Shōgun

Fujiko hesitated a long while. “The perfect thing for the Anjin-san would be Midori-san for wife, Kiku-san as consort.”

“Could they learn to live with all his—er—different attitudes?”

“Midori-san’s samurai, Sire. It would be her duty. You would order her. Kiku-san also.”

“But not the Anjin-san?”

“You know him better than I, Sire. But in pillow things and . . . it would be better for him to, well, think of it himself.”

“Toda Mariko-sama would have made a perfect wife for him. Neh?”

“That’s an extraordinary idea, Sire,” Fujiko replied, without blinking. “Certainly both had an enormous respect for each other.”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “Well, thank you, Fujiko-san. I’ll consider what you said. He’ll be at Anjiro in about ten days.”

“Thank you, Sire. If I might suggest, the port of Ito and the Yokosé Spa should be included within the Anjin-san’s fief.”

“Why?”

“Ito just in case Anjiro is not big enough. Perhaps bigger slipways would be necessary for such a big ship. Perhaps they’re available there. Yokosé be—”

“Are they?”

“Yes, Sire. An—”

“Have you been there?”

“No, Sire. But the Anjin-san’s interested in the sea. So are you. It was my duty to try to learn about ships and shipping, and when we heard the Anjin-san’s ship was burned I wondered if it would be possible to build another, and if so, where and how. Izu is a perfect choice, Sire. It will be easy to keep Ishido’s armies out.”

“And why Yokosé?”

“And Yokosé because a hatamoto should have a place in the mountains where you could be entertained in the style you have a right to expect.”

Toranaga was watching her closely. Fujiko appeared so docile and demure but he knew she was as inflexible as he was and not ready to concede either point unless he ordered it. “I agree. And I’ll consider what you said about Midori-san and Kiku-san.”

“Thank you, Sire,” she said humbly, glad that she had done her duty to her master and repaid her debt to Mariko. Ito for its slipways, and Yokosé where Mariko had said their “love” had really begun.

‘I’m so lucky, Fujiko-chan,’ Mariko had told her at Yedo. ‘Our journey here has brought me more joy than I have the right to expect in twenty lifetimes.’

‘I beg you to protect him in Osaka, Mariko-san. So sorry, he’s not like us, not civilized like us, poor man. His nirvana is life and not death.’

That’s still true, Fujiko thought again, blessing Mariko’s memory. Mariko had saved the Anjin-san, no one else—not the Christian God or any gods, not the Anjin-san himself, not even Toranaga, no one—only Mariko alone. Toda Mariko-noh-Akechi Jinsai had saved him.

Before I die I will put up a shrine at Yokosé and leave a bequest for another at Osaka and another at Yedo. That’s going to be one of my death wishes, Toranaga-sama, she promised herself, looking back at him so patiently, warmed by all the other lovely things yet to be done on the Anjin-san’s behalf. Midori to wife certainly, never Kiku as wife but only a consort and not necessarily chief consort, and the fief extended to Shimoda on the very south coast of Izu. “Do you want me to leave at once, Sire?”

“Stay here tonight, then go direct tomorrow. Not via Yokohama.”

“Yes. I understand. So sorry, I can take possession of my Master’s new fief on his behalf—and all it contains—the moment I arrive?”

“Kawanabi-san will give you the necessary documents before you leave here. Now, please send Kiku-san to me.”

Fujiko bowed and left.

Toranaga grunted. Pity that woman’s going to end herself. She’s almost too valuable to lose, and much too smart. Ito and Yokosé? Ito understandable. Why Yokosé? And what else was in her mind?