Shogun

“Please excuse me for disturbing you. You look well, brother. Very well.” Zataki got out of the palanquin and bowed in return, beginning the interminable, meticulous formalities of the ceremonial that now ruled both of them.

“Please take this cushion, Lord Zataki.”

“Please excuse me, I would be honored if you would be seated first, Lord Toranaga.”

“You’re so kind. But please, honor me by sitting first.”

They continued playing the game that they had played so many times before, with each other and with friends and enemies, climbing the ladder of power, enjoying the rules that governed each movement and each phrase, that protected their individual honor so that neither could ever make a mistake and endanger himself or his mission.

At length they were seated opposite each other on the cushions, two sword lengths away. Buntaro was behind and to the left of Toranaga. Zataki’s chief aide, an elderly gray-haired samurai, was behind and to his left. Around the dais, twenty paces away, were seated ranks of Toranaga samurai, all deliberately still costumed in the clothing they’d journeyed in, but their weapons in perfect condition. Omi was seated on the earth at the edge of the dais, Naga at the opposite side. Zataki’s men were dressed formally and richly, their vast, wing-shouldered overmantles belted with silver buckles. But they were equally well armed. They settled themselves, also twenty paces away.

Mariko served ceremonial cha and there was innocuous, formal conversation between the two brothers. At the correct time Mariko bowed and left, Buntaro achingly aware of her and vastly proud of her grace and beauty. And then, too soon, Zataki said brusquely, “I bring orders from the Council of Regents.”

A sudden hush fell on the square. Everyone, even his own men, was aghast at Zataki’s lack of manners, at the insolent way he had said “orders” and not “message,” and at his failure to wait for Toranaga to ask, “How can I be of service?” as ceremony demanded.

Naga shot a quick glance away from Zataki’s sword arm to his father. He saw the flush on Toranaga’s neck that was an infallible sign of impending explosion. But Toranaga’s face was tranquil, and Naga was amazed as he heard the controlled reply: “So sorry, you have orders? For whom, Brother? Surely you have a message?”

Zataki ripped two small scrolls out of his sleeve. Buntaro’s hand almost flashed for his waiting sword at the unexpected suddenness, for ritual called for all movements to be slow and deliberate. Toranaga had not moved.

Zataki broke the seal of the first scroll and read in a loud, chilling voice: “By order of the Council of Regents, in the name of Emperor Go-Nijo, the Son of Heaven: We greet our illustrious vassal Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara and invite him to make obeisance before us in Osaka forthwith, and invite him to inform our illustrious ambassador, the Regent, Lord Saigawa Zataki, if our invitation is accepted or refused—forthwith.”

He looked up and in an equally loud voice continued, “It’s signed by all Regents and sealed with the Great Seal of the Realm.” Haughtily he placed the scroll in front of him. Toranaga signaled to Buntaro, who went forward, bowed low to Zataki, picked up the scroll, turned to Toranaga, bowed again. Toranaga accepted the scroll, and motioned Buntaro back to his place.

Toranaga studied the scroll interminably.

“All the signatures are genuine,” Zataki said. “Do you accept or refuse?”

In a subdued voice, so that only those on the dais and Omi and Naga could hear him, Toranaga said, “Why shouldn’t I take your head for your foul manners?”

“Because I’m my mother’s son,” Zataki replied.

“That won’t protect you if you continue this way.”

“Then she’ll die before her time.”

“What?”

“The Lady, our mother, is in Takato.” Takato was the landlocked, impregnable fortress and capital city of Shinano, Zataki’s province. “I regret her body will stay there forever.”

“Bluff! You honor her as much as I do.”

“On her immortal spirit, Brother, as much as I honor her, I detest what you’re doing to the realm even more.”

“I seek no more territory and no—”

“You seek to overthrow the succession.”

“Wrong again, and I’ll always protect my nephew from traitors.”

“You seek the Heir’s downfall, that is what I believe, so I’ve decided to stay alive and lock Shinano and the northern route against you, whatever the cost, and I’ll continue to do that until the Kwanto’s in friendly hands—whatever the cost.”

“In your hands, Brother?”

“Any safe hands—which excludes yours. Brother.”

“You trust Ishido?”

“I trust no one, you’ve taught me that. Ishido’s Ishido, but his loyalty’s unquestioned. Even you’ll admit that.”

“I’ll admit that Ishido’s trying to destroy me and split the realm, that he’s usurped power and that he’s breaking the Taiko’s will.”

“But you did plot with Lord Sugiyama to wreck the Council of Regents. Neh?”

The vein in Zataki’s forehead was throbbing like a black worm. “What can you say? One of his counselors admitted the treason: that you plotted with Sugiyama for him to accept Lord Ito in your place, then to resign the day before the first meeting and escape by night, and so throw the realm into confusion. I heard the confession— Brother.”

“Were you one of the murderers?”

Zataki flushed. “Overzealous ronin killed Sugiyama, not I, nor any of Ishido’s men!”

“Curious that you took his place as Regent so quickly, neh?”

“No. My lineage is as ancient as yours. But I didn’t order the death, nor did Ishido—he swore it on his honor as a samurai. So do I. Ronin killed Sugiyama, but he deserved to die.”

“By torture, dishonored in a filthy cellar, his children and consorts hacked up in front of him?”

“That’s a rumor spread by filthy malcontents—perhaps by your spies—to discredit Lord Ishido and through him the Lady Ochiba and the Heir. There’s no proof of that.”

“Look at their bodies.”

“The ronin set fire to the house. There are no bodies.”

“So convenient, neh? How can you be so gullible? You’re not a stupid peasant!”

“I refuse to sit here and listen to this manure. Give me your answer now. And then either take my head and she dies or let me go.” Zataki leaned forward. “Within moments of my head leaving my shoulders, ten carrier pigeons will be racing north for Takato. I have trustworthy men north, east, and west, a day’s march away, out of your reach, and if they fail there are more in safety across your borders. If you take my head or have me assassinated or if I die in Izu—whatever the reason—she dies also. Now, either take my head or let’s finish the giving of the scrolls and I’ll leave Izu at once. Choose!”

“Ishido murdered Lord Sugiyama. In time I can get you proof. That’s important, neh? I only need a little—”

“You’ve no more time! Forthwith, the message said. Of course you refuse to obey, good, so it’s done. Here.” Zataki put the second scroll on the tatamis. “Here’s your formal impeachment and order to commit seppuku, which you’ll treat with equal contempt—may Lord Buddha forgive you! Now everything’s done. I’ll leave at once, and the next time we meet will be on a battlefield and by the Lord Buddha, before sunset on the same day, I’ve promised myself I’ll see your head on a spike.”

Toranaga kept his eyes on his adversary. “Lord Sugiyama was your friend and mine. Our comrade, as honorable a samurai as ever lived. The truth about his death should be of importance to you.”

“Yours has more importance, Brother.”

“Ishido’s sucked you in like a starving infant at its mother’s tit.”

Zataki turned to his counselor. “On your honor as a samurai, have I posted men and what is the