Shōgun

by James Clavell

  He saw her wave. This time he did not acknowledge it but turned his back, jabbed his spurs into his horse’s flanks, and hurried away.

  That night their sleep was disturbed.

  “What is it, my love?”

  “Nothing, Mariko-chan. Go back to sleep.”

  But she did not. Nor did he. Long before she had to, she slipped back into her own room, and he got up and sat in the courtyard studying the dictionary under candlelight until dawn. When the sun came and the day warmed, their night cares vanished and they continued their journey peacefully. Soon they reached the great trunk road, the Tokaidō, just east of Mishima, and travelers became more numerous. The vast majority were, as always, on foot, their belongings on their backs. There were a few pack horses on the road and no carriages at all.

  “Oh, carriage—that’s something with wheels, neh? They’re of no use in Japan, Anjin-san. Our roads are too steep and always crisscrossed with rivers and streams. Wheels would also ruin the surface of the roads, so they are forbidden to everyone except the Emperor, and he travels only a few cermonial ri in Kyoto on a special road. We don’t need wheels. How can you carry vehicles over a river or stream—and there are too many, far too many to bridge. There are perhaps sixty streams to cross between here and Yedo, Anjin-san. How many have we already had to cross? Dozens, neh? No, we all walk or ride horseback. Of course horses and palanquins particularly are allowed only for important persons, daimyos and samurai, and not even all samurai.”

  “What? Even if you can afford one you can’t hire one?”

  “Not unless you’ve the correct rank, Anjin-san. That’s very wise, don’t you think? Doctors and the very old can travel by horse or palanquin, or the very sick, if they get permission in writing from their liege lord. Palanquins or horses wouldn’t be right for peasants and commoners, Anjin-san. That could teach them lazy habits, neh? It’s much more healthy for them to walk.”

  “Also it keeps them in their place. Neh?”

  “Oh, yes. But that all makes for peace and orderliness and wa. Only merchants have money to waste, and what are they but parasites who create nothing, grow nothing, make nothing but feed off another’s labor? Definitely they should all walk, neh? In this we are very wise.”

  “I’ve never seen so many people on the move,” Blackthorne said.

  “Oh, this is nothing. Wait till we get nearer Yedo. We adore to travel, Anjin-san, but rarely alone. We like to travel in groups.”

  But the crowds did not inhibit their progress. The Toranaga cipher that their standards carried, Toda Mariko’s personal rank, and the brusque efficiency of Akira Yoshinaka and the runners he sent ahead to proclaim who followed, ensured the best private rooms every night at the best inn, and an uninterrupted passage. All other travelers and samurai quickly stood aside and bowed very low, waiting until they had passed.

  “Do they all have to stop and kneel like that to everyone?”

  “Oh, no, Anjin-san. Only to daimyos and important persons. And to most samurai—yes, that would be a very wise practice for any commoner. It’s polite to do so, Anjin-san, and necessary, neh? Unless the common people respect the samurai and themselves, how can the law be upheld and the realm be governed? Then too, it’s the same for everyone. We stopped and bowed and allowed the Imperial messenger to pass, didn’t we? Everyone must be polite, neh? Lesser daimyos have to dismount and bow to more important ones. Ritual governs our lives, but the realm is obedient.”

  “Say two daimyos are equal and they meet?”

  “Then both would dismount and bow equally and go their separate ways.”

  “Say Lord Toranaga and General Ishido met?” Mariko turned smoothly to Latin. “Who are they, Anjin-san? Those names I know not, not today, not between thee and me.”

  “Thou art correct. Please excuse me.”

  “Listen, my love, let us make a promise that if the Madonna smiles on us and we escape from Mishima, only at Yedo, at First Bridge, only when it is completely forced upon us let us leave our private world. Please?”

  “What special danger’s in Mishima?”

  “There our Captain must submit a report to the Lord Hiro-matsu. There I must see him also. He is a wise man, very vigilant. It would be easy for us to be betrayed.”

  “We have been cautious. Let us petition God that thy fears are without merit.”

  “For myself I am not concerned—only for thee.”

  “And I for thee.”

  “Then do we promise, one to another, to stay within our private world?”

  “Yes. Let us pretend it is the real world—our only world.”

  “There’s Mishima, Anjin-san.” Mariko pointed across the last stream.

  The sprawling castle city which housed nearly sixty thousand people was mostly obscured by morning’s low-lying mist. Only a few house tops and the stone castle were discernible. Beyond were mountains that ran down to the western sea. Far to the northwest was the glory of Mount Fuji. North and east the mountain range encroached on the sky. “What now?”

  “Now Yoshinaka’s been asked to find the liveliest inn within ten ri. We’ll stay there two days. It will take me at least that to complete my business. Gyoko and Kiku-san will be leaving us for that time.”

  “Then?”

  “Then we go on. What does your weather sense tell you about Mishima?”

  “That it’s friendly and safe,” he replied. “After Mishima, what then?”

  She pointed northeast, unconvinced. “Then we’ll go that way. There’s a pass that curls up through the mountains toward Hakoné. It’s the most grueling part of the whole Tokaidō Road. After that the road falls away to the city of Odawara, which is much bigger than Mishima, Anjin-san. It’s on the coast. From there to Yedo is only a matter of time.”

  “How much time?”

  “Not enough.”

  “You’re wrong, my love, so sorry,” he said. “There’s all the time in the world.”

  CHAPTER 46

  General Toda Hiro-matsu accepted the private dispatch that Mariko offered. He broke Toranaga’s seals. The scroll told briefly what had happened at Yokosé, confirmed Toranaga’s decision to submit, ordered Hiro-matsu to hold the frontier and the passes to the Kwanto against any intruder until he arrived (but to expedite any messenger from Ishido or from the east) and gave instructions about the renegade Christian and about the Anjin-san. Wearily the old soldier read the message a second time. “Now tell me everything you saw at Yokosé, or heard, affecting Lord Toranaga.”

  Mariko obeyed.

  “Now tell me what you think happened.”

  Again she obeyed.

  “What occurred at the cha-no-yu between you and my son?”

  She told him everything, exactly as it happened.

  “My son said our Master would lose? Before the second meeting with Lord Zataki?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Oh, yes, Sire.”

  There was a long silence in the room high up in the castle donjon that dominated the city. Hiro-matsu got to his feet and went to the arrow embrasure in the thick stone wall, his back and joints aching, his sword loose in his hands. “I don’t understand.”

  “Sire?”

  “Neither my son, nor our Master. We can smash through any armies Ishido puts into the field. And as to the decision to submit….”

  She toyed with her fan, watching the evening sky, star-filled and pleasing.

  Hiro-matsu studied her. “You’re looking very well, Mariko-san, younger than ever. What’s your secret?”

  “I haven’t one, Sire,” she replied, her throat suddenly dry. She waited for her world to shatter but the moment passed and the old man turned his shrewd eyes back to the city below.

  “Now tell me what happened since you left Osaka. Everything you saw or heard or were part of,” he said.

  It was far into the night by the time she had finished. She related everything clearly, except the extent of her intimacy with the Anjin-san. Ev
en here she was careful not to hide her liking for him, her respect for his intelligence and bravery. Or Toranaga’s admiration for his value.

  For a while Hiro-matsu continued to wander up and down, the movement easing his pain. Everything dovetailed with Yoshinaka’s report and Omi’s report—and even Zataki’s tirade before that daimyo had stormed off to Shinano. Now he understood many things that had been unclear and had enough information to make a calculated decision. Some of what she related disgusted him. Some made him hate his son even more; he could understand his son’s motives, but that made no difference. The rest of what she said forced him to resent the barbarian and sometimes to admire him. “You saw him pull our Lord to safety?”

  “Yes. Lord Toranaga would be dead now, Sire, but for him. I’m quite certain. Three times he has saved our Master: escaping from Osaka Castle, aboard the galley in Osaka harbor, and absolutely at the earthquake. I saw the swords Omi-san had dug up. They were twisted like noodle dough and just as useless.”

  “You think the Anjin-san really meant to commit seppuku?”

  “Yes. By the Lord God of the Christians, I believe he made that commitment. Only Omi-san prevented it. And, Sire, I believe totally he’s worthy to be samurai, worthy to be hatamoto.”

  “I didn’t ask for that opinion.”

  “Please excuse me, Sire, truly you didn’t. But that question was still in the front of your mind.”

  “You’ve become a thought reader as well as barbarian trainer?”

  “Oh, no, please excuse me, Sire, of course not,” she said in her nicest voice. “I merely answer the leader of my clan to the best of my very poor ability. Our Master’s interests are first in my mind. Your interests are second only to his.”

  “Are they?”

  “Please excuse me, but that shouldn’t be necessary to ask. Command me, Sire. I’ll do your bidding.”

  “Why so proud, Mariko-san?” he asked testily. “And so right? Eh?”

  “Please excuse me, Sire. I was rude. I don’t deserve such—”

  “I know! No woman does!” Hiro-matsu laughed. “But even so, there are times when we need a woman’s cold, cruel, vicious, cunning, practical wisdom. They’re so much cleverer than we are, neh?”

  “Oh, no, Sire,” she said, wondering what was really in his mind.

  “It’s just as well we’re alone. If that was repeated in public they’d say old Iron Fist’s overripe, that it’s time for him to put down his sword, shave his head, and begin to say prayers to Buddha for the souls of the men he’s sent into the Void. And they’d be right.”

  “No, Sire. It’s as the Lord, your son, said. Until our Master’s fate is set, you may not retreat. Neither you, nor the Lord my husband. Nor I.”

  “Yes. Even so, I’d be very pleased to lay down my sword and seek the peace of Buddha for myself and those I have killed.”

  He stared at the night for a time, feeling his age, then looked at her. She was pleasing to see, more than any woman he had ever known.

  “Sire?”

  “Nothing, Mariko-san. I was remembering the first time I saw you.”

  That was when Hiro-matsu had secretly mortgaged his soul to Goroda to obtain this slip of a girl for his own son, the same son who had slaughtered his own mother, the one woman Hiro-matsu had ever really adored. Why did I get Mariko for him? Because I wanted to spite the Taikō, who desired her also. To spite a rival, nothing more.

  Was my consort truly unfaithful? the old man asked himself, reopening the perpetual sore. Oh gods, when I look you in the face I’ll demand an answer to that question. I want a yes or no! I demand the truth! I think it’s a lie, but Buntaro said she was alone with that man in the room, disheveled, her kimono loose, and it was months before I returned. It could be a lie, neh? Or the truth, neh? It must be the truth—surely no son would behead his own mother without being sure?

  Mariko was observing the lines of Hiro-matsu’s face, his skin stretched and scaled with age, and the ancient muscular strength of his arms and shoulders. What are you thinking? she wondered, liking him. Have you seen through me yet? Do you know about me and the Anjin-san now? Do you know I quiver with love for him? That when I have to choose between him and thee and Toranaga, I will choose him?

  Hiro-matsu stood near the embrasure looking down at the city below, his fingers kneading the scabbard and the haft of his sword, oblivious of her. He was brooding about Toranaga and what Zataki had said a few days ago in bitter disgust, disgust that he had shared.

  “Yes, of course I want to conquer the Kwanto and plant my standard on the walls of Yedo Castle now and make it my own. I never did before but now I do,” Zataki had told him. “But this way? There’s no honor in it! No honor for my brother or you or me! Or anyone! Except Ishido, and that peasant doesn’t know any better.”

  “Then support Lord Toranaga! With your help Tora—”

  “For what? So my brother can become Shōgun and stamp out the Heir?”

  “He’s said a hundred times he supports the Heir. I believe he does. And we’d have a Minowara to lead us, not an upstart peasant and the hellcat Ochiba, neh? Those incompetents will have eight years of rule before Yaemon’s of age if Lord Toranaga dies. Why not give Lord Toranaga the eight years—he’s Minowara! He’s said a thousand times he’ll hand over power to Yaemon. Is your brain in your arse? Toranaga’s not Yaemon’s enemy or yours!”

  “No Minowara would kneel to that peasant! He’s pissed on his honor and all of ours. Yours and mine!”

  They had argued, and cursed each other, and in privacy, had almost come to blows. “Go on,” he had taunted Zataki, “draw your sword, traitor! You’re traitor to your brother who’s head of your clan!”

  “I’m head of my own clan. We share the same mother, but not father. Toranaga’s father sent my mother away in disgrace. I’ll not help Toranaga—but if he abdicates and slits his belly I’ll support Sudara….”

  There’s no need to do that, Hiro-matsu told the night, still enraged. There’s no need to do that while I’m alive, or meekly to submit. I’m General-in-Chief. It’s my duty to protect my Master’s honor and house, even from himself. So now I decide:

  Listen, Sire, please excuse me, but this time I disobey. With pride. This time I betray you. Now I’m going to co-opt your son and heir, the Lord Sudara, and his wife, the Lady Genjiko, and together we’ll order Crimson Sky when the rains cease, and then war begins. And until the last man in the Kwanto dies, facing the enemy, I’ll hold you safe in Yedo Castle, whatever you say, whatever the cost.

  Gyoko was delighted to be home again in Mishima among her girls and ledgers and bills of lading, her debts receivable, mortgage deeds, and promissory notes.

  “You’ve done quite well,” she told her chief accountant.

  The wizened little man bobbed a thank you and hobbled away. Balefully she turned to her chief cook. “Thirteen silver chogin, two hundred copper momne for one week’s food?”

  “Oh, please excuse me, Mistress, but rumors of war have sent prices soaring to the sky,” the fat man said truculently. “Everything. Fish and rice and vegetables—even soya sauce has doubled since last month and saké’s worse. Work work work in that hot, airless kitchen that must certainly be improved. Expensive! Ha! In one week I’ve served one hundred and seventy-two guests, fed ten courtesans, eleven hungry apprentice courtesans, four cooks, sixteen maids, and fourteen men servants! Please excuse me, Mistress, so sorry, but my grandmother’s very sick so I must ask for ten days’ leave to …”

  Gyoko rent her hair just enough to make her point but not enough to mar her appearance and sent him away saying she was ruined, ruined, that she’d have to close the most famous Tea House in Mishima without such a perfect head cook and that it would all be his fault—his fault that she’d have to cast all her devoted girls and faithful but unfortunate retainers into the snow. “Don’t forget winter’s coming,” she wailed as a parting shot.

  Then contentedly alone, she added up the profits against the losses and
the profits were twice what she expected. Her saké tasted better than ever and if food prices were up, so was the cost of saké At once she wrote to her son in Odawara, the site of their saké factory, telling him to double their output. Then she sorted out the inevitable quarrels of the maids, sacked three, hired four more, sent for her courtesan broker, and bid heavily for the contracts of seven more courtesans she admired.

  “And when would you like the honored ladies to arrive, Gyoko-san?” the old woman simpered, her own commission considerable.

  “At once. At once. Go on, run along.”

  Next she summoned her carpenter and settled plans for the extension of this tea house, for the extra rooms for the extra ladies.

  “At long last the site on Sixth Street’s up for sale, Mistress. Do you want me to close on that now?”

  For months she had been waiting for that particular corner location. But now she shook her head and sent him away with instructions to option four hectares of wasteland on the hill, north of the city. “But don’t do it all yourself. Use intermediaries. Don’t be greedy. And I don’t want it aired that you’re buying for me.”

  “But four hectares? That’s—”

  “At least four, perhaps five, over the next five months. But options only—understand? They’re all to be put in these names.”

  She handed him the list of safe appointees and hurried him off, in her mind’s eye seeing the walled city within a city already thriving. She chortled with glee.

  Next every courtesan was sent for and complimented or chided or howled at or wept with. Some were promoted, some degraded, pillow prices increased or decreased. Then, in the midst of everything, Omi was announced.

  “So sorry, but Kiku-san’s not well,” she told him. “Nothing serious! It’s just the change of weather, poor child.”