Shogun

man said. He was Serata Tomo, the general’s eldest son, second-in-command of the Fourth Army. “I wish Iron Fist were here! He could get sense .?.?. he’d have slit his belly first.”

“I considered it.” General Kiyoshio cleared his throat harshly. “Someone has to be responsible—and do his duty! Someone has to make the point that liege lord means responsibility and duty!”

“So sorry, but you’d better watch your tongue,” Yabu advised.

“What’s the use of a tongue in a samurai’s mouth if he’s forbidden to be samurai?”

“None,” Isamu, an old counselor, replied. “I agree. Better to be dead.”

“So sorry, Isamu-san, but that’s our immediate future anyway,” the young Serata Tomo said. “We’re staked pigeons to a certain dishonored hawk!”

“Please hold your tongues!” Yabu said, hiding his own satisfaction. Then he added carefully, “He’s our liege lord and until Lord Sudara or the Council takes open responsibility he stays liege lord and he is to be obeyed. Neh?”

General Kiyoshio studied him, his hand unconsciously feeling for his sword hilt. “What have you heard, Yabu-sama?”

“Nothing.”

“Buntaro-san said that—” the counselor began.

General Kiyoshio interrupted thinly. “Please excuse me, Isamu-san, but what General Buntaro said or what he didn’t say is unimportant. What Yabu-sama says is true. A liege lord is a liege lord. Even so, a samurai has rights, a vassal has rights. Even daimyos. Neh?”

Yabu looked back at him, gauging the depth of that invitation. “Izu is Lord Toranaga’s province. I’m no longer daimyo of Izu—only overlord for him.” He glanced around the huge room. “Everyone’s here, neh?”

“Except Lord Noboru,” a general said, mentioning Toranaga’s eldest son, who was universally loathed.

“Yes. Just as well. Never mind, General, the Chinese sickness’ll finish him soon and we’ll be done with his foul humor forever,” someone said.

“And stench.”

“When’s he coming back?”

“Who knows? We don’t even know why Toranaga-sama sent him north. Better he stays there, neh?”

“If you had that sickness, you’d be as foul-humored as he is, neh?”

“Yes, Yabu-san. Yes, I would. Pity he’s poxed, he’s a good general—better than the Cold Fish,” General Kiyoshio added, using Sudara’s private nickname.

“Eeeee,” the counselor whistled. “There’re devils in the air tonight to make you so careless with your tongue. Or is it sake?”

“Perhaps it’s the Chinese sickness,” General Kiyoshio replied with a bitter laugh.

“Buddha protect me from that!” Yabu said. “If only Lord Toranaga would change his mind about Osaka!”

“I’d slit my belly now if that’d convince him,” the young man said.

“No offense, my son, but your head’s in the clouds. He’ll never change.”

“Yes, Father. But I just don’t understand him.?.?.?.”

“We’re all to go with him? In the same contingent?” Yabu asked after a moment.

Isamu, the old counselor, said, “Yes. We’re to go as an escort. With two thousand men with full ceremonial equipment and trappings. It’ll take us thirty days to get there. We’ve six days left.”

General Kiyoshio said, “That’s not much time. Is it, Yabu-sama?”

Yabu did not reply. There was no need. The general did not require an answer. They settled into their own thoughts.

A side door opened. Toranaga came in. Sudara followed. Everyone bowed stiffly. Toranaga bowed back and sat facing them, Sudara as heir presumptive slightly in front of him, also facing the others. Naga came in from the main door and closed it.

Only Toranaga wore swords.

“It’s been reported that some of you speak treason, think treason, and plan treason,” he said coldly. No one answered or moved. Slowly, relentlessly, Toranaga looked from face to face.

Still no movement. Then General Kiyoshio spoke. “May I respectfully ask, Sire, what do you mean by ‘treason’?”

“Any questioning of an order, or a decision, or a position of any liege lord, at any time, is treason,” Toranaga slammed back at him.

The general’s back stiffened. “Then I’m guilty of treason.”

“Then go out and commit seppuku at once.”

“I will, Sire,” the soldier said proudly, “but first I claim the right of free speech before your loyal vassals, officers, and coun—”

“You’ve forfeited all rights!”

“Very well. Then I claim it as a dying wish—as hatamoto—and in return for twenty-eight years of faithful service!”

“Make it very short.”

“I will, Sire,” General Kiyoshio replied icily. “I beg to say, first: Going to Osaka and bowing to the peasant Ishido is treason against your honor, the honor of your clan, the honor of your faithful vassals, your special heritage, and totally against bushido. Second: I indict you for this treason and say you’ve therefore forfeited your right to be our liege lord. Third: I petition that you immediately abdicate in Lord Sudara’s favor and honorably depart this life—or shave your head and retire to a monastery, whichever you prefer.”

The general bowed stiffly, then sat back on his haunches. Everyone waited, hardly breathing now that the unbelievable had become a reality.

Abruptly Toranaga hissed, “What are you waiting for?”

General Kiyoshio stared back at him. “Nothing, Sire. Please excuse me.” His son began to get up.

“No. You’re ordered to stay here!” he said.

The general bowed a last time to Toranaga, got up, and walked out with immense dignity. Some stirred nervously and a swell moved through the room but Toranaga’s harshness dominated again: “Is there anyone else who admits treason? Anyone else who dares to break bushido, anyone who dares to accuse his liege lord of treason?”

“Please excuse me, Sire,” Isamu, the old counselor, said calmly. “But I regret to say that if you go to Osaka it is treason against your heritage.”

“The day I go to Osaka you will depart this earth.”

The gray-haired man bowed politely. “Yes, Sire.”

Toranaga looked them over. Pitilessly. Someone shifted uneasily and eyes snapped onto him. The samurai, a warrior who years ago had lost his wish to fight and had shaved his head to become a Buddhist monk and was now a member of Toranaga’s civil administration, said nothing, almost wilting with an untoward fear he tried desperately to hide.

“What’re you afraid of, Numata-san?”

“Nothing, Sire,” the man said, his eyes downcast.

“Good. Then go and commit seppuku because you’re a liar and your fear’s an infectious stench.”

The man whimpered and stumbled out. Dread stalked them all now. Toranaga watched. And waited.

The air became oppressive, the slight crackling of the torch flames seemed strangely loud. Then, knowing it was his duty and responsibility, Sudara turned and bowed. “Please, Sire, may I respectfully make a statement?”

“What statement?”

“Sire, I believe there is no .?.?. no more treason here, and that there will be no more trea—”

“I don’t share your opinion.”

“Please excuse me, Sire, you know I will obey you. We will all obey you. We seek only the best for your —”

“The best is my decision. What I decide is best.”