Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [304]
“I married him to please Lord Goroda, and to please my father. I was so young I didn’t know about Goroda then, but if you want the truth, Goroda was the cruelest, most loathsome man that was ever born. He drove my father to treachery. That’s the real truth! Goroda!” She spat the name. “But for him we’d all be alive and honored. I pray God that Goroda’s committed to hell for all eternity.” She moved carefully, trying to ease the agony in her side. “There’s only hatred between my husband and me, that’s our karma. It would be so easy for him to allow me to climb into the small place of death.”
“Why doesn’t he let you go? Divorce you? Even grant you what you want?”
“Because he’s a man.” A ripple of pain went through her and she grimaced. Blackthorne was on his knees beside her, cradling her. She pushed him away, fought for control. Fujiko, at the doorway, watched stoically.
“I’m all right, Anjin-san. Please leave me alone. You mustn’t. You must be careful.”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
Wearily she pushed the hair out of her eyes and stared up searchingly. Why not let the Anjin-san go to meet his karma, Mariko asked herself. He’s not of our world. Buntaro will kill him so easily. Only Toranaga’s personal protection has shielded him so far. Yabu, Omi, Naga, Buntaro—any one of them could be provoked so easily into killing him.
He’s caused nothing but trouble since he arrived, neh? So has his knowledge. Naga’s right: the Anjin-san can destroy our world unless he’s bottled up.
What if Buntaro knew the truth? Or Toranaga? About the pillowing …
“Are you insane?” Fujiko had said that first night.
“No.”
“Then why are you going to take the maid’s place?”
“Because of the saké and for amusement, Fujiko-chan, and for curiosity,” she had lied, hiding the real reason: because he excited her, she wanted him, she had never had a lover. If it was not tonight it would never be, and it had to be the Anjin-san and only the Anjin-san.
So she had gone to him and had been transported and then, yesterday, when the galley arrived, Fujiko had said privately, “Would you have gone if you’d known your husband was alive?”
“No. Of course not,” she had lied.
“But now you’re going to tell Buntaro-sama, neh? About pillowing with the Anjin-san?”
“Why should I do that?”
“I thought that might be your plan. If you tell Buntaro-sama at the right time his rage will burst over you and you’ll be gratefully dead before he knows what he’s done.”
“No, Fujiko-san, he’ll never kill me. Unfortunately. He’ll send me to the eta if he has excuse enough—if he could get Lord Toranaga’s approval—but he’ll never kill me.”
“Adultery with the Anjin-san—would that be enough?”
“Oh yes.”
“What would happen to your son?”
“He would inherit my disgrace, if I am disgraced, neh?”
“Please tell me if you ever think Buntaro-sama suspects what happened. While I’m consort, it’s my duty to protect the Anjin-san.”
Yes, it is, Fujiko, Mariko had thought then. And that would give you the excuse to take open vengeance on your father’s accuser that you are desperate for. But your father was a coward, so sorry, poor Fujiko. Hiro-matsu was there, otherwise your father would be alive now and Buntaro dead, for Buntaro is hated far more than they ever despised your father. Even the swords you prize so much, they were never given as a battle honor, they were bought from a wounded samurai. So sorry, but I’ll never be the one to tell you, even though that also is the truth.
“I’m not afraid of him,” Blackthorne was saying again.
“I know,” she said, the pain taking her. “But please, I beg you, be afraid of him for me.”
Blackthorne went for the door.
* * *
Buntaro was waiting for him a hundred paces away in the center of the path that led down to the village—squat, immense, and deadly. The guard stood beside him. It was an overcast dawn. Fishing boats were already working the shoals, the sea calm.
Blackthorne saw the bow loose in Buntaro’s hands, and the swords, and the guard’s swords. Buntaro