Shōgun

Toranaga eased his kimono and loincloth aside, as did Yabu. Together they urinated and mixed their urine and watched it dew the garden below.

“The last bargain I sealed this way was with the Taikō himself,” Toranaga said, greatly relieved at being able to empty his bladder. “That was when he decided to give me the Kwanto, the Eight Provinces, as my fief. Of course, at that time the enemy Hojo still owned them, so first I had to conquer them. They were our last remaining opposition. Of course, too, I had to give up my hereditary fiefs of Imagawa, Owari, and Ise at once for the honor. Even so, I agreed and we pissed on the bargain.” He straddled the parapet easily, settling his loincloth comfortably as though he stood in the garden itself, not perched like an eagle so far above. “It was a good bargain for both of us. We conquered the Hojo and took over five thousand heads within the year. Stamped him out and all his tribe. Perhaps you’re right, Kasigi Yabu-san. Perhaps you can help me as I helped the Taikō. Without me, the Taikō would never have become Taikō.”

“I can help to make you sole Regent, Toranaga-sama. But not Shōgun.”

“Of course. That’s the one honor I don’t seek, as much as my enemies say I do.” Toranaga jumped down to the safety of the stone flags. He looked back at Yabu who still stood on the narrow parapet adjusting his sash. He was sorely tempted to give him a quick shove for his insolence. Instead he sat down and broke wind loudly. “That’s better. How’s your bladder, Iron Fist?”

“Tired, Lord, very tired.” The old man went to the side and emptied himself thankfully over the battlements too, but he did not stand where Toranaga and Yabu had stood. He was very glad that he did not also have to seal the bargain with Yabu. That’s one bargain I will never honor. Never.

“Yabu-san. This must all be kept secret. I think you should leave within the next two or three days,” Toranaga said.

“Yes. With the guns and the barbarian, Toranaga-sama?”

“Yes. You will go by ship.” Toranaga looked at Hiro-matsu. “Prepare the galley.”

“The ship is ready. The guns and powder are still in the holds,” Hiro-matsu replied, his face mirroring his disapproval.

“Good.”

You’ve done it, Yabu wanted to shout. You’ve got the guns, the Anjin-san, everything. You’ve got your six months. Toranaga’ll never go to war quickly. Even if Ishido assassinates him in the next few days, you’ve still got everything. Oh, Buddha, protect Toranaga until I’m at sea! “Thank you,” he said, his sincerity openly vast. “You’ll never have a more faithful ally.”

When Yabu was gone, Hiro-matsu wheeled on Toranaga. “That was a bad thing to do. I’m ashamed of that bargain. I’m ashamed that my advice counts for so little. I’ve obviously outlived my usefulness to you and I’m very tired. That little snot-dung daimyo knows he’s manipulated you like a puppet. Why, he even had the effrontery to wear his Murasama sword in your presence.”

“I noticed,” Toranaga said.

“I think the gods have bewitched you, Lord. You openly dismiss such an insult and allow him to gloat in front of you. You openly allow Ishido to shame you in front of all of us. You prevent me and all of us from protecting you. You refuse my granddaughter, a samurai lady, the honor and peace of death. You’ve lost control of the Council, your enemy has outmaneuvered you, and now you piss on a solemn bargain that is as disgusting a plan as I’ve ever heard, and you do this with a man who deals in filth, poison, and treachery like his father before him.” He was shaking with rage. Toranaga did not answer, just stared calmly at him as though he had said nothing.

“By all kami, living and dead, you are bewitched.” Hiro-matsu burst out, “I question you—and shout and insult you and you only stare at me! You’ve gone mad or I have. I ask permission to commit seppuku or if you won’t allow me that peace I’ll shave my head and become a monk—anything, anything, but let me be gone.”

“You will do neither. But you will send for the barbarian priest, Tsukku-san.”

And then Toranaga laughed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Father Alvito rode down the hill from the castle at the head of his usual company of Jesuit outriders. All were dressed as Buddhist priests except for the rosary and crucifix they wore at their waists. There were forty outriders, Japanese, all well-born sons of Christian samurai, students from the seminary at Nagasaki who had accompanied him to Osaka. All were well mounted and caparisoned and as disciplined as the entourage of any daimyo.

He hurried along in a brisk trot, oblivious of the warm sunshine, through the woods and the city streets toward the Jesuit Mission, a large stone European-style house that stood near the wharves and soared from its clustered outbuildings, treasure rooms, and warehouses, where all of Osaka’s silks were bartered and paid for.