Shōgun by James Clavell
“I asked you if that was all your weapons and you lied.”
“I wasn’t listening. Madonna! Would you—held like a common criminal?” Rodrigues added sourly, “Eh, what’s it matter, Ingeles, what’s anything matter? The night’s spoiled…. Hey, but wait, Ingeles! Why should anything be allowed to spoil a great evening? I forgive them. And I forgive you, Ingeles. You were right and I was wrong. I apologize. It’s good to see you.” He unscrewed the stopper and offered the flask. “Here—here’s some fine brandy.”
“You first.”
Rodrigues’ face became ashen. “Madonna—do you think I bring poison?”
“No. You drink first.”
Rodrigues drank.
“Again!”
The Portuguese obeyed, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Blackthorne accepted the flask. “Salud!” He tipped it back and pretended to swallow, secretly keeping his tongue over the opening to prevent the liquor from going into his mouth, much as he wanted the drink. “Ah!” he said. “That was good. Here!”
“Keep it, Ingeles. It’s a present.”
“From the good Father? Or from you?”
“From me.”
“Before God?”
“God and the Virgin, thou and thy ‘before God’!” Rodrigues said. “It was a gift from me and the Father! He owns all the liquor aboard the Santa Filipa but the Eminence said I could share it and the flask’s one of a dozen aboard. It’s a gift. Where are your manners?”
Blackthorne pretended to drink again and offered it back. “Here, have another.”
Rodrigues felt the liquor all the way to his toes and was glad that, after accepting the full flask from Alvito, he had privately emptied it and washed it out carefully and refilled it with brandy from his own bottle. Madonna, forgive me, he prayed, forgive me for doubting the Holy Father. Oh, Madonna, God, and Lord Jesus, for the love of God, come to earth again and change this world where sometimes we dare not even trust priests.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, Ingeles. I was just thinking that this world’s a foul piss-cutter when you can’t trust anyone nowadays. I came in friendship and now there’s a hole in the world.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Armed like that?”
“I’m always armed like that. That’s why I’m alive. Salud!” The big man raised the flask gloomily and sipped again. “Piss on the world, piss on everything.”
“Are you saying, piss on me?”
“Ingeles, this is me, Vasco Rodrigues, Pilot of the Portuguese Navy, not a flyblown samurai. I’ve exchanged many insults with you, all in friendship. Tonight I came to see my friend and now I have no friend. So sad.”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn’t be sad but I am. Being friends with thee complicated my life extraordinarily.” Rodrigues got up and eased his back, then sat down again. “I hate sitting on these God-cursed cushions! Chairs are for me. Aboard. Well, salud, Ingeles.”
“When you swerved into wind and I was amidships, that was to put me overboard. Wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Rodrigues answered at once. He got to his feet. “Yes, I’m glad you asked me for that is on my conscience terribly. I’m glad to apologize to you in life for I could not bring myself to confess it to you. Yes, Ingeles. I don’t ask forgiveness or understanding or anything. But I am glad to confess that shame to your face.”
“You think I’d do that to you?”
“No. But then if the time came…. You never know till your own time of trial.”
“You came here to kill me?”
“No. I don’t think so. I don’t think that was first in my mind, though for my people and my country we both know it would be better for you to be dead. So sad, but so true. How foolish is life, eh, Ingeles?”
“I don’t want you dead, Pilot. Just your Black Ship.”
“Listen, Ingeles,” said Rodrigues without anger. “If we meet at sea, you in your ship, armed, me in mine, look to your life. That’s all I came to promise you—only that. I thought it would be possible to tell you that as a friend and still remain your friend. Except for a sea meeting, I am forever in your debt. Salud!”
“I hope to catch your Black Ship at sea. Salud, Pilot.”
Rodrigues stalked off. Yoshinaka and the samurai followed him. At the gateway the Portuguese collected his arms. Soon he was swallowed by the night.
Yoshinaka waited until the sentries sorted themselves out. When he was satisfied that all was secure he limped off to his own quarters. Blackthorne sat back on one of the cushions and in a moment the maid that he had sent for saké happily padded up with the tray. She poured one cup and would have stayed to serve him but he dismissed her. Now he was alone. The night sounds surrounded him again, the rustling and the waterfall and the movements of the night birds.
Everything was as before, but everything had changed.
Sadly he reached out to refill his cup but there was a sibilance of silk and Mariko’s hand held the flask. She poured for him, the other cup for herself.
“Domo, Mariko-san.”
“Do itashimashité, Anjin-san.” She settled herself on the other cushion. They sipped the hot wine.
“He was going to kill you, neh?”
“I don’t know, not for sure.”
“What did it mean—to search like a Spaniard?”
“Some of them strip their prisoners then probe in private places. And not gently. They call it to search con significa, with significance. Sometimes they use knives.”
“Oh.” She sipped and listened to the water among the stones. “It’s the same here, Anjin-san. Sometimes. That’s why it’s never wise to be captured. If you’re captured you’ve dishonored yourself so completely that anything the captor does…. It’s best not to be captured. Neh?”
He stared at the lanterns moving in the cool sweet breeze. “Yoshinaka was right—I was wrong. The search was necessary. It was your idea, neh? You told Yoshinaka to search him?”
“Please excuse me, Anjin-san, I hope that didn’t create an embarrassment for you. It was just that I was afraid for you.”
“I thank thee,” he said, using Latin again, though he was sorry there had been a search. Without the search he would still have a friend. Perhaps, he cautioned himself.
“Thou art welcome,” she said. “But it was only my duty.”
Mariko was wearing a night kimono and overkimono of blue, her hair braided loosely, falling to her waist. She looked back at the far gateway which could be seen through the trees. “You were very clever about the liquor, Anjin-san. I almost pinched myself with anger at forgetting to warn Yoshinaka about that. You were most shrewd to make him drink twice. Do you use poison a lot in your countries?”
“Sometimes. Some people do. It’s a filthy way.”
“Yes, but very effective. It happens here too.”
“Terrible, isn’t it, not being able to trust anyone.”
“Oh, no, Anjin-san, so sorry,” she answered. “That’s just one of life’s most important rules—no more, no less.”
BOOK FOUR
CHAPTER 47
Erasmus glittered in the high noon sun beside the Yedo wharf, resplendent.
“Jesus God in Heaven, Mariko, look at her! Have you ever seen anything like her? Look at her lines!”
His ship was beyond the closed, encircling barriers a hundred paces away, moored to the dock with new ropes. The whole area was heavily guarded, more samurai were on deck, and signs everywhere said this was a forbidden area except with Lord Toranaga’s personal permission.
Erasmus had been freshly painted and tarred, her decks were spotless, her hull caulked and her rigging repaired. Even the foremast that had been carried away in the storm had been replaced with the last of the spares she carried in her hold, and stepped to a perfect angle. All rope ends were neatly coiled, all cannon gleaming under a protective sheen of oil behind their gun ports. And the ragged Lion of England fluttered proudly over all
“Ahoy!” he shouted joyfully from outside the barriers, but there was no answering call. One of the sentries told him there were no barbarians aboard today.
“Shigata ga nai,” Blackthorne said. “Domo.” He curbed his soaring impatience to go aboard at once and beamed at Mariko. “It’s as if she’s just come out of a refit at Portsmouth dockyard, Mariko-san. Look at her cannon—the lads must’ve worked like dogs. She’s beautiful, neh? Can’t wait to see Baccus and Vinck and the others. Never thought I’d find her like that. Christ Jesus, she looks so pretty, neh?”
Mariko was watching him and not the ship. She knew she was forgotten now. And replaced.
Never mind, she told herself. Our journey’s over.
This morning they had arrived at the last of the turnpikes on the outskirts of Yedo. Once more their travel papers were checked. Once more they were passed through with politeness, but this time a new honor guard was waiting for them.
“They’re to take us to the castle, Anjin-san. You’ll stay there, and this evening we’re to meet Lord Toranaga.”
“Good, then there’s plenty of time. Look, Mariko-san, the docks aren’t more than a mile off, neh? My ship’s there somewhere. Would you ask the Captain Yoshinaka if we can go there, please?”
“He says, so sorry, but he has no instructions to do that, Anjin-san. He is to take us to the castle.”
“Please tell him … perhaps I’d better try. Taicho-san! Okashira, sukoshi no aida watakushi wa ikitai no desu. Watakushi no funega asoko ni arimasu.” Captain, I want to go there now for a little while. My ship’s there.
“Iyé, Anjin-san, gomen nasai. Ima…”
Mariko had listened approvingly and with amusement as Blackthorne had argued courteously and insisted firmly, and then, reluctantly, Yoshinaka had allowed them to detour, but just for a moment, neh? and only because the Anjin-san claimed hatamoto status, which gave certain inalienable rights, and had pointed out that a quick examination was important to Lord Toranaga, that it would certainly save their lord’s immensely valuable time and was vital to his meeting tonight. Yes, the Anjin-san may look for a moment, but so sorry, it is of course forbidden to go on the ship without papers signed personally by Lord Toranaga, and it must only be for a moment because we are expected, so sorry.
“Domo, Taicho-san,” Blackthorne had said expansively, more than a little pleased with his increased understanding of the correct ways to persuade and his growing command of the language.
Last night and most of yesterday they had spent at an inn barely two ri southward down the road, Yoshinaka allowing them to dawdle as before.
Oh, that was such a lovely night, she thought.
There had been so many lovely days and nights. All perfect except the first day after leaving Mishima, when Father Tsukku-san caught up with them again and the precarious truce between the two men was ripped asunder. Their quarrel had been sudden, vicious, fueled by the Rodrigues incident and too much brandy. Threat and counter-threat and curses and then Father Alvito had spurred on ahead for Yedo, leaving disaster in his wake, the joy of the journey ruined.
“We must not let this happen, Anjin-san.”
“But that man had no right—”
“Oh yes, I agree. And of course you’re correct. But please, if you let this incident destroy your harmony, you will be lost and so will I. Please, I implore you to be Japanese. Put this incident away—that’s all it is, one incident in ten thousand. You must not allow it to wreck your harmony. Put it away into a compartment.”
“How? How can I do that? Look at my hands! I’m so God-cursed angry I can’t stop them shaking!”
“Look at this rock, Anjin-san. Listen to it growing.”
“What?”
“Listen to the rock grow, Anjin-san. Put your mind on that, on the harmony of the rock. Listen to the kami of the rock. Listen my love, for thy life’s sake. And for mine.”
So he had tried and had succeeded just a little and the next day, friends again, lovers again, at peace again, she continued to teach, trying to mold him—without his knowing he was being molded—to the Eightfold Fence, building inner walls and defenses that were his only path to harmony. And to survival.
“I’m so glad the priest has gone and won’t come back, Anjin-san.”
“Yes.”
“It would have been better if there had been no quarrel. I’m afraid for you.”
“Nothing’s different—he always was my enemy, always will be. Karma is karma. But don’t forget nothing exists outside us. Not yet. Not him or anyone. Not until Yedo. Neh?”
“Yes. You are so wise. And right again. I’m so happy to be with thee….”
Their road from Mishima left the flat lands quickly and wound up the mountain to Hakoné Pass. They rested there two days atop the mountain, joyous and content, Mount Fuji glorious at sunrise and sunset, her peak obscured by a wreath of clouds.
“Is the mountain always like that?”
“Yes, Anjin-san, most always shrouded. But that makes the sight of Fuji-san, clear and clean, so much more exquisite, neh? You can climb all the way to the top if you wish.”
“Let’s do that now!”
“Not now, Anjin-san. One day we will. We must leave something to the future, neh? We’ll climb Fuji-san in autumn….”
Always there were pretty, private inns down to the Kwanto plains. And always rivers and streams and rivulets to cross, the sea on the right now. Their party had meandered northward along the busy, bustling Tokaidō, across the greatest rice bowl in the Empire. The flat alluvial plains were rich with water, every inch cultivated. The air was hot and humid now, heavy with the stench of human manure that the farmers moistened with water and ladled onto the plants with loving care.
“Rice gives us food to eat, Anjin-san, tatamis to sleep on, sandals to walk with, clothes to shut out the rain and the cold, thatch to keep our houses warm, paper for writing. Without rice we cannot exist.”
“But the stink, Mariko-san!”
“That’s a small price to pay for so much bounty, neh? Just do as we do, open your eyes and ears and mind. Hear the wind and the rain, the insects and the birds, listen to the plants growing, and in your mind, see your generations following unto the end of time. If you do that, Anjin-san, soon you smell only the loveliness of life. It requires practice … but you become very Japanese, neh?”
“Ah, thank you, m’lady! But I do confess I’m beginning to like rice. Yes. I certainly prefer it to potatoes, and you know another thing—I don’t miss meat as much as I did. Isn’t that strange? And I’m not as hungry as I was.”
“I am more hungry than I’ve ever been.”
“Ah, I was talking about food.”
“Ah, so was I….”
Three days away from Hakoné Pass her monthly time began and she had asked him to take one of the maids of the inn. “It would be wise, Anjin-san.”
“I’d prefer not to, so sorry.”
“Please, I ask thee. It is a safeguard. A discretion.”
“Because you ask, then yes. But tomorrow, not tonight. Tonight let us sleep in peace.”
Yes, Mariko thought, that night we slept peacefully and the next dawn was so lovely that I left his warmth and sat on the veranda with Chimmoko and watched the birth of another day.
“Ah, good morning, Lady Toda.” Gyoko had been standing at the garden entrance, bowing to her. “A gorgeous dawn, neh?”
“Yes, beautiful.”
“Please may I interrupt you? Could I speak to you privately—alone? About a business matter.”
“Of course.” Mariko had left the veranda, not wishing to disturb the Anjin-san’s sleep. She sent Chimmoko for cha and ordered blankets to be put on the grass, near the little waterfall.
When it was correct to begin and they were alone, Gyoko said, “I was considering how I could be of the most help to Toranaga-sama.”
“The thousand koku would be more than generous.”
“Three secrets might be more generous.”<
“One might be, Gyoko-san, if it was the right one.”
“The Anjin-san is a good man, neh? His future must be helped too, neh?”
“The Anjin-san has his own karma,” she replied, knowing that the time of bargaining had come, wondering what she must concede, if she dared to concede anything. “We were talking about Lord Toranaga, neh? Or is one of the secrets about the Anjin-san?”
“Oh no, Lady. It’s as you say. The Anjin-san has his own karma, as I’m sure he has his own secrets. It’s just occurred to me that the Anjin-san is one of Lord Toranaga’s favored vassals, so any protection our Lord has in a way helps his vassals, neh?”
“I agree. Of course, it’s the duty of vassals to pass on any information that could help their lord.”
“True, Lady, very true. Ah, it’s such an honor for me to serve you. Honto. May I tell you how honored I am to have been allowed to travel with you, to talk with you, and eat and laugh with you, and occasionally to act as a modest counselor, however ill-equipped I am, for which I apologize. And finally to say that your wisdom is as great as your beauty, and your bravery as vast as your rank.”
“Ah, Gyoko-san, please excuse me, you’re too kind, too thoughtful. I am just a wife of one of my Lord’s generals. You were saying? Four secrets?”
“Three, Lady. I was wondering if you’d intercede with Lord Toranaga for me. It would be unthinkable for me to whisper directly to him what I know to be true. That would be very bad manners because I wouldn’t know the right words to choose, or how to put the information before him, and in any event, in a matter of any importance, our custom to use a go-between is so much better, neh?”
“Surely Kiku-san would be a better choice? I’ve no way of knowing when I’ll be sent for or how long it would be before I’ll have an audience with him, or even if he’d be interested in listening to anything I might have to tell him.”
“Please excuse me, Lady, but you would be extraordinarily better. You could judge the value of the information, she couldn’t. You possess his ear, she other things.”