Shogun (The Asian Saga Chronology) (42 page)

"They're both in excellent health," Toranaga told her, chortling to himself.  Nine years ago, in an unusual show of friendship, the Taikō had privately invited him to marry Lady Genjiko, the younger sister of Lady Ochiba, his favorite consort.  'Then our houses will be joined together forever,
neh?
' the Taikō had said.

'Yes, Sire.  I will obey though I do not deserve the honor,' Toranaga had replied deferentially, desiring the link with the Taikō.  But he knew that though Yodoko, the Taikō's wife, might approve, his consort Ochiba hated him and would use her great influence over the Taikō to prevent the marriage.  And, too, it was wiser to avoid having Ochiba's sister as his wife, for that would give her enormous powers over him, not the least of which was the keys to his treasury.  But, if she were to marry his son, Sudara, then Toranaga as supreme head of the family would have complete domination.  It had taken all his skill to maneuver the marriage between Sudara and Genjiko but it had happened and now Genjiko was priceless to him as a defense against Ochiba, because Ochiba adored her sister.

"My daughter-in-law isn't in labor yet—it was expected to begin yesterday—but I would imagine the Lady Ochiba will leave immediately there's no danger."

"After three girls, it's time Genjiko gave you a grandson,
neh?
  I will say prayers for his birth."

"Thank you," Toranaga said, liking her as always, knowing that she meant it, even though he represented nothing but danger to her house.

"I hear your Lady Sazuko's with child?"

"Yes.  I'm very fortunate."  Toranaga basked in the thought of his newest consort, the youth of her, the strength of her, and the warmth.  I hope we have a son, he told himself.  Yes, that would be very good.  Seventeen's a good age to have a first child, if you've perfect health as she has.  "Yes, I'm very fortunate."

"Buddha has blessed you."  Yodoko felt a twinge of envy.  It seemed so unfair that Toranaga had five sons living and four daughters and five granddaughters already, and, with this child of Sazuko's soon to arrive, and still many strong years left in him and many consorts in his house, he could sire many more sons.  But all her hopes were centered on this one seven-year-old child, her child as much as Ochiba's.  Yes, he's as much my son, she thought.  How I hated Ochiba in the beginning. . . .

She saw them all staring at her and she was startled.  "Yes?"

Yaemon frowned.  "I said, can we go and have my lessons, First Mother?  I said it two times."

"I'm sorry, my son, I was drifting away.  That's what happens when you get old.  Yes, come along then."  Kiri helped her up.  Yaemon ran off ahead.  The Grays were already on their feet and one of them caught him and affectionately swung him onto his shoulders.  The four samurai who had escorted her waited separately.

"Walk with me a little, Lord Toranaga, would you please?  I need a strong arm to lean on."

Toranaga was on his feet with surprising agility.  She took his arm but did not use his strength.  "Yes.  I need a strong arm.  Yaemon does.  And so does the realm."

"I'm always ready to serve you," Toranaga said.

When they were away from the others, she said quietly, "Become sole Regent.  Take the power and rule yourself.  Until Yaemon becomes of age."

"The Taikō's testament forbids this—even if I wished it, which I don't.  The curbs he made preclude one Regent's taking power.  I don't seek sole power.  I never have."

"Tora-chan," she said, using the nickname the Taikō had given him so long ago, "we have few secrets, you and I.  You could do it, if you wished.  I will answer for the Lady Ochiba.  Take the power for your own lifetime.  Become Shōgun and make—"

"Lady, what you say is treason.  I-do-not-seek-to-be-Shōgun."

"Of course, but please listen to me a last time.  Become Shōgun, make Yaemon your
sole
heir—your sole heir.  He could be Shōgun, after you.  Isn't his bloodline Fujimoto—through Lady Ochiba back to her grandfather Goroda and through him back to antiquity?  Fujimoto!"

Toranaga stared at her.  "You think the
daimyos
would agree to such a claim, or that His Highness, the Son of Heaven, could approve the appointment?"

"No.  Not for Yaemon by himself.  But if you were Shōgun first, and you adopted him, you could persuade them, all of them.  We will support you, the Lady Ochiba and I."

"She has agreed to this?" asked Toranaga, astounded.

"No.  We've never discussed it.  It's my idea.  But she will agree.  I will answer for her.  In advance."

"This is an impossible conversation, Lady."

"You can manage Ishido, and all of them.  You always have.  I'm afraid of what I hear, Tora-chan, rumors of war, the taking of sides, and the Dark Centuries beginning again.  When war begins it will go on forever and eat Yaemon up."

"Yes.  I believe that, too.  Yes, if it begins it will last forever."

"Then take the power!  Do what you wish, to whomever you wish, however you wish.  Yaemon's a worthy boy.  I know you like him.  He has his father's mind and with your guidance, we would all benefit.  He should have his heritage."

"I'm not opposing him, or his succession.  How many times need I say it?"

"The Heir will be destroyed unless you actively support him."

"I do support him!" Toranaga said.  "In every way.  That's what I agreed with the Taikō, your late husband."

Yodoko sighed and pulled her habit closer.  "These old bones are chilled.  So many secrets and battles, treacheries and deaths and victories, Tora-chan.  I'm only a woman, and very much alone.  I'm glad that I'm dedicated to Buddha now, and that most of my thoughts are toward Buddha and my next life.  But in this one I have to protect my son and to say these things to you.  I hope you will forgive my impertinence."

"I always seek and enjoy your counsel."

"Thank you."  Her back straightened a little.  "Listen, while I'm alive neither the Heir nor the Lady Ochiba will ever go against you."

"Yes."

"Will you consider what I proposed?"

"My late Master's will forbids it.  I cannot go against the will or my sacred promise as a Regent."

They walked in silence.  Then Yodoko sighed.  "Why not take her to wife?"

Toranaga stopped in his tracks.  "Ochiba?"

"Why not?  She's totally worthy as a political choice.  A perfect choice for you.  She's beautiful, young, strong, her bloodline's the best, part Fujimoto, part Minowara, the sun dances in her, and she has an immense joy of life.  You've no official wife now—so why not?  This would solve the problem of the succession and stop the realm from being torn apart.  You would have other sons by her surely.  Yaemon would succeed you, then his sons or her other sons.  You could become Shōgun.  You would have the power of the realm and the power of a father so you could train Yaemon to your way.  You would adopt him formally and he would be as much your son as any you have.  Why not marry Lady Ochiba?"

Because she's a wildcat, a treacherous tigress with the face and body of a goddess, who thinks she's an empress and acts like one, Toranaga told himself.  You could never trust her in your bed.  She'd be just as likely to thread a needle through your eyes when you're asleep as she'd be to caress you.  Oh no, not her!  Even if I married her in name only—which she'd never agree to—oh no!  It's impossible!  For all sorts of reasons, not the least of which is that she's hated me and plotted my downfall, and that of my house, ever since she whelped for the first time, eleven years ago.

Even then, even at seventeen, she had committed herself to my destruction.  Ah, so soft outwardly, like the first ripe peach of summer, and as fragrant.  But inwardly sword steel with a mind to match, weaving her spells, soon making the Taikō mad over her to the exclusion of all others.  Yes, she had the Taikō cowed since she was fifteen when he first took her formally.  Yes, and don't forget, truly, she pillowed him, even then, not he her, however much he believed it.  Yes, even at fifteen, Ochiba knew what she sought and the way to obtain it.  Then the miracle happening, giving the Taikō a son at long last, she alone of all the women he had in his life.  How many pillow ladies?  A hundred at least, him a stoat who sprayed more Joyful Juice into more Heavenly Chambers than ten ordinary men!  Yes.  And these women of all ages and all castes, casual or consort, from a Fujimoto princess to Fourth Class courtesans.  But none ever even became pregnant, though later, many of those that the Taikō dismissed or divorced or married off had children by other men.  None, except the Lady Ochiba.

But she gave him his first son at fifty-three, poor little thing, sickly and dying so soon, the Taikō rending his clothes, almost crazy with grief, blaming himself and not her.  Then, four years later, miraculously she whelped again, miraculously another son, miraculously healthy this time, she twenty-one now.  Ochiba the Peerless, the Taikō had called her.

Did the Taikō father Yaemon or not?  Eeeee, I'd give a lot to know the truth.  Will we ever know the truth?  Probably not, but what would I not give for proof, one way or another.

Strange that the Taikō, so clever about everything else, was not clever about Ochiba, doting on her and Yaemon to insanity.  Strange that of all the women she should have been the mother of his heir, she whose father and stepfather and mother were dead because of the Taikō.

Would she have the cleverness to pillow with another man, to take his seed, then obliterate this same man to safeguard herself?  Not once but twice?

Could she be so treacherous?  Oh, yes.

Marry Ochiba?  Never.

"I'm honored that you would make such a suggestion," Toranaga said.

"You're a man, Tora-chan.  You could handle such a woman easily.  You're the only man in the Empire who could,
neh?
  She would make a marvelous match for you.  Look how she fights to protect her son's interests now, and she's only a defenseless woman.  She'd be a worthy wife for you."

"I don't think she would ever consider it."

"And if she did?"

"I would like to know.  Privately.  Yes, that would be an inestimable honor."

"Many people believe that only you stand between Yaemon and the succession."

"Many people are fools."

"Yes.  But you're not, Toranaga-sama.  Neither is the Lady Ochiba."

Nor are you, my Lady, he thought.

CHAPTER 18

In the darkest part of the night the assassin came over the wall into the garden.  He was almost invisible.  He wore close-fitting black clothes and his tabi were black, and a black cowl and mask covered his head.  He was a small man and he ran noiselessly for the front of the stone inner fortress and stopped just short of the soaring walls.  Fifty yards away two Browns guarded the main door.  Deftly he threw a cloth-covered hook with a very thin silk rope attached to it.  The hook caught on the stone ledge of the embrasure.  He shinned up the rope, squeezed through the slit, and disappeared inside.

The corridor was quiet and candle-lit.  He hurried down it silently, opened an outside door, and went out onto the battlements.  Another deft throw and a short climb and he was into the corridor above.  The sentries that were on the corners of the battlements did not hear him though they were alert.

He pressed into an alcove of stone as other Browns walked by quietly, on patrol.  When they had passed, he slipped along the length of this passageway.  At the corner he stopped.  Silently he peered around it.  A samurai was guarding the far door.  Candles danced in the quiet.  The guard was sitting cross-legged and he yawned and leaned back against the wall and stretched.  His eyes closed momentarily.  Instantly, the assassin darted forward.  Soundlessly.  He formed a noose with the silk rope in his hands, dropped it over the guard's neck and jerked tight.  The guard's fingers tried to claw the garrote away but he was already dying.  A short stab with the knife between the vertebrae as deft as a surgeon's and the guard was motionless.

The man eased the door open.  The audience room was empty, the inner doors unguarded.  He pulled the corpse inside and closed the door again.  Unhesitatingly he crossed the space and chose the inner left door.  It was wood and heavily reinforced.  The curved knife slid into his right hand.  He knocked softly.

"'In the days of the Emperor Shirakawa . . .'" he said, giving the first part of the password.

From the other side of the door there was a sibilance of steel leaving a scabbard and the reply, "'. . . there lived a wise man called Enraku-ji . . .'"

"'. . . who wrote the thirty-first sutra.'  I have urgent dispatches for Lord Toranaga."

The door swung open and the assassin lunged forward.  The knife went upward into the first samurai's throat just below the chin and came out as fast and buried itself identically into the second of the guards.  A slight twist and out again.  Both men were dead on their feet.  He caught one and let him slump gently; the other fell, but noiselessly.  Blood ran out of them onto the floor and their bodies twitched in the throes of death.

The man hurried down this inner corridor.  It was poorly lit.  Then a shoji opened.  He froze, slowly looked around.

Kiri was gaping at him, ten paces away.  A tray was in her hands.

He saw that the two cups on the tray were unused, the food untouched.  A thread of steam came from the teapot.  Beside it, a candle spluttered.  Then the tray was falling and her hands went into her obi and emerged with a dagger, her mouth worked but made no sound, and he was already racing for the corner.  At the far end a door opened and a startled, sleep-drenched samurai peered out.

The assassin rushed toward him and tore open a shoji on his right that he sought.  Kiri was screaming and the alarm had sounded, and he ran, sure-footed in the darkness, across this anteroom, over the waking women and their maids, into the innermost corridor at the far side.

Here it was pitch dark but he groped along unerringly to find the right door in the gathering furor.  He slid the door open and jumped for the figure that lay on the futon.  But his knife arm was caught by a viselike grip and now he was thrashing in combat on the floor.  He fought with cunning, broke free, and slashed again but missed, entangled with the quilt.  He hurled it off and threw himself at the figure, knife poised for the death thrust.  But the man twisted with unexpected agility and a hardened foot dug into his groin.  Pain exploded in him as his victim darted for safety.