Shōgun

“You will apologize tomorrow. I will call a meeting of the Regents and they will give a ruling about this whole matter. Then you will be allowed to go with Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko.”

“Please excuse me, how long will that take?”

“I don’t know. A few days.”

“So sorry, I don’t have a few days, I am ordered to leave at once.”

“Look at me!” She obeyed. “I, Kiyama Ukon-noh-Odanaga, Lord of Higo, Satsuma, and Osumi, a Regent of Japan, from the line Fujimoto, chief Christian daimyo of Japan, I ask you to stay.”

“So sorry. My liege Lord forbids me to stay.”

“Don’t you understand what I’m telling you?”

“Yes, Sire. But I have no choice, please excuse me.”

He motioned toward her son. “The betrothal between my granddaughter and Saruji . . . I can hardly allow this to go forward if you’re disgraced.”

“Yes, yes, Sire,” Mariko replied, misery in her eyes. “I understand that.” She saw the desperation in the boy. “So sorry, my son. But I must do my duty.”

Saruji started to say something but changed his mind and then, after a moment, he said, “Please excuse me, Mother, but isn’t . . . isn’t your duty to the Heir more important than your duty to Lord Toranaga? The Heir’s our real liege lord, neh?”

She thought about that. “Yes, my son. And no. Lord Toranaga has jurisdiction over me, the Heir does not.”

“Then doesn’t that mean Lord Toranaga has jurisdiction over the Heir, too?”

“No, so sorry.”

“Please excuse me, Mother, I don’t understand, but it seems to me if the Heir gives an order, he must overrule our Lord Toranaga.”

She did not reply.

“Answer him,” Kiyama barked.

“Was that your thought, my son? Or did someone put it into your head?”

Saruji frowned, trying to remember. “We—Lord Kiyama and—and his Lady—we discussed it. And the Father-Visitor. I don’t remember. I think I thought of it myself. The Father-Visitor said I was correct, didn’t he, Sire?”

“He said the Heir is more important than Lord Toranaga in the realm. Legally. Please answer him directly, Mariko-san.”

Mariko said, “If the Heir was a man, of age, Kwampaku, legal ruler of this realm like the Taikō, his father, was, then I would obey him over Lord Toranaga in this. But Yaemon’s a child, actually and legally, and therefore not capable. Legally. Does that answer you?”

“But—but he’s still the Heir, neh? The Regents listen to him—Lord Toranaga honors him. What’s . . . what’s a year, a few years, mean, Mother? If you don’t apol—Please excuse me, but I’m afraid for you.” The youth’s mouth was trembling.

Mariko wanted to reach out and embrace him and protect him. But she did not. “I’m not afraid, my son. I fear nothing on this earth. I fear only God’s judgment,” she said, turning to Kiyama.

“Yes,” Kiyama said. “I know that. May the Madonna bless you for it.” He paused. “Mariko-san, will you apologize publicly to the Lord General?”

“Yes, gladly, providing he publicly withdraws all troops from my path and gives me, the Lady Kiritsubo, and the Lady Sazuko written permission to leave tomorrow.”

“Will you obey an order from the Regents?”

“Please excuse me, Sire, in this matter, no.”

“Will you honor a request from them?”

“Please excuse me, in this matter, no.”

“Will you agree to a request from the Heir and the Lady Ochiba?”

“Please excuse me, what request?”

“To visit them, to stay with them for a few days, while we resolve this affair.”

“Please excuse me, Sire, but what is there to resolve?”

Kiyama’s restraint broke and he shouted, “The future and good order of the realm for one thing, the future of the Mother Church for another, and you for another! It’s clear your close contact with the barbarian has infected you and addled your brain as I knew it would!”

Mariko said nothing, just stared back at him.

With an effort Kiyama brought himself back into control.

“Please excuse my . . . my temper. And my bad manners,” he said stiffly. “My only excuse is that I’m gravely concerned.” He bowed with dignity. “I apologize.”

“It was my fault, Sire. Please excuse me for destroying your harmony and causing you trouble. But I have no alternative.”

“Your son’s given you one, I’ve given you several.”

She did not answer him.

The air in the room had become stifling for all of them although the night was cool and a breeze fanned the flares.

“You’re resolved then?”

“I have no choice, Sire.”

“Very well, Mariko-san. There’s nothing more to be said. Other than to say again I order you not to force the issue—and I ask it.”

She bowed her head.

“Saruji-san, please wait for me outside,” Kiyama ordered.

The youth was distraught, barely able to speak. “Yes, Sire.” He bowed to Mariko. “Please excuse me, Mother.”

“May God keep you in His hands for all eternity.”

“And thou.”

“Amen to that,” Kiyama said.

“Good night, my son.”

“Good night, Mother.”

When they were alone Kiyama said, “The Father-Visitor’s very worried.”

“About me, Sire?”

“Yes. And about the Holy Church—and the barbarian. And about the barbarian ship. First tell me about him.”