Gai-Jin

by James Clavell

  “Hosaki! When did you arrive?” he said, trying to regain his breath. “Why not send a messenger to tell me you were coming?” His smile vanished. “Trouble?”

  “No, Sire,” his wife said happily, kneeling beside the door. “No trouble, just an abundance of pleasure to see you.” She bowed deeply, her riding skirt and jacket, serviceable heavy green silk, modest and travel marked, like the padded matching overmantle and wide hat tied under her chin and short sword in her obi. “Please excuse me for slipping in like this, uninvited, and not changing first but, well, I could not wait to see you—and now I am even more pleased I did for now I know that you are a better swordsman than ever.”

  He pretended not to be delighted, then went closer and looked at her searchingly. “Really no trouble?”

  “Yes, Sire.” She beamed, her adoration open. White teeth and ebony slanted eyes in a classic face that was neither attractive nor ordinary but not to be forgotten, her whole presence was one of great dignity. “Yoshi,” his father had said nine years ago when he was seventeen, “I have chosen your wife for you. Her bloodline is Toranaga, equal to yours though from the minor branch of Mitowara. Her name is Hosaki, meaning an ‘ear of wheat’ in the ancient tongue, a harbinger of abundance and fertility, and also a ‘spearhead.’ I do not think she will fail you in either capacity …”

  Nor has she, Yoshi thought proudly. Already two fine sons and a daughter, and she’s still strong, always wise, a firm manager of our finances—and, rare in a wife, pleasant enough to pillow occasionally though with none of the fire of my consort or pleasure partners, particularly Koiko.

  He accepted a dry towel from the man who was unhurt, and waved his hand in dismissal. The man bowed silently and helped the other, still in agony, to limp out.

  He knelt near her, towelling the sweat away. “So?”

  “It’s not safe here, neh?” she said softly.

  “Nowhere is safe.”

  “First,” she said in a normal voice, “first, Yoshi-chan, we will look after your body: a bath, massage and then talk.”

  “Good. There is much to talk about here.”

  “Yes.” Smiling, she got up, and again at his searching look reassured him, “Truly at Dragon’s Tooth all is well, your sons healthy, your consort and her son happy, your captains and retainers alert and well armed—everything as you would want. I just decided to make a short visit, on a sudden whim,” she said for the listening ears, “I merely needed to see you, and to talk about castle management.”

  And also to bed you, my beauty, she was thinking in her secret heart, looking up at him, her nostrils filled with his masculine smell, conscious of his nearness and as always aching for his strength.

  While you are away, Yoshi-chan, I can keep calm, most of the time, but near you? Ah, then that is very hard though I pretend, oh, how I pretend, and hide my jealousy of the others and behave like a perfect wife. But that does not mean that I, like all wives, do not feel jealousy violently, sometimes to a point of madness, wishing to kill or even better to mutilate the others, wanting to be desired and bedded with an equal passion.

  “You’ve been away too long, husband,” she said gently, wanting him to take her now, on the floor, to rut like she imagined young peasants would rut.

  It was near midday with a kind wind that broomed the sky. They were within his innermost sanctum, a suite of three tatami rooms and bathing room off a corner battlement. She was pouring tea for him, elegantly as always. Since a child she had studied the tea ceremony, as he had, but now she was a Sensei, a teacher of tea in her own right. Both had bathed and had been massaged. Doors were barred, guards posted and maids dismissed. He wore a starched kimono, she a flowing sleeping kimono, her hair loosed. “After our talk I think I will rest. Then my head will be clear for this evening.”

  “You rode all the way?”

  “Yes, Sire.” The journey had been rough in fact, little sleep and changing horses every three ri, about nine miles.

  “How long did it take you?”

  “Two and a half days. I just brought twenty retainers under the command of Captain Ishimoto.” She laughed. “I certainly needed the massage, and the bath. But first—”

  “Almost ten ri a day? Why the forced march?”

  “Mostly for my pleasure,” she said lightly, knowing there was time enough for bad news. “But first, Yoshi-chan, tea for your pleasure.”

  “Thank you.” He drank the fine green tea from the Ming gourd and set it down again, watching and waiting, swept up in her mastery and tranquility.

  After she had poured again and sipped and set her own cup down she said softly, “I decided to come here without delay because I had heard disquieting rumors and needed to reassure myself and your captains that you were well—rumors that you were in danger, that Anjo was padding the Council against you, that the shishi attempt on him and Utani’s assassination were all part of a major escalation of sonno-joi, that war is coming, within and from without, and that Anjo is further betraying you, and all the Shōgunate. He must be insane to allow the Shōgun and his Imperial wife to go to Kyōto to kowtow.”

  “All true or partially true,” he said, equally quietly, and her face tumbled. “Bad news travels with the wings of a hawk, Hosaki, neh? It’s worse because of the gai-jin.” Then he told her about his meeting with the foreigners and Misamoto, the spy, then in more detail about the castle intrigues—but not about Koiko’s suspected connection to the shishi: Hosaki would never understand how exciting she is and how much more exciting this knowledge makes her, he thought. My wife would only advise Koiko’s immediate dismissal, investigation and punishment and give me no peace until it was done. He finished by telling her about the alien fleet at their doors, Sir William’s letter and threat, and today’s meeting.

  “Zukumura? An Elder? That senile fish head? Isn’t one of his sons married to a niece of Anjo’s? Surely old Toyama didn’t vote for him?”

  “He just shrugged and said, ‘Him or another, it means nothing, we will be warring soon. Have who you want.’”

  “Then at best it will be three to two against you.”

  “Yes. Now there is no curb on Anjo. He can do what he wants, vote himself increased powers, make himself tairō, whatever stupidity he wants, such as Nobusada’s stupid trek to Kyōto.” Yoshi felt another tightness in his chest but put it away, glad to be able to talk openly—as much as he could ever be open, trusting her more than he could trust anyone.

  “The barbarians were as you imagined them, Sire?” she asked. Everything about them fascinated her: “know your enemy as you know yourself …” Sun-tzu had been the prime learning book for her and her four sisters and three brothers, along with martial arts, calligraphy and the tea ceremony. She and her sisters also had concentrated teaching by their mother and aunts on land and financial management, together with practical methods of dealing with men of all classes, and the all-important future. She had never excelled at martial arts though she could use a knife and war fan well enough.

  Everything Yoshi could remember, he told her, and also what Misamoto had said about gai-jin in the part of the Americas called California—and sometimes called the Land of the Golden Mountain. Her eyes narrowed but he did not notice.

  When he had finished she still had a thousand questions but contained them for later, not wanting to tire him. “You help me to picture everything, Yoshi-chan, you are a wonderful observer. What have you decided?”

  “Nothing yet—I wish my father was alive, I miss his counsel—and Mother’s.”

  “Yes,” she said, glad that both were dead, the father two years ago, mostly of old age aggravated by his close confinement by Ii—he was fifty-five—the mother in last year’s smallpox epidemic. Both had made her life miserable, at the same time keeping Yoshi in thrall, in her opinion the father not doing his duty to the family, making bad decisions more times than not, and the mother forever being the most ill-tempered, difficult to please mother-in-law in her ken, worse to her than the wives of
his three brothers.

  The only clever thing they did in their whole lives, she thought, was to agree to my father’s proposal of marriage to Toranaga Yoshi. For that I thank them. Now I rule Dragon’s Tooth, and our lands, and they will be passed on to my sons strong, inviolate and worthy of the Lord Shōgun Toranaga.

  “Yes,” she said. “So sorry they are gone. I bow to their shrine every day and beg to be worthy of their trust.”

  He sighed. Since his mother’s death he had felt in a void, more so than with his father, whom he admired but feared. Whenever he had a problem, or was afraid, he always knew he could go to her and be soothed, guided and given new strength. He said sadly, “Karma that Mother died so young.”

  “Yes, Sire,” she said, understanding his sadness, and perfectly content for, of course, it would be the same with all sons whose first duty is to obey and to cherish their mother above everyone—all their lives. I can never fill that void any more than the wives of my sons will fill mine.

  “What’s your advice, Hosaki?”

  “I’ve too many thoughts for these too many problems,” she told him worriedly, her mind grappling with the mosaic of danger from every quarter. “I feel useless. Let me think carefully, tonight and tomorrow—perhaps I can suggest something that will give you a clue to what you must do, then, with your permission I’ll return home the next day, one thing for certain: to further strengthen our defenses. You must tell me what to do. Meanwhile a few immediate observations for you to consider: increase the vigilance of your guards, and quietly mobilize all your forces.”

  “I had already decided that.”

  “This gai-jin who accosted you after the meeting, a Frenchman you say, I suggest you take advantage of the offer to see the inside of a warship with your own eyes, very important for you to see for yourself—perhaps even pretend to become friendly with them, then perhaps you could play them against the English, neh?”

  “I had already decided to do that.”

  She smiled to herself, and lowered her voice even more. “However difficult, the sooner the better, Anjo must be removed permanently. As it is now probable you cannot prevent the Shōgun and the Princess from leaving for Kyōto—I agree she is, correctly from her point of view, the Court spy and puppet and your enemy—then you must leave secretly just after them and rush to Kyōto by the shorter Tokaidō and be there before them …. You smile, Sire?”

  “Only because you please me. And when I get to Kyōto?”

  “You must become the Emperor’s confidant—we have friends in Court who will assist you. Then, one possibility of dozens: make a secret agreement with Ogama of Choshu to leave him in control of the Gates”—she hesitated as Yoshi flushed—“but only as long as he is openly allied with you against Satsuma and Tosa.”

  “Ogama would never believe I would keep that bargain nor would I, but we must get back our Gates whatever the cost.”

  “I agree. But say the final part of your pact is that if he agrees to join forces for a surprise attack on Lord Sanjiro of Satsuma at a time of your choosing, then when Sanjiro is overcome, Ogama gives you back the Gates and he gets Satsuma in return.”

  Yoshi frowned even more. “Very difficult to conquer Sanjiro by land when he is skulking behind his mountains—even Shōgun Toranaga did not attack Satsuma after Sekigahara, just accepted their public bows, oaths of fidelity, and curbed them with kindness. We cannot launch a sea-borne attack.” He thought a moment. “That is a dream, not a real possibility. Too difficult,” he muttered. “But then, who knows? Next.”

  She dropped her voice. “Remove Nobusada on his way to Kyōto—it is a chance in a lifetime.”

  “Never!” he said, openly shocked and inwardly aghast that she thought as he did or, even worse, had read his most secret heart. “That would betray the Legacy, my heritage, everything that Lord Shōgun Toranaga strived for. I have accepted him as liege lord, as I am bound to do.”

  “Of course you are right,” she said at once soothingly, already bowing low, prepared and expecting that reaction but needing to articulate it for him. “That was baka of me. I completely agree. So sorr—”

  “Good! Never think or say that again.”

  “Of course. Please forgive me.” She kept her head bowed for the correct time, muttering apologies, then leaned forward and refilled his cup and sat back again, eyes downcast, waiting to be asked to continue. Nobusada should have been removed by your father, Yoshi, she was thinking calmly—I am astonished that you never realized it. Your father, and mother—who should have given him correct counsel—failed in their duty when that stupid boy was proposed against you as Shōgun by the traitor Ii. Ii shoved us all into house arrest, destroyed our peace for years, almost caused the death of our eldest son because of the months we were so closely confined that we all starved. We all knew Ii would do it long before it happened. Removing Nobusada has always been so obvious, however heretical and distasteful an action, but the only real way to protect our future. If you will not consider it, Yoshi, I will find a way …

  “That was a bad thought, Hosaki. Terrible!”

  “I agree, Sire. Please accept my humble apologies.” Again her head touched the tatami. “It was stupid. I do not know where such stupidity comes from. You are right of course. Perhaps it was because I am overwrought with the dangers surrounding you. Please, Sire, will you allow me to leave?”

  “In a moment, yes, meanwhile—” A little mollified he motioned for her to pour more tea, still off balance that she would dare to speak such sacrilege openly, even to him.

  “May I mention one other thought, Sire, before I go?”

  “Yes, provided it’s not stupid like the last one.”

  She almost laughed out loud at the petulant, little-boy barb that did not enter even her outermost defenses. “You said, Sire, so wisely, that the most important and immediate gai-jin riddle to solve is how to sink their fleets or to keep their cannon away from our shores, neh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could cannon be mounted on barges?”

  “Eh?” He frowned, deflected from Nobusada by this new tack. “I’d imagine so, why?”

  “We could find out from the Dutch, they would help us. Perhaps we could build a defensive fleet, no matter how cumbersome, and anchor the barges offshore, as far out to sea as we can in strategic approaches to our important areas, like the Shimonoseki Straits, along with fortifying the mouths to all our harbors—fortunately they are very few, neh?”

  “It might be possible,” he conceded, the idea not having occurred to him. “But I don’t have enough money or gold to buy all the cannon necessary for our shore batteries, let alone to build such a fleet. Or enough time or knowledge or wealth to set up our own armories and factories to make our own—or the men to run them.”

  “Yes, so true, Sire. You are so wise,” she agreed. Then sadly, she took a deep breath. “All daimyos are impoverished and in debt—us as much as any.”

  “Eh? The harvest?” he asked sharply.

  “So sorry to bring bad news, less than last year.”

  “How much less?”

  “About a third.”

  “That is dreadful news, and just when I need extra revenue!” His fist bunched. “Farmers are all baka.”

  “So sorry, it is not their fault, Yoshi-chan, the rains were too late or too early, the sun too. This year the gods have not smiled on us.”

  “There are no gods, Hosaki-chan, but there is karma. Karma that there is a bad harvest—you will have to put up taxes nonetheless.”

  Her eyes glistened with tears. “There will be famine in the Kwanto before next harvest—and if with us, the richest rice land in all Nippon, what about the others?” The memory of the famine four years ago rushed back at them. Thousands had died, and tens of thousands in the inevitable plagues that followed. And in the Great Famine, twenty years ago, hundreds of thousands had perished. “This is indeed the Land of Tears.”

  He nodded absently. Then he said, his voice acid, “You will inc
rease taxes by a tenth part, all samurai will get a tenth part less. Talk to the moneylenders. They can increase our loans. The money will be spent on armaments.”

  “Of course.” Then added carefully, “We are better off than most, only next year’s harvest is pledged. But it will be difficult to get ordinary interest rates.”

  He said irritably, “What do I know or care of interest rates? Make the best arrangement you can.” His face tightened. “Perhaps the time has come to propose to the Council we adjust ‘interest rates’ like my greatgrandfather.”

  Sixty-odd years ago the Shōgun, crushed under the weight of his father’s debts, with years of future harvests mortgaged like those of all daimyos, and goaded by the ever-increasing arrogance and disdain of the merchant class, had abruptly decreed that all debts were cancelled and all future harvests debt free.

  In the two and a half centuries since Sekigahara this extreme act had been promulgated four times. It caused chaos throughout the land. Suffering amongst all classes was huge, especially samurai. There was little the rice merchants, the main moneylenders, could do. Many went bankrupt. A few committed seppuku. The rest slid under cover as best they could and suffered in the general lake of pain.

  Until the next harvest. Then farmers needed merchants, and all people needed rice, and so, carefully, sales were consummated and scarce—therefore highly expensive—money was loaned to them for seed and tools against the next harvest, and once more, but very humbly, money and credit was advanced to samurai, against their expected income, for living and entertainment, and silks and swords. Soon samurai overspending became endemic. With greater care moneylenders slipped back into business. Soon inducements had to be offered to them, samurai status was reluctantly proffered and gratefully purchased for some sons and everything was soon as before, with fiefs in pawn.