‘Beautiful, neh?‘ Yabu pointed below at the dead.
‘Please?’ Blackthorne asked.
‘It was a poem. You understand ‘poem’?’
‘I understand word, yes.’
‘It was a poem, Anjin-san. Don’t you see that?’
If Blackthorne had had the words he would have said, No, Yabu-san. But I did see clearly for the first time what was really in her mind, the moment she gave the first order and Yoshinaka killed the first man. Poem? It was a hideous, courageous, senseless, extraordinary ritual, where death’s as formalized and inevitable as at a Spanish Inquisition, and all the deaths merely a prelude to Mariko’s. Everyone’s committed now, Yabu-san—you, me, the castle, Kiri, Ochiba, Ishido, everyone—all because she decided to do what she decided was necessary. And when did she decide? Long ago, neh? Or, more correctly, Toranaga made the decision for her.
‘So sorry, Yabu-san, not words enough,’ he said.
Yabu hardly heard him. There was quiet on the battlements and in the avenue, everyone as motionless as statues. Then the avenue began to come alive, voices hushed, movements subdued, the sun beating down, as each came out of his trance.
Yabu sighed, filled with melancholia. ‘It was a poem, Anjin-san,’ he said again, and left the battlements.
When Mariko had picked up the sword and gone forward alone, Blackthorne had wanted to leap down into the arena and rush at her assailant to protect her, to blow the Gray’s head off before she was slain. But, with everyone, he had done nothing. Not because he was afraid. He was no longer afraid to die. Her courage had shown him the uselessness of that fear and he had come to terms with himself long ago, on that night in the village with the knife.
I meant to drive the knife into my heart that night.
Since then my fear of death’s been obliterated, just as she said it would be. ‘Only by living at the edge of death can you understand the indescribable joy of life.’ I don’t remember Omi stopping the thrust, only feeling reborn when I awoke the next dawn.
His eyes watched the dead, there in the avenue. I could have killed that Gray for her, he thought, and perhaps another and perhaps several, but there would always have been another and my death would not have tipped the scale a fraction. I’m not afraid to die, he told himself. I’m only appalled there’s nothing I can do to protect her.
Grays were picking up bodies now, Browns and Grays treated with equal dignity. Other Grays were streaming away, Kiyama and his men among them, women and children and maids all leaving, dust in the avenue rising under their feet. He smelled the acrid, slightly fetid death-smell mixed with the salt breeze, his mind eclipsed by her, the courage of her, the indefinable warmth that her fearless courage had given him. He looked up at the sun and measured it. Six hours to sunset.
He headed for the steps that led below.
‘Anjin-san? Where go please?’
He turned back, his own Grays forgotten. The captain was staring at him. ‘Ah, so sorry. Go there!’ He pointed to the forecourt.
The captain of Grays thought a moment, then reluctantly agreed. ‘All right. Please you follow me.’
In the forecourt Blackthorne felt the Browns’ hostility towards his Grays. Yabu was standing beside the gates watching the men come back. Kiri and the Lady Sazuko were fanning themselves, a wet nurse feeding the infant. They were sitting on hastily laid out coverlets and cushions that had been placed in the shade on a veranda. Porters were huddled to one side, squatting in a tight, frightened group around the baggage and pack horses. He headed for the garden but the guards shook their heads. ‘So sorry, this is out of bounds for the moment, Anjin-san.’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, turning away. The avenue was clearing now, though five-hundred-odd Grays still stayed, settling themselves, squatting or sitting cross-legged in a wide semicircle, facing the gates. The last of the Browns stalked back under the arch.
Yabu called out, ‘Close the gates and bar them.’
‘Please excuse me, Yabu-san,’ the officer said, ‘but the Lady Toda said they were to be left open. We are to guard them against all men but the gates are to be left open.’
‘You’re sure?’
The officer bridled. He was a neat, bent-faced man in his thirties with a jutting chin, mustached and bearded. ‘Please excuse me—of course I am sure.’
‘Thank you. I meant no offense, neh? Are you the senior officer here?’
‘The Lady Toda honored me with her confidence, yes. Of course, you are senior to me.’
‘I am in command but you are in charge.’
‘Thank you, Yabu-san, but the Lady Toda commands here. You are senior officer. I would be honored to be second to you. If you will permit it.’
Yabu said balefully, ‘It’s permitted, Captain. I know very well who commands us here. Your name, please?’
‘Sumiyori Tabito.’
‘Wasn’t the first Gray ‘Sumiyori’ also?’
‘Yes, Yabu-san. He was my cousin.’
‘When you are ready, Captain Sumiyori, please call a meeting of all officers.’
‘Certainly, Sire. With her permission.’
Both men looked away as a lady hobbled into the forecourt. She was elderly and samurai and leaned painfully on a cane. Her hair was white but her back was straight and she went over to Kiritsubo, her maid holding a sunshade over her.
‘Ah, Kiritsubo-san,’ she said formally. ‘I am Maeda Etsu, Lord Maeda’s mother, and I share the Lady Toda’s views. With her permission I would like to have the honor of waiting with her.’
‘Please sit down, you’re welcome,’ Kiri said. A maid brought another cushion and both maids helped the old lady to sit.
‘Ah, that’s better—so much better,’ Lady Etsu said, biting back a groan of pain. ‘It’s my joints, they get worse every day. Ah, that’s a relief. Thank you.’
‘Would you like cha?’
‘First cha, then saké, Kiritsubo-san. Lots of saké. Such excitement’s thirsty work, neh?‘
Other samurai women were detaching themselves from the crowds that were leaving and they came back through the ranks of the Grays into the pleasing shade. A few hesitated and three changed their minds, but soon there were fourteen ladies on the veranda and two had brought children with them.
‘Please excuse me, but I am Achiko, Kiyama Nagamasa’s wife, and I want to go home too,’ a young girl was saying timidly, holding her little son’s hand. ‘I want to go home to my husband. May I beg permission to wait too, please?’
‘But Lord Kiyama will be furious with you, Lady, if you stay here.’
‘Oh, so sorry, Kiritsubo-san, but Grandfather hardly knows me. I’m only wife to a very minor grandson. I’m sure he won’t care and I haven’t seen my husband for months and I don’t care either what they say. Our Lady’s right, neh?‘
‘Quite right, Achiko-san,’ old Lady Etsu said, firmly taking charge. ‘Of course you’re welcome, child. Come and sit by me. What’s your son’s name? What a fine boy you’ve got.’
The ladies chorused their agreement and another boy who was four piped up plaintively, ‘Please, I’m a fine boy too, neh?‘ Someone laughed and all the ladies joined in.
‘You are indeed,’ Lady Etsu said and laughed again.
Kiri wiped away a tear. ‘There, that’s better, I was getting far too serious, neh?‘ She chuckled. ‘Ah, Ladies, I’m so honored to be allowed to greet you in her name. You must all be starving, and you’re so right, Lady Etsu, this is all thirsty work!’ She sent maids for food and drink and introduced those ladies who needed introducing, admiring a fine kimono here or a special parasol there. Soon they were all chattering and happy and fluttering like so many parakeets.
‘How can a man understand women?’ Sumiyori said blankly.
‘Impossible!’ Yabu agreed.
‘One moment they’re frightened and in tears and the next. . . . When I saw the Lady Mariko pick up Yoshinaka’s sword, I thought I’d die with pride.’
‘Yes. Pity that last Gray was so good. I’d like to have seen her kill. She’d have killed a lesser man.’
Sumiyori rubbed his beard where the drying sweat irritated him. ‘What would you have done if you’d been him?’
‘I would have killed her then charged the Browns. Too much blood there. It was all I could do not to slaughter all the Grays near me on the battlement.’
‘It’s good to kill sometimes. Very good. Sometimes it’s very special and then it’s better than a lusting woman.’
There was a burst of laughter from the ladies as the two little boys started strutting up and down importantly, their scarlet kimonos dancing. ‘It’s good to have children here again. I thank all gods mine are at Yedo.’
‘Yes.’ Yabu was looking at the women speculatively.
‘I was wondering the same,’ Sumiyori said quietly.
‘What’s your answer?’
‘There’s only one now. If Ishido lets us go, fine. If Lady Mariko’s seppuku is wasted, then—then we’ll help those ladies into the Void and begin the killing. They won’t want to live.’
Yabu said, ‘Some may want to.’
‘You can decide that later, Yabu-san. It would benefit our Master if they all commit seppuku here. And the children.’
‘Yes.’
‘Afterward we’ll man the walls and then open the gates at dawn. We’ll fight till noon. That’ll be enough. Then those who are left will come back inside and set fire to this part of the castle. If I’m alive then I’d be honored if you’d be my second.’
‘Of course.’
Sumiyori grinned. ‘This’s going to blow the realm apart, neh? All this killing and her seppuku. It’ll spread like fire—it’ll eat up Osaka, neh? You think that’ll delay the Exalted? Would that be our Master’s plan?’
‘I don’t know. Listen, Sumiyori-san, I’m going back to my house for a moment. Fetch me as soon as the Lady comes back.’ He walked over to Blackthorne, who sat musing on the main steps. ‘Listen, Anjin-san,’ Yabu said furtively, ‘perhaps I have a plan. Secret, neh? ‘Secret,’ you understand?’
‘Yes. Understand.’ Bells tolled the hour change. The time rang in all their heads, the beginning of the Hour of the Monkey, six bells of the afternoon watch, three of the clock. Many turned to the sun and, without thinking, measured it.
‘What plan?’ Blackthorne asked.
‘Talk later. Stay close by. Say nothing, understand?’
‘Yes.’
Yabu stalked out of the gateway with ten Browns. Twenty Grays attached themselves and together they went down the avenue. His guest house was not far around the first corner. The Grays stayed outside his gate. Yabu motioned the Browns to wait in the garden and he went inside alone.
‘It’s impossible, Lord General,’ Ochiba said. ‘You can’t let a lady of her rank commit seppuku. So sorry, but you’ve been trapped.’
‘I agree,’ Lord Kiyama said forcefully.
‘With due humility, Lady,’ Ishido said, ‘whatever I said or didn’t say, doesn’t matter an eta‘s turd to her. She’d already decided, at least Toranaga had.’
‘Of course he’s behind it,’ Kiyama said as Ochiba recoiled at Ishido’s uncouthness. ‘So sorry, but he’s outsmarted you again. Even so you can’t let her commit seppuku!’
‘Why?’
‘Please, so sorry, Lord General, we must keep our voices down,’ Ochiba said. They were waiting in the spacious antechamber of Lady Yodoko’s sick room in the inner quarters of the donjon, on the second floor. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t your fault and there must be a solution.’
Kiyama said quietly, ‘You cannot let her continue her plan, Lord General, because that will inflame every lady in the castle.’
Ishido glared at him. ‘You seem to forget a couple were shot by mistake and that didn’t create a ripple among them—except to stop any more escape attempts.’
‘That was a terrible mistake, Lord General,’ Ochiba said.
‘I agree. But we are at war, Toranaga’s not yet in our hands, and until he’s dead you and the Heir are in total danger.’
‘So sorry—I’m not worried for myself—only for my son,’ Ochiba said. ‘They’ve all got to be back here in eighteen days. I advise you to let them all go.’
‘That’s an unnecessary risk. So sorry. We’re not certain she means it.’
‘She does,’ Kiyama told him contemptuously, despising Ishido’s truculent presence in the opulent, overrich quarters that reminded him so clearly of the Taikō, his friend and revered patron. ‘She’s samurai.’
‘Yes,’ Ochiba said. ‘So sorry, but I agree with Lord Kiyama. Mariko-san will do what she says. Then there’s that hag Etsu! Those Maedas are a proud lot, neh?‘
Ishido walked over to the window and looked out. ‘They can all burn as far as I’m concerned. The Toda woman’s Christian, neh? Isn’t suicide against her religion? A special sin?’
‘Yes, but she’ll have a second—so it won’t be suicide.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
‘What?’
‘Say she’s disarmed and has no second?’
‘How could you do that?’
‘Capture her. Confine her with carefully chosen maids until Toranaga’s across our borders.’ Ishido smiled. ‘Then she can do what she wants. I’d be even delighted to help her.’
‘How could you capture her?’ Kiyama asked. ‘She’d always have time to seppku, or to use her knife.’
‘Perhaps. But say she could be captured and disarmed and held for a few days. Isn’t the ‘few days’ vital? Isn’t that why she’s insisting on going today, before Toranaga crosses over our borders and castrates himself?’
‘Could it be done?’ Lady Ochiba asked.
‘Possibly,’ Ishido said.
Kiyama pondered this. ‘In eighteen days Toranaga must be here. He could delay at the border for at the most another four days. She would have to be held for a week at the most.’
‘Or forever,’ Ochiba said. ‘Toranaga’s delayed so much, I sometimes think he’ll never come.’
‘He has to by the twenty-second day,’ Ishido said. ‘Ah, Lady, that was a brilliant, brilliant idea.’
‘Surely that was your idea, Lord General?’ Ochiba’s voice was soothing though she was very tired from a sleepless night. ‘What about Lord Sudara and my sister? Are they with Toranaga now?’
‘No, Lady. Not yet. They will be brought here by sea.’
‘She is not to be touched,’ Ochiba said. ‘Or her child.’
‘Her child is direct heir of Toranaga, who’s heir to the Minowaras. My duty to the Heir, Lady, makes me point this out again.’
‘My sister is not to be touched. Nor is her son.’
‘As you wish.’
She said to Kiyama, ‘Sire, how good a Christian is Mariko-san?’
‘Pure,’ Kiyama replied at once. ‘You mean about suicide being a sin? I—I think she would honor that or her eternal soul is forfeit, Lady. But I don’t know if . . .’
‘Then there’s a simpler solution,’ Ishido said without thinking.
‘Command the High Priest of the Christians to order her to stop harassing the legal rulers of the Empire!’
‘He doesn’t have the power,’ Kiyama said. Then he added, his voice even more barbed, ‘That’s political interference—something you’ve always been bitterly against, and rightly.’
‘It seems Christians interfere only when it suits them,’ Ishido said. ‘It was only a suggestion.’
The inner door opened and a doctor stood there. His face was grave and exhaustion aged him. ‘So sorry, Lady, she’s asking for you.’
‘Is she dying?’ Ishido asked.
‘She’s near death, Lord General, yes, but when, I don’t know.’
Ochiba hurried across the large room and through the inner door, her blue kimono clinging, the skirts swaying gracefully. Both men watched her. The door closed. For a moment the two men avoided each other’s eyes, then Kiyama said, ‘You really think Lady Toda could be captured?’
‘Yes,’ Ishido told him, watching the door.
Ochiba crossed this even more opulent room and knelt beside the futons. Maids and doctors surrounded them. Sunlight seeped through the bamboo shutters and skittered off the gold and red inlaid carvings of the beams and posts and doors. Yodoko’s bed was surrounded by decorative inlaid screens. She seemed to be sleeping, her bloodless face settled within the hood of her Buddhist robe, her wrists thin, the veins knotted, and Ochiba thought how sad it was to become old. Age was so unfair to women. Not to men, only to women. Gods protect me from old age, she prayed. Buddha protect my son and put him safely into power and protect me only as long as I’m capable of protecting him and helping him.
She took Yodoko’s hand, honoring her. ‘Lady?’
‘O-chan?’ Yodoko whispered, using her nickname.
‘Yes, Lady?’
‘Ah, how pretty you are, so pretty, you always were.’ The hand went up and caressed the beautiful hair and Ochiba was not offended by the touch but pleased as always, liking her greatly. ‘So young and beautiful and sweet-smelling. How lucky the Taikō was.’
‘Are you in pain, Lady? Can I get you something?’
‘Nothing—nothing, I just wanted to talk.’ The old eyes were sunken but had lost none of their shrewdness. ‘Send the others away.’
Ochiba motioned them to leave and when they were alone she said, ‘Yes, Lady?’
‘Listen, my darling, make the Lord General let her go.’
‘He can’t, Lady, or all the other hostages will leave and we’ll lose strength. The Regents all agree,’ Ochiba said.
‘Regents!’ Yodoko said with a thread of scorn. ‘Do you agree?’
‘Yes, Lady, and last night you said she was not to go.’
‘Now you must let her go or others will follow her seppuku and you and our son will be befouled because of Ishido’s mistake.’
‘The Lord General’s loyal, Lady. Toranaga isn’t, so sorry.’
‘You can trust Lord Toranaga—not him.’
Ochiba shook her head. ‘So sorry, but I’m convinced Toranaga’s committed to become Shōgun and will destroy our son.’
‘You’re wrong. He’s said it a thousand times. Other daimyos are trying to use him for their own ambitions. They always have. Toranaga was the Taikō’s favorite. Toranaga has always honored the Heir. Toranaga’s Minowara. Don’t be swayed by Ishido, or the Regents. They’ve their own karmas, their own secrets, O-chan. Why not let her go? It’s all so simple. Forbid her the sea, then she can always be delayed somewhere inside our borders. She’s still in your General’s net, and Kiri and all the others, neh? She’ll be surrounded by Grays. Think like the Taikō would or like Toranaga would. You and our son are being pulled into . . .’ The words trailed off and her eyelids began to flutter. The old lady gathered her remaining strength and continued, ‘Mariko-san could never object to guards. I know she means what she says. Let her go.’
‘Of course that was considered, Lady,’ Ochiba said, her voice gentle and patient, ‘but outside the castle Toranaga has secret bands of samurai, hidden in and around Osaka, we don’t know how many, and he has allies—we’re not sure who. She might escape. Once she goes, all the others would follow her at once and we’d lose a great security. You agreed, Yodoko-chan, don’t you remember? So sorry, but I asked you last night, don’t you remember?’
‘Yes, I remember, child,’ Yodoko said, her mind wandering. ‘Oh, how I wish the Lord Taikō were here again to guide you.’ The old lady’s breathing was becoming labored.
‘Can I give you some cha or saké?’
‘Cha, yes please, some cha.’
She helped the old one to drink. ‘Thank you, child.’ The voice was feebler now, the strain of conversation speeding the dying. ‘Listen, child, you must trust Toranaga. Marry him, barter with him for the succession.’
‘No—no,’ Ochiba said, shocked.
‘Yaemon could rule after him, then the fruit of your new marriage after our son. The sons of our son will honorably swear eternal fidelity to this new Toranaga line.’
‘Toranaga’s always hated the Taikō. You know that, Lady. Toranaga is the source of all the trouble. For years, neh? Him!’
‘And you? What about your pride, child?’
‘He’s the enemy, our enemy.’
‘You’ve two enemies, child. Your pride and the need to have a man to compare to our husband. Please be patient with me, you’re young and beautiful and fruitful and deserve a husband. Toranaga’s worthy of you, you of him. Toranaga is the only chance Yaemon has.’
‘No, he’s the enemy.’
‘He was our husband’s greatest friend and most loyal vassal. Without . . . without Toranaga . . . don’t you see . . . it was Toranaga’s help . . . don’t you see? You could manage . . . manage him. . . .’
‘So sorry, but I hate him—he disgusts me, Yodoko-chan.’
‘Many women. . . . What was I saying? Oh yes, many women marry men who disgust them. Praise be to Buddha I never had to suffer that. . . .’ The old woman smiled briefly. Then she sighed. It was a long, serious sigh and went on for too long and Ochiba thought the end had come. But the eyes opened a little and a tiny smile appeared again. ‘Neh?‘
‘Yes.’
‘Will you. Please?’
‘I will think about it.’
The old fingers tried to tighten. ‘I beg you, promise me you’ll marry Toranaga and I will go to Buddha knowing that the Taikō’s line will live forever, like his name . . . his name will live for. . . .’
The tears ran freely down Ochiba’s face as she cradled the listless hand.
Later the eyes trembled and the old woman whispered, ‘You must let Akechi Mariko go. Don’t . . . don’t let her reap vengeance on us for what the Taikō did . . . did to . . . to her . . . to her father. . . .’
Ochiba was caught unaware. ‘What?’
There was no answer. Later Yodoko began mumbling, ‘. . . Dear Yaemon, hello, my darling son, how . . . you’re such a fine boy, but you’ve so many enemies, so foolish so. . . . Aren’t you just an illusion too, isn’t . . .’
A spasm racked her. Ochiba held onto the hand and caressed it. ‘Namu Amida Butsu,’ she whispered in homage.
There was another spasm, then the old woman said clearly, ‘Forgive me, O-chan.’
‘There is nothing to forgive, Lady.’
‘So much to forgive. . . .’ The voice became fainter, and the light began to fade from her face. ‘Listen . . . prom—promise about . . . about Toranaga, Ochiba-sama . . . important . . . please . . . you can trust him. . . .’ The old eyes were beseeching her, willing her.
Ochiba did not want to obey yet knew that she should obey. Her mind was unsettled by what had been said about Akechi Mariko, and still resounded with the Taikō’s words, repeated ten thousand times, ‘You can trust Yodoko-sama, O-chan. She’s the Wise One—never forget it. She’s right most times and you can always trust her with your life, and my son’s life and mine—’
Ochiba conceded. ‘I prom—’ She stopped abruptly.
The light of Yodoko-sama flickered a final time and went out.
‘Namu Amida Butsu.’ Ochiba touched the hand to her lips, and she bowed and laid the hand back on the coverlet and closed the eyes, thinking about the Taikō’s death, the only other death she had witnessed so closely. That time Lady Yodoko had closed the eyes as was a wife’s privilege and it had been in this same room, Toranaga waiting outside, as Ishido and Kiyama were now outside, continuing a vigil that had begun the day before.
‘But why send for Toranaga, Lord?’ she had asked. ‘You should rest.’
‘I’ll rest when I’m dead, O-chan,’ the Taikō had said. ‘I must settle the succession. Finally. While I’ve the strength.’
So Toranaga had arrived, strong, vital, exuding power. The four of them were alone then, Ochiba, Yodoko, Toranaga and Nakamura, the Taikō, the Lord of Japan lying on his deathbed, all of them waiting for the orders that would be obeyed.
‘So, Tora-san,’ the Taikō had said, welcoming him with the nickname Goroda had given Toranaga long ago, the deepset eyes peering up out of the tiny, withered simian face that was set on an equally tiny body—a body that had had the strength of steel until a few months ago when the wasting began. ‘I’m dying. From nothing, into nothing, but you’ll be alive and my son’s helpless.’
‘Not helpless, Sire. All the daimyos will honor your son as they honor you.’
The Taikō laughed. ‘Yes, they will. Today. While I’m alive—ah yes! But how do I make sure Yaemon will rule after me?’
‘Appoint a Council of Regents, Sire.’
‘Regents!’ the Taikō said scornfully. ‘Perhaps I should make you my heir and let you judge if Yaemon’s worthy to follow you.’
‘I would not be worthy to do that. Your son should follow you.’
‘Yes, and Goroda’s sons should have followed him.’
‘No. They broke the peace.’
‘And you stamped them out on my orders.’
‘You held the Emperor’s mandate. They rebelled against your lawful mandate, Sire. Give me your orders now, and I will obey them.’
‘That’s why I called you here.’
Then the Taikō said, ‘It’s a rare thing to have a son at fifty-seven and a foul thing to die at sixty-three—if he’s an only son and you’ve got no kin and you’re Lord of Japan. Neh?‘
‘Yes,’ Toranaga said.
‘Perhaps it would’ve been better if I’d never had a son, then I could pass the realm on to you as we agreed. You’ve more sons than a Portugese’s got lice.’
‘Karma.’
The Taikō had laughed and a string of spittle, flecked with blood, seeped out of his mouth. With great care Yodoko wiped the spittle away and he smiled up at his wife. ‘Thank you, Yo-chan, thank you.’ Then the eyes turned onto Ochiba herself and Ochiba had smiled back but his eyes weren’t smiling now, just probing, wondering, pondering the never-dared-to-be-asked question that she was sure was forever in his mind: Is Yaemon really my son?
‘Karma, O-chan. Neh?‘ It was gently said but Ochiba’s fear that he would ask her directly racked her and tears glistened in her eyes.
‘No need for tears, O-chan. Life’s only a dream within a dream,’ the old man said. He lay for a moment musing, then he peered at Toranaga again, and with a sudden, unexpected warmth for which he was famous, said, ‘Eeeeee, old friend, what a life we’ve had, neh? All the battles? Fighting side by side—together unbeatable. We did the impossible, neh? Together we humbled the mighty and spat on their upturned arses while they groveled for more. Us—we did it, a peasant and a Minowara!’ The old man chuckled. ‘Listen, a few more years and I’d have smashed the Garlic Eaters properly. Then with Korean legions and our own Japanese legions, a sharp thrust up to Peking and me on the Dragon Throne of China. Then I’d have given you Japan, which you want, and I’d have what I want.’ The voice was strong, belying the inner fragility. ‘A peasant can straddle the Dragon Throne with face and honor—not like here. Neh?‘
‘China and Japan are different, yes, Sire.’
‘Yes. They’re wise in China. There the first of a dynasty’s always a peasant or the son of a peasant, and the throne’s always taken by force with bloody hands. No hereditary caste there—isn’t that China’s strength?’ Again the laugh. ‘Force and bloody hands and peasant—that’s me. Neh?‘
‘Yes. But you’re also samurai. You changed the rules here. You’re first of a dynasty.’
‘I always liked you, Tora-san.’ The old man sipped cha contentedly. ‘Yes—think of it, me on the Dragon Throne—think of that! Emperor of China, Yodoko Empress, and after her Ochiba the Fair, and after me Yaemon, and China and Japan forever joined together as they should be. Ah, it would have been so easy! Then with our legions and Chinese hordes I’d stab northwest and south and, like tenth-class whores, the empires of all the earth would lie panting in the dirt, their legs spread wide for us to take what we want. We’re unbeatable—you and I were unbeatable—Japanese’re unbeatable, of course we are—we know the whole point of life. Neh?‘
‘Yes.’
The eyes glittered strangely. ‘What is it?’
‘Duty, discipline, and death,’ Toranaga replied.
Again a chuckle, the old man seemingly tinier than ever, more wizened than ever, and then, with an equal suddenness for which he was also famous, all the warmth left him. ‘The Regents?’ he asked, his voice venomous and firm. ‘Whom would you pick?’
‘Lords Kiyama, Ishido, Onoshi, Toda Hiro-matsu, and Sugiyama.’
The Taikō’s face twisted with a malicious grin. ‘You are the cleverest man in the Empire—after me! Explain to my ladies why you’d pick those five.’
‘Because they all hate each other, but combined, they can rule effectively and stamp out any opposition.’
‘Even you?’
‘No, not me, Sire.’ Then Toranaga looked at Ochiba and spoke directly to her. ‘For Yaemon to inherit power you have to weather another nine years. To do that, above all else, you must maintain the Taikō’s peace. I pick Kiyama because he’s the chief Christian daimyo, a great general, and a most loyal vassal. Next, Sugiyama because he’s the richest daimyo in the land, his family ancient, he heartily detests Christians, and has the most to gain if Yaemon gets power. Onoshi because he detests Kiyama, offsets his power, is also Christian, but a leper who grasps at life, will live for twenty years and hates all the others with a monstrous violence, particularly Ishido. Ishido because he’ll be sniffing out plots—because he’s a peasant, detests hereditary samurai, and is violently opposed to Christians. Toda Hiro-matsu because he’s honest, obedient, and faithful, as constant as the sun and like the sudden best sword of a master swordsmith. He should be president of the Council.’
‘And you?’
‘I will commit seppuku with my eldest son, Noboru. My son Sudara’s married to the Lady Ochiba’s sister, so he’s no threat, could never be a threat. He could inherit the Kwanto, if it pleases you, providing he swears perpetual allegiance to your house.’
No one was surprised that Toranaga had offered to do what was obviously in the Taikō’s mind, for Toranaga alone among the daimyos was the real threat. Then she had heard her husband say, ‘O-chan, what is your counsel?’
‘Everything that the Lord Toranaga has said, Sire,’ she had answered at once, ‘except that you should order my sister divorced from Sudara who should commit seppuku. The Lord Noboru should be Lord Toranaga’s heir and should inherit the two provinces of Musashi and Shimoosa, and the rest of the Kwanto should go to your heir, Yaemon. I counsel this to be ordered today.’
‘Yodoko-sama?’
To her astonishment, Yodoko had said, ‘Ah, Tokichi, you know I adore you with all my heart and the O-chan, and Yaemon as my own son. I say make Toranaga sole Regent.’
‘What?’
‘If you order him to die, I think you kill our son. Only Lord Toranaga has skill enough, prestige enough, cunning enough to inherit now. Put Yaemon into his keeping until he’s of age. Order Lord Toranaga to adopt our son formally. Let Yaemon be coached by Lord Toranaga and inherit after Toranaga.’
‘No—this must not be done,’ Ochiba had protested.
‘What do you say to that, Tora-san?’ the Taikō asked.
‘With humility I must refuse, Sire. I cannot accept that and beg to be allowed to commit seppuku and go before you.’
‘You will be sole Regent.’
‘I’ve never refused to obey you since we made our bargain. But this order I refuse.’
Ochiba remembered how she had tried to will the Taikō to let Toranaga obliterate himself as she knew the Taikō had already decided. But the Taikō had changed his mind and, at length, had accepted part of what Yodoko had advised, and made the compromise that Toranaga would be a Regent and President of the Regents. Toranaga had sworn eternal faith to Yaemon but now he was still spinning the web that embroiled them all, like this crisis Mariko had precipitated. ‘I know it was on his orders,’ Ochiba muttered, and now Lady Yodoko had wanted her to submit to him totally.
Marry Toranaga? Buddha protect me from that shame, from having to welcome him and feel his weight and his spurting life.
Shame?
Ochiba, what is the truth? she asked herself. The truth is that you wanted him once—before the Taikō, neh? Even during, neh? Many times in your secret heart. Neh? The Wise One was right again about pride being your enemy and about needing a man, a husband. Why not accept lshido? He honors you and wants you and he’s going to win. He would be easy to manage. Neh? No, not that uncouth bog trotter! Oh, I know the filthy rumors spread by enemies—filthy impertinence! I swear I’d rather lie with my maids and put my faith in a harigata for another thousand lifetimes than abuse my Lord’s memory with Ishido. Be honest, Ochiba. Consider Toranaga. Don’t you really hate him just because he might have seen you on that dream day?
It had been more than six years ago in Kyushu when she and her ladies had been out hawking with the Taikō and Toranaga. Their party was spread over a wide area and she had been galloping after one of her falcons, separated from the others. She was in the hills in a wood and she’d suddenly come upon this peasant gathering berries beside the lonely path. Her first weakling son had been dead almost two years and there were no more stirrings in her womb, though she had tried every position or trick or regimen, every superstition or potion or prayer, desperate to satisfy her lord’s obsession for an heir.
The meeting with the peasant had been so sudden. He gawked up at her as though she were a kami and she at him because he was the image of the Taikō, small and monkeylike, but he had youth.
Her mind had shouted that here was the gift from the gods she had prayed for, and she had dismounted and taken his hand and together they went a few paces into the wood and she became like a bitch in heat.
Everything had had a dreamlike quality to it, the frenzy and lust and coarseness, lying on the earth, and even today she could still feel his gushing liquid fire, his sweet breath, his hands clutching her marvelously. Then she had felt his full dead weight and abruptly his breath became putrid and everything about him vile except the wetness, so she had pushed him off. He had wanted more but she had hit him and cursed him and told him to thank the gods she did not turn him into a tree for his insolence, and the poor superstitious fool had cowered on his knees begging her forgiveness—of course she was a kami, why else would such beauty squirm in the dirt for such as him?
Weakly she had climbed into the saddle and walked the horse away, dazed, the man and the clearing soon lost, half wondering if all had been a dream and the peasant a real kami, praying that he was a kami, his essence god-given, that it would make another son for the glory of her Lord and give him the peace that he deserved. Then, just the other side of the wood, Toranaga had been waiting for her. Had he seen her, she wondered in panic.
‘I was worried about you, Lady,’ he had said.
‘I’m—I’m perfectly all right, thank you.’
‘But your kimono’s all torn—there’s bracken down your back and in your hair. . . .’
‘My horse threw me—it’s nothing.’ Then she had challenged him to a race home to prove that nothing was wrong, and had set off like the wild wind, her back still smarting from the brambles that sweet oils soon soothed and, the same night, she had pillowed with her Lord and Master and, nine months later, she had birthed Yaemon to his eternal joy. And hers.
‘Of course our husband is Yaemon’s father,’ Ochiba said with complete certainty to the husk of Yodoko. ‘He fathered both my children—the other was a dream.’
Why delude yourself? It was not a dream, she thought. It happened. That man was not a kami. You rutted with a peasant in the dirt to sire a son you needed as desperately as the Taikō to bind him to you. He would have taken another consort, neh?
What about your first-born?
‘Karma,’ Ochiba said, dismissing that latent agony as well.
‘Drink this, child,’ Yodoko had said to her when she was sixteen, a year after she had become the Taikō’s formal consort. And she had drunk the strange, warming herb cha and felt so sleepy and the next evening when she awoke again she remembered only strange erotic dreams and bizarre colors and an eerie timelessness. Yodoko had been there when she awakened, as when she had gone to sleep, so considerate, and as worried over the harmony of their lord as she had been. Nine months later she had birthed, the first of all the Taikō’s women to do so. But the child was sickly and that child died in infancy.
Karma, she thought.
Nothing had ever been said between herself and Yodoko. About what had happened, or what might have happened, during that vast deep sleep. Nothing, except ‘Forgive me. . . .’ a few moments ago, and, ‘There is nothing to forgive.’
You’re blameless, Yodoko-sama, and nothing occurred, no secret act or anything. And if there did, rest in peace, Old One, now that secret lies buried with you. Her eyes were on the empty face, so frail and pathetic now, just as the Taikō had been so frail and pathetic at his ending, his question also never asked. Karma that he died, she thought dispassionately. If he’d lived another ten years I’d be Empress of China, but now . . . now I’m alone.
‘Strange that you died before I could promise, Lady,’ she said, the smell of incense and the musk of death surrounding her. ‘I would have promised but you died before I promised. Is that my karma too? Do I obey a request and an unspoken promise? What should I do?’
My son, my son, I feel so helpless.
Then she remembered something the Wise One had said: ‘Think like the Taikō would—or Toranaga would.’
Ochiba felt new strength pour through her. She sat back in the stillness and, coldly, began to obey.
In a sudden hush, Chimmoko came out of the small gates to the garden and walked over to Blackthorne and bowed. ‘Anjin-san, please excuse me, my Mistress wishes to see you. If you will wait a moment I will escort you.’
‘All right. Thank you.’ Blackthorne got up, still deep in his reverie and his overpowering sense of doom. The shadows were long now. Already part of the forecourt was sunless. The Grays prepared to move with him.
Chimmoko went over to Sumiyori. ‘Please excuse me, Captain, but my Lady asks you to please prepare everything.’
‘Where does she want it done?’
The maid pointed at the space in front of the arch. ‘There, Sire.’
Sumiyori was startled. ‘It’s to be public? Not in private with just a few witnesses? She’s doing it for all to see?’
‘Yes.’
‘But, well . . . if it’s to be here. . . . Her—her . . . what about her second?’
‘She believes the Lord Kiyama will honor her.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘I don’t know, Captain. She—she hasn’t told me.’ Chimmoko bowed and walked across to the veranda to bow again. ‘Kiritsubo-san, my Mistress says, so sorry, she’ll return shortly.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Oh yes,’ Chimmoko said proudly.
Kiri and the others were composed now. When they had heard what had been said to the captain they had been equally perturbed. ‘Does she know other ladies are waiting to greet her?’
‘Oh yes, Kiritsubo-san. I—I was watching, and I told her. She said that she’s so honored by their presence and she will thank them in person soon. Please excuse me.’
They all watched her go back to the gates and beckon Blackthorne. The Grays began to follow but Chimmoko shook her head and said her mistress had not bidden them. The captain allowed Blackthorne to leave.
It was like a different world beyond the garden gates, verdant and serene, the sun on the treetops, birds chattering and insects foraging, the brook falling sweetly into the lily pond. But he could not shake off his gloom.
Chimmoko stopped and pointed at the little cha-no-yu house. He went forward alone. He slipped his feet out of his thongs and walked up the three steps. He had to stoop, almost to his knees, to go through the tiny screened doorway. Then he was inside.
‘Thou,’ she said.
‘Thou,’ he said.
She was kneeling, facing the doorway, freshly made up, lips crimson, immaculately coiffured, wearing a fresh kimono of somber blue edged with green, with a lighter green obi and a thin green ribbon for her hair.
‘Thou art beautiful.’
‘And thou.’ A tentative smile. ‘So sorry it was necessary for thee to watch.’
‘It was my duty.’
‘Not duty,’ she said. ‘I did not expect—or plan for—so much killing.’
‘Karma.’ Blackthorne pulled himself out of his trance and stopped talking Latin. ‘You’ve been planning all this for a long time—your suicide. Neh?‘
‘My life’s never been my own, Anjin-san. It’s always belonged to my liege Lord, and, after him, to my Master. That’s our law.’
‘It’s a bad law.’
‘Yes. And no.’ She looked up from the mats. ‘Are we going to quarrel about things that may not be changed?’
‘No. Please excuse me.’
‘I love thee,’ she said in Latin.
‘Yes. I know that now. And I love thee. But death is thy aim, Mariko-san.’
‘Thou art wrong, my darling. The life of my Master is my aim. And thy life. And truly, Madonna forgive me, or bless me for it, there are times when thy life is more important.’
‘There’s no escape now. For anyone.’
‘Be patient. The sun has not yet set.’
‘I have no confidence in this sun, Mariko-san.’ He reached out and touched her face. ‘Gomen nasai.’
‘I promised thee tonight would be like the Inn of the Blossoms. Be patient. I know Ishido and Ochiba and the others.’
‘Que va on the others,’ he said in Portuguese, his mood changing. ‘You mean that you’re gambling that Toranaga knows what he’s doing. Neh?‘
‘Que va on thy ill humor,’ she replied gently. ‘This day’s too short.’
‘Sorry—you’re right again. Today’s no time for ill humor.’ He watched her. Her face was streaked with shadow bars cast by the sun through the bamboo slats. The shadows climbed and vanished as the sun sank behind a battlement.
‘What can I do to help thee?’ he asked.
‘Believe there is a tomorrow.’
For a moment he caught a glimpse of her terror. His arms went out to her and he held her and the waiting was no longer terrible.
Footsteps approached.
‘Yes, Chimmoko?’
‘It’s time, Mistress.’
‘Is everything ready?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Wait for me beside the lily pond.’ The footsteps went away. Mariko turned back to Blackthorne and kissed him gently.
‘I love thee,’ she said.
‘I love thee,’ he said.
She bowed to him and went through the doorway. He followed.
Mariko stopped by the lily pond and undid her obi and let it fall. Chimmoko helped her out of her blue kimono. Beneath it Mariko wore the most brilliant white kimono and obi Blackthorne had ever seen. It was a formal death kimono. She untied the green ribbon from her hair and cast it aside, then, completely in white, she walked on and did not look at Blackthorne.
Beyond the garden, all the Browns were drawn up in a formal three-sided square around eight tatamis that had been laid out in the center of the main gateway. Yabu and Kiri and the rest of the ladies were seated in a line in the place of honor, facing south. In the avenue the Grays were also drawn up ceremoniously, and mingling with them were other samurai and samurai women. At a sign from Sumiyori everyone bowed. She bowed to them. Four samurai came forward and spread a crimson coverlet over the tatamis.
Mariko walked to Kiritsubo and greeted her and Sazuko and all the ladies. They returned her bow and spoke the most formal of greetings. Blackthorne waited at the gates. He watched her leave the ladies and go to the crimson square and kneel in the center, in front of the tiny white cushion. Her right hand brought out her stiletto dagger from her white obi and she placed it on the cushion in front of her. Chimmoko came forward and, kneeling too, offered her a small, pure white blanket and cord. Mariko arranged the skirts of her kimono perfectly, the maid helping her, then tied the blanket around her waist with the cord. Blackthorne knew this was to prevent her skirts being blooded and disarranged by her death throes.
Then, serene and prepared, Mariko looked up at the castle donjon. Sun still illuminated the upper story, glittering off the golden tiles. Rapidly the flaming light was mounting the spire. Then it disappeared.
She looked so tiny sitting there motionless, a splash of white on the square of crimson.
Already the avenue was dark and servants were lighting flares. When they finished, they fled as quickly and as silently as they had arrived.
She reached forward and touched the knife and straightened it. Then she gazed once more through the gateway to the far end of the avenue but it was as still and as empty as it had ever been. She looked back at the knife.
‘Kasigi Yabu-sama!’
‘Yes, Toda-sama?’
‘It seems Lord Kiyama has declined to assist me. Please, I would be honored if you would be my second.’
‘It is my honor,’ Yabu said. He bowed and got to his feet and stood behind her, to her left. His sword sang as it slid from its scabbard. He set his feet firmly and with two hands raised the sword. ‘I am ready, Lady,’ he said.
‘Please wait until I have made the second cut.’
Her eyes were on the knife. With her right hand she made the sign of the cross over her breast, then leaned forward and took up the knife without trembling and touched it to her lips as though to taste the polished steel. Then she changed her grip and held the knife firmly with her right hand under the left side of her throat. At that moment flares rounded the far end of the avenue. A retinue approached. Ishido was at their head.
She did not move the knife.
Yabu was still a coiled spring, concentrated on the mark. ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘do you wait or are you continuing? I wish to be perfect for you.’
Mariko forced herself back from the brink. ‘I—we wait . . . we . . . I . . .’ Her hand lowered the knife. It was shaking now. As slowly, Yabu released himself. His sword hissed back into the scabbard and he wiped his hands on his sides.
Ishido stood at the gateway. ‘It’s not sunset yet, Lady. The sun’s still on the horizon. Are you so keen to die?’
‘No, Lord General. Just to obey my Lord. . . .’ She held her hands together to stop their shaking.
A rumble of anger went through the Browns at Ishido’s arrogant rudeness and Yabu readied to leap at him, but stopped as Ishido said loudly, ‘The Lady Ochiba begged the Regents on behalf of the Heir to make an exception in your case. We agreed to her request. Here are permits for you to leave at dawn tomorrow.’ He shoved them into the hands of Sumiyori, who was nearby.
‘Sire?’ Mariko said, without understanding, her voice threadbare.
‘You are free to leave. At dawn.’
‘And—and Kiritsubo-san and the Lady Sazuko?’
‘Isn’t that also part of your ‘duty?’ Their permits are there also.’ Mariko tried to concentrate. ‘And . . . and her son?’
‘Him too, Lady,’ Ishido’s scornful laugh echoed. ‘And all your men.’
Yabu stammered, ‘Everyone has safe conducts?’
‘Yes, Kasigi Yabu-san, ‘ Ishido said. ‘You’re senior officer, neh? Please go at once to my secretary. He is completing all your passes, though why honored guests would wish to leave I don’t know. It’s hardly worth it for seventeen days. Neh?‘
‘And me, Lord General?’ old Lady Etsu asked weakly, daring to test the totality of Mariko’s victory, her heart racing and painful. ‘May—may I please leave also?’
‘Of course, Lady Maeda. Why should we keep anyone against her will? Are we jailers? Of course not! If the Heir’s welcome is so offensive that you wish to leave, then leave, though how you intend to travel four hundred ri home and another four hundred ri here in seventeen days I don’t understand.’
‘Please ex—excuse me, the—the Heir’s welcome isn’t offen—’
Ishido interrupted icily. ‘If you wish to leave, apply for a permit in the normal way. It’ll take a day or so but we’ll see you safely on your way.’ He addressed the others: ‘Any ladies may apply, any samurai. I’ve said before, it’s stupid to leave for seventeen days, it’s insulting to flout the Heir’s welcome, the Lady Ochiba’s welcome, and the Regents’ welcome . . . ‘—his ruthless gaze wept back to Mariko—’or to pressure them with threats of seppuku, which for a lady should be done in private and not as an arrogant public spectacle. Neh? I don’t seek the death of women, only enemies of the Heir, but if women are openly his enemy, then I’ll soon spit on their corpses too.’
Ishido turned on his heel, shouted an order at the Grays, and walked off. At once captains echoed the order and all the Grays began to form up and move off from the gateway, except for a token few who stayed in honor of the Browns.
‘Lady,’ Yabu said huskily, wiping his damp hands again, a bitter vomit taste in his mouth from the lack of fulfillment, ‘Lady, it’s over now. You’ve . . . you’ve won. You’ve won.’
‘Yes—yes,’ she said. Her strengthless hands sought the knots of the white cord. Chimmoko went forward and undid the knots and took away the white blanket, then stepped away from the crimson square. Everyone watched Mariko, waiting to see if she could walk away.
Mariko was trying to grope to her feet. She failed. She tried a second time. Again she failed. Impulsively Kiri moved to help her but Yabu shook his head and said, ‘No, it’s her privilege,’ so Kiri sat back, hardly breathing.
Blackthorne, beside the gates, was still turmoiled by his boundless joy at her reprieve and he remembered how his own will had been stretched that night of his near-seppuku, when he had had to get up as a man and walk home as a man unsupported, and became samurai. And he watched her, despising the need for this courage, yet understanding it, even honoring it.
He saw her hands go to the crimson again, and again she pushed and this time Mariko forced herself upright. She wavered and almost fell, then her feet moved and slowly she tottered across the crimson and reeled helplessly toward the main door. Blackthorne decided that she had done enough, had endured enough, had proved enough, so he came forward and caught her in his arms and lifted her up just as her mind left her.
For a moment he stood there in the arena alone, proud that he was alone and that he had decided. She lay like a broken doll in his arms. Then he carried her inside and no one moved or barred his path.
