Shogun (The Asian Saga Chronology) (134 page)

Sudara shook his head and Toranaga said grimly, "Your children are in my quarters, on the floor below.  I ordered Chano-san to fetch them after you'd been ordered here.  I needed to be sure of you both.  Foul times require foul tests."  He rang the hand bell.

"You—you withdraw your or—your order, Sire?"  Genjiko asked, desperately trying to maintain a cold dignity.

"Yes.  My order's withdrawn.  This time.  It was necessary to know you.  And my heir."

"Thank you, thank you, Sire."  Sudara lowered his head abjectly.

The inner door opened.  "Chano-san, bring my grandchildren here for a moment," Toranaga said.

Soon three somberly clad foster mothers and the wet nurse brought the children.  The girls were four, three, and two, and the infant son, a few weeks old, was asleep in the arms of his wet nurse.  All the girls wore scarlet kimonos with scarlet ribbons in their hair.  The foster mothers knelt and bowed to Toranaga and their wards copied them importantly and put their heads to the tatamis—except the youngest girl, whose head needed assistance from a gentle though firm hand.

Toranaga bowed back gravely.  Then, their duty done, the children rushed into his embrace—except the littlest one, who toddled into her mother's arms.

At midnight Yabu strutted arrogantly across the flare-lit donjon forecourt.  Toranaga's elite corps of personal guards were everywhere.  The moon was vague and misted and the stars barely visible.

"Ah, Naga-san, what's the reason for all this?"

"I don't know, Lord, but everyone's ordered to the conference chamber.  Please excuse me, but you must leave your swords with me."

Yabu flushed at this unheard-of breach of etiquette.  "Are you—"  He changed his mind, sensing the youth's chilling tenseness and the restless nervousness of the nearby guards.  "On whose orders please, Naga-san?"

"My father's, Lord.  So sorry, you can please yourself if you don't wish to go to the conference, but I have to advise you that you are ordered there without swords and, so sorry, that is the way you will appear.  Please excuse me, but I have no choice."

Yabu saw the pile of swords already in the lee of the guardhouse beside the huge main gate.  He weighed the dangers of a refusal and found them formidable.  Reluctantly he relinquished his arms.  Naga bowed politely, equally embarrassed, as he accepted them.  Yabu went inside.  The huge room was embrasured, stone floored, and wooden beamed.

Soon the fifty senior generals were gathered, twenty-three counselors, and seven friendly
daimyos
from minor northern provinces.  All were keyed up and fidgeted uncomfortably.

"What's all this about?" Yabu asked as he sourly took his place.

A general shrugged.  "It's probably about the trek to Osaka."

Another looked around hopefully.  "Perhaps it's a change of plan,
neh?
He's going to order Crimson—"

"So sorry, but your head's in the clouds.  He's decided.  Our Lord's decided—it's Osaka and nothing else!  Hey, Yabu-sama, when did you get here?"

"Yesterday.  I've been stuck at a filthy little fishing village called Yokohama for more than two weeks, south of here, with my troops.  The port's fine but the bugs!  Stinking mosquitoes and bugs—they were never so bad in Izu."

"You're up to date with all the news?"

"You mean all the bad news?  The move's still in six days,
neh?
"

"Yes, terrible.  Shameful!"

"True, but tonight's worse," another general said grimly.  "I've never been without swords before.  Never."

"It's an insult," Yabu said deliberately.  All those nearby looked at him.

"I agree," General Kiyoshio replied, breaking the silence.  Serata Kiyoshio was the grizzled, tough Commander of the Seventh Army.  "I've never been without swords in public before.  Makes me feel like a stinking merchant!  I think . . . eeeeee, orders are orders but some orders should not be given."

"That's quite right," someone said.  "What would old Iron Fist have done if he'd been here?"

"He'd have slit his belly, before he gave up his swords!  He'd have done it tonight in the forecourt!" a young man said.  He was Serata Tomo, the general's eldest son, second-in-command of the Fourth Army.  "I wish Iron Fist were here!  He could get sense . . . he'd have slit his belly first."

"I considered it."  General Kiyoshio cleared his throat harshly.  "Someone has to be responsible—and do his duty!  Someone has to make the point that liege lord means responsibility and duty!"

"So sorry, but you'd better watch your tongue," Yabu advised.

"What's the use of a tongue in a samurai's mouth if he's forbidden to be samurai?"

"None," Isamu, an old counselor, replied.  "I agree.  Better to be dead."

"So sorry, Isamu-san, but that's our immediate future anyway," the young Serata Tomo said.  "We're staked pigeons to a certain dishonored hawk!"

"Please hold your tongues!" Yabu said, hiding his own satisfaction.  Then he added carefully, "He's our liege lord and until Lord Sudara or the Council takes open responsibility he stays liege lord and he is to be obeyed. 
Neh?
"

General Kiyoshio studied him, his hand unconsciously feeling for his sword hilt.  "What have you heard, Yabu-sama?"

"Nothing."

"Buntaro-san said that—" the counselor began.

General Kiyoshio interrupted thinly.  "Please excuse me, Isamu-san, but what General Buntaro said or what he didn't say is unimportant.  What Yabu-sama says is true.  A liege lord is a liege lord.  Even so, a samurai has rights, a vassal has rights.  Even
daimyos.  Neh?
"

Yabu looked back at him, gauging the depth of that invitation.  "Izu is Lord Toranaga's province.  I'm no longer
daimyo
of Izu—only overlord for him."  He glanced around the huge room.  "Everyone's here;
neh?
"

"Except Lord Noboru," a general said, mentioning Toranaga's eldest son, who was universally loathed.

"Yes.  Just as well.  Never mind, General, the Chinese sickness'll finish him soon and we'll be done with his foul humor forever," someone said.

"And stench."

"When's he coming back?"

"Who knows?  We don't even know why Toranaga-sama sent him north.  Better he stays there,
neh?
"

"If you had that sickness, you'd be as foul-humored as he is,
neh?
"

"Yes, Yabu-san.  Yes, I would.  Pity he's poxed, he's a good general—better than the Cold Fish," General Kiyoshio added, using Sudara's private nickname.

"Eeeee," the counselor whistled.  "There're devils in the air tonight to make you so careless with your tongue.  Or is it saké?"

"Perhaps it's the Chinese sickness," General Kiyoshio replied with a bitter laugh.

"Buddha protect me from that!" Yabu said.  "If only Lord Toranaga would change his mind about Osaka!"

"I'd slit my belly now if that'd convince him," the young man said.

"No offense, my son, but your head's in the clouds.  He'll never change."

"Yes, Father.  But I just don't understand him. . . ."

"We're all to go with him?  In the same contingent?" Yabu asked after a moment.

Isamu, the old counselor, said, "Yes.  We're to go as an escort.  With two thousand men with full ceremonial equipment and trappings.  It'll take us thirty days to get there.  We've six days left."

General Kiyoshio said, "That's not much time.  Is it, Yabu-sama?"

Yabu did not reply.  There was no need.  The general did not require an answer.  They settled into their own thoughts.

A side door opened.  Toranaga came in.  Sudara followed.  Everyone bowed stiffly.  Toranaga bowed back and sat facing them, Sudara as heir presumptive slightly in front of him, also facing the others.  Naga came in from the main door and closed it.

Only Toranaga wore swords.

"It's been reported that some of you speak treason, think treason, and plan treason," he said coldly.  No one answered or moved.  Slowly, relentlessly, Toranaga looked from face to face.

Still no movement.  Then General Kiyoshio spoke.  "May I respectfully ask, Sire, what do you mean by 'treason'?"

"Any questioning of an order, or a decision, or a position of any liege lord, at any time, is treason," Toranaga slammed back at him.

The general's back stiffened.  "Then I'm guilty of treason."

"Then go out and commit seppuku at once."

"I will, Sire," the soldier said proudly, "but first I claim the right of free speech before your loyal vassals, officers, and coun—"

"You've forfeited all rights!"

"Very well.  Then I claim it as a dying wish—as hatamoto—and in return for twenty-eight years of faithful service!"

"Make it very short."

"I will, Sire," General Kiyoshio replied icily.  "I beg to say, first:  Going to Osaka and bowing to the peasant Ishido is treason against your honor, the honor of your clan, the honor of your faithful vassals, your special heritage, and totally against
bushido.
  Second:  I indict you for this treason and say you've therefore forfeited your right to be our liege lord.  Third:  I petition that you immediately abdicate in Lord Sudara's favor and honorably depart this life—or shave your head and retire to a monastery, whichever you prefer."

The general bowed stiffly, then sat back on his haunches.  Everyone waited, hardly breathing now that the unbelievable had become a reality.

Abruptly Toranaga hissed, "What are you waiting for?"

General Kiyoshio stared back at him.  "Nothing, Sire.  Please excuse me."  His son began to get up.

"No.  You're ordered to stay here!" he said.

The general bowed a last time to Toranaga, got up, and walked out with immense dignity.  Some stirred nervously and a swell moved through the room but Toranaga's harshness dominated again:  "Is there anyone else who admits treason?  Anyone else who dares to break
bushido,
anyone who dares to accuse his liege lord of treason?"

"Please excuse me, Sire," Isamu, the old counselor, said calmly.  "But I regret to say that if you go to Osaka it is treason against your heritage."

"The day I go to Osaka you will depart this earth."

The gray-haired man bowed politely.  "Yes, Sire."

Toranaga looked them over.  Pitilessly.  Someone shifted uneasily and eyes snapped onto him.  The samurai, a warrior who years ago had lost his wish to fight and had shaved his head to become a Buddhist monk and was now a member of Toranaga's civil administration, said nothing, almost wilting with an untoward fear he tried desperately to hide.

"What're you afraid of, Numata-san?"

"Nothing, Sire," the man said, his eyes downcast.

"Good.  Then go and commit seppuku because you're a liar and your fear's an infectious stench."

The man whimpered and stumbled out.  Dread stalked them all now.  Toranaga watched.  And waited.

The air became oppressive, the slight crackling of the torch flames seemed strangely loud.  Then, knowing it was his duty and responsibility, Sudara turned and bowed.  "Please, Sire, may I respectfully make a statement?"

"What statement?"

"Sire, I believe there is no . . . no more treason here, and that there will be no more trea—"

"I don't share your opinion."

"Please excuse me, Sire, you know I will obey you.  We will all obey you.  We seek only the best for your—"

"The best is
my
decision.  What I decide is best."

Helplessly Sudara bowed his acquiescence and became silent.  Toranaga did not look away from him.  His gaze was remorseless.  "You are no longer my heir."

Sudara paled.  Then Toranaga shattered the tension in the room:  "
I am liege lord here.
"

He waited a moment, then, in utter silence, he got up and arrogantly marched out.  The door closed behind him.  A great sigh went through the room.  Hands sought sword hilts impotently.  But no one left his place.

"This . . . this morning I . . . I heard from our commander-in-chief," Sudara began at last.  "Lord Hiro-matsu will be here in a few days.  I will . . . talk to him.  Be silent, be patient, be loyal to our liege Lord.  Let us go and pay our respects to General Serata Kiyoshio. . . ."

Toranaga was climbing the stairs, a great loneliness upon him, his footsteps reverberating in the emptiness of the tower.  Near the top he stopped and leaned momentarily against the wall, his breathing heavy.  The ache was gripping his chest again and he tried to rub it away.  "It's just lack of exercise," he muttered.  "That's all, just lack of exercise."

He went on.  He knew he was in great jeopardy.  Treason and fear were contagious and both had to be cauterized without pity the moment they appeared.  Even then you could never be sure they were eradicated.  The struggle he was locked into was not a child's game.  The weak had to be food for the strong, the strong pawns for the very strong.  If Sudara publicly claimed his mantle he was powerless to prevent it.  Until Zataki answered, he had to wait.

Toranaga shut and bolted his door and walked to a window.  Below, he could see his generals and counselors silently streaming away to their homes outside the donjon walls.  Beyond the castle walls, the city lay in almost total darkness.  Above, the moon was pallid and misted.  It was a brooding, darkling night.  And, it seemed to him, doom walked the heavens.

CHAPTER 50

Blackthorne was sitting alone in the morning sun in a corner of the garden outside his guest house daydreaming, his dictionary in his hand.  It was a fine cloudless day—the first for many weeks—and the fifth day since he had last seen Toranaga.  All that time he had been confined to the castle, unable to see Mariko or visit his ship or crew, or explore the city, or go hunting or riding.  Once a day he went swimming in one of the moats with other samurai, and to pass the time he taught some to swim and some to dive.  But this did not make the waiting easier.

"So sorry, Anjin-san, but it's the same for everyone," Mariko had said yesterday when he met her by chance in his section of the castle.  "Even Lord Hiro-matsu's been kept waiting.  It's two days since he arrived and he still hasn't seen Lord Toranaga.  No one has."