Shōgun

by James Clavell

  “The Council of Regents can certainly take away your fief, and your life if they want. Yes.”

  “By all gods, living and dead and yet to be born …” Yabu fought to dominate his temper. “I apologize for my bad manners but your—your incredible attitude … yes, I apologize.” There was no real purpose to be gained in a show of emotion which all knew was unseemly and defacing. “Yes, it is better for you to stay here then, Lord Toranaga.”

  “I think I would prefer to leave at once.”

  “Here or Yedo, what’s the difference? The Regents’ order will come immediately. I imagine you’d want to commit seppuku at once. With dignity. In peace. I would be honored to act as your second.”

  “Thank you. But no legal order’s yet arrived so my head will stay where it is.”

  “What does a day or two matter? It’s inevitable that the order will come. I will make all arrangements, yes, and they will be perfect. You may rely on me.”

  “Thank you. Yes, I can understand why you would want my head.”

  “My own head will be forfeit too. If I send yours to Ishido, or take it and ask his pardon, that might persuade him, but I doubt it, neh?”

  “If I were in your position I might ask for your head. Unfortunately my head will help you not at all.”

  “I’m inclined to agree. But it’s worth trying.” Yabu spat violently in the dust. “I deserve to die for being so stupid as to put myself in that dunghead’s power.”

  “Ishido will never hesitate to take your head. But first he’ll take Izu. Oh yes, Izu’s lost with him in power.”

  “Don’t bait me! I know that’s going to happen!”

  “I’m not baiting you, my friend,” Toranaga told him, enjoying Yabu’s loss of face. “I merely said, with Ishido in power you’re lost and Izu’s lost, because his kinsman Ikawa Jikkyu covets Izu, neh? But, Yabu-san, Ishido doesn’t have the power. Yet.” And he told him, friend to friend, why he had resigned.

  “The Council’s hamstrung!” Yabu couldn’t believe it.

  “There isn’t any Council. There won’t be until there are five members again.” Toranaga smiled. “Think about it, Yabu-san. Now I’m stronger than ever, neh? Ishido’s neutralized—so is Jikkyu. Now you’ve got all the time you need to train your guns. Now you own Suruga and Totomi. Now you own Jikkyu’s head. In a few months you’ll see his head on a spike and the heads of all his kin, and you’ll ride in state into your new domains.” Abruptly he spun and shouted, “Igurashi-san!” and five hundred men heard the command.

  Igurashi came running but before the samurai had gone three paces, Toranaga called out, “Bring an honor guard with you. Fifty men! At once!” He did not dare to give Yabu a moment’s respite to detect the enormous flaw in his argument: that if Ishido was hamstrung now and did not have power, then Toranaga’s head on a wooden platter would be of enormous value to Ishido and thus to Yabu. Or even better, Toranaga bound like a common felon and delivered alive at the gates of Osaka Castle would bring Yabu immortality and the keys to the Kwanto.

  While the honor guard was forming in front of him, Toranaga said loudly, “In honor of this occasion, Yabu-sama, perhaps you would accept this as a token of friendship.” Then he took out his long sword, held it flat on both hands, and offered it.

  Yabu took the sword as though in a dream. It was priceless. It was a Minowara heirloom and famous throughout the land. Toranaga had possessed this sword for fifteen years. It had been presented to him by Nakamura in front of the assembled majesty of all the important daimyos in the Empire, except Beppu Genzaemon, as part payment for a secret agreement.

  This had happened shortly after the battle of Nagakudé, long before the Lady Ochiba. Toranaga had just defeated General Nakamura, the Taikō-to-be, when Nakamura was still just an upstart without mandate or formal power or formal title and his reach for absolute power still in the balance. Instead of gathering an overwhelming host and burying Toranaga, which was his usual policy, Nakamura had decided to be conciliatory. He had offered Toranaga a treaty of friendship and a binding alliance, and to cement them, his half sister as wife. That the woman was already married and middle-aged bothered neither Nakamura nor Toranaga at all. Toranaga agreed to the pact. At once the woman’s husband, one of Nakamura’s vassals—thanking the gods that the invitation to divorce her had not been accompanied by an invitation to commit seppuku—had gratefully sent her back to her half brother. Immediately Toranaga married her with all the pomp and ceremony he could muster, and the same day concluded a secret friendship pact with the immensely powerful Beppu clan, the open enemies of Nakamura, who, at this time, still sat disdainfully in the Kwanto on Toranaga’s very unprotected back door.

  Then Toranaga had flown his falcons and waited for Nakamura’s inevitable attack. But none had come. Instead, astoundingly, Nakamura had sent his revered and beloved mother into Toranaga’s camp as a hostage, ostensibly to visit her stepdaughter, Toranaga’s new wife, but still hostage nonetheless, and had, in return, invited Toranaga to the vast meeting of all the daimyos that he had arranged at Osaka. Toranaga had thought hard and long. Then he had accepted the invitation, suggesting to his ally Beppu Genzaemon that it would be unwise for them both to go. Next, he had set sixty thousand samurai secretly into motion toward Osaka against Nakamura’s expected treachery, and had left his eldest son, Noboru, in charge of his new wife and her mother. Noboru had at once piled tinder-dry brushwood to the eaves of their residence and had told them bluntly he would fire it if anything happened to his father.

  Toranaga smiled, remembering. The night before he was due to enter Osaka, Nakamura, unconventional as ever, had paid him a secret visit, alone and unarmed.

  “Well met, Tora-san.”

  “Well met, Lord Nakamura.”

  “Listen: We’ve fought too many battles together, we know too many secrets, we’ve shit too many times in the same pot to want to piss on our own feet or on each other’s.”

  “I agree,” Toranaga had said cautiously.

  “Listen then: I’m within a sword’s edge of winning the realm. To get total power I’ve got to have the respect of the ancient clans, the hereditary fief holders, the present heirs of the Fujimoto, the Takashima, and Minowara. Once I’ve got power, any daimyo or any three together can piss blood for all I care.”

  “You have my respect—you’ve always had it.”

  The little monkey-faced man had laughed richly. “You won at Nagakudé fairly. You’re the best general I’ve ever known, the greatest daimyo in the realm. But now we’re going to stop playing games, you and I. Listen: tomorrow I want you to bow to me before all the daimyos, as a vassal. I want you, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara a willing vassal. Publicly. Not to tongue my hole, but polite, humble, and respectful. If you’re my vassal, the rest’ll fart in their haste to put their heads in the dust and their tails in the air. And the few that don’t—well, let them beware.”

  “That will make you Lord of all Japan. Neh?”

  “Yes. The first in history. And you’ll have given it to me. I admit I can’t do it without you. But listen: If you do that for me you’ll have first place after me. Every honor you want. Anything. There’s enough for both of us.”

  “Is there?”

  “Yes. First I take Japan. Then Korea. Then China. I told Goroda I wanted that and that’s what I’ll have. Then you can have Japan—a province of my China!”

  “But now, Lord Nakamura? Now I have to submit, neh? I’m in your power, neh? You’re in overwhelming strength in front of me—and the Beppu threaten my back.”

  “I’ll deal with them soon enough,” the peasant warlord had said. “Those sneering carrion refused my invitation to come here tomorrow—they sent my scroll back covered in bird’s shit. You want their lands? The whole Kwanto?”

  “I want nothing from them or from anyone,” he had said.

  “Liar,” Nakamura had said genially. “Listen, Tora-san: I’m almost fifty. None of my women has ever birthed. I’ve juice in plenty, always have h
ad, and in my life I must have pillowed a hundred, two hundred women, of all types, of all ages, in every way, but none has ever birthed a child, not even stillborn. I’ve everything but I’ve no sons and never will. That’s my karma. You’ve four sons living and who knows how many daughters. You’re forty-three so you can pillow your way to a dozen more sons as easy as horses shit and that’s your karma. Also you’re Minowara and that’s karma. Say I adopt one of your sons and make him my heir?”

  “Now?”

  “Soon. Say in three years. It was never important to have an heir before but now things’re different. Our late Master Goroda had the stupidity to get himself murdered. Now the land’s mine—could be mine. Well?”

  “You’ll make the agreements formal, publicly formal, in two years?”

  “Yes. In two years. You can trust me—our interests are the same. Listen: In two years, in public; and we agree, you and I, which son. This way we share everything, eh? Our joint dynasty’s settled into the future, so no problems there and that’s good for you and good for me. The pickings’ll be huge. First the Kwanto. Eh?”

  “Perhaps Beppu Genzaemon will submit—if I submit.”

  “I can’t allow them to, Tora-san. You covet their lands.”

  “I covet nothing.”

  Nakamura’s laugh had been merry. “Yes. But you should. The Kwanto’s worthy of you. It’s safe behind mountain walls, easy to defend. With the delta you’ll control the richest rice lands in the Empire. You’ll have your back to the sea and an income of two million koku. But don’t make Kamakura your capital. Or Odawara.”

  “Kamakura’s always been capital of the Kwanto.”

  “Why shouldn’t you covet Kamakura, Tora-san? Hasn’t it contained the holy shrine of your family’s guardian kami for six hundred years? Isn’t Hachiman, the kami of war, the Minowara deity? Your ancestor was wise to choose the kami of war to worship.”

  “I covet nothing, worship nothing. A shrine is just a shrine and the kami of war’s never been known to stay in any shrine.”

  “I’m glad you covet nothing, Tora-san, then nothing will disappoint you. You’re like me in that. But Kamakura’s no capital for you. There are seven passes into it, too many to defend. And it’s not on the sea. No, I wouldn’t advise Kamakura. Listen: You’d be better and safer to go farther over the mountains. You need a seaport. There’s one I saw once—Yedo—a fishing village now, but you’ll make it into a great city. Easy to defend, perfect for trade. You favor trade. I favor trade. Good. So you must have a seaport. As to Odawara, we’re going to stamp it out, as a lesson to all the others.”

  “That will be very difficult.”

  “Yes. But it’d be a good lesson for all the other daimyos, neh?”

  “To take that city by storm would be costly.”

  Again the taunting laugh. “It could be, to you, if you don’t join me. I’ve got to go through your present lands to get at it—did you know you’re the Beppu front line? The Beppu pawn? Together you and them could keep me off for a year or two, even three. But I’ll get there in the end. Oh, yes. Eeeee, why waste more time on them? They’re all dead—except your son-in-law if you want—ah, I know you’ve an alliance with them, but it’s not worth a bowl of horseshit. So what’s your answer? The pickings are going to be vast. First the Kwanto—that’s yours—then I’ve all Japan. Then Korea—easy. Then China—hard but not impossible. I know a peasant can’t become Shōgun, but ‘our’ son will be Shōgun, and he could straddle the Dragon Throne of China too, or his son. Now that’s the end of talk. What’s your answer, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara, vassal or not? Nothing else is of value to me.”

  “Let’s piss on the bargain,” Toranaga had said, having gained everything that he had wanted and planned for. And the next day, before the bewildered majesty of the truculent daimyos, he had humbly offered up his sword and his lands and his honor and his heritage to the upstart peasant warlord. He had begged to be allowed to serve Nakamura and his house forever. And he, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara, had bowed his head abjectly into the dust. The Taikō-to-be now had been magnanimous and had taken his lands and had at once gifted him the Kwanto as a fief once it was conquered, ordering total war on the Beppu for their insults to the Emperor. And he had also given Toranaga this sword that he had recently acquired from one of the Imperial treasuries. The sword had been made by the master swordsmith Miyoshi-Go centuries before, and had once belonged to the most famous warrior in history, Minowara Yoshitomo, the first of the Minowara Shōguns.

  Toranaga remembered that day. And he recalled other days: a few years later when the Lady Ochiba gave birth to a boy; and another when, incredibly, after the Taikō’s first son had conveniently died, Yaemon, the second son, was born.

  So was the whole plan ruined. Karma.

  He saw Yabu holding the sword of his ancestor with reverence.

  “Is it as sharp as they say?” Yabu asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You do me great honor. I will treasure your gift.” Yabu bowed, conscious that, because of the gift, he would be the first in the land after Toranaga.

  Toranaga bowed back, and then, unarmed, he walked for the gangway. It took all his will to hide his fury and not to let his feet falter, and he prayed that Yabu’s avariciousness would keep him mesmerized for just a few moments more.

  “Cast off!” he ordered, coming onto the deck, and then turned shoreward and waved cheerfully.

  Someone broke the silence and shouted his name, then others took up the shout. There was a general roar of approval at the honor done to their lord. Willing hands shoved the ship out to sea. The oarsmen pulled briskly. The galley made way.

  “Captain, get to Yedo quickly!”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Toranaga looked aft, his eyes ranging the shore, expecting danger any instant. Yabu stood near the jetty, still bemused by the sword. Mariko and Fujiko were waiting beside the awning with the other women. The Anjin-san was on the edge of the square where he had been told to wait—rigid, towering, and unmistakably furious. Their eyes met. Toranaga smiled and waved.

  The wave was returned, but coldly, and this amused Toranaga very much.

  Blackthorne walked cheerlessly up to the jetty.

  “When’s he coming back, Mariko-san?”

  “I don’t know, Anjin-san.”

  “How do we get to Yedo?”

  “We stay here. At least, I stay for three days. Then I’m ordered there.”

  “By sea?”

  “By land.”

  “And me?”

  “You are to stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “You expressed an interest in learning our language. And there’s work for you to do here.”

  “What work?”

  “I don’t know, I’m sorry. Lord Yabu will tell you. My Master left me here to interpret, for three days.”

  Blackthorne was filled with foreboding. His pistols were in his belt but he had no knives and no more powder and no more shot. That was all in the cabin aboard the galley.

  “Why didn’t you tell me we were staying here?” he asked. “You just said to come ashore.”

  “I didn’t know you were to remain here also,” she replied. “Lord Toranaga told me only a moment ago, in the square.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me then? Tell me himself?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I was supposed to be going to Yedo. That’s where my crew is. That’s where my ship is. What about them?”

  “He just said you were to stay here.”

  “For how long?”

  “He didn’t tell me, Anjin-san. Perhaps Lord Yabu will know. Please be patient.”

  Blackthorne could see Toranaga standing on the quarterdeck, watching shoreward. “I think he knew all along I was to stay here, didn’t he?”

  She did not answer. How childish it is, she said to herself, to speak aloud what you think. And how extraordinarily clever Toranaga was to have escaped this trap.

  Fujiko and the
two maids stood beside her, waiting patiently in the shade with Omi’s mother and wife, whom she had met briefly, and she looked beyond them to the galley. It was picking up speed now. But it was still within easy arrow range. Any moment now she knew she must begin. Oh, Madonna, let me be strong, she prayed, all her attention centering on Yabu.

  “Is it true? Is that true?” Blackthorne was asking.

  “What? Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know, Anjin-san. I can only tell you Lord Toranaga is very wise. The wisest man. Whatever his reason, it was good.” She studied the blue eyes and hard face, knowing that Blackthorne had no understanding of what had occurred here. “Please be patient, Anjin-san. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re his favored vassal and under his—”

  “I’m not afraid, Mariko-san. I’m just tired of being shoved around the board like a pawn. And I’m no one’s vassal.”

  “Is ‘retainer’ better? Or how would you describe a man who works for another or is retained by another for special …” Then she saw the blood soar into Yabu’s face.

  “The guns—the guns are still on the galley!” he cried out.

  Mariko knew the time had come. She hurried over to him as he turned to shout orders at Igurashi.

  “Your pardon, Lord Yabu,” she said, overriding him, “there’s no need to worry about your guns. Lord Toranaga said to ask your pardon for his haste but he has urgent things to do on your joint behalves at Yedo. He said he would return the galley instantly. With the guns. And with extra powder. And also with the two hundred and fifty men you require from him. They’ll be here in five or six days.”

  “What?”

  Mariko explained patiently and politely again as Toranaga had told her to do. Then, once Yabu understood, she took out a roll of parchment from her sleeve. “My Master begs you to read this. It concerns the Anjin-san.” She formally offered it to him.

  But Yabu did not take the scroll. His eyes went to the galley. It was well away now, going very fast. Out of range. But what does that matter, he thought contentedly, now over his anxiety. I’ll get the guns back quickly and now I’m out of the Ishido trap and I’ve Toranaga’s most famous sword and soon all the daimyos in the land will be aware of my new position in the armies of the East—second to Toranaga alone! Yabu could still see Toranaga and he waved once and the wave was returned. Then Toranaga vanished off the quarterdeck.