James Clavell

by Asian Saga 03 - Shogun (v5)

  “A man servant’ll be enough.”

  “So sorry, the maid servant must go to serve you. And of course a cook and a cook helper.”

  “Won’t there be kitchens that we—I can use?”

  “Oh, yes. But you still have to have your own cooks, Anjin-san. You’re a hatamoto.”

  He knew there was no point in arguing. “I’ll leave everything to you.”

  “Oh, that’s so wise of you, Anjin-san, very wise. Now I must go and pack, please excuse me.” Mariko left happily. They had not talked much, just enough in Latin for each to know that though the magic night had never come to pass and was, like the other night, never to be discussed, both would live in their imaginations forever.

  “Thou.”

  “Thou.”

  “I was so proud when I heard she stood at the gate for such a long time. Thy face is immense now, Anjin-san.”

  “For a moment I almost forgot what thou hadst told me. Involuntarily I was within a hair’s distance of kissing her in public.”

  “Oh ko, Anjin-san, that would have been terrible!”

  “Oh ko, thou art right! If it had not been for thee I would be faceless—a worm wriggling in the dust.”

  “Instead, thou art vast and famous and thy prowess undoubted. Didst thou enjoy one of those curious devices?”

  “Ah, fair Lady, in my land we have an ancient custom: A man does not discuss the intimate habits of one lady with another.”

  “We have the same custom. But I asked if it was enjoyed, not used. Yes, we very much have the same custom. I am glad that the evening was to thy liking.” Her smile was warming. “To be Japanese in Japan is wise, neh?”

  “I cannot thank thee enough for teaching me, for guiding me, for opening my eyes,” he said. “For—” He was going to say, for loving me. Instead he added, “for being.”

  “I have done nothing. Thou art thyself.”

  “I thank thee, for everything—and thy gift.”

  “I am glad thy pleasure was great.”

  “I am sad thy pleasure was nil. I am so glad that thou art also ordered to the Spa. But why to Osaka?”

  “Oh, I am not ordered to Osaka. Lord Toranaga allows me to go. We have property and family business matters that must be seen to. Also, my son is there now. Then too, I can carry private messages to Kiritsubo-san and the Lady Sazuko.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous? Remember thy words—war is coming and Ishido is the enemy. Did not Lord Toranaga say the same?”

  “Yes. But there is no war yet, Anjin-san. And samurai do not war on their women, unless women war on them.”

  “But thou? What about the bridge at Osaka, across the moat? Did thou not go with me to dupe Ishido? He would have killed me. And remember thy sword at the fight on the ship.”

  “Ah, that was only to protect the life of my liege Lord, and my own life, when it was threatened. That was my duty, Anjin-san, nothing more. There is no danger for me. I have been lady-in-waiting to Lady Yodoko, the Taikō’s widow, even the Lady Ochiba, mother of the Heir. I’m honored to be their friend. I’m quite safe. That’s why Toranaga-sama allows me to go. But for thee in Osaka there is no safety, because of Lord Toranaga’s escape, and of what was done to Lord Ishido. So thou must never land there. Nagasaki will be safe for thee.”

  “Then he has agreed that I may go?”

  “No. Not yet. But when he does it will be safe. He has power in Nagasaki.”

  He wanted to ask, greater than the Jesuits’? Instead he said only, “I pray Lord Toranaga orders thee by ship to Osaka.” He saw her tremble slightly. “What troubles thee?”

  “Nothing, except … except that the sea does not please me.”

  “Will he order it thus?”

  “I don’t know. But …” She changed back into the mischievous teaser, and into Portuguese. “But for your health we should bring Kiku-san along with us, neh? Tonight, are you going again into her Vermilion Chamber?”

  He laughed with her. “That’d be fine, though—” Then he stopped, as with sudden clarity he remembered Omi’s look. “You know, Mariko-san, when I was at the gate I’m sure I saw Omi-san looking at her in a very special way, as a lover would look. A jealous lover. I didn’t know they were lovers.”

  “I understand he’s one of her customers, a favored customer, yes. But why should that concern you?”

  “Because it was a very private look. Very special.”

  “He has no special claim on her, Anjin-san. She’s a courtesan of the First Rank. She’s free to accept or reject whom she pleases.”

  “If we were in Europe, and I pillowed his girl—you understand, Mariko-san?”

  “I think I understand, Anjin-san, but why should that concern you? You’re not in Europe, Anjin-san, he has no formal claim on her. If she wants to accept you and him, or even reject you or reject him, what has that to do with anything?”

  “I’d say he was her lover, in our sense of the word. That’s got everything to do with it, neh?”

  “But what has that to do with her profession, or pillowing?”

  Eventually he had thanked her again and left it at that. But his head and his heart told him to beware. It’s not as simple as you think, Mariko-san, even here. Omi believes Kiku-san’s more than special, even if she doesn’t feel the same. Wish I’d known he was her lover. I’d rather have Omi a friend than an enemy. Could Mariko be right again? That pillowing has nothing to do with loving for them?

  God help me, I’m so mixed up. Part Eastern now, mostly Western. I’ve got to act like them and think like them to stay alive. And much of what they believe is so much better than our way that it’s tempting to want to become one of them totally, and yet … home is there, across the sea, where my ancestors were birthed, where my family lives, Felicity and Tudor and Elizabeth. Neh?

  “Anjin-san?”

  “Yes, Fujiko-san?”

  “Please don’t worry about money. I can’t bear to see you worried. I’m so sorry that I cannot go to Yedo with you.”

  “Soon see in Yedo, neh?”

  “Yes. The doctor says I’m healing well and Omi’s mother agrees.”

  “When doctor here?”

  “Sunset. So sorry I cannot go with you tomorrow. Please excuse me.”

  He wondered again about his duty to his consort. Then he put that thought back into its compartment as a new one rushed forward. He examined this idea and found it fine. And urgent. “I go now, come back soon. You rest—understand?”

  “Yes. Please excuse me for not getting up, and for … so sorry.”

  He left her and went to his own room. He took a pistol out of its hiding place, checked the priming, and stuck it under his kimono. Then he walked alone to Omi’s house. Omi was not there. Midori welcomed him and offered cha, which he politely refused. Her two-year-old infant was in her arms. She said, so sorry, but Omi would return soon. Would the Anjin-san like to wait? She seemed ill at ease, though polite and attentive. Again he refused and thanked her, saying he would come back later, then he went below to his own house.

  Villagers had already cleared the ground, preparing to rebuild everything. Nothing had been salvaged from the fire except cooking utensils. Fujiko would not tell him the cost of rebuilding. It was very cheap, she had said. Please don’t concern yourself.

  “Karma, Anjin-sama,” one of the villagers said.

  “Yes.”

  “What could one do? Don’t worry, your house will soon be ready—better than before.”

  Blackthorne saw Omi walking up the hill, taut and stern. He went to meet him. When Omi saw him, he seemed to lose some of his fury. “Ah, Anjin-san,” he said cordially. “I hear you’re also leaving with Toranga-sama at dawn. Very good, we can ride together.”

  Despite Omi’s apparent friendliness, Blackthorne was very much on guard.

  “Listen, Omi-san, now I go there.” He pointed toward the plateau. “Please you go with me, yes?”

  “There’s no training today.”

  “Understand. Pl
ease you go with me, yes?”

  Omi saw that Blackthorne’s hand was on the hilt of his killing sword in the characteristic way, steadying it. Then his sharp eyes noticed the bulge under the sash and he realized at once from its partially outlined shape that it was a concealed pistol. “A man who’s allowed the two swords should be able to use them, not just wear them, neh?” he asked thinly.

  “Please? I don’t understand.”

  Omi said it again, more simply.

  “Ah, understand. Yes. It better.”

  “Yes. Lord Yabu said—now that you’re completely samurai—that you should begin to learn much that we take for granted. How to act as a second at a seppuku, for example—even to prepare for your own seppuku as we’re all obliged to do. Yes, Anjin-san, you should learn to use the swords. Very necessary for a samurai to know how to use and honor his sword, neh?”

  Blackthorne did not understand half the words. But he knew what Omi was saying. At least, he corrected himself uneasily, I know what he’s saying on the surface.

  “Yes. True. Important,” he told him. “Please, one day you teaches—sorry, you teach perhaps? Please? I honored.”

  “Yes—I’d like to teach you, Anjin-san.”

  Blackthorne’s hackles rose at the implied threat in Omi’s voice. Watch it, he admonished himself. Don’t start imagining things. “Thank you. Now walk there, please? Little time. You go with? Yes?”

  “Very well, Anjin-san. But we’ll ride. I’ll join you shortly.” Omi walked off up the hill, into his own courtyard.

  Blackthorne ordered a servant to saddle his horse and mounted awkwardly from the right side, as was custom in Japan and China. Don’t think there’d be much future in letting him teach me swordsmanship, he told himself, his right hand nudging the concealed pistol safer, its pleasing warmth reassuring. This confidence vanished when Omi reappeared. With him were four mounted samurai.

  Together they all cantered up the broken road toward the plateau. They passed many samurai companies in full marching gear, armed, under their officers, spear pennants fluttering. When they crested the rise, they saw that the entire Musket Regiment was drawn up outside the camp in route order, each man standing beside his armed horse, a baggage train in the rear, Yabu, Naga, and their officers in the van. The rain began to fall heavily.

  “All troops go?” Blackthorne asked, perturbed, and reined in his horse.

  “Yes.”

  “Go Spa with Toranaga-sama, Omi-san?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Blackthorne’s sense of survival warned him to ask no more questions. But one needed to be answered. “And Buntaro-sama?” he asked indifferently. “He with us tomorrow, Omi-san?”

  “No. He’s already gone. This morning he was in the square when you left the Tea House. Didn’t you see him, near the Tea House?”

  Blackthorne could read nothing untoward in Omi’s face. “No. Not see, so sorry. He go Spa too?”

  “I suppose so. I’m not sure.” The rain dripped off Omi’s conical hat, which was tied under his chin. His eyes were almost hidden. “Now, why did you want me to come here with you?”

  “Show place, like I say.” Before Omi could say anything more, Blackthorne spurred his horse forward. With his most careful sea sense he took accurate bearings from memory and went quickly to the exact point over the crevasse. He dismounted and beckoned Omi. “Please.”

  “What is it, eh?” Omi’s voice was edged.

  “Please, here Omi-san. Alone.”

  Omi waved his guards away and spurred forward until he towered over Blackthorne. “Nan desu ka?” he asked, his hand seemingly tightening on his sword.

  “This place Toranaga-sama …” Blackthorne could not think of the words, so explained partially with his hands. “Understand?”

  “Here you pulled him out of the earth, neh? So?”

  Blackthorne looked at him, then deliberately down at his sword, then stared up at him again saying nothing more. He wiped the rain out of his face.

  “Nan desu ka?” Omi repeated more irritably.

  Still Blackthorne didn’t answer. Omi stared down at the crevasse and again at Blackthorne’s face. Then his eyes lit up. “Ah, so desu! Wakarimasu!” Omi thought a moment then called out to one of the guards, “Get Mura here at once. With twenty men and shovels!”

  The samurai galloped off. Omi sent the others back to the village, then dismounted and stood beside Blackthorne. “Yes, Anjin-san,” he said, “that’s an excellent thought. A good idea.”

  “Idea? What idea?” Blackthorne asked innocently. “Just show place—think you want know place, neh? So sorry—don’t understand.”

  Omi said, “Toranaga-sama lost his swords here. Swords very valuable. He’ll be happy to get them back. Very happy, neh?”

  “Ah so! No my idea, Omi-san,” Blackthorne said. “Omi-san idea.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Anjin-san. You’re a good friend and your mind’s fast. I should have thought of that myself. Yes, you’re a good friend and we’ll all need friends for the next few months. War’s with us now whether we want it or not.”

  “Please? So sorry. I don’t understand, speak too fast. Please excuse.”

  “Glad we’re friends—you and me. Understand?”

  “Hai. You say war? War now?”

  “Soon. What can we do? Nothing. Don’t worry, Toranaga-sama will conquer Ishido and his traitors. That’s the truth, understand? No worry, neh?”

  “Understand. I go now, my house. All right?”

  “Yes. See you at dawn. Again thank you.”

  Blackthorne nodded. But he did not leave. “She’s pretty, neh?”

  “What?”

  “Kiku-san.” Blackthorne’s legs were slightly apart and he was poised to jump back and pull out the pistol, and aim it and fire it. He remembered with total clarity the unbelievable, effortless speed that Omi had used to decapitate the first villager so long ago, and he was ready as best he could be. He reasoned his only safety was to precipitate the matter of Kiku. Omi would never do it. Omi would consider such bad manners unthinkable. And, filled with shame at his own weakness, Omi would lock his very un-Japanese jealousy away into a secret compartment. Because it was so alien and shame-filled, this jealousy would fester until, when it was least expected, Omi would explode blindly and ferociously.

  “Kiku-san?” Omi said.

  “Hai.” Blackthorne could see that Omi was rocked. Even so he was glad he had chosen the time and the place. “She’s pretty, neh?”

  “Pretty?”

  “Hai.”

  The rain increased. The heavy drops spattered the mud. Their horses shivered uncomfortably. Both men were soaked but the rain was warm and it ran off them.

  “Yes,” Omi said. “Kiku-san is very pretty,” and followed it with a torrent of words Blackthorne did not fathom.

  “No words enough now, Omi-san—not enough to speak clear now,” Blackthorne said. “Later yes. Not now. Understand?”

  Omi seemed not to hear. Then he said, “There’s plenty of time, Anjin-san, plenty of time to talk about her, and about you and me and karma. But I agree, now is not the time, neh?”

  “Think understand. Yes. Yesterday not know Omi-san and Kiku-san good friends,” he said, pressing the attack.

  “She’s not my property.”

  “Now know you and her very friends. Now—”

  “Now leave. This matter is closed. The woman is nothing. Nothing.”

  Stubbornly Blackthorne stayed where he was. “Next time I—”

  “This conversation is over! Didn’t you hear? Finished!”

  “Iyé! Iyé, by God!”

  Omi’s hand went for his sword. Blackthorne leaped back two paces without realizing it. But Omi did not draw his sword and Blackthorne did not pull out his pistol. Both men readied, though neither wanted to begin.

  “What do you want to say, Anjin-san?”

  “Next time, first I ask—about Kiku-san. If Omi-san say yes—yes. If no—no! Understand? Friend to f
riend, neh?”

  Omi relaxed his sword hand slightly. “I repeat—she’s not my property. Thank you for showing me this place, Anjin-san. Good-by.”

  “Friend?”

  “Of course.” Omi walked over to Blackthorne’s horse and held the bridle. Blackthorne swung into the saddle.

  He looked down at Omi. If he could have got away with it he knew he would have blown the samurai’s head off right now. That would be his safest course. “Good-by, Omi-san, and thank you.”

  “Good-by, Anjin-san.” Omi watched Blackthorne ride off and did not turn his back until he was over the rise. He marked the exact place in the crevasse with some stones and then, in turmoil, squatted on his haunches to wait, oblivious of the deluge.

  Soon Mura and the peasants arrived, bespattered with mud.

  “Toranaga-sama fell into the crevasse exactly at this point, Mura. His swords are buried here. Bring them to me before sunset.”

  “Yes, Omi-sama.”

  “If you’d had any brains, if you were interested in me, your liege Lord, you would have done it already.”

  “Please excuse my stupidity.”

  Omi rode off. They watched him briefly, then spread themselves out in a circle around the stones, and began to dig. Mura dropped his voice. “Uo, you’ll go with the baggage train.”

  “Yes, Mura-san. But how?”

  “I’ll offer you to the Anjin-san. He won’t know any different.”

  “But his consort, oh ko, she will,” Uo whispered back.

  “She’s not going with him. I hear her burns are bad. She’s to go by ship to Yedo later. You know what to do?”

  “Seek out the Holy Father privately, answer any questions.”

  “Yes.” Mura relaxed and began to talk normally. “You can go with the Anjin-san, Uo, he’ll pay well. Make yourself useful, but not too useful or he’ll take you all the way to Yedo.”

  Uo laughed. “Hey, I hear Yedo’s so rich everyone pisses into silver pots—even eta. And the women have skins like sea foam with no pubics at all.”

  “Is that true, Mura-san?” another villager asked. “They’ve no short hair?”