Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [444]
He heard her pass on the orders to the Anjin-san.
“Yes, Lord Toranaga, I understand,” Blackthorne replied for himself. “But may I respectfully ask: Possible go Nagasaki quick? Think important. So sorry.”
“I’ll decide that later,” Toranaga said brusquely, not making it easy for him. He motioned him to leave. “Good-by, Anjin-san. I’ll decide your future soon.” He saw that the man wanted to press the point but politely didn’t. Good, he thought, at least he’s learning some manners! “Tell the Anjin-san there’s no need for him to wait for you, Mariko-san. Good-by, Anjin-san.”
Mariko did as she was ordered. Toranaga turned back to contemplate the city and the cloudburst. He listened to the sound of the rain. The door closed behind the Anjin-san. “What was the quarrel about?” Toranaga asked, not looking at her.
“Sire?”
His ears, carefully tuned, had caught the slightest tremble in her voice. “Of course between Buntaro and yourself, or have you had another quarrel that concerns me?” he added with biting sarcasm, needing to precipitate the matter quickly. “With the Anjin-san perhaps, or my Christian enemies, or the Tsukku-san?”
“No, Sire. Please excuse me. It began as always, like most quarrels, Sire, between husband and wife. Really over nothing. Then suddenly, as always, all the past gets spewed up and it infects the man and the woman if the mood’s on them.”
“And the mood was on you?”
“Yes. Please excuse me. I provoked my husband unmercifully. It was my fault entirely. I regret, Sire, in those times, so sorry, people say wild things.”
“Come on, hurry up, what wild things?” She was like a doe at bay. Her face was chalky. She knew that spies must have already whispered to him what was shouted in the quiet of their house.
She told him everything that had been said as best she could remember it. Then she added, “I believe my husband’s words were spoken in wild rage which I provoked. He’s loyal—I know he’s loyal. If anyone is to be punished it’s me, Sire. I did provoke the madness.”
Toranaga sat again on the cushion, his back ramrod, his face granite. “What did the Lady Genjiko say?”
“I haven’t spoken to her, Sire.”
“But you intend to, or intended to, neh?”
“No, Sire. With your permission I intend to leave at once for Osaka.”
“You will leave when I say and not before and treason is a foul beast wherever it’s to be found!”
She bowed under the whiplash of his tongue. “Yes, Sire. Please forgive me. The fault is mine.”
He rang a small hand bell. The door opened. Naga stood there. “Yes, Sire?”
“Order the Lord Sudara here with the Lady Genjiko at once.”
“Yes, Sire.” Naga turned to go.
“Wait! Then summon my Council, Yabu and all—and all senior generals. They’re to be here at midnight. And clear this floor. All guards! You come back with Sudara!”
“Yes, Sire.” Whitefaced, Naga closed the door after him.
Toranaga heard men clattering down the stairs. He went to the door and opened it. The landing was clear. He slammed the door and bolted it. He picked up another bell and rang it. An inner door at the far end of the room opened. This door was hardly noticeable, so cleverly had it been melded with the woodwork. A middle-aged heavy-set woman stood there. She wore a cowled Buddhist nun’s habit. “Yes, Great Lord?”
“Cha please, Chano-chan,” he said. The door closed. Toranaga’s eyes went back to Mariko. “So you think he’s loyal?”
“I know it, Sire. Please forgive me, it was my fault, not his,” she said, desperate to please. “I provoked him.”
“Yes, you did that. Disgusting. Terrible. Unforgivable!” Toranaga took out a paper kerchief and wiped his brow. “But fortunate,” he said.
“Sire?”
“If you hadn’t provoked him, perhaps I might never have learned of any treason. And if he’d said all that without