Gai-Jin

by James Clavell

  “That is right, Yazu-chan, and I like it here, Cousin, for the first time in my life I am free, not confined in that awful castle! Here I am free to roam and sing and play and feel safe; we are safe. I may stay forever! Why not? Yedo is a stinking, slimy place, to rule from here would be grand.”

  Yoshi had tried to reason with them but to no avail. Then Nobusada had blurted out, “What I need most of all, until I am of age—not long now, Cousin—what I need is a strong leader, a tairō. Nori Anjo would be perfect.”

  “He would be very bad for you and the Shōgunate,” he had said, and patiently explained again but it had made no difference. “Unwise to ma—”

  “I do not agree, Cousin. Anjo listens to me, to me, which you never do. I said I wanted to bow before the Divine, my brother-in-law, he agreed and I am here, you were opposed! He listens to me! To me! To me, the Shogun! And don’t forget anyone is better than you. You will never be tairō, never!”

  And he had left the two of them, never believing—despite Nobusada’s derisive, infuriating laughter in his wake—that tairō Anjo would ever become a fact.

  But now it is a fact, he thought gloomily, conscious of the Lord Chancellor Wakura watching him. “I will leave Kyōto in the next few days,” he said, coming to a sudden decision.

  “But you have been here hardly any time, Sire,” Wakura said, quietly congratulating himself. “Surely our welcome has not been so terrible?”

  “No, not terrible. So, what other distressing pieces of information have you for me?”

  “None, Sire. So sorry I related something that displeased you.” Wakura rang a bell. At once a painted pageboy came in with tea and a plate of dates, his teeth also dyed black. “Thank you, Omi.” The boy smiled back at him and left. “The dates are the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. From Satsuma.”

  They were large, honeyed and sun-dried. Yoshi’s eyes narrowed. He took one, no coincidence they were from Satsuma. “They are excellent.”

  “Yes, they are. A pity the daimyo Sanjiro is not as sweet as the food and fruit his soldier farmers grow. Curious that samurai in Satsuma can be either, without loss of caste.”

  Yoshi chose another. “Curious? Just their ancient custom. A bad custom. Better that men should be samurai or farmers, one or the other, according to the Legacy.”

  “Ah yes, the Legacy. But then Shōgun Toranaga allowed that family to retain their fief and their heads after Sekigahara though they fought against him. Perhaps he liked their dates too. Interesting, neh?”

  “Perhaps he was satisfied that they put their heads to the dirt in front of him, humbly gave him power over Satsuma, humbly swore perpetual allegiance and, even more humbly, thanked him when he gave Satsuma to them as fief.”

  “He was a wise ruler, very wise. But now the Satsuma under Sanjiro are not so humble.”

  “That is also true of others,” Yoshi said thinly.

  “As I said, we live in strange times.” Wakura took time to select another date. “The rumor is, he prepares his legions for war, and fief for war.”

  “Satsuma is always on a war footing. Another ancient custom. You must tell me the name of your supplier of dates,” Yoshi said. “We could use a supplier in Yedo.”

  “Gladly,” Wakura told him, knowing he would never pass over his network of spies, never. “Some wise advisors suggest this time Sanjiro really will bring war to the mainland.”

  “War against whom, Lord Chancellor?”

  “I presume those he considers enemies.”

  “And who are they?” Yoshi asked patiently, wanting to bring Wakura into the open.

  “It is rumored the Shōgunate, so sorry.”

  “He would be so sorry if he did try war against the law of the land, Lord Chancellor. These wise counselors you mentioned, perhaps they should quickly counsel him not to be so stupid. Counselors can also be stupid, neh?”

  “I agree.” Wakura smiled with his mouth.

  “I agree that Sanjiro is militant, but he is not stupid. Ogama of Choshu the same. And Yodo of Tosa. All the Outside Lords are militant and maneuvering, always have been—like some misguided, overly ambitious Court officials.”

  “Even if that were true, what could a few courtiers do against the great Shōgunate, Sire, when the entire Court possesses no armies, no lands, and no koku, all of whom depend on Shōgunate largess for stipends?”

  Yoshi smiled with equal mirthlessness. “They spread discontent amongst ambitious daimyos…. Oh, yes, that reminds me,” he said, deciding Wakura had gone too far and needed the whip. “Perhaps in this marvelous enclave you may not know it yet, but this year and next there will be famine throughout Nippon, even in my Kwanto. It is rumored the Court stipend will be cut, this year and next, I believe by half.” He was glad to see Wakura’s eyes almost cross. “So sorry.”

  “Yes, so sorry, it would be sorry, a sorry day. Times are hard enough now.” Wakura fought back his impulse to shout and threaten, trying to estimate Yoshi’s power to initiate and force through such a cut. He is not alone in wanting that, daimyos are always complaining, and of course the Council of Elders would agree. But tairō Anjo would overrule them, why else is he there but to do our bidding. Ogama? That arrogant dog would approve the cut, so would Sanjiro, and all the others! Anjo had better overrule them!

  Wakura put on his best smile. “The Prince Advisor asks if you would give him your views in a memorial on Satsuma, Choshu and Tosa, particularly the danger Satsuma poses, and how in the future the Court could help the Shōgunate—and avoid misunderstandings.”

  “I would be glad to,” Yoshi said, brightening. This would be a wonderful opportunity.

  “Lastly, I’m honored to tell you the Divine has invited you as His personal guest, Shōgun Nobusada, some daimyos and those of Tosa, Choshu, and Satsuma to the Festival of the Winter Solstice. The Tosa and Satsuma invitations have already gone, yours and the Lord Ogama’s will be presented with due ceremony tomorrow, but I wanted the pleasure of telling you.”

  Yoshi was astonished, for such was an extreme honor for anyone outside the Inner Circle. The solstice was this month—Twelfth Month—twenty-second day. In sixteen days. The festivities would last at least a week, perhaps longer. He could leave afterwards, plenty of time to deal with Anjo then.

  Wait! You have forgotten what the Legacy says: Beware of camping in the Lair of Heaven. It is not for us. We are men, they are gods, gods are like people, jealous like people and closeness breeds their contempt. The death of our line would please these false gods very much. It can only happen in their lair.

  Yoshi was filled with sudden dread. The invitation could not be refused. “Thank you,” he said, and bowed.

  At midday the shishi lookout stationed opposite the Toranaga barracks watched idly as the forty samurai and banner men came out of the gateway and went down the street towards the palace’s East Gate. This was the routine midday changing of the guard. Most carried spears, all wore two swords, and rain cloaks and wide, conical rain hats, all of straw.

  The shishi yawned and pulled his own cloak around his shoulders when a light shower began, shifting his stool under the awning of the street stall that served noodles and soup and tea and was owned by a sympathizer. Soon his own replacement would arrive. He had been on duty since dawn. He was eighteen years old, his beard heavy. A Satsuma ronin.

  Before sneaking out of Kyōto their leader Katsumata had ordered a constant surveillance on the Toranaga and Ogama headquarters. “The moment there is a chance to attack either man—it will have to be outside their walls and must have a reasonable chance of success—mount an immediate one-man assault. One man, no more. Shishi must be conserved, but we must be ready. A random attack is our only chance for revenge.”

  At the gateway several porters carrying bales of fresh vegetables and panniers of fresh fish stopped at the barrier. Attentive guards checked them carefully, then gestured them through; everyone was inspected with equal care.

  The youth yawned again. No chance of sliding through t
he cordon. He wondered briefly if the girl Sumomo had managed to get inside and set herself in place as Katsumata had agreed. Eeee, a miracle those three escaped through the tunnel, a miracle. But where are they now? Nothing had been heard of them since their miraculous escape. What does it matter? They must be safe, like us—we have important patrons. We will regroup later. We will be revenged. Sonno-joi will happen.

  He saw the guards turn the corner and disappear. Now he was tired, but the thought of warm futons and his waiting lover took most of it away.

  The Shōgunate patrol reached the East Gate. A low barracks—guard house nestled against the walls and spread on either side of the Gate and could house five hundred men and horses if need be. The Gate was six metres high and made of heavy, iron-reinforced timber with a much smaller gate off to one side standing open. The perimeter walls were higher, ancient, and stone.

  For a moment the new guards noisily intermingled with the old, all of them well muffled. Officers inspected men and arms, the old guard began forming up and an officer and an ashigaru, a foot soldier, from the replacement group trudged across the roadway. The shower stopped. A little sun broke through. The two men turned into another street and went into another barracks, similar to many all over Kyōto. Here two hundred of Ogama’s samurai were housed—well away from the Gate, but close enough.

  “Forty men, here are their names,” the officer said to his counterpart, and bowed. “Nothing new to report.”

  “Good. Both of you come with me, please.” The Ogama officer studied the list of names as he led the way down a corridor through a cordon of his men. Through a doorway into an empty room, across it to a closed door. The officer knocked, then opened it. This inner room was bare but for a low table and tatami mats. Ogama stood by the window, armed, wary but alone. Both officers stood aside and bowed.

  The ashigaru took off his large hat and revealed himself as Yoshi. Silently he gave his long sword to his officer, keeping the short one, and went into the room. The door closed behind him. Both officers exhaled. Both were sweating.

  In the room Yoshi bowed. “Thank you for agreeing to the meeting.”

  Ogama bowed, motioned Yoshi to sit opposite him. “What is so urgent and why such secrecy?”

  “Bad news. You said partners should share particular information. So sorry, Nori Anjo has been made tairō! ”

  The news visibly shocked Ogama and he listened intently as Yoshi talked. When Yoshi spoke about the Imperial invitation some of his anger dissipated. “Such an honor, and recognition! Eeee, and none too soon.”

  “That is what I thought. Until I was out of the palace. Then I saw the depth of the trap.”

  “What trap?”

  “To have the Lords of Satsuma, Tosa, you and me all in one place at the same time? In ceremonial clothes? Inside the palace walls? Without arms or guards?”

  “What could Wakura do? Any one of them? They have no samurai—no armies, no money, no arms. Nothing!”

  “Yes, but think: When we four are in front of the Son of Heaven together, that would be perfect timing for someone—Wakura, Prince Fujitaka, Shōgun Nobusada, or the Princess—to suggest ‘as a gift to the Divine now is the moment for the four greatest daimyos in the Land to express their loyalty by offering up their powers to Him.’”

  Ogama’s brow darkened. “Not one of us would agree, not one! We would prevaricate, stall, even lie an—”

  “Lie? To the Son of Heaven? Never. Listen further. Say the Prince Advisor, before the ceremony, in private, was to say to you something like: ‘Lord Ogama, the Son of Heaven wishes to adopt you, to make you Prince Ogama, Captain of the Imperial Guard, Lord Chieftain of the Gates, member of the New Imperial Council of Ten who will rule instead of the usurping Toranaga Shōgunate. In return…’”

  “Eh? What Council of Ten?”

  “Wait. ‘… in return, you just acknowledge Him as who He is: the Son of Heaven, Emperor of Nippon, Possessor of the Sacred Regalia—the Orb, Mirror and Sceptre—descended from the gods and ascendant over all men; in return you dedicate your fief and your samurai to His service and His wishes that will be exercised through the Imperial Council of Ten!’”

  Ogama stared at him, beads of sweat on his upper lip. “I would … would never give up Choshu.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps the Imperial Mouthpiece says, in addition the Emperor will confirm you in your fief as Lord of Choshu, Conqueror of the gai-jin, Keeper of the Straits, subject only to Him, and the Imperial Council of Ten.”

  “Who else is on the Council?” Ogama said hoarsely.

  Yoshi wiped the sweat off his own brow. The whole scheme had suddenly presented itself when he had reached his own barracks. General Akeda had precipitated it with a chance remark about how devious Kyōto thinking was, that it seemed to be in the very air they breathed, that what was considered a prize in an instant became a noose.

  He had become physically ill because he knew he could be charmed as easily as anyone—he was today, a few moments before, lulled into a false sense of security until he would be isolated and then invited onwards.

  “There, you see, Ogama-sama, you’re already tempted. “Who else is on the Council?” As if what they told you mattered. You would be one against their appointees, Sanjiro too. Lord Chancellor Wakura and his ilk would overwhelm and rule.”

  “We would not agree. I would n—”

  “So sorry, you would agree—they could gear honors to tempt a kami—the great temptation being that they would pretend to replace the Toranaga Shōgunate with the Council of Ten Shōgunate! Of course I would not be offered a place on the Imperial Council, nor any Toranagas except Nobusada and he’s already theirs because of that Princess, as I warned.” Yoshi spat with rage. “Anjo is the first move.”

  The more the two men considered the ramifications, the more they could see the spikes of the limitless traps ahead. Ogama said hoarsely, “The festivities would go on for weeks or more—we would be obliged to give banquets to the Court and to each other. Slow poisons could be introduced.”

  Yoshi shuddered. All of his life he had carried a deep fear of being poisoned. A favorite uncle had died in great pain, the doctor saying “natural causes,” but the uncle had been a barb in the side of a hostile Bakufu and his death a great convenience. Perhaps poisoning, perhaps not. The death of the previous Shōgun the year Perry returned, one day healthy the next dead, again so convenient to the tairō Ii who hated him, wanting a puppet—Nobusada—in his place.

  Rumors, never proof, but poison was an ancient art in Nippon, and China. The more Yoshi reasoned with himself—if death by poisoning was his karma—the more he made sure his cooks were trustworthy and took care where he ate. But that did not remove the panic that possessed him now and then.

  Abruptly Ogama bunched a fist and smashed it into the palm of his other hand. “Anjo tairō! I cannot believe it.”

  “Nor I.” When Yoshi had sent the messenger to arrange this secret meeting he had been thinking how ironic it was that now he and Ogama really had to work together if they were to survive. No longer could they survive alone. At the moment.

  “How do we stop this happening? I can see they could tempt me.” Ogama spat on the tatami in disgust.

  “They can tempt anyone, Ogama-dono.”

  “They are like wolf kamis, I can understand that. We are trapped. If the Divine invites us, His befouled minions will destroy us. Let us round up those you spoke of, or … I’ll send for Basuhiro, his mind is like a serpent’s!”

  “We are only trapped if we accept the invitation tomorrow. I propose we both leave Kyōto tonight, secretly. If we are not here … eh?” Ogama’s sudden smile was seraphic but it evaporated as quickly. Yoshi understood why, and said, “Such a move requires great trust between us.”

  “Yes, yes, it would. What do you propose to—to guard against any mistakes?”

  “I cannot cover all alternatives but this is temporary: we both slip out of Kyōto tonight, agreeing to stay away for at least twe
nty days. I will go at once to Yedo and deal with or neutralize Anjo, and stay there until that is done. General Akeda will be in charge as usual and will say that I had to return suddenly to Dragon’s Tooth, a sickness in the family, but I am expected back quickly. You go to Fushimi and spend the night there. By sunset tomorrow, the invitation has failed to reach you—because no one, not even Basuhiro knows where you are, eh?”

  “Too dangerous not to tell him, but go on.”

  “I leave that to you but at sunset tomorrow you deliver a message to Prince Fujitaka inviting him to a private meeting the next morning, say at the Monoyama ruins”—a favorite sightseeing place for Kyōto people. “When you see him you express astonishment at the invitation and regret not being there to accept it. Meanwhile he had better ensure no more invitations arrive until you return. ‘When will that be?’ You are not sure. The gai-jin have threatened to land at Osaka imminently. You must visit there and make plans. Meanwhile make it clear to him that there better not be any more sudden Imperial Invitations—however much you humbly appreciate them—until you decide you will accept them.”

  Ogama grunted. He stared at the tatami lost in thought. Then he said, “What about Sanjiro, and Yodo of Tosa? They will be arriving, in ceremonial force, but still force.”

  “Tell Fujitaka to make sure their invitations are postponed—he should suggest to the Divine this solstice has bad omens attached to it.”

  “A good suggestion! But if they will not be put off?”

  “Fujitaka will make sure they are.”

  “If it is that easy, why not stay, even with the invitations? I just tell Fujitaka to make the suggestion about the bad omens. The Festival is cancelled, eh? This supposes Fujitaka has the power to suggest or unsuggest.”

  “With Wakura he can. I believe Kyōto deviousness is in the air we breathe—we would be snared.” This was the best he could do. It did not suit his purpose for Ogama to be here alone, and there were still the Gates to solve.

  “I could stay at Fujimi, or Osaka for twenty days,” Ogama said slowly. “I could not return to Choshu, that would leave my Kyōto … that would leave me open to attack.”