Shogun

“I am to give his ship to his enemy, Sire?”

“No, Lady,” he had said as her eyes filled with tears. “No. I repeat: You are to whisper the secrets you’ve told me to Tsukku-san at once here at Yedo, then to the High Priest and Kiyama at Osaka, and say to them all that without his ship, the Anjin-san is no threat to them. And you are to write the letter to the Anjin-san as I suggest, now.”

“Then they will destroy the ship.”

“They will try to. Of course they’ll think of the same answer themselves so you’re not giving anything away really, neh?”

“Can you protect his ship, Sire?”

“It will be guarded by four thousand samurai.”

“But if they succeed .?.?. the Anjin-san’s worthless without his ship. I beg for his life.”

“You don’t have to, Mariko-san. I assure you he’s valuable to me, with or without a ship. I promise you. Also in your letter to him say, if his ship’s lost, please build another.”

“What?”

“You told me he can do that, neh? You’re sure? If I give him all the carpenters and metalworkers?”

“Oh, yes. Oh, how clever you are! Oh yes, he’s said many times that he was a trained shipbuilder.?.?.?.”

“You’re quite sure, Mariko-san?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Good.”

“Then you think the Christian Fathers will succeed, even against four thousand men?”

“Yes. So sorry, but the Christians will never leave the ship alive, or him alive as long as it’s floating and ready for sea. It’s too much of a threat to them. This ship is doomed, so there’s no harm in conceding it to them. But only you and I know and are to know his only hope is to build another. I’m the only one who can help him do that. Solve Osaka for me and I’ll see he builds his ship.”

I told her the truth, Toranaga thought, here in the dawn at Yokohama, amid the smell of horses and dung and sweat, his ears hardly listening now to the wounded samurai and Omi, his whole being sad for Mariko. Life is so sad, he told himself, weary of men and Osaka and games that brought so much suffering to the living, however great the stakes.

“Thank you for telling me, Kosami,” he said as the samurai finished. “You’ve done very well. Please come with me. Both of you.”

Toranaga walked back to his mare and kneed her a last time. This time she whinnied but he got no more tightness on the girth. “Horses are far worse than men for treachery,” he said to no one in particular and swung into the saddle and galloped off, pursued by his guards and Omi and Kosami.

At the camp on the plateau he stopped. Buntaro was there beside Yabu and Hiro-matsu and Sudara, a peregrine on his fist. They saluted him. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully, beckoning Omi to be part of their conversation but waving everyone else well away. “Are you ready, my son?”

“Yes, Father,” Sudara said. “I’ve sent some of my men to the mountains to make sure the beaters are perfect for you.”

“Thank you, but I’ve decided to hunt the coast.”

At once Sudara called out to one of the guards and sent him riding away to pull back the men from the hills and switch them to the coast. “So sorry, Sire, I should have thought of that and been prepared. Please excuse me.”

“Yes. So, Hiro-matsu-san, how’s the training?”

Hiro-matsu, his sword inevitably loose in his hands, scowled. “I still think this is all dishonorable and unnecessary. Soon we’ll be able to forget it. We’ll piss all over Ishido without this sort of treachery.”

Yabu said, “Please excuse me, but without these guns and this strategy, Hiro-matsu-san, we’ll lose. This is a modern war, this way we’ve a chance to win.” He looked back at Toranaga, who had not yet dismounted. “I heard in the night that Jikkyu’s dead.”

“You’re certain?” Toranaga pretended to be startled. He had got the secret information the day he left Mishima.

“Yes, Sire. It seems he’s been sick for some time. My informant reports he died two days ago,” Yabu said, gloating openly. “His heir’s his son, Hikoju.”

“That puppy?” Buntaro said with contempt.

“Yes—I agree he’s nothing but a whelp.” Yabu seemed to be several inches taller than usual. “Sire, doesn’t this open up the southern route? Why not attack along the Tokaido Road immediately? With the old devil fox dead, Izu’s safe now, and Suruga and Totomi are as helpless as beached tuna. Neh?”

Toranaga dismounted thoughtfully. “Well?” he asked Hiro-matsu quietly.

The old general replied at once, “If we could grab the road all the way to Utsunoya Pass and all the bridges and get over the Tenryu quickly—with all our communications secure—we’d slice into Ishido’s underbelly. We could contain Zataki in the mountains and reinforce the Tokaido attack and rush on to Osaka. We’d be unbeatable.”

Sudara said, “So long as the Heir leads Ishido’s armies we’re beatable.”

“I don’t agree,” Hiro-matsu said.

“Nor I, so sorry,” Yabu said.

“But I agree,” Toranaga said, as flat and as grave as Sudara. He had not yet told them about Zataki’s possible agreement to betray Ishido when the time was ripe. Why should I tell them? he thought. It’s not fact. Yet.

But how do you propose to implement your solemn agreement with your half brother to marry Ochiba to him if he supports you, and at the same time marry Ochiba yourself, if that’s her price? That’s a fair question, he said to himself. But it’s highly unlikely Ochiba would betray Ishido. If she did and that’s the price, then the answer’s simple: My brother will have to bow to the inevitable.

He saw them all looking at him. “What?”

There was a silence. Then Buntaro said, “What happens, Sire, when we oppose the banner of the Heir?”

None of them had ever asked that question formally, directly, and publicly. “If that happens, I lose,” Toranaga said. “I will commit seppuku and those who honor the Taiko’s testament and the Heir’s undoubted legal inheritance will have to submit themselves humbly at once to his pardon. Those who don’t will have no honor. Neh?”

They all nodded. Then he turned to Yabu to finish the business at hand, and became genial again. “However, we’re not on that battlefield yet, so we continue as planned. Yes, Yabu-sama, the southern route’s possible now. What did Jikkyu die of?”

“Sickness, Sire.”

“A five-hundred-koku sickness?”

Yabu laughed, but inwardly he was rabid that Toranaga had breached his security net. “Yes,” he said. “I would presume so, Sire. My brother told you?” Toranaga nodded and asked him to explain to the others. Yabu complied, not displeased, for it was a clever and devious stratagem, and he told them how Mizuno, his brother, had passed over the money that had been acquired from the Anjin-san to a cook’s helper who had been inserted into Jikkyu’s personal kitchen.

“Cheap, neh?” Yabu said happily. “Five hundred koku for the southern route?”

Hiro-matsu said stiffly to Toranaga, “Please excuse me but I think that’s a disgusting story.”

Toranaga smiled. “Treachery’s a weapon of war, neh?”

“Yes. But not of a samurai.”

Yabu was indignant. “So sorry, Lord Hiro-matsu, but I presume you mean no insult?”

“He meant no insult. Did you, Hiro-matsu-san?” Toranaga said.

“No, Sire,” the old general replied. “Please excuse me.”

“Poison, treachery, betrayal, assassination have always been weapons of war, old friend,” Toranaga said. “Jikkyu was an enemy and a fool. Five hundred koku for the southern route is nothing! Yabu-sama has served me well. Here and at Osaka. Neh, Yabu-san?”

“I always try to serve you loyally, Sire.”