The tai-fun had slammed out of the southwest two weeks ago. They had had plenty of warning, with lowering skies and squalls and rain, and had rushed the galley into a safe harbor to wait out the tempest. They had waited five days. Beyond the harbor the ocean had been whipped to froth and the winds were more violent and stronger than anything Blackthorne had ever experienced.
“Christ,” Vinck said again. “Wish we were home. We should’ve been home a year ago.”
Blackthorne had brought Vinck with him from Yokohama and sent the others back to Yedo, leaving Erasmus safely harbored and guarded under Naga’s command. His crew had been happy to go—as he had been happy to see the last of them. There had been more quarreling that night and a violent argument over the ship’s bullion. The money was company money, not his. Van Nekk was treasurer of the expedition and chief merchant and, jointly with the Captain-General, had legal jurisdiction over it. After it had been counted and recounted and found correct, less a thousand coins, van Nekk supported by Jan Roper had argued about the amount that he could take with him to get new men.
“You want far too much, Pilot! You’ll have to offer them less!”
“Christ Jesus! Whatever it takes we have to pay. I must have seamen and gunners.” He had slammed his fist on the table of the great cabin. “How else are we going to get home?”
Eventually he had persuaded them to let him take enough, and was disgusted that they had made him lose his temper with their pettifogging. The next day he had shipped them back to Yedo, a tenth of the treasure split up among them as back pay, the rest under guard on the ship.
“How do we know it’ll be safe here?” Jan Roper asked, scowling.
“Stay and guard it yourself then!”
But none of them had wanted to stay aboard. Vinck had agreed to come with him.
“Why him, Pilot?” van Nekk had asked.
“Because he’s a seaman and I’ll need help.”
Blackthorne had been glad to see the last of them. Once at sea he began to change Vinck to Japanese ways. Vinck was stoic about it, trusting Blackthorne, having sailed too many years with him not to know his measure. “Pilot, for you I’ll bathe and wash every day but I’ll be God-cursed afore I wear a poxy nighty!”
Within ten days Vinck was happily swinging the lead half-naked, his wide leather belt over his paunch, a dagger stuck in a sheath at his back and one of Blackthorne’s pistols safely within his clean though ragged shirt.
“We don’t have to go to the castle, do we, Pilot?”
“No.”
“Christ Jesus—I’d rather stay away from there.”
The day was fine, a high sun shimmering off the calm sea. The rowers were still strong and disciplined.
“Vinck—that’s where the ambush was!”
“Christ Jesus, look at those shoals!”
Blackthorne had told Vinck about the narrowness of his escape, the signal fires on those battlements, the piles of dead ashore, the enemy frigate bearing down on him.
“Ah, Anjin-san.” Yabu came to join them. “Good, neh?” He motioned at the devastation.
“Bad, Yabu-sama.”
“It’s enemy, neh?”
“People are not enemy. Only Ishido and samurai enemy, neh?”
“The castle is enemy,” Yabu replied, reflecting his disquiet, and that of all those aboard. “Here everything is enemy.”
Blackthorne watched Yabu move to the bow, the wind whipping his kimono away from his hard torso.
Vinck dropped his voice. “I want to kill that bastard, Pilot.”
“Yes. I’ve not forgotten about old Pieterzoon either, don’t worry.”
“Nor me, God be my judge! Beats me how you talk their talk. What’d he say?”
“He was just being polite.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We dock and wait. He goes off for a day or two and we keep our heads down and wait. Toranaga said he’d send messages for the safe conducts we’d need but even so, we’re going to keep our heads down and stay aboard.” Blackthorne scanned the shipping and the waters for dangers but found none. Still, he said to Vinck, “Better call the fathoms now, just in case!”
“Aye!”
Yabu watched Vinck swinging the lead for a moment, then strolled back to Blackthorne. “Anjin-san, perhaps you’d better take the galley and go on to Nagasaki. Don’t wait, eh?”
“All right,” Blackthorne said agreeably, not rising to the bait.
Yabu laughed. “I like you, Anjin-san! But so sorry, alone you’ll soon die. Nagasaki’s very bad for you.”
“Osaka bad—everywhere bad!”
“Karma.” Yabu smiled again. Blackthorne pretended to share the joke.
They had had variations of the same conversation many times during the voyage. Blackthorne had learned much about Yabu. He hated him even more, distrusted him even more, respected him more, and knew their karmas were interlocked.
“Yabu-san’s right, Anjin-san,” Uraga had said. “He can protect you at Nagasaki, I cannot.”
“Because of your uncle, Lord Harima?”
“Yes. Perhaps I’m already declared outlaw, neh? My uncle’s Christian—though I think a rice Christian.”
“What’s that?”
“Nagasaki is his fief. Nagasaki has great harbor on the coast of Kyushu but not the best. So he quickly sees the light, neh? He becomes Christian, and orders all his vassals Christian. He ordered me Christian and into the Jesuit School, and then had me sent as one of the Christian envoys to the Pope. He gave land to the Jesuits ana—how would you say it—fawns on them. But his heart is only Japanese.”
“Do the Jesuits know what you think?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do they believe that about rice Christians?”
“They don’t tell us, their converts, what they truly believe, Anjin-san. Or even themselves most times. They are trained to have secrets, to use secrets, to welcome them, but never to reveal them. In that they’re very Japanese.”
“You’d better stay here in Osaka, Uraga-san.”
“Please excuse me, Sire, I am your vassal. If you go to Nagasaki, I go.”
Blackthorne knew that Uraga was becoming an invaluable aid. The man was revealing so many Jesuit secrets: the how and why and when of their trade negotiations, their internal workings and incredible international machinations. And he was equally informative about Harima and Kiyama and how the Christian daimyos thought, and why, probably, they would stay sided with Ishido. God, I know so much now that’d be priceless in London, he thought, and so much still to learn. How can I pass on the knowledge? For instance that China’s trade, just in silk to Japan, is worth ten million in gold a year, and that, even now, the Jesuits have one of their professed priests at the Court of the Emperor of China in Peking, honored with courtly rank, a confidant of the rulers, speaking Chinese perfectly. If only I could send a letter—if only I had an envoy.
In return for all the knowledge Blackthorne began to teach Uraga about navigation, about the great religious schism, and about Parliament. Also he taught him and Yabu how to fire a gun. Both were apt pupils. Uraga’s a good man, he thought. No problem. Except he’s ashamed of his lack of a samurai queue. That’ll soon grow.
There was a warning shout from the forepoop lookout.
“Anjin-san!” The Japanese captain was pointing ahead at an elegant cutter, oared by twenty men, that approached from the starboard quarter. At the masthead was Ishido’s cipher. Alongside it was the cipher of the Council of Regents, the same that Nebara Jozen and his men had traveled under to Anjiro, to their deaths.
“Who is it?” Blackthorne asked, feeling a tension throughout the ship, all eyes straining into the distance.
“I can’t see yet, so sorry,” the captain said.
“Yabu-san?”
Yabu shrugged. “An official.”
As the cutter came closer, Blackthorne saw an elderly man sitting under the aft canopy, wearing ornate ceremonial dress with the winged overma
ntle. He wore no swords. Surrounding him were Ishido’s Grays.
The drum master ceased the beat to allow the cutter to come alongside. Men rushed to help the official aboard. A Japanese pilot jumped after him and after numerous bows took formal charge of the galley.
Yabu and the elderly man were also formal and painstaking. At length they were seated on cushions of unequal rank, the official taking the most favored position on the poop. Samurai, Yabu’s and Grays, sat cross-legged or knelt on the main deck surrounding them in even lesser places. “The Council welcomes you, Kasigi Yabu, in the name of His Imperial Highness,” the man said. He was small and stocky, somewhat effete, a senior adviser to the Regents on protocol who also had Imperial Court rank. His name was Ogaki Takamoto, he was a Prince of the Seventh Rank, and his function was to act as one of the intermediaries between the Court of His Imperial Highness, the Son of Heaven, and the Regents. His teeth were dyed black in the manner that all courtiers of the Imperial Court had, by custom, affected for centuries.
“Thank you, Prince Ogaki. It’s a privilege to be here on Lord Toranaga’s behalf,” Yabu said, vastly impressed with the honor being done to him.
“Yes, I’m sure it is. Of course, you’re here on your own behalf also, neh?” Ogaki said dryly.
“Of course,” Yabu replied. “When does Lord Toranaga arrive? So sorry, but the tai-fun delayed me for five days and I’ve had no news since I left.”
“Ah, yes, the tai-fun. Yes, the Council were so happy to hear that the storm did not touch you.” Ogaki coughed. “As to your master, I regret to tell you that he hasn’t even reached Odawara yet. There have been interminable delays, and some sickness. Regrettable, neh?”
“Oh yes, very—nothing serious, I trust?” Yabu asked quickly, immensely glad to be party to Toranaga’s secret.
“No, fortunately nothing serious.” Again the dry cough. “Lord Ishido understands that your master reaches Odawara tomorrow.”
Yabu was suitably surprised. “When I left, twenty-one days ago, everything was ready for his immediate departure, then Lord Hiro-matsu became sick. I know Lord Toranaga was gravely concerned but anxious to begin his journey—as I’m anxious to begin preparations for his arrival.”
“Everything’s prepared,” the small man said.
“Of course the Council will have no objections if I check the arrangements, neh?” Yabu was expansive. “It’s essential the ceremony be worthy of the Council and occasion, neh?”
“Worthy of His Imperial Majesty, the Son of Heaven. It’s his summons now.”
“Of course but …” Yabu’s sense of well-being died. “You mean … you mean His Imperial Highness will be there?”
“The Exalted has agreed to the Regents’ humble request to accept personally the obeisance of the new Council, all major daintyos, including Lord Toranaga, his family, and vassals. The senior advisers of His Imperial Highness were asked to choose an auspicious day for such a—such a ritual. The twenty-second day of this month, in this, the fifth year of the era Keichō.”
Yabu was stupefied. “In—in nineteen days?”
“At noon.” Fastidiously Ogaki took out a paper kerchief from his sleeve and delicately blew his nose. “Please excuse me. Yes, at noon. The omens were perfect. Lord Toranaga was informed by Imperial messenger fourteen days ago. His immediate humble acceptance reached the Regents three days ago.” Ogaki took out a small scroll. “Here is your invitation, Lord Kasigi Yabu, to the ceremony.”
Yabu quailed as he saw the Imperial seal of the sixteen-petal chrysanthemum and knew that no one, not even Toranaga, could possibly refuse such a summons. A refusal would be an unthinkable insult to the Divinity, an open rebellion, and as all land belonged to the reigning Emperor, would result in immediate forfeiture of all land, coupled with an Imperial invitation to commit seppuku at once, issued on his behalf by the Regents, also sealed with the Great Seal. Such an invitation would be absolute and would have to be obeyed.
Yabu frantically tried to recover his composure.
“So sorry, are you unwell?” Ogaki asked solicitously.
“So sorry,” Yabu stuttered, “but never in my wildest dreams…. No one could have imagined the Exalted would—would so honor us, neh?”
“I agree, oh yes. Extraordinary!”
“Astonishing … that His Imperial Highness would—would consider leaving Kyoto and—and come to Osaka.”
“I agree. Even so, on the twenty-second day, the Exalted and the Imperial Regalia will be here.” The Imperial Regalia, without which no succession was valid, were the Three Sacred Treasures, considered divine, that all believed had been brought to earth by the god Ninigi-noh-Mikoto and passed on by him personally to his grandson, Jimmu Tenno, the first human Emperor, and by him personally to his successor down to the present holder, the Emperor Go-Nijo: the Sword, the Jewel, and the Mirror. The Sacred Sword and the Jewel always traveled in state with the Emperor whenever he had to stay overnight away from the palace; the Mirror was kept within the inner sanctuary at the great Shinto shrine of Ise. The Sword, the Mirror, and the Jewel belonged to the Son of Heaven. They were divine symbols of legitimate authority, of his divinity, that when he was on the move, the divine throne moved with him. And thus that with him went all power.
Yabu croaked, “It’s almost impossible to believe that preparations for his arrival could be made in time.”
“Oh, the Lord General Ishido, on behalf of the Regents, petitioned the Exalted the moment he first heard from Lord Zataki at Yokosé that Lord Toranaga had agreed, equally astonishingly, to come to Osaka and bow to the inevitable. Only the great honor that your master does the Regents prompted them to petition the Son of Heaven to grace the occasion with the Presence.” Again the dry cough. “Please excuse me, you would perhaps give me your formal acceptance in writing as soon as is convenient?”
“May I do it at once?” Yabu asked, feeling very weak.
“I’m sure the Regents would appreciate that.”
Feebly Yabu sent for writing materials. Nineteen kept pounding in his brain. Nineteen days! Toranaga can delay only nineteen days and then he must be here too. Time enough for me to get to Nagasaki and safely back to Osaka, but not time enough to launch the seaborne attack on the Black Ship and take it, so not time enough to pressure Harima, Kiyama, or Onoshi, or the Christian priests, therefore not time enough to launch Crimson Sky, therefore Toranaga’s whole scheme is just another illusion … oh oh oh!
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, overcom
e 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?”
Shōgun Page 112
