Shōgun

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. His sword hissed back into the scabbard and he wiped his hands on his sides.

Ishido stood at the gateway. “It’s not sunset yet, Lady. The sun’s still on the horizon. Are you so keen to die?”

“No, Lord General. Just to obey my Lord. . . .” She held her hands together to stop their shaking.

A rumble of anger went through the Browns at Ishido’s arrogant rudeness and Yabu readied to leap at him, but stopped as Ishido said loudly, “The Lady Ochiba begged the Regents on behalf of the Heir to make an exception in your case. We agreed to her request. Here are permits for you to leave at dawn tomorrow.” He shoved them into the hands of Sumiyori, who was nearby.

“Sire?” Mariko said, without understanding, her voice threadbare.

“You are free to leave. At dawn.”

“And—and Kiritsubo-san and the Lady Sazuko?”

“Isn’t that also part of your ‘duty’? Their permits are there also.”

Mariko tried to concentrate. “And . . . and her son?”

“Him too, Lady,” Ishido’s scornful laugh echoed. “And all your men.”

Yabu stammered, “Everyone has safe conducts?”

“Yes, Kasigi Yabu-san,” Ishido said. “You’re senior officer, neh? Please go at once to my secretary. He is completing all your passes, though why honored guests would wish to leave I don’t know. It’s hardly worth it for seventeen days. Neh?”

“And me, Lord General?” old Lady Etsu asked weakly, daring to test the totality of Mariko’s victory, her heart racing and painful. “May—may I please leave also?”

“Of course, Lady Maeda. Why should we keep anyone against her will? Are we jailers? Of course not! If the Heir’s welcome is so offensive that you wish to leave, then leave, though how you intend to travel four hundred ri home and another four hundred ri here in seventeen days I don’t understand.”

“Please ex—excuse me, the—the Heir’s welcome isn’t offen—”