Yabu said, “There’s almost nothing to tell. I went to see him. He received me with the barest minimum of courtesy. First there were ‘greetings’ from Lord Ishido and a blunt invitation to ally myself secretly with him, to plan your immediate assassination, and to murder every Toranaga samurai in Izu. Of course I refused to listen, and at once—at once—without any courtesy whatsoever, he handed me that!” His finger stabbed belligerently toward the scroll. “If it hadn’t been for your direct order protecting him I’d have hacked him to pieces at once! I demand you rescind that order. I cannot live with this shame. I must have revenge!”
“Is that everything that happened?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
Toranaga passed over Yabu’s rudeness and scowled at Omi. “You’re to blame,
Omi bent his head. “Please excuse me, Sire.”
“I might, but I don’t see why Lord Yabu should. Now your lord’s accepted the scroll. Now he’s committed. Now he has to act one way or the other.”
“What?” said Yabu.
“Why else do you think I did what I did? To delay—of course, to delay,” said Toranaga.
“But one day? What’s the value of one day?” Yabu asked.
“Who knows? A day for you is one less for the enemy.” Toranaga’s eyes snapped back to Omi. “Was the message from Ishido verbal or in writing?”
Yabu answered instead. “Verbal, of course.”
Toranaga kept his penetrating gaze on Omi. “You’ve failed in your duty to your lord and to me.”
“Please excuse—”
“What exactly did you say?”
Omi did not reply.
“Have you forgotten your manners as well? What did you say?”
“Nothing, Sire. I said nothing.”
“What?”
Yabu blustered, “He said nothing to Zataki because he wasn’t present. Zataki asked to speak to me alone.”
“Oh?” Toranaga hid his glee that Yabu had had to admit what he had already surmised and that part of the truth was now in the open. “Please excuse me, Omi-san. I naturally presumed you were present.”
“It was my error, Sire. I should have insisted. You’re correct, I failed to protect my Lord,” Omi said. “I should have been more forceful. Please excuse me. Yabu-sama, please excuse me.”
Before Yabu could answer, Toranaga said, “Of course you’re forgiven, Omi-san. If your lord overruled you, that’s his privilege. You did overrule him, Yabu-sama?”
“Yes—yes, but I didn’t think it mattered. You think I . . .”
“Well, the harm’s done now. What do you plan to do?”
“Of course, dismiss the message for what is it, Sire.” Yabu was disquieted. “You think I could have avoided taking it?”
“Of course. You could have negotiated with him for a day. Maybe more. Weeks even,” Toranaga added, turning the knife deeper into the wound, maliciously delighted that Yabu’s own stupidity had thrust him onto the hook, and not at all concerned with the treachery Yabu had undoubtedly been bribed into, cajoled into, flattered into, or frightened into. “So sorry, but you’re committed. Never mind, it’s as you said, ‘The sooner everyone chooses sides the better.’ ” He got up. “There’s no need to go back to the regiment tonight. Both of you join me at the evening meal. I’ve arranged an entertainment.” For everyone, he added under his breath, with a great deal of satisfaction.
Kiku’s skillful fingers strummed a chord, the plectrum held firmly. Then she began to sing and the purity of her voice filled the hushed night. They sat spellbound in the large room that was open to the veranda and the garden beyond, entranced by the extraordinary effect she made under the flickering torches, the gold threads of her kimono catching the light as she leaned over the samisen.
Toranaga glanced around momentarily, aware of the night currents. On one side of him, Mariko sat between Blackthorne and Buntaro. On the other, Omi and Yabu, side by side. The place of honor was still empty. Zataki had been invited, but of course he had regretfully declined due to ill health, though he had been seen galloping the northern hills and was presently pillowing with his legendary strength. Naga and very carefully chosen guards were all around, Gyoko hovering somewhere in the background. Kiku-san knelt on the veranda facing them, her back to the garden—tiny, alone, and very rare.
Mariko was right, Toranaga thought. The courtesan’s worth the money. His spirit was beguiled by her, his anxiety about Zataki lessened. Shall I send for her again tonight or shall I sleep alone? His manhood stirred as he remembered last night.
“So, Gyoko-san, you wished to see me?” he had asked in his private quarters at the fortress.
“Yes, Sire.”
He lit the measured length of incense. “Please proceed.”
