Shōgun

by James Clavell

  So she felt safe from the women. But not from Blackthorne, much as she loved him now. He was not Japanese. He had not been trained from birth to build the inner, impenetrable fences behind which to hide. His face or manner or pride would betray them. She was not afraid for herself. Only for him.

  “At long last I know what love means,” she murmured the first night. And because she no longer fought against love’s onslaught but yielded to its irresistibility, her terror for his safety consumed her. “I love thee, so I’m afraid for thee,” she whispered, holding onto him, using Latin, the language of lovers.

  “I love thee. Oh, how I love thee.”

  “I’ve destroyed thee, my love, by beginning. We’re doomed now. I’ve destroyed thee—that is the truth.”

  “No, Mariko, somehow something will happen to make everything right.”

  “I should never have begun. The fault is mine.”

  “Do not worry, I beg thee. Karma is karma.”

  At length she pretended to be persuaded and melted into his arms. But she was sure he would be his own nemesis. For herself she was not afraid.

  The nights were joyous. Tender and each one better than before. The days were easy for her, difficult for him. He was constantly on guard, determined for her sake not to make a mistake. “There will be no mistake,” she said while they were riding together, safely apart from the rest, now keeping up a pretense of absolute confidence after her lapse of the first night. “Thou art strong. Thou art samurai and there will be no mistake.”

  “And when we get to Yedo?”

  “Let Yedo take care of Yedo. I love thee.”

  “Yes. I love thee too.”

  “Then why so sad?”

  “Not sad, Lady. Just that silence is painful. I wish to shout my love from the mountain tops.”

  They delighted in their privacy and their certainty they were still safe from prying eyes.

  “What will happen to them, Gyoko-san?” Kiku asked softly in their palanquin on the first day of the journey.

  “Disaster, Kiku-san. There’s no hope for their future. He hides it well, but she … ! Her adoration shouts from her face. Look at her! Like a young girl! Oh, how foolish she is!”

  “But oh, how beautiful, neh? How lucky to be so fulfilled, neh?”

  “Yes, but even so I wouldn’t wish their deaths on anyone.”

  “What will Yoshinaka do when he discovers them?” Kiku asked.

  “Perhaps he won’t. I pray he won’t. Men are such fools and so stupid. They can’t see the simplest things about women, thanks be to Buddha, bless his name. Let’s pray they’re not discovered until we’ve gone about our business in Yedo. Let’s pray we’re not held responsible. Oh very yes! And this afternoon when we stop, let’s find the nearest shrine and I’ll light ten incense sticks as a god-favor. By all gods I’ll even endow a temple to all gods with three koku yearly for ten years if we escape and if I get my money.”

  “But they’re so beautiful together, neh? I’ve never seen a woman blossom so.”

  “Yes, but she’ll wither like a broken camellia when she’s accused before Buntaro-san. Their karma is their karma and there’s nothing we can do about them. Or about Lord Toranaga—or even Omi-san. Don’t cry, child.”

  “Poor Omi-san.”

  Omi had overtaken them on the third day. He had stayed at their inn, and after the evening meal he had spoken privately to Kiku, asking her formally to join him for all eternity.

  “Willingly, Omi-san, willingly,” she had answered at once, allowing herself to cry, for she liked him very much. “But my duty to Lord Toranaga who favored me, and to Gyoko-san who formed me, forbids it.”

  “But Lord Toranaga’s forfeited his rights to you. He’s surrendered. He’s finished.”

  “But his contract isn’t, Omi-san, much as I wish it. His contract’s legal and binding. Please excuse me, I must refuse—”

  “Don’t answer now, Kiku-san. Think about it. Please, I beg you. Tomorrow give me your answer,” he said and left her.

  But her tearful answer had been the same. “I can’t be so selfish, Omi-san. Please forgive me. My duty to Lord Toranaga and to Gyokosan—I can’t, much as I’d wish it. Please forgive me.”

  He had argued. More private tears flowed. They had sworn perpetual adoration and then she had sent him away with a promise: “If the contract’s broken, or Lord Toranaga dies and I’m freed, then I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll obey whatever you order.” And so he had left the inn and rode on ahead to Mishima filled with foreboding, and she had dried her tears and repaired her makeup. Gyoko complimented her. “You’re so wise, child. Oh, how I wish the Lady Toda had half your wisdom.”

  Yoshinaka led leisurely from inn to inn along the course of the river Kano as it meandered northward to the sea, falling in with the delays that always seemed to happen, not caring about time. Toranaga had told him privately there was no need to hurry, providing he delivered his charges safely to Yedo by the new moon. “I’d prefer them there later than sooner, Yoshinaka-san. You understand?”

  “Yes, Sire,” he had replied. Now he blessed his guarding kami for giving him the respite. At Mishima with Lord Hiro-matsu—or at Yedo with Lord Toranaga—he would have to make his obligatory report, verbally and in writing. Then he would have to decide whether he should tell what he thought, not what he had been so careful not to see. Eeeeee, he told himself appalled, surely I’m mistaken. The Lady Toda? Her and any man, let alone the barbarian!

  Isn’t it your duty to see? he asked himself. To obtain proof. To catch them behind closed doors, bedded together. You’ll be condemned yourself for collusion if you don’t, neh? It’d be so easy, even though they’re very careful.

  Yes, but only a fool would bring such tidings, he thought. Isn’t it better to play the dullard and pray no one betrays them and so betrays you? Her life’s ended, we’re all doomed, so what does it matter? Turn your eyes away. Leave them to their karma. What does it matter?

  With all his soul, the samurai knew it mattered very much.

  “Ah, good morning, Mariko-san. How beautiful the day is,” Father Alvito said, walking up to them. They were outside the inn, ready to start the day’s journey. He made the sign of the cross over her. “May God bless you and keep you in His hands forever.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “Good morning, Pilot. How are you today?”

  “Good, thank you. And you?”

  Their party and the Jesuits had leapfrogged each other on the march. Sometimes they had stayed at the same inn. Sometimes they journeyed together.

  “Would you like me to ride with you this morning, Pilot? I’d be happy to continue the Japanese lessons, if you’ve a mind.”

  “Thank you. Yes, I’d like that.”

  On the first day, Alvito had offered to try to teach Blackthorne the language.

  “In return for what?” Blackthorne had asked warily.

  “Nothing. It would help me pass the time, and to tell you the truth, at the moment I’m saddened by life and feel old. Also perhaps to apologize for my harsh words.”

  “I expect no apology from you. You’ve your way, I’ve mine. We can never meet.”

  “Perhaps—but on our journey we could share things, neh? We’re travelers on the same road. I’d like to help you.”

  “Why?”

  “Knowledge belongs to God. Not to man. I’d like to help you as a gift—nothing in return.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t trust you.”

  “Then, if you insist, in return tell me about your world, what you’ve seen and where you’ve been. Anything you like, but only what you like. The real truth. Truly, it would fascinate me and it would be a fair exchange. I came to Japan when I was thirteen or fourteen, and I’ve seen nothing of the world. We could even agree to a truce for the journey, if you wish.”

  “But no religion or politics and no Papist doctrines?”

  “I am what I am, Pilot, but I will try.”

  So they began to exc
hange knowledge cautiously. For Blackthorne it seemed an unfair trade. Alvito’s erudition was enormous, he was a masterly teacher, whereas Blackthorne thought he related only things that any pilot would know. “But that’s not true,” Alvito had said. “You’re a unique pilot, you’ve done incredible things. One of half a dozen on earth, neh?”

  Gradually a truce did happen between them and this pleased Mariko.

  “This is friendship, Anjin-san, or the beginning of it,” Mariko said.

  “No. Not friendship. I distrust him as much as ever, as he does me. We’re perpetual enemies. I’ve forgotten nothing, nor has he. This is a respite, temporary, probably for a special purpose he’d never tell if I were to ask. I understand him and there’s no harm, so long as I don’t drop my guard.”

  While he spent time with Alvito, she would ride lazily with Kiku and Gyoko and talk about pillowing and about ways to please men and about the Willow World. In return she told them about her world, sharing what she had witnessed or been part of or learned, about the Dictator Goroda, the Taikō, and even Lord Toranaga, judicious stories about the majestic ones that no commoner would ever know.

  A few leagues south of Mishima the river curled away to the west, to fall placidly to the coast and the large port of Numazu, and they left the ravinelike country and pushed across the flat rice paddy plains along the wide busy road that headed northward. There were many streams and tributaries to ford. Some were shallow. Some were deep and very wide and they had to be poled across in flat barges. Very few were spanned. Usually they were all carried across on the shoulders of porters from the plenty that were always stationed nearby for this special purpose, chattering and bidding for that privilege.

  This was the seventh day from Yokosé. The road forked and here Father Alvito said he had to leave them. He would take the west path, to return to his ship for a day or so, but he would catch them up and join them again on the road from Mishima to Yedo, if that was permitted. “Of course, you’re both welcome to come with me if you wish.”

  “Thank you but, so sorry, there are things I must do in Mishima,” Mariko said.

  “Anjin-san? If Lady Mariko’s going to be busy, you’d be welcome by yourself. Our cook’s very good, the wine’s fair. As God is my judge, you’d be safe, and free to come and go as you wish. Rodrigues is aboard.”

  Mariko saw that Blackthorne wanted to leave her. How can he? she asked herself with a great sadness. How can he want to leave me when time is so short? “Please go, Anjin-san,” she said. “It would be nice for you—and good to see the Rodrigues, neh?”

  But Blackthorne did not go, much as he wanted to. He didn’t trust the priest. Not even for Rodrigues would he put his head in that trap. He thanked Alvito and they watched him ride away.

  “Let’s stop now, Anjin-san,” Mariko said, even though it was barely noon. “There’s no hurry, neh?”

  “Excellent. Yes, I’d like that.”

  “The Father’s a good man but I’m glad he’s gone.”

  “So am I. But he’s not a good man. He’s a priest.”

  She was taken aback by his vehemence. “Oh, so sorry, Anjin-san, please excuse me for say—”

  “It’s not important, Mariko-chan. I told you—nothing’s forgotten. He’ll always be after my hide.” Blackthorne went to find Captain Yoshinaka.

  Troubled, she looked down the western fork.

  The horses of Father Alvito’s party moved through the other travelers unhurriedly. Some passersby bowed to the small cortege, some knelt in humility, many were curious, many hard-faced. But all moved politely out of the way. Except even the lowest samurai. When Father Alvito met a samurai he moved to the left or to the right and his acolytes followed him.

  He was glad to be leaving Mariko and Blackthorne, glad of the break. He had urgent dispatches to send to the Father-Visitor that he had been unable to send because his carrier pigeons had been destroyed in Yokosé. There were so many problems to solve: Toranaga, Uo the fisherman, Mariko, and the pirate. And Joseph, who continued to dog his footsteps.

  “What’s he doing there, Captain Yoshinaka?” he had blurted out the first day, when he noticed Joseph among the guards, wearing a military kimono and, awkwardly, swords.

  “Lord Toranaga ordered me to take him to Mishima, Tsukku-san. There I’m to turn him over to Lord Hiro-matsu. Oh, so sorry, does the sight of him offend you?”

  “No—no,” he had said unconvincingly.

  “Ah, you’re looking at his swords? There’s no need to worry. They’re only hilts, they’ve no blades. It’s Lord Toranaga’s orders. Seems as the man was ordered into your Order so young it’s not clear if he should have real swords or not, much as he’s entitled to wear them, much as he wants them. Seems he joined your Order as a child, Tsukku-san. Even so, of course we can’t have a samurai without swords, neh? Uraga-noh-Tadamasa’s certainly samurai though he’s been a barbarian priest for twenty years. Our Master’s wisely made this compromise.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “I’m to hand him over to Lord Hiro-matsu. Maybe he’ll be sent back to his uncle for judgment, maybe he’ll stay with us. I only obey orders, Tsukku-san.”

  Father Alvito went to speak with Joseph but Yoshinaka had stopped him politely. “So sorry, but my Master also ordered him kept to himself. Away from everyone. Particularly Christians. Until Lord Harima gives a judgment, my Master said. Uraga-san’s Lord Harima’s vassal, neh? Lord Harima’s Christian too. Neh? Lord Toranaga says a Christian daimyo should deal with the Christian renegade. After all, Lord Harima’s his uncle and leader of the house and it was he who ordered him into your keeping in the first place.”

  Though it was forbidden, Alvito had tried again that night to talk to Joseph privately, to beg him to withdraw his sacrilege and kneel in penance to the Father-Visitor, but the youth had coldly walked away, without listening, and after that, Joseph was always sent far ahead.

  Somehow, Holy Madonna, we’ve got to bring him back to the mercy of God, Alvito thought in anguish. What can I do? Perhaps the Father-Visitor will know how to handle Joseph. Yes, and he’ll know what to do about Toranaga’s incredible decision to submit, which in their secret conferences they had discarded as an impossibility. “No—that’s totally against Toranaga’s character,” dell’Aqua had said. “He’ll go to war. When the rains cease, perhaps before, if he can get Zataki to recant and betray Ishido. My forecast is he’ll wait as long as he can and try to force Ishido to make the first move—his usual waiting game. Whatever happens, so long as Kiyama and Onoshi support Ishido and Osaka, the Kwanto will be overrun and Toranaga destroyed.”

  “And Kiyama and Onoshi? They’ll keep their enmity buried, for the common good?”

  “Yes. They’re totally convinced a Toranaga victory would be the Holy Church’s death knell. Now that Harima will side with Ishido, I’m afraid Toranaga’s a broken dream.”

  Civil war again, Alvito thought. Brother against brother, father against son, village against village. Anjiro ready to revolt, armed with stolen muskets, so Uo the fisherman had whispered. And the other frightening news: a secret Musket Regiment almost ready! A modern, European-style cavalry unit of more than two thousand muskets, adapted to Japanese warfare. Oh, Madonna, protect the faithful and curse that heretic….

  Such a pity Blackthorne is twisted and mind-deformed. He could be such a valuable ally. I never would have thought that but it’s true. He’s incredibly wise in the ways of the sea and the world. Brave and cunning, honest within his heresy, straight and guileless. Never needs to be told something twice, his memory astonishing. He’s taught me so much about the world. And about himself. Is that wrong, Alvito wondered sadly as he turned to wave at Mariko a last time. Is it wrong to learn about your enemy, and in return, to teach? No. Is it wrong to turn a blind eye to mortal sin?

  Three days out from Yokosé, Brother Michael’s observation had shattered him.

  “You believe they’re lovers?”

  “What is God but l
ove? Isn’t that the Lord Jesus’ word?” Michael had replied. “I only mentioned I saw their eyes touching each other and that it was so beautiful to see. About their bodies I don’t know, Father, and in truth I don’t care. Their souls touch and I seem to be more aware of God because of it.”

  “You must be mistaken about them. She’d never do that! It’s against her whole heritage, against her law and the law of God. She’s a devout Christian. She knows adultery’s a hideous sin.”

  “Yes, that is what we teach. But her marriage was Shinto, not consecrated before the Lord our God, so is it adultery?”

  “Do you also question the Word? Are you infected by Joseph’s heresy?”

  “No, Father, please excuse me, never the Word. Only what man has made of it.”

  From then on he had watched more closely. Clearly the man and woman liked each other greatly. Why shouldn’t they? Nothing wrong in that! Constantly thrown together, each learning from the other, the woman ordered to put away her religion, the man having none, or only a patina of the Lutheran heresy as dell’Aqua had said was true of all Englishmen. Both strong, vital people, however ill-matched.

  At confession she said nothing. He did not press her. Her eyes told him nothing and everything, but never was there anything real to judge. He could hear himself explaining to dell’Aqua, ‘Michael must have been mistaken, Eminence.’

  ‘But did she commit adultery? Was there any proof?’

  ‘Thankfully, no proof.’

  Alvito reined in and turned back momentarily. He saw her standing on the slight rise, the Pilot talking to Yoshinaka, the old madam and her painted whore lying in their palanquin. He was tormented by the fanatic zeal welling up inside him. For the first time he dared to ask, Have you whored with the Pilot, Mariko-san? Has the heretic damned your soul for all eternity? You, who were chosen in life to be a nun and probably our first native abbess? Are you living in foul sin, unconfessed, desecrated, hiding your sacrilege from your confessor, and thus are you too befouled before God?