Shōgun

by James Clavell

  Everyone waited for the hand to appear.

  “Kiritsubo-san?”

  Still no movement. Then Ishido took a quick pace forward, jerked the curtains apart and at the same instant Blackthorne let out a bellow and began dancing up and down like a maniac. Ishido and the others whirled on him dumbfounded.

  For an instant Toranaga was in full view behind Ishido. Blackthorne thought that perhaps Toranaga could pass for Kiritsubo at twenty paces but here at five, impossible, even though the veil covered his face. And in the never-ending second before Toranaga had tugged the curtains closed again, Blackthorne knew that Yabu had recognized him, Mariko certainly, Buntaro probably, and some of the samurai possibly. He lunged forward, grabbed the roll of parchment and thrust it through a crack in the curtains and turned, babbling, “It’s bad luck in my country for a prince to give a message himself like a common bastard … bad luck …”

  It had all happened so unexpectedly and so fast that Ishido’s sword was not out until Blackthorne was bowing and raving in front of him like an insane jack-in-the-box, then his reflexes took over and sent the sword slashing for the throat.

  Blackthorne’s desperate eyes found Mariko. “For Christ’s sake, help—bad luck—bad luck!”

  She cried out. The blade stopped a hair’s breadth from his neck. Mariko poured out an explanation of what Blackthorne had said. Ishido lowered his sword, listened for a moment, overrode her with a furious harangue, then shouted with increasing vehemence and hit Blackthorne in the face with the back of his hand.

  Blackthorne went berserk. He bunched his great fists and hurled himself at Ishido.

  If Yabu hadn’t been quick enough to catch Ishido’s sword arm Blackthorne’s head would have rolled in the dust. Buntaro, a split second later, grabbed Blackthorne, who already had his hands around Ishido’s throat. It took four Browns to haul him off Ishido, then Buntaro smashed him hard on the back of the neck, stunning him. Grays leaped to their master’s defense, but Browns surrounded Blackthorne and the litters and for a moment it was a standoff, Mariko and the maids deliberately wailing and crying, helping to create further chaos and diversions.

  Yabu began placating Ishido, Mariko tearfully repeated over and over in forced semihysteria that the mad barbarian believed he was only trying to save Ishido, the Great Commander—whom he thought was a prince—from a bad kami. “And it’s the worst insult to touch their faces, just like with us, that’s what sent him momentarily mad. He’s a senseless barbarian but a daimyo in his own land and he was only trying to help you, Lord!”

  Ishido ranted and kicked Blackthorne, who was just coming to. Blackthorne heard the tumult with great peace. His eyes cleared. Grays were surrounding them twenty to one, swords drawn, but so far no one was dead and everyone waited in discipline.

  Blackthorne saw that all attention was focused on him. But now he knew he had allies.

  Ishido spun on him again and came closer, shouting. He felt the grip of the Browns tighten and knew the blow was coming, but this time, instead of trying to fight out of their grasp, which they expected, he started to collapse, then immediately straightened and broke away, laughing insanely, and began a jibbering hornpipe. Friar Domingo had told him that everyone in Japan believed madness was caused only by a kami and thus madmen, like all young children and very old men, were not responsible and had special privileges, sometimes. So he capered in a frenzy, singing in time to Mariko, “Help … I need help for God’s sake … can’t keep this up much longer … help …” desperately acting the lunatic, knowing it was the only thing that might save them.

  “He’s mad—he’s possessed,” Mariko cried out, at once realizing Blackthorne’s ploy.

  “Yes,” Yabu said, still trying to recover from the shock of seeing Toranaga, not knowing yet if the Anjin-san was acting or if he had really gone mad.

  Mariko was beside herself. She didn’t know what to do. The Anjin-san saved Lord Toranaga but how did he know? she kept repeating to herself senselessly.

  Blackthorne’s face was bloodless except for the scarlet weal from the blows. He danced on and on, frantically waiting for help but none came. Then, silently damning Yabu and Buntaro as motherless cowards and Mariko for the stupid bitch she was, he stopped the dance suddenly, bowed to Ishido like a spastic puppet and half walked, half danced for the gateway. “Follow me, follow me!” he shouted, his voice almost strangling him, trying to lead the way like a Pied Piper.

  The Grays barred his way. He roared with feigned rage and imperiously ordered them out of the way, immediately switching to hysterical laughter.

  Ishido grabbed a bow and arrow. The Grays scattered. Blackthorne was almost through the gateway. He turned at bay, knowing there was no point in running. Helplessly he began his rabid dance again.

  “He’s mad, a mad dog! Mad dogs have to be dealt with!” Ishido’s voice was raw. He armed the bow and aimed.

  At once Mariko leapt forward from her protective position near Toranaga’s litter and began to walk toward Blackthorne. “Don’t worry, Lord Ishido,” she cried out. “There’s no need to worry—it’s a momentary madness—may I be permitted …” As she came closer she could see Blackthorne’s exhaustion, the set maniacal smile, and she was frightened in spite of herself. “I can help now, Anjin-san,” she said hurriedly. “We have to try to—to walk out. I will follow you. Don’t worry, he won’t shoot us. Please stop dancing now.”

  Blackthorne stopped instantly, turned and walked quietly onto the bridge. She followed a pace behind him as was custom, expecting the arrows, hearing them.

  A thousand eyes watched the giant madman and the tiny woman on the bridge, walking away.

  Yabu came to life. “If you want him killed, let me do it, Ishido-sama. It’s unseemly for you to take his life. A general doesn’t kill with his own hands. Others should do his killing for him.” He came very close and he dropped his voice. “Leave him alive. The madness came from your blow. He’s a daimyo in his own land and the blow—it was as Mariko-san said, neh? Trust me, he’s valuable to us alive.”

  “What?”

  “He’s more valuable alive. Trust me. You can have him dead any time. We need him alive.”

  Ishido read desperation in Yabu’s face, and truth. He put the bow down. “Very well. But one day I’ll want him alive. I’ll hang him by his heels over the pit.”

  Yabu swallowed and half bowed. He nervously waved the cortege onward, fearful that Ishido would remember the litter and “Kiritsubo.”

  Buntaro, pretending deference, took the initiative and started the Browns on their way. He did not question the fact that Toranaga had magically appeared like a kami in their midst, only that his master was in danger and almost defenseless. He saw that Ishido had not taken his eyes off Mariko and the Anjin-san, but even so, he bowed politely to him and set himself behind Toranaga’s litter to protect his master from any arrows if the fight began here.

  The column was approaching the gate now. Yabu fell into place as a lonely rear guard. Any moment he expected the cortege to be halted. Surely some of the Grays must have seen Toranaga, he thought. How soon before they tell Ishido? Won’t he think I was part of the escape attempt? Won’t this ruin me forever?

  Halfway over the bridge Mariko looked back for an instant. “They’re following, Anjin-san, both litters are through the gate and they’re on the bridge now!”

  Blackthorne did not reply or turn back. It required all of his remaining will to stay erect. He had lost his sandals, his face burned from the blow, and his head pounded with pain. The last guards let him through the portcullis and beyond. They also let Mariko pass without stopping. And then the litters.

  Blackthorne led the way down the slight hill, past the open ground and across the far bridge. Only when he was in the wooded area totally out of sight of the castle did he collapse.

  CHAPTER 23

  “Anjin-san—Anjin-san!”

  Semiconscious, he allowed Mariko to help him drink some saké. The column had halted, the Browns
arranged tightly around the curtained litter, their escorting Grays ahead and behind. Buntaro had shouted at one of the maids, who had immediately produced the flask from one of the baggage kagas, told his personal guards to keep everyone away from “Kiritsubo-san’s” litter, then hurried to Mariko. “Is the Anjin-san all right?”

  “Yes, yes, I think so,” Mariko replied. Yabu joined them.

  To try to throw off the captain of the Grays, Yabu said carelessly, “We can go on, Captain. We’ll leave a few men and Mariko-san. When the barbarian’s recovered, she and the men can follow.”

  “With great deference, Yabu-san, we will wait. I’m charged to deliver you all safely to the galley. As one party,” the captain told him.

  They all looked down as Blackthorne choked slightly on the wine. “Thanks,” he croaked. “Are we safe now? Who else knows that—”

  “You’re safe now!” she interrupted deliberately. She had her back to the captain and she cautioned him with her eyes. “Anjin-san, you’re safe now and there’s no need to worry. Do you understand? You had some kind of fit. Just look around—you’re safe now!”

  Blackthorne did as she ordered. He saw the captain and the Grays and understood. His strength was returning quickly now, helped by the wine. “Sorry, senhora. It was just panic, I think. I must be getting old. I go mad often and can never remember afterwards what happened. Speaking Portuguese is exhausting, isn’t it?” He switched to Latin. “Canst thou understand?”

  “Assuredly.”

  “Is this tongue ‘easier’?”

  “Perhaps,” she said, relieved that he understood the need for caution, even using Latin, which was to Japanese an almost incomprehensible and unlearnable language except to a handful of men in the Empire, all of whom would be Jesuit trained and most committed to the priesthood. She was the only woman in all their world who could speak and read and write Latin and Portuguese. “Both languages are difficult, each hath dangers.”

  “Who else knoweth the ‘dangers’?”

  “My husband and he who leads us.”

  “Art thou sure?”

  “Both indicated thusly.”

  The captain of Grays shifted restlessly and said something to Mariko.

  “He asks if thou art yet dangerous, if thy hands and feet should be restrained. I said no. Thou art cured of thy palsy now.”

  “Yes,” he said, lapsing back into Portuguese. “I have fits often. If someone hits me in the face it sends me mad. I’m sorry. Never can remember what happens during them. It’s the Finger of God.” He saw that the captain was concentrating on his lips and he thought, caught you, you bastard, I’ll bet you understand Portuguese.

  Sono the maid had her head bent close to the litter curtains. She listened, and came back to Mariko.

  “So sorry, Mariko-sama, but my Mistress asks if the madman is well enough to continue? She asks if you would give him your litter because my Mistress feels we should hurry for the tide. All the trouble that the madman has caused has made her even more upset. But, knowing that the mad are only afflicted by the gods, she will say prayers for his return to health, and will personally give him medicines to cure him once we are aboard.”

  Mariko translated.

  “Yes. I’m all right now.” Blackthorne got up and swayed on his feet.

  Yabu barked a command.

  “Yabu-san says you will ride in the litter, Anjin-san.” Mariko smiled when he began to protest. “I’m really very strong and you needn’t worry, I’ll walk beside you so you can talk if you wish.”

  He allowed himself to be helped into the litter. At once they started again. The rolling gait was soothing and he lay back depleted. He waited until the captain of the Grays had strode away to the head of the column, then whispered in Latin, warning her, “That centurion understandeth the other tongue.”

  “Aye. And I believe some Latin also,” she whispered back as quietly. She walked for a moment. “In seriousness, thou art a brave man. I thank thee for saving him.”

  “Thou hadst stronger bravery.”

  “No, the Lord God hath placed my feet onto the path, and rendered me a little useful. Again I thank thee.”

  The city by night was a fairyland. The rich houses had many colored lanterns, oil-lit and candle-lit, hanging over their gateways and in their gardens, the shoji screens giving off a delightful translucence. Even the poor houses were mellowed by the shojis. Lanterns lit the way of pedestrians and kagas, and of samurai, who rode horseback.

  “We burn oil for lamps in the houses as well as candles, but with the coming of night, most people go to bed,” Mariko explained as they continued through the city streets, winding and curling, the pedestrians bowing and the very poor on their knees until they had passed, the sea glittering in the moonlight.

  “It’s the same with us. How do you cook? Over a wood stove?” Blackthorne’s strength had returned quickly and his legs no longer felt like jelly. She had refused to take the litter back, so he lay there, enjoying the air and the conversation.

  “We use a charcoal brazier. We don’t eat foods like you do, so our cooking is more simple. Just rice and a little fish, raw mostly, or cooked over charcoal with a sharp sauce and pickled vegetables, a little soup perhaps. No meat—never meat. We’re a frugal people—we have to be, only so little of our land, perhaps a fifth of our soil, can be cultivated—and we’re many. With us it’s a virtue to be frugal, even in the amount of food we eat.”

  “Thou art brave. I thank thee. The arrows flew not, because of the shield of thy back.”

  “No, Captain of Ships. It cometh from the will of God.”

  “Thou art brave and thou art beautiful.”

  She walked in silence for a moment. No one has ever called me beautiful before—no one, she thought. “I am not brave and I am not beautiful. Swords are beautiful. Honor is beautiful.”

  “Courage is beautiful and thou hast it in abundance.”

  Mariko did not answer. She was remembering this morning and all the evil words and evil thoughts. How can a man be so brave and so stupid, so gentle and so cruel, so warming and so detestable—all at the same time? The Anjin-san was limitlessly brave to take Ishido’s attention off the litter, and completely clever to feign madness and so lead Toranaga out of the trap. How wise of Toranaga to escape this way! But be cautious, Mariko, she warned herself. Think about Toranaga and not about this stranger. Remember his evil and stop the moist warmth in your loins that you have never had before, the warmth courtesans talk about and storybooks and pillowbooks describe.

  “Aye,” she said. “Courage is beautiful and thou hast it in abundance.” Then she turned to Portuguese once more. “Latin is such a tiring language.”

  “You learned it in school?”

  “No, Anjin-san, it was later. After I was married I lived in the far north for quite a long time. I was alone, except for servants and villagers, and the only books I had were Portuguese and Latin—some grammars and religious books, and a Bible. Learning the languages passed the time very well, and occupied my mind. I was very fortunate.”

  “Where was your husband?”

  “At war.”

  “How long were you alone?”

  “We have a saying that time has no single measure, that time can be like frost or lightning or a tear or siege or storm or sunset, or even like a rock.”

  “That’s a wise saying,” he told her. Then added, “Your Portuguese is very good, senhora. And your Latin. Better than mine.” “You have a honeyed tongue, Anjin-san!”

  “It’s honto!”

  “Honto is a good word. The honto is that one day a Christian Father came to the village. We were like two lost souls. He stayed for four years and helped me immensely. I’m glad I can speak well,” she said, without vanity. “My father wanted me to learn the languages.”

  “Why?”

  “He thought we should know the devil with which we had to deal.”

  “He was a wise man.”

  “No. Not wise.”

 
“Why?”

  “One day I will tell you the story. It’s a sadness.”

  “Why were you alone for a rock of time?”

  “Why don’t you rest? We have a long way to go yet.”

  “Do you want to ride?” Again he began to get up but she shook her head.

  “No, thank you. Please stay where you are. I enjoy walking.”

  “All right. But you don’t want to talk anymore?”

  “If it pleases you we can talk. What do you want to know?”

  “Why were you alone for a rock of time?”

  “My husband sent me away. My presence had offended him. He was perfectly correct to do this. He honored me by not divorcing me. Then he honored me even more by accepting me and our son back again.” Mariko looked at him. “My son is fifteen now. I’m really an old lady.”

  “I don’t believe you, senhora.”

  “It’s honto.”

  “How old were you when you were married?”

  “Old, Anjin-san. Very old.”

  “We have a saying: Age is like frost or siege or sunset, even sometimes like a rock.” She laughed. Everything about her is so graceful, he thought, mesmerized by her. “On you, Venerable Lady, old age sits prettily.”

  “For a woman, Anjin-san, old age is never pretty.”

  “Thou art wise as thou art beautiful.” The Latin came too easily and though it sounded more formal and more regal, it was more intimate. Watch yourself, he thought.

  No one has ever called me beautiful before, she repeated to herself. I wish it were true. “Here it is not wise to notice another man’s woman,” she said. “Our customs are quite severe. For example, if a married woman is found alone with a man in a room with the door closed—just if they are alone and talking privately—by law her husband or his brother or his father has the right to put her to death instantly. If the girl is unmarried, the father can, of course, always do with her as he pleases.”

  “That’s not fair or civilized.” He regretted the slip instantly.