Shogun

Kasigi Yabu followed Hiro-matsu along the corridor, feeling grand in the dawn. There was a nice salt tang to the breeze, and it reminded him of Mishima, his home city. He was glad that at long last he was to see Toranaga and the waiting was over. He had bathed and dressed with care. Last letters had been written to his wife and to his mother and his final will sealed in case the interview went against him. Today he was wearing the Murasama blade within its battle-honored scabbard.

They turned another corner, then unexpectedly Hiro-matsu opened an ironbound reinforced door and led the way up the stone steps into the inner central keep of this part of the fortifications. There were many guards on duty and Yabu sensed danger.

The stairs curled upward and ended at an easily defendable redoubt. Guards opened the iron door. He went out onto the battlements. Has Hiro-matsu been told to throw me off, or will I be ordered to jump? he asked himself, unafraid.

To his surprise Toranaga was there and, incredibly, Toranaga got up to greet him with a jovial deference he had no right to expect. After all, Toranaga was Lord of the Eight Provinces, whereas he was only Lord of Izu. Cushions had been placed carefully. A teapot was cradled in a sheath of silk. A richly dressed, square-faced girl of little beauty was bowing low. Her name was Sazuko and she was the seventh of Toranaga’s official consorts, the youngest, and very pregnant.

“How nice to see you, Kasigi Yabu-san. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Now Yabu was certain that Toranaga had decided to remove his head, one way or another, for, by universal custom, your enemy is never more polite than when he is planning or has planned your destruction. He took out both his swords and placed them carefully on the stone flags, allowed himself to be led away from them and seated in the place of honor.

“I thought it would be interesting to watch the dawning, Yabu-san. I think the view here is exquisite—even better than from the Heir’s donjon. Neh?”

“Yes, it is beautiful,” Yabu said without reservation, never having been so high in the castle before, sure now that Toranaga’s remark about “the Heir” implied that his secret negotiations with Ishido were known. “I’m honored to be allowed to share it with you.”

Below them were the sleeping city and harbor and islands, Awaji to the west, the coastline falling off to the east, the growing light in the eastern sky slashing the clouds with flecks of crimson.

“This is my Lady Sazuko. Sazuko, this is my ally, the famous Lord Kasigi Yabu of Izu, the daimyo who brought us the barbarian and the treasure ship!” She bowed and complimented him and he bowed and she returned his bow again. She offered Yabu the first cup of tea but he politely declined the honor, beginning the ritual, and asked her to give it to Toranaga, who refused, and pressed him to accept it. Eventually, continuing the ritual, as the honored guest he allowed himself to be persuaded. Hiro-matsu accepted the second cup, his gnarled fingers holding the porcelain with difficulty, the other hand wrapped around the haft of his sword, loose in his lap. Toranaga accepted a third cup and sipped his cha, then together they gave themselves to nature and watched the sunrise. In the silence of the sky.

Gulls mewed. The city sounds began. The day was born.

Lady Sazuko sighed, her eyes wet with tears. “It makes me feel like a goddess being so high, watching so much beauty, neh? It’s so sad that it’s gone forever, Sire. So very sad, neh?”

“Yes,” Toranaga said.

When the sun was halfway above the horizon, she bowed and left. To Yabu’s surprise, the guards left also. Now they were alone. The three of them.

“I was pleased to receive your gift, Yabu-san. It was most generous, the whole ship and everything in it,” Toranaga said.

“Whatever I have is yours,” Yabu said, still deeply affected by the dawning. I wish I had more time, he thought. How elegant of Toranaga to do this! To give me a lastness of such immensity. “Thank you for this dawn.”

“Yes,” Toranaga said. “It was mine to give. I’m pleased that you enjoyed my gift, as I enjoyed yours.”

There was a silence.

“Yabu-san. What do you know about the Amida Tong?”

“Only what most people know: that it’s a secret society of ten—units of ten—a leader and never more than nine acolytes in any one area, women and men. They are sworn by the most sacred and secret oaths of the Lord Buddha Amida, the Dispenser of Eternal Love, to obedience, chastity, and death; to spend their lives training to become a perfect weapon for one kill; to kill only at the order of the leader, and if they fail to kill the person chosen, be it a man, woman, or child, to take their own life at once. They’re religious fanatics who are certain they’ll go directly from this life to Buddha-hood. Not one of them has ever been caught alive.” Yabu knew about the attempt on Toranaga’s life. All Osaka knew by now and knew also that the Lord of the Kwanto, the Eight Provinces, had locked himself safely inside hoops of steel. “They kill rarely, their secrecy is complete. There’s no chance of revenge on them because no one knows who they are, where they live, or where they train.”

“If you wanted to employ them, how would you go about it?”

“I would whisper it in three places—in the Heinan Monastery, at the gates of the Amida shrine, and in the Johji Monastery. Within ten days, if you are considered an acceptable employer, you will be approached through intermediaries. It is all so secret and devious that, even if you wished to betray them or catch them, it would never be possible. On the tenth day they ask for a sum of money, in silver, the amount depending on the person to be assassinated. There is no bargaining, you pay what they ask beforehand. They guarantee only that one of their members will attempt the kill within ten days. Legend has it that if the kill is successful, the assassin goes back to their temple and then, with great ceremony, commits ritual suicide.”

“Then you think we could never find out who paid for the attack today?”

“No.”

“Do you think there will be another?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. They contract for one attempt at one time, neh? But you’d be wise to improve your security—among your samurai, and also among your women. The Amida women are trained in poison, as well as knife and garrote, so they say.”

“Have you ever employed them?”

“No.”

“But your father did?”

“I don’t know, not for certain. I was told that the Taiko asked him to contact them once.”

“Was the attack successful?”

“Anything the Taiko did was successful. One way or another.”

Yabu felt someone behind him and presumed it to be the guards coming back secretly. He was measuring the distance to his swords. Do I try to kill Toranaga? he asked himself again. I had decided to and now I don’t know. I’ve changed. Why?

“What would you have to pay them for my head?” Toranaga asked him.

“There is not enough silver in all Asia to tempt me to employ them to do this.”

“What would another have to pay?”

“Twenty thousand koku—fifty thousand—a hundred—perhaps more, I don’t know.”

“Would you pay a hundred thousand koku to become Shogun? Your bloodline goes back to the Takashimas, neh?”

Yabu said proudly, “I would pay nothing. Money’s filth—a toy for women to play with or for dung-filled merchants. But if that were possible, which it isn’t, I would give my life and the life of my wife and mother and all my kin except my one son, and all my samurai in Izu and all their women and children to be Shogun one day.”

“And what would you give for the Eight Provinces?”

“Everything as before, except the life of my wife and mother and son.”

“And for Suruga Province?”

“Nothing,” Yabu said with contempt. “Ikawa Jikkyu’s worth nothing. If I don’t take his head and all his generation in this life I’ll do it in another. I piss on him and his seed for ten thousand lifetimes.”

“And if I were to give him to you? And all Suruga—and perhaps the next province, Totomi, as well?”

Yabu suddenly tired of the cat-and-mouse game and the talk about the Amida. “You’ve decided to take my