Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [373]
Toranaga, with Naga as his equerry, galloped up. The daimyo slid off his horse. He called her gently to fist. Obediently she stepped up onto his glove. At once she was rewarded with a morsel of flesh from a previous kill. He slipped on her hood, tightening the thongs with his teeth. Naga picked up the pigeon and put it into the half-full game bag that hung from his father’s saddle, then turned and beckoned to the distant beaters and guards.
Toranaga got back into the saddle, the falcon comfortably on his glove, held by her thin leather jesses. He looked up into the sky, measuring the light still remaining.
In the late afternoon the sun had broken through, and now in the valley, the day dying fast, the sun long since bedded by the western crest, it was cool and pleasant. The clouds were northward, pushed there by the dominant wind, hovering over the mountain peaks and hiding many. At this altitude, land-locked, the air was clean and sweet.
“We should have a good day tomorrow, Naga-san. Cloudless, I’d imagine. I think I’ll hunt with the dawn.”
“Yes, Father.” Naga watched him, perplexed, afraid to ask questions as always, yet wanting to know everything. He could not fathom how his father could be so detached after such a hideous meeting. To bow Zataki away with the due ceremony then, at once, to summon his hawks and beaters and guards and halloo them away to the rolling hills beyond the forest, seemed to Naga to be an unearthly display of self-control. Just the thought of Zataki made Naga’s flesh crawl now, and he knew that the old counselor was right: if one tenth of the conversation had been overheard, samurai would have leapt to defend their lord’s honor. If it weren’t for the threat that hung over his revered grandmother’s head, he would have rushed at Zataki himself. I suppose that’s why my father is what he is, and is where he is, he thought….
His eyes picked out horsemen breaking from the forest below and galloping up toward them over the rolling foothills. Beyond the dark green of the forest, the river was a twisted ribbon of black. The lights in the inns blinked like fireflies. “Father!”
“Eh? Ah yes, I see them now. Who are they?”
“Yabu-san, Omi-san and … eight guards.”
“Your eyes are better than mine. Ah yes, now I recognize them.”
Naga said without thinking, “I wouldn’t have let Yabu-san go alone to Lord Zataki without—” He stopped and stuttered, “Please excuse me.”
“Why wouldn’t you have sent Yabu-san alone?”
Naga cursed himself for opening his mouth and quailed under Toranaga’s gaze. “Please excuse me, because then I’d never know what secret arrangement they would have made. He could, Father, easily. I would have kept them apart—please excuse me. I don’t trust him.”
“If Yabu-san and Zataki-san plan treachery behind my back, they’ll do it whether I send a witness or not. Sometimes it’s wiser to give a quarry extra line—that’s how to catch a fish, neh?”
“Yes, please excuse me.”
Toranaga realized that his son didn’t understand, would never understand, would always be merely a hawk to hurl at an enemy, swift, sharp, and deadly.
“I’m glad you understand, my son,” he said to encourage him, knowing his good qualities, and valuing them. “You’re a good son,” he added, meaning it.
“Thank you, Father,” Naga said, filled with pride at the rare compliment. “I only hope you’ll forgive my stupidities and teach me to serve you better.”
“You’re not stupid.” Yabu’s stupid, Toranaga almost added. The less people know the better, and it’s not necessary to stretch your mind, Naga. You’re so young—my youngest but for your half brother, Tadateru. How old is he? Ah, seven,