“This morning I was afraid,” she said, holding a flower to her nose, enjoying the perfume, wanting it to erase the aftertaste of fear that still lingered. “I wanted to rush away but then I remembered the soothsayer.”
“Eh? Oh, him. I’d forgotten about him,” Ishido said with grim amusement. This was the soothsayer, the Chinese envoy, who had foretold that the Taikō would die in his bed leaving a healthy son after him, that Toranaga would die by the sword in middle age, that Ishido would die in old age, the most famous general in the realm, his feet firm in the earth. And that the Lady Ochiba would end her days at Osaka Castle, surrounded by the greatest nobles in the Empire.
“Yes,” Ishido said again, “I’d forgotten about him. Toranaga’s middle-aged, neh?”
“Yes.” Again Ochiba felt the depth of his look and her loins melted at the thought of a real man on her, in her, surrounding her, taking her, giving her a new life within. This time an honorable birthing, not like the last one, when she had wondered in horror what the child would be like and look like.
How foolish you are, Ochiba, she told herself, as they walked the shaded, fragrant paths. Put away those silly nightmares—that’s all they ever were. You were thinking about a man.
Suddenly Ochiba wished that Toranaga was here beside her and not Ishido, that Toranaga was master of Osaka Castle and master of the Taikō’s treasure, Protector of the Heir and Chief General of the Armies of the West, and not Ishido. Then there would be no problems. Together they would possess the realm, all of it, and now, today, at this moment, she would beckon him to bed or to an inviting glade and tomorrow or the next day they would marry, and whatever happened in the future, today she would possess and be possessed and be at peace.
Her hand reached out and she pulled a branchlet toward her, breathing the sweet, rich gardenia fragrance.
Put away dreams, Ochiba, she told herself. Be a realist like the Taikō—or Toranaga.
“What are you going to do with the Anjin-san?” she asked.
Ishido laughed. “Hold him safe—let him take the Black Ship perhaps, or use him as a threat against Kiyama and Onoshi if need be. They both hate him, neh? Oh yes, he’s a sword at their throats—and at their filthy Church.”
“In the chess game of the Heir against Toranaga, how would you judge the Anjin-san’s value. Lord General? A pawn? A knight, perhaps?”
“Ah, Lady, in the Great Game barely a pawn,” Ishido said at once. “But in the game of the Heir against the Christians, a castle, easily a castle, perhaps two.”
“You don’t think the games are interlocked?”
“Yes, interlocked, but the Great Game will be settled by daimyo against daimyo, samurai against samurai, and sword against sword. Of course, in both games, you’re the queen.”
“No, Lord General, please excuse me, not a queen,” she said, glad that he realized it. Then, to be safe, she changed the subject. “Rumor has it that the Anjin-san and Mariko-san pillowed together.”
“Yes. Yes, I heard that too. You wish to know the truth about it?”
Ochiba shook her head. “It would be unthinkable that that had happened.”
Ishido was watching her narrowly. “You think there’d be a value in destroying her honor? Now? And along with her, Buntaro-san?”
“I meant nothing, Lord General, nothing like that. I was just wondering—just a woman’s foolishness. But it’s as Lord Kiyama said this morning—dark summer’s tears, sad, so sad, neh?”
“I preferred your poem, Lady. I promise you Toranaga’s side will have the tears.”
“As to Buntaro-san, perhaps neither he nor Lord Hiro-matsu will fight for Lord Toranaga at the battle.”
“That’s fact?”
“No, Lord General, not fact, but possible.”
“But there’s something you can do perhaps?”
“Nothing, except petition their support for the Heir—and all Toranaga’s generals, once the battle is committed.”
“It’s committed now, a north-south pincer movement and the final onslaught at Odawara.”
“Yes, but not actually. Not until army opposes army on the battlefield.” Then she asked, “So sorry, but are you sure it’s wise for the Heir to lead the armies?”
“I will lead the armies, but the Heir must be present. Then Toranaga cannot win. Even Toranaga will never attack the Heir’s standard.”
“Wouldn’t it be safer for the Heir to stay here—because of assassins, the Amidas…. We can’t risk his life. Toranaga has a long arm, neh?”
“Yes. But not that long and the Heir’s personal standard makes our side lawful and Toranaga’s unlawful. I know Toranaga. In the end he’ll respect the law. And that alone will put his head on a spike. He’s dead, Lady. Once he’s dead I will stamp out the Christian Church—all of it. Then you and the Heir will be safe.”
Ochiba looked up at him, an unspoken promise in her eyes. “I will pray for success—and your safe return.”
His chest tightened. He had waited so long. “Thank you, Lady, thank you,” he said, understanding her. “I will not fail you.”
She bowed and turned away. What impertinence, she was thinking. As if I’d take a peasant to husband. Now, should I really discard Toranaga?
Dell’Aqua was kneeling at prayer in front of the altar in the ruins of the little chapel. Most of the roof was caved in and part of one wall, but the earthquake had not damaged the chancel and nothing had touched the lovely stained glass window, or the carved Madonna that was his pride.
The afternoon sun was slanting through the broken rafters. Outside, workmen were already shifting rubble from the garden, repairing and talking and, mixed with their chattering, dell’Aqua could hear the cries of the gulls coming ashore and he smelled a tang to the breeze, part salt and part smoke, seaweed and mud flats. The scent bore him home to his estate outside Naples where, mixed with sea smells, would be the perfume of lemons and oranges and warm new breads cooking, and pasta and garlic and abbacchio roasting over the coals, and, in the great villa, the voices of his mother and brothers and sisters and their children, all happy and jolly and alive, basking in golden sunshine.
Oh, Madonna, let me go home soon, he prayed. I’ve been away too long. From home and from the Vatican. Madonna, take thy burden off me. Forgive me but I’m sick to death of Japanese and Ishido and killing and raw fish and Toranaga and Kiyama and rice Christians and trying to keep Thy Church alive. Give me Thy strength.
And protect us from Spanish bishops. Spaniards do not understand Japan or Japanese. They will destroy what we have begun for Thy glory. And forgive Thy servant, the Lady Maria, and take her into Thy keeping. Watch over….
He heard someone come into the nave. When he had finished his prayers, he got up and turned around.
“So sorry to interrupt you, Eminence.” Father Soldi said, “but you wanted to know at once. There’s an express cipher from Father Alvito. From Mishima. The pigeon’s just arrived.”
“And?”
“He just says he’ll see Toranaga today. Last night was impossible because Toranaga was away from Mishima but he’s supposed to return at noon today. The cipher’s dated dawn this morning.”
Dell’Aqua tried to stifle his disappointment, then looked at the clouds and the weather, seeking reassurance. News of the ninja attack and Mariko’s death had been sent off to Alvito at dawn, the same message by two pigeons for safety.
“The news will be there by now,” Soldi said.
“Yes. Yes, I hope so.”
Dell’Aqua led the way out of the chapel, along the cloisters, toward his offices. Soldi, small and birdlike, had to hurry to keep up with the Father-Visitor’s great strides. “There’s something else of extreme importance, Eminence,” Soldi said. “Our informants report that just after dawn the Regents voted for war.”
Dell’Aqua stopped. “War?”
“It seems they’re convinced now Toranaga will never come to Osaka, or the Emperor. So they’ve decided jointly to go against the Kwanto.”
“No mistake?”
“No, Eminence. It’s war. Kiyama has just sent word through Brother Michael which confirms our other source. Michael’s just come back from the castle. The vote was unanimous.”
“How soon?”
“The moment they know for certain that the Emperor’s not coming here.”
“The war will never stop. God have mercy on us! And bless Mariko—at least Kiyama and Onoshi were forewarned of Toranaga’s perfidy.”
“What about Onoshi, Eminence? What about his perfidy against Kiyama?”
“I’ve no proof of that, Soldi. It’s too farfetched. I can’t believe Onoshi would do that.”
“But if he does, Eminence?”
“It’s not possible just now, even if it was planned. Now they need each other.”
“Until the demise of Lord Toranaga….”
“You don’t have to remind me about the enmity of those two, or the lengths they’ll go to—God forgive both of them.” He walked on again.
Soldi caught up with him. “Should I send this information to Father Alvito?”
“No. Not yet. First I have to decide what to do. Toranaga will learn of it soon enough from his own sources. God take this land into His keeping and have mercy on all of us.”
Soldi opened the door for the Father-Visitor. “The only other matter of importance is that the Council has formally refused to let us have the Lady Maria’s body. She’s to have a state funeral tomorrow and we are not invited.”
“That’s to be expected, but it’s splendid that they want to honor her like that. Send one of our people to fetch part of her ashes—that will be allowed. The ashes will be buried in hallowed ground at Nagasaki.” He straightened a picture automatically and sat behind his desk. “I’ll say a Requiem for her here—the full Requiem there with all the pomp and ceremony we can muster when her remains are formally interred. She’ll be buried in cathedral grounds as a most blessed daughter of the Church. Arrange a plaque, employ the finest artists, calligrapher—everything must be perfect.”
“Yes, Eminence.”
“Her blessed courage and self-sacrifice will be an enormous encouragement to our flock. Very important, Soldi.”
“And Kiyama’s granddaughter, Sire? The authorities will let us have her body. He insisted.”
“Good. Then her remains should be sent to Nagasaki at once. I’ll consult Kiyama about how important he wishes to make her funeral.”
“You will conduct the service, Eminence?”
“Yes, providing it’s possible for me to leave here.”
“Lord Kiyama would be very pleased with that honor.”
“Yes—but we must make sure her service doesn’t detract from the Lady Maria’s. Maria’s is politically very, very important.”
“Of course, Eminence. I quite understand.”
Dell’Aqua studied his secretary. “Why don’t you trust Onoshi?”
“Sorry, Eminence—probably it’s because he’s a leper and petrifies me. I apologize.”
“Apologize to him. Soldi, he’s not to blame for his disease,” dell’Aqua said. “We’ve no proof about the plot.”
“The other things the Lady said were true. Why not this?”
“We have no proof. It’s all surmise.”
“Yes, surmise.”
Dell’Aqua moved the glass decanter, watching the refracting light. “At my prayers I smelled the orange blossoms and new breads and, oh, how I wanted to go home.”
Soldi sighed. “I dream of abbacchio, Eminence, and of meats pizzaiola and a flagon of Lacrima Christi and … God forgive me the hungers of hunger! Soon we can go home, Eminence. Next year. By next year everything will be settled here.”
“Nothing will be settled by next year. This war will hurt us. It will hurt the Church and the faithful terribly.”
“No, Eminence. Kyushu will be Christian whoever wins,” Soldi said confidently, wanting to cheer up his superior. “This island can wait for God’s good time. There’s more than enough to do in Kyushu, Eminence, isn’t there? Three million souls to convert, half a million of the faithful to minister to. Then there’s Nagasaki and trade. They must have trade. Ishido and Toranaga will tear themselves to pieces. What does that matter? They’re both anti-Christ, pagans and murderers.”
“Yes. But unfortunately what happens in Osaka and Yedo controls Kyushu. What to do, what to do?” Dell’Aqua pushed his melancholy away. “What about the Ingeles? Where’s he now?”
“Still under guard in the donjon.”
“Leave me for a while, old friend, I have to think. I have to decide what to do. Finally. The Church is in great danger.” Dell’Aqua looked out the windows into the forecourt. Then he saw Friar Perez approaching.
Soldi went to the door to intercept the monk. “No,” the Father-Visitor said. “I’ll see him now.”
“Ah, Eminence, good afternoon,” Friar Perez said, scratching unconsciously. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Please fetch the letter, Soldi.”
“I heard your chapel was destroyed,” the monk said.
“Damaged. Please sit down.” Dell’Aqua sat in his high-backed chair behind the desk, the monk opposite him. “No one was hurt, thanks be to God. Within a few days it’ll be new again. What about your Mission?”
“Untouched,” the monk said with open satisfaction. “There were fires all around us after the tremors and many died but we weren’t touched. The Eye of God watches over us.” Then he added cryptically, “I hear heathens were murdering heathens in the castle last night.”
“Yes. One of our most important converts, the Lady Maria, was killed in the melee.”
“Ah yes, I got reports too. ‘Kill him, Yoshinaka,’ the Lady Maria said, and started the bloodbath. I heard she even tried to kill a few herself, before she committed suicide.”
Dell’Aqua flushed. “You don’t understand anything about the Japanese after all this time, and you even speak a little of their language.”
“I understand heresy, stupidity, killing, and political interference, and I speak the pagan tongue very well. I understand a lot about these heathens.”
“But not about manners.”
“The Word of God requires none. It is the Word. Oh, yes. I also understand about adultery. What do you think of adultery—and harlots, Eminence?”
The door opened. Soldi offered dell’Aqua the Pope’s letter, then left them.
The Father-Visitor gave the paper to the monk, savoring his victory. “This is from His Holiness. It arrived yesterday by special messenger from Macao.”
The monk took the Papal Order and read it. This commanded, with the formal agreement of the King of Spain, that all priests of all religious orders were in future to travel to Japan only via Lisbon, Goa, and Macao, that all were forbidden on pain of immediate excommunication to go from Manila direct to Japan, and that lastly, all priests, other than Jesuits, were to leave Japan at once for Manila whence they could, if their superiors wished, return to Japan, but only via Lisbon, Goa, and Macao.
Friar Perez scrutinized the seal and the signature and the date, reread the Order carefully, then laughed derisively and shoved the letter on the desk. “I don’t believe it!”
“That’s an Order from His Holiness the—”
“It’s another heresy against the Brethren of God, against us, or any mendicants who carry the Word to the heathen. With this device we’re forbidden Japan forever, because the Portuguese, abetted by certain people, will prevaricate forever and never grant us passage or visas. If this is genuine it only proves what we’ve been saying for years: Jesuits can subvert even the Vicar of Christ in Rome!”
Dell’Aqua held onto his temper. “You’re ordered to leave. Or you will be excommunicated.”
“Jesuit threats are meaningless, Eminence. You don’t speak with the Tongue of God, you never have, you never will. You’re not soldiers of Christ. You serve a Pope, Eminence, a man. You’re politicians, men of the earth, men of the fleshpots with your pag
an silks and lands and power and riches and influence. The Lord Jesus Christ came to earth in the guise of a simple man who scratched and went barefoot and stank. I will never leave—nor will my Brothers!”
Dell’Aqua had never been so angry in his life. “You-will-leave-Japan!”
“Before God, I won’t! But this is the last time I’ll come here. If you want me in future, come to our Holy Mission, come and minister to the poor and the sick and the unwanted, like Christ did. Wash their feet like Christ did, and save your own soul before it’s too late.”
“You are commanded on pain of excommunication to leave Japan at once.”
“Come now, Eminence, I’m not excommunicated and never will be. Of course I accept the document, unless it’s out of date. This is dated September 16, 1598, almost two years ago. It must be checked, it’s far too important to accept at once—and that will take four years at least.”
“Of course it’s not out of date!”
“You’re wrong. As God is my judge, I believe it is. In a few weeks, at the most a few months, we’ll have an Archbishop of Japan at long last. A Spanish Bishop! The letters I have from Manila report the Royal Warrant’s expected by every mail.”
“Impossible! This is Portuguese territory and our province!”
“It was Portuguese. It was Jesuit. But that’s all changed now. With the help of our Brothers and Divine Guidance, the King of Spain has overthrown your General in Rome.”
“That’s nonsense. Lies and rumors. On your immortal soul, obey the commands of the Vicar of Christ.”
“I will. I will write to him today, I promise you. Meanwhile, expect a Spanish Bishop, a Spanish Viceroy, and a new Captain of the Black Ship—also a Spaniard! That’s also to be part of the Royal Warrant. We have friends in high places too and, at long last, they have vanquished the Jesuits, once and for all! Go with God, Eminence.” Friar Perez got up, opened the door, and went away.
In the outer office Soldi watched him leave, then hastily came back into the room. Frightened by dell’Aqua’s color, he hurried to the decanter and poured some brandy. “Eminence?”
James Clavell Page 127