Shōgun

“Of course that was considered, Lady,” Ochiba said, her voice gentle and patient, “but outside the castle Toranaga has secret bands of samurai, hidden in and around Osaka, we don’t know how many, and he has allies—we’re not sure who. She might escape. Once she goes, all the others would follow her at once and we’d lose a great security. You agreed, Yodoko-chan, don’t you remember? So sorry, but I asked you last night, don’t you remember?”

“Yes, I remember, child,” Yodoko said, her mind wandering. “Oh, how I wish the Lord Taikō were here again to guide you.” The old lady’s breathing was becoming labored.

“Can I give you some cha or saké?”

“Cha, yes please, some cha.”

She helped the old one to drink. “Thank you, child.” The voice was feebler now, the strain of conversation speeding the dying. “Listen, child, you must trust Toranaga. Marry him, barter with him for the succession.”

“No—no,” Ochiba said, shocked.

“Yaemon could rule after him, then the fruit of your new marriage after our son. The sons of our son will honorably swear eternal fidelity to this new Toranaga line.”

“Toranaga’s always hated the Taikō. You know that, Lady. Toranaga is the source of all the trouble. For years, neh? Him!”

“And you? What about your pride, child?”

“He’s the enemy, our enemy.”

“You’ve two enemies, child. Your pride and the need to have a man to compare to our husband. Please be patient with me, you’re young and beautiful and fruitful and deserve a husband. Toranaga’s worthy of you, you of him. Toranaga is the only chance Yaemon has.”

“No, he’s the enemy.”

“He was our husband’s greatest friend and most loyal vassal. Without . . . without Toranaga . . . don’t you see . . . it was Toranaga’s help . . . don’t you see? You could manage . . . manage him. . . .”

“So sorry, but I hate him—he disgusts me, Yodoko-chan.”

“Many women . . . What was I saying? Oh yes, many women marry men who disgust them. Praise be to Buddha I never had to suffer that. . . .” The old woman smiled briefly. Then she sighed. It was a long, serious sigh and went on for too long and Ochiba thought the end had come. But the eyes opened a little and a tiny smile appeared again. “Neh?”

“Yes.”

“Will you. Please?”

“I will think about it.”

The old fingers tried to tighten. “I beg you, promise me you’ll marry Toranaga and I will go to Buddha knowing that the Taikō’s line will live forever, like his name . . . his name will live for . . .”

The tears ran freely down Ochiba’s face as she cradled the listless hand.

Later the eyes trembled and the old woman whispered, “You must let Akechi Mariko go. Don’t . . . don’t let her reap vengeance on us for what the Taikō did . . . did to . . . to her . . . to her father. . . .”

Ochiba was caught unaware. “What?”

There was no answer. Later Yodoko began mumbling, “. . . Dear Yaemon, hello, my darling son, how . . . you’re such a fine boy, but you’ve so many enemies, so foolish so . . . Aren’t you just an illusion too, isn’t . . .”

A spasm racked her. Ochiba held on to the hand and caressed it. “Namu Amida Butsu,” she whispered in homage.

There was another spasm, then the old woman said clearly, “Forgive me, O-chan.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Lady.”

“So much to forgive. . . .” The voice became fainter, and the light began to fade from her face. “Listen . . . prom—promise about . . . about Toranaga, Ochiba-sama . . . important . . . please . . . you can trust him. . . .” The old eyes were beseeching her, willing her.

Ochiba did not want to obey yet knew that she should obey. Her mind was unsettled by what had been said about Akechi Mariko, and still resounded with the Taikō’s words, repeated ten thousand times, “You can trust Yodoko-sama, O-chan. She’s the Wise One—never forget it. She’s right most times and you can always trust her with your life, and my son’s life and mine. . . .”

Ochiba conceded. “I prom—” She stopped abruptly.

The light of Yodoko-sama flickered a final time and went out.

“Namu Amida Butsu.” Ochiba touched the hand to her lips, and she bowed and laid the hand back on the coverlet and closed the eyes, thinking about the Taikō’s death, the only other death she had witnessed so closely. That time Lady Yodoko had closed the eyes as was a wife’s privilege and it had been in this same room, Toranaga waiting outside, as Ishido and Kiyama were now outside, continuing a vigil that had begun the day before.

“But why send for Toranaga, Lord?” she had asked. “You should rest.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead, O-chan,” the Taikō had said. “I must settle the succession. Finally. While I’ve the strength.”

So Toranaga had arrived, strong, vital, exuding power. The four of them were alone then, Ochiba, Yodoko, Toranaga and Nakamura, the Taikō, the Lord of Japan lying on his deathbed, all of them waiting for the orders that would be obeyed.