“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?”
“Oh, so sorry. Yes, here.” Mariko took the three scrolls from her sleeve. “Two for you, Kiri-chan—one from our Master, one from Lord Hiro-matsu. This is for you, Sazuko, from your Lord, but he told me to tell you he misses you and wants to see his newest son. He made me remember to tell you three times. He misses you very much and oh so wants to see his youngest son. He misses you very …”
Tears were spilling down the girl’s cheeks. She mumbled an apology and ran out of the room clutching the scroll.
“Poor child. It’s so very hard for her here.” Kiri did not break the seals of her scrolls. “You know about His Imperial Majesty being present?”
“Yes.” Mariko was equally grave. “A courier from Lord Toranaga caught up with me a week ago. The message gave no details other than that, and named the day he will arrive here. Have you heard from him?”
“Not directly—nothing private—not for a month now. How is he? Really?”
“Confident.” She sipped some saké. “Oh, may I pour for you?”
“Thank you.”
“Nineteen days isn’t much time, is it, Kiri-chan?”
“It’s time enough to go to Yedo and back again if you hurry, time enough to live a lifetime if you want, more than enough time to fight a battle or lose an Empire—time for a million things, but not enough time to eat all the rare dishes or drink all the saké….” Kiri smiled faintly. “I’m certainly not going to diet for the next twenty days. I’m—” She stopped. “Oh, please excuse me—listen to me prattling on and you haven’t even changed or bathed. There’ll be plenty of time to talk later.”
“Oh, please don’t concern yourself. I’m not tired.”
“But you must be. You’ll stay at your house?”
“Yes. That’s where the General Lord Ishido’s pass permits me to go.” Mariko smiled wryly. “His welcome was flowery!”
Kiri scowled. “I doubt if he’d be welcome even in hell.”
“Oh? So sorry, what now?”
“Nothing more than before. I know he ordered the Lord Sugiyama murders and tortures though I’ve no proof. Last week one of Lord Oda’s consorts tried to sneak out with her children, disguised as a street cleaner. Sentries shot them ‘by mistake.’”
“How terrible!”
“Of course, great ‘apologies’! Ishido claims security is all important. There was a trumped-up assassination attempt on the Heir—that’s his excuse.”
“Why don’t the ladies leave openly?”
“The Council has ordered wives and families to wait for their husbands, who must return for the Ceremony. The great Lord General feels ‘the responsibility of their safety too gravely to allow them to wander.’ The castle’s locked tighter than an old oyster.”
“So is the outside, Kiri-san. There are many more barriers than before on the Tokaidō, and Ishido’s security’s very strong within fifty ri. Patrols everywhere.”
“Everyone’s frightened of him, except us and our few samurai, and we’re no more trouble to him than a pimple on a dragon’s rump.”
“Even our doctors?”
“Them too. Yes, they still advise us not to travel, even if it were permitted, which it will never be.”
“Is the Lady Sazuko fit—is the baby fit, Kiri-san?”
“Yes, you can see that for yourself. And so am I.” Kiri sighed, the strain showing now, and Mariko noticed there was much more gray in her hair than before. “Nothing’s changed since I wrote to Lord Toranaga at Anjiro. We’re hostages and we’ll stay hostages with all the rest until The Day. Then there’ll be a resolution.”
“Now that His Imperial Highness is arriving … that makes everything final, neh?”
“Yes. It would seem so. Go and rest, Mariko-chan, but eat with us tonight. Then we can talk, neh? Oh, by the way, one piece of news for you. Your famous barbarian hatamoto—bless him for saving our Master, we heard about that—he docked safely this morning, with Kasigi Yabu-san.”
“Oh! I was so worried about them. They left the day before I did by sea. We were also caught in part of the tai-fun, near Nagoya, but it wasn’t that bad for us. I was afraid at sea…. Oh, that’s a relief.”
“It wasn’t too bad here except for the fires. Many thousands of homes burned but barely two thousand dead. We heard today that the main force of the storm hit Kyushu, on the east coast, and part of Shikoku. Tens of thousands died. No one yet knows the full extent of the damage.”
“But the harvest?” Mariko asked quickly.
“Much of it’s flattened here—fields upon fields. The farmers hope that it will recover but who knows? If there’s no damage to the Kwanto during the season, their rice may have to support the whole Empire this year and next.”
“It would be far better if Lord Toranaga controlled such a harvest than Ishido. Neh?”
“Yes. But, so sorry, nineteen days is not time enough to take in a harvest, with all the prayers in the world.”
Mariko finished her saké. “Yes.”
Kiri said, “If their ship left the day before you, you must have hurried.”
“I thought it best not to dawdle, Kiri-chan. It’s no pleasure for me to travel.”
“And Buntaro-san? He’s well?”
“Yes. He’s in charge of Mishima and all the border at the moment. I saw him briefly coming here. Do you know where Kasigi Yabusama’s staying? I have a message for him.”
“In one of the guest houses. I’ll find out which and send you word at once.” Kiri accepted more wine. “Thank you, Mariko-chan. I heard the Anjin-san’s still on the galley.”
“He’s a very interesting man, Kiri-san. He’s become more than a little useful to our Master.”
“I heard that. I want to hear everything about him and the earth-quake and all your news. Oh yes, there’s a formal reception tomorrow evening for Lady Ochiba’s birthday, given by Lord Ishido. Of course you’ll be invited. I heard that the Anjin-san’s going to be invited too. The Lady Ochiba wanted to see what he looks like. You remember the Heir met him once. Wasn’t that the first time you saw him too?”
“Yes. Poor man, so he’s to be shown off, like a captive whale?”
“Yes.” Kiri added placidly, “With all of us. We’re all captives, Mariko-chan, whether we like it or not.”
Uraga hurried furtively down the alley toward the shore, the night dark, the sky clear and starlit, the air pleasant. He was dressed in the flowing orange robe of a Buddhist priest, his inevitable hat, and cheap straw sandals. Behind him were warehouses and the tall, almost European bulk of the Jesuit Mission. He turned a corner and redoubled his pace. Few people were about. A company of Grays carrying flares patrolled the shore. He slowed as he passed the
m courteously, though with a priest’s arrogance. The samurai hardly noticed him.
He went unerringly along the foreshore, past beached fishing boats, the smells of the sea and shore heavy on the slight breeze. It was low tide. Scattered over the bay and sanding shelves were night fishermen, like so many fireflies, hunting with spears under their flares. Ahead two hundred paces were the wharves and jetties, barnacle encrusted. Moored to one of them was a Jesuit lorcha, the flags of Portugal and the Company of Jesus fluttering, flares and more Grays near the gangway. He changed direction to skirt the ship, heading back into the city a few blocks, then cut down Nineteenth Street, turned into twisting alleys, and came out on to the road that followed the wharves once more.
“You! Halt!”
The order came out of the darkness. Uraga stopped in sudden panic. Grays came forward into the light and surrounded him. “Where’re you going, priest?”
“To the east of the city,” Uraga said haltingly, his mouth dry. “To our Nichiren shrine.”
“Ah, you’re Nichiren, neh?”
Another samurai said roughly, “I’m not one of those. I’m Zen Buddhist like the Lord General.”
“Zen—ah yes, Zen’s the best,” another said. “Wish I could understand that. It’s too hard for my old head.”
“He’s sweating a lot for a priest, isn’t he? Why are you sweating?”
“You mean priests don’t sweat?”
A few laughed and someone held a flare closer.
“Why should they sweat?” the rough man said. “All they do is sleep all day and pillow all night—nuns, boys, dogs, themselves, anything they can get—and all the time stuff themselves with food they’ve never labored for. Priests are parasites, like fleas.”
“Eh, leave him alone, he’s just—”
“Take off your hat, priest.”
Uraga stiffened. “Why? And why taunt a man who serves Buddha? Buddha’s doing you no—”
The samurai stepped forward pugnaciously. “I said take off your hat!”
Uraga obeyed. His head was newly shaven as a priest’s should be and he blessed whatever kami or spirit or gift from Buddha had prompted him to take that added precaution in case he was caught breaking curfew. All the Anjin-san’s samurai had been ordered confined to the vessel by the port authorities, pending instructions from higher up. “There’s no cause to have foul manners,” he flared with a Jesuit’s unconscious authority. “Serving Buddha’s an honorable life, and becoming a priest is honorable and should be the final part of every samurai’s old age. Or do you know nothing of bushido? Where are your manners?”
“What? You’re samurai?”
“Of course I’m samurai. How else would I dare to talk to samurai about bad manners?” Uraga put on his hat. “It would be better for you to be patrolling than accosting and insulting innocent priests!” He walked off haughtily, his knees weak.
The samurai watched him for a time then one spat. “Priests!”
“He was right,” the senior samurai said sourly. “Where are your manners?”
“So sorry. Please excuse me.”
Uraga walked along the road, very proud of himself. Nearer the galley he became wary again and waited a moment in the lee of a building. Then, gathering himself together, he walked into the flare-lit area.
“Good evening,” he said politely to the Grays who lolled beside the gangplank, then added the religious blessing, “Namu Amida Butsu,” In the Name of the Buddha Amida.
“Thank you. Namu Amida Butsu.” The Grays let him pass without hindrance. Their orders were that the barbarian and all samurai were forbidden ashore except for Yabu and his honor guard. No one had said anything about the Buddhist priest who traveled with the ship.
Greatly tired now, Uraga came onto the main deck.
“Uraga-san,” Blackthorne called out softly from the quarterdeck. “Over here.”
Uraga squinted to adjust his eyes to the darkness. He saw Blackthorne and he smelt the stale, brassy body aroma and knew that the second shadow there had to be the other barbarian with the unpronounceable name who could also speak Portuguese. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be away from the barbarian odor that was part of his life. The Anjin-san was the only one he had met who did not reek, which was one reason why he could serve him.
“Ah, Anjin-san,” he whispered and picked his way over to him, briefly greeting the ten guards who were scattered around the deck.
He waited at the foot of the gangway until Blackthorne motioned him up onto the quarterdeck. “It went very—”
“Wait,” Blackthorne cautioned him as softly and pointed. “Look ashore. Over there, near the warehouse. See him? No, north a little—there, you see him now?” A shadow moved briefly, then merged into the darkness again.
“Who was it?”
“I’ve been watching you ever since you came into the road. He’s been dogging you. You never saw him?”
“No, Sire,” Uraga replied, his foreboding returning to him. “I saw no one, felt no one.”
“He didn’t have swords, so he wasn’t samurai. A Jesuit?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so—I was most careful there. Please excuse me that I didn’t see him.”
“Never mind.” Blackthorne glanced at Vinck. “Go below now, Johann. I’ll finish this watch and wake you at dawn. Thanks for waiting.”
Vinck touched his forelock and went below. The dank smell left with him. “I was getting worried about you,” Blackthorne said. “What happened?”
“Yabu-sama’s messenger was slow, Anjin-san. Here is my report: I went with Yabu-sama and waited outside the castle from noon till just after dark when—”
“What were you doing all that time? Exactly?”
“Exactly, Sire? I chose a quiet place near the marketplace in sight of First Bridge, and I put my mind into meditation—the Jesuit practice, Anjin-san, but not about God, only about you and Yabu-sama and your future, Sire.” Uraga smiled. “Many passersby put coins into my begging bowl. I let my body rest and my mind roam, though I watched the First Bridge all the time. Yabu-sama’s messenger came after dark and pretended to pray with me until we were quite alone. The messenger whispered this: ‘Yabu-sama says that he will be staying in the castle tonight and that he will return tomorrow morning. There is to be an official function in the castle tomorrow night that you will be invited to, given by General Lord Ishido. Finally, you should consider seventy.’” Uraga peered at him. “The samurai repeated that twice, so I presume it’s private code, Sire.”
Blackthorne nodded but did not volunteer that this was one of many prearranged signals between Yabu and himself. “Seventy” meant that he should ensure the ship was prepared for an instant retreat to sea. But with all his samurai, seamen, and rowers confined aboard, the ship was ready. And as everyone was very aware they were in enemy waters and all were greatly troubled, Blackthorne knew it would require no effort to get the ship headed out to sea.
“Go on, Uraga-san.”
“That was all except I was to tell you Toda Mariko-san arrived today.”
“Ah! Did she…. Isn’t that a very fast time to make the land journey here from Yedo?”
“Yes, Sire. Actually, while I was waiting, I saw her company go across the bridge. It was in the afternoon, the middle of the Hour of the Goat. The horses were lathered and muddy and the bearers very tired. Yoshinaka-san led them.”
“Did any of them see you?”
“No, Sire. No, I don’t think so.”
“How many were there?”
“About two hundred samurai, with porters and baggage horses. Twice that number of Grays escorting them. One of the baggage horses had panniers of carrier pigeons.”
“Good. Next?”
“As soon as I was able, I left. There’s a noodle shop near the Mission that many merchants, rice and silk brokers, Mission people use. I—I went there and ate and listened. The Father-Visitor is again in residence here. Many more converts in Osaka area. Permission has been gra
nted for a huge Mass in twenty days, in honor of Lords Kiyama and Onoshi.”
“Is that important?”
“Yes, and astonishing for such a service to be permitted openly. It is to celebrate the Feast of Saint Bernard. Twenty days is the day after the Obeisance Ceremony before the Exalted.”
Yabu had told Blackthorne about the Emperor through Uraga. The news had swept through the whole ship, increasing everyone’s premonition of disaster.
“What else?”
“In the marketplace many rumors. Most ill-omened. Yodoko-sama, the Taikō’s widow, is very sick. That’s bad, Anjin-san, because her counsel is always listened to and always reasonable. Some say Lord Toranaga is already near Nagoya, others say he’s not yet reached Odawara, so no one knows what to believe. All agree the harvest will be terrible this year, here in Osaka, which means the Kwanto becomes even more greatly important. Most people think civil war will begin as soon as Lord Toranaga’s dead, at which time the great daimyos will begin to fight among themselves. The price of gold is very high and interest rates up to seventy percent which—”
“That’s impossibly high, you must be mistaken.” Blackthorne got up and eased his back, then leaned wearily against the gunwale. Politely Uraga and all samurai got up too. It would have been bad manners for them to sit while their master stood.
“Please excuse me, Anjin-san,” Uraga was saying, “it’s never less than fifty percent, and usually sixty-five to seventy, even eighty. Almost twenty years ago the Father-Visitor petitioned the Holy Fa—petitioned the Pope, to allow us—to allow the Society to lend at ten percentage. He was right that his suggestion—it was approved, Anjin-san—would bring lusters to Christianity and many converts for, of course, only Christians could get loans, which were always modest. You don’t pay such highs in your country?”
“Rarely. That’s usury! You understand ‘usury’?”
“I understand the word, yes. But usury would not begin for us under one hundred percentage. I was going to tell you also now rice is very expensive and that’s a bad omen—it’s double what it was when I was here a few weeks ago. Land is cheap. Now would be a good time to buy land here. Or a house. In the tai-fun and fires perhaps ten thousand homes die, and two, three thousand people. That’s all, Anjin-san.”
James Clavell Page 113
