Shogun

and, the same night, she had pillowed with her Lord and Master and, nine months later, she had birthed Yaemon to his eternal joy. And hers.

“Of course our husband is Yaemon’s father,” Ochiba said with complete certainty to the husk of Yodoko. “He fathered both my children—the other was a dream.”

Why delude yourself? It was not a dream, she thought. It happened. That man was not a kami. You rutted with a peasant in the dirt to sire a son you needed as desperately as the Taiko to bind him to you. He would have taken another consort, neh?

What about your first-born?

“Karma,” Ochiba said, dismissing that latent agony as well.

“Drink this, child,” Yodoko had said to her when she was sixteen, a year after she had become the Taiko’s formal consort. And she had drunk the strange, warming herb cha and felt so sleepy and the next evening when she awoke again she remembered only strange erotic dreams and bizarre colors and an eerie timelessness. Yodoko had been there when she awakened, as when she had gone to sleep, so considerate, and as worried over the harmony of their lord as she had been. Nine months later she had birthed, the first of all the Taiko’s women to do so. But the child was sickly and that child died in infancy.

Karma, she thought.

Nothing had ever been said between herself and Yodoko. About what had happened, or what might have happened, during that vast deep sleep. Nothing, except “Forgive me?.?.?.” a few moments ago, and, “There is nothing to forgive.”

You’re blameless, Yodoko-sama, and nothing occurred, no secret act or anything. And if there did, rest in peace, Old One, now that secret lies buried with you. Her eyes were on the empty face, so frail and pathetic now, just as the Taiko had been so frail and pathetic at his ending, his question also never asked. Karma that he died, she thought dispassionately. If he’d lived another ten years I’d be Empress of China, but now .?.?. now I’m alone.

“Strange that you died before I could promise, Lady,” she said, the smell of incense and the musk of death surrounding her. “I would have promised but you died before I promised. Is that my karma too? Do I obey a request and an unspoken promise? What should I do?”

My son, my son, I feel so helpless.

Then she remembered something the Wise One had said: “Think like the Taiko would—or Toranaga would.”

Ochiba felt new strength pour through her. She sat back in the stillness and, coldly, began to obey.

In a sudden hush, Chimmoko came out of the small gates to the garden and walked over to Blackthorne and bowed. “Anjin-san, please excuse me, my Mistress wishes to see you. If you will wait a moment I will escort you.”

“All right. Thank you.” Blackthorne got up, still deep in his reverie and his overpowering sense of doom. The shadows were long now. Already part of the forecourt was sunless. The Grays prepared to move with him.

Chimmoko went over to Sumiyori. “Please excuse me, Captain, but my Lady asks you to please prepare everything.”

“Where does she want it done?”

The maid pointed at the space in front of the arch. “There, Sire.”

Sumiyori was startled. “It’s to be public? Not in private with just a few witnesses? She’s doing it for all to see?”

“Yes.”

“But, well .?.?. if it’s to be here .?.?. Her—her .?.?. what about her second?”

“She believes the Lord Kiyama will honor her.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I don’t know, Captain. She—she hasn’t told me.” Chimmoko bowed and walked across to the veranda to bow again. “Kiritsubo-san, my Mistress says, so sorry, she’ll return shortly.”

“Is she all right?”

“Oh yes,” Chimmoko said proudly.

Kiri and the others were composed now. When they had heard what had been said to the captain they had been equally perturbed. “Does she know other ladies are waiting to greet her?”

“Oh yes, Kiritsubo-san. I—I was watching, and I told her. She said that she’s so honored by their presence and she will thank them in person soon. Please excuse me.”

They all watched her go back to the gates and beckon Blackthorne. The Grays began to follow but Chimmoko shook her head and said her mistress had not bidden them. The captain allowed Blackthorne to leave.

It was like a different world beyond the garden gates, verdant and serene, the sun on the treetops, birds chattering and insects foraging, the brook falling sweetly into the lily pond. But he could not shake off his gloom.

Chimmoko stopped and pointed at the little cha-no-yu house. He went forward alone. He slipped his feet out of his thongs and walked up the three steps. He had to stoop, almost to his knees, to go through the tiny screened doorway. Then he was inside.

“Thou,” she said.

“Thou,” he said.

She was kneeling, facing the doorway, freshly made up, lips crimson, immaculately coiffured, wearing a fresh kimono of somber blue edged with green, with a lighter green obi and a thin green ribbon for her hair.

“Thou art beautiful.”

“And thou.” A tentative smile. “So sorry it was necessary for thee to watch.”

“It was my duty.”

“Not duty,” she said. “I did not expect—or plan for—so much killing.”

“Karma.” Blackthorne pulled himself out of his trance and stopped talking Latin. “You’ve been planning all this for a long time—your suicide. Neh?”

“My life’s never been my own, Anjin-san. It’s always belonged to my liege Lord, and, after him, to my Master. That’s our law.”

“It’s a bad law.”

“Yes. And no.” She looked up from the mats. “Are we going to quarrel about things that may not be changed?”

“No. Please excuse me.”

“I love thee,” she said in Latin.

“Yes. I know that now. And I love thee. But death is thy aim, Mariko-san.”

“Thou art wrong, my darling. The life of my Master is my aim. And thy life. And truly, Madonna forgive me, or bless me for it, there are times when thy life is more important.”

“There’s no escape now. For anyone.”

“Be patient. The sun has not yet set.”

“I have no confidence in this sun, Mariko-san.” He reached out and touched her face. “Gomen nasai.”

“I promised thee tonight would be like the Inn of the Blossoms. Be patient. I know Ishido and Ochiba and the others.”

“Que va on the others,” he said in Portuguese, his mood changing. “You mean that you’re gambling that Toranaga knows what he’s doing. Neh?”

“Que va on thy ill humor,” she replied gently. “This day’s too short.”

“Sorry—you’re right again. Today’s no time for ill humor.” He watched her. Her face was streaked with shadow bars cast by the sun through the bamboo slats. The shadows climbed and vanished as the sun sank behind a battlement.

“What can I do to help thee?” he asked.

“Believe there is a tomorrow.”

For a moment he caught a glimpse of her terror. His arms went out to her and he held her and the waiting