Gai-Jin (119 page)

“What could Wakura do? Any one of them? They have no samurai—no armies, no money, no arms. Nothing!”

“Yes, but think: When we four are in front of the Son of Heaven together, that would be perfect timing for someone—Wakura, Prince Fujitaka, Shōgun Nobusada, or the Princess—to suggest ‘as a gift to the Divine now is the moment for the four greatest daimyos in the Land to express their loyalty by offering up their powers to Him.’”

Ogama’s brow darkened. “Not one of us would agree, not one! We would prevaricate, stall, even lie an—”

“Lie? To the Son of Heaven? Never. Listen further. Say the Prince Advisor, before the ceremony, in private, was to say to you something like: ‘Lord Ogama, the Son of Heaven wishes to adopt you, to make you Prince Ogama, Captain of the Imperial Guard, Lord Chieftain of the Gates, member of the New Imperial Council of Ten who will rule instead of the usurping Toranaga Shōgunate. In return…’”

“Eh? What Council of Ten?”

“Wait. ‘… in return, you just acknowledge Him as who He is: the Son of Heaven, Emperor of Nippon, Possessor of the Sacred Regalia—the Orb, Mirror and Sceptre—descended from the gods and ascendant over all men; in return you dedicate your fief and your samurai to His service and His wishes that will be exercised through the Imperial Council of Ten!’”

Ogama stared at him, beads of sweat on his upper lip. “I would … would never give up Choshu.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps the Imperial Mouthpiece says, in addition the Emperor will confirm you in your fief as Lord of Choshu, Conqueror of the gai-jin, Keeper of the Straits, subject only to Him, and the Imperial Council of Ten.”

“Who else is on the Council?” Ogama said hoarsely.

Yoshi wiped the sweat off his own brow. The whole scheme had suddenly presented itself when he had reached his own barracks. General Akeda had precipitated it with a chance remark about how devious Kyōto thinking was, that it seemed to be in the very air they breathed, that what was considered a prize in an instant became a noose.

He had become physically ill because he knew he could be charmed as easily as anyone—he was today, a few moments before, lulled into a false sense of security until he would be isolated and then invited onwards.

“There, you see, Ogama-sama, you’re already tempted. “Who else is on the Council?” As if what they told you mattered. You would be one against their appointees, Sanjiro too. Lord Chancellor Wakura and his ilk would overwhelm and rule.”

“We would not agree. I would n—”

“So sorry, you would agree—they could gear honors to tempt a kami—the great temptation being that they would pretend to replace the Toranaga Shōgunate with the Council of Ten Shōgunate! Of course I would not be offered a place on the Imperial Council, nor any Toranagas except Nobusada and he’s already theirs because of that Princess, as I warned.” Yoshi spat with rage. “Anjo is the first move.”

The more the two men considered the ramifications, the more they could see the spikes of the limitless traps ahead. Ogama said hoarsely, “The festivities would go on for weeks or more—we would be obliged to give banquets to the Court and to each other. Slow poisons could be introduced.”

Yoshi shuddered. All of his life he had carried a deep fear of being poisoned. A favorite uncle had died in great pain, the doctor saying “natural causes,” but the uncle had been a barb in the side of a hostile Bakufu and his death a great convenience. Perhaps poisoning, perhaps not. The death of the previous Shōgun the year Perry returned, one day healthy the next dead, again so convenient to the tairō Ii who hated him, wanting a puppet—Nobusada—in his place.

Rumors, never proof, but poison was an ancient art in Nippon, and China. The more Yoshi reasoned with himself—if death by poisoning was his karma—the more he made sure his cooks were trustworthy and took care where he ate. But that did not remove the panic that possessed him now and then.

Abruptly Ogama bunched a fist and smashed it into the palm of his other hand. “Anjo
tairō!
I cannot believe it.”

“Nor I.” When Yoshi had sent the messenger to arrange this secret meeting he had been thinking how ironic it was that now he and Ogama really had to work together if they were to survive. No longer could they survive alone. At the moment.

“How do we stop this happening? I can see they could tempt me.” Ogama spat on the tatami in disgust.

“They can tempt anyone, Ogama-dono.”

“They are like wolf kamis, I can understand that. We are trapped. If the Divine invites us, His befouled minions will destroy us. Let us round up those you spoke of, or … I’ll send for Basuhiro, his mind is like a serpent’s!”

“We are only trapped if we accept the invitation tomorrow. I propose we both leave Kyōto tonight, secretly. If we are not here … eh?” Ogama’s sudden smile was seraphic but it evaporated as quickly. Yoshi understood why, and said, “Such a move requires great trust between us.”

“Yes, yes, it would. What do you propose to—to guard against any mistakes?”

“I cannot cover all alternatives but this is temporary: we both slip out
of Kyōto tonight, agreeing to stay away for at least twenty days. I will go at once to Yedo and deal with or neutralize Anjo, and stay there until that is done. General Akeda will be in charge as usual and will say that I had to return suddenly to Dragon’s Tooth, a sickness in the family, but I am expected back quickly. You go to Fushimi and spend the night there. By sunset tomorrow, the invitation has failed to reach you—because no one, not even Basuhiro knows where you are, eh?”

“Too dangerous not to tell him, but go on.”

“I leave that to you but at sunset tomorrow you deliver a message to Prince Fujitaka inviting him to a private meeting the next morning, say at the Monoyama ruins”—a favorite sightseeing place for Kyōto people. “When you see him you express astonishment at the invitation and regret not being there to accept it. Meanwhile he had better ensure no more invitations arrive until you return. ‘When will that be?’ You are not sure. The gai-jin have threatened to land at Osaka imminently. You must visit there and make plans. Meanwhile make it clear to him that there better not be any more sudden Imperial Invitations—however much you humbly appreciate them—until you decide you will accept them.”

Ogama grunted. He stared at the tatami lost in thought. Then he said, “What about Sanjiro, and Yodo of Tosa? They will be arriving, in ceremonial force, but still force.”

“Tell Fujitaka to make sure their invitations are postponed—he should suggest to the Divine this solstice has bad omens attached to it.”

“A good suggestion! But if they will not be put off?”

“Fujitaka will make sure they are.”

“If it is that easy, why not stay, even with the invitations? I just tell Fujitaka to make the suggestion about the bad omens. The Festival is cancelled, eh? This supposes Fujitaka has the power to suggest or unsuggest.”

“With Wakura he can. I believe Kyōto deviousness is in the air we breathe—we would be snared.” This was the best he could do. It did not suit his purpose for Ogama to be here alone, and there were still the Gates to solve.

“I could stay at Fujimi, or Osaka for twenty days,” Ogama said slowly. “I could not return to Choshu, that would leave my Kyōto … that would leave me open to attack.”

“From whom? Not me—we are allies. Hiro will not be here, or Sanjiro. You could journey to Choshu if you wished. Basuhiro could be trusted to hold your position here.”

“No vassal could be trusted that much,” Ogama said sourly. “What about the shishi?”

“Basuhiro and my Akeda will continue to crush them—our Bakufu spies will continue to seek them out.”

Ogama scowled. “The more I think about this the less I like it. Too many
dangers, Yoshi-dono. Fujitaka is sure to tell me your invitation was not delivered either.”

“You will be surprised; I suggest you can say my excuse about an illness must be a cover and that I must be rushing to Yedo to see what I can do to prevent the gai-jin from putting their threat to come to Kyōto into effect—and to ensure they quit Yokohama.” His face hardened. “They will not.”

Ogama said roughly, “Then we will make them.”

“In due time, Ogama-dono.” Yoshi became even harder. “Everything I forecast has happened. Believe me, the gai-jin will not be forced out. Not yet.”

“Then when?”

“Soon. This problem must be left for the moment. First of importance is to protect ourselves. Two requests: We must leave together and return together. We stay secret allies until formally, person to person and alone, we decide otherwise.” Ogama laughed but said nothing. “Last, while I am gone, our agreement over the Gates stays in place.”

“Your mind jumps around like a cat with thorns in its pads.” Ogama cleared his throat and shifted his knees more comfortably. “Perhaps I agree, perhaps not. This is too important to decide at once. I must talk with Basuhiro.”

“No. Talk to me. I can give better advice because I know more and, importantly, in this your interests are mine—and I am not a vassal who has to seek petty favors.”

“Only big ones. Like the Gates.”

Yoshi laughed. “That is a little one compared to some you will grant me, and I will grant you, when you’re tairō.
”

“Then give me one now while I’m not: Sanjiro’s head.”

Yoshi looked at him, hiding his surprise. He had not forgotten what Inejin, his innkeeper spy on the road to Dragon’s Tooth, had told him about Ogama and “Crimson Sky.” Inejin spoke of how, with Sanjiro in support, or neutral, Ogama would prevail against the Shōgunate with the historic tactic so favored by daimyos, a sneak attack.

“Would you settle for his balls?” Yoshi asked, and laid out the plan he had been refining for months.

Ogama began to laugh.

The column of guards that had been relieved trudged homewards, four men abreast, Yoshi still disguised as a foot soldier amongst them. Although they had been warned in advance to treat him as such, they were finding it difficult not to sneak a glance, or apologize when coming too close. One of the soldiers was a shishi informer named Wataki. He had had no opportunity to warn of this unique opportunity for an ambush.

Yoshi was tired but content. At length Ogama had agreed to everything
so now he could leave Kyōto with the Gates safe in Shōgunate hands and the Shōgunate safe.

For a time—enough time, he thought. My gamble is great, and my scheme filled with holes that will worry Ogama if he sees them. It does not matter, surely he plans to betray me anyway. Never mind, it was the best I could do, and should be workable. Impossible for me to accept the invitation.

The day had improved now, the sun jousting with clouds for possession of the sky. He hardly noticed it or his surroundings, his mind occupied with all the details of his departure, who to tell, what to do about Koiko and General Akeda, who to take with him, and his overall concern: would he be in time to minimize the damage in Yedo?

First a bath and massage, decisions afterwards …

His eyes focused and he became aware of the streets as they marched along, the pedestrians, stalls and ponies and
kagas
and palanquins, the houses and hovels and stalls and children and fish sellers and hawkers and soothsayers and scribes and all the bustle of the markets. It was a completely new experience for him to be one of many, incognito in the column, and he began to enjoy this completely different perspective. Soon he was gawking like a country person at the sights and sounds and smells of the city he had never seen before, wanting to stop, to intermingle with the crowds, to experience them, what they thought and did and ate and where they slept. “Soldier,” he whispered to the young man beside him. “Where do you go when you’re off duty?”

“M-me, Lord?” the man stuttered, and almost dropped his spear, appalled at being talked to by the Most High, wanting to kneel at once. “Me, I … go and drink, Sire …”

“Don’t call me ‘Sire,’” Yoshi hissed, startled by the sudden confusion his question had caused in all those nearby, some of whom missed their footing and almost broke ranks. “Act normally—do not look at me! All of you!”

The soldier offered apologies, and those nearby tried to do what he had ordered, finding it almost impossible now that their Lord Yoshi had broken the spell of invisibility. The Sergeant glanced around and came back anxiously. “Everything all right, Lord? Is ev—”

“Yes, yes, Sergeant. Return to your post!”

Automatically the Sergeant bowed and obeyed, the soldiers picked up their step and continued onwards—their barracks a hundred metres ahead. To Yoshi’s relief this minor confusion went unnoticed by the crowd alongside who had been bowing as the column passed.

But it had been noticed by two men further down the street. They were the shishi lookout, Ruru, and his replacement, Rushan, a young Tosa ronin,
who had that moment arrived at the street stall not far from the Toranaga gateway. “Am I drunk, Rushan? A sergeant bowing to a foot soldier. A sergeant?”

“I saw it too, Izuru,” the other whispered. “Look at the soldier. There, you can see him now, the tall one near the back, look how he carries his spear. He is not used to it.”

“Right, but … What is it about him, eh?”

“See how the others watch him without watching!”

With growing excitement they scrutinized the soldier intently as the column approached. Though the soldier’s weapons were the same and uniform and everything the same, there was no mistaking a major difference: in carriage, step, the physical qualities of the man, however much he pretended to slouch.

“Lord Yoshi,” both men said simultaneously, and Rushan added at once, “He’s mine.”

“No, mine,” Izuru said.

“I saw him first!” Rushan whispered, committed, so impatient he could hardly talk.

“Both of us, together we have a better chance.”

“No, keep your voice down. One man one time, that was Katsumata’s order and we agreed. He is mine. Signal me when!” Heart pumping, Rushan eased through the pedestrians and other customers to a better attack position. They bowed politely, taking him for one of the many, ordinary, low-rank samurai off duty from one of the ceremonial garrisons and gave him no more attention, preparing to bow to the approaching column.