Shogun (143 page)

Toranaga’s failed. I should have known that he would. The answer to my dilemma is clear: Either I blindly trust Toranaga to squeeze out of this net and I help the Anjin-san as planned to get the men to take the Black Ship even more rapidly, or I’ve got to go to Ishido and tell him everything I know and try to barter for my life and for Izu.

Which?

Paper and brush and ink arrived. Yabu put his anguish aside for a moment and concentrated on writing as perfectly and beautifully as he could. It was unthinkable to reply to the Presence with a cluttered mind. When he had finished his acceptance, he had made the critical decision: He would follow Yuriko’s advice completely. At once the weight tumbled off his
wa
and he felt greatly cleansed. He signed his name with an arrogant flourish.

How to be Toranaga’s best vassal? So simple: Remove Ishido from this earth.

How to do that, yet leave enough time to escape?

Then he heard Ogaki say, “Tomorrow you are invited to a formal reception given by the General Lord Ishido to honor the birthday of the Lady Ochiba.”

Still travel-worn, Mariko embraced Kiri first, then hugged the Lady Sazuko, admired the baby, and hugged Kiri again. Personal maids fussed and bustled around them, bringing cha and saké and taking away the trays again, hurrying in and out with cushions and sweet-smelling herbs, opening and closing the shojis overlooking the inner garden in their section of Osaka Castle, waving fans, chattering, and weeping also.

At length Kiri clapped her hands, dismissed the maids, and groped heavily for her special cushion, overcome with excitement and happiness. She was very flushed. Hastily Mariko and the Lady Sazuko fanned her and ministered to her, and only after three large cups of saké was she able to catch her breath again.

“Oh, that’s better,” she said. “Yes, thank you child, yes, I’ll have some more! Oh, Mariko-chan, you’re really here?”

“Yes, yes. Really here, Kiri-san.”

Sazuko, looking much younger than her seventeen years, said, “Oh, we’ve been so worried with only rumors and—”

“Yes, nothing but rumors, Mariko-chan,” Kiri interrupted. “Oh, there’s so much I want to know, I feel faint.”

“Poor Kiri-san, here, have some saké,” Sazuko said solicitously. “Perhaps you should loosen your obi and—”

“I’m perfectly all right now! Please don’t fuss, child.” Kiri exhaled and folded her hands over her ample stomach. “Oh Mariko-san, it’s so good to see a friendly face again from outside Osaka Castle.”

“Yes,” Sazuko echoed, nestling closer to Mariko, and said in a torrent,
“whenever we go out of our gate Grays swarm around us like we were queen bees. We’re not allowed to leave the castle, except with the Council’s permission—none of the ladies are, even Lord Kiyama’s—and the Council almost never meets and they hem and haw so there’s never any permission and the doctor still says I’m not to travel yet but I’m fine and the baby’s fine and…. But first tell us—”

Kiri interrupted, “First tell us how our Master is.”

The girl laughed, her vivacity undiminished. “I was going to ask that, Kiri-san!”

Mariko replied as Toranaga had ordered. “He’s committed to his course—he’s confident and content with his decision.” She had rehearsed herself many times during her journey. Even so the strength of the gloom she created almost made her want to blurt out the truth. “So sorry,” she said.

“Oh!” Sazuko tried not to sound frightened.

Kiri heaved herself to a more comfortable position. “
Karma
is
karma, neh?”

“Then—then there’s no change—no hope?” the girl asked.

Kiri patted her hand. “Believe that
karma
is
karma
, child, and Lord Toranaga is the greatest, wisest man alive. That is enough, the rest is illusion. Mariko-chan, do you have messages for us?”

“Oh, so sorry. Yes, here.” Mariko took the three scrolls from her sleeve. “Two for you, Kiri-chan—one from our Master, one from Lord Hiro-matsu. This is for you, Sazuko, from your Lord, but he told me to tell you he misses you and wants to see his newest son. He made me remember to tell you three times. He misses you very much and oh so wants to see his youngest son. He misses you very …”

Tears were spilling down the girl’s cheeks. She mumbled an apology and ran out of the room clutching the scroll.

“Poor child. It’s so very hard for her here.” Kiri did not break the seals of her scrolls. “You know about His Imperial Majesty being present?”

“Yes.” Mariko was equally grave. “A courier from Lord Toranaga caught up with me a week ago. The message gave no details other than that, and named the day he will arrive here. Have you heard from him?”

“Not directly—nothing private—not for a month now. How is he? Really?”

“Confident.” She sipped some saké. “Oh, may I pour for you?”

“Thank you.”

“Nineteen days isn’t much time, is it, Kiri-chan?”

“It’s time enough to go to Yedo and back again if you hurry, time enough to live a lifetime if you want, more than enough time to fight a battle or lose an Empire—time for a million things, but not enough time to eat all the rare dishes or drink all the saké….” Kiri smiled faintly. “I’m certainly not going to diet for the next twenty days. I’m—” She stopped. “Oh, please excuse me—listen to me prattling on and you haven’t even changed or bathed. There’ll be plenty of time to talk later.”

“Oh, please don’t concern yourself. I’m not tired.”

“But you must be. You’ll stay at your house?”

“Yes. That’s where the General Lord Ishido’s pass permits me to go.” Mariko smiled wryly. “His welcome was flowery!”

Kiri scowled. “I doubt if
he’d
be welcome even in hell.”

“Oh? So sorry, what now?”

“Nothing more than before. I know he ordered the Lord Sugiyama murders and tortures though I’ve no proof. Last week one of Lord Oda’s consorts tried to sneak out with her children, disguised as a street cleaner. Sentries shot them ‘by mistake.’”

“How terrible!”

“Of course, great ‘apologies’! Ishido claims security is all important. There was a trumped-up assassination attempt on the Heir—that’s his excuse.”

“Why don’t the ladies leave openly?”

“The Council has ordered wives and families to wait for their husbands, who
must
return for the Ceremony. The great Lord General feels ‘the responsibility of their safety too gravely to allow them to wander.’ The castle’s locked tighter than an old oyster.”

“So is the outside, Kiri-san. There are many more barriers than before on the Tokaidō, and Ishido’s security’s very strong within fifty
ri
. Patrols everywhere.”

“Everyone’s frightened of him, except us and our few samurai, and we’re no more trouble to him than a pimple on a dragon’s rump.”

“Even our doctors?”

“Them too. Yes, they still advise us not to travel, even if it were permitted, which it will never be.”

“Is the Lady Sazuko fit—is the baby fit, Kiri-san?”

“Yes, you can see that for yourself. And so am I.” Kiri sighed, the strain showing now, and Mariko noticed there was much more gray in her hair than before. “Nothing’s changed since I wrote to
Lord Toranaga at Anjiro. We’re hostages and we’ll stay hostages with all the rest until The Day. Then there’ll be a resolution.”

“Now that His Imperial Highness is arriving … that makes everything final,
neh?”

“Yes. It would seem so. Go and rest, Mariko-chan, but eat with us tonight. Then we can talk,
neh?
Oh, by the way, one piece of news for you. Your famous barbarian hatamoto—bless him for saving our Master, we heard about that—he docked safely this morning, with Kasigi Yabu-san.”

“Oh! I was so worried about them. They left the day before I did by sea. We were also caught in part of the
tai-fun
, near Nagoya, but it wasn’t that bad for us. I was afraid at sea…. Oh, that’s a relief.”

“It wasn’t too bad here except for the fires. Many thousands of homes burned but barely two thousand dead. We heard today that the main force of the storm hit Kyushu, on the east coast, and part of Shikoku. Tens of thousands died. No one yet knows the full extent of the damage.”

“But the harvest?” Mariko asked quickly.

“Much of it’s flattened here—fields upon fields. The farmers hope that it will recover but who knows? If there’s no damage to the Kwanto during the season, their rice may have to support the whole Empire this year and next.”

“It would be far better if Lord Toranaga controlled such a harvest than Ishido.
Neh?”

“Yes. But, so sorry, nineteen days is not time enough to take in a harvest, with all the prayers in the world.”

Mariko finished her saké. “Yes.”

Kiri said, “If their ship left the day before you, you must have hurried.”

“I thought it best not to dawdle, Kiri-chan. It’s no pleasure for me to travel.”

“And Buntaro-san? He’s well?”

“Yes. He’s in charge of Mishima and all the border at the moment. I saw him briefly coming here. Do you know where Kasigi Yabusama’s staying? I have a message for him.”

“In one of the guest houses. I’ll find out which and send you word at once.” Kiri accepted more wine. “Thank you, Mariko-chan. I heard the Anjin-san’s still on the galley.”

“He’s a very interesting man, Kiri-san. He’s become more than a little useful to our Master.”

“I heard that. I want to hear everything about him and the earth-quake and all your news. Oh yes, there’s a formal reception tomorrow evening for Lady Ochiba’s birthday, given by Lord Ishido. Of course you’ll be invited. I heard that the Anjin-san’s going to be invited too. The Lady Ochiba wanted to see what he looks like. You remember the Heir met him once. Wasn’t that the first time you saw him too?”

“Yes. Poor man, so he’s to be shown off, like a captive whale?”

“Yes.” Kiri added placidly, “With all of us. We’re all captives, Mariko-chan, whether we like it or not.”

Uraga hurried furtively down the alley toward the shore, the night dark, the sky clear and starlit, the air pleasant. He was dressed in the flowing orange robe of a Buddhist priest, his inevitable hat, and cheap straw sandals. Behind him were warehouses and the tall, almost European bulk of the Jesuit Mission. He turned a corner and redoubled his pace. Few people were about. A company of Grays carrying flares patrolled the shore. He slowed as he passed them courteously, though with a priest’s arrogance. The samurai hardly noticed him.

He went unerringly along the foreshore, past beached fishing boats, the smells of the sea and shore heavy on the slight breeze. It was low tide. Scattered over the bay and sanding shelves were night fishermen, like so many fireflies, hunting with spears under their flares. Ahead two hundred paces were the wharves and jetties, barnacle encrusted. Moored to one of them was a Jesuit lorcha, the flags of Portugal and the Company of Jesus fluttering, flares and more Grays near the gangway. He changed direction to skirt the ship, heading back into the city a few blocks, then cut down Nineteenth Street, turned into twisting alleys, and came out on to the road that followed the wharves once more.

“You! Halt!”

The order came out of the darkness. Uraga stopped in sudden panic. Grays came forward into the light and surrounded him. “Where’re you going, priest?”

“To the east of the city,” Uraga said haltingly, his mouth dry. “To our Nichiren shrine.”

“Ah, you’re Nichiren,
neh?”

Another samurai said roughly, “I’m not one of those. I’m Zen Buddhist like the Lord General.”

“Zen—ah yes, Zen’s the best,” another said. “Wish I could understand that. It’s too hard for my old head.”

“He’s sweating a lot for a priest, isn’t he? Why are you sweating?”

“You mean priests don’t sweat?”

A few laughed and someone held a flare closer.

“Why should they sweat?” the rough man said. “All they do is sleep all day and pillow all night—nuns, boys, dogs, themselves, anything they can get—and all the time stuff themselves with food they’ve never labored for. Priests are parasites, like fleas.”

“Eh, leave him alone, he’s just—”

“Take off your hat, priest.”

Uraga stiffened. “Why? And why taunt a man who serves Buddha? Buddha’s doing you no—”

The samurai stepped forward pugnaciously. “I said take off your hat!”

Uraga obeyed. His head was newly shaven as a priest’s should be and he blessed whatever
kami
or spirit or gift from Buddha had prompted him to take that added precaution in case he was caught breaking curfew. All the Anjin-san’s samurai had been ordered confined to the vessel by the port authorities, pending instructions from higher up. “There’s no cause to have foul manners,” he flared with a Jesuit’s unconscious authority. “Serving Buddha’s an honorable life, and becoming a priest is honorable and should be the final part of every samurai’s old age. Or do you know nothing of
bushido?
Where are your manners?”

“What? You’re samurai?”

“Of course I’m samurai. How else would I dare to talk to samurai about bad manners?” Uraga put on his hat. “It would be better for you to be patrolling than accosting and insulting innocent priests!” He walked off haughtily, his knees weak.

The samurai watched him for a time then one spat. “Priests!”

“He was right,” the senior samurai said sourly. “Where are your manners?”

“So sorry. Please excuse me.”

Uraga walked along the road, very proud of himself. Nearer the galley he became wary again and waited a moment in the lee of a building. Then, gathering himself together, he walked into the flare-lit area.

“Good evening,” he said politely to the Grays who lolled beside the gangplank, then added the religious blessing, “
Namu Amida Butsu,”
In the Name of the Buddha Amida.

“Thank you.
Namu Amida Butsu.”
The Grays let him pass without
hindrance. Their orders were that the barbarian and all samurai were forbidden ashore except for Yabu and his honor guard. No one had said anything about the Buddhist priest who traveled with the ship.

Greatly tired now, Uraga came onto the main deck.

“Uraga-san,” Blackthorne called out softly from the quarterdeck. “Over here.”