Gai-Jin (118 page)

First Anjo—one way or another … My wife was correct.

Ah, Hosaki, I miss your counsel. Thinking of his family, his eyes drifted outside and at once his fury seemed to dissolve. Beyond the shoji window he saw his guards waiting in the lee of the exquisite roof, the gardens behind them, the rain indulgent, sparkling the carefully orchestrated reds and golds and browns, making it all such a pleasing picture to eye and soul—so different from Yedo, he thought beguiled. Hosaki would enjoy it here, a huge change from our Spartan life. She appreciates beauty, she would like it here.

So easy to be swallowed up, by the weather and gardens, kind skies and tender rain, best music, poetry, exotic foods, abundant silks and clothes makers, exquisite carp and singing birds, the alabaster-skinned beauties of the Court, and of Kyōto’s Floating World, the Shimibara, the most sought-after in all Nippon, without a care in the world except to seek the next pleasure.

Since coming to Kyōto, apart from his temporary peace with Ogama, he
had achieved little except pleasure times—so rare for him. Pleasure with Koiko, daily sword practice and the martial arts, marvelous massage—Kyōto famous for it—banquets at every meal, playing
Go
and chess, writing poetry.

How wise of my ancestor to confine the Emperor and these overdressed sycophants to Kyōto, and to build his own capital at Yedo, far from their seductions and twisted manipulations—and how wise to forbid a Shōgun coming into this honeyed trap.

I should leave. How can I without Nobusada?

The Court had all but excluded him. So had Nobusada. Twice the youth had cancelled a meeting at the last moment because of a chill. The doctor had officially confirmed the chill but his eyes agreed it was an excuse. “But the Lord Shōgun’s health does worry me, Lord Yoshi. His constitution is not strong and his manliness leaves much to be desired.”

“Is it the fault of the Princess?”

“No, no, Sire. She is vigorous and her yin ample and succulent enough to satisfy the most particular yang.”

Yoshi had questioned the doctor carefully. Nobusada had never been a swordsman or hunter or outdoor person like his father and brothers, preferring the easier sports of falconry and archery, or more often poetry competitions and calligraphy. But there was nothing wrong with that. “His father is still as tough as an old saddle and his family known for longevity. You have no cause for alarm, Doctor. Give him one of your potions, get him to eat more fish, less polished rice, and less of the exotics the Princess enjoys.”

She had been present at the only interview he had had with his ward a few days ago. It had gone badly. Nobusada had refused to consider returning to Yedo, refused even to discuss a possible date, refused his advice in every other matter, taunting him with Ogama: “The Choshu control the streets, Ogama’s men are stamping out the vile shishi, Cousin. I’m not even safe surrounded by our warriors, I am only safe here under the Emperor’s protection!”

“That is a myth. You are only safe in Yedo Castle.”

“So sorry, Lord Yoshi,” the Princess said sweetly and silkily, “but it is so damp in Yedo, the weather is not to compare with Kyōto and my husband’s cough needs protection.”

“That is right, Yazu-chan, and I like it here, Cousin, for the first time in my life I am free, not confined in that awful castle! Here I am free to roam and sing and play and feel safe; we are safe. I may stay forever! Why not? Yedo is a stinking, slimy place, to rule from here would be grand.”

Yoshi had tried to reason with them but to no avail. Then Nobusada had blurted out, “What I need most of all, until I am of age—not long now, Cousin—what I need is a strong leader, a tairō. Nori Anjo would be perfect.”

“He would be very bad for you and the Shōgunate,” he had said, and patiently explained again but it had made no difference. “Unwise to ma—”

“I do not agree, Cousin. Anjo listens to me,
to me
, which you never do. I said I wanted to bow before the Divine, my brother-in-law, he agreed and I am here, you were opposed! He listens to me! To me! To me, the Shogun! And don’t forget anyone is better than you. You will never be tairō, never!”

And he had left the two of them, never believing—despite Nobusada’s derisive, infuriating laughter in his wake—that tairō Anjo would ever become a fact.

But now it is a fact, he thought gloomily, conscious of the Lord Chancellor Wakura watching him. “I will leave Kyōto in the next few days,” he said, coming to a sudden decision.

“But you have been here hardly any time, Sire,” Wakura said, quietly congratulating himself. “Surely our welcome has not been so terrible?”

“No, not terrible. So, what other distressing pieces of information have you for me?”

“None, Sire. So sorry I related something that displeased you.” Wakura rang a bell. At once a painted pageboy came in with tea and a plate of dates, his teeth also dyed black. “Thank you, Omi.” The boy smiled back at him and left. “The dates are the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. From Satsuma.”

They were large, honeyed and sun-dried. Yoshi’s eyes narrowed. He took one, no coincidence they were from Satsuma. “They are excellent.”

“Yes, they are. A pity the daimyo Sanjiro is not as sweet as the food and fruit his soldier farmers grow. Curious that samurai in Satsuma can be either, without loss of caste.”

Yoshi chose another. “Curious? Just their ancient custom. A bad custom. Better that men should be samurai or farmers, one or the other, according to the Legacy.”

“Ah yes, the Legacy. But then Shōgun Toranaga allowed that family to retain their fief and their heads after Sekigahara though they fought against him. Perhaps he liked their dates too. Interesting,
neh?”

“Perhaps he was satisfied that they put their heads to the dirt in front of him, humbly gave him power over Satsuma, humbly swore perpetual allegiance and, even more humbly, thanked him when he gave Satsuma to them as fief.”

“He was a wise ruler, very wise. But now the Satsuma under Sanjiro are not so humble.”

“That is also true of others,” Yoshi said thinly.

“As I said, we live in strange times.” Wakura took time to select another date. “The rumor is, he prepares his legions for war, and fief for war.”

“Satsuma is always on a war footing. Another ancient custom. You must tell me the name of your supplier of dates,” Yoshi said. “We could use a supplier in Yedo.”

“Gladly,” Wakura told him, knowing he would never pass over his network
of spies, never. “Some wise advisors suggest this time Sanjiro really will bring war to the mainland.”

“War against whom, Lord Chancellor?”

“I presume those he considers enemies.”

“And who are they?” Yoshi asked patiently, wanting to bring Wakura into the open.

“It is rumored the Shōgunate, so sorry.”

“He would be so sorry if he did try war against the law of the land, Lord Chancellor. These wise counselors you mentioned, perhaps they should quickly counsel him not to be so stupid. Counselors can also be stupid,
neh
?”

“I agree.” Wakura smiled with his mouth.

“I agree that Sanjiro is militant, but he is not stupid. Ogama of Choshu the same. And Yodo of Tosa. All the Outside Lords are militant and maneuvering, always have been—like some misguided, overly ambitious Court officials.”

“Even if that were true, what could a few courtiers do against the great Shōgunate, Sire, when the entire Court possesses no armies, no lands, and no koku, all of whom depend on Shōgunate largess for stipends?”

Yoshi smiled with equal mirthlessness. “They spread discontent amongst ambitious daimyos…. Oh, yes, that reminds me,” he said, deciding Wakura had gone too far and needed the whip. “Perhaps in this marvelous enclave you may not know it yet, but this year and next there will be famine throughout Nippon, even in my Kwanto. It is rumored the Court stipend will be cut, this year and next, I believe by half.” He was glad to see Wakura’s eyes almost cross. “So sorry.”

“Yes, so sorry, it would be sorry, a sorry day. Times are hard enough now.” Wakura fought back his impulse to shout and threaten, trying to estimate Yoshi’s power to initiate and force through such a cut. He is not alone in wanting that, daimyos are always complaining, and of course the Council of Elders would agree. But tairō Anjo would overrule them, why else is he there but to do our bidding. Ogama? That arrogant dog would approve the cut, so would Sanjiro, and all the others! Anjo had better overrule them!

Wakura put on his best smile. “The Prince Advisor asks if you would give him your views in a memorial on Satsuma, Choshu and Tosa, particularly the danger Satsuma poses, and how in the future the Court could help the Shōgunate—and avoid misunderstandings.”

“I would be glad to,” Yoshi said, brightening. This would be a wonderful opportunity.

“Lastly, I’m honored to tell you the Divine has invited you as His personal guest, Shōgun Nobusada, some daimyos and those of Tosa, Choshu,
and Satsuma to the Festival of the Winter Solstice. The Tosa and Satsuma invitations have already gone, yours and the Lord Ogama’s will be presented with due ceremony tomorrow, but I wanted the pleasure of telling you.”

Yoshi was astonished, for such was an extreme honor for anyone outside the Inner Circle. The solstice was this month—Twelfth Month—twenty-second day. In sixteen days. The festivities would last at least a week, perhaps longer. He could leave afterwards, plenty of time to deal with Anjo then.

Wait! You have forgotten what the Legacy says:
Beware of camping in the Lair of Heaven. It is not for us. We are men, they are gods, gods are like people, jealous like people and closeness breeds their contempt. The death of our line would please these false gods very much. It can only happen in their lair
.

Yoshi was filled with sudden dread. The invitation could not be refused. “Thank you,” he said, and bowed.

At midday the shishi lookout stationed opposite the Toranaga barracks watched idly as the forty samurai and banner men came out of the gateway and went down the street towards the palace’s East Gate. This was the routine midday changing of the guard. Most carried spears, all wore two swords, and rain cloaks and wide, conical rain hats, all of straw.

The shishi yawned and pulled his own cloak around his shoulders when a light shower began, shifting his stool under the awning of the street stall that served noodles and soup and tea and was owned by a sympathizer. Soon his own replacement would arrive. He had been on duty since dawn. He was eighteen years old, his beard heavy. A Satsuma ronin.

Before sneaking out of Kyōto their leader Katsumata had ordered a constant surveillance on the Toranaga and Ogama headquarters. “The moment there is a chance to attack either man—it will have to be outside their walls and must have a reasonable chance of success—mount an immediate one-man assault. One man, no more. Shishi must be conserved, but we must be ready. A random attack is our only chance for revenge.”

At the gateway several porters carrying bales of fresh vegetables and panniers of fresh fish stopped at the barrier. Attentive guards checked them carefully, then gestured them through; everyone was inspected with equal care.

The youth yawned again. No chance of sliding through the cordon. He wondered briefly if the girl Sumomo had managed to get inside and set herself in place as Katsumata had agreed. Eeee, a miracle those three escaped through the tunnel, a miracle. But where are they now? Nothing had been heard of them since their miraculous escape. What does it matter?
They must be safe, like us—we have important patrons. We will regroup later. We will be revenged.
Sonno-joi
will happen.

He saw the guards turn the corner and disappear. Now he was tired, but the thought of warm futons and his waiting lover took most of it away.

The Shōgunate patrol reached the East Gate. A low barracks—guard house nestled against the walls and spread on either side of the Gate and could house five hundred men and horses if need be. The Gate was six metres high and made of heavy, iron-reinforced timber with a much smaller gate off to one side standing open. The perimeter walls were higher, ancient, and stone.

For a moment the new guards noisily intermingled with the old, all of them well muffled. Officers inspected men and arms, the old guard began forming up and an officer and an ashigaru, a foot soldier, from the replacement group trudged across the roadway. The shower stopped. A little sun broke through. The two men turned into another street and went into another barracks, similar to many all over Kyōto. Here two hundred of Ogama’s samurai were housed—well away from the Gate, but close enough.

“Forty men, here are their names,” the officer said to his counterpart, and bowed. “Nothing new to report.”

“Good. Both of you come with me, please.” The Ogama officer studied the list of names as he led the way down a corridor through a cordon of his men. Through a doorway into an empty room, across it to a closed door. The officer knocked, then opened it. This inner room was bare but for a low table and tatami mats. Ogama stood by the window, armed, wary but alone. Both officers stood aside and bowed.

The ashigaru took off his large hat and revealed himself as Yoshi. Silently he gave his long sword to his officer, keeping the short one, and went into the room. The door closed behind him. Both officers exhaled. Both were sweating.

In the room Yoshi bowed. “Thank you for agreeing to the meeting.”

Ogama bowed, motioned Yoshi to sit opposite him. “What is so urgent and why such secrecy?”

“Bad news. You said partners should share particular information. So sorry, Nori Anjo has been made
tairō
! ”

The news visibly shocked Ogama and he listened intently as Yoshi talked. When Yoshi spoke about the Imperial invitation some of his anger dissipated. “Such an honor, and recognition! Eeee, and none too soon.”

“That is what I thought. Until I was out of the palace. Then I saw the depth of the trap.”

“What trap?”

“To have the Lords of Satsuma, Tosa, you and me all in one place at the
same time? In ceremonial clothes? Inside the palace walls? Without arms or guards?”