Shogun

she continued to teach, trying to mold him—without his knowing he was being molded—to the Eightfold Fence, building inner walls and defenses that were his only path to harmony. And to survival.

“I’m so glad the priest has gone and won’t come back, Anjin-san.”

“Yes.”

“It would have been better if there had been no quarrel. I’m afraid for you.”

“Nothing’s different—he always was my enemy, always will be. Karma is karma. But don’t forget nothing exists outside us. Not yet. Not him or anyone. Not until Yedo. Neh?”

“Yes. You are so wise. And right again. I’m so happy to be with thee.?.?.?.”

Their road from Mishima left the flat lands quickly and wound up the mountain to Hakone Pass. They rested there two days atop the mountain, joyous and content, Mount Fuji glorious at sunrise and sunset, her peak obscured by a wreath of clouds.

“Is the mountain always like that?”

“Yes, Anjin-san, most always shrouded. But that makes the sight of Fuji-san, clear and clean, so much more exquisite, neh? You can climb all the way to the top if you wish.”

“Let’s do that now!”

“Not now, Anjin-san. One day we will. We must leave something to the future, neh? We’ll climb Fuji-san in autumn.?.?.?.”

Always there were pretty, private inns down to the Kwanto plains. And always rivers and streams and rivulets to cross, the sea on the right now. Their party had meandered northward along the busy, bustling Tokaido, across the greatest rice bowl in the Empire. The flat alluvial plains were rich with water, every inch cultivated. The air was hot and humid now, heavy with the stench of human manure that the farmers moistened with water and ladled onto the plants with loving care.

“Rice gives us food to eat, Anjin-san, tatamis to sleep on, sandals to walk with, clothes to shut out the rain and the cold, thatch to keep our houses warm, paper for writing. Without rice we cannot exist.”

“But the stink, Mariko-san!”

“That’s a small price to pay for so much bounty, neh? Just do as we do, open your eyes and ears and mind. Hear the wind and the rain, the insects and the birds, listen to the plants growing, and in your mind, see your generations following unto the end of time. If you do that, Anjin-san, soon you smell only the loveliness of life. It requires practice .?.?. but you become very Japanese, neh?”

“Ah, thank you, m’lady! But I do confess I’m beginning to like rice. Yes. I certainly prefer it to potatoes, and you know another thing—I don’t miss meat as much as I did. Isn’t that strange? And I’m not as hungry as I was.”

“I am more hungry than I’ve ever been.”

“Ah, I was talking about food.”

“Ah, so was I.?.?.?.”

Three days away from Hakone Pass her monthly time began and she had asked him to take one of the maids of the inn. “It would be wise, Anjin-san.”

“I’d prefer not to, so sorry.”

“Please, I ask thee. It is a safeguard. A discretion.”

“Because you ask, then yes. But tomorrow, not tonight. Tonight let us sleep in peace.”

Yes, Mariko thought, that night we slept peacefully and the next dawn was so lovely that I left his warmth and sat on the veranda with Chimmoko and watched the birth of another day.

“Ah, good morning, Lady Toda.” Gyoko had been standing at the garden entrance, bowing to her. “A gorgeous dawn, neh?”

“Yes, beautiful.”

“Please may I interrupt you? Could I speak to you privately—alone? About a business matter.”

“Of course.” Mariko had left the veranda, not wishing to disturb the Anjin-san’s sleep. She sent Chimmoko for cha and ordered blankets to be put on the grass, near the little waterfall.

When it was correct to begin and they were alone, Gyoko said, “I was considering how I could be of the most help to Toranaga-sama.”

“The thousand koku would be more than generous.”

“Three secrets might be more generous.”

“One might be, Gyoko-san, if it was the right one.”

“The Anjin-san is a good man, neh? His future must be helped too, neh?”

“The Anjin-san has his own karma,” she replied, knowing that the time of bargaining had come, wondering what she must concede, if she dared to concede anything. “We were talking about Lord Toranaga, neh? Or is one of the secrets about the Anjin-san?”

“Oh no, Lady. It’s as you say. The Anjin-san has his own karma, as I’m sure he has his own secrets. It’s just occurred to me that the Anjin-san is one of Lord Toranaga’s favored vassals, so any protection our Lord has in a way helps his vassals, neh?”

“I agree. Of course, it’s the duty of vassals to pass on any information that could help their lord.”

“True, Lady, very true. Ah, it’s such an honor for me to serve you. Honto. May I tell you how honored I am to have been allowed to travel with you, to talk with you, and eat and laugh with you, and occasionally to act as a modest counselor, however ill-equipped I am, for which I apologize. And finally to say that your wisdom is as great as your beauty, and your bravery as vast as your rank.”

“Ah, Gyoko-san, please excuse me, you’re too kind, too thoughtful. I am just a wife of one of my Lord’s generals. You were saying? Four secrets?”

“Three, Lady. I was wondering if you’d intercede with Lord Toranaga for me. It would be unthinkable for me to whisper directly to him what I know to be true. That would be very bad manners because I wouldn’t know the right words to choose, or how to put the information before him, and in any event, in a matter of any importance, our custom to use a go-between is so much better, neh?”

“Surely Kiku-san would be a better choice? I’ve no way of knowing when I’ll be sent for or how long it would be before I’ll have an audience with him, or even if he’d be interested in listening to anything I might have to tell him.”

“Please excuse me, Lady, but you would be extraordinarily better. You could judge the value of the information, she couldn’t. You possess his ear, she other things.”

“I’m not a counselor, Gyoko-san. Nor a valuer.”

“I’d say they’re worth a thousand koku.”

“So desu ka?”

Gyoko made perfectly sure no one was listening, then told Mariko what the renegade Christian priest had muttered aloud that the Lord Onoshi had whispered to him in the confessional that he had related to his uncle, Lord Harima; then what Omi’s second cook had overheard of Omi’s and his mother’s plot against Yabu; and lastly, all she knew about Zataki, his apparent lust for the Lady Ochiba, and about Ishido and Lady Ochiba.

Mariko had listened intently without comment—although breaking the secrecy of the confessional shocked her greatly—her mind hopping at the swarm of possibilities this information unlocked. Then she cross-questioned Gyoko carefully, to make sure she understood clearly what she was being told and to etch it completely in her own memory.

When she was satisfied that she knew everything that Gyoko was prepared to divulge at the moment—for, obviously, so shrewd a bargainer would always hold much in reserve—she sent for fresh cha.

She poured Gyoko’s cup herself, and they sipped demurely. Both wary, both confident.

“I’ve no way of knowing how valuable this information is, Gyoko-san.”

“Of course, Mariko-sama.”

“I imagine this information—and the thousand koku—would please Lord Toranaga greatly.”

Gyoko bit back the obscenity that flared behind her lips. She had expected a substantial reduction in the beginning bid. “So sorry, but money has no significance to such a daimyo, though it is a heritage to a peasant like myself—a thousand koku makes me an ancestress, neh? One