Shōgun полностью

At the Hour of the Goat the cortege crossed the bridge again. Everything was as before, except that now Zataki and his men were lightly dressed for traveling—or skirmishing. They were all heavily armed and, though very well disciplined, all were spoiling for the death fight, if it came. They seated themselves neatly opposite Toranaga’s forces, which heavily outnumbered them. Father Alvito was to one side among the onlookers. And Blackthorne.

Toranaga welcomed Zataki with the same calm formality, prolonging the ceremonious seating. Today the two daimyos were alone on the dais, the cushions farther apart under a lower sky. Yabu, Omi, Naga, and Buntaro were on the earth surrounding Toranaga and four of Zataki’s fighting counselors spaced themselves behind him.

At the correct time, Zataki took out the second scroll. “I’ve come for your formal answer.”

“I agree to go to Osaka and to submit to the will of the Council,” replied Toranaga evenly, and bowed.

“You’re going to submit?” Zataki began, his face twisting with disbelief. “You, Toranaga-noh-Minowara, you’re going—”

“Listen,” Toranaga interrupted in his resonant commanding voice that richocheted around the clearing without seeming to be loud. “The Council of Regents should be obeyed! Even though it’s illegal, it is constituted and no single daimyo has the right to tear the realm apart, however much truth is on his side. The realm takes precedence. If one daimyo revolts, it is the duty of all to stamp him out. I swore to the Taikō I’d never be the first to break the peace, and I won’t, even though evil is in the land. I accept the invitation. I will leave today.”

Aghast, each samurai was trying to foretell what this unbelievable about-face would mean. All were achingly certain that most, if not all, would be forced to become ronin, with all that that implied—loss of honor, of revenue, of family, of future.

Buntaro knew that he would accompany Toranaga on his last journey and share his fate—death with all his family, of all generations. Ishido was too much his own personal enemy to forgive, and anyway, who would want to stay alive when his own lord gave up the true fight in such cowardly fashion. Karma, Buntaro thought bitterly. Buddha give me strength! Now I’m committed to take Mariko’s life and our son’s life before I take my own. When? When my duty’s done and our lord is safely and honorably gone into the Void. He will need a faithful second, neh? All gone, like autumn leaves, all the future and the present, Crimson Sky and destiny. It’s just as well, neh? Now Lord Yaemon will surely inherit. Lord Toranaga must be secretly tempted in his most private heart to take power, however much he denies it. Perhaps the Taikō will live again through his son and, in time, we’ll war on China again and win this time, to stand at the summit of the world as is our divine duty. Yes, the Lady Ochiba and Yaemon won’t sell us out next time as Ishido and his cowardly supporters did the last. . . .

Naga was bewildered. No Crimson Sky? No honorable war? No fighting to the death in the Shinano mountains or on the Kyoto plains? No honorable death in battle heroically defending the standard of his father, no mounds of enemy dead to straddle in a last glorious stand, or in a divine victory? No charge even with the filthy guns? None of that—just a seppuku, probably hurried, without pomp or ceremony or honor and his head stuck on a spike for common people to jeer at. Just a death and the end of the Yoshi line. For of course every one of them would die, his father, all his brothers and sisters and cousins, nephews and nieces and aunts and uncles. His eyes focused on Zataki. Blood lust began to flood his brain. . . .

Omi was watching Toranaga with half-seeing eyes, hatred devouring him. Our Master’s gone mad, he thought. How can he be so stupid? We’ve a hundred thousand men and the Musket Regiment and fifty thousand more around Osaka! Crimson Sky’s a million times better than a lonely stinking grave!

His hand was heavy on his sword hilt and, for an ecstatic moment, he imagined himself leaping forward to decapitate Toranaga, to hand the head to the Regent Zataki and so end the contemptuous charade. Then to die by his own hand with honor, here, before everyone. For what was the point of living now? Now Kiku was beyond his reach, her contract bought and owned by Toranaga who had betrayed them all. Last night his body had been on fire during her singing and he knew her song had been secretly for him, and him alone. Unrequited fire—him and her. Wait—why not a suicide together? To die beautifully together, to be together for all eternity. Oh, how wonderful that would be! To mix our souls in death as a never-ending witness to our adoration of life. But first the traitor Toranaga, neh?

With an effort Omi dragged himself back from the brink.