Shogun (153 page)

“Yes, I remember, child,” Yodoko said, her mind wandering. “Oh, how I wish the Lord Taikō were here again to guide you.” The old lady’s breathing was becoming labored.

“Can I give you some cha or saké?”

“Cha, yes please, some cha.”

She helped the old one to drink. “Thank you, child.” The voice was feebler now, the strain of conversation speeding the dying. “Listen,
child, you must trust Toranaga. Marry him, barter with him for the succession.”

“No—no,” Ochiba said, shocked.

“Yaemon could rule after him, then the fruit of your new marriage after our son. The sons of our son will honorably swear eternal fidelity to this new Toranaga line.”

“Toranaga’s always hated the Taikō. You know that, Lady. Toranaga is the source of all the trouble. For years,
neh?
Him!”

“And you? What about your pride, child?”

“He’s the enemy, our enemy.”

“You’ve two enemies, child. Your pride and the need to have a man to compare to our husband. Please be patient with me, you’re young and beautiful and fruitful and deserve a husband. Toranaga’s worthy of you, you of him. Toranaga is the only chance Yaemon has.”

“No, he’s the enemy.”

“He was our husband’s greatest friend and most loyal vassal. Without … without Toranaga … don’t you see … it was Toranaga’s help … don’t you see? You could manage … manage him….”

“So sorry, but I hate him—he disgusts me, Yodoko-chan.”

“Many women…. What was I saying? Oh yes, many women marry men who disgust them. Praise be to Buddha I never had to suffer that….” The old woman smiled briefly. Then she sighed. It was a long, serious sigh and went on for too long and Ochiba thought the end had come. But the eyes opened a little and a tiny smile appeared again. “
Neh?”

“Yes.”

“Will you. Please?”

“I will think about it.”

The old fingers tried to tighten. “I beg you promise me you’ll marry Toranaga and I will go to Buddha knowing that the Taikō’s line will live forever, like his name … his name will live for….”

The tears ran freely down Ochiba’s face as she cradled the listless hand.

Later the eyes trembled and the old woman whispered, “You must let Akechi Mariko go. Don’t … don’t let her reap vengeance on us for what the Taikō did … did to … to her … to her father….”

Ochiba was caught unaware. “What?”

There was no answer. Later Yodoko began mumbling, “… Dear Yaemon, hello, my darling son, how … you’re such a fine boy,
but you’ve so many enemies, so foolish so…. Aren’t you just an illusion too, isn’t …”

A spasm racked her. Ochiba held onto the hand and caressed it. “
Namu Amida Butsu,”
she whispered in homage.

There was another spasm, then the old woman said clearly, “Forgive me, O-chan.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Lady.”

“So much to forgive….” The voice became fainter, and the light began to fade from her face. “Listen … prom—promise about … about Toranaga, Ochiba-sama …important … please … you can trust him….” The old eyes were beseeching her, willing her.

Ochiba did not want to obey yet knew that she should obey. Her mind was unsettled by what had been said about Akechi Mariko, and still resounded with the Taikō’s words, repeated ten thousand times, “You can trust Yodoko-sama, O-chan. She’s the Wise One—never forget it. She’s right most times and you can always trust her with your life, and my son’s life and mine….”

Ochiba conceded. “I prom—” She stopped abruptly.

The light of Yodoko-sama flickered a final time and went out.

“
Namu Amida Butsu.”
Ochiba touched the hand to her lips, and she bowed and laid the hand back on the coverlet and closed the eyes, thinking about the Taikō’s death, the only other death she had witnessed so closely. That time Lady Yodoko had closed the eyes as was a wife’s privilege and it had been in this same room, Toranaga waiting outside, as Ishido and Kiyama were now outside, continuing a vigil that had begun the day before.

“But why send for Toranaga, Lord?” she had asked. “You should rest.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead, O-chan,” the Taikō had said. “I must settle the succession. Finally. While I’ve the strength.”

So Toranaga had arrived, strong, vital, exuding power. The four of them were alone then, Ochiba, Yodoko, Toranaga and Nakamura, the Taikō, the Lord of Japan lying on his deathbed, all of them waiting for the orders that would be obeyed.

“So, Tora-san,” the Taikō had said, welcoming him with the nickname Goroda had given Toranaga long ago, the deep-set eyes peering up out of the tiny, withered simian face that was set on an equally tiny body—a body that had had the strength of steel until a
few months ago when the wasting began. “I’m dying. From nothing, into nothing, but you’ll be alive and my son’s helpless.”

“Not helpless, Sire. All the
daimyos
will honor your son as they honor you.”

The Taikō laughed. “Yes, they will. Today. While I’m alive—ah yes! But how do I make sure Yaemon will rule after me?”

“Appoint a Council of Regents, Sire.”

“Regents!” the Taikō said scornfully. “Perhaps I should make you my heir and let you judge if Yaemon’s worthy to follow you.”

“I would not be worthy to do that. Your son should follow you.”

“Yes, and Goroda’s sons should have followed him.”

“No. They broke the peace.”

“And you stamped them out on my orders.”

“You held the Emperor’s mandate. They rebelled against your lawful mandate, Sire. Give me your orders now, and I will obey them.”

“That’s why I called you here.”

Then the Taikō said, “It’s a rare thing to have a son at fifty-seven and a foul thing to die at sixty-three—if he’s an only son and you’ve got no kin and you’re Lord of Japan.
Neh?”

“Yes,” Toranaga said.

“Perhaps it would’ve been better if I’d never had a son, then I could pass the realm on to you as we agreed. You’ve more sons than a Portugee’s got lice.”

“
Karma.”

The Taikō had laughed and a string of spittle, flecked with blood, seeped out of his mouth. With great care Yodoko wiped the spittle away and he smiled up at his wife. “Thank you, Yo-chan, thank you.” Then the eyes turned onto Ochiba herself and Ochiba had smiled back but his eyes weren’t smiling now, just probing, wondering, pondering the never-dared-to-be-asked question that she was sure was forever in his mind: Is Yaemon really my son?

“
Karma
, O-chan.
Neh?”
It was gently said but Ochiba’s fear that he would ask her directly racked her and tears glistened in her eyes.

“No need for tears. O-chan. Life’s only a dream within a dream,” the old man said. He lay for a moment musing, then he peered at Toranaga again, and with a sudden, unexpected warmth for which he was famous, said, “Eeeeee, old friend, what a life we’ve had,
neh?
All the battles? Fighting side by side—together unbeatable. We did
the impossible,
neh?
Together we humbled the mighty and spat on their upturned arses while they groveled for more. Us—we did it, a peasant and a Minowara!” The old man chuckled. “Listen, a few more years and I’d have smashed the Garlic Eaters properly. Then with Korean legions and our own Japanese legions, a sharp thrust up to Peking and me on the Dragon Throne of China. Then I’d have given you Japan, which you want, and I’d have what I want.” The voice was strong, belying the inner fragility. “A peasant can straddle the Dragon Throne with face and honor—not like here.
Neh?”

“China and Japan are different, yes, Sire.”

“Yes. They’re wise in China. There the first of a dynasty’s always a peasant or the son of a peasant, and the throne’s always taken by force with bloody hands. No hereditary caste there—isn’t that China’s strength?” Again the laugh. “Force and bloody hands and peasant—that’s me.
Neh?”

“Yes. But you’re also samurai. You changed the rules here. You’re first of a dynasty.”

“I always liked you, Tora-san.” The old man sipped cha contentedly. “Yes—think of it, me on the Dragon Throne—think of that! Emperor of China, Yodoko Empress, and after her Ochiba the Fair, and after me Yaemon, and China and Japan forever joined together as they should be. Ah, it would have been so easy! Then with our legions and Chinese hordes I’d stab northwest and south and, like tenth-class whores, the empires of all the earth would lie panting in the dirt, their legs spread wide for us to take what we want. We’re unbeatable—you and I were unbeatable—Japanese’re unbeatable, of course we are—we know the whole point of life.
Neh?”

“Yes.”

The eyes glittered strangely. “What is it?”

“Duty, discipline, and death,” Toranaga replied.

Again a chuckle, the old man seemingly tinier than ever, more wizened than ever, and then, with an equal suddenness for which he was also famous, all the warmth left him. “The Regents?” he asked, his voice venomous and firm. “Whom would you pick?”

“Lords Kiyama, Ishido, Onoshi, Toda Hiro-matsu, and Sugiyama.”

The Taikō’s face twisted with a malicious grin. “You are the cleverest man in the Empire—after me! Explain to my ladies why you’d pick those five.”

“Because they all hate each other, but combined, they can rule effectively and stamp out any opposition.”

“Even you?”

“No, not me, Sire.” Then Toranaga looked at Ochiba and spoke directly to her. “For Yaemon to inherit power you have to weather another nine years. To do that, above all else, you must maintain the Taikō’s peace. I pick Kiyama because he’s the chief Christian
daimyo
, a great general, and a most loyal vassal. Next, Sugiyama because he’s the richest
daimyo
in the land, his family ancient, he heartily detests Christians, and has the most to gain if Yaemon gets power. Onoshi because he detests Kiyama, offsets his power, is also Christian, but a leper who grasps at life, will live for twenty years and hates all the others with a monstrous violence, particularly Ishido. Ishido because he’ll be sniffing out plots—because he’s a peasant, detests hereditary samurai, and is violently opposed to Christians. Toda Hiro-matsu because he’s honest, obedient, and faithful, as constant as the sun and like the sudden best sword of a master sword-smith. He should be president of the Council.”

“And you?”

“I will commit seppuku with my eldest son, Noboru. My son Sudara’s married to the Lady Ochiba’s sister, so he’s no threat, could never be a threat. He could inherit the Kwanto, if it pleases you, providing he swears perpetual allegiance to your house.”

No one was surprised that Toranaga had offered to do what was obviously in the Taikō’s mind, for Toranaga alone among the
daimyos
was the real threat. Then she had heard her husband say, “O-chan, what is your counsel?”

“Everything that the Lord Toranaga has said, Sire,” she had answered at once, “except that you should order my sister divorced from Sudara who should commit seppuku. The Lord Noboru should be Lord Toranaga’s heir and should inherit the two provinces of Musashi and Shimoosa, and the rest of the Kwanto should go to your heir, Yaemon. I counsel this to be ordered today.”

“Yodoko-sama?”

To her astonishment, Yodoko had said, “Ah, Tokichi, you know I adore you with all my heart and the O-chan and Yaemon as my own son. I say make Toranaga sole Regent.”

“What?”

“If you order him to die, I think you kill our son. Only Lord Toranaga has skill enough, prestige enough, cunning enough to inherit
now
. Put Yaemon into his keeping until he’s of age. Order Lord
Toranaga to adopt our son formally. Let Yaemon be coached by Lord Toranaga and inherit
after
Toranaga.”

“No—this must not be done,” Ochiba had protested.

“What do you say to that, Tora-san?” the Taikō asked.

“With humility I must refuse, Sire. I cannot accept that and beg to be allowed to commit seppuku and go before you.”

“You will be sole Regent.”

“I’ve never refused to obey you since we made our bargain. But this order I refuse.”

Ochiba remembered how she had tried to will the Taikō to let Toranaga obliterate himself as she knew the Taikō had already decided. But the Taikō had changed his mind and, at length, had accepted part of what Yodoko had advised, and made the compromise that Toranaga would be a Regent and President of the Regents. Toranaga had sworn eternal faith to Yaemon but now he was still spinning the web that embroiled them all, like this crisis Mariko had precipitated. “I know it was on his orders,” Ochiba muttered, and now Lady Yodoko had wanted her to submit to him totally.

Marry Toranaga? Buddha protect me from that shame, from having to welcome him and feel his weight and his spurting life.

Shame?

Ochiba, what is the truth? she asked herself. The truth is that you wanted him once—before the Taikō,
neh?
Even during,
neh?
Many times in your secret heart.
Neh?
The Wise One was right again about pride being your enemy and about needing a man, a husband. Why not accept Ishido? He honors you and wants you and he’s going to win. He would be easy to manage.
Neh?
No, not that uncouth bog trotter! Oh, I know the filthy rumors spread by enemies—filthy impertinence! I swear I’d rather lie with my maids and put my faith in a
harigata
for another thousand lifetimes than abuse my Lord’s memory with Ishido. Be honest, Ochiba. Consider Toranaga. Don’t you really hate him just because he might have seen you on that dream day?

It had been more than six years ago in Kyushu when she and her ladies had been out hawking with the Taikō and Toranaga. Their party was spread over a wide area and she had been galloping after one of her falcons, separated from the others. She was in the hills in a wood and she’d suddenly come upon this peasant gathering berries beside the lonely path. Her first weakling son had been dead almost two years and there were no more stirrings in her womb, though she had
tried every position or trick or regimen, every superstition or potion or prayer, desperate to satisfy her lord’s obsession for an heir.

The meeting with the peasant had been so sudden. He gawked up at her as though she were a
kami
and she at him because he was the image of the Taikō, small and monkey like, but he had youth.