Shōgun

by James Clavell

  Sumiyori nodded. “Yes, that’s what I think.”

  “He wouldn’t dare.”

  “He’ll dare. He’ll ambush us or delay us. I can’t see him letting her go, or Lady Kiritsubo, or Lady Sazuko or the babe. Even old Lady Etsu and the others.”

  “No, you’re wrong.”

  Sumiyori shook his head sadly. “I think it would’ve been better if she’d cut deep and you’d struck. This way nothing’s resolved.”

  Yabu picked up his swords and stuck them in his belt. Yes, he was thinking, I agree with you. Nothing’s resolved and she failed in her duty. You know it, I know it, and so does Ishido. Disgraceful! If she’d cut, then we would have all lived forever. As it is now … she came back from the brink and dishonored us and dishonored herself. Shigata ga hai, neh? Stupid woman!

  But to Sumiyori he said, “I think you’re wrong. She conquered Ishido. Lady Toda won. Ishido won’t dare to ambush us. Go to sleep, I’ll wake you at dawn.”

  Again Sumiyori shook his head. “No, thank you, Yabu-san, I think I’ll go the rounds again.” He went to a window and peered out. “Something’s not right.”

  “Everything’s fine. Get some—wait a moment! What was that? Did you hear something?”

  Yabu came up to Sumiyori and pretended to search the darkness, listening intently, and then, without warning, he whipped out his short sword and with the same flashing, spontaneous movement, buried the blade into Sumiyori’s back, clapping his other hand over the man’s mouth to stop the shriek. The captain died instantly. Yabu held him carefully at arm’s length with immense strength so that none of the blood stained him, and carried the body over to the futons, arranging it in a sleeping position. Then he pulled out his sword and began to clean it, furious that Sumiyori’s intuition had forced the unplanned killing. Even so, Yabu thought, I can’t have him prowling around now.

  Earlier, when Yabu was returning from Ishido’s office with their safe conduct pass, he had been waylaid privately by a samurai he had never seen before.

  “Your co-operation’s invited, Yabu-san.”

  “To what and by whom?”

  “By someone you made an offer to yesterday.”

  “What offer?”

  “In return for safe conducts for you and the Anjin-san, you’d see she was disarmed during the ambush on your journey…. Please don’t touch your sword, Yabu-san, there are four archers waiting for an invitation!”

  “How dare you challenge me? What ambush?” he had bluffed, feeling weak at the knees, for there was no doubt now that the man was Ishido’s intermediary. Yesterday afternoon he had made the secret offer through his own intermediaries, in a desperate attempt to salvage something from the wreckage Mariko had caused to his plans for the Black Ship and the future. At the time he had known that it was a wild idea. It would have been difficult, if not impossible, to disarm her and stay alive, therefore fraught with danger to both sides, and when Ishido, through intermediaries, had turned it down he was not surprised.

  “I know nothing of any ambush,” he had blustered, wishing that Yuriko were there to help him out of the morass.

  “Even so, you’re invited to one, though not the way you planned it.”

  “Who are you?”

  “In return you get Izu, the barbarian and his ship—the moment the chief enemy’s head is in the dust. Providing, of course, she’s captured alive and you stay in Osaka until the day and swear allegiance.”

  “Whose head?” Yabu had said, trying to get his brain working, realizing only now that Ishido had used the request for him to fetch the safe conducts merely as a ruse so the secret offer could be made safely and negotiated.

  “Is it yes or no?” the samurai asked.

  “Who are you and what are you talking about?” He had held up the scroll. “Here’s Lord Ishido’s safe conduct. Not even the Lord General can cancel these after what’s happened.”

  “That’s what many say. But, so sorry, bullocks will shit gold dust before you or any are allowed to insult the Lord Yaemon…. Please take your hand away from your sword!”

  “Then watch your tongue!”

  “Of course, so sorry. You agree?”

  “I’m overlord of Izu now, and promised Totomi and Suruga,” Yabu had said, beginning to bargain. He knew that though he was trapped, as Mariko was trapped, so equally was Ishido trapped, because the dilemma Mariko had precipitated still existed.

  “Yes, so you are,” the samurai had said. “But I’m not permitted to negotiate. Those are the terms. Is it yes or no? …”

  Yabu finished cleaning his sword and arranged the sheet over the seemingly sleeping figure of Sumiyori. Then he toweled the sweat off his face and hands, composed his rage, blew out the candle, and opened the door. The two Browns were waiting some paces down the corridor. They bowed.

  “I’ll wake you at dawn, Sumiyori-san,” Yabu said to the darkness. Then, to one of the samurai, “You stand guard here. No one’s to go in. No one! Make sure the captain’s not disturbed—he needs rest.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  The samurai took up his new post and Yabu strode off down the corridor with the other guard, went up a flight of steps to the main central section of this floor and crossed it, heading for the audience room and inner apartments that were in the east wing. Soon he came to the cul-de-sac corridor of the audience room. Guards bowed and allowed him to enter. Other samurai opened the door to the corridor and complex of private quarters. He knocked at a door.

  “Anjin-san?” he said quietly.

  There was no answer. He pulled the shoji open. The room was empty, the inner shoji ajar. He frowned, then motioned to his accompanying guard to wait, and hurried across the room into the dimly lit inner corridor. Chimmoko intercepted him, a knife in her hand. Her rumpled bed was in this passageway outside one of the rooms.

  “Oh, so sorry, Sire, I was dozing,” she said apologetically, lowering her knife. But she did not move out of his path.

  “I was looking for the Anjin-san.”

  “He and my Mistress are talking, Sire, with Kiritsubo-san and the Lady Achiko.”

  “Please ask him if I could see him a moment.”

  “Certainly, Sire.” Chimmoko politely motioned Yabu back into the other room, waited until he was there, and pulled the inner shoji closed. The guard in the main corridor watched inquisitively.

  In a moment the shoji opened again and Blackthorne came in. He was dressed and wore a short sword.

  “Good evening, Yabu-san,” he said.

  “So sorry to disturb you, Anjin-san. I just want see—make sure all right, understand?”

  “Yes, thank you. No worry.”

  “Lady Toda all right? Not sick?”

  “Fine now. Very tired but fine. Soon dawn, neh?”

  Yabu nodded. “Yes. Just want make sure all right. Understand?”

  “Yes. This afternoon you say ‘plan,’ Yabu-san. Remember? Please what secret plan?”

  “No secret, Anjin-san,” Yabu said, regretting that he had been so open at that time. “You misunderstood. Say only must have plan … very difficult escape Osaka, neh? Must escape or …” Yabu drew a knife across his throat. “Understand?”

  “Yes. But now have pass, neh? Now safe go out Osaka. Neh?”

  “Yes. Soon leave. On boat very good. Soon get men at Nagasaki. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Very friendly, Yabu went away. Blackthorne closed the door after him and walked back to the inner passageway, leaving his inner door ajar. He passed Chimmoko and went into the other room. Mariko was propped in futons, appearing more diminutive than ever, more delicate and more beautiful. Kiri was kneeling on a cushion. Achiko was curled up asleep to one side.

  “What did he want, Anjin-san?” Mariko said.

  “Just to see we were all right.”

  Mariko translated for Kiri.

  “Kiri says, did you ask him about the ‘plan’?”

  “Yes. But he shrugged the question off. Perhaps he changed his mind. I
don’t know. Perhaps I was mistaken but I thought this afternoon he had something planned, or was planning something.”

  “To betray us?”

  “Of course. But I don’t know how.”

  Mariko smiled at him. “Perhaps you were mistaken. We’re safe now.”

  The young girl, Achiko, mumbled in her sleep and they glanced at her. She had asked to stay with Mariko, as had old Lady Etsu, who was sleeping soundly in an adjoining room. The other ladies had left at sunset to go to their own homes. All had sent formal requests for permission to depart at once. With the failing light, rumors had rushed through the castle that nearly one hundred and five would also apply tomorrow. Kiyama had sent for Achiko, his granddaughter-in-law, but she refused to leave Mariko. At once the daimyo had disowned her and demanded possession of the child. She had given up her child. Now the girl was in the midst of a nightmare but it passed and she slept peacefully again.

  Mariko looked at Blackthorne. “It’s so wonderful to be at peace, neh?”

  “Yes,” he said. Since she had awakened and found herself alive and not dead, her spirit had clung to his. For the first hour they had been alone, she lying in his arms.

  “I’m so glad thou art alive, Mariko. I saw thee dead.”

  “I thought I was. I still cannot believe Ishido gave in. Never in twenty lifetimes…. Oh, how I love thy arms about me, and thy strength.”

  “I was thinking that this afternoon from the first moment of Yoshinaka’s challenge I saw nothing but death—yours, mine, everyone’s. I saw into your plan, so long in the making, neh?”

  “Yes. Since the day of the earthquake, Anjin-san. Please forgive me but I didn’t—I didn’t want to frighten you. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand. Yes, from that day I knew it was my karma to bring the hostages out of Osaka. Only I could do that for Lord Toranaga. And now it’s done. But at what a cost, neh? Madonna forgive me.”

  Then Kiri had arrived and they had had to sit apart but that had not mattered to either of them. A smile or a look or word was enough.

  Kiri went over to the slit windows. Out to sea were flecks of light from the inshore fishing boats. “Dawn soon,” she said.

  “Yes,” Mariko said. “I’ll get up now.”

  “Soon. Not yet, Mariko-sama,” Kiri told her. “Please rest. You need to gather your strength.”

  “I wish Lord Toranaga was here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you prepared another message about … about our leaving?”

  “Yes, Mariko-sama, another pigeon will leave with the dawn. Lord Toranaga will hear of your victory today,” Kiri said. “He’ll be so proud of you.”

  “I’m so glad he was right.”

  “Yes,” Kiri said. “Please forgive me for doubting you and doubting him.”

  “In my secret heart I doubted him too. So sorry.”

  Kiri turned back to the window and looked out over the city. Toranaga’s wrong, she wanted to shriek. We’ll never leave Osaka, however much we pretend. It’s our karma to stay—his karma to lose.

  In the west wing Yabu stopped at the guardroom. The replacement sentries were ready. “I’m going to make a snap inspection.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “The rest of you wait for me here. You, come with me.”

  He went down the main staircase followed by a single guard. At the foot of the staircase in the main foyer were other guards, and outside was the forecourt and garden. A cursory look showed all in order. Then he came back into the fortress, and after a moment, changed direction. To his guard’s surprise, he went down the steps into the servants’ quarters. The servants dragged themselves out of sleep, hastily putting their heads onto the flagstones. Yabu hardly noticed them. He led the way deeper into the bowels of the fortress, down steps, along little-used arched corridors, the stone sides damp now and mildewed, though well lit. There were no guards here in the cellars for there was nothing to protect. Soon they began to climb again, nearing the outer walls.

  Yabu halted suddenly. “What was that?”

  The Brown samurai stopped, and listened, and died. Yabu cleaned his sword and pulled the crumpled body into a dark corner, then rushed for a hardly noticed, heavily barred, small iron door set into one of the walls that Ishido’s intermediary had told him about. He fought back the rusted bolts. The last one clanged free. The door swung open. A draught of cool air from outside, then a spear stabbed for his throat and stopped just in time. Yabu didn’t move, almost paralyzed. Ninja stared back at him from the inky darkness beyond the door, weapons poised.

  Yabu held up a shaky hand and made a sign as he had been told to do. “I’m Kasigi Yabu,” he said.

  The black-garbed, hooded, almost invisible leader nodded but kept the spear ready for the lunge. He motioned to Yabu. Yabu obediently backed off a pace. Then, very warily, the leader walked into the center of the corridor. He was tall and heavyset, with wide flat eyes behind his mask. He saw the dead Brown and with a flick of his wrist he sent his spear flashing into the corpse, then retrieved it with the light chain attached to the end. Silently he re-coiled the chain, waiting, listening intently for any danger.

  At length satisfied, he motioned at the darkness. Instantly twenty men poured out and rushed for the flight of steps, the long-forgotten back way to the floors above. These men carried assault tools. They were armed with chain knives, swords, and shuriken. And in the center of their black hoods was a red spot.

  The leader did not watch them go, but kept his eyes on Yabu and began a slow finger count with his left hand. “One … two … three …” Yabu felt many men watching him from the passage beyond the door. He could see no one.

  Now the red-spot attackers were going up the stairs two at a time, and at the top of this flight they stopped. A door barred their path. They waited a moment then cautiously tried to open it. It was stuck. A man with an assault tool, a short steel bar, hooked at one end and chiseled at the other, came forward and jimmied it open. Beyond was another mildewed passage and they hurried along it silently. At the next corner they stopped. The first man peered around, then beckoned the others into another corridor. At the far end a sliver of light shone through a spyhole in the heavy wooden paneling that covered this secret door. He put an eye to it. He could see the breadth of the audience chamber, two Browns and two Grays wearily on sentry duty, guarding the door to the complex of quarters. He looked around, nodded to the others. One of the men was still counting with his fingers, timed to the leader’s count two floors below. All their eyes went to the count.

  Below in the cellar, the leader’s fingers still continued in tempo, ticking off the moments, his eyes never wavering from Yabu. Yabu was watching and waiting, the smell of his own fear-sweat dank in his nostrils. The fingers stopped and the leader’s fist closed up sharply. He pointed down the corridor. Yabu nodded and turned and went back the way he had come, walking slowly. Behind him the inexorable count began again. “One … two … three …”

  Yabu knew the terrible risk he was taking but he had had no alternative and he cursed Mariko once more for forcing him onto Ishido’s side. Part of his bargain was that he had to open this secret door.

  “What’s behind the door?” he had asked supiciously.

  “Friends. This is the sign and the password is to say your name.”

  “Then they kill me, neh?”

  “No. You’re too valuable, Yabu-san. You’ve got to make sure the infiltration is covered….”

  He had agreed but he had never bargained for ninja, the hated and feared semilegendary mercenaries who owed allegiance only to their secret, closely knit family units, who handed down their secrets only to blood kin—how to swim vast distances under water and scale almost smooth walls, how to make themselves invisible and stand for a day and a night without moving, and how to kill with their hands or feet or any and all weapons including poison, fire, and explosives. To ninja, violent death for pay was their only purpose in life.

  Yabu managed to keep his pace measur
ed as he walked away from the ninja leader along the corridor, his chest still hurting from the shock that the attack force was ninja and not ronin. Ishido must be mad, he told himself, all his senses teetering, expecting a spear or arrow or garrote any moment. Now he was almost at the corner. Then he turned it and, safe once more, he took to his heels and bounded up the stairs, three at a time. At the top, he raced down the arched corridor, then turned the corner heading toward the servants’ quarters.

  The leader’s fingers still ticked off the moments, then the count stopped. He made a more urgent sign to the darkness, and rushed after Yabu. Twenty ninja followed him from the darkness and another fifteen took up defensive positions at both ends of the corridor to guard this escape route that led through a maze of forgotten cellars and passages honeycombing the castle to one of Ishido’s secret bolt holes under the moat, thence to the city.

  Yabu was running fast now and he stumbled in the passageway, just managing to keep his footing, and burst through the servants’ quarters, scattering pots and pans and gourds and casks.

  “Ninjaaaaaa!” he bellowed, which was not part of his agreement, but his own ruse to protect himself should he be betrayed. Hysterically the men and women scattered and took up the shout and tried to vanish under benches and tables as he raced across and out the other side, up more steps into one of the main corridors to meet the first of the Browns’ guards, who already had out their swords.

  “Sound the alarm!” Yabu shouted. “Ninja—there are ninja among the servants!”

  One samurai fled for the main staircase, the second rushed forward bravely to stand alone at the top of the winding steps that led below, sword raised. Seeing him, the servants came to a halt, then, moaning with terror, blindly huddled into the stones, their arms over their heads. Yabu ran on toward the main doorway and through it to stand on the steps. “Sound the alarm! We’re under attack!” he shouted as he had agreed to do, to signal the diversion outside which would cover the main attack through the secret door into the audience chamber, to kidnap Mariko and hurry her away before anyone was wiser.

  Samurai on the gates and in the forecourt whirled around, not knowing where to guard, and at that moment the raiders in the garden swarmed out of their hiding places and engulfed the Browns outside. Yabu retreated into the foyer as other Browns came rushing down from the guardroom above to support the men outside.