Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [393]
“Sire?”
Mariko translated at once.
“Yes, thank you,” Blackthorne said.
“Good.” Toranaga waved him to a horse. “You come with me.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Mariko watched them leave. When they had trotted up the path, she went to her room. Her maid helped her undress, remove her makeup, and take down her hair. Then she told the maid to stay in the room, that she was not to be disturbed until noon.
“Yes, mistress.”
Mariko lay down and closed her eyes and allowed her body to fall into the exquisite softness of the down quilts. She was exhausted and elated. The cha-no-yu had pushed her to a strange height of peacefulness, cleansing her, and from there, the sublime, joy-filled decision to go into death had sent her to a further pinnacle never attained before. Returning from the summit into life once more had left her with an eerie, unbelievable awareness of the beauty of being alive. She had seemed to be outside herself as she answered Buntaro patiently, sure her answers and her performance had been equally perfect. She curled up in the bed, so glad that peace existed now … until the leaves fell.
Oh, Madonna, she prayed fervently, I thank thee for thy mercy in granting me my glorious reprieve. I thank thee and worship thee with all my heart and with all my soul and for all eternity.
She repeated an Ave Maria in humility and then, asking forgiveness, in accordance to her custom and in obedience to her liege lord, for another day she put her God into a compartment of her mind.
What would I have done, she mused just before sleep took her, if Buntaro had asked to share my bed?
I would have refused.
And then, if he had insisted, as is his right?
I would have kept my promise to him. Oh, yes. Nothing’s changed.
CHAPTER 44
At the Hour of the Goat the cortege crossed the bridge again. Everything was as before, except that now Zataki and his men were lightly dressed for traveling—or skirmishing. They were all heavily armed and, though very well disciplined, all were spoiling for the death fight, if it came. They seated themselves neatly opposite Toranaga’s forces, which heavily outnumbered them. Father Alvito was to one side among the onlookers. And Blackthorne.
Toranaga welcomed Zataki with the same calm formality, prolonging the ceremonious seating. Today the two daimyos were alone on the dais, the cushions farther apart under a lower sky. Yabu, Omi, Naga, and Buntaro were on the earth surrounding Toranaga and four of Zataki’s fighting counselors spaced themselves behind him.
At the correct time, Zataki took out the second scroll. “I’ve come for your formal answer.”
“I agree to go to Osaka and to submit to the will of the Council,” replied Toranaga evenly, and bowed.
“You’re going to submit?” Zataki began, his face twisting with disbelief. “You, Toranaga-noh-Minowara, you’re going—”
“Listen,” Toranaga interrupted in his resonant commanding voice that richocheted around the clearing without seeming to be loud. “The Council of Regents should be obeyed! Even though it’s illegal, it is constituted and no single daimyo has the right to tear the realm apart, however much truth is on his side. The realm takes precedence. If one daimyo revolts, it is the duty of all to stamp him out. I swore to the Taikō I’d never be the first to break the peace, and I won’t, even though evil is in the land. I accept the invitation. I will leave today.”
Aghast, each samurai was trying to foretell what this unbelievable about-face would mean. All were achingly certain that most, if not all, would be forced to become ronin, with all that that implied—loss of honor, of revenue, of family, of future.
Buntaro knew that he would accompany Toranaga on his last journey and share his fate—death with all his family, of all generations. Ishido was too much his own personal enemy to forgive, and anyway, who would want to stay alive when his own lord gave up the true fight in such cowardly fashion. Karma, Buntaro thought bitterly. Buddha give me strength! Now I’m committed to take Mariko’s life and our son’s life before I