Shōgun

by James Clavell

  For Blackthorne this no life seemed to last forever. Then his eyes saw. His ears heard.

  “Anjin-san?”

  “Hai?” he answered through the greatest weariness he had ever known.

  Mariko repeated what Omi had said as though it came from Yabu. She had to say it several times before she was sure that he understood clearly.

  Blackthorne collected the last of his strength, victory sweet to him. “My word is enough, as his is enough. Even so, I’ll swear by God as he wants. Yes. As Yabu-san will swear by his god in equal honor to keep his side of the bargain.”

  “Lord Yabu says yes, he swears by the Lord Buddha.”

  So Blackthorne swore as Yabu wished him to swear. He accepted some cha. Never had it tasted so good. The cup seemed very heavy and he could not hold it for long.

  “The rain is fine, isn’t it?” he said, watching the raindrops breaking and vanishing, astonished by the untoward clarity of his vision.

  “Yes,” she told him gently, knowing that his senses were on a plane never to be reached by one who had not gone freely out to meet death, and, through an unknowing karma, miraculously come back again.

  “Why not rest now, Anjin-san? Lord Yabu thanks you and says he will talk more with you tomorrow. You should rest now.”

  “Yes. Thank you. That would be fine.”

  “Do you think you can stand?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Yabu-san asks if you would like a palanquin?”

  Blackthorne thought about that. At length he decided that a samurai would walk—would try to walk.

  “No, thank you,” he said, as much as he would have liked to lie down, to be carried back, to close his eyes and to sleep instantly. At the same time he knew he would be afraid to sleep yet, in case this was the dream of after-death and the knife not there on the futon but still buried in the real him, and this hell, or the beginning of hell.

  Slowly he took up the knife and studied it, glorying in the real feel. Then he put it in its scabbard, everything taking so much time.

  “Sorry I’m so slow,” he murmured.

  “You mustn’t be sorry, Anjin-san. Tonight you’re reborn. This is another life, a new life,” Mariko said proudly, filled with honor for him. “It’s given to few to return. Do not be sorry. We know it takes great fortitude. Most men do not have enough strength left afterwards even to stand. May I help you?”

  “No. No, thank you.”

  “It is no dishonor to be helped. I would be honored to be allowed to help you.”

  “Thank you. But I—I wish to try. First.”

  But he could not stand at once. He had to use his hands to get to his knees and then he had to pause to get more strength. Later he lurched up and almost fell. He swayed but did not fall.

  Yabu bowed. And Mariko, Omi, and Igurashi.

  Blackthorne walked like a drunk for the first few paces. He clutched a pillar and held on for a moment. Then he began again. He faltered, but he was walking away, alone. As a man. He kept one hand on the long sword in his belt and his head was high.

  Yabu exhaled and drank deeply of the saké. When he could speak he said to Mariko, “Please follow him. See that he gets home safely.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  When she had gone, Yabu turned on Igurashi. “You-manure-pile-fool!”

  Instantly Igurashi bowed his bead to the mat in penitence. “Bluff you said, neh? Your stupidity almost cost me a priceless treasure.”

  “Yes, Sire, you’re right, Sire. I beg leave to end my life at once.”

  “That would be too good for you! Go and live in the stables until I send for you! Sleep with the stupid horses. You’re a horse-headed fool!”

  “Yes, Sire. I apologize, Sire.”

  “Get out! Omi-san will command the guns now. Get out!”

  The candles flickered and spluttered. One of the maids spilled the tiniest drop of saké on the small lacquered table in front of Yabu and he cursed her eloquently. The others apologized at once. He allowed them to placate him, and accepted more wine. “Bluff? Bluff, he said. Fool! Why do I have fools around me?”

  Omi said nothing, screaming with laughter inside.

  “But you’re no fool, Omi-san. Your counsel’s valuable. Your fief’s doubled from today. Six thousand koku. For next year. Take thirty ri around Anjiro as your fief.”

  Omi bowed to the futon. Yabu deserves to die, he thought scornfully, he’s so easy to manipulate. “I deserve nothing, Sire. I was just doing my duty.”

  “Yes. But a liege lord should reward faithfulness and duty.” Yabu was wearing the Yoshitomo sword tonight. It gave him great pleasure to touch it. “Suzu,” he called to one of the maids. “Send Zukimoto here!”

  “How soon will war begin?” Omi asked.

  “This year. Maybe you have six months, perhaps not. Why?”

  “Perhaps the Lady Mariko should stay more than three days. To protect you.”

  “Eh? Why?”

  “She’s the mouth of the Anjin-san. In half a month—with her—he can train twenty men who can train a hundred who can train the rest. Then whether he lives or dies doesn’t matter.”

  “Why should he die?”

  “You’re going to call the Anjin-san again, his next challenge or the one after, Sire. The result may be different next time, who knows? You may want him to die.” Both men knew, as Mariko and Igurashi had known, that for Yabu to swear by any god was meaningless and, of course, he had no intention of keeping any promise. “You may want to put pressure on him. Once you have the information, what good is the carcass?”

  “None.”

  “You need to learn barbarian war strategy but you must do it very quickly. Lord Toranaga may send for him, so you must have the woman as long as you can. Half a month should be enough to squeeze his head dry of what he knows, now that you have his complete attention. You’ll have to experiment, to adapt their methods to our ways. Yes, it would take at least half a month. Neh?”

  “And Toranaga-san?”

  “He will agree, if it’s put correctly to him, Sire. He must. The guns are his as well as yours. And her continuing presence here is valuable in other ways.”

  “Yes,” Yabu said with satisfaction, for the thought of holding her as hostage had also entered his mind on the ship when he had planned to offer Toranaga as a sacrifice to Ishido. “Toda Mariko should be protected, certainly. It would be bad if she fell into evil hands.”

  “Yes. And perhaps she could be the means of controlling Hiro-matsu, Buntaro, and all their clan, even Toranaga.”

  “You draft the message about her.”

  Omi said, offhand, “My mother heard from Yedo today, Sire. She asked me to tell you that the Lady Genjiko has presented Toranaga with his first grandson.”

  Yabu was at once attentive. Toranaga’s grandson! Could Toranaga be controlled through this infant? The grandson assures Toranaga’s dynasty, neh? How can I get the infant as hostage? “And Ochiba, the Lady Ochiba?” he asked.

  “She’s left Yedo with all her entourage. Three days ago. By now she’s safe in Lord Ishido’s territory.”

  Yabu thought about Ochiba and her sister, Genjiko. So different! Ochiba, vital, beautiful, cunning, relentless, the most desirable woman in the Empire and mother of the Heir. Genjiko, her younger sister, quiet, brooding, flat-faced and plain, with a pitilessness that was legend, even now, that had come down to her from their mother, who was one of Goroda’s sisters. The two sisters loved each other, but Ochiba hated Toranaga and his brood, as Genjiko detested the Taikō and Yaemon, his son. Did the Taikō really father Ochiba’s son, Yabu asked himself again, as all daimyos had done secretly for years. What wouldn’t I give to know the answer to that. What wouldn’t I give to possess that woman.

  “Now that Lady Ochiba’s no longer hostage in Yedo … that could be good and bad,” Yabu said tentatively. “Neh?”

  “Good, only good. Now Ishido and Toranaga must begin very soon.” Omi deliberately omitted the “sama” from thos
e two names. “The Lady Mariko should stay, for your protection.”

  “See to it. Draft the message to send to Toranaga.”

  Suzu, the maid, knocked discreetly and opened the door. Zukimoto came into the room. “Sire?”

  “Where are all the gifts I ordered brought from Mishima for Omi-san?”

  “They’re all in the storehouse, Lord. Here’s the list. The two horses can be selected from the stables. Do you want me to do that now?”

  “No. Omi-san will choose them tomorrow.” Yabu glanced at the carefully written list: “Twenty kimonos (second quality); two swords; one suit of armor (repaired but in good condition); two horses; arms for one hundred samurai—one sword, helmet, breastplate, bow, twenty arrows and spear for each man (best quality). Total value: four hundred and twenty-six koku. Also the rock called ‘The Waiting Stone’—value: priceless.”

  “Ah yes,” he said in better humor, remembering that night. “The rock I found in Kyushu. You were going to rename it ‘The Waiting Barbarian,’ weren’t you?”

  “Yes, Sire, if it still pleases you,” Omi said. “But would you honor me tomorrow by deciding where it should go in the garden? I don’t think there’s a place good enough.”

  “Tomorrow I’ll decide. Yes.” Yabu let his mind rest on the rock, and on those far-off days with his revered master, the Taikō, and last on the Night of the Screams. Melancholy seeped into him. Life is so short and sad and cruel, he thought. He eyed Suzu. The maid smiled back hesitantly, oval-faced, slender, and very delicate like the other two. The three had been brought by palanquin from his household in Mishima. Tonight they were all barefoot, their kimonos the very best silk, their skins very white. Curious that boys can be so graceful, he pondered, in many ways more feminine, more sensuous than girls are. Then he noticed Zukimoto. “What’re you waiting for? Eh? Get out!”

  “Yes, Sire. You asked me to remind you about taxes, Sire.” Zukimoto heaved up his sweating bulk and gratefully hurried away. “Omi-san, you will double all taxes at once,” Yabu said.

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Filthy peasants! They don’t work hard enough. They’re lazy—all of them! I keep the roads safe from bandits, the seas safe, give them good government, and what do they do? They spend the days drinking cha and saké and eating rice. It’s time my peasants lived up to their responsibility!”

  “Yes, Sire,” Omi said.

  Next, Yabu turned to the subject that possessed his mind. “The Anjin-san astonished me tonight. But not you?”

  “Oh yes he did, Sire. More than you. But you were wise to make him commit himself.”

  “You say Igurashi was right?”

  “I merely admired your wisdom, Sire. You would have had to say ‘no’ to him some time. I think you were very wise to say it now, tonight.”

  “I thought he’d killed himself. Yes. I’m glad you were ready. I planned on you being ready. The Anjin-san’s an extraordinary man, for a barbarian, neh? A pity he’s barbarian and so naïve.”

  “Yes.”

  Yabu yawned. He accepted saké from Suzu. “Half a month, you say? Mariko-san should stay at least that, Omi-san. Then I’ll decide about her, and about him. He’ll need to be taught another lesson soon.” He laughed, showing his bad teeth. “If the Anjin-san teaches us, we should teach him, neh? He should be taught how to commit seppuku correctly. That’d be something to watch, neh? See to it! Yes, I agree the barbarian’s days are numbered.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Twelve days later, in the afternoon, the courier from Osaka arrived. An escort of ten samurai rode in with him. Their horses were lathered and near death. The flags at their spearheads carried the cipher of the all-powerful Council of Regents. It was hot, overcast, and humid.

  The courier was a lean, hard samurai of senior rank, one of Ishido’s chief lieutenants. His name was Nebara Jozen and he was known for his ruthlessness. His Gray uniform kimono was tattered and mud-stained, his eyes red with fatigue. He refused food or drink and impolitely demanded an immediate audience with Yabu.

  “Forgive my appearance, Yabu-san, but my business is urgent,” he said. “Yes, I ask your pardon. My Master says first, why do you train Toranaga’s soldiers along with your own and, second, why do they drill with so many guns?”

  Yabu had flushed at the rudeness but he kept his temper, knowing that Jozen would have had specific instructions and that such lack of manners bespoke an untoward position of power. And too, he was greatly unsettled that there had been another leak in his security.

  “You’re very welcome, Jozen-san. You may assure your master that I always have his interests at heart,” he said with a courteousness that fooled no one present.

  They were on the veranda of the fortress. Omi sat just behind Yabu. Igurashi, who had been forgiven a few days before, was nearer to Jozen and surrounding them were intimate guards. “What else does your master say?”

  Jozen replied, “My Master will be glad that your interests are his. Now, about the guns and the training: my Master would like to know why Toranaga’s son, Naga, is second-in-command. Second-in-command of what? What’s so important that a Toranaga son should be here, the Lord General Ishido asks with politeness. That’s of interest to him. Yes. Everything his allies do interests him. Why is it, for instance, the barbarian seems to be in charge of training? Training of what? Yes, Yabu-sama, that’s very interesting also.” Jozen shifted his swords more comfortably, glad that his back was protected by his own men. “Next: The Council of Regents meets again on the first day of the new moon. In twenty days. You are formally invited to Osaka to renew your oath of fidelity.”

  Yabu’s stomach twisted. “I understood Toranaga-sama had resigned?”

  “He has, Yabu-san, indeed he has. But Lord Ito Teruzumi’s taking his place. My Master will be the new President of the Regents.”

  Yabu was panic-stricken. Toranaga had said that the four Regents could never agree on a fifth. Ito Teruzumi was a minor daimyo of Negato Province in western Honshu but his family was ancient, descended from Fujimoto lineage, so he would be acceptable as a Regent, though he was an ineffectual man, effeminate and a puppet. “I would be honored to receive their invitation,” Yabu said defensively, trying to buy time to think.

  “My Master thought you might wish to leave at once. Then you would be in Osaka for the formal meeting. He orders me to tell you all the daimyos are getting the same invitation. Now. So all will have an opportunity to be there in good time on the twenty-first day. A Flower-Viewing Ceremony has been authorized by His Imperial Highness, Emperor Go-Nijo, to honor the occasion.” Jozen offered an official scroll.

  “This isn’t under the seal of the Council of Regents.”

  “My Master has issued the invitation now, knowing that, as a loyal vassal of the late Taikō, as a loyal vassal of Yaemon, his son and heir and the rightful ruler of the Empire when he becomes of age, you will understand that the new Council will, of course, approve his action. Neh?”

  “It would certainly be a privilege to witness the formal meeting.” Yabu struggled to control his face.

  “Good,” Jozen said. He pulled out another scroll, opened it, and held it up. “This is a copy of Lord Ito’s letter of appointment, accepted and signed and authorized by the other Regents, Lords Ishido, Kiyama, Onoshi, and the Lord Sugiyama.” Jozen did not bother to conceal a triumphant look, knowing that this totally closed the trap on Toranaga and any of his allies, and that equally the scroll made him and his men invulnerable.

  Yabu took the scroll. His fingers trembled. There was no doubt of its authenticity. It had been countersigned by the Lady Yodoko, the wife of the Taikō, who affirmed that the document was true and signed in her presence, one of six copies that were being sent throughout the Empire, and that this particular copy was for the Lords of Iwari, Mikawa, Totomi, Sugura, Izu, and the Kwanto. It was dated eleven days ago.

  “The Lords of Iwari, Mikawa, Suruga and Totomi have already accepted. Here are their seals. You’re the last but one on my list.
Last is the Lord Toranaga.”

  “Please thank your master and tell him I look forward to greeting him and congratulating him,” Yabu said.

  “Good. I’ll require it in writing. Now would be satisfactory.”

  “This evening, Jozen-san. After the evening meal.”

  “Very well. And now we can go and see the training.”

  “There is none today. All my men are on forced marches,” Yabu said. The moment Jozen and his men had entered Izu, word had been rushed to Yabu, who had at once ordered his men to cease all firing and to continue only silent weapon training well away from Anjiro. “Tomorrow you can come with me—at noon, if you wish.”

  Jozen looked at the sky. It was late afternoon now. “Good. I could use a little sleep. But I’ll come back at dusk, with your permission. Then you and your commander, Omi-san, and the second commander, Naga-san, will tell me, for my Master’s interest, about the training, the guns, and everything. And about the barbarian.”

  “He’s—yes. Of course.” Yabu motioned to Igurashi. “Arrange quarters for our honored guest and his men.”

  “Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” Jozen said at once. “The ground’s futon enough for a samurai, my saddle’s pillow enough. Just a bath, if you please … this humidity, neh? I’ll camp on the crest—of course, with your permission.”

  “As you wish.”

  Jozen bowed stiffly and walked away, surrounded by his men. All were heavily armed. Two bowmen had been left holding their horses.

  Once they were well away, Yabu’s face contorted with rage. “Who betrayed me? Who? Where’s the spy?”

  Equally ashen, Igurashi waved the guards out of earshot. “Yedo, Sire,” he said. “Must be. Security’s perfect here.”

  “Oh ko!” Yabu said, almost rending his clothes. “I’m betrayed. We’re isolated. Izu and the Kwanto are isolated. Ishido’s won. He’s won.”

  Omi said quickly, “Not for twenty days, Sire. Send a message at once to Lord Toranaga. Inform him that—”

  “Fool!” Yabu hissed. “Of course Toranaga already knows. Where I’ve one spy he has fifty. He’s left me in the trap.”