Gai-Jin (38 page)

He watched her and she could not read his eyes. Eeee, he was thinking, all his senses shrieking danger. Am I so apparent? Perhaps this lady is too perceptive to keep alive. “And the Princess Yazu? What would she think?”

“She’s the cleverest of all, Yoshi-chan. But then you know that. She
would realize the meaning instantly—if you have a special meaning.” Again her eyes could not be read.

“And if as a present to you?”

“Then this unworthy person would be filled with joy to be given such a treasure—but in a quandary, Yoshi-chan.”

“Quandary?”

“It is too special, to give or to receive.”

Yoshi took his eyes off her and looked at his work very carefully. It was everything he desired, he could never duplicate it. Then he considered her, with equal finality. He watched his fingers pick up the paper and hand it to her, closing the trap.

Reverently she received the paper with both hands and bowed low. Intently she scrutinized it, wanting the whole of it to be put indelibly in her memory as the ink on the paper. A deep sigh. Carefully she held the corner near the oil flame. “With your permission, Yoshi-sama, please?” she said formally, looking at him, eyes steady, hands steady.

“Why?” he asked, astonished.

“Too dangerous for you to leave such thoughts alive.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then, please excuse me, I must decide for you.”

“Then decide.”

At once she lowered the paper into the flame. It caught and flared up. Deftly she twisted it until only a tiny scrap was still burning, the ash still in one piece, carefully balanced it on another sheet until the flame died. Her fingers were long and delicate, fingernails perfection. In silence they folded the paper containing the ashes into an origami and put it back on the table. The paper now resembled a carp.

When Koiko looked up again her eyes were filled with tears and his affection went out to her. “So sorry, please excuse me,” she said, her voice breaking, “But too dangerous for you … so sad to have to destroy such beauty, I wanted so very much to keep it. So very sad but too dangerous …”

Tenderly, he took her in his arms, knowing that what she had done was the only solution, for him, and for her, awed by her insight in discerning his original intent: that he had planned to hide it, designed to be found and passed on to all those she named, particularly the Princess Yazu.

Koiko’s right, I can see that now. Yazu would have seen through my ploy and read my real thoughts: that her influence over Nobusada must vanish, or I am a dead man. Isn’t that just another way of saying “Power of my ancestor …” But for Koiko I might have put my head on their spike!

“Don’t cry, little one,” he murmured, sure now that she could be trusted.

And while she allowed herself to be gentled and then warmed and then to warm him she was thinking within her third heart, her most secret
heart—the first for all the world to see, the second only opened to innermost family, the third never never never revealed to anyone—in this secret place she was sighing silently with relief that she had passed another test, for test it surely was.

Too dangerous for him to keep such treason alive, but much more dangerous for me to have it in my possession. Oh yes, my beautiful patron, it is easy to adore you, to laugh and play games with you, to pretend ecstasy when you enter me—and godlike to remember that at the end of each day, every day I have earned one koku. Think of that, Koiko-chan! One koku a day, for every day, for being part of the most exciting game on earth, with the most exalted name on earth, with a young, handsome, astonishing man of great culture whose stalk is the best I have ever experienced … and yet at the same time to earn more wealth than any, ever before.

Her hands and lips and body were responding adroitly, closing, opening, opening further, receiving him, guiding him, helping him, an exquisitely fine-tuned instrument for him to play upon, allowing herself to brink, pretending ecstasy perfectly, pretending to plunge again and again but never plunging—too important to retain her energies and wits, for he was a man of many appetites—enjoying the contest, never hurrying but always pressing forward, now teetering him on the crevasse, letting him go and pulling him back, letting him go, pulling back, letting go in a seizure of relief.

Quiet now. His sleeping weight not unpleasant, stoically borne, careful not to move lest she disturb his peace. Well satisfied with her art, as she knew he had been with his. Her last, most secret, exhilarating thought before drifting into sleep was, I wonder how Katsumata, Hiraga and their shishi friends will interpret “Sword of my fathers …”

MONDAY, 29TH SEPTEMBER
:

A few miles south of Kyōto in twilight, a vicious rearguard skirmish was in progress between fleeing Satsuma troops and Choshu forces of Lord Ogama who had recently seized control of the Palace Gates from them. The Satsuma sword master, Katsumata, the secret shishi, supported by a hundred mounted samurai, was leading the fight to protect the escape of Lord Sanjiro and their main Satsuma force a few miles southwards. They were heavily outnumbered. The country was open, wind blustering with a heavy stench of human manure from the fields and above an ominous buildup of storm clouds.

Again Katsumata led a furious charge that broke through the forward
ranks towards the standard of the Choshu daimyo, Ogama, also mounted, but they were forced back bloodily, with heavy losses as reinforcements rushed to protect their leader.

“All troops advance!” Ogama shouted. He was twenty-eight, a heavyset angry man wearing light bamboo and metal armor and war helmet, his sword out and bloodied. “Bypass these dogs! Go around them! I want Sanjiro’s head!”

At once aides rushed off to relay his orders.

Three or four miles away, Lord Sanjiro and the remnants of his force were hurrying for the coast and Osaka, twenty-odd miles away, to seek boats to carry them home to the South Island of Kyūshū, and the safety of their capital, Kagoshima, four hundred sea miles southwest.

In all there were about eight hundred fighters, well equipped and fanatic samurai desperate to rush back to join the fight, still smarting from their defeat and being forced out of Kyōto a week ago. Ogama had staged a sudden night attack, ringing their barracks and setting fire to the buildings, abrogating the solemn agreements between them.

With many losses the Satsumas had fought their way out of the city to the village of Fushimi where Sanjiro angrily regrouped, Choshu detachments dogging them. “We are trapped.”

One of his captains said, “Lord, I propose an immediate counterattack, towards Kyōto.”

Katsumata said emphatically, “Too dangerous, too many troops against us, they will overwhelm us. Sire, you will alienate all daimyos and further frighten the Court. I propose you offer Ogama a truce—if he allows an orderly withdrawal.”

“On what grounds?”

“As part of the truce you accept that his forces will be custodians of the Gates—his forces, not the Tosa, and that will sow further dissension between them.”

“I cannot accept that,” Sanjiro had said, shaking with rage that Ogama had duped him. “Even if I did he will not consent, why should he? We are in his grasp. He can piss all over us. If I were him I would fall on us here before midday.”

“Yes, Lord, he will—unless we forestall him. We can by this ruse, he’s not a real fighter like you—his troops are not filled with zeal like ours, nor are they as well trained. He only succeeded against us because he fell on us by night in a filthy betrayal. Remember, his alliance with the Tosa is precarious. He must consolidate his hold of the Gates and has insufficient troops to meet every problem for the next few weeks. He has to organize and get reinforcements without provoking opposition. And soon the Bakufu must come back in force to take back the Gates as is their right.”

By Toranaga Edict, all daimyos visiting Kyōto were limited to five hundred
guards, all of whom had to live under severe restrictions in their own fief barracks, built by decree without defenses. The same Edict allowed Shōgunate forces to number more than all the others together. Over the centuries of peace the Bakufu had allowed these laws to languish. In recent years, Tosa, Choshu and Satsumas daimyos—depending on personal strength—had twisted the bureaucracy to increase their numbers until forced to send the added warriors home.

“Ogama is not a fool, he will never let me escape,” Sanjiro said. “I would spike him if I had him trapped.”

“He is not a fool, but he can be manipulated.” Then Katsumata dropped his voice. “Added to the Gates, you could agree that, if or when there is a Convention of Daimyos, you would support his claims to head the Council of Elders.”

Sanjiro exploded, “Never! He has to know I would never agree to that. Why should he believe such nonsense?”

“Because he is Ogama. Because he has fortified his Shimonoseki Straits with dozens of cannon from his not-so-secret, Dutch-built weapons factory and believes therefore, rightly, he can stop gai-jin ships from using it at his whim, yet still be safe against them. That he alone, he thinks, can put into practice the Emperor’s wish to expel the gai-jin, that he alone can restore the trappings of power to the Emperor—why shouldn’t he claim the big prize,
tair
ō—Dictator?”

“The Land will be torn apart before that.”

“The last reason he would welcome a possible truce is because, Sire, never before has he possessed the Gates—isn’t he an upstart, a usurper, isn’t his line ordinary,” Katsumata said with a sneer, “not ancient or exalted like yours. A further reason: he will accept the truce you offer because you will offer it to be permanent.”

In the rumble of astonished, angry opposition, Sanjiro had stared at his counselor, astounded at the vast range of concessions Katsumata proposed. Not understanding, but knowing Katsumata too well, he dismissed the others.

“What is behind all this?” he asked impatiently. “Ogama must know any truce is only good until I am safe behind my mountains where I will mobilize all Satsuma and then march on Kyōto to repossess my rights, avenge the insult and take his head. Why such nonsense from you?”

“Because you are in mortal danger like never before, Sire. You are trapped. There are spies amongst us. I need time to organize boats in Osaka, and I have a battle plan.”

At length Sanjiro had said, “Very well. Negotiate.”

The negotiations had so far lasted six days.

During this time Sanjiro placidly stayed at Fushimi, but with spies on all roads to and from Kyōto. As a measure of mutual trust, Sanjiro had
agreed to move into a less defensible position, and Ogama had withdrawn all but a token force athwart the escape route. Then both waited for the other to make a mistake.

With supreme power in Kyōto, however tenuous, Ogama, supported by more than a thousand samurai, seemed to be content to tighten his grasp on the Gates, cultivating daimyos and, more particularly, courtiers who were sympathetic. These Ogama persuaded to approach the Emperor, asking Him to “request” the immediate resignation of Anjo and the Council of Elders, to convene a Convention of Daimyos who would be given the power to appoint a new Council of Elders—with himself as
tairō—
who would rule until Shōgun Nobusada came of age, and at one stroke replacing all Toranaga adherents in the Bakufu.

To Ogama’s delight he was told the news of his cannon’s firing on gai-jin ships had greatly pleased the Emperor, and that, together with Sanjiro’s proffered truce and extraordinary concessions, had further bolstered his influence at Court. “The truce is accepted,” he had imperiously told Katsumata yesterday. “We will ratify the agreement, seven days from now, here in my headquarters. Then you can retire to Kagoshima.”

But this morning had come the astonishing word of Shōgun Nobusada’s proposed visit. At once Sanjiro sent for Katsumata. “What could possess Anjo and Yoshi to agree? Are they mad? Whatever happens they lose.”

“I agree, Sire, but this makes your position even more dangerous. With Ogama holding the Gates, therefore access to the Emperor, any enemy of Ogama’s is an enemy of the Emperor.”

“Obvious! What can I do? What do you suggest?”

“Immediately send Ogama a letter suggesting a meeting in three days to discuss the ramifications of the visit—he must be as astonished as any daimyo. Meanwhile, tonight after dark we implement the battle plan.”

“We can’t escape without Ogama knowing, there are spies all around us, and his troops within easy distance. The moment he hears we’re breaking camp he will fall on us.”

“Yes, but we leave the camp exactly as it is, taking only our weapons—I can outmaneuver him, I know him.”

Angrily Sanjiro had said, “If that is so why didn’t you sniff out the surprise attack, eh?”

Oh, but I did, Katsumata could have said, but it suited me better that Ogama temporarily holds the Gates. Didn’t we escape his trap without much trouble? Ogama will never be able to deal with the Court, hostile daimyos, the Tosa, Shōgun Nobusada’s visit or the Princess Yazu—not that Nobusada will arrive. Ogama will be held responsible for his death also.

“So sorry, Sire,” he had said, pretending an apology, “I am finding out why your spies failed you. Heads will roll.”

“Good.”

Soon after dark Katsumata sent specially trained men who quietly decimated the unsuspecting Choshu troop spying on them. Then, following Katsumata’s battle plan, except for him and his hundred cavalry, Sanjiro and the regiment hurried south with orders to leave a hundred men every three
ri
to join up with him as he fell back, following them. Confidently Katsumata settled into ambush across the Kyōto road. He was sure that he could survive until dawn, enticing the Choshu into a running fight, when they would probably break off the fight and return to Kyōto to reinforce their position there, leaving only a token force in pursuit. Rumors were rife that Ogama’s alliances were already falling apart, the rift widened by lies spread by Katsumata’s covert allies.

He had been astonished to find Ogama leading the chase and that they had caught up with them so quickly. Karma.