Shōgun

by James Clavell

  For six centuries the realm had been seared by constant civil war. Thirty-five years ago, a minor daimyo called Goroda had taken possession of Kyoto, abetted mainly by Toranaga. Over the next two decades this warrior had miraculously subdued half of Japan, made a mountain of skulls and declared himself Dictator—still not yet powerful enough to petition the reigning Emperor to grant him the title Shōgun though he was vaguely descended from a branch of the Fujimotos. Then, sixteen years ago, Goroda was assassinated by one of his generals and his power fell into the hands of his chief vassal and most brilliant general, the peasant Nakamura.

  In four short years, General Nakamura, helped by Toranaga, Ishido, and others, obliterated Goroda’s descendants and brought the whole of Japan under his absolute, sole control, the first time in history that one man had subjugated all the realm. In triumph, he went to Kyoto to bow before Go-Nijo, the Son of Heaven. There, because he was born peasant, Nakamura had had to accept the lesser title of Kwampaku, Chief Adviser, which later he renounced in favor of his son, taking for himself the title Taikō. But every daimyo bowed before him, even Toranaga. Incredibly, there had been complete peace for twelve years. Last year the Taikō had died.

  “By the Lord Buddha,” Toranaga said again. “I’ll not be the first to break the peace.”

  “But you will go to war?”

  “A wise man prepares for treachery, neh? There are evil men in every province. Some are in high places. We both know the limitless extent of treachery in the hearts of men.” Toranaga stiffened. “Where the Taikō left a legacy of unity, now we are split into my East and your West. The Council of Regents is divided. The daimyos are at odds. A Council cannot rule a maggot-infested hamlet, let alone an Empire. The sooner the Taikō’s son is of age, the better. The sooner there’s another Kwampaku the better.”

  “Or perhaps Shōgun?” Ishido said insinuatingly.

  “Kwampaku or Shōgun or Taikō, the power is the same,” Toranaga said. “Of what real value is a title? The power is the only important thing. Goroda never became Shōgun. Nakamura was more than content as Kwampaku and later Taikō. He ruled and that is the important thing. What does it matter that my brother-in-law was once a peasant? What does it matter that my family is ancient? What does it matter that you’re low born? You’re a general, a liege lord, even one of the Council of Regents.”

  It matters very much, Ishido thought. You know it. I know it. Every daimyo knows it. Even the Taikō knew it. “Yaemon is seven. In seven years he becomes Kwampaku. Until that time—”

  “In eight years, General Ishido. That’s our historic law. When my nephew is fifteen he becomes adult and inherits. Until that time we five Regents rule in his name. That’s what our late Master willed.”

  “Yes. And he also ordered that no hostages were to be taken by Regents against one another. Lady Ochiba, the mother of the Heir, is hostage in your castle at Yedo, against your safety here, and that also violates his will. You formally agreed to obey his covenants as did all the Regents. You even signed the document in your own blood.”

  Toranaga sighed. “The Lady Ochiba is visiting Yedo where her only sister is in labor. Her sister is married to my son and heir. My son’s place is in Yedo while I am here. What’s more natural than for a sister to visit a sister at such a time? Isn’t she honored? Perhaps I’ll have a first grandson, neh?”

  “The mother of the Heir is the most important lady in the Empire. She should not be in—” Ishido was going to say “enemy hands” but he thought better of it—“in an unusual city.” He paused, then added clearly, “The Council would like you to order her home today.”

  Toranaga avoided the trap. “I repeat, the Lady Ochiba’s no hostage and therefore is not under my orders and never was.”

  “Then let me put it differently. The Council requests her presence in Osaka instantly.”

  “Who requests this?”

  “I do. Lord Sugiyama. Lord Onoshi and Lord Kiyama. Further, we’re all agreed we wait here until she’s back in Osaka. Here are their signatures.”

  Toranaga was livid. Thus far he had manipulated the Council so that voting was always split two to three. He had never been able to win a four-to-one against Ishido, but neither had Ishido against him. Four to one meant isolation and disaster. Why had Onoshi defected? And Kiyama? Both implacable enemies even before they had converted to the foreign religion. And what hold had Ishido now over them?

  Ishido knew that he had shattered his enemy. But one move remained to make victory complete. So he implemented the plan that he and Onoshi had agreed upon. “We Regents are all agreed that the time has come to finish with those who are planning to usurp my Master’s power and kill the Heir. Traitors will be condemned. They will be exhibited in the streets as common criminals, with all their generations, and then they will be executed like common criminals, with all their generations. Fujimoto, Takashima, low born, high born—no matter who. Even Minowara!”

  A gasp of rage broke from every Toranaga samurai, for such sacrilege against the semi-regal families was unthinkable; then the young samurai, Usagi, Hiro-matsu’s grandson-in-law, was on his feet, flushed with anger. He ripped out his killing sword and leapt at Ishido, the naked blade readied for the two-handed slash.

  Ishido was prepared for the death blow and made no move to defend himself. This was what he had planned for, hoped for, and his men had been ordered not to interfere until he was dead. If he, Ishido, were killed here, now, by a Toranaga samurai, the whole Osaka garrison could fall on Toranaga legitimately and slay him, irrespective of the hostage. Then the Lady Ochiba would be eliminated in retaliation by Toranaga’s sons and the remaining Regents would be forced to move jointly against the Yoshi clan, who, now isolated, would be stamped out. Only then would the Heir’s succession be guaranteed and he, Ishido, would have done his duty to the Taikō.

  But the blow did not come. At the last moment Usagi came to his senses and tremulously sheathed the sword.

  “Your pardon, Lord Toranaga,” he said, kneeling abjectly. “I could not bear the shame of—of having you hear such—such insults. I ask permission—I apologize and—I ask permission to commit seppuku immediately for I cannot live with this shame.”

  Though Toranaga had remained still, he had been ready to intercept the blow and he knew Hiro-matsu was ready and that others would have been ready also, and that probably Ishido would only have been wounded. He understood, too, why Ishido had been so insulting and inflammatory. I will repay you with an enormity of interest, Ishido, he promised silently.

  Toranaga gave his attention to the kneeling youth. “How dare you imply that anything Lord Ishido said was meant in any way as an insult to me. Of course he would never be so impolite. How dare you listen to conversations that do not concern you. No, you will not be allowed to commit seppuku. That’s an honor. You have no honor and no self-discipline. You will be crucified like a common criminal today. Your swords will be broken and buried in the eta village. Your son will be buried in the eta village. You head will be put on a spike for all the population to jeer at with a sign on it: ‘This man was born samurai by mistake. His name has ceased to be!’”

  With a supreme effort Usagi controlled his breathing but the sweat dripped and the shame of it tortured him. He bowed to Toranaga, accepting his fate with outward calm.

  Hiro-matsu walked forward and tore both swords from his grandson-in-law’s belt.

  “Lord Toranaga,” he said gravely, “with your permission I will personally see that your orders are carried out.”

  Toranaga nodded.

  The youth bowed a last time then began to get up, but Hiro-matsu pushed him back on the floor. “Samurai walk,” he said. “So do men. But you’re neither. You will crawl to your death.”

  Silently Usagi obeyed.

  And all in the room were warmed by the strength of the youth’s self-discipline now, and the measure of his courage. He will be reborn samurai, they told themselves contentedly.

  CHAPTER 13

&
nbsp; That night Toranaga could not sleep. This was rare for him because normally he could defer the most pressing problem until the next day, knowing that if he was alive the next day he would solve it to the best of his ability. He had long since discovered that peaceful sleep could provide the answer to most puzzles, and if not, what did it really matter? Wasn’t life just a dewdrop within a dewdrop?

  But tonight, there were too many perplexing questions to ponder.

  What will I do about Ishido?

  Why has Onoshi defected to the enemy?

  How will I deal with the Council?

  Have the Christian priests meddled again?

  Where will the next assassination attempt come from?

  When should Yabu be dealt with?

  And what must I do about the barbarian?

  Was he telling the truth?

  Curious how the barbarian came out of the eastern seas just at this time. Is that an omen? Is it his karma to be the spark that will light the powder keg?

  Karma was an Indian word adopted by Japanese, part of Buddhist philosophy that referred to a person’s fate in this life, his fate immutably fixed because of deeds done in a previous life, good deeds giving a better position in this life’s strata, bad deeds the reverse. Just as the deeds of this life would completely affect the next rebirth. A person was ever being reborn into this world of tears until, after enduring and suffering and learning through many lifetimes, he became perfect at long last, going to nirvana, the Place of Perfect Peace, never having to suffer rebirth again.

  Strange that Buddha or some other god or perhaps just karma brought the Anjin-san to Yabu’s fief. Strange that he landed at the exact village where Mura, the secret head of the Izu spy system, had been settled so many years ago under the very nose of the Taikō and Yabu’s pox-diseased father. Strange that Tsukku-san was here in Osaka to interpret and not in Nagasaki where he’d normally be. That also the chief priest of the Christians is here in Osaka, and also the Captain-General of the Portuguese. Strange that the pilot, Rodrigues, was also available to take Hiro-matsu to Anjiro in time to capture the barbarian alive and take possession of the guns. Then there’s Kasigi Omi, son of the man who will give me Yabu’s head if I but crook my little finger.

  How beautiful life is and how sad! How fleeting, with no past and no future, only a limitless now.

  Toranaga sighed. One thing is certain: the barbarian will never leave. Neither alive nor dead. He is part of the realm forever.

  His ears heard almost imperceptible approaching footsteps and his sword was ready. Each night he changed his sleeping room, his guards, and the password haphazardly, against the assassins that were always waiting. The footsteps stopped outside the shoji. Then he heard Hiro-matsu’s voice and the beginning of the password: “‘If the Truth is already clear, what is the use of meditation?’”

  “‘And if the Truth is hidden?’” Toranaga said.

  “‘It’s already clear,’” Hiro-matsu answered correctly. The quotation was from the ancient Tantaric Buddhist teacher, Saraha.

  “Come in.”

  Only when Toranaga saw that it was, in truth, his counselor, did his sword relax. “Sit down.”

  “I heard you weren’t sleeping. I thought you might need something.”

  “No. Thank you.” Toranaga observed the deepened lines around the old man’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re here, old friend,” he said.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Then I’ll leave you. Sorry to disturb you, Lord.”

  “No, please, come in, I’m glad you’re here. Sit down.”

  The old man sat down beside the door, his back straight. “I’ve doubled the guards.”

  “Good.”

  After a while Hiro-matsu said, “About that madman, everything was done as you ordered. Everything.”

  “Thank you.”

  “His wife—as soon as she heard the sentence, my granddaughter asked my permission to kill herself, to accompany her husband and her son into the Great Void. I refused and ordered her to wait, pending your approval.” Hiro-matsu was bleeding inside. How terrible life is!

  “You did correctly.”

  “I formally ask permission to end my life. What he did put you in mortal danger, but it was my fault. I should have detected his flaw. I failed you.”

  “You may not commit seppuku.”

  “Please. I formally ask permission.”

  “No. You’re needed alive.”

  “I will obey you. But please accept my apologies.”

  “Your apologies are accepted.”

  After a time, Toranaga said, “What about the barbarian?”

  “Many things, Sire. One: If you hadn’t been waiting for the barbarian today you would have been hawking since first light, and Ishido would never have enmeshed you in such a disgusting meeting. You have no choice now but to declare war on him—if you can get out of this castle and back to Yedo.”

  “Second?”

  “And third and forty-third and a hundred and forty-third? I’m nowhere near as clever as you, Lord Toranaga, but even I could see that everything we’ve been led to believe by the Southern Barbarians is not true.” Hiro-matsu was glad to talk. It helped ease the hurt. “But if there are two Christian religions which hate each other, and if the Portuguese are part of the bigger Spanish nation and if this new barbarian’s country—whatever it was called—wars on both and beats them, and if this same country’s an island nation like ours, and the great ‘if’ of all, if he’s telling the truth and if the priest’s saying accurately what the barbarian was saying…. Well, you can put all these ‘ifs’ together and make sense out of them, and a plan. I can’t, so sorry. I only know what I saw at Anjiro, and aboard the ship. That the Anjin-san is very strong in his head—weak in his body presently, though that would be because of the long voyage—and dominating at sea. I don’t understand anything about him. How could he be all of these things yet allow a man to piss on his back? Why did he save Yabu’s life after what the man did to him, and also the life of his self-admitted enemy, the Portuguese Rodrigu? My head spins from so many questions as though I’m sodden with saké.” Hiro-matsu paused. He was very weary. “But I think we should keep him on land and all like him, if others follow, and kill them all very quickly.”

  “What about Yabu?”

  “Order him to commit seppuku tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s got no manners. You foretold what he’d do when I arrived at Anjiro. He was going to steal your property. And he’s a liar. Don’t bother to see him tomorrow as you’ve arranged. Instead, let me take him your order now. You’ll have to kill him sooner or later. Better now when he’s accessible, with none of his own vassals surrounding him. I advise no delay.”

  There was a soft knock on the inner door. “Tora-chan?”

  Toranaga smiled as he always did at that very special voice, with that special diminutive. “Yes, Kiri-san?”

  “I’ve taken the liberty, Lord, of bringing cha for you and your guest. May I please come in?”

  “Yes.”

  Both men returned her bow. Kiri closed the door and busied herself with the pouring. She was fifty-three and substantial, Matron of Toranaga’s ladies-in-waiting, Kiritsubo-noh-Toshiko, nicknamed Kiri, the oldest of the ladies of his court. Her hair was gray-flecked, her waist thick, but her face sparkled with an eternal joy. “You shouldn’t be awake, no, not at this time of night, Tora-chan! It will be dawn soon and I suppose then you’ll be out in the hills with your hawks, neh? You need sleep!”

  “Yes, Kiri-chan!” Toranaga patted her vast rump affectionately.

  “Please don’t Kiri-chan me!” Kiri laughed. “I’m an old woman and I need lots of respect. Your other ladies give me enough trouble as it is. Kiritsubo-Toshiko-san, if you please, my Lord Yoshi Tora-naga-noh-Chikitada!”

  “There, you see, Hiro-matsu. After twenty years she still tries to dominate me.”

  “So sorry, it�
��s more than thirty years, Tora-sama,” she said proudly. “And you were as manageable then as you are now!”

  When Toranaga was in his twenties he had been a hostage, too, then of the despotic Ikawa Tadazaki, Lord of Suruga and Totomi, father of the present Ikawa Jikkyu, who was Yabu’s enemy. The samurai responsible for Toranaga’s good conduct had just taken Kiritsubo as his second wife. She was seventeen then. Together this samurai and Kiri, his wife, had treated Toranaga honorably, given him wise counsel, and then, when Toranaga had rebelled against Tadazuki and joined Goroda, had followed him with many warriors and had fought bravely at his side. Later, in the fighting for the capital, Kiri’s husband had been killed. Toranaga had asked her if she would become one of his consorts and she had accepted gladly. In those days she was not fat. But she was equally protective and equally wise. That was her nineteenth year, his twenty-fourth, and she had been a focus of his household ever since. Kiri was very shrewd and very capable. For years now, she had run his household and kept it free of trouble.

  As free of trouble as any household with women could ever be, Toranaga thought.

  “You’re getting fat,” he said, not minding that she was fat.

  “Lord Toranaga! In front of Lord Toda! Oh, so sorry, I shall have to commit seppuku—or at least, I’ll have to shave my head and become a nun, and I thought I was so young and slender!” She burst out laughing. “Actually I agree I have a fat rump but what can I do? I just like to eat and that’s Buddha’s problem and my karma, neh?” She offered the cha. “There. Now I’ll be off. Would you like me to send the Lady Sazuko?”

  “No, my thoughtful Kiri-san, no, thank you. We’ll talk for a little, then I’ll sleep.”