At the Hour of the Horse, eleven o’clock in the morning, ten days after the death of Jozen and all his men, a convoy of three galleys rounded the headland at Anjiro. They were crammed with troops. Toranaga came ashore. Beside him was Buntaro.
‘First I wish to see an attack exercise, Yabu-san, with the original five hundred,’ Toranaga said. ‘At once.’
‘Could it be tomorrow? That would give me time to prepare,’ Yabu said affably, but inwardly he was furious at the suddenness of Toranaga’s arrival and incensed with his spies for not forewarning him. He had had barely enough time to hurry to the shore with a guard of honor. ‘You must be tired—’
‘I’m not tired, thank you,’ Toranaga said, intentionally brusque. ‘I don’t need ‘defenders’ or an elaborate setting or screams or pretended deaths. You forget, old friend, I’ve acted in enough Nōh plays and staged enough to be able to use my imagination. I’m not a ronin-peasant! Please order it mounted at once.’
They were on the beach beside the wharf. Toranaga was surrounded by elite guards, and more were pouring off the moored galley. Another thousand heavily armed samurai were crammed into the two galleys that waited just offshore. It was a warm day, the sky cloudless, with a light surf and heat haze on the horizon.
‘Igurashi, see to it!’ Yabu bottled his rage. Since the first message he had sent concerning Jozen’s arrival eleven days ago, there had been the merest trickle of noncommittal reports from ‘Yedo from his own espionage network, and nothing but sporadic and infuriatingly inconclusive replies from Toranaga to his ever more urgent signals: ‘Your message received and under serious study.’ ‘Shocked by your news about my son. Please wait for further instructions.’ Then, four days ago: ‘Those responsible for Jozen’s death will be punished. They are to remain at their posts but to continue under arrest until I can consult with Lord Ishido.’ And yesterday, the bombshell: ‘Today I received the new Council of Regents’ formal invitation to the Osaka Flower-Viewing Ceremony. When do you plan to leave? Advise immediately.’
‘Surely that doesn’t mean Toranaga’s actually going?’ Yabu had asked, baffled.
‘He’s forcing you to commit yourself,’ Igurashi had replied. ‘Whatever you say traps you.’
‘I agree,’ Omi had said.
‘Why aren’t we getting news from Yedo? What’s happened to our spies?’
‘It’s almost as though Toranaga’s put a blanket over the whole Kwanto,’ Omi had told him. ‘Perhaps he knows who your spies are!’
‘Today’s the tenth day, Sire,’ Igurashi had reminded Yabu. ‘Everything’s ready for your departure to Osaka. Do you want to leave or not?’
Now, here on the beach, Yabu blessed his guardian kami who had persuaded him to accept Omi’s advice to stay until the last possible day, three days hence.
‘About your final message, Toranaga-sama, the one that arrived yesterday,’ he said. ‘You’re surely not going to Osaka?’
‘Are you?’
‘I acknowledge you as leader. Of course, I’ve been waiting for your decision.’
‘My decision is easy, Yabu-sama. But yours is hard. If you go, the Regents will certainly chop you for destroying Jozen and his men. And Ishido is really very angry—and rightly so. Neh?‘
‘I didn’t do it, Lord Toranaga. Jozen’s destruction—however merited—was against my orders.’
‘It was just as well Naga-san did it, neh? Otherwise you’d certainly have had to do it yourself. I’ll discuss Naga-san later, but come along, we’ll talk as we walk up to the training ground. No need to waste time.’ Toranaga set off at his brisk pace, his guards following closely. ‘Yes, you really are in a dilemma, old friend. If you go, you lose your head, you lose Izu, and of course your whole Kasigi family goes to the execution ground. If you stay, the Council will order the same thing.’ He looked across at him. ‘Perhaps you should do what you suggested I do the last time I was in Anjiro. I’ll be happy to be your second. Perhaps your head will ease Ishido’s ill humor when I meet him.’
‘My head’s of no value to Ishido.’
‘I don’t agree.’
Buntaro intercepted them. ‘Excuse me, Sire. Where do you want the men billeted?’
‘On the plateau. Make your permanent camp there. Two hundred guards will stay with me at the fortress. When you’ve made the arrangements join me. I’ll want you to see the training exercise.’ Buntaro hurried off.
‘Permanent camp? You’re staying here?’ Yabu asked.
‘No, only my men. If the attack’s as good as I hear, we’ll be forming nine assault battalions of five hundred samurai each.’
‘What?’
‘Yes. I’ve brought another thousand selected samurai for you now. You’ll provide the other thousand.’
‘But there aren’t enough guns and the train—’
‘So sorry, you’re wrong. I’ve brought a thousand muskets and plenty of powder and shot. The rest will arrive within a week with another thousand men.’
‘We’ll have nine assault battalions?’
‘Yes. They’ll be one regiment. Buntaro will command.’
‘Perhaps it would be better if I did that. He’ll be—’
‘Oh, but you forget the Council meets in a few days. How can you command a regiment if you’re going to Osaka? Haven’t you prepared to leave?’
Yabu stopped. ‘We’re allies. We agreed you’re the leader and we pissed on the bargain. I’ve kept it, and I’m keeping it. Now I ask, what’s your plan? Do we war or don’t we?’
‘No one’s declared war on me. Yet.’
Yabu craved to unsheath the Yoshitomo blade and splash Toranaga’s blood on the dirt, once and for all, whatever the cost. He could feel the breath of the Toranaga guards all around him but he was beyond caring now. ‘Isn’t the Council your death knell too? You said that yourself. Once they’ve met, you have to obey. Neh?‘
‘Of course.’ Toranaga waved his guards back, leaning easily on his sword, his stocky legs wide and firm.
‘Then what’s your decision? What do you propose?’
‘First to see an attack.’
‘Then?’
‘Then to go hunting.’
‘Are you going to Osaka?’
‘Of course.’
‘When?’
‘When it pleases me.’
‘You mean, not when it pleases Ishido.’
‘I mean when it pleases me.’
‘We’ll be isolated,’ Yabu said. ‘We can’t fight all Japan, even with an assault regiment, and we can’t possibly train it in ten days.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then what’s the plan?’
‘What exactly happened with Jozen and Naga-san?’
Yabu told it truly, omitting only the fact that Naga had been manipulated by Omi.
‘And my barbarian? How’s the Anjin-san behaving?’
‘Good. Very good.’ Yabu told him about the attempted seppuku on the first night, and how he had neatly bent the Anjin-san to their mutual advantage.
‘That was clever,’ Toranaga said slowly. ‘I’d never have guessed he’d try seppuku. Interesting.’
‘It was fortunate I told Omi to be ready.’
‘Yes.’
Impatiently Yabu waited for more but Toranaga remained silent.
‘This news I sent about Lord Ito becoming a Regent,’ Yabu said at last. ‘Did you know about it before I sent word?’
Toranaga did not answer for a moment. ‘I’d heard rumors. Lord Ito’s a perfect choice for Ishido. The poor fool’s always enjoyed being shafted while he has his nose up another man’s anus. They’ll make good bedfellows.’
‘His vote will destroy you, even so.’
‘Providing there’s a Council.’
‘Ah, then you do have a plan?’
‘I always have a plan—or plans—didn’t you know? But you, what’s your plan, Ally? If you want to leave, leave. If you want to stay, stay. Choose!’ He walked on.
Mariko handed Toranaga a scroll of closely written characters.
‘Is this everything?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Sire,’ she replied, not liking the stuffiness of the cabin or being aboard the galley again, even moored at the dock. ‘A lot of what’s in the War Manual will be repeated, but I made notes every night and wrote down everything as it happened—or tried to. It’s almost like a diary of what was said and happened since you left.’
‘Good. Has anyone else read it?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’ She used her fan to cool herself. ‘The Anjin-san’s consort and servants have seen me writing it, but I’ve kept it locked away.’
‘What are your conclusions?’
Mariko hesitated. She glanced at the cabin door and at the closed porthole.
Toranaga said, ‘Only my men are aboard and no one’s below decks. Except us.’
‘Yes, Sire. I just remembered the Anjin-san saying there are no secrets aboard a ship. So sorry.’ She thought a moment, then said confidently, ‘The Musket Regiment will win one battle. Barbarians could destroy us if they landed in force with guns and cannon. You must have a barbarian navy. Thus far, the Anjin-san’s knowledge has been enormously valuable to you, so much so it should be kept secret, only for your ears. In the wrong hands his knowledge would be lethal to you.’
‘Who shares his knowledge now?’
‘Yabu-san knows much but Omi-san more—he’s the most intuitive. Igurashi-san, Naga-san, and the troops—the troops of course understand the strategy, not the finer details and none of the Anjin-san’s political and general knowledge. Me, more than any. I’ve written down everything he’s said, asked, or commented on, Sire. As best I can. Of course he has only told us about certain things, but his range is vast and his memory near perfect. With patience he can provide you with an accurate picture of the world, its customs and dangers. If he’s telling the truth.’
‘Is he?’
‘I believe so.’
‘What’s your opinion of Yabu?’
‘Yabu-san’s a violent man with no scruples whatsoever. He honors nothing but his own interests. Duty, loyalty, tradition, mean nothing to him. His mind has flashes of great cunning, even brilliance. He’s equally dangerous as ally or enemy.’
‘All commendable virtues. What’s to be said against him?’
‘A bad administrator. His peasants would revolt if they had weapons.’
‘Why?’
‘Extortionate taxes. Illegal taxes. He takes seventy-five parts from every hundred of all rice, fish, and produce. He’s begun a head tax, land tax, boat tax—every sale, every barrel of saké, everything’s taxed in Izu.’
‘Perhaps I should employ him or his quartermaster for the Kwanto. Well, what he does here’s his own business, his peasants’ll never get weapons so we’ve nothing to worry about. I could still use this as a base if need be.’
‘But Sire, sixty parts is the legal limit.’
‘It was the legal limit. The Taikō made it legal but he’s dead. What else about Yabu?’
‘He eats little, his health appears good, but Suwo, the masseur, thinks he has kidney trouble. He has some curious habits.’
‘What?’
She told him about the Night of the Screams.
‘Who told you about that?’
‘Suwo. Also Omi-san’s wife and mother.’
‘Yabu’s father used to boil his enemies too. Waste of time. But I can understand his need to do it occasionally. His nephew, Omi?’
‘Very shrewd. Very wise. Completely loyal to his uncle. A very capable, impressive vassal.’
‘Omi’s family?’
‘His mother is—is suitably firm with Midori, his wife. The wife is samurai, gentle, strong, and very good. All are loyal vassals of Yabu-san. Presently Omi-san has no consorts though Kiku, the most famous courtesan in Izu, is almost like a consort. If he could buy her contract I think he’d bring her into his house.’
‘Would he help me against Yabu if I wanted him to?’
She pondered that. Then shook her head. ‘No, Sire. I don’t think so. I think he’s his uncle’s vassal.’
‘Naga?’
‘As good a samurai as a man could be. He saw at once the danger of Jozen-san and his men to you, and locked things up until you could be consulted. As much as he detests the Musket Battalion he trains the companies hard to make them perfect.’
‘I think he was very stupid—to be Yabu’s puppet.’
She adjusted a fold in her kimono, saying nothing.
Toranaga fanned himself. ‘Now the Anjin-san?’
She had been expecting this question and now that it had come, all the clever observations she was going to make vanished from her head.
‘Well?’
‘You must judge from the scroll, Sire. In certain areas he’s impossible to explain. Of course, his training and heritage have nothing in common with ours. He’s very complex and beyond our—beyond my understanding. He used to be very open. But since his attempted seppuku, he’s changed. He’s more secretive.’ She told him what Omi had said and had done on that first night. And about Yabu’s promise.
‘Ah, Omi stopped him—not Yabu-san?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Yabu followed Omi’s advice?’
‘Exactly, Sire.’
‘So Omi’s the adviser. Interesting. But surely the Anjin-san doesn’t expect Yabu to keep the promise?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’
Toranaga laughed. ‘How childish!’
‘Christian ‘conscience’ is deeply set in him, so sorry. He cannot avoid his karma, one part of which is that he’s totally to be governed through this hatred of a death, or deaths, of what he calls ‘innocents.’ Even Jozen’s death affected him deeply. For many nights his sleep was disturbed and for days he hardly talked to anyone.’
‘Would this ‘conscience’ apply to all barbarians?’
‘No, though it should to all Christian barbarians.’
‘Will he lose this ‘conscience’?’
‘I don’t think so. But he’s as defenseless as a doll until he does.’
‘His consort?’
She told him everything.
‘Good.’ He was pleased that his choice of Fujiko and his plan had worked so well. ‘Very good. She did very well over the guns. What about his habits?’
‘Mostly normal, except for an astounding embarrassment over pillow matters and a curious reluctance to discuss the most normal functions.’ She also described his unusual need for solitude, and his abominable taste in food. ‘In most other things he’s attentive, reasonable, sharp, an adept pupil, and very curious about us and our customs. It’s all in my report, but briefly, I’ve explained something of our way of life, a little of us and our history, about the Taikō and the problems besetting our Realm now.’
‘Ah, about the Heir?’
‘Yes, Sire. Was that wrong?’
‘No. You were told to educate him. How’s his Japanese?’
‘Very good, considering. In time he’ll speak our language quite well. He’s a good pupil, Sire.’
‘Pillowing?’
‘One of the maids,’ she said at once.
‘He chose her?’
‘His consort sent her to him.’
‘And?’
‘It was mutually satisfactory, I understand.’
‘Ah! Then she had no difficulty.’
‘No, Sire.’
‘But he’s in proportion?’
‘The girl said, ‘Oh very yes.’ ‘Lavish’ was the word she used.’
‘Excellent. At least in that his karma’s good. That’s the trouble with a lot of men—Yabu for one, Kiyama for another. Small shafts. Unfortunate to be born with a small shaft. Very. Yes.’ He glanced at the scroll, then closed his fan with a snap. ‘And you, Mariko-san? What about you?’
‘Good, thank you, Sire. I’m very pleased to see you looking so well. May I offer you congratulations on the birth of your grandson.’
‘Thank you, yes. Yes, I’m pleased. The boy’s well formed and appears healthy.’
‘And the Lady Genjiko?’
Toranaga grunted. ‘She’s as strong as always. Yes.’ He pursed his lips, brooding for a moment. ‘Perhaps you could recommend a foster mother for the child.’ It was custom for sons of important samurai to have foster mothers so that the natural mother could attend to her husband and to the running of his house, leaving the foster mother to concentrate on the child’s upbringing, making him strong and a credit to the parents. ‘I’m afraid it won’t be easy to find the right person. The Lady Genjiko’s not the easiest mistress to work for, neh?‘
‘I’m sure you’ll find the perfect person, Sire. I’ll certainly give it some thought,’ Mariko replied, knowing that to offer such advice would be foolish, for no woman born could possibly satisfy both Toranaga and his daughter-in-law.
‘Thank you. But you, Mariko-san, what about you?’
‘Good, Sire, thank you.’
‘And your Christian conscience?’
‘There’s no conflict, Sire. None. I’ve done everything you would wish. Truly.’
‘Have any priests been here?’
‘No, Sire.’
‘You have need of one?’
‘It would be good to confess and take the Sacrament and be blessed. Yes, truthfully, I would like that—to confess the things permitted and to be blessed.’
Toranaga studied her closely. Her eyes were guileless. ‘You’ve done well, Mariko-san. Please continue as before.’
‘Yes, Sire, thank you. One thing—the Anjin-san needs a grammar book and dictionary badly.’
‘I’ve sent to Tsukku-san for them.’ He noticed her frown. ‘You don’t think he’ll send them?’
‘He would obey, of course. Perhaps not with the speed you’d like.’
‘I’ll soon know that.’ Toranaga added ominously, ‘He has only thirteen days left.’
Mariko was startled. ‘Sire?’ she asked, not understanding.
‘Thirteen? Ah,’ Toranaga said nonchalantly, covering his momentary lapse, ‘when we were aboard the Portuguese ship he asked permission to visit Yedo. I agreed, providing it was within forty days. There are thirteen left. Wasn’t forty days the time this bonze, this prophet, this Moses spent on the mountain collecting the commands of ‘God’ that were etched in stone?’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘Do you believe that happened?’
‘Yes. But I don’t understand how or why.’
‘A waste of time discussing ‘God-things.’ Neh?‘
‘If you seek facts, yes, Sire.’
‘While you were waiting for this dictionary, have you tried to make one?’
‘Yes, Toranaga-sama. I’m afraid it’s not very good. Unfortunately there seems to be so little time, so many problems. Here—everywhere,’ she added pointedly.
He nodded agreement, knowing that she would dearly like to ask many things: about the new Council and Lord Ito’s appointment and Naga’s sentence and if war would be immediate. ‘We’re fortunate to have your husband back with us, neh?‘
Her fan stopped. ‘I never thought he’d escape alive. Never. I’ve said a prayer and burnt incense to his memory daily.’ Buntaro had told her this morning how another contingent of Toranaga samurai had covered his retreat from the beach and he had made the outskirts of Osaka without trouble. Then, with fifty picked men and spare horses, disguised as bandits, he hastily took to the hills and lesser paths in a headlong dash for Yedo. Twice his pursuers caught up with him but there were not enough of the enemy to contain him and he fought his way through. Once he was ambushed and lost all but four men, and escaped again and went deeper into the forest, traveling by night, sleeping during the day. Berries and spring water, a little rice snatched from lonely farmhouses, then galloping on again, hunters always at his heels. It had taken him twenty days to reach Yedo. Two men had survived with him.
‘It was almost a miracle,’ she said. ‘I thought I was possessed by a kami when I saw him here beside you on the beach.’
‘He’s clever. Very strong and very clever.’
‘May I ask what news of Lord Hiro-matsu, Sire? And Osaka? Lady Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko?’
Noncommittal, Toranaga informed her that Hiro-matsu had arrived back at Yedo the day before he had left, though his ladies had decided to stay at Osaka, the Lady Sazuko’s health being the reason for their delay. There was no need to elaborate. Both he and Mariko knew that this was merely a face-saving formula and that General Ishido would never allow two such valuable hostages to leave now that Toranaga was out of his grasp.
‘Shigata ga nai,‘ he said. ‘Karma, neh?‘ There’s nothing that can be done. That’s karma, isn’t it?
‘Yes.’
He picked up the scroll. ‘Now I must read this. Thank you, Mariko san. You’ve done very well. Please bring the Anjin-san to the fortress at dawn.’
‘Sire, now that my Master is here, I will have—’
‘Your husband has already agreed that while I’m here you’re to remain where you are and act as interpreter, your prime duty being to the Anjin-san for the next few days.’
‘But Sire, I must set up house for my Lord. He’ll need servants and a house.’
‘That will be a waste of money, time, and effort at the moment. He’ll stay with the troops—or at the Anjin-san’s house—whichever pleases him.’ He noticed a flash of irritation. ‘Nan ja?‘
‘My place should be with my Master. To serve him.’
‘Your place is where I want it to be. Neh?‘
‘Yes, please excuse me. Of course.’
‘Of course.’
She left.
He read the scroll carefully. And the War Manual. Then he reread parts of the scroll. He put them both away safely and posted guards on the cabin and went aloft.
It was dawn. The day promised warmth and overcast. He canceled the meeting with the Anjin-san, as he had intended, and rode to the plateau with a hundred guards. There he collected his falconers and three hawks and hunted for twenty ri. By noon he had bagged three pheasants, two large woodcock, a hare, and a brace of quail. He sent one pheasant and the hare to the Anjin-san the rest to the fortress. Some of his samurai were not Buddhists and he was tolerant of their eating habits. For himself he ate a little cold rice with fish paste, some pickled seaweed with slivers of ginger. Then he curled up on the ground and slept.
Now it was late afternoon and Blackthorne was in the kitchen, whistling merrily. Around him were the chief cook, assistant cook, the vegetable preparer, fish preparer, and their assistants, all smiling but inwardly mortified because their master was here in their kitchen with their mistress, also because she had told them he was going to honor them by showing them how to prepare and cook in his style. And last because of the hare.
He had already hung the pheasant under the eaves of an outhouse with careful instructions that no one, no one was to touch it but him. ‘Do they understand, Fujiko-san? No touching but me?’ he asked with mock gravity.
‘Oh, yes, Anjin-san. They all understand. So sorry, excuse me, but you should say ‘No one’s to touch it except me.”
‘Now,’ he was saying to no one in particular, ‘the gentle art of cooking. Lesson One.’
‘Dozo gomen nasai?‘ Fujiko asked.
‘Miru!‘ Watch.
Feeling young again—for one of his first chores had been to clean the game he and his brother poached at such huge risk from the estates around Chatham—he selected a long, curving knife. The sushi chef blanched. This was his favorite knife, with an especially honed edge to ensure that the slivers of raw fish were always sliced to perfection. All the staff knew this and they sucked in their breaths, smiling even more to hide their embarrassment for him, as he increased the size of his smile to hide his own shame.
Blackthorne slit the hare’s belly and neatly turned out the stomach sac and entrails. One of the younger maids heaved and fled silently. Fujiko resolved to fine her a month’s wages, wishing at the same time that she too could be a peasant and so flee with honor.
They watched, glazed, as he cut off the paws and feet, then pushed the forelegs back into the pelt, easing the skin off the legs. He did the same with the back legs and worked the pelt around to bring the naked back legs out through the belly slit, and then, with a deft jerk, he pulled the pelt over the head like a discarded winter coat. He lay the almost skinned animal on the chopping table and decapitated it, leaving the head with its staring, pathetic eyes still attached to the pelt. He turned the pelt right side out again, and put it aside. A sigh went through the kitchen. He did not hear it as he concentrated on slicing off the legs into joints and quartering the carcass. Another maid fled unnoticed.
‘Now I want a pot,’ Blackthorne said with a hearty grin.
No one answered him. They just stared with the same fixed smiles. He saw a large iron cauldron. It was spotless. He picked it up with bloody hands and filled it with water from a wooden container, then hung the pot over the brazier, which was set into the earthen floor in a pit surrounded by stone. He added the pieces of meat.
‘Now some vegetables and spices,’ he said.
‘Dozo?‘ Fujiko asked throatily.
He did not know the Japanese words so he looked around. There were some carrots, and some roots that looked like turnips in a wooden basket. These he cleaned and cut up and added to the soup with salt and some of the dark soya sauce.
‘We should have some onions and garlic and port wine.’
‘Dozo?‘ Fujiko asked again helplessly.
‘Kotaba shirimasen.‘ I don’t know the words.
She did not correct him, just picked up a spoon and offered it. He shook his head. ‘Saké,’ he ordered. The assistant cook jerked into life and gave him the small wooden barrel.
‘Domo.‘ Blackthorne poured in a cupful, then added another for good measure. He would have drunk some from the barrel but he knew that it would be bad manners, to drink it cold and without ceremony, and certainly not here in the kitchen.
‘Christ Jesus, I’d love a beer,’ he said.
‘Dozo goziemashita, Anjin-san?’
‘Kotaba shirimasen—but this stew’s going to be great. Ichi-ban, neh?‘ He pointed at the hissing pot.
‘Hai,‘ she said without conviction.
‘Okuru tsukai arigato Toranaga-sama,’ Blackthorne said. Send a messenger to thank Lord Toranaga. No one corrected the bad Japanese.
‘Hai.‘ Once outside Fujiko rushed for the privy, the little hut that stood in solitary splendor near the front door in the garden. She was very sick.
‘Are you all right, Mistress?’ her maid, Nigatsu, said. She was middle-aged, roly-poly, and had looked after Fujiko all her life.
‘Go away! But first bring me some cha. No—you’ll have to go into the kitchen . . . oh oh oh!’
‘I have cha here, Mistress. We thought you’d need some so we boiled the water on another brazier. Here!’
‘Oh, you’re so clever!’ Fujiko pinched Nigatsu’s round cheek affectionately as another maid came to fan her. She wiped her mouth on the paper towel and sat gratefully on cushions on the veranda. ‘Oh, that’s better!’ And it was better in the open air, in the shade, the good afternoon sun casting dark shadows and butterflies foraging, the sea far below, calm and iridescent.
‘What’s going on, Mistress? We didn’t dare even to peek.’
‘Never mind. The Master’s—the Master’s—never mind. His customs are weird but that’s our karma.‘
She glanced away as her chief cook came unctuously through the garden and her heart sank a little more. He bowed formally, a taut, thin little man with large feet and very buck teeth. Before he could utter a word Fujiko said through a flat smile, ‘Order new knives from the village. A new rice-cooking pot. A new chopping board, new water containers—all utensils you think necessary. Those that the Master used are to be kept for his private purposes. You will set aside a special area, construct another kitchen if you wish, where the Master can cook if he so desires—until you are proficient.’
‘Thank you, Fujiko-sama,’ the cook said. ‘Excuse me for interrupting you, but, so sorry, please excuse me, I know. a fine cook in the next village. He’s not a Buddhist and he’s even been with the army in Korea so he’d know all about the—how to—how to cook for the Master so much better than I.’
‘When I want another cook I will tell you. When I consider you inept or malingering I will tell you. Until that time you will be chief cook here. You accepted the post for six months,’ she said.
‘Yes, Mistress,’ the cook said with outward dignity, though quaking inside, for Fujiko-noh-Anjin was no mistress to trifle with. ‘Please excuse me, but I was engaged to cook. I am proud to cook. But I never accepted to—to be butcher. Eta are butchers. Of course we can’t have an eta here but this other cook isn’t a Buddhist like me, my father, his father before him and his before him, Mistress, and they never, never. . . . Please, this new cook will—’
‘You will cook here as you’ve always cooked. I find your cooking excellent, worthy of a master cook in Yedo. I even sent one of your recipes to the Lady Kiritsubo in Osaka.’
‘Oh? Thank you. You do me too much honor. Which one, Mistress?’
‘The tiny, fresh eels and jellyfish and sliced oysters, with just the right touch of soya, that you make so well. Excellent! The best I’ve ever tasted.’
‘Oh, thank you, Mistress,’ he groveled.
‘Of course your soups leave much to be desired.’
‘Oh, so sorry!’
‘I’ll discuss those with you later. Thank you, cook,’ she said, experimenting with a dismissal.
The little man stood his ground gamely. ‘Please excuse me, Mistress, but oh ko, with complete humbleness, if the Master—when the Master—’
‘When the Master tells you to cook or to butcher or whatever, you will rush to do it. Instantly. As any loyal servant should. Meanwhile, it may take you a great deal of time to become proficient so perhaps you’d better make temporary arrangements with this other cook to visit you on the rare days the Master might wish to eat in his own fashion.’
His honor satisfied, the cook smiled and bowed. ‘Thank you. Please excuse my asking for enlightenment.’
‘Of course you pay for the substitute cook from your own salary.’
When they were alone again, Nigatsu chortled behind her hand. ‘Oh, Mistress-chan, may I compliment you on your total victory and your wisdom? Chief cook almost broke wind when you said that he was going to have to pay too!’
‘Thank you, Nanny-san.’ Fujiko could smell the hare beginning to cook. What if he asks me to eat it with him, she was thinking, and almost wilted. Even if he doesn’t I’ll still have to serve it. How can I avoid being sick? You will not be sick, she ordered herself. It’s your karma. You must have been completely dreadful in your previous life. Yes. But remember everything is fine now. Only five months and six days more. Don’t think of that, just think about your Master, who is a brave, strong man, though one with ghastly eating habits . . .
Horses clattered up to the gate. Buntaro dismounted and waved the rest of his men away. Then, accompanied only by his personal guard, he strode through the garden, dusty and sweat-soiled. He carried his huge bow and on his back was his quiver. Fujiko and her maid bowed warmly, hating him. Her uncle was famous for his wild, uncontrollable rages which made him lash out without warning or pick a quarrel with almost anyone. Most of the time only his servants suffered, or his women. ‘Please come in, Uncle. How kind of you to visit us so soon,’ Fujiko said.
‘Ah, Fujiko-san. Do— What’s that stench?’
‘My Master’s cooking some game Lord Toranaga sent him—he’s showing my miserable servants how to cook.’
‘If he wants to cook, I suppose he can, though . . .’ Buntaro wrinkled his nose distastefully. ‘Yes, a master can do anything in his own house, within the law, unless it disturbs the neighbors.’
Legally such a smell could be cause for complaint and it could be very bad to inconvenience neighbors. Inferiors never did anything to disturb their superiors. Otherwise heads would fall. That was why, throughout the land, samurai lived cautiously and courteously near samurai of equal rank if possible, peasants next to peasants, merchants in their own streets, and eta isolated outside. Omi was their immediate neighbor. He’s superior, she thought. ‘I hope sincerely no one’s disturbed,’ she told Buntaro uneasily, wondering what new evil he was concocting. ‘You wanted to see my Master?’ She began to get up but he stopped her.
‘No, please don’t disturb him, I’ll wait,’ he said formally and her heart sank. Buntaro was not known for his manners and politeness from him was very dangerous.
‘I apologize for arriving like this without first sending a messenger to request an appointment,’ he was saying, ‘but Lord Toranaga told me I might perhaps be allowed to use the bath and have quarters here. From time to time. Would you ask the Anjin-san later, if he would give his permission?’
‘Of course,’ she said, continuing the usual pattern of etiquette, loathing the idea of having Buntaro in her house. ‘I’m sure he will be honored, Uncle. May I offer you cha or saké while you wait?’
‘Saké, thank you.’
Nigatsu hurriedly set a cushion on the veranda and fled for the saké, as much as she would have liked to stay.
Buntaro handed his bow and quiver to his guard, kicked off his dusty sandals, and stomped onto the veranda. He pulled his killing sword out of his sash, sat cross-legged, and laid the sword on his knees.
‘Where’s my wife? With the Anjin-san?’
‘No, Buntaro-sama, so sorry, she was ordered to the fortress where—’
‘Ordered? By whom? By Kasigi Yabu?’
‘Oh, no, by Lord Toranaga, Sire, when he came back from hunting this afternoon.’
‘Oh, Lord Toranaga?’ Buntaro simmered down and scowled across the bay at the fortress. Toranaga’s standard flew beside Yabu’s.
‘Would you like me to send someone for her?’
He shook his head. ‘There’s time enough for her.’ He exhaled, looked across at his niece, daughter of his youngest sister. ‘I’m fortunate to have such an accomplished wife, neh?‘
‘Yes, Sire. Yes you are. She’s been enormously valuable to interpret the Anjin-san’s knowledge.’
Buntaro stared at the fortress, then sniffed the wind as the smell of the cooking wafted up again. ‘It’s like being at Nagasaki, or back in Korea. They cook meat all the time there, boil it or roast it. Stink—you’ve never smelled anything like it. Koreans’re animals, like cannibals. The garlic stench even gets into your clothes and hair.’
‘It must have been terrible.’
‘The war was good. We could have won easily. And smashed through to China. And civilized both countries.’ Buntaro flushed and his voice rasped. ‘But we didn’t. We failed and had to come back with our shame because we were betrayed. Betrayed by filthy traitors in high places.’
‘Yes, that’s so sad, but you’re right. Very right, Buntaro-sama,’ she said soothingly, telling the lie easily, knowing no nation on earth could conquer China, and no one could civilize China, which had been civilized since ancient times.
The vein on Buntaro’s forehead was throbbing and he was talking almost to himself. ‘They’ll pay. All of them. The traitors. It’s only a matter of waiting beside a river long enough for the bodies of your enemies to float by, neh? I’ll wait and I’ll spit on their heads soon, very soon. I’ve promised myself that.’ He looked at her. ‘I hate traitors and adulterers. And all liars!’
‘Yes, I agree. You’re so right, Buntaro-sama,’ she said, chilled, knowing there was no limit to his ferocity. When Buntaro was sixteen he had executed his own mother, one of Hiro-matsu’s lesser consorts, for her supposed infidelity while his father, Hiro-matsu, was at war fighting for the Dictator, Lord Goroda. Then, years later, he had killed his own eldest son by his first wife for supposed insults and sent her back to her family, where she died by her own hand, unable to bear the shame. He had done terrible things to his consorts and to Mariko. And he had quarreled violently with Fujiko’s father and had accused him of cowardice in Korea, discrediting him to the Taikō, who had at once ordered him to shave his head and become a monk, to die debauched, so soon, eaten up by his own shame.
It took all of Fujiko’s will to appear tranquil. ‘We were so proud to hear that you had escaped the enemy,’ she said.
The saké arrived. Buntaro began to drink heavily.
When there had been the correct amount of waiting Fujiko got up. ‘Please excuse me for a moment.’ She went to the kitchen to warn Blackthorne, to ask his permission for Buntaro to be quartered in the house, and to tell him and the servants what had to be done.
‘Why here?’ Blackthorne asked irritably. ‘Why to stay here? Is necessary?’
Fujiko apologized and tried to explain that, of course, Buntaro could not be refused. Blackthorne returned moodily to his cooking and she came back to Buntaro, her chest aching.
‘My Master says he’s honored to have you here. His house is your house.’
‘What’s it like being consort to a barbarian?’
‘I would imagine horrible. But to the Anjin-san, who is hatamoto and therefore samurai? I suppose like to other men. This is the first time I’ve been consort. I prefer to be a wife. The Anjin-san’s like other men, though yes, some of his ways are very strange.’
‘Who’d have thought one of our house would be consort to a barbarian—even a hatamoto.’
‘I had no choice. I merely obeyed Lord Toranaga, and grandfather, the leader of our clan. It’s a woman’s place to obey.’
‘Yes.’ Buntaro finished his cup of saké and she refilled it. ‘Obedience’s important for a woman. And Mariko-san’s obedient, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, Lord.’ She looked into his ugly, apelike face. ‘She’s brought you nothing but honor, Sire. Without the Lady, your wife, Lord Toranaga could never have got the Anjin-san’s knowledge.’
He smiled crookedly. ‘I hear you stuck pistols in Omi-san’s face.’
‘I was only doing my duty, Sire.’
‘Where did you learn to use guns?’
‘I had never handled a gun until then. I didn’t know if the pistols were loaded. But I would have pulled the triggers.’
Buntaro laughed. ‘Omi-san thought that too.’
She refilled his cup. ‘I never understood why Omi-san didn’t try to take them away from me. His lord had ordered him to take them, but he didn’t.’
‘I would have.’
‘Yes, Uncle. I know. Please excuse me, I would still have pulled the triggers.’
‘Yes. But you would have missed!’
‘Yes, probably. Since then I’ve learned how to shoot.’
‘He taught you?’
‘No. One of Lord Naga’s officers.’
‘Why?’
‘My father would never allow his daughters to learn sword or spear. He thought, wisely I believe, we should devote our time to learning gentler things. But sometimes a woman needs to protect her master and his house. The pistol’s a good weapon for a woman, very good. It requires no strength and little practice. So now I can perhaps be a little more use to my Master, for I will surely blow any man’s head off to protect him, and for the honor of our house.’
Buntaro drained his cup. ‘I was proud when I heard you’d opposed Omi-san as you did. You were correct. Lord Hiro-matsu will be proud too.’
‘Thank you, Uncle. But I was only doing an ordinary duty.’ She bowed formally. ‘My Master asks if you would allow him the honor of talking with you now, if it pleases you.’
He continued the ritual. ‘Please thank him but first may I bathe? If it pleases him, I’ll see him when my wife returns.’
