Shōgun (The Asian Saga Book 1)

‘I’d forgotten about you,’ he said in English.  ‘I was afraid you were dead.’

‘Dozo goziemashita, Anjin-san, nan desu ka?‘

‘Nani mo, Fujiko-san,’ he told her, ashamed of himself.  ‘Gomen nasai.  Hai.  Gomen nasai.  Ma-suware odoroita honto ni mata aete ureshi.‘  Please excuse me . . . a surprise, neh?  Good to see you.  Please sit down.

‘Domo arigato goziemashita,‘ she said, and told him in her thin, high voice how pleased she was to see him, how much his Japanese had improved, how well he looked, and how most very glad she was to be here.

He watched her kneel awkwardly on the cushion opposite.  ‘Legs . . .’  He sought the word ‘burns’ but couldn’t remember it, so he said instead, ‘Legs fire hurt.  Bad?’

‘No.  So sorry.  But it still hurts a little to sit,’ Fujiko said, concentrating, watching his lips.  ‘Legs hurt, so sorry.’

‘Please show me.’

‘So sorry, please, Anjin-san, I don’t wish to trouble you.  You have other problems.  I’m—’

‘Don’t understand.  Too fast, sorry.’

‘Ah, sorry.  Legs all right.  No trouble,’ she pleaded.

‘Trouble.  You are consort, neh?  No shame.  Show now!’

Obediently she got up.  Clearly she was uncomfortable, but once she was upright, she began to untie the strings of her obi.

‘Please call maid,’ he ordered.

She obeyed.  At once the shoji slid open and a woman he did not recognize rushed to assist her.

First the stiff obi was unwound.  The maid put Fujiko’s sheathed dagger and obi to one side.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked the maid brusquely, as a samurai should.

‘Oh, please excuse me, Sire, so very sorry.  My name is Hana-ichi.’

He grunted an acknowledgment.  Miss First Blossom, now there’s a fine name!  All maids, by custom, were called Miss Brush or Crane or Fish or Second Broom or Fourth Moon or Star or Tree or Branch, and so on.

Hana-ichi was middle-aged and very concerned.  I’ll bet she’s a family retainer, he told himself.  Perhaps a vassal of Fujiko’s late husband.  Husband!  I’d forgotten about him as well, and the child who was murdered—as the husband was murdered by fiend Toranaga who’s not a fiend but a daimyo and a good, perhaps great leader.  Yes.  Probably the husband deserved his fate if the real truth were known, neh?  But not the child, he thought.  There’s no excuse for that.

Fujiko allowed her green patterned outer kimono to fall aside loosely.  Her fingers trembled as she untied the thin silken sash of the yellow, under kimono and let that fall aside also.  Her skin was light and the part of her breasts he could see within the folds of silk showed that they were flat and small.  Hana-ichi knelt and untied the strings of the underskirt that reached from her waist to the floor to enable her mistress to step out of it.

‘Iyé, ‘ he ordered.  He walked over and lifted the hem.  The burns began at the backs of her calves.  ‘Gomen nasai,‘ he said.

She stood motionless.  A tear of sweat trickled down her cheek, spoiling her makeup.  He pulled the skirt higher.  The skin was burned all up the backs of her legs but it seemed to be healing perfectly.  Scar tissue had formed already and there was no infection, and no suppurations, only a little clean blood where the new scar tissue had broken at the backs of her knees as she had knelt.

He moved her kimonos aside and loosed the underskirt waist band.  The burns stopped at the top of her legs, bypassed her rump where the beam had pinned her down and protected her, then began again in the small of her back.  A swathe of burn, half a hand span, girdled her waist.  Scar tissue was already settling into permanent crinkles.  Unsightly, but healing perfectly.

‘Doctor very good.  Best I ever see!’  He let her kimonos fall back.  ‘Best, Fujiko-san!  The scars, what does it matter, neh?  Nothing.  I see many fire hurts, understand?  Want see, then sure good or not good.  Doctor very good.  Buddha watch Fujiko-san.’  He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

‘No worry now.  Shigata ga nai, neh?  You understand?’

Her tears spilled.  ‘Please excuse me, Anjin-san.  I’m so embarrassed.  Please excuse my stupidity for being there, caught there like a half-witted eta.  I should have been with you, guarding you—not stuck with servants in the house.  There’s nothing for me in the house, nothing, no reason to be in a house. . . .’

He let her talk on though he understood almost nothing of what she said, holding her compassionately.  I’ve got to find out what the doctor used, he thought excitedly.  That’s the quickest and the best healing I’ve ever seen.  Every master of every one of Her Majesty’s ships should know that secret—yes, and truly, every captain of every ship in Europe.  Wait a moment, wouldn’t every master pay golden guineas for that secret?  You could make a fortune!  Yes.  But not that way, he told himself, never that.  Never out of a sailor’s agony.

She’s lucky though that it was only the backs of her legs and her back and not her face.  He looked down at her face.  It was still as square and flat as ever, her teeth just as sharp and ferretlike, but the warmth that flowed from her eyes compensated for the ugliness.  He gave her another hug.  ‘Now.  No weep.  Order!’

He sent the maid for fresh cha and saké and many cushions and helped her recline on them, as much as at first it embarrassed her to obey.  ‘How can I ever thank you?’ she said.

‘No thanks.  Give back—’  Blackthorne thought a moment but he couldn’t remember the Japanese words for ‘favor’ or ‘remember,’ so he pulled out the dictionary and looked them up.  ‘Favor:  o-negai‘ . . . ‘remember:  omoi dasu.‘

‘Hai, mondoso o-negai!  Omi desu ka?‘  Give back favor.  Remember?  He held up his fists mimicking pistols and pointing them.  ‘Omi-san, remember?’

‘Oh, of course,’ she cried out.  Then, in wonder, she asked to look at the book.  She had never seen Roman writing before, and the column of Japanese words into Latin and into Portuguese and vice versa were meaningless to her, but she quickly grasped its purpose.  ‘It’s a book of all our . . . so sorry.  Word book, neh?‘

‘Hai.‘

‘‘Hombun’?‘ she asked.

He showed her how to find the word in Latin and in Portuguese.  ‘Hombun:  duty.’  Then added in Japanese, ‘I understand duty.  Samurai duty, neh?‘

‘Hai.‘  She clapped her hands as if she had been shown a magic toy.  But it is magic, isn’t it, he told himself, a gift from God.  This unlocks her mind and Toranaga’s mind and soon I’ll speak perfectly.

She gave him other words and he told her English or Latin or Portuguese, always understanding the words she chose and always finding them.  The dictionary never failed.

He looked up a word.  ‘Majutsu desu, neh?‘  It’s magic, isn’t it?

‘Yes, Anjin-san.  The book’s magic.’  She sipped her cha.  ‘Now I can talk to you.  Really talk to you.’

‘Little.  Only slow, understand?’

‘Yes.  Please be patient with me.  Please excuse me.’

The huge donjon bell sounded the Hour of the Goat and the temples in Yedo echoed the time change.

‘I go now.  Go Lord Toranaga.’  He put the book into his sleeve.

‘I’ll wait here please, if I may.’

‘Where stay?’

She pointed.  ‘Oh, there, my room’s next door.  Please excuse my abruptness–’

‘Slowly.  Talk slowly.  Talk simply!’

She repeated it slowly, with more apologies.  ‘Good,’ he said.  ‘Good.  I’ll see you later.’

She began to get up but he shook his head and went into the courtyard.  The day was overcast now, the air suffocating.  Guards awaited him.  Soon he was in the donjon forecourt.  Mariko was there, more slender than ever, more ethereal, her face alabaster under her rust-gold parasol.  She wore somber brown, edged with green.

‘Ohayo, Anjin-san.  Ikaga desu ka?‘ she asked, bowing formally.

He told her that he was fine, happily keeping up their custom of talking in Japanese for as long as he could, turning to Portuguese only when he was tired or when they wished to be more secretive.

‘Thou . . .’ he said cautiously as they walked up the stairs of the donjon.

‘Thou,’ Mariko echoed, and went immediately into Portuguese with the same gravity as last night.  ‘So sorry, please, no Latin today, Anjin-san, today Latin cannot sit well—Latin cannot serve the purpose it was made for, neh?‘

‘When can I talk to you?’

‘That’s very difficult, so sorry.  I have duties. . . .’

‘There’s nothing wrong, is there?’

‘Oh no,’ she replied.  ‘Please excuse me, what could be wrong?  Nothing’s wrong.’

They climbed another flight in silence.  On the next level their passes were checked as always, guards leading and following them.  Rain began heavily and this eased the humidity.

‘It’ll rain for hours,’ he said.

‘Yes.  But without the rains there’s no rice.  Soon the rains will stop altogether, in two or three weeks, then it will be hot and humid until the autumn.’  She looked out of the windows at the enveloping cloudburst.  ‘You’ll enjoy the autumn, Anjin-san.’

‘Yes.’  He was watching Erasmus, far distant, down beside the wharf.  Then the rains obscured his ship and he climbed a little way.  ‘After we’ve talked with Lord Toranaga we’ll have to wait till this has passed.  Perhaps there’d be somewhere here we could talk?’

‘That might be difficult,’ she said vaguely, and he found this odd.  She was usually decisive and implemented his polite ‘suggestions’ as the orders they would normally be considered.  ‘Please excuse me, Anjin-san, but things are difficult for me at the moment, and there are many things I have to do.’  She stopped momentarily and shifted her parasol to her other hand, holding the hem of her skirt.  ‘How was your evening?  How were your friends, your crew?’

‘Fine.  Everything was fine,’ he said.

‘But not ‘fine’?’ she asked.

‘Fine—but very strange.’  He looked back at her.  ‘You notice everything, don’t you?’

‘No, Anjin-san.  But you didn’t mention them and you’ve been thinking about them greatly this last week or so.  I’m no magician.  So sorry.’

After a pause, he said, ‘You’re sure you’re all right?  There’s no problem with Buntaro-san, is there?’

He had never discussed Buntaro with her or mentioned his name since Yokosé.  By agreement that specter was never conjured up by either of them since the first moment.  ‘This is my only request, Anjin-san,’ she had whispered the first night.  ‘Whatever happens during our journey to Mishima or, Madonna willing, to Yedo, this has nothing to do with anyone but us, neh?  Nothing is to be mentioned between us about what really is.  Neh?  Nothing.  Please?’

‘I agree.  I swear it.’

‘And I do likewise.  Finally, our journey ends at Yedo’s First Bridge.’

‘No.’

‘There must be an ending, my darling.  At First Bridge our journey ends.  Please, or I will die with agony over fear for you and the danger I have put you in. . . .’

Yesterday morning he had stood at the threshold of First Bridge, a sudden weight on his spirit, in spite of his elation over Erasmus.

‘We should cross the bridge now, Anjin-san,’ she had said.

‘Yes.  But it is only a bridge.  One of many.  Come along, Mariko-san.  Walk beside me across this bridge.  Beside me, please.  Let us walk together,’ then added in Latin, ‘and believe that thou art carried and that we go hand in hand into a new beginning.’

She stepped out of her palanquin and walked beside him until they reached the other side.  There she got back into the curtained litter and they went up the slight rise.  Buntaro was waiting at the castle gate.

Blackthorne remembered how he had prayed for a lightning bolt to come out of the sky.

‘There’s no problem with him, is there?’ he asked again as they came to the final landing.

She shook her head.

Toranaga said, ‘Ship very ready, Anjin-san?  No mistake?’

‘No mistake, Sire.  Ship perfect.’

‘How many extra men—how many more want for ship. . . .’  Toranaga glanced at Mariko.  ‘Please ask him how many extra crew he’ll need to sail the ship properly.  I want to be quite sure he understands what I want to know.’

‘The Anjin-san says, to sail her a minimum of thirty seamen and twenty gunners.  His original crew was one hundred and seven, including cooks and merchants.  To sail and fight in these waters, the complement of two hundred samurai would be enough.’

‘And he believes the other men he needs could be hired in Nagasaki?’

‘Yes, Sire.’

Toranaga said distastefully, ‘I certainly wouldn’t trust mercenaries.’

‘Please excuse me, do you wish me to translate that, Sire?’

‘What?  Oh no, never mind that.’

Toranaga got up, still pretending peevishness, and looked out of the windows at the rain.  The whole city was obscured by the downpour.  Let it rain for months, he thought.  All gods, make the rain last until New Year.  When will Buntaro see my brother?  ‘Tell the Anjin-san I’ll give him his vassals tomorrow.  Today’s terrible.  This rain will go on all day.  There’s no point in getting soaked.’

‘Yes, Sire,’ he heard her say and smiled ironically to himself.  Never in his whole life had weather prevented him from doing anything.  That should certainly convince her, or any other doubters, that I’ve changed permanently for the worse, he thought, knowing he could not yet diverge from his chosen course.  ‘Tomorrow or the next day, what does it matter?  Tell him when I’m ready I’ll send for him.  Until then he’s to wait in the castle.’

He heard her pass on the orders to the Anjin-san.

‘Yes, Lord Toranaga, I understand,’ Blackthorne replied for himself.  ‘But may I respectfully ask:  Possible go Nagasaki quick?  Think important.  So sorry.’

‘I’ll decide that later,’ Toranaga said brusquely, not making it easy for him.  He motioned him to leave.  ‘Good-bye, Anjin-san.  I’ll decide your future soon.’  He saw that the man wanted to press the point but politely didn’t.  Good, he thought, at least he’s learning some manners!  ‘Tell the Anjin-san there’s no need for him to wait for you, Mariko-san.  Good-bye, Anjin-san.’

Mariko did as she was ordered.  Toranaga turned back to contemplate the city and the cloudburst.  He listened to the sound of the rain.  The door closed behind the Anjin-san.  ‘What was the quarrel about?’  Toranaga asked, not looking at her.

‘Sire?’

His ears, carefully tuned, had caught the slightest tremble in her voice.  ‘Of course between Buntaro and yourself, or have you had another quarrel that concerns me?’ he added with biting sarcasm, needing to precipitate the matter quickly.  ‘With the Anjin-san perhaps, or my Christian enemies, or the Tsukku-san?’

‘No, Sire.  Please excuse me.  It began as always, like most quarrels, Sire, between husband and wife.  Really over nothing.  Then suddenly, as always, all the past gets spewed up and it infects the man and the woman if the mood’s on them.’

‘And the mood was on you?’

‘Yes.  Please excuse me.  I provoked my husband unmercifully.  It was my fault entirely.  I regret, Sire, in those times, so sorry, people say wild things.’

‘Come on, hurry up, what wild things?’  She was like a doe at bay.  Her face was chalky.  She knew that spies must have already whispered to him what was shouted in the quiet of their house.

She told him everything that had been said as best she could remember it.  Then she added, ‘I believe my husband’s words were spoken in wild rage which I provoked.  He’s loyal—I know he’s loyal.  If anyone is to be punished it’s me, Sire.  I did provoke the madness.’

Toranaga sat again on the cushion, his back ramrod, his face granite.  ‘What did the Lady Genjiko say?’

‘I haven’t spoken to her, Sire.’

‘But you intend to, or intended to, neh?‘

‘No, Sire.  With your permission I intend to leave at once for Osaka.’

‘You will leave when I say and not before and treason is a foul beast wherever it’s to be found!’

She bowed under the whiplash of his tongue.  ‘Yes, Sire.  Please forgive me.  The fault is mine.’

He rang a small hand bell.  The door opened.  Naga stood there.  ‘Yes, Sire?’

‘Order the Lord Sudara here with the Lady Genjiko at once.’

‘Yes, Sire.’  Naga turned to go.

‘Wait!  Then summon my Council, Yabu and all—and all senior generals.  They’re to be here at midnight.  And clear this floor.  All guards!  You come back with Sudara!’

‘Yes, Sire.’  Whitefaced, Naga closed the door after him.

Toranaga heard men clattering down the stairs.  He went to the door and opened it.  The landing was clear.  He slammed the door and bolted it.  He picked up another bell and rang it.  An inner door at the far end of the room opened.  This door was hardly noticeable, so cleverly had it been melded with the woodwork.  A middle-aged heavy-set woman stood there.  She wore a cowled Buddhist nun’s habit.  ‘Yes, Great Lord?’

‘Cha please, Chano-chan,’ he said.  The door closed.  Toranaga’s eyes went back to Mariko.  ‘So you think he’s loyal?’

‘I know it, Sire.  Please forgive me, it was my fault, not his,’ she said, desperate to please.  ‘I provoked him.’

‘Yes, you did that.  Disgusting.  Terrible.  Unforgivable!’  Toranaga took out a paper kerchief and wiped his brow.  ‘But fortunate,’ he said.

‘Sire?’

‘If you hadn’t provoked him, perhaps I might never have learned of any treason.  And if he’d said all that without provocation, there’d be only one course of action.  As it is,’ he continued, ‘you give me an alternative.’

‘Sire?’

He did not answer.  He was thinking, I wish Hiro-matsu were here, then there’d be at least one man I could trust completely.  ‘What about you? What about your loyalty?’

‘Please, Sire, you must know you have that.’

He did not reply.  His eyes were unrelenting.

The inner door opened and Chano, the nun, came confidently into the room without knocking, a tray in her hands.  ‘Here you are, Great Lord, it was ready for you.’  She knelt as a peasant, her hands were rough like a peasant’s, but her self-assurance was enormous and her inner contentment obvious.  ‘May Buddha bless you with his peace.’  Then she turned to Mariko, bowed as a peasant would bow, and settled back comfortably.  ‘Perhaps you’d honor me by pouring, Lady.  You’ll do it prettily without spilling it, neh?‘  Her eyes gleamed with private amusement.

‘With pleasure, Oku-san,’ Mariko said, giving her the religious Mother title, hiding her surprise.  She had never seen Naga’s mother before.  She knew most of Toranaga’s other official ladies, having seen them at official ceremonies, but she was on good terms only with Kiritsubo and Lady Sazuko.

Toranaga said, ‘Chano-chan, this is the Lady Toda Mariko-noh-Buntaro.’

‘Ah, so desu, so sorry, I thought you were one of my Great Lord’s honored ladies.  Please excuse me, Lady Toda, may the blessings of Buddha be upon thee.’

‘Thank you,’ Mariko said.  She offered the cup to Toranaga.  He accepted it and sipped.

‘Pour for Chano-san and yourself,’ he said.

‘So sorry, not for me, Great Lord, with your permission, but my back teeth’re floating from so much cha and the bucket’s a long way away for these old bones.’

‘The exercise would do you good,’ Toranaga said, glad that he had sent for her when he returned to Yedo.

‘Yes, Great Lord.  You’re right—as you always were.’  Chano turned her genial attention again to Mariko.  ‘So you’re Lord Akechi Jinsai’s daughter.’

Mariko’s cup hesitated in the air.  ‘Yes.  Please excuse me . . .’

‘Oh, that’s nothing to wish to be excused about, child.’  Chano laughed kindly, and her stomach heaved up and down.  ‘I didn’t place you without your name, please excuse me, but the last time I saw you was at your wedding.’

‘Oh?’

‘Oh, yes, I saw you at your wedding, but you didn’t see me.  I spied you from behind a screen.  Yes, you and all the great ones, the Dictator, and Nakamura, the Taikō-to-be, and all the nobles.  Oh, I was much too shy to mix in that company.  But that was such a good time for me.  The best of my life.  That was the second year my Great Lord favored me and I was heavy with child—though still the peasant I’ve always been.’  Her eyes crinkled and she added, ‘You’re very little different from those days, still one of Buddha’s chosen.’

‘Ah, I wish that were true, Oku-san.’

‘It’s true.  Did you know you were one of Buddha’s chosen?’

‘I’m not, Oku-san, much as I would like to be.’

Toranaga said, ‘She’s Christian.’

‘Ah, Christian—what does that matter to a woman, Christian or Buddha, Great Lord?  Not a lot sometimes, though some god’s necessary to a woman.’  Chano chuckled gleefully.  ‘We women need a god, Great Lord, to help us deal with men, neh?‘

‘And we men need patience, godlike patience, to deal with women, neh?‘

The woman laughed, and it warmed the room and, for an instant, lessened some of Mariko’s foreboding.  ‘Yes, Great Lord,’ Chano continued, ‘and all because of a Heavenly Pavilion that has no future, little warmth, and a sufficiency of hell.’

Toranaga grunted.  ‘What do you say to that, Mariko-san?’

‘The Lady Chano is wise beyond her youth,’ Mariko said.

‘Ah, Lady, you say pretty things to an old fool,’ the nun told her.  ‘I remember you so well.  Your kimono was blue with the loveliest pattern of cranes on it I’ve ever seen.  In silver.’  Her eyes went back to Toranaga.  ‘Well, Great Lord, I just wanted to sit for a moment.  Please excuse me now.’

‘There’s time yet.  Stay where you are.’

‘Yes, Great Lord,’ Chano said, ponderously getting to her feet, ‘I would obey as always but nature calls.  So please be kind to an old peasant, I’d hate to disgrace you.  It’s time to go.  Everything’s ready, there’s food and saké when you wish it, Great Lord.’

‘Thank you.’

The door closed noiselessly behind her.  Mariko waited until Toranaga’s cup was empty, then she filled it again.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘I was waiting, Sire.’

‘For what, Mariko-san?’

‘Lord, I’m hatamoto.  I’ve never asked a favor before.  I wish to ask a favor as a hata—’

‘I don’t wish you to ask any favor as a hatamoto,’ Toranaga said.

‘Then a lifetime wish.’

‘I’m not a husband to grant that.’

‘Sometimes a vassal may ask a liege—’

‘Yes, sometimes, but not now!  Now you will hold your tongue about any lifetime wish or favor or request or whatever.’  A lifetime wish was a favor that, by ancient custom, a wife might ask of her husband, or a son of a father—and occasionally a husband of a wife—without loss of face, on the condition that if the wish was granted, the person agreed never again to ask another favor in this life.  By custom, no questions about the favor might be asked, nor was it ever to be mentioned again.

There was a polite knock at the door.

‘Unbolt it,’ Toranaga said.

She obeyed.  Sudara entered, followed by his wife, the Lady Genjiko, and Naga.

‘Naga-san.  Go down to the second landing below and prevent anyone from coming up without my orders.’

Naga stalked off.

‘Mariko-san, shut the door and sit down there.’  Toranaga pointed at a spot slightly in front of him facing the others.

‘I’ve ordered you both here because there are private, urgent family matters to discuss.’

Sudara’s eyes involuntarily went to Mariko, then back to his father.  The Lady Genjiko’s did not waver.

Toranaga said roughly, ‘She’s here, my son, for two reasons:  the first is because I want her here and the second because I want her here!’

‘Yes, Father,’ Sudara replied, ashamed of his father’s discourtesy to all of them.  ‘May I please ask why I have offended you?’

‘Is there any reason why I should be offended?’

‘No, Sire, unless my zeal for your safety and my reluctance to allow you to depart this earth is cause for offense.’

‘What about treason?  I hear you’re daring to assume my place as leader of our clan!’

Sudara’s face blanched.  So did the Lady Genjiko’s.  ‘I have never done that in thought or word or deed.  Neither has any member of my family or anyone in my presence.’

‘That is true, Sire,’ Lady Genjiko said with equal strength.

Sudara was a proud, lean man with cold, narrow eyes and thin lips that never smiled.  He was twenty-four years old, a fine general and the second of Toranaga’s five living sons.  He adored his children, had no consorts, and was devoted to his wife.

Genjiko was short, three years older than her husband, and dumpy from the four children she had already borne him.  But she had a straight back and all of her sister Ochiba’s proud, ruthless protectiveness over her own brood, together with the same latent ferocity inherited from their grandfather, Goroda.

‘Whoever accused my husband is a liar,’ she said.

‘Mariko-san,’ Toranaga said, ‘ask the Lady Genjiko what your husband ordered you to say!’

‘My Lord Buntaro asked me, ordered me, to persuade you that the time had come for Lord Sudara to assume power, that others in the Council shared my husband’s opinion, that if our Lord Toranaga did not wish to give over power, it—it should be taken from him forcibly.’

‘Never has either of us entertained that thought, Father,’ Sudara said.  ‘We’re loyal and I would never con—’

‘If I gave you power what would you do?’ Toranaga asked.

Genjiko replied at once, ‘How can Lord Sudara know when he has never considered such an unholy possibility?  So sorry, Sire, but it’s not possible for him to answer because that’s never been in his mind.  How could it be in his mind?  And as to Buntaro-san, obviously the kami have taken possession of him.’

‘Buntaro claimed that others share his opinion.’

‘Who?’ Sudara asked venomously.  ‘Tell me who and they’ll die within moments.’

‘You tell me who!’

‘I don’t know any, Sire, or I’d have reported it to you.’

‘You wouldn’t have killed them first?’

‘Your first law is to be patient, your second is to be patient.  I’ve always followed your orders.  I would have waited and reported it.  If I’ve offended you, order me to commit seppuku.  I do not merit your anger, Lord, I’ve committed no treason.  I cannot bear your anger washing over me.’

The Lady Genjiko concurred.  ‘Yes, Sire.  Please excuse me but I humbly agree with my husband.  He is blameless and so are all our people.  We’re faithful—whatever we have is yours, whatever we are you’ve made, whatever you order we’ll do.’

‘So!  You’re loyal vassals, are you?  Obedient?  You always obey orders?’

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘Good.  Then go and put your children to death.  Now.’

Sudara took his eyes off his father and looked at his wife.

Her head moved slightly and she nodded her agreement.

Sudara bowed to Toranaga.  His hand tightened on his sword hilt and he got up.  He closed the door quietly behind him.  There was a great silence in his wake.  Genjiko looked once at Mariko, then stared at the floor.

Bells tolled the middle of the Hour of the Goat.  The air in the room seemed to thicken.  Rain stopped briefly then began again, heavier than before.

Just after the bells tolled the next hour there was a knock.

‘Yes?’

The door opened.  Naga said, ‘Please excuse me, Sire, my brother . . . Lord Sudara wants to come up again.’

‘Let him—then return to your post.’

Sudara came in and knelt and bowed.  He was soaking, his hair matted from the rain.  His shoulders shook slightly.  ‘My—my children are. . . . You’ve already taken my children, Sire.’

Genjiko wavered and almost pitched forward.  But she dominated her weakness and stared at her husband.  ‘You—you didn’t kill them?’

Sudara shook his head and Toranaga said grimly, ‘Your children are in my quarters, on the floor below.  I ordered Chano-san to fetch them after you’d been ordered here.  I needed to be sure of you both.  Foul times require foul tests.’  He rang the hand bell.

‘You—you withdraw your or—your order, Sire?’  Genjiko asked, desperately trying to maintain a cold dignity.

‘Yes.  My order’s withdrawn.  This time.  It was necessary to know you.  And my heir.’

‘Thank you, thank you, Sire.’  Sudara lowered his head abjectly.

The inner door opened.  ‘Chano-san, bring my grandchildren here for a moment,’ Toranaga said.

Soon three somberly clad foster mothers and the wet nurse brought the children.  The girls were four, three, and two, and the infant son, a few weeks old, was asleep in the arms of his wet nurse.  All the girls wore scarlet kimonos with scarlet ribbons in their hair.  The foster mothers knelt and bowed to Toranaga and their wards copied them importantly and put their heads to the tatamis—except the youngest girl, whose head needed assistance from a gentle though firm hand.

Toranaga bowed back gravely.  Then, their duty done, the children rushed into his embrace—except the littlest one, who toddled into her mother’s arms.

At midnight Yabu strutted arrogantly across the flare-lit donjon forecourt.  Toranaga’s elite corps of personal guards were everywhere.  The moon was vague and misted and the stars barely visible.

‘Ah, Naga-san, what’s the reason for all this?’

‘I don’t know, Lord, but everyone’s ordered to the conference chamber.  Please excuse me, but you must leave your swords with me.’

Yabu flushed at this unheard-of breach of etiquette.  ‘Are you—’  He changed his mind, sensing the youth’s chilling tenseness and the restless nervousness of the nearby guards.  ‘On whose orders please, Naga-san?’

‘My father’s, Lord.  So sorry, you can please yourself if you don’t wish to go to the conference, but I have to advise you that you are ordered there without swords and, so sorry, that is the way you will appear.  Please excuse me, but I have no choice.’

Yabu saw the pile of swords already in the lee of the guardhouse beside the huge main gate.  He weighed the dangers of a refusal and found them formidable.  Reluctantly he relinquished his arms.  Naga bowed politely, equally embarrassed, as he accepted them.  Yabu went inside.  The huge room was embrasured, stone floored, and wooden beamed.

Soon the fifty senior generals were gathered, twenty-three counselors, and seven friendly daimyos from minor northern provinces.  All were keyed up and fidgeted uncomfortably.

‘What’s all this about?’ Yabu asked as he sourly took his place.

A general shrugged.  ‘It’s probably about the trek to Osaka.’

Another looked around hopefully.  ‘Perhaps it’s a change of plan, neh? He’s going to order Crimson—’

‘So sorry, but your head’s in the clouds.  He’s decided.  Our Lord’s decided—it’s Osaka and nothing else!  Hey, Yabu-sama, when did you get here?’

‘Yesterday.  I’ve been stuck at a filthy little fishing village called Yokohama for more than two weeks, south of here, with my troops.  The port’s fine but the bugs!  Stinking mosquitoes and bugs—they were never so bad in Izu.’

‘You’re up to date with all the news?’

‘You mean all the bad news?  The move’s still in six days, neh?‘

‘Yes, terrible.  Shameful!’

‘True, but tonight’s worse,’ another general said grimly.  ‘I’ve never been without swords before.  Never.’

‘It’s an insult,’ Yabu said deliberately.  All those nearby looked at him.

‘I agree,’ General Kiyoshio replied, breaking the silence.  Serata Kiyoshio was the grizzled, tough Commander of the Seventh Army.  ‘I’ve never been without swords in public before.  Makes me feel like a stinking merchant!  I think . . . eeeeee, orders are orders but some orders should not be given.’

‘That’s quite right,’ someone said.  ‘What would old Iron Fist have done if he’d been here?’

‘He’d have slit his belly, before he gave up his swords!  He’d have done it tonight in the forecourt!’ a young man said.  He was Serata Tomo, the general’s eldest son, second-in-command of the Fourth Army.  ‘I wish Iron Fist were here!  He could get sense . . . he’d have slit his belly first.’

‘I considered it.’  General Kiyoshio cleared his throat harshly.  ‘Someone has to be responsible—and do his duty!  Someone has to make the point that liege lord means responsibility and duty!’

‘So sorry, but you’d better watch your tongue,’ Yabu advised.

‘What’s the use of a tongue in a samurai’s mouth if he’s forbidden to be samurai?’

‘None,’ Isamu, an old counselor, replied.  ‘I agree.  Better to be dead.’

‘So sorry, Isamu-san, but that’s our immediate future anyway,’ the young Serata Tomo said.  ‘We’re staked pigeons to a certain dishonored hawk!’

‘Please hold your tongues!’ Yabu said, hiding his own satisfaction.  Then he added carefully, ‘He’s our liege lord and until Lord Sudara or the Council takes open responsibility he stays liege lord and he is to be obeyed.  Neh?‘

General Kiyoshio studied him, his hand unconsciously feeling for his sword hilt.  ‘What have you heard, Yabu-sama?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Buntaro-san said that—’ the counselor began.

General Kiyoshio interrupted thinly.  ‘Please excuse me, Isamu-san, but what General Buntaro said or what he didn’t say is unimportant.  What Yabu-sama says is true.  A liege lord is a liege lord.  Even so, a samurai has rights, a vassal has rights.  Even daimyos.  Neh?‘

Yabu looked back at him, gauging the depth of that invitation.  ‘Izu is Lord Toranaga’s province.  I’m no longer daimyo of Izu—only overlord for him.’  He glanced around the huge room.  ‘Everyone’s here; neh?‘

‘Except Lord Noboru,’ a general said, mentioning Toranaga’s eldest son, who was universally loathed.

‘Yes.  Just as well.  Never mind, General, the Chinese sickness’ll finish him soon and we’ll be done with his foul humor forever,’ someone said.

‘And stench.’

‘When’s he coming back?’

‘Who knows?  We don’t even know why Toranaga-sama sent him north.  Better he stays there, neh?‘

‘If you had that sickness, you’d be as foul-humored as he is, neh?‘

‘Yes, Yabu-san.  Yes, I would.  Pity he’s poxed, he’s a good general—better than the Cold Fish,’ General Kiyoshio added, using Sudara’s private nickname.

‘Eeeee,’ the counselor whistled.  ‘There’re devils in the air tonight to make you so careless with your tongue.  Or is it saké?’

‘Perhaps it’s the Chinese sickness,’ General Kiyoshio replied with a bitter laugh.

‘Buddha protect me from that!’ Yabu said.  ‘If only Lord Toranaga would change his mind about Osaka!’

‘I’d slit my belly now if that’d convince him,’ the young man said.

‘No offense, my son, but your head’s in the clouds.  He’ll never change.’

‘Yes, Father.  But I just don’t understand him. . . .’

‘We’re all to go with him?  In the same contingent?’ Yabu asked after a moment.

Isamu, the old counselor, said, ‘Yes.  We’re to go as an escort.  With two thousand men with full ceremonial equipment and trappings.  It’ll take us thirty days to get there.  We’ve six days left.’

General Kiyoshio said, ‘That’s not much time.  Is it, Yabu-sama?’

Yabu did not reply.  There was no need.  The general did not require an answer.  They settled into their own thoughts.

A side door opened.  Toranaga came in.  Sudara followed.  Everyone bowed stiffly.  Toranaga bowed back and sat facing them, Sudara as heir presumptive slightly in front of him, also facing the others.  Naga came in from the main door and closed it.

Only Toranaga wore swords.

‘It’s been reported that some of you speak treason, think treason, and plan treason,’ he said coldly.  No one answered or moved.  Slowly, relentlessly, Toranaga looked from face to face.

Still no movement.  Then General Kiyoshio spoke.  ‘May I respectfully ask, Sire, what do you mean by ‘treason’?’

‘Any questioning of an order, or a decision, or a position of any liege lord, at any time, is treason,’ Toranaga slammed back at him.

The general’s back stiffened.  ‘Then I’m guilty of treason.’

‘Then go out and commit seppuku at once.’

‘I will, Sire,’ the soldier said proudly, ‘but first I claim the right of free speech before your loyal vassals, officers, and coun—’

‘You’ve forfeited all rights!’

‘Very well.  Then I claim it as a dying wish—as hatamoto—and in return for twenty-eight years of faithful service!’

‘Make it very short.’

‘I will, Sire,’ General Kiyoshio replied icily.  ‘I beg to say, first:  Going to Osaka and bowing to the peasant Ishido is treason against your honor, the honor of your clan, the honor of your faithful vassals, your special heritage, and totally against bushido.  Second:  I indict you for this treason and say you’ve therefore forfeited your right to be our liege lord.  Third:  I petition that you immediately abdicate in Lord Sudara’s favor and honorably depart this life—or shave your head and retire to a monastery, whichever you prefer.’

The general bowed stiffly, then sat back on his haunches.  Everyone waited, hardly breathing now that the unbelievable had become a reality.

Abruptly Toranaga hissed, ‘What are you waiting for?’

General Kiyoshio stared back at him.  ‘Nothing, Sire.  Please excuse me.’  His son began to get up.

‘No.  You’re ordered to stay here!’ he said.

The general bowed a last time to Toranaga, got up, and walked out with immense dignity.  Some stirred nervously and a swell moved through the room but Toranaga’s harshness dominated again:  ‘Is there anyone else who admits treason?  Anyone else who dares to break bushido, anyone who dares to accuse his liege lord of treason?’

‘Please excuse me, Sire,’ Isamu, the old counselor, said calmly.  ‘But I regret to say that if you go to Osaka it is treason against your heritage.’

‘The day I go to Osaka you will depart this earth.’

The gray-haired man bowed politely.  ‘Yes, Sire.’

Toranaga looked them over.  Pitilessly.  Someone shifted uneasily and eyes snapped onto him.  The samurai, a warrior who years ago had lost his wish to fight and had shaved his head to become a Buddhist monk and was now a member of Toranaga’s civil administration, said nothing, almost wilting with an untoward fear he tried desperately to hide.

‘What’re you afraid of, Numata-san?’

‘Nothing, Sire,’ the man said, his eyes downcast.

‘Good.  Then go and commit seppuku because you’re a liar and your fear’s an infectious stench.’

The man whimpered and stumbled out.  Dread stalked them all now.  Toranaga watched.  And waited.

The air became oppressive, the slight crackling of the torch flames seemed strangely loud.  Then, knowing it was his duty and responsibility, Sudara turned and bowed.  ‘Please, Sire, may I respectfully make a statement?’

‘What statement?’

‘Sire, I believe there is no . . . no more treason here, and that there will be no more trea—’

‘I don’t share your opinion.’

‘Please excuse me, Sire, you know I will obey you.  We will all obey you.  We seek only the best for your—’

‘The best is my decision.  What I decide is best.’

Helplessly Sudara bowed his acquiescence and became silent.  Toranaga did not look away from him.  His gaze was remorseless.  ‘You are no longer my heir.’

Sudara paled.  Then Toranaga shattered the tension in the room:  ‘I am liege lord here.‘

He waited a moment, then, in utter silence, he got up and arrogantly marched out.  The door closed behind him.  A great sigh went through the room.  Hands sought sword hilts impotently.  But no one left his place.

‘This . . . this morning I . . . I heard from our commander-in-chief,’ Sudara began at last.  ‘Lord Hiro-matsu will be here in a few days.  I will . . . talk to him.  Be silent, be patient, be loyal to our liege Lord.  Let us go and pay our respects to General Serata Kiyoshio. . . .’

Toranaga was climbing the stairs, a great loneliness upon him, his footsteps reverberating in the emptiness of the tower.  Near the top he stopped and leaned momentarily against the wall, his breathing heavy.  The ache was gripping his chest again and he tried to rub it away.  ‘It’s just lack of exercise,’ he muttered.  ‘That’s all, just lack of exercise.’

He went on.  He knew he was in great jeopardy.  Treason and fear were contagious and both had to be cauterized without pity the moment they appeared.  Even then you could never be sure they were eradicated.  The struggle he was locked into was not a child’s game.  The weak had to be food for the strong, the strong pawns for the very strong.  If Sudara publicly claimed his mantle he was powerless to prevent it.  Until Zataki answered, he had to wait.

Toranaga shut and bolted his door and walked to a window.  Below, he could see his generals and counselors silently streaming away to their homes outside the donjon walls.  Beyond the castle walls, the city lay in almost total darkness.  Above, the moon was pallid and misted.  It was a brooding, darkling night.  And, it seemed to him, doom walked the heavens.