Shogun - Clavell James (бесплатные полные книги .TXT) 📗

"The sky

Scorched by the sun,

Weeps Fecund tears."

Mariko obediently put her mind to work to play the poem game with him, - so popular with most samurai, spontaneously twisting the words of the poem that he had made up, adapting them, making another from his. After a moment she replied:

"But the forest

Wounded by the wind,

Weeps Dead leaves."

"Well said! Yes, very well said!" Toranaga looked at her contentedly, enjoying what he saw. She was dressed in a pale green kimono with patterns of bamboo, a dark green obi and orange sunshade. There was a marvelous sheen to the blue-black hair, which was piled high under her wide-brimmed hat. He remembered nostalgically how they had all - even the Dictator Goroda himself - wanted her when she was thirteen and her father, Akechi Jinsai, had first presented this, his eldest daughter, at Goroda's court. And how Nakamura, the Taiko-to-be, had begged the Dictator to give her to him, and then how Goroda had laughed, and publicly called him his randy little monkey general, and told him to "stick to fighting battles, peasant, don't fight to stick patrician holes!" Akechi Jinsai had openly scorned Nakamura, his rival for Goroda's favor, the main reason why Nakamura had delighted in smashing him. And why also Nakamura had delighted in watching Buntaro squirm for years, Buntaro who had been given the girl to cement an alliance between Goroda and Toda Hiro-matsu. I wonder, Toranaga asked himself mischievously, looking at her, I wonder if Buntaro were dead, would she consent to be one of my consorts? Toranaga had always preferred experienced women, widows or divorced wives, but never too pretty or too wise or too young or too well-born, so never too much trouble and always grateful.

He chuckled to himself. I'd never ask her because she's everything I don't want in a consort - except that her age is perfect.

"Sire?" she asked.

"I was thinking about your poem, Mariko-san," he said, even more blandly. Then added:

"Why so wintery?

Summer's Yet to come,

and the fall of Glorious autumn."

She said in answer:

"If I could use words

Like falling leaves,

What a bonfire

My poems would make!"

He laughed and bowed with mock humility. "I concede victory, Mariko-sama. What will the favor be? A fan? Or a scarf for your hair?"

"Thank you, Sire," she replied. "Yes, whatever pleases you."

"Ten thousand koku yearly to your son."

"Oh, Sire, we don't deserve such favor!"

"You won a victory. Victory and duty must be rewarded. How old is Saruji now?"

"Fifteen - almost fifteen."

"Ah, yes - he was betrothed to one of Lord Kiyama's granddaughters recently, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Sire. It was in the eleventh month last year, the Month of the White Frost. He's presently at Osaka with Lord Kiyama."

"Good. Ten thousand koku, beginning at once. I will send the authority with tomorrow's mail. Now, enough of poems, please give me your opinion."

"My opinion, Sire, is that we are all safe in your hands, as the land is safe in your hands."

"I want you to be serious."

"Oh, but I am, Sire. I thank you for the favor to my son. That makes everything perfect. I believe whatever you do will be right. By the Madon - yes, by the Madonna, I swear I believe that."

"Good. But I still want your opinion."

Immediately she replied, without a care in the world, as an equal to an equal. "First, you should bring Lord Zataki secretly back to your side. I'd surmise you either know how to do this already, or more probably, you have a secret agreement with your half brother, and you prompted his mythical 'defection' in the first place to lull Ishido into a false position. Next: You'll never attack first. You never have, you've always counseled patience, and you only attack when you're sure to win, so publicly ordering Crimson Sky at once is only another diversion. Next, timing: My opinion is you should do what you will do, pretend to order Crimson Sky but never commit it. This will throw Ishido into confusion because, obviously, spies here and in Yedo will report your plan, and he'll have to scatter his force like a covey of partridge, in filthy weather, to prepare for a threat that'll never materialize. Meanwhile you'll spend the next two months gathering allies, to undermine Ishido's alliances and break up his coalition, which you must do by any means. And of course, you must tempt Ishido out of Osaka Castle. If you don't, Sire, he will win, or at least, you will lose the Shogunate. You-"

"I've already made my position clear on that," Toranaga rapped, no longer amused. "And you forget yourself."

Mariko said carelessly and happily, "I have to talk secrets today, Sire, because of the hostages. They're a knife in your heart."

"What about them?"

"Be patient with me please Sire. I may never be able to talk to you in what the Anjin-san would call an 'open English private way' ever again - you're never alone like we're alone now. I beg you to excuse my bad manners." Mariko gathered her wits and, astoundingly, continued to speak as an equal. "My absolute opinion is that Naga-san was right. You must become Shogun, or you will have failed in your duty to the Empire and to the Minowara."

"How dare you say such a thing!"

Mariko remained quite serene, his open anger touching her not at all. "I counsel you to marry the Lady Ochiba. It's eight years before Yaemon's old enough, legally, to inherit - that's an eternity! Who knows what could happen in eight months, let alone eight years."

"Your whole family can be obliterated in eight days!"

"Yes, Sire. But that has nothing to do with you and your duty, and the realm. Naga-san's right. You must take the power to give power." With mock gravity she added breathlessly, "And now may your faithful counselor commit seppuku or should I do it later?" and she pretended to swoon.

Toranaga gawked at her incredible effrontery, then he roared with laughter and pounded his fist on the ground. When he could talk, he choked out, "I'll never understand you, Mariko-san."

"Ah, but you do, Sire," she said, patting the perspiration off her forehead. "You're kind to let this devoted vassal make you laugh, to listen to her requests, to say what must be said, had to be said. Forgive me my impertinence, please."

"Why should I, eh? Why?" Toranaga smiled, genial now.

"Because of the hostages, Sire," she said simply.

"Ah, them!" He too became serious.

"Yes. I must go to Osaka."

"Yes," he said. "I know."

Accompanied by Naga, Blackthorne trudged disconsolately down the hill toward the two figures who sat on the futons in the center of the ring of guards. Beyond the guards were the rising foothills of the mountains that soared to a clouded sky. The day was sultry. His head was aching from the grief of the last few days, from worrying about Mariko, and from being unable to talk except in Japanese for so long. Now he recognized her and some of his misery left him.

Many times he had gone to Omi's house to see Mariko or to inquire about her. Samurai had always turned him away, politely but firmly. Omi had told him as a tomodashi, a friend, that she was all right. Don't worry, Anjin-san. Do you understand? Yes, he had said, understanding only that he could not see her.

Then he had been sent for by Toranaga and had wanted to tell him so much but because of his lack of words had failed to do anything other than irritate him. Fujiko had gone several times to see Mariko. When she came back she always said that Mariko was well, adding the inevitable, "Shinpai suruna, Anjin-san. Wakarimasu?" Don't worry - do you understand?

With Buntaro it had been as though nothing had ever happened. They mouthed polite greetings when they met during the day. Apart from occasionally using the bath house, Buntaro was like any other samurai in Anjiro, neither friendly nor unfriendly.