, he told himself.

He knew the strain was beginning to tell on him but it was vital that none of his intimates or vassals—thus none of the legion of loose-mouthed fools or spies of Yedo—suspect for an instant that he was only feigning capitulation and play-acting the role of a beaten man. At Yokosé he had realized at once that to accept the second scroll from his brother was his death knell. He had decided his only tiny chance of survival was to convince everyone, even himself, that he had absolutely accepted defeat, though in reality it was only a cover to gain time, continuing his lifelong pattern of negotiation, delay, and seeming retreat, always waiting patiently until a chink in the armor appeared over a jugular, then stabbing home viciously, without hesitation.

Since Yokosé he had waited out the lonely watches of the nights and the days, each one harder to bear. No hunting or laughing, no plotting
or
planning or swimming or banter or dancing and singing in Nōh plays that had delighted him all his life. Only the same lonely role, the most difficult in his life: gloom, surrender, indecision, apparent helplessness, with self-imposed semistarvation.

To help pass the time he had continued to refine the Legacy. This was a series of private secret instructions to his successors that he had formulated over the years on how best to rule after him. Sudara had already sworn to abide by the Legacy, as every heir to the mantle would be required to do. In this way the future of the clan would be assured—may be assured, Toranaga reminded himself as he changed a word or added a sentence or eliminated a paragraph, providing I escape this present trap.

The Legacy began: “The duty of a lord of a province is to give peace and security to the people and does not consist of shedding luster on his ancestors or working for the prosperity of his descendants….”

One of the maxims was: “Remember that fortune and misfortune should be left to heaven and natural law. They are not to be bought by prayer or any cunning device to be thought of by any man or self-styled saint.”

Toranaga eliminated “… or self-styled saint,” and changed the sentence to end “… by any man whatsoever.”

Normally he would enjoy stretching his mind to write clearly and succinctly, but during the long days and nights it had taken all of his self-discipline to continue playing such an alien role.

That he had succeeded so well pleased him yet dismayed him. How could people be so gullible?

Thank the gods they are, he answered himself for the millionth time. By accepting “defeat” you have twice avoided war. You’re still trapped, but now, at long last, your patience has brought its reward and you have a new chance.

Perhaps you’ve got a chance, he corrected himself. Unless the secrets are false and given by an enemy to enmesh you further.

His chest began to ache, he became weak and dizzy, so he sat down and breathed deeply as the Zen teachers had taught him years ago. ‘Ten deep, ten slow, ten deep, ten slow, send your mind into the Void. There is no past or future, hot or cold, pain or joy—from nothing, into nothing….’

Soon he started to think clearly again. Then he went to his desk and began to write. He asked his mother to act as intermediary between himself and his half-brother and to present an offer for the future of their clan. First, he petitioned his brother to consider a marriage with the Lady Ochiba: “… of course it would be unthinkable for me to do this, brother. Too many
daimyos
would be enraged at my ‘vaulting
ambition.’ But such a liaison with you would cement the peace of the realm, and confirm the succession of Yaemon—no one doubting your loyalty, though some in error doubt mine. You could certainly get a more eligible wife, but she could hardly get a better husband. Once the traitors to His Imperial Highness are removed, and I resume my rightful place as President of the Council of Regents, I will invite the Son of Heaven to request the marriage if you will agree to take on such a burden. I sincerely feel this sacrifice is the only way we can both secure the succession and do our sworn duty to the Taikō. Second, you’re offered all the domains of the Christian traitors Kiyama and Onoshi, who are presently plotting, with the barbarian priests, a treasonous war against all non-Christian
daimyos
, supported by a musket-armed invasion of barbarians
as they did before against our liege lord, the Taikō
. Further, you’re offered all the lands of any other Kyushu Christians who side with the traitor Ishido against me in the final battle. (Did you know that upstart peasant has had the impertinence to let it be known that once I am dead and he
rules
the Regents, he plans to dissolve the Council and marry the mother of the Heir himself?)

“And in return for the above, just this, brother: a secret treaty of alliance now, guaranteed safe passage for my armies through the Shinano mountains, a joint attack under my generalship against Ishido at a time and manner of my choosing. Last, as a measure of my trust I will at once send my son Sudara, his wife the Lady Genjiko, and their children, including my only grandson, to you in Takato….”

This isn’t the work of a defeated man, Toranaga told himself as he sealed the scroll. Zataki will know that instantly. Yes, but now the trap’s baited. Shinano’s athwart my only road, and Zataki’s the initial key to the Osaka plains.

Is it true that Zataki wants Ochiba? I risk so much over the supposed whispers of a straddled maid and grunting man. Could Gyoko be lying for her own advantage, that impertinent bloodsucker! Samurai? So that’s the real key to unlock all her secrets.

She must have proof about Mariko and the Anjin-san. Why else would Mariko put such a request to me? Toda Mariko and the barbarian! The barbarian and Buntaro! Eeeee, life is strange.

Another twinge over his heart wracked him. After a moment he wrote the message for a carrier pigeon and plodded up the stairs to the loft above. Carefully he selected a Takato pigeon from one of the many
panniers and slid the tiny cylinder home. Then he put the pigeon on the perch in the open box that would allow her to fly off at first light.

The message asked his mother to request safe passage for Buntaro, who had an important dispatch for her and his brother. And he had signed it like the offer, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara, claiming that mantle for the first time in his life.