Shogun

“Shortly after the regiment was formed. Fifty-four of us know—I’ve given all the names in writing to Omi- sama. The plan, code name ‘Plum Tree,’ was confirmed personally by Kasigi Yabu-sama before he left for Osaka the last time.”

“Thank you. I commend your loyalty. You are to keep this secret until I tell you. Then you will be given a fief worth five thousand koku.”

“Please excuse me, I deserve nothing, Sire. I beg permission to commit seppuku for having held this shameful secret so long.”

“Permission is refused. It will be as I ordered.”

“Please excuse me, I do not deserve such reward. At least allow me to remain as I am. This is my duty and merits no reward. Truly I should be punished.”

“What’s your income now?”

“Four hundred koku, Sire. It’s enough.”

“I’ll consider what you say, Kiwami-san.”

After the officer had left he had said, “What did you promise him, Omi-san?”

“Nothing, Sire. He came to me of his own accord yesterday.”

“An honest man? You’re telling me he’s an honest man?”

“I don’t know about that, Sire. But he came to me yesterday, and I rushed here to tell you.”

“Then he will really be rewarded. Such loyalty’s more important than anything, neh?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Say nothing of this to anyone.”

Omi had left and Toranaga had wondered if Mizuno and Omi had trumped up the plot to discredit Yabu. At once he put his own spies to find out the truth. But the plot had been true, and the burning of the ship had been a perfect excuse to remove the fifty-three traitors, all of whom had been placed among the Izu guards on that night. Kiwami Matano he had sent to the far north with a good, though modest, fief.

“Surely this Kiwami is the most dangerous of all,” Sudara had said, the only one admitted to the plot.

“Yes. And he’ll be watched all his life and not trusted. But generally there’s good in evil people and evil in good people. You must choose the good and get rid of the evil without sacrificing the good. There’s no waste in my domains to be cast away lightly.”

Yes, Toranaga thought with great satisfaction, you certainly deserve a prize, Omi.

“Listen, Omi-san, the battle will begin in a few days. You’ve served me loyally. On the last battlefield, after my victory, I’ll appoint you Overlord of Izu, and make your line of the Kasigi hereditary daimyos again.”

“So sorry, Sire, please excuse me, but I don’t deserve such honor,” Omi said.

“You’re young but you show great promise, beyond your years. Your grandfather was very like you, very clever, but he had no patience.” Again the sound of the ladies’ laughter, and Toranaga watched Kiku, trying to decide about her, his original plan now cast aside.

“May I ask what you mean by patience, Sire?” Omi said, instinctively feeling that Toranaga wanted the question to be asked.

Toranaga still looked at the girl, warmed by her. “Patience means restraining yourself. There are seven emotions, neh? Joy, anger, anxiety, adoration, grief, fear, and hate. If a man doesn’t give way to these, he’s patient. I’m not as strong as I might be but I’m patient. Understand?”

“Yes, Sire. Very clearly.”

“Patience is very necessary in a leader.”

“Yes.”

“That lady, for example. She’s a distraction to me, too beautiful, too perfect for me. I’m too simple for such a rare creature. So I’ve decided she belongs elsewhere.”

“But, Sire, even as one of your lesser ladies?.?.?.” Omi mouthed the politeness that both men knew a sham, though obligatory, and all the time Omi was praying as he had never prayed before, knowing what was possible, knowing that he could never ask.

“I quite agree,” Toranaga said. “But great talent merits sacrifice.” He was still watching her throwing her fan, catching her maid’s fan in return, her gaiety infectious. Then both the ladies were obscured by the horses. So sorry, Kiku-san, he thought, but I have to pass you on, to settle you out of reach quickly. The truth is, I really am getting too fond of you, though Gyoko would never believe I had told her the truth, nor will Omi, nor even you yourself. “Kiku-san is worthy of a house of her own. With a husband of her own.”

“Better a consort of the lowest samurai than wife of a farmer or merchant, however rich.”

“I don’t agree.”

For Omi those words ended the matter. Karma, he told himself, his misery overwhelming him. Put your sadness away, fool. Your liege lord has decided, so that is the end of it. Midori is a perfect wife. Your mother is to become a nun, so now your house will have harmony.

So much sadness today. And happiness: daimyo of Izu-to-be; Commander of the Regiment; the Anjin-san’s to be kept in Anjiro, therefore the first ship is to be built within Izu—in my fief. Put aside your sadness. Life is all sadness. Kiku-san has her karma, I have mine, Toranaga has his, and my Lord Yabu shows how foolish it is to worry about this or that or anything.

Omi looked up at Toranaga, his mind clear and everything compartmentalized.

“Please excuse me, Sire, I beg your forgiveness. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“You may greet her if you wish, before you leave.”

“Thank you, Sire.” Omi wrapped up Yabu’s head. “Do you wish me to bury it—or display it?”

“Put it on a spear, facing the wreck.”

“What was his death poem?”

Omi said:

“?‘What are clouds
But an excuse for the sky?
What is life
But an escape from death?’?”

Toranaga smiled. “Interesting,” he said.

Omi bowed and gave the wrapped head to one of his men and went through the horses and samurai to the far courtyard.

“Ah, Lady,” he said to her with kind formality. “I’m so pleased to see you well and happy.”

“I’m with my Lord, Omi-san, and he’s strong and content. How can I be anything but happy.”

“Sayonara, Lady.”

“Sayonara, Omi-sama.” She bowed, aware of a vast finality now, never quite realizing it before. A tear welled and she brushed it aside and bowed again as he walked away.

She watched his tall, firm stride and would have wept aloud, her heart near breaking, but then, as always, she heard the so-many-times-said words in her memory, kindly spoken, wisely spoken, “Why do you weep, child? We of the Floating World live only for the moment, giving all our time to the pleasures of cherry blossoms and snow and maple leaves, the calling of a cricket, the beauty of the moon, waning and growing and being reborn, singing our songs and drinking cha and sake, knowing perfumes and the touch of silks, caressing for pleasure, and drifting, always drifting. Listen, child: never sad, always drifting as a lily on the current in the stream of life. How lucky you are, Kiku-chan, you’re a Princess of Ukiyo, the Floating World, drift, live for the moment.?.?.?.”

Kiku brushed away a second tear, a last tear. Silly girl to weep. Weep no more! she ordered herself. You’re so incredibly lucky! You’re consort to the greatest daimyo himself, even though a very lesser, unofficial one, but what does that matter—your sons will be born samurai. Isn’t