Shōgun

by James Clavell

  “Oh, please, Anjin-san. Pardon me, that’s nonsense!”

  “I agree their arrogance is unbelievable. But it’s true.” Immediately she began to translate and Toranaga laughed derisively.

  “Lord Toranaga says he could equally well split the heavens between himself and the Emperor of China, neh?”

  “Please tell Lord Toranaga, I’m sorry, but that’s not the same,” Blackthorne said, aware that he was on dangerous ground. “This is written into legal documents which give each king the right to claim any non-Catholic land discovered by their subjects and to stamp out the existing government and replace it with Catholic rule.” On the map, his finger traced a line north to south that bisected Brazil. “Everything east of this line is Portugal’s, everything west is Spain’s. Pedro Cabral discovered Brazil in 1500, so now Portugal owns Brazil, has stamped out the native culture and legal rulers, and has become rich from the gold and silver taken out of mines and plundered from native temples. All the rest of the Americas so far discovered is Spanish-owned now—Mexico, Peru, almost this whole south continent. They’ve wiped out the Inca nations, obliterated their culture, and enslaved hundreds of thousands of them. The conquistadores have modern guns—the natives none. With the conquistadores come the priests. Soon a few princes are converted, and enmities used. Then prince is turned against prince and realm swallowed up piecemeal. Now Spain is the richest nation in our world from the Inca and Mexican gold and silver they’ve plundered and sent back to Spain.”

  Mariko was solemn now. She had quickly grasped the significance of Blackthorne’s lesson. And so had Toranaga.

  “My Master says this is a worthless conversation. How could they give themselves such rights?”

  “They didn’t,” Blackthorne said gravely. “The Pope gave them the rights, the Vicar of Christ on earth himself. In return for spreading the word of God.”

  “I don’t believe it,” she exclaimed.

  “Please translate what I said, senhora. It is honto.”

  She obeyed and spoke at length, obviously unsettled. Then:

  “My Master—my Master says you are—you are just trying to poison him against your enemies. What is the truth? On your own life, senhor.”

  “Pope Alexander VI set the first line of demarcation in 1493,” Blackthorne commenced, blessing Alban Caradoc who had hammered so many facts into him when he was young, and Father Domingo for informing him about Japanese pride and giving him clues to Japanese minds. “In 1506 Pope Julius II sanctioned changes to the Treaty of Tordesillas, signed by Spain and Portugal in 1494, which altered the line a little. Pope Clement VII sanctioned the Treaty of Saragossa in 1529, barely seventy years ago, which drew a second line here”—his finger traced a line of longitude in the sand which cut through the tip of southern Japan. “This gives Portugal the exclusive right to your country, all these countries—from Japan, China to Africa—in the way I have said. To exploit exclusively—by any means—in return for spreading Catholicism.” Again he waited and the woman hesitated, in turmoil, and he could feel Toranaga’s growing irritation at having to wait for her to translate.

  Mariko forced her lips to speak and repeated what he had said. Then she listened to Blackthorne again, detesting what she heard. Is this really possible? she asked herself. How could His Holiness say such things? Give our country to the Portuguese? It must be a lie. But the pilot swore by the Lord Jesus.

  “The pilot says, Lord,” she began, “in—in the days that these decisions were made by His Holiness the Pope, all their world, even the Anjin-san’s country was Catholic Christian. The schism had not—not yet occurred. So, so these—these papal decisions would, of course, be binding on—on all nations. Even so, he adds that though the Portuguese have exclusivity to exploit Japan, Spain and Portugal are quarreling incessantly about the ownership because of the richness of our trade with China.”

  “What’s your opinion, Kiri-san?” Toranaga said, as shocked as the others. Only the boy toyed with his fan uninterestedly.

  “He believes he’s telling the truth,” Kiri said. “Yes, I think that. But how to prove it—or part of it?”

  “How would you prove it, Mariko-san?” Toranaga asked, most perturbed by Mariko’s reaction to what had been said, but very glad that he had agreed to use her as interpreter.

  “I would ask Father Tsukku-san,” she said. “Then, too, I would send someone—a trusted vassal—out into the world to see. Perhaps with the Anjin-san.”

  Kiri said, “If the priest does not support these statements, it may not necessarily mean this Anjin-san is lying, neh?” Kiri was pleased that she had suggested using Mariko as an interpreter when Toranaga was seeking an alternative to Tsukku-san. She knew Mariko was to be trusted and that, once Mariko had sworn by her alien God, she would ever be silent under rigorous questioning by any Christian priest. The less those devils know, the better, Kiri thought. And what a treasue of knowledge this barbarian has!

  Kiri saw the boy yawn again and was glad of it. The less the child understands the better, she told herself. Then she said, “Why not send for the leader of the Christian priests and ask about these facts? See what he says. Their faces are open, mostly, and they have almost no subtlety.”

  Toranaga nodded, his eyes on Mariko. “From what you know about the Southern Barbarians, Mariko-san, would you say that a Pope’s orders would be obeyed?”

  “Without doubt.”

  “His orders would be considered as though the voice of the Christian God was speaking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would all Catholic Christians obey his orders?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even our Christians here?”

  “I would think, yes.”

  “Even you?”

  “Yes, Sire. If it was a direct order from His Holiness to me personally. Yes, for my soul’s salvation.” Her gaze was firm. “But until that time I will obey no man but my liege lord, the head of my family, or my husband. I am Japanese, a Christian yes, but first I am samurai.”

  “I think it would be good then, that this Holiness stays away from our shores.” Toranaga thought for a moment. Then he decided what to do with the barbarian, Anjin-san. “Tell him …” He stopped. All their eyes went to the path and to the elderly woman who approached. She wore the cowled habit of a Buddhist nun. Four Grays were with her. The Grays stopped and she came on alone.

  CHAPTER 17

  They all bowed low. Toranaga noticed that the barbarian copied him and did not get up or stare, which all barbarians except Tsukku-san would have done, according to their own custom. The pilot learns quickly, he thought, his mind still blazing from what he had heard. Ten thousand questions were crowding him, but, according to his discipline, he channeled them away temporarily to concentrate on the present danger.

  Kiri had scurried to give the old woman her cushion and helped her to sit, then knelt behind her, in motionless attendance.

  “Thank you, Kiritsubo-san,” the woman said, returning their bow. Her name was Yodoko. She was the widow of the Taikō and now, since his death, a Buddhist nun. “I’m sorry to come uninvited and to interrupt you, Lord Toranaga.”

  “You’re never unwelcome or uninvited, Yodoko-sama.”

  “Thank you, yes, thank you.” She glanced at Blackthorne and squinted to try to see better. “But I think I did interrupt. I can’t see who—Is he a barbarian? My eyes are getting worse and worse. It’s not Tsukku-san, is it?”

  “No, he’s the new barbarian,” Toranaga said.

  “Oh, him!” Yodoko peered closer. “Please tell him I can’t see very well, hence my impoliteness.”

  Mariko did as she was told. “He says many people in his country are shortsighted, Yodoko-sama, but they wear spectacles. He asked if we have them. I told him yes, some of us—from the Southern Barbarians. That you used to wear them but don’t anymore.”

  “Yes. I prefer the mist that surrounds me. Yes, I don’t like a lot of what I see nowadays.” Yodoko turned back and looked at the boy,
pretending to have just seen him. “Oh! My son! So there you are. I was looking for you. How good it is to see the Kwampaku!” She bowed deferentially.

  “Thank you, First Mother,” Yaemon beamed and bowed back. “Oh, you should have heard the barbarian. He’s been drawing us a map of the world and telling us funny things about people who don’t bathe at all! Never in their whole lives and they live in snow houses and wear skins like evil kami.”

  The old lady snorted. “The less they come here the better, I think, my son. I could never understand them and they always smell so horrible. I could never understand how the Lord Taikō, your father, could tolerate them. But then he was a man and you’re a man, and you’ve more patience than a lowly woman. You’ve a good teacher, Yaemon-sama.” Her old eyes flicked back to Toranaga. “Lord Toranaga’s got more patience than anyone in the Empire.”

  “Patience is important for a man vital for a leader,” Toranaga said. “And a thirst for knowledge is a good quality too, eh, Yaemon-sama? And knowledge comes from strange places.”

  “Yes, Uncle. Oh yes,” Yaemon said. “He’s right, isn’t he, First Mother?”

  “Yes, yes. I agree. But I’m glad I’m a woman and don’t have to worry about these things, neh?” Yodoko hugged the boy, who had come to sit beside her. “So, my son. Why am I here? To fetch the Kwampaku. Why? Because the Kwampaku is late for his food and late for his writing lessons.”

  “I hate writing lessons and I’m going swimming!”

  Toranaga said with mock gravity, “When I was your age I used to hate writing too. But then, when I was twenty, I had to stop fighting battles and go back to school. I hated that worse.”

  “Go back to school, Uncle? After leaving it forever? Oh, how terrible!”

  “A leader has to write well, Yaemon-sama. Not only clearly but beautifully, and the Kwampaku better than anyone else. How else can he write to His Imperial Highness or to the great daimyos? A leader has to be better than his vassals in everything, in every way. A leader has to do many things that are difficult.”

  “Yes, Uncle. It’s very difficult to be Kwampaku.” Yaemon frowned importantly. “I think I’ll do my lessons now and not when I’m twenty because then I’ll have important matters of state.”

  They were all very proud of him. “You’re very wise, my son,” said Yodoko.

  “Yes, First Mother. I’m wise like my father, as my mother says. When’s Mother coming home?”

  Yodoko peered up at Toranaga. “Soon.”

  “I hope very soon,” Toranaga said. He knew Yodoko had been sent to fetch the boy by Ishido. Toranaga had brought the boy and the guards directly to the garden to further irritate his enemy. Also to show the boy the strange pilot and so deprive Ishido of the pleasure of providing that experience for him.

  “It’s very wearisome being responsible for my son,” Yodoko was saying. “It would be very good to have the Lady Ochiba here in Osaka, home again, then I can get back to the temple, neh? How is she, and how is the Lady Genjiko?”

  “They’re both in excellent health,” Toranaga told her, chortling to himself. Nine years ago, in an unusual show of friendship, the Taikō had privately invited him to marry Lady Genjiko, the younger sister of Lady Ochiba, his favorite consort. ‘Then our houses will be joined together forever, neh?’ the Taikō had said.

  ‘Yes, Sire. I will obey though I do not deserve the honor,’ Toranaga had replied deferentially, desiring the link with the Taikō. But he knew that though Yodoko, the Taikō’s wife, might approve, his consort Ochiba hated him and would use her great influence over the Taikō to prevent the marriage. And, too, it was wiser to avoid having Ochiba’s sister as his wife, for that would give her enormous powers over him, not the least of which was the keys to his treasury. But, if she were to marry his son, Sudara, then Toranaga as supreme head of the family would have complete domination. It had taken all his skill to maneuver the marriage between Sudara and Genjiko but it had happened and now Genjiko was priceless to him as a defense against Ochiba, because Ochiba adored her sister.

  “My daughter-in-law isn’t in labor yet—it was expected to begin yesterday—but I would imagine the Lady Ochiba will leave immediately there’s no danger.”

  “After three girls, it’s time Genjiko gave you a grandson, neh? I will say prayers for his birth.”

  “Thank you,” Toranaga said, liking her as always, knowing that she meant it, even though he represented nothing but danger to her house.

  “I hear your Lady Sazuko’s with child?”

  “Yes. I’m very fortunate.” Toranaga basked in the thought of his newest consort, the youth of her, the strength of her, and the warmth. I hope we have a son, he told himself. Yes, that would be very good. Seventeen’s a good age to have a first child, if you’ve perfect health as she has. “Yes, I’m very fortunate.”

  “Buddha has blessed you.” Yodoko felt a twinge of envy. It seemed so unfair that Toranaga had five sons living and four daughters and five granddaughters already, and, with this child of Sazuko’s soon to arrive, and still many strong years left in him and many consorts in his house, he could sire many more sons. But all her hopes were centered on this one seven-year-old child, her child as much as Ochiba’s. Yes, he’s as much my son, she thought. How I hated Ochiba in the beginning….

  She saw them all staring at her and she was startled. “Yes?”

  Yaemon frowned. “I said, can we go and have my lessons, First Mother? I said it two times.”

  “I’m sorry, my son, I was drifting away. That’s what happens when you get old. Yes, come along then.” Kiri helped her up. Yaemon ran off ahead. The Grays were already on their feet and one of them caught him and affectionately swung him onto his shoulders. The four samurai who had escorted her waited separately.

  “Walk with me a little, Lord Toranaga, would you please? I need a strong arm to lean on.”

  Toranaga was on his feet with surprising agility. She took his arm but did not use his strength. “Yes. I need a strong arm. Yaemon does. And so does the realm.”

  “I’m always ready to serve you,” Toranaga said.

  When they were away from the others, she said quietly, “Become sole Regent. Take the power and rule yourself. Until Yaemon becomes of age.”

  “The Taikō’s testament forbids this—even if I wished it, which I don’t. The curbs he made preclude one Regent’s taking power. I don’t seek sole power. I never have.”

  “Tora-chan,” she said, using the nickname the Taikō had given him so long ago, “we have few secrets, you and I. You could do it, if you wished. I will answer for the Lady Ochiba. Take the power for your own lifetime. Become Shōgun and make—”

  “Lady, what you say is treason. I-do-not-seek-to-be-Shōgun.”

  “Of course, but please listen to me a last time. Become Shōgun, make Yaemon your sole heir—your sole heir. He could be Shōgun, after you. Isn’t his bloodline Fujimoto—through Lady Ochiba back to her grandfather Goroda and through him back to antiquity? Fujimoto!”

  Toranaga stared at her. “You think the daimyos would agree to such a claim, or that His Highness, the Son of Heaven, could approve the appointment?”

  “No. Not for Yaemon by himself. But if you were Shōgun first, and you adopted him, you could persuade them, all of them. We will support you the Lady Ochiba and I.”

  “She has agreed to this?” asked Toranaga, astounded.

  “No. We’ve never discussed it. It’s my idea. But she will agree. I will answer for her. In advance.”

  “This is an impossible conversation, Lady.”

  “You can manage Ishido, and all of them. You always have. I’m afraid of what I hear, Tora-chan, rumors of war, the taking of sides, and the Dark Centuries beginning again. When war begins it will go on forever and eat Yaemon up.”

  “Yes. I believe that, too. Yes, if it begins it will last forever.”

  “Then take the power! Do what you wish, to whomever you wish, however you wish. Yaemon’s a worthy boy. I know you like him
. He has his father’s mind and with your guidance, we would all benefit. He should have his heritage.”

  “I’m not opposing him, or his succession. How many times need I say it?”

  “The Heir will be destroyed unless you actively support him.”

  “I do support him!” Toranaga said. “In every way. That’s what I agreed with the Taikō, your late husband.”

  Yodoko sighed and pulled her habit closer. “These old bones are chilled. So many secrets and battles, treacheries and deaths and victories, Tora-chan. I’m only a woman, and very much alone. I’m glad that I’m dedicated to Buddha now, and that most of my thoughts are toward Buddha and my next life. But in this one I have to protect my son and to say these things to you. I hope you will forgive my impertinence.”

  “I always seek and enjoy your counsel.”

  “Thank you.” Her back straightened a little. “Listen, while I’m alive neither the Heir nor the Lady Ochiba will ever go against you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you consider what I proposed?”

  “My late Master’s will forbids it. I cannot go against the will or my sacred promise as a Regent.”

  They walked in silence. Then Yodoko sighed. “Why not take her to wife?”

  Toranaga stopped in his tracks. “Ochiba?”

  “Why not? She’s totally worthy as a political choice. A perfect choice for you. She’s beautiful, young, strong, her bloodline’s the best, part Fujimoto, part Minowara, the sun dances in her, and she has an immense joy of life. You’ve no official wife now—so why not? This would solve the problem of the succession and stop the realm from being torn apart. You would have other sons by her surely. Yaemon would succeed you, then his sons or her other sons. You could become Shōgun. You would have the power of the realm and the power of a father so you could train Yaemon to your way. You would adopt him formally and he would be as much your son as any you have. Why not marry Lady Ochiba?”

  Because she’s a wildcat, a treacherous tigress with the face and body of a goddess, who thinks she’s an empress and acts like one, Toranaga told himself. You could never trust her in your bed. She’d be just as likely to thread a needle through your eyes when you’re asleep as she’d be to caress you. Oh no, not her! Even if I married her in name only—which she’d never agree to—oh no! It’s impossible! For all sorts of reasons, not the least of which is that she’s hated me and plotted my downfall, and that of my house, ever since she whelped for the first time, eleven years ago.