Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [408]
“No, Sire. It’s as the Lord, your son, said. Until our Master’s fate is set, you may not retreat. Neither you, nor the Lord my husband. Nor I.”
“Yes. Even so, I’d be very pleased to lay down my sword and seek the peace of Buddha for myself and those I have killed.”
He stared at the night for a time, feeling his age, then looked at her. She was pleasing to see, more than any woman he had ever known.
“Sire?”
“Nothing, Mariko-san. I was remembering the first time I saw you.”
That was when Hiro-matsu had secretly mortgaged his soul to Goroda to obtain this slip of a girl for his own son, the same son who had slaughtered his own mother, the one woman Hiro-matsu had ever really adored. Why did I get Mariko for him? Because I wanted to spite the Taikō, who desired her also. To spite a rival, nothing more.
Was my consort truly unfaithful? the old man asked himself, reopening the perpetual sore. Oh gods, when I look you in the face I’ll demand an answer to that question. I want a yes or no! I demand the truth! I think it’s a lie, but Buntaro said she was alone with that man in the room, disheveled, her kimono loose, and it was months before I returned. It could be a lie, neh? Or the truth, neh? It must be the truth—surely no son would behead his own mother without being sure?
Mariko was observing the lines of Hiro-matsu’s face, his skin stretched and scaled with age, and the ancient muscular strength of his arms and shoulders. What are you thinking? she wondered, liking him. Have you seen through me yet? Do you know about me and the Anjin-san now? Do you know I quiver with love for him? That when I have to choose between him and thee and Toranaga, I will choose him?
Hiro-matsu stood near the embrasure looking down at the city below, his fingers kneading the scabbard and the haft of his sword, oblivious of her. He was brooding about Toranaga and what Zataki had said a few days ago in bitter disgust, disgust that he had shared.
“Yes, of course I want to conquer the Kwanto and plant my standard on the walls of Yedo Castle now and make it my own. I never did before but now I do,” Zataki had told him. “But this way? There’s no honor in it! No honor for my brother or you or me! Or anyone! Except Ishido, and that peasant doesn’t know any better.”
“Then support Lord Toranaga! With your help Tora—”
“For what? So my brother can become Shōgun and stamp out the Heir?”
“He’s said a hundred times he supports the Heir. I believe he does. And we’d have a Minowara to lead us, not an upstart peasant and the hellcat Ochiba, neh? Those incompetents will have eight years of rule before Yaemon’s of age if Lord Toranaga dies. Why not give Lord Toranaga the eight years—he’s Minowara! He’s said a thousand times he’ll hand over power to Yaemon. Is your brain in your arse? Toranaga’s not Yaemon’s enemy or yours!”
“No Minowara would kneel to that peasant! He’s pissed on his honor and all of ours. Yours and mine!”
They had argued, and cursed each other, and in privacy, had almost come to blows. “Go on,” he had taunted Zataki, “draw your sword, traitor! You’re traitor to your brother who’s head of your clan!”
“I’m head of my own clan. We share the same mother, but not father. Toranaga’s father sent my mother away in disgrace. I’ll not help Toranaga—but if he abdicates and slits his belly I’ll support Sudara….”
There’s no need to do that, Hiro-matsu told the night, still enraged. There’s no need to do that while I’m alive, or meekly to submit. I’m General-in-Chief. It’s my duty to protect my Master’s honor and house, even from himself. So now I decide:
Listen, Sire, please excuse me, but this time I disobey. With pride. This time I betray you. Now I’m going to co-opt your son and heir, the Lord Sudara, and his wife, the Lady Genjiko, and together we’ll order Crimson Sky when the rains cease, and then war begins. And until the last man in the Kwanto dies, facing the enemy, I’ll hold you safe in Yedo Castle, whatever you say, whatever the cost.
Gyoko was delighted to be home