"Lord Toranaga's orders were quite clear, Sire. If he comes back and finds-" "Yes. If he comes back, Lady. I still think he's put himself into a trap. The Lord Ishido has eighty thousand samurai in and around Osaka Castle alone. For Toranaga to go there with a few hundred men was the act of a madman."
"He's much too shrewd to risk himself unnecessarily," she said confidently.
"If I were Ishido and I had him in my grasp I would kill him at once. " "Yes," Yuriko said. "But the mother of the Heir is still hostage in Yedo until Toranaga returns. General Lord Ishido dare not touch Toranaga until she's safely back at Osaka."
"I'd kill him. If the Lady Ochiba lives or dies, it doesn't matter. The Heir's safe in Osaka. With Toranaga dead, the succession is certain. Toranaga's the only real threat to the Heir, the only one with a chance at using the Council of Regents, usurping the Taiko's power, and killing the boy."
"Please excuse me, Sire, but perhaps General Lord Ishido can carry the other three Regents with him and impeach Toranaga, and that's the end of Toranaga, neh?" his consort said.
"Yes, Lady, if Ishido could he would, but I don't think he can yet - nor can Toranaga. The Taiko picked the five Regents too cleverly. They despise each other so much it's almost impossible for them to agree on anything." Before taking power, the five great daimyos had publicly sworn eternal allegiance to the dying Taiko and to his son and his line forever. And they had taken public, sacred oaths agreeing to unanimous rule in the Council, and vowed to pass over the realm intact to Yaemon when he came of age on his fifteenth birthday. "Unanimous rule means nothing really can be changed until Yaemon inherits."
"But some day, Sire, four Regents will join against one - through jealousy, fear or ambition - neh? The four will bend the Taiko's orders just enough for war, neh?"
"Yes. But it will be a small war, Lady, and the one will always be smashed and his lands divided up by the victors, who will then have to appoint a fifth Regent and, in time, it will be four against one and again the one will be smashed and his lands forfeit - all as the Taiko planned. My only problem is to decide who will be the one this time - Ishido or Toranaga."
"Toranaga will be the one isolated."
"Why?"
"The others fear him too much because they all know he secretly wants to be Shogun, however much he protests he doesn't."
Shogun was the ultimate rank a mortal could achieve in Japan.
Shogun meant Supreme Military Dictator. Only one daimyo at a time could possess the title. And only His Imperial Highness, the reigning Emperor, the Divine Son of Heaven, who lived in seclusion with the Imperial Families at Kyoto, could grant the title.
With the appointment of Shogun went absolute power: the Emperor's seal and mandate. The Shogun ruled in the Emperor's name. All power was derived from the Emperor because he was directly descended from the gods. Therefore any daimyo who opposed the Shogun was automatically in rebellion against the throne, and at once outcast and all his lands forfeit.
The reigning Emperor was worshiped as a divinity because he was descended in an unbroken line from the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu Omikami, one of the children of the gods Izanagi and Izanami, who had formed the islands of Japan from the firmament. By divine right the ruling Emperor owned all the land and ruled and was obeyed without question. But in practice, for more than six centuries real power had rested behind the throne.
Six centuries ago there had been a schism when two of the three great rival, semi-regal samurai families, the Minowara, Fujimoto and Takashima, backed rival claimants to the throne and plunged the realm into civil war. After sixty years the Minowara prevailed over the Takashima, and the Fujimoto, the family that had stayed neutral, bided its time.
From then on, jealously guarding their rule, the Minowara Shoguns dominated the realm, decreed their Shogunate hereditary and began to intermarry some of their daughters with the Imperial line. The Emperor and the entire Imperial Court were kept completely isolated in walled palaces and gardens in the small enclave at Kyoto, most times in penury, and their activities perpetually confined to observing the rituals of Shinto, the ancient animistic religion of Japan, and to intellectual pursuits such as calligraphy, painting, philosophy, and poetry.
The Court of the Son of Heaven was easy to dominate because, though it possessed all the land, it had no revenue. Only daimyos, samurai, possessed revenue and the right to tax. And so it was that although all members of the Imperial Court were above all samurai in rank, they still existed on a stipend granted the Court at the whim of the Shogun, the Kwampaku--the civil Chief Adviser-or the ruling military junta of the day. Few were generous. Some Emperors had even had to barter their signatures for food. Many times there was not enough money for a coronation.
At length the Minowara Shoguns lost their power to others, to Takashima or Fujimoto descendants. And as the civil wars continued unabated over the centuries, the Emperor became more and more the creature of the daimyo who was strong enough to obtain physical possession of Kyoto. The moment the new conqueror of Kyoto had slaughtered the ruling Shogun and his line, he would--providing he was Minowara, Takashima, or Fujimoto-with humility, swear allegiance to the throne and humbly invite the powerless Emperor to grant him the now vacant rank of Shogun. Then, like his predecessors, he would try to extend his rule outward from Kyoto until he in his turn was swallowed by another. Emperors married, abdicated, or ascended the throne at the whim of the Shogunate. But always the, reigning Emperor's bloodline was inviolate and unbroken.
So the Shogun was all powerful. Until he was overthrown.
Many were unseated over the centuries as the realm splintered into ever smaller factions. For the last hundred years no single daimyo had ever had enough power to become Shogun. Twelve years ago the peasant General Nakamura had had the power and he had obtained the mandate from the present Emperor, Go-Nijo. But Nakamura could not be granted Shogun rank however much he desired it, because he was born a peasant. He had to be content with the much lesser civilian title of Kwampaku, Chief Adviser, and later, when he resigned that title to his infant son, Yaemon though keeping all power, as was quite customary-he had to be content with Taiko. By historic custom only the descendants of the sprawling, ancient, semidivine families of the Minowara, Takashima, and Fujimoto were entitled to the rank of Shogun.
Toranaga was descended from the Minowara. Yabu could trace his lineage to a vague and minor branch of the Takashima, enough of a connection if ever he could become supreme.
"Eeeee, Lady," Yabu said, "of course Toranaga wants to be Shogun, but he'll never achieve it. The other Regents despise and fear him. They neutralize him, as the Taiko planned." He leaned forward and studied his wife intently. "You say Toranaga's going to lose to Ishido?"
"He will be isolated, yes. But in the end I don't think he'll lose, Sire. I beg you not to disobey Lord Toranaga, and not to leave Yedo just to examine the barbarian ship, no matter how unusual Omi-san says it is. Please send Zukimoto to Anjiro."
"What if the ship contains bullion? Silver or gold? Would you trust Zukimoto or any of our officers with it?"
"No," his wife had said.
So that night he had slipped out of Yedo secretly, with only fifty men, and now he had wealth and power beyond his dreams and unique captives, one of whom was going to die tonight. He had arranged for a courtesan and a boy to be ready later. At dawn tomorrow he would return to Yedo. By sunset tomorrow the guns and the bullion would begin their secret journey.
Eeeee, the guns! he thought exultantly. The guns and the plan together will give me the power to make Ishido win, or Toranaga whomever I chose. Then I'll become a Regent in the loser's place, neh? Then the most powerful Regent. Why not even Shogun? Yes. It's all possible now.
He let himself drift pleasantly. How to use the twenty thousand pieces of silver? I can rebuild the castle keep. And buy special horses for the cannon. And expand our espionage web. What about Ikawa Jikkyu? Would a thousand pieces be enough to bribe Ikawa Jikkyu's cooks to poison him? More than enough! Five hundred, even one hundred in the right hands would be plenty. Whose?
The afternoon sun was slanting through the small window set into the stone walls. The bath water was very hot and heated by a wood fire built into the outside wall. This was Omi's house and it stood on a small hill overlooking the village and the harbor. The garden within its walls was neat and serene and worthy.
The bathroom door opened. The blind man bowed. "Kasigi Omi-san sent me, Sire. I am Suwo, his masseur." He was tall and very thin and old, his face wrinkled.
"Good." Yabu had always had a terror of being blinded. As long as he could remember he had had dreams of waking in blackness, knowing it was sunlight, feeling the warmth but not seeing, opening his mouth to scream, knowing that it was dishonorable to scream, but screaming even so: Then the real awakening and the sweat streaming.
But this horror of blindness seemed to increase his pleasure at being massaged by the sightless.
He could see the jagged scar on the man's right temple and the deep cleft in the skull below it. That's a sword cut, he told himself.
Did that cause his blindness? Was he a samurai once? For whom? Is he a spy?
Yabu knew that the man would have been searched very carefully by his guards before being allowed to enter, so he had no fear of a concealed weapon. His own prized long sword was within reach, an ancient blade made by the master swordsmith Murasama. He watched the old man take off his cotton kimono and hang it up without seeking the peg. There were more sword scars on his chest. His loincloth was very clean. He knelt, waiting patiently.
Yabu got out of the bath when he was ready and lay on the stone bench. The old man dried Yabu carefully, put fragrant oil on his hands, and began to knead the muscles in the daimyo's neck and back.
Tension began to vanish as the very strong fingers moved over Yabu, probing deeply with surprising skill. "That's good. Very good," he said after a while.
"Thank you, Yabu-sama," Suwo said. Sama, meaning "Lord," was an obligatory politeness when addressing a superior.
"Have you served Omi-san long?"
"Three years, Sire. He is very kind to an old man."
"And before that?"
"I wandered from village to village. A few days here, half a year there, like a butterfly on the summer's breath." Suwo's voice was as soothing as his hands. He had decided that the daimyo wanted him to talk and he waited patiently for the next question and then he would begin. Part of his art was to know what was required and when. Sometimes his ears told him this, but mostly it was his fingers that seemed to unlock the secret of the man or woman's mind. His fingers were telling him to beware of this man, that he was dangerous and volatile, his age about forty, a good horseman and excellent sword fighter. Also that his liver was bad and that he would die within two years. Sake, and probably aphrodisiacs, would kill him. "You are strong for your age, Yabu-sama."
"So are you. How old are you, Suwo?"
The old man laughed but his fingers never ceased. "I'm the oldest man in the world - my world. Everyone I've ever known is dead long since. It must be more than eighty years - I'm not sure. I served Lord Yoshi Chikitada, Lord Toranaga's grandfather, when the clan's fief was no bigger than this village. I was even at the camp the day he was assassinated."
Yabu deliberately kept his body relaxed with an effort of will but his mind sharpened and he began to listen intently.
"That was a grim day, Yabu-sama. I don't know how old I was but my voice hadn't broken yet. The assassin was Obata Hiro, a son of his most powerful ally. Perhaps you know the story, how the youth struck Lord Chikitada's head off with a single blow of his sword. It was a Murasama blade and that's what started the superstition that all Murasama blades are filled with unluck for the Yoshi clan."
Is he telling me that because of my own Murasama sword? Yabu asked himself. Many people know I possess one. Or is he just an old man who remembers a special day in a long life? "What was Toranaga's grandfather like?" he asked, feigning lack of interest, testing Suwo.
"Tall, Yabu-sama. Taller than you and much thinner when I knew him. He was twenty-five the day he died." Suwo's voice warmed. "Eeeee, Yabu-sama, he was a warrior at twelve and our liege lord at fifteen when his own father was killed in a skirmish. At that time, Lord Chikitada was married and had already sired a son. It was a pity that he had to die. Obata Hiro was his friend as well as vassal, seventeen then, but someone had poisoned young Obata's mind, saying that Chikitada had planned to kill his father treacherously. Of course it was all lies but that didn't bring Chikitada back to lead us. Young Obata knelt in front of the body and bowed three times. He said that he had done the deed out of filial respect for his father and now wished to atone for his insult to us and our clan by committing seppuku. He was given permission. First he washed Chikitada's head with his own hands and set it in a place of reverence. Then he cut himself open and died manfully, with great ceremony, one of our men acting as his second and removing his head with a single stroke. Later his father came to collect his son's head and the Murasama sword. Things became bad for us. Lord Chikitada's only son was taken hostage somewhere and our part of the clan fell on evil times. That was-"
"You're lying, old man. You were never there." Yabu had turned around and he was staring up at the man, who had frozen instantly. "The sword was broken and destroyed after Obata's death."
"No, Yabu-sama. That is the legend. I saw the father come and collect the head and the sword. Who would want to destroy such a piece of art? That would have been sacrilege. His father collected it. "
"What did he do with it?"
"No one knows. Some said he threw it into the sea because he liked and honored our. Lord Chikitada as a brother. Others said that he buried it and that it lurks in wait for the grandson, Yoshi Toranaga."
"What do you think he did with it?"
"Threw it into the sea."
"Did you see him?"
"No."
Yabu lay back again and the fingers began their work. The thought that someone else knew that the sword had not been broken thrilled him strangely. You should kill Suwo, he told himself. Why? How could a blind man recognize the blade? It is like any Murasama blade and the handle and scabbard have been changed many times over the years. No one can know that your sword is the sword that has gone from hand to hand with increasing secrecy as the power of Toranaga increased. Why kill Suwo? The fact that he's alive has added a zest. You're stimulated. Leave him alive - you can kill him at any time. With the sword.
That thought pleased Yabu as he let himself drift once more, greatly at ease. One day soon, he promised himself, I will be powerful enough to wear my Murasama blade in Toranaga's presence. One day, perhaps, I will tell him the story of my sword.
"What happened next?" he asked, wishing to be lulled by .the old man's voice.
"We just fell on evil times. That was the year of the great famine, and, now that my master was dead, I became ronin." Ronin were landless or masterless peasant - soldiers or samurai who, through dishonor or the loss of their masters, were forced to wander the land until some other lord would accept their services. It was difficult for ronin to find new employment. Food was scarce, almost every man was a soldier, and strangers were rarely trusted. Most of the robber bands and corsairs who infested the land and the coast were ronin. "That year was very bad and the next. I fought for anyone - a battle here, a skirmish there. Food was my pay. Then I heard that there was food in plenty in Kyushu so I started to make my way west. That winter I found a sanctuary. I managed to become hired by a Buddhist monastery as a guard. I fought for them for half a year, protecting the monastery and their rice fields from bandits. The monastery was near Osaka and, at that time - long before the Taiko obliterated most of them - the bandits were as plentiful as swamp mosquitoes. One day, we were ambushed and I was left for dead. Some monks found me and healed my wound. But they could not give me back my sight."