Shōgun

“No, not me, Sire.” Then Toranaga looked at Ochiba and spoke directly to her. “For Yaemon to inherit power you have to weather another nine years. To do that, above all else, you must maintain the Taikō’s peace. I pick Kiyama because he’s the chief Christian daimyo, a great general, and a most loyal vassal. Next, Sugiyama because he’s the richest daimyo in the land, his family ancient, he heartily detests Christians, and has the most to gain if Yaemon gets power. Onoshi because he detests Kiyama, offsets his power, is also Christian, but a leper who grasps at life, will live for twenty years and hates all the others with a monstrous violence, particularly Ishido. Ishido because he’ll be sniffing out plots—because he’s a peasant, detests hereditary samurai, and is violently opposed to Christians. Toda Hiro-matsu because he’s honest, obedient, and faithful, as constant as the sun and like the sudden best sword of a master sword-smith. He should be president of the Council.”

“And you?”

“I will commit seppuku with my eldest son, Noboru. My son Sudara’s married to the Lady Ochiba’s sister, so he’s no threat, could never be a threat. He could inherit the Kwanto, if it pleases you, providing he swears perpetual allegiance to your house.”

No one was surprised that Toranaga had offered to do what was obviously in the Taikō’s mind, for Toranaga alone among the daimyos was the real threat. Then she had heard her husband say, “O-chan, what is your counsel?”

“Everything that the Lord Toranaga has said, Sire,” she had answered at once, “except that you should order my sister divorced from Sudara who should commit seppuku. The Lord Noboru should be Lord Toranaga’s heir and should inherit the two provinces of Musashi and Shimosa, and the rest of the Kwanto should go to your heir, Yaemon. I counsel this to be ordered today.”

“Yodoko-sama?”

To her astonishment, Yodoko had said, “Ah, Tokichi, you know I adore you with all my heart and the O-chan, and Yaemon as my own son. I say make Toranaga sole Regent.”

“What?”

“If you order him to die, I think you kill our son. Only Lord Toranaga has skill enough, prestige enough, cunning enough to inherit now. Put Yaemon into his keeping until he’s of age. Order Lord Toranaga to adopt our son formally. Let Yaemon be coached by Lord Toranaga and inherit after Toranaga.”

“No—this must not be done,” Ochiba had protested.

“What do you say to that, Tora-san?” the Taikō asked.

“With humility I must refuse, Sire. I cannot accept that and beg to be allowed to commit seppuku and go before you.”

“You will be sole Regent.”

“I’ve never refused to obey you since we made our bargain. But this order I refuse.”

Ochiba remembered how she had tried to will the Taikō to let Toranaga obliterate himself as she knew the Taikō had already decided. But the Taikō had changed his mind and, at length, had accepted part of what Yodoko had advised, and made the compromise that Toranaga would be a Regent and President of the Regents. Toranaga had sworn eternal faith to Yaemon but now he was still spinning the web that embroiled them all, like this crisis Mariko had precipitated. “I know it was on his orders,” Ochiba muttered, and now Lady Yodoko had wanted her to submit to him totally.

Marry Toranaga? Buddha protect me from that shame, from having to welcome him and feel his weight and his spurting life.

Shame?

Ochiba, what is the truth? she asked herself. The truth is that you wanted him once—before the Taikō, neh? Even during, neh? Many times in your secret heart. Neh? The Wise One was right again about pride being your enemy and about needing a man, a husband. Why not accept Ishido? He honors you and wants you and he’s going to win. He would be easy to manage. Neh? No, not that uncouth bog trotter! Oh, I know the filthy rumors spread by enemies—filthy impertinence! I swear I’d rather lie with my maids and put my faith in a harigata for another thousand lifetimes than abuse my Lord’s memory with Ishido. Be honest, Ochiba. Consider Toranaga. Don’t you really hate him just because he might have seen you on that dream day?

It had been more than six years ago in Kyushu when she and her ladies had been out hawking with the Taikō and Toranaga. Their party was spread over a wide area and she had been galloping after one of her falcons, separated from the others. She was in the hills in a wood and she’d suddenly come upon this peasant gathering berries beside the lonely path. Her first weakling son had been dead almost two years and there were no more stirrings in her womb, though she had tried every position or trick or regimen, every superstition or potion or prayer, desperate to satisfy her lord’s obsession for an heir.

The meeting with the peasant had been so sudden. He gawked up at her as though she were a kami and she at him because he was the image of the Taikō, small and monkeylike, but he had youth.