Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [525]
“What can I do to help thee?” he asked.
“Believe there is a tomorrow.”
For a moment he caught a glimpse of her terror. His arms went out to her and he held her and the waiting was no longer terrible.
Footsteps approached.
“Yes, Chimmoko?”
“It’s time, Mistress.”
“Is everything ready?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Wait for me beside the lily pond.” The footsteps went away. Mariko turned back to Blackthorne and kissed him gently.
“I love thee,” she said.
“I love thee,” he said.
She bowed to him and went through the doorway. He followed.
Mariko stopped by the lily pond and undid her obi and let it fall. Chimmoko helped her out of her blue kimono. Beneath it Mariko wore the most brilliant white kimono and obi Blackthorne had ever seen. It was a formal death kimono. She untied the green ribbon from her hair and cast it aside, then, completely in white, she walked on and did not look at Blackthorne.
Beyond the garden, all the Browns were drawn up in a formal three-sided square around eight tatamis that had been laid out in the center of the main gateway. Yabu and Kiri and the rest of the ladies were seated in a line in the place of honor, facing south. In the avenue the Grays were also drawn up ceremoniously, and mingling with them were other samurai and samurai women. At a sign from Sumiyori everyone bowed. She bowed to them. Four samurai came forward and spread a crimson coverlet over the tatamis.
Mariko walked to Kiritsubo and greeted her and Sazuko and all the ladies. They returned her bow and spoke the most formal of greetings. Blackthorne waited at the gates. He watched her leave the ladies and go to the crimson square and kneel in the center, in front of the tiny white cushion. Her right hand brought out her stiletto dagger from her white obi and she placed it on the cushion in front of her. Chimmoko came forward and, kneeling too, offered her a small, pure white blanket and cord. Mariko arranged the skirts of her kimono perfectly, the maid helping her, then tied the blanket around her waist with the cord. Blackthorne knew this was to prevent her skirts being blooded and disarranged by her death throes.
Then, serene and prepared, Mariko looked up at the castle donjon. Sun still illuminated the upper story, glittering off the golden tiles. Rapidly the flaming light was mounting the spire. Then it disappeared.
She looked so tiny sitting there motionless, a splash of white on the square of crimson.
Already the avenue was dark and servants were lighting flares. When they finished, they fled as quickly and as silently as they had arrived.
She reached forward and touched the knife and straightened it. Then she gazed once more through the gateway to the far end of the avenue but it was as still and as empty as it had ever been. She looked back at the knife.
“Kasigi Yabu-sama!”
“Yes, Toda-sama?”
“It seems Lord Kiyama has declined to assist me. Please, I would be honored if you would be my second.”
“It is my honor,” Yabu said. He bowed and got to his feet and stood behind her, to her left. His sword sang as it slid from its scabbard. He set his feet firmly and with two hands raised the sword. “I am ready, Lady,” he said.
“Please wait until I have made the second cut.”
Her eyes were on the knife. With her right hand she made the sign of the cross over her breast, then leaned forward and took up the knife without trembling and touched it to her lips as though to taste the polished steel. Then she changed her grip and held the knife firmly with her right hand under the left side of her throat. At that moment flares rounded the far end of the avenue. A retinue approached. Ishido was at their head.
She did not move the knife.
Yabu was still a coiled spring, concentrated on the mark. “Lady,” he said, “do you wait or are you continuing? I wish to be perfect for you.”
Mariko forced herself back from the brink. “I—we wait … we … I …” Her hand lowered the knife. It was shaking now. As slowly, Yabu released himself.