Shogun (97 page)

Omi called out for the bath attendants. “
Isogi!”
Hurry up!

The servants escorted Blackthorne to the bath house, which was set within a tiny maple grove and joined to the main house by a neat winding walk, usually roofed. The bath was much more luxurious than his own. One wall was cracked badly but villagers were already replastering it. The roof was sound although a few tiles were missing and rain leaked in here and there, but that did not matter.

Blackthorne stripped and sat on the tiny seat. The servants lathered him and shampooed him in the rain. When he was cleansed he went inside and immersed himself in the steaming bath. All his troubles melted away.

Fujiko’s going to be all right. I’m a lucky man—lucky I was there to pull Toranaga out, lucky to save Mariko, and lucky he was there to pull us out.

Suwo’s magic renewed him as usual. Later he let Suwo dress his bruises and cuts and put on the clean loincloth and kimono and tabi that had been left for him, and went out. The rain had stopped.

A temporary lean-to had been erected in one corner of the garden. It had a neat raised floor and was furnished with clean futons and a little vase with a flower arrangement. Omi was waiting for him and in attendance was a toothless, hard-faced old woman.

“Please sit down, Anjin-san,” Omi said.

“Thank you, and thanks for the clothes,” he replied in halting Japanese.

“Please don’t mention it. Would you like cha or saké?”

“Cha,” Blackthorne decided, thinking that he had better keep his head clear for his interview with Toranaga. “Thank you.”

“This is my mother,” Omi said formally, clearly idolizing her.

Blackthorne bowed. The old woman simpered and sucked in her breath.

“It’s my honor, Anjin-san,” she said.

“Thank you, but I’m honored.” Blackthorne repeated automatically the succession of formal politenesses that Mariko had taught him.

“Anjin-san, we were so sorry to see your house in flames.”

“What could one do? That’s
karma, neh?”

“Yes,
karma.”
The old woman looked away and scowled. “Hurry up! The Anjin-san wants his cha warm!”

The girl standing beside the maid who carried the tray took Blackthorne’s breath away. Then he remembered her. Wasn’t this the girl he’d seen with Omi, the first time, when he was passing through the village square on his way to the galley?

“This is my wife,” Omi said tersely.

“I’m honored,” Blackthorne said as she took her place, knelt, and bowed.

“You must forgive her slowness,” Omi’s mother said. “Is the cha warm enough for you?”

“Thank you, it’s very good.” Blackthorne had noted that the old woman had not used the wife’s name as she should have. But then, he was not surprised because Mariko had told him already about the dominating position of a girl’s mother-in-law in Japanese society.

“Thank God it’s not the same in Europe,” he had told her.

“A wife’s mother-in-law can do no wrong—after all, Anjin-san, the parents choose the wife in the first place and what father would choose without first consulting his own wife? Of course, the daughter-in-law has to obey, and the son always does what his mother and father want.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

“What if the son refuses?”

“That’s not possible. Everyone has to obey the head of the house. A son’s first duty is to his parents. Of course. Sons are given everything by their mothers—life, food, tenderness, protection. She succors
them all their lives. So of course it’s right that a son should heed his mother’s wishes. The daughter-in-law—she has to obey. That’s her duty.”

“It’s not the same with us.”

“It’s hard to be a good daughter-in-law, very hard. You just have to hope that you live long enough to have sons to become one yourself.”

“And your mother-in-law?”

“Ah, she’s dead, Anjin-san. She died many years ago. I never knew her. Lord Hiro-matsu, in his wisdom, never took another wife.”

“Buntaro-san’s his only son?”

“Yes. My husband has five living sisters, but no brothers.” She had joked, “In a way we’re related now, Anjin-san. Fujiko’s my husband’s niece. What’s the matter?”

“I’m surprised you never told me, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s complicated, Anjin-san.” Then Mariko had explained that Fujiko was actually an adopted daughter of Numata Akinori, who had married Buntaro’s youngest sister, and that Fujiko’s real father was a grandson of the Dictator Goroda by his eighth consort, that Fujiko had been adopted by Numata when an infant at the Taikō’s orders because the Taikō wanted closer ties between the descendants of Hiro-matsu and Goroda….

“What?”

Mariko had laughed, telling him that, yes, Japanese family relationships were very complicated because adoption was normal, that families exchanged sons and daughters often, and divorced and remarried and intermarried all the time. With so many legal consorts and the ease of divorce—particularly if at the order of a liege lord—all families soon become incredibly tangled.

“To unravel Lord Toranaga’s family links accurately would take days, Anjin-san. Just think of the complications: Presently he has seven
official
consorts living, who have given him five sons and three daughters. Some of the consorts were widows or previously married with other sons and daughters—some of these Toranaga adopted, some he did not. In Japan you don’t ask if a person is adopted or natural. Truly, what does it matter? Inheritance is always at the whim of the head of the house, so adopted or not it is the same,
neh?
Even Toranaga’s mother was divorced. Later she remarried and had three more sons and two daughters by her second husband, all of whom are also now married! Her eldest son from her second marriage is Zataki, Lord of Shinano.”

Blackthorne had mulled that. Then he had said, “Divorce isn’t possible for us. Not possible.”

“So the Holy Fathers tell us. So sorry, but that’s not very sensible, Anjin-san. Mistakes happen, people change, that’s
karma, neh?
Why should a man have to bear a foul wife, or a wife a foul man? Foolish to be stuck forever, man or woman,
neh?”

“Yes.”

“In this we are very wise and the Holy Fathers unwise. This was one of the two great reasons the Taikō would not embrace Christianity, this foolishness about divorce—and the sixth Commandment, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ The Father-Visitor sent all the way to Rome begging dispensation for Japanese about divorce. But His Holiness the Pope, in his wisdom, said no. If His Holiness had said yes, I believe the Taikō would have converted, the
daimyos
would be following the True Faith now, and the land would be Christian. The matter of ‘killing’ would have been unimportant because no one pays any attention to that really, Christians least of all. Such a little concession, for so much,
neh?”

“Yes,” Blackthorne had said. How sensible divorce seemed here. Why was it a mortal sin at home, opposed by every priest in Christendom, Catholic or Protestant, in the name of God?

“What’s Toranaga’s wife like?” he had asked, wanting to keep her talking. Most of the time she avoided the subject of Toranaga and his family history and it was important for Blackthorne to know everything.

A shadow had crossed Mariko’s face. “She’s dead. She was his second wife and she died ten or eleven years ago. She was the Taikō’s stepsister. Lord Toranaga was never successful with his wives, Anjin-san.”

“Why?”

“Oh, the second was old and tired and grasping, worshiping gold, though pretending not to, like her brother, the Taikō himself. Barren and bad-tempered. It was a political marriage, of course. I had to be one of her ladies-in-waiting for a time. Nothing would please her and none of the youths or men could unwind the knot in her Golden Pavilion.”

“What?”

“Her Jade Gate, Anjin-san. With their Turtle Heads—their Steaming Shafts. Don’t you understand? Her … thing.”

“Oh! I understand. Yes.”

“No one could unwind her knot … could satisfy her.”

“Not even Toranaga?”

“He never pillowed her, Anjin-san,” she had said, quite shocked. “Of course, after the marriage he had nothing to do with her, other than give her a castle and retainers and the keys to his treasure house—why should he? She was quite old, she’d been married twice before, but her brother, the Taikō, had dissolved the marriages. A most unpleasant woman—everyone was most relieved when she went into the Great Void, even the Taikō, and all her stepdaughters-in-law and all of Toranaga’s consorts secretly burnt incense with great joy.”

“And Toranaga’s first wife?”

“Ah, the Lady Tachibana. That was another political marriage. Lord Toranaga was eighteen, she fifteen. She grew up to be a terrible woman. Twenty years ago Toranaga had her put to death because he discovered she was secretly plotting to assassinate their liege lord, the Dictator Goroda, whom she hated. My father often told me he thought they were all lucky to retain their heads—he, Toranaga, Nakamura, and all the generals—because Goroda was merciless, relentless, and particularly suspicious of those closest to him. That woman could have ruined them all, however innocent they were. Because of her plot against Lord Goroda, her only son, Nobunaga, was also put to death, Anjin-san. She killed her own son. Think of that, so sad, so terrible. Poor Nobunaga—he was Toranaga’s favorite son and his official heir—brave, a general in his own right, and totally loyal. He was innocent but she still embroiled him in her plot. He was only nineteen when Toranaga ordered him to commit seppuku.”

“Toranaga killed his own son? And his wife?”

“Yes, he ordered them onward, but he had no choice, Anjin-san. If he hadn’t, Lord Goroda would correctly have presumed Toranaga to be part of the plot himself and would have ordered him instantly to slit his belly. Oh yes, Toranaga was lucky to escape Goroda’s wrath and wise to send her onward quickly. When she was dead her daughter-in-law and all Toranaga’s consorts were very much ecstatic. Her son had had to send his first wife home in disgrace on her orders for some imagined slight—after bearing him two children. The girl committed seppuku—did I tell you ladies commit seppuku by slitting their throats, Anjin-san, and not their stomachs like men?—but she went to death gratefully, glad to be freed from a life of tears, as the next wife prayed for death, her life made equally miserable by her mother-in-law….”

Now, looking at Midori’s mother-in-law, the tea dribbling down her chin, Blackthorne knew that this old hag had power of life or death, divorce or degradation over Midori, provided her husband, the head of their house, agreed. And, whatever they decided, Omi would obey. How terrible, he told himself.

Midori was as graceful and youthful as the old woman was not, her face oval, her hair rich. She was more beautiful than Mariko, but without her fire and strength, pliant as a fern and fragile as gossamer.

“Where are the small foods? Of course the Anjin-san must be hungry,
neh?”
the old woman said.

“Oh, so sorry,” Midori replied at once. “Fetch some instantly,” she said to the maid. “Hurry! So sorry, Anjin-san!”

“So sorry, Anjin-san,” the old woman said.

“Please don’t apologize,” Blackthorne said to Midori, and instantly knew that it was a mistake. Good manners decreed that he should acknowledge only the mother-in-law, particularly if she had an evil reputation. “So sorry,” he said. “I not hungry. Tonight I eat must with Lord Toranaga.”

“
Ah so desu!
We heard you saved his life. You should know how grateful we are—all his vassals!” the old woman said.

“It was duty. I did nothing.”

“You did everything, Anjin-san. Omi-san and Lord Yabu appreciate your action as much as all of us.”

Blackthorne saw the old woman looking at her son. I wish I could fathom you, you old bitch, he thought. Are you as evil as that other one, Tachibana?

Omi said, “Mother, I’m fortunate to have the Anjin-san as a friend.”

“We’re all fortunate,” she said.

“No, I’m fortunate,” Blackthorne replied. “I fortunate have friends as family of Kasigi Omi-san.” We’re all lying, Blackthorne thought, but I don’t know why you are. I’m lying for self-protection and because it’s custom. But I’ve never forgotten…. Wait a moment. In all honesty, wasn’t that
karma?
Wouldn’t you have done what Omi did? That was long ago—in a previous life,
neh?
It’s meaningless now.

A group of horsemen clattered up the rise, Naga at their head. He dismounted and strode into the garden. All the villagers stopped working and went onto their knees. He motioned them to continue.

“So sorry to disturb you, Omi-san, but Lord Toranaga sent me.”

“Please, you’re not disturbing me. Please join us,” Omi said.
Midori at once gave up her cushion, bowing very low. “Would you like cha or saké, Naga-sama?”

Naga sat. “Neither, thank you. I’m not thirsty.”

Omi pressed him politely, going through the interminable necessary ritual, even though it was obvious that Naga was in a hurry. “How is the Lord Toranaga?”

“Very good. Anjin-san, you did us a great service. Yes. I thank you personally.”

“It was duty, Naga-san. But I did little. Lord Toranaga pulled me from—pulled me from earth also.”

“Yes. But that was afterward. I thank you very much.”

“Naga-san, is there something I can do for Lord Toranaga?” Omi asked, etiquette finally allowing him to come to the point.

“He would like to see you after the evening meal. There is to be a full conference of all officers.”

“I would be honored.”

“Anjin-san, you are to come with me now, if it pleases you.”

“Of course. It is my honor.”

More bows and salutations and then Blackthorne was on a horse and they were cantering down the hill. When the phalanx of samurai came to the square, Naga reined in.

“Anjin-san!”

“
Hai?”

“I thank you with all my heart for saving Lord Toranaga. Allow me to be your friend …” and some words Blackthorne did not catch.

“So sorry, I don’t understand.
‘Karite
iru’?”

“Ah, so sorry.
‘Karite iru’
—one man
karite iru
another man things—like ‘debt.’ You understand ‘debt’?”