Shogun

“With barbarian treachery, Omi-san!”

“With barbarian knowledge, Naga-san, we could take Peking. Whoever takes Peking eventually controls China. And whoever controls China can control the world. We must learn not to be ashamed of taking knowledge from wherever it comes.”

“I say we need nothing from outside.”

“Without offense, Naga-san, I say we must protect this Land of the Gods by any means. It’s our prime duty to protect the unique, divine position we have on earth. Only this is the Land of the Gods, neh? Only our Emperor is divine. I agree this barbarian should be gagged. But not by death. By permanent isolation here in Anjiro, until we have learned everything he knows.”

Jozen scratched thoughtfully. “My Master will be told of your views. I agree the barbarian should be isolated. Also that training should cease at once.”

Yabu took a scroll from his sleeve. “Here is a full report on the experiment for Lord Ishido. When Lord Ishido wishes the training to cease, of course, the training will cease.”

Jozen accepted the scroll. “And Lord Toranaga? What about him?” His eyes went to Naga. Naga said nothing but stared at the scroll.

Yabu said, “You will be able to ask his opinion directly. He has a similar report. I presume you’ll be leaving for Yedo tomorrow? Or would you like to witness the training? I hardly need tell you the men are not yet proficient.”

“I would like to see one ‘attack.’?”

“Omi-san, arrange it. You lead it.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Jozen turned to his second-in-command and gave him the scroll. “Masumoto, take this to Lord Ishido. You will leave at once.”

“Yes, Jozen-san.”

Yabu said to Igurashi, “Provide him with guides to the border and fresh horses.”

Igurashi left with the samurai immediately.

Jozen stretched and yawned. “Please excuse me,” he said, “but it’s all the riding I’ve done in the last few days. I must thank you for an extraordinary evening, Yabu-sama. Your ideas are far-reaching. And yours, Omi-san. And yours, Naga-san. I’ll compliment you to the Lord Toranaga and to my Master. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m very tired and Osaka is a long way off.”

“Of course,” Yabu said. “How was Osaka?”

“Very good. Remember those bandits, the ones that attacked you by land and sea?”

“Of course.”

“We took four hundred and fifty heads that night. Many were wearing Toranaga uniforms.”

“Ronin have no honor. None.”

“Some ronin have,” Jozen said, smarting from the insult. He lived always with the shame of having once been ronin. “Some were even wearing our Grays. Not one escaped. They all died.”

“And Buntaro-san?”

“No. He—” Jozen stopped. The “no” had slipped out but now that he had said it he did not mind. “No. We don’t know for certain—no one collected his head. You’ve heard nothing about him?”

“No,” Naga said.

“Perhaps he was captured. Perhaps they just cut him into pieces and scattered him. My Master would like to know when you have news. All’s very good now at Osaka. Preparations for the meeting go forward. There’ll be lavish entertainments to celebrate the new era, and of course, to honor all the daimyos.”

“And Lord Toda Hiro-matsu?” Naga asked politely.

“Old Iron Fist’s as strong and gruff as ever.”

“He’s still there?”

“No. He left with all your father’s men a few days before I did.”

“And my father’s household?”

“I heard that the Lady Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko asked to stay with my Master. A doctor advised the Lady to rest for a month—her health, you know. He thought the journey would not be good for the expected child.” To Yabu he added, “She fell down the night you left, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“There’s nothing serious, I hope,” Naga asked, very concerned.

“No, Naga-san, nothing serious,” Jozen said, then again to Yabu, “You’ve informed Lord Toranaga of my arrival?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

“The news you brought us would interest him greatly.”

“Yes. I saw a carrier pigeon circle and fly north.”

“I have that service now.” Yabu did not add that Jozen’s pigeon had also been observed, or that falcons had intercepted it near the mountains, or that the message had been decoded: “At Anjiro. All true as reported. Yabu, Naga, Omi, and barbarian here.”

“I will leave tomorrow, with your permission, after the ‘attack.’ You’ll give me fresh horses? I must not keep Lord Toranaga waiting. I look forward to seeing him. So does my Master. At Osaka. I hope you’ll accompany him, Naga-san.”

“If I’m ordered there, I will be there.” Naga kept his eyes lowered but he was burning with suppressed fury.

Jozen left and walked with his guards up the hill to his camp. He rearranged the sentries and ordered his men to sleep and got into his small brush lean-to that they had constructed against the coming rain. By candlelight, under a mosquito net, he rewrote the previous message on a thin piece of rice paper and added: “The five hundred guns are lethal. Massed surprise gun attacks planned—full report already sent with Masumoto.” Then he dated it and doused the candle. In the darkness he slipped out of his net, removed one of the pigeons from the panniers and placed the message in the tiny container on its foot. Then he stealthily made his way to one of his men and handed him the bird.

“Take it out into the brush,” he whispered. “Hide it somewhere where it can roost safely until dawn. As far away as you can. But be careful, there are eyes all around. If you’re intercepted say I told you to patrol, but hide the pigeon first.”

The man slid away as silently as a cockroach.

Pleased with himself, Jozen looked toward the village below. There were lights on in the fortress and on the opposite slope, in the house that he knew to be Omi’s. There were a few also in the house just below, the one presently occupied by the barbarian.

That whelp Naga’s right, Jozen thought, waving his hand at a mosquito. The barbarian’s a filthy plague.

“Good night, Fujiko-san.”

“Good night, Anjin-san.”

The shoji closed behind her. Blackthorne took off his kimono and loincloth and put on the lighter sleeping kimono, got under the mosquito net, and lay down.

He blew out the candle. Deep darkness enveloped him. The house was quiet now. The small shutters were closed and he could hear the surf. Clouds obscured the moon.

The wine and laughter had made him drowsy and euphoric and he listened to the surf and felt himself drifting with it, his mind fogged. Occasionally, a dog barked in the village below. I should get a dog, he thought, remembering his own bull terrier at home. Wonder if he’s still alive? Grog was his name but Tudor, his son, always called him “Og-Og.”

Ah, Tudor, laddie. It’s been such a long time.

Wish I could see you all—even write a letter and send it home. Let’s see, he thought. How would I begin?