Shōgun

by James Clavell

  Even then, even at seventeen, she had committed herself to my destruction. Ah, so soft outwardly, like the first ripe peach of summer, and as fragrant. But inwardly sword steel with a mind to match, weaving her spells, soon making the Taikō mad over her to the exclusion of all others. Yes, she had the Taikō cowed since she was fifteen when he first took her formally. Yes, and don’t forget, truly, she pillowed him, even then, not he her, however much he believed it. Yes, even at fifteen, Ochiba knew what she sought and the way to obtain it. Then the miracle happening, giving the Taikō a son at long last, she alone of all the women he had in his life. How many pillow ladies? A hundred at least, him a stoat who sprayed more Joyful Juice into more Heavenly Chambers than ten ordinary men! Yes. And these women of all ages and all castes, casual or consort, from a Fujimoto princess to Fourth Class courtesans. But none ever even became pregnant, though later, many of those that the Taikō dismissed or divorced or married off had children by other men. None, except the Lady Ochiba.

  But she gave him his first son at fifty-three, poor little thing, sickly and dying so soon, the Taikō rending his clothes, almost crazy with grief, blaming himself and not her. Then, four years later, miraculously she whelped again, miraculously another son, miraculously healthy this time, she twenty-one now. Ochiba the Peerless, the Taikō had called her.

  Did the Taikō father Yaemon or not? Eeeee, I’d give a lot to know the truth. Will we ever know the truth? Probably not, but what would I not give for proof, one way or another.

  Strange that the Taikō, so clever about everything else, was not clever about Ochiba, doting on her and Yaemon to insanity. Strange that of all the women she should have been the mother of his heir, she whose father and stepfather and mother were dead because of the Taikō.

  Would she have the cleverness to pillow with another man, to take his seed, then obliterate this same man to safeguard herself? Not once but twice?

  Could she be so treacherous? Oh, yes.

  Marry Ochiba? Never.

  “I’m honored that you would make such a suggestion,” Toranaga said.

  “You’re a man, Tora-chan. You could handle such a woman easily. You’re the only man in the Empire who could, neh? She would make a marvelous match for you. Look how she fights to protect her son’s interests now, and she’s only a defenseless woman. She’d be a worthy wife for you.”

  “I don’t think she would ever consider it.”

  “And if she did?”

  “I would like to know. Privately. Yes, that would be an inestimable honor.”

  “Many people believe that only you stand between Yaemon and the succession.”

  “Many people are fools.”

  “Yes. But you’re not, Toranaga-sama. Neither is the Lady Ochiba.” Nor are you, my Lady, he thought.

  CHAPTER 18

  In the darkest part of the night the assassin came over the wall into the garden. He was almost invisible. He wore close-fitting black clothes and his tabi were black, and a black cowl and mask covered his head. He was a small man and he ran noiselessly for the front of the stone inner fortress and stopped just short of the soaring walls. Fifty yards away two Browns guarded the main door. Deftly he threw a cloth-covered hook with a very thin silk rope attached to it. The hook caught on the stone ledge of the embrasure. He shinned up the rope, squeezed through the slit, and disappeared inside.

  The corridor was quiet and candle-lit. He hurried down it silently, opened an outside door, and went out onto the battlements. Another deft throw and a short climb and he was into the corridor above. The sentries that were on the corners of the battlements did not hear him though they were alert.

  He pressed into an alcove of stone as other Browns walked by quietly, on patrol. When they had passed, he slipped along the length of this passageway. At the corner he stopped. Silently he peered around it. A samurai was guarding the far door. Candles danced in the quiet. The guard was sitting cross-legged and he yawned and leaned back against the wall and stretched. His eyes closed momentarily. Instantly, the assassin darted forward. Soundlessly. He formed a noose with the silk rope in his hands, dropped it over the guard’s neck and jerked tight. The guard’s fingers tried to claw the garrote away but he was already dying. A short stab with the knife between the vertebrae as deft as a surgeon’s and the guard was motionless.

  The man eased the door open. The audience room was empty, the inner doors unguarded. He pulled the corpse inside and closed the door again. Unhesitatingly he crossed the space and chose the inner left door. It was wood and heavily reinforced. The curved knife slid into his right hand. He knocked softly.

  “‘In the days of the Emperor Shirakawa …’” he said, giving the first part of the password.

  From the other side of the door there was a sibilance of steel leaving a scabbard and the reply, “‘…there lived a wise man called Enraku-ji…’”

  “‘ … who wrote the thirty-first sutra.’ I have urgent dispatches for Lord Toranaga.”

  The door swung open and the assassin lunged forward. The knife went upward into the first samurai’s throat just below the chin and came out as fast and buried itself identically into the second of the guards. A slight twist and out again. Both men were dead on their feet. He caught one and let him slump gently; the other fell, but noiselessly. Blood ran out of them onto the floor and their bodies twitched in the throes of death.

  The man hurried down this inner corridor. It was poorly lit. Then a shoji opened. He froze, slowly looked around.

  Kiri was gaping at him, ten paces away. A tray was in her hands.

  He saw that the two cups on the tray were unused, the food untouched. A thread of steam came from the teapot. Beside it, a candle spluttered. Then the tray was falling and her hands went into her obi and emerged with a dagger, her mouth worked but made no sound, and he was already racing for the corner. At the far end a door opened and a startled, sleep-drenched samurai peered out.

  The assassin rushed toward him and tore open a shoji on his right that he sought. Kiri was screaming and the alarm had sounded, and he ran, sure-footed in the darkness, across this anteroom, over the waking women and their maids, into the innermost corridor at the far side.

  Here it was pitch dark but he groped along unerringly to find the right door in the gathering furor. He slid the door open and jumped for the figure that lay on the futon. But his knife arm was caught by a viselike grip and now he was thrashing in combat on the floor. He fought with cunning, broke free, and slashed again but missed, entangled with the quilt. He hurled it off and threw himself at the figure, knife poised for the death thrust. But the man twisted with unexpected agility and a hardened foot dug into his groin. Pain exploded in him as his victim darted for safety.

  Then samurai were crowding the doorway, some with lanterns, and Naga, wearing only a loincloth, his hair tousled, leapt between him and Blackthorne, sword on high.

  “Surrender!”

  The assassin feinted once, shouted, “Namu Amida Butsu—” In the Name of the Buddha Amida—turned the knife on himself and with both hands thrust it up under the base of his chin. Blood spurted and he slumped to his knees. Naga slashed once, his sword a whirling arc, and the head rolled free.

  In the silence Naga picked the head up and ripped off the mask. The face was ordinary, the eyes still fluttering. He held the head, hair dressed like a samurai, by its topknot.

  “Does anyone know him?”

  No one answered. Naga spat in the face, threw the head angrily to one of his men, tore open the black clothes and lifted the man’s right arm, and found what he was looking for. The small tattoo—the Chinese character for Amida, the special Buddha—was etched in the armpit.

  “Who is officer of the watch?”

  “I am, Lord.” The man was white with shock.

  Naga leaped at him and the others scattered. The officer made no attempt to avoid the ferocious sword blow which took off his head and part of his shoulder and one arm.

  “Hayabusa-san, order al
l samurai from this watch into the courtyard,” Naga said to an officer. “Double guards for the new watch. Get the body out of here. The rest of you are—” He stopped as Kiri came to the doorway, the dagger still in her hand. She looked at the corpse, then at Blackthorne.

  “The Anjin-san’s not hurt?” she asked.

  Naga glanced at the man who towered over him, breathing with difficulty. He could see no wounds or blood. Just a sleep-tousled man who had almost been killed. White-faced but no outward fear. “Are you hurt, Pilot?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Naga went over and pulled the sleeping kimono away to see if the pilot had been wounded.

  “Ah, understand now. No. No hurt,” he heard the giant say and he saw him shake his head.

  “Good,” he said. “He seems unhurt, Kiritsubo-san.”

  He saw the Anjin-san point at the body and say something. “I don’t understand you,” Naga replied. “Anjin-san, you stay here,” and to one of the men he said, “Bring him some food and drink if he wants it.”

  “The assassin, he was Amida-tattooed, neh?” Kiri asked.

  “Yes, Lady Kiritsubo.”

  “Devils—devils.”

  “Yes.”

  Naga bowed to her then looked at one of the appalled samurai. “You follow me. Bring the head!” He strode off, wondering how he was going to tell his father. Oh, Buddha, thank you for guarding my father.

  “He was a ronin,” Toranaga said curtly. “You’ll never trace him, Hiro-matsu-san.”

  “Yes. But Ishido’s responsible. He had no honor to do this, neh? None. To use these dung-offal assassins. Please, I beg you, let me call up our legions now. I’ll stop this once and for all time.”

  “No.” Toranaga looked back at Naga. “You’re sure the Anjin-san’s not hurt?”

  “No, Sire.”

  “Hiro-matsu-san. You will demote all guards of this watch for failing in their duty. They are forbidden to commit seppuku. They’re ordered to live with their shame in front of all my men as soldiers of the lowest class. Have the dead guards dragged by their feet through the castle and city to the execution ground. The dogs can feed off them.”

  Now he looked at his son, Naga. Earlier that evening, urgent word had arrived from Johji Monastery in Nagoya about Ishido’s threat against Naga. Toranaga had at once ordered his son confined to close quarters and surrounded by guards, and the other members of the family in Osaka—Kiri and the Lady Sazuko—equally guarded. The message from the abbot had added that he had considered it wise to release Ishido’s mother at once and send her back to the city with her maids. “I dare not risk the life of one of your illustrious sons foolishly. Worse, her health is not good. She has a chill. It’s best she should die in her own house and not here.”

  “Naga-san, you are equally responsible the assassin got in,” Toranaga said, his voice cold and bitter. “Every samurai is responsible, whether on watch or off watch, asleep or awake. You are fined half your yearly revenue.”

  “Yes, Lord,” the youth said, surprised that he was allowed to keep anything, including his head. “Please demote me also,” he said. “I cannot live with the shame. I deserve nothing but contempt for my own failure, Lord.”

  “If I wanted to demote you I would have done so. You are ordered to Yedo at once. You will leave with twenty men tonight and report to your brother. You will get there in record time! Go!” Naga bowed and went away, white-faced. To Hiro-matsu he said equally roughly, “Quadruple my guards. Cancel my hunting today, and tomorrow. The day after the meeting of Regents I leave Osaka. You’ll make all the preparations, and until that time, I will stay here. I will see no one uninvited. No one.”

  He waved his hand in angry dismissal. “All of you can go. Hiro-matsu, you stay.”

  The room emptied. Hiro-matsu was glad that his humiliation was to be private, for, of all of them, as Commander of the Bodyguard, he was the most responsible. “I have no excuse, Lord. None.”

  Toranaga was lost in thought. No anger was visible now. “If you wanted to hire the services of the secret Amida Tong, how would you find them? How would you approach them?”

  “I don’t know, Lord.”

  “Who would know?”

  “Kasigi Yabu.”

  Toranaga looked out of the embrasure. Threads of dawn were mixed with the eastern dark. “Bring him here at dawn.”

  “You think he’s responsible?”

  Toranaga did not answer, but returned to his musings.

  At length the old soldier could not bear the silence. “Please Lord, let me get out of your sight. I’m so ashamed with our failure—”

  “It’s almost impossible to prevent such an attempt,” Toranaga said.

  “Yes. But we should have caught him outside, nowhere near you.”

  “I agree. But I don’t hold you responsible.”

  “I hold myself responsible. There’s something I must say, Lord, for I am responsible for your safety until you’re back in Yedo. There will be more attempts on you, and all our spies report increased troop movement. Ishido is mobilizing.”

  “Yes,” Toranaga said casually. “After Yabu, I want to see Tsukku-san, then Mariko-san. Double the guards on the Anjin-san.”

  “Despatches came tonight that Lord Onoshi has a hundred thousand men improving his fortifications in Kyushu,” Hiro-matsu said, beset by his anxiety for Toranaga’s safety.

  “I will ask him about it, when we meet.”

  Hiro-matsu’s temper broke. “I don’t understand you at all. I must tell you that you risk everything stupidly. Yes, stupidly. I don’t care if you take my head for telling you, but it’s the truth. If Kiyama and Onoshi vote with Ishido you will be impeached! You’re a dead man—you’ve risked everything by coming here and you’ve lost! Escape while you can. At least you’ll have your head on your shoulders!”

  “I’m in no danger yet.”

  “Doesn’t this attack tonight mean anything to you? If you hadn’t changed your room again you’d be dead now.”

  “Yes, I might, but probably not,” Toranaga said. “There were multiple guards outside my doors tonight and also last night. And you were on guard tonight as well. No assassin could get near me. Even this one who was so well prepared. He knew the way, even the password, neh? Kiri-san said she heard him use it. So I think he knew which room I was in. I wasn’t his prey. It was the Anjin-san.”

  “The barbarian?”

  “Yes.”

  Toranaga had anticipated that there would be further danger to the barbarian after the extraordinary revelations of this morning. Clearly the Anjin-san was too dangerous to some to leave alive. But Toranaga had never presumed that an attack would be mounted within his private quarters or so fast. Who’s betraying me? He discounted a leakage of information from Kiri, or Mariko. But castles and gardens always have secret places to eavesdrop, he thought. I’m in the center of the enemy stronghold, and where I have one spy, Ishido—and others—will have twenty. Perhaps it was just a spy.

  “Double the guards on the Anjin-san. He’s worth ten thousand men to me.”

  After Lady Yodoko had left this morning, he had returned to the garden Tea House and had noticed at once the Anjin-san’s inner frailty, the over-bright eyes and grinding fatigue. So he had controlled his own excitement and almost overpowering need to probe deeper, and had dismissed him, saying that they would continue tomorrow. The Anjin-san had been given into Kiri’s care with instructions to get him a doctor, to harbor his strength, to give him barbarian food if he wished it, and even to let him have the sleeping room that Toranaga himself used most nights. “Give him anything you feel necessary, Kiri-san,” he had told her privately. “I need him very fit, very quickly, in mind and body.”

  Then the Anjin-san had asked that he release the monk from prison today, for the man was old and sick. He had replied that he would consider it and sent the barbarian away with thanks, not telling him that he had already ordered samurai to go to the prison at once and fetch this monk, who was p
erhaps equally valuable, both to him and to Ishido.

  Toranaga had known about this priest for a long time, that he was Spanish and hostile to the Portuguese. But the man had been ordered there by the Taikō so he was the Taikō’s prisoner, and he, Toranaga, had no jurisdiction over anyone in Osaka. He had sent the Anjin-san deliberately into that prison not only to pretend to Ishido that the stranger was worthless, but also in the hope that the impressive pilot would be able to draw out the monk’s knowledge.

  The first clumsy attempt on the Anjin-san’s life in the cell had been foiled, and at once a protective screen had been put around him. Toranaga had rewarded his vassal spy, Minikui, a kaga-man, by extracting him safely and giving him four kagas of his own and the hereditary right to use the stretch of the Tokaidō Road—the great trunk road that joined Yedo and Osaka—between the Second and Third Stages, which were in his domains near Yedo, and had sent him secretly out of Osaka the first day. During the following days his other spies had sent reports that the two men were friends now, the monk talking and the Anjin-san asking questions and listening. The fact that Ishido probably had spies in the cell too did not bother him. The Anjin-san was protected and safe. Then Ishido had unexpectedly tried to spirit him out, into alien influence.

  Toranaga remembered the amusement he and Hiro-matsu had had in planning the immediate “ambush”—the “ronin bandits” being one of the small, isolated groups of his own elite samurai who were secreted in and around Osaka—and in arranging the delicate timing of Yabu who, unsuspecting, had effected the “rescue.” They had chuckled together, knowing that once more they had used Yabu as a puppet to rub Ishido’s nose in his own dung.