Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [407]
Mariko obeyed.
“Now tell me what you think happened.”
Again she obeyed.
“What occurred at the cha-no-yu between you and my son?”
She told him everything, exactly as it happened.
“My son said our Master would lose? Before the second meeting with Lord Zataki?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“You’re sure?”
“Oh, yes, Sire.”
There was a long silence in the room high up in the castle donjon that dominated the city. Hiro-matsu got to his feet and went to the arrow embrasure in the thick stone wall, his back and joints aching, his sword loose in his hands. “I don’t understand.”
“Sire?”
“Neither my son, nor our Master. We can smash through any armies Ishido puts into the field. And as to the decision to submit….”
She toyed with her fan, watching the evening sky, star-filled and pleasing.
Hiro-matsu studied her. “You’re looking very well, Mariko-san, younger than ever. What’s your secret?”
“I haven’t one, Sire,” she replied, her throat suddenly dry. She waited for her world to shatter but the moment passed and the old man turned his shrewd eyes back to the city below.
“Now tell me what happened since you left Osaka. Everything you saw or heard or were part of,” he said.
It was far into the night by the time she had finished. She related everything clearly, except the extent of her intimacy with the Anjin-san. Even here she was careful not to hide her liking for him, her respect for his intelligence and bravery. Or Toranaga’s admiration for his value.
For a while Hiro-matsu continued to wander up and down, the movement easing his pain. Everything dovetailed with Yoshinaka’s report and Omi’s report—and even Zataki’s tirade before that daimyo had stormed off to Shinano. Now he understood many things that had been unclear and had enough information to make a calculated decision. Some of what she related disgusted him. Some made him hate his son even more; he could understand his son’s motives, but that made no difference. The rest of what she said forced him to resent the barbarian and sometimes to admire him. “You saw him pull our Lord to safety?”
“Yes. Lord Toranaga would be dead now, Sire, but for him. I’m quite certain. Three times he has saved our Master: escaping from Osaka Castle, aboard the galley in Osaka harbor, and absolutely at the earthquake. I saw the swords Omi-san had dug up. They were twisted like noodle dough and just as useless.”
“You think the Anjin-san really meant to commit seppuku?”
“Yes. By the Lord God of the Christians, I believe he made that commitment. Only Omi-san prevented it. And, Sire, I believe totally he’s worthy to be samurai, worthy to be hatamoto.”
“I didn’t ask for that opinion.”
“Please excuse me, Sire, truly you didn’t. But that question was still in the front of your mind.”
“You’ve become a thought reader as well as barbarian trainer?”
“Oh, no, please excuse me, Sire, of course not,” she said in her nicest voice. “I merely answer the leader of my clan to the best of my very poor ability. Our Master’s interests are first in my mind. Your interests are second only to his.”
“Are they?”
“Please excuse me, but that shouldn’t be necessary to ask. Command me, Sire. I’ll do your bidding.”
“Why so proud, Mariko-san?” he asked testily. “And so right? Eh?”
“Please excuse me, Sire. I was rude. I don’t deserve such—”
“I know! No woman does!” Hiro-matsu laughed. “But even so, there are times when we need a woman’s cold, cruel, vicious, cunning, practical wisdom. They’re so much cleverer than we are, neh?”
“Oh, no, Sire,” she said, wondering what was really in his mind.
“It’s just as well we’re alone. If that was repeated in public they’d say old Iron Fist’s overripe, that it’s time for him to put down his sword, shave his head, and begin to say prayers to Buddha