Shōgun by James Clavell
Omi bent his head. “Please excuse me, Sire.”
“I might, but I don’t see why Lord Yabu should. Now your lord’s accepted the scroll. Now he’s committed. Now he has to act one way or the other.”
“What?” said Yabu.
“Why else do you think I did what I did? To delay—of course, to delay,” said Toranaga.
“But one day? What’s the value of one day?” Yabu asked.
“Who knows? A day for you is one less for the enemy.” Toranaga’s eyes snapped back to Omi. “Was the message from Ishido verbal or in writing?”
Yabu answered instead. “Verbal, of course.”
Toranaga kept his penetrating gaze on Omi. “You’ve failed in your duty to your lord and to me.”
“Please excuse—”
“What exactly did you say?”
Omi did not reply.
“Have you forgotten your manners as well? What did you say?”
“Nothing, Sire. I said nothing.”
“What?”
Yabu blustered, “He said nothing to Zataki because he wasn’t present. Zataki asked to speak to me alone.”
“Oh?” Toranaga hid his glee that Yabu had had to admit what he had already surmised and that part of the truth was now in the open. “Please excuse me, Omi-san. I naturally presumed you were present.”
“It was my error, Sire. I should have insisted. You’re correct, I failed to protect my Lord,” Omi said. “I should have been more forceful. Please excuse me. Yabu-sama, please excuse me.”
Before Yabu could answer, Toranaga said, “Of course you’re forgiven, Omi-san. If your lord overruled you, that’s his privilege. You did overrule him, Yabu-sama?”
“Yes—yes, but I didn’t think it mattered. You think I …”
“Well, the harm’s done now. What do you plan to do?”
“Of course, dismiss the message for what is it, Sire.” Yabu was disquieted. “You think I could have avoided taking it?”
“Of course. You could have negotiated with him for a day. Maybe more. Weeks even,” Toranaga added, turning the knife deeper into the wound, maliciously delighted that Yabu’s own stupidity had thrust him onto the hook, and not at all concerned with the treachery Yabu had undoubtedly been bribed into, cajoled into, flattered into, or frightened into. “So sorry, but you’re committed. Never mind, it’s as you said, ‘The sooner everyone chooses sides the better.’” He got up. “There’s no need to go back to the regiment tonight. Both of you join me at the evening meal. I’ve arranged an entertainment.” For everyone, he added under his breath, with a great deal of satisfaction.
Kiku’s skillful fingers strummed a chord, the plectrum held firmly. Then she began to sing and the purity of her voice filled the hushed night. They sat spellbound in the large room that was open to the veranda and the garden beyond, entranced by the extraordinary effect she made under the flickering torches, the gold threads of her kimono catching the light as she leaned over the samisen.
Toranaga glanced around momentarily, aware of the night currents. On one side of him, Mariko sat between Blackthorne and Buntaro. On the other, Omi and Yabu, side by side. The place of honor was still empty. Zataki had been invited, but of course he had regretfully declined due to ill health, though he had been seen galloping the northern hills and was presently pillowing with his legendary strength. Naga and very carefully chosen guards were all around, Gyoko hovering somewhere in the background. Kiku-san knelt on the veranda facing them, her back to the garden—tiny, alone, and very rare.
Mariko was right, Toranaga thought. The courtesan’s worth the money. His spirit was beguiled by her, his anxiety about Zataki lessened. Shall I send for her again tonight or shall I sleep alone? His manhood stirred as he remembered last night.
“So, Gyoko-san, you wished to see me?” he had asked in his private quarters at the fortress.
“Yes, Sire.”
He lit the measured length of incense. “Please proceed.”
Gyoko had bowed, but he hardly had eyes for her. This was the first time he had seen Kiku closely. Nearness improved her exquisite features, as yet unmarked by the rigors of her profession. “Please play some music while we talk,” he said, surprised that Gyoko was prepared to talk in front of her.
Kiku had obeyed at once, but her music then was nothing like tonight. Last night it was to soothe, an accompaniment to the business at hand. Tonight was to excite, to awe, and to promise.
“Sire,” Gyoko had begun formally, “first may I humbly thank you for the honor you do me, my poor house, and Kiku-san, the first of my Ladies of the Willow World. The price I have asked for contract is insolent I know, impossible I am sure, not agreed to until dawn tomorrow when both the Lady Kasigi and the Lady Toda in their wisdom will decide. If it were a matter for you, you would have decided long ago, for what is contemptible money to any samurai, let alone to the greatest daimyo in the world?”
Gyoko had paused for effect. He had not taken the bait, but moved his fan slightly, which could be interpreted as irritation at her expansiveness, acceptance of the compliment, or an absolute rejection of the asking price, depending on her inner mood. Both knew very clearly who really approved the amount.
“What is money? Nothing but a means of communication,” she continued, “like Kiku-san’s music. What in fact do we of the Willow World do but communicate and entertain, to enlighten the soul of man, to lighten his burden….” Toranaga had stifled a caustic response, reminding himself the woman had bought one stick of time for five hundred koku and five hundred koku merited an attentive audience. So he let her continue and listened with one ear, and let the other enjoy the flow of perfect music that tugged at his innermost being, gentling him into a sense of euphoria. Then he was rudely yanked back into the world of reality by something Gyoko had just said. “What?”
“I was merely suggesting that you should take the Willow World under your protection and change the course of history.”
“How?”
“By doing what you have always done, Sire, by concerning yourself with the future of the whole Empire—before your own.”
He let the ludicrous exaggeration pass and told himself to close his ears to the music—that he had fallen into the first trap by telling Gyoko to bring the girl, the second by letting himself feast on her beauty and perfume, and the third by allowing her to play seductively while the mistress talked.
“The Willow World? What about the Willow World?”
“Two things, Sire. First, the Willow World is presently intermingled with the real world to the detraction of both. Second, our ladies cannot truly rise to the perfection all men have the right to expect.”
“Oh?” A thread of Kiku’s perfume, one he had never known before, wafted across him. It was perfectly chosen. Involuntarily he looked at her. A half-smile was on her lips for him alone. Languidly she dropped her eyes and her fingers stroked the strings and he felt them on him intimately.
He tried to concentrate. “So sorry, Gyoko-san. You were saying?”
“Please excuse me for not being clear, Sire. First: The Willow World should be separate from the real one. My Tea House in Mishima is on one street in the south, others are scattered over the whole city. It is the same in Kyoto and Nara, and the same throughout all the Empire. Even in Yedo. But I thought that Yedo could set the pattern of the world.”
“How?” His heart missed a beat as a perfect chord fell into place.
“All other crafts wisely have streets of their own, areas of their own. We should be allowed our own place, Sire. Yedo is a new city; you might consider setting aside a special section for your Willow World. Bring all Tea Houses within the walls of this area and forbid any Tea Houses, however modest, outside.”
Now his mind concentrated totally, for here was a vast idea. It was so good that he berated himself for not thinking of it himself. All Tea Houses and all courtesans within a fence, and therefore remarkably easy to police, to watch, and to tax, and all their customers equally easy
But his face betrayed none of his enthusiasm. “What’s the advantage in that, Gyoko-san?”
“We would have our own guild, Sire, with all the protection that a guild means, a real guild in one place, not spread out, so to speak, a guild that all would obey….”
“Must obey?”
“Yes, Sire. Must obey, for the good of all. The guild would be responsible that prices were fair and that standards were maintained. Why, in a few years, a Lady of the Second Class in Yedo would equal one in Kyoto and so on. If the scheme was valuable in Yedo why not in every city in your domain?”
“But those owners who are within the fence dominate everything. They’re monopolists, neh? They can charge usurious entrance fees, neh, can lock the doors against many who have an equal right to work in the Willow World, neh?”
“Yes, it could be so, Sire. And it will happen in some places, and in some times. But strict laws can easily be made to ensure fairness, and it would seem the good outweighs the bad, for us and for our honored customers and clients. Second: Ladies of—”
“Let us finish your first point, Gyoko-san,” Toranaga said dryly. “So that’s a point against your suggestion, neh?”
“Yes, Sire. It’s possible. But any daimyo could easily order it otherwise. And he has to deal with only one guild in one place. You, Sire, you would have no trouble. Each area would of course be responsible for the peace of the area. And for taxes.”
“Ah yes, taxes! It would certainly be much easier to collect taxes. That’s a very good point in its favor.”
Gyoko’s eyes were on the incense stick. More than half had vanished. “You, in your wisdom, might decree that our Willow World should be the only world, within the whole world, that is never to be taxed, for all time. Never, never, never.” She looked up at him clearly, her voice guileless. “After all, Sire, isn’t our world also called the ‘Floating World,’ isn’t our only offering beauty, isn’t a large part of beauty youth? Isn’t something so fleeting and transient as youth a gift from the gods, and sacred? Of all men, Sire, you must know how rare and fleeting youth is, a woman is.”
The music died. His eyes were pulled to Kiku-san. She was watching him intently, a small frown on her brow.
“Yes,” he said honestly. “I know how fleeting that can be.” He sipped his cha. “I will consider what you’ve said. Second?”
“Second.” Gyoko collected her wits. “Second and last, Sire, you could put your chop on the Willow World forever. Consider some of our Ladies: Kiku-san, for instance, has studied singing and dancing and the samisen since she was six. Every waking moment she was working very hard to perfect her art. Admittedly she’s rightfully become a Lady of the First Class, as her unique artistry merits. But she’s still a courtesan and some clients expect to enjoy her on the pillow as well as through her art. I believe two classes of Ladies should be created. First, courtesans, as always—amusing, happy, physical. Second, a new class, perhaps gei-sha could describe them: Art Persons—persons dedicated solely to art. Gei-shas would not be expected to go to the pillow as part of their duty. They would solely be entertainers, dancers, singers, musicians—specialists—and so give themselves exclusively to this profession. Let gei-shas entertain the minds and spirits of men with their beauty and grace and their artistry. Let courtesans satisfy the body with beauty, grace, and equal artistry.”
Again he was struck by the simplicity and the far-reaching possibilities of her idea. “How would you select a gei-sha?”
“By her aptitude. At puberty her owner would decide the way of her future. And the guild could approve, or reject, the apprentice, neh?”
“It is an extraordinary idea, Gyoko-san.”
The woman bowed and shivered. “Please excuse my long-windedness, Sire, but this way, when beauty fades and the body thickens, still the girl can have a rare future and a real value. She won’t have to go down the road that all courtesans today must travel. I plead for the artists among them, my Kiku-san for one. I petition you to grant the favored few a future and the position they merit in the land. To learn to sing and to dance and to play requires practice and practice over the years. The pillow needs youth and there is no aphrodisiac like youth. Neh?”
“No.” Toranaga watched her. “Gei-shas may not pillow?”
“That would not be part of a gei-sha’s duty, whatever the money offered. Gei-shas would never be obliged to pillow, Sire. If a gei-sha wished to pillow with a particular man, it would be her private concern—or perhaps it should be arranged with the permission of her mistress, the price to be only as high as that man can afford. A courtesan’s duty would be to pillow with artistry—gei-shas and the apprentice gei-shas would be untouchable. Please excuse me for talking so long.” Gyoko bowed and Kiku bowed. The barest fraction of incense remained.
Toranaga questioned them for twice the allotted time, pleased with the opportunity to learn about their world, probing their ideas and hopes and fears. What he learned excited him. He docketed the information for future use, then he sent Kiku into the garden. “Tonight, Gyoko-san, I would like her to stay, if she would care to, until dawn—if she’s free. Would you please ask her? Of course I realize that she may be tired now. After all, she’s played so superbly for such a long time and I’ll quite understand. But perhaps she would consider it. I’d be grateful if you would ask her.”
“Of course, Sire, but I know she would be honored by your invitation. It’s our duty to serve in any way we can, neh?”
“Yes. But she is, as you so rightly point out, most special. I’ll quite understand if she’s too tired. Please ask her in a moment.” He gave Gyoko a small leather bag containing ten koban, regretting the ostentation, but knowing his position demanded it. “Perhaps this would compensate you for such an exhausting evening, and be a small token of my thanks for your ideas.”
“It’s our duty to serve, Sire,” Gyoko said. He saw her trying to stop her fingers from counting through the soft leather, and fail. “Thank you, Sire. Please excuse me, I will ask her.” Then, strangely and unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes. “Please accept the thanks of a vulgar old woman for your courtesy and for listening. It’s just that for all the giving of pleasure, our only reward is a river of tears. In truth, Lord, it is difficult to explain how a woman feels … please excuse me….”
“Listen, Gyoko-san, I understand. Don’t worry. I’ll consider everything you’ve said. Oh yes, you’ll both leave with me shortly after dawn. A few days in the mountains will make a pleasant change. I would imagine the contract price will be approved, neh?”
Gyoko bowed her thanks, then she brushed her tears away and said firmly, “May I therefore ask the name of the honored person for whom her contract will be bought?”
“Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara.”
Now under the Yokosé night, the air sweetly cool, Kiku-san’s music and voice possessing their minds and hearts, Toranaga let his mind wander. He remembered the pride-filled glow that had swamped Gyoko’s face and he wondered again at the bewildering gullibility of people. How baffling it was that even the most cunning and clever people would frequently see only what they wanted to see, and would rarely look beyond the thinnest of facades. Or they would ignore reality, dismissing it as the facade. And then, when their whole world fell to pieces and they were on their knees slitting their bellies or cutting their throats, or cast out into the freezing world, they would tear their topknots or rend their clothes and bewail their karma, blaming gods or kami or luck or their lords or husbands or vassals—anything or anyone—but never themselves.
So very strange.
He looked at his guests and saw they were still watching the girl, locked in their secrets, their minds expanded by her artistry—all except the Anjin-san, who was edgy and fidgeting. Never mind, Anjin-san, Toranaga thought with amusement, it’s only your lack of civilization. Yes, never mind, tha
Yes, you’re all here. You Omi, and Yabu and Naga and Buntaro, and you Mariko and Kiku-san and even Gyoko, all my Izu hawks and falcons, all trained and very ready. All here except one—the Christian priest. And soon it’ll be your turn, Tsukku-san. Or perhaps mine.
Father Martin Alvito of the Society of Jesus was enraged. Just when he knew he should be preparing for his meeting with Toranaga, at which he would need all his wits, he was faced with this new abomination that could not wait. “What have you got to say for yourself?” he lashed out at the cowled Japanese acolyte who knelt abjectly in front of him. The other Brothers stood around the small room in a semicircle.
“Please forgive me, Father. I have sinned,” the man stammered in complete misery. “Please forgive—”
“I repeat: It is for Almighty God in His wisdom to forgive, not me. You’ve committed a mortal sin. You’ve broken your Holy Oath. Well?”
The reply was barely audible. “I’m sorry, Father.” The man was thin and frail. His baptismal name was Joseph and he was thirty. His fellow acolytes, all Brothers of the Society, ranged from eighteen to forty. All were tonsured, all of noble samurai birth from provinces in Kyushu, all rigorously trained for the priesthood though none yet ordained.
“I confessed, Father,” Brother Joseph said, keeping his head bowed.
“You think that’s enough?” Impatiently Alvito turned away and walked to the window. The room was ordinary, the mats fair, the paper shoji screens poorly repaired. The inn was seedy and third class but the best that he could find in Yokosé, the rest taken by samurai. He stared out into the night, half listening to Kiku’s distant voice soaring over the noise of the river. Until the courtesan finished Alvito knew he would not be sent for by Toranaga. “Filthy whore,” he said, half to himself, the wailing discordance of Japanese singing annoying him more than usual, intensifying his anger at Joseph’s betrayal.
“Listen, Brothers,” Alvito said to the rest, turning back to them. “We are in judgment over Brother Joseph, who went with a whore of this town last night, breaking his Holy Oath of chastity, breaking his Holy Oath of obedience, desecrating his immortal soul, his position as a Jesuit, his place in the Church and all that that stands for. Before God I ask each of you—have you done likewise?”