Mariko chuckled and put her hand in front of her mouth. “I wish I could drink saké like you, Anjin-san. You drink saké better than any man I’ve ever known. I wager you’d be the best in Izu! I could win a lot of money on you!”
“I thought samurai disapproved of gambling.”
“Oh they do, absolutely they do, they’re not merchants and peasants. But not all samurai are as strong as others and many—how do you say—many’ll bet like the Southern Bar—like the Portuguese bet.”
“Do women bet?”
“Oh, yes. Very much. But only with other ladies and in careful amounts and always so their husbands never find out!” She gaily translated for Fujiko, who was more flushed than she.
“Your consort asks do Englishmen bet? Do you like to wager?”
“It’s our national pastime.” And he told them about horse racing and skittles and bull baiting and coursing and whippets and hawking and bowls and the new stock companies and letters of marque and shooting and darts and lotteries and boxing and cards and wrestling and dice and checkers and dominoes and the time at the fairs when you put farthings on numbers and bet against the wheels of chance.
“But how do you find time to live, to war, and to pillow, Fujiko asks?”
“There’s always time for those.” Their eyes met for a moment but he could not read anything in hers, only happiness and maybe too much wine.
Mariko begged him to sing the hornpipe song for Fujiko, and he did and they congratulated him and said it was the best they had ever heard.
“Have some more saké!”
“Oh, you mustn’t pour, Anjin-san, that’s woman’s duty. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Yes. Have some more, dozo.”
“I’d better not. I think I’ll fall over.” Mariko fluttered her fan furiously and the draft stirred the threads of hair that had escaped from her immaculate coiffure.
“You have nice ears,” he said.
“So have you. We, Fujiko-san and I, we think your nose is perfect too, worthy of a daimyo.”
He grinned and bowed elaborately to them. They bowed back. The folds of Mariko’s kimono fell away from her neck slightly, revealing the edge of her scarlet under-kimono and the swell of her breasts, and it stirred him considerably.
“Saké, Anjin-san?”
He held out the cup, his fingers steady. She poured, watching the cup, the tip of her tongue touching her lips as she concentrated.
Fujiko reluctantly accepted some too, though she said that she couldn’t feel her legs anymore. Her quiet melancholia had gone tonight and she seemed young again. Blackthorne noticed that she was not as ugly as he had once thought.
Jozen’s head was buzzing. Not from saké but from me incredible war strategy that Yabu, Omi, and Igurashi had described so openly. Only Naga, the second-in-command, son of the arch-enemy, had said nothing, and had remained throughout the evening cold, arrogant, stiff-backed, with the characteristic large Toranaga nose on a taut face.
“Astonishing, Yabu-sama,” Jozen said. “Now I can understand the reason for secrecy. My Master will understand it also. Wise, very wise. And you, Naga-san, you’ve been silent all evening. I’d like your opinion. How do you like this new mobility—this new strategy?”
“My father believes that all war possibilities should be considered, Jozen-san,” the young man replied.
“But you, what’s your opinion?”
“I was sent here only to obey, to observe, to listen, to learn, and to test. Not to give opinions.”
“Of course. But as second-in-command—I should say, as an illustrious second-in-command—do you consider the experiment a success?”
“Yabu-sama or Omi-san should answer that. Or my father.”
“But Yabu-sama said that everyone tonight was to talk freely. What’s there to hide? We are all friends, neh? So famous a son of so famous a father must have an opinion. Neh?”
Naga’s eyes narrowed under the taunt but he did not reply.
“Everyone can speak freely, Naga-san,” Yabu said. “What do you think?”
“I think that, with surprise, this idea would win one skirmish or possibly one battle. With surprise, yes. But then?” Naga’s voice swept on icily. “Then all sides would use the same plan and vast numbers of men would die unnecessarily, slain without honor by an assailant who won’t even know who he has killed. I doubt if my father will actually authorize its use in a real battle.”
“He’s said that?” Yabu put the question incisively, careless of Jozen.
“No, Yabu-sama. I’m giving my own opinion. Of course.”
“But the Musket Regiment—you don’t approve of it? It disgusts you?” Yabu asked darkly.
Naga looked at him with flat, reptilian eyes. “With great deference, since you ask my opinion, yes, I find it disgusting. Our forefathers have always known whom they killed or who defeated them. That’s bushido, our way, the Way of the Warrior, the way of a true samurai. The better man victorious, neh? But now this? How do you prove your valor to your lord? How can he reward courage? To charge bullets is brave, yes, but also stupid. Where’s the valor in that? Guns are against our samurai code. Barbarians fight this way, peasants fight this way. Do you realize filthy merchants and peasants, even eta, could fight this way?” Jozen laughed and Naga continued even more menacingly. “A few fanatic peasants could easily kill any number of samurai with enough guns! Yes, peasants could kill any one of us, even the Lord Ishido, who wants to sit in my father’s place.”
Jozen bridled. “Lord Ishido doesn’t covet your father’s lands. He only seeks to protect the Empire for its rightful heir.”
“My father’s no threat to the Lord Yaemon, or to the Realm.”
“Of course, but you were talking about peasants. The Lord Taikō was once a peasant. My Lord Ishido was once a peasant. I was once a peasant. And a ronin!”
Naga wanted no quarrel. He knew he was no match for Jozen, whose prowess with sword and ax was renowned. “I wasn’t trying to insult your master or you or anyone, Jozen-san. I was merely saying that we samurai must all make very certain that peasants never have guns or none of us will be safe.”
“Merchants and peasants’ll never worry us,” Jozen said.
“I agree,” Yabu added, “and Naga-san, I agree with part of what you say. Yes. But guns are modern. Soon all battles will be fought with guns. I agree it’s distasteful. But it’s the way of modern war. And then it’ll be as it always was—the bravest samurai will always conquer.”
“No, so sorry, but you’re wrong, Yabu-sama! What did this cursed barbarian tell us—the essence of their war strategy? He freely admits that all their armies are conscript and mercenary. Neh? Mercenary! No sense of duty to their lords. The soldiers only fight for pay and loot, to rape and to gorge. Didn’t he say their armies are peasant armies? That’s what guns have brought to their world and that’s what guns will bring to ours. If I had power, I’d take this barbarian’s head tonight and outlaw all guns permanently.”
“Is that what your father thinks?” Jozen asked too quickly.
“My father doesn’t tell me or anyone what he thinks, as you surely know. I don’t speak for my father, no one speaks for him,” Naga replied, angry at allowing himself to be trapped into talking at all. “I was sent here to obey, to listen and not to talk. I apologize for talking. I would not have spoken unless you asked me. If I have offended you, or you, Yabu-sama, or you, Omi-san, I apologize.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I asked your views,” Yabu said. “Why should anyone be offended? This is a discussion, neh? Among leaders. You’d outlaw guns?”
“Yes. I think you’d be wise to keep a very close check on every gun in your domain.”
“All peasants are forbidden weapons of any kind. My peasants and my people are very well controlled.”
Jozen smirked at the slim youth, loathing him. “Interesting ideas you have, Naga-san. But you’re mistaken about the peasants. They’re nothing to samurai but providers. They’re no mo
re threat than a pile of dung.”
“At the moment!” Naga said, his pride commanding him. “That’s why I’d outlaw guns now. You’re right, Yabu-san, that a new era requires new methods. But because of what this Anjin-san, this one barbarian, has said, I’d go much further than our present laws. I would issue Edicts that anyone other than a samurai found with a gun or caught trading in guns would immediately forfeit his life and that of every member of his family of every generation. Further, I would prohibit the making or importing of guns. I’d prohibit barbarians from wearing them or from bringing them to our shores. Yes, if I had power—which I do not seek and never will—I’d keep barbarians out of our country totally, except for a few priests and one port for trade, which I’d surround with a high fence and trusted warriors. Last, I’d put this foul-minded barbarian, the Anjin-san, to death at once so that his filthy knowledge will not spread. He’s a disease.”
Jozen said, “Ah, Naga-san, it must be good to be so young. You know, my Master agrees with much of what you said about the barbarians. I’ve heard him say many times, ‘Keep them out—kick them out—kick their arses away to Nagasaki and keep them bottled there!’ You’d kill the Anjin-san, eh? Interesting. My Master doesn’t like the Anjin-san either. But for him—” He stopped. “Ah, yes, you’ve a good thought about guns. I can see that clearly. May I tell that to my Master? Your idea about new laws?”
“Of course.” Naga was mollified, and calmer now that he had spoken what had been bottled up from the first day.
“You’ve given this opinion to Lord Toranaga?” Yabu asked.
“Lord Toranaga has not asked my opinion. I hope one day he will honor me by asking as you have done,” Naga replied at once with sincerity, and wondered if any of them detected the lie.
Omi said, “As this is a free discussion, Sire, I say this barbarian is a treasure. I believe we must learn from the barbarian. We must know about guns and fighting ships because they know about them. We must know everything they know as soon as they know it, and even now, some of us must begin to learn to think like they do so that soon we can surpass them.”
Naga said confidently, “What could they possibly know, Omi-san? Yes, guns and ships. But what else? How could they destroy us? There’s not a samurai among them. Doesn’t this Anjin admit openly that even their kings are murderers and religious fanatics? We’re millions, they’re a handful. We could swamp them with our hands alone.”
“This Anjin-san opened my eyes, Naga-san. I’ve discovered that our land, and China, isn’t the whole world, it’s only a very small part. At first I thought the barbarian was just a curiosity. Now I don’t. I thank the gods for him. I think he’s saved us and I know we can learn from him. Already he’s given us power over the Southern Barbarians—and over China.”
“What?”
“The Taikō failed because their numbers are too great for us, man to man, arrow to arrow, neh? With guns and barbarian skill we could take Peking.”
“With barbarian treachery, Omi-san!”
“With barbarian knowledge, Naga-san, we could take Peking. Whoever takes Peking eventually controls China. And whoever controls China can control the world. We must learn not to be ashamed of taking knowledge from wherever it comes.”
“I say we need nothing from outside.”
“Without offense, Naga-san, I say we must protect this Land of the Gods by any means. It’s our prime duty to protect the unique, divine position we have on earth. Only this is the Land of the Gods, neh? Only our Emperor is divine. I agree this barbarian should be gagged. But not by death. By permanent isolation here in Anjiro, until we have learned everything he knows.”
Jozen scratched thoughtfully. “My Master will be told of your views. I agree the barbarian should be isolated. Also that training should cease at once.”
Yabu took a scroll from his sleeve. “Here is a full report on the experiment for Lord Ishido. When Lord Ishido wishes the training to cease, of course, the training will cease.”
Jozen accepted the scroll. “And Lord Toranaga? What about him?” His eyes went to Naga. Naga said nothing but stared at the scroll.
Yabu said, “You will be able to ask his opinion directly. He has a similar report. I presume you’ll be leaving for Yedo tomorrow? Or would you like to witness the training? I hardly need tell you the men are not yet proficient.”
“I would like to see one ‘attack.’”
“Omi-san, arrange it. You lead it.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Jozen turned to his second-in-command and gave him the scroll. “Masumoto, take this to Lord Ishido. You will leave at once.”
“Yes, Jozen-san.”
Yabu said to Igurashi, “Provide him with guides to the border and fresh horses.”
Igurashi left with the samurai immediately.
Jozen stretched and yawned. “Please excuse me,” he said, “but it’s all the riding I’ve done in the last few days. I must thank you for an extraordinary evening, Yabu-sama. Your ideas are far-reaching. And yours, Omi-san. And yours, Naga-san. I’ll compliment you to the Lord Toranaga and to my Master. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m very tired and Osaka is a long way off.”
“Of course,” Yabu said. “How was Osaka?”
“Very good. Remember those bandits, the ones that attacked you by land and sea?”
“Of course.”
“We took four hundred and fifty heads that night. Many were wearing Toranaga uniforms.”
“Ronin have no honor. None.”
“Some ronin have,” Jozen said, smarting from the insult. He lived always with the shame of having once been ronin. “Some were even wearing our Grays. Not one escaped. They all died.”
“And Buntaro-san?”
“No. He—” Jozen stopped. The “no” had slipped out but now that he had said it he did not mind. “No. We don’t know for certain—no one collected his head. You’ve heard nothing about him?”
“No,” Naga said.
“Perhaps he was captured. Perhaps they just cut him into pieces and scattered him. My Master would like to know when you have news. All’s very good now at Osaka. Preparations for the meeting go forward. There’ll be lavish entertainments to celebrate the new era, and of course, to honor all the daimyos.”
“And Lord Toda Hiro-matsu?” Naga asked politely.
“Old Iron Fist’s as strong and gruff as ever.”
“He’s still there?”
“No. He left with all your father’s men a few days before I did.”
“And my father’s household?”
“I heard that the Lady Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko asked to stay with my Master. A doctor advised the Lady to rest for a month—her health, you know. He thought the journey would not be good for the expected child.” To Yabu he added, “She fell down the night you left, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“There’s nothing serious, I hope,” Naga asked, very concerned. “No, Naga-san, nothing serious,” Jozen said, then again to Yabu, “You’ve informed Lord Toranaga of my arrival?”
“Of course.”
“Good.”
“The news you brought us would interest him greatly.”
“Yes. I saw a carrier pigeon circle and fly north.”
“I have that service now.” Yabu did not add that Jozen’s pigeon had also been observed, or that falcons had intercepted it near the mountains, or that the message had been decoded: “At Anjiro. All true as reported. Yabu, Naga, Omi, and barbarian here.”
“I will leave tomorrow, with your permission, after the ‘attack.’ You’ll give me fresh horses? I must not keep Lord Toranaga waiting. I look forward to seeing him. So does my Master. At Osaka. I hope you’ll accompany him, Naga-san.”
“If I’m ordered there, I will be there.” Naga kept his eyes lowered but he was burning with suppressed fury.
Jozen left and walked with his guards up the hill to his camp. He rearranged the sentries and ordered his men to sleep and got into his small brush lean-to th
at they had constructed against the coming rain. By candlelight, under a mosquito net, he rewrote the previous message on a thin piece of rice paper and added: “The five hundred guns are lethal. Massed surprise gun attacks planned—full report already sent with Masumoto.” Then he dated it and doused the candle. In the darkness he slipped out of his net, removed one of the pigeons from the panniers and placed the message in the tiny container on its foot. Then he stealthily made his way to one of his men and handed him the bird.
“Take it out into the brush,” he whispered. “Hide it somewhere where it can roost safely until dawn. As far away as you can. But be careful, there are eyes all around. If you’re intercepted say I told you to patrol, but hide the pigeon first.”
The man slid away as silently as a cockroach.
Pleased with himself, Jozen looked toward the village below. There were lights on in the fortress and on the opposite slope, in the house that he knew to be Omi’s. There were a few also in the house just below, the one presently occupied by the barbarian.
That whelp Naga’s right, Jozen thought, waving his hand at a mosquito. The barbarian’s a filthy plague.
“Good night, Fujiko-san.”
“Good night, Anjin-san.”
The shoji closed behind her. Blackthorne took off his kimono and loincloth and put on the lighter sleeping kimono, got under the mosquito net, and lay down.
He blew out the candle. Deep darkness enveloped him. The house was quiet now. The small shutters were closed and he could hear the surf. Clouds obscured the moon.
The wine and laughter had made him drowsy and euphoric and he listened to the surf and felt himself drifting with it, his mind fogged. Occasionally, a dog barked in the village below. I should get a dog, he thought, remembering his own bull terrier at home. Wonder if he’s still alive? Grog was his name but Tudor, his son, always called him “Og-Og.”
Ah, Tudor, laddie. It’s been such a long time.
Wish I could see you all—even write a letter and send it home. Let’s see, he thought. How would I begin?
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