Shogun - Clavell James (бесплатные полные книги .TXT) 📗
Blackthorne was aware that he was being watched. He pretended not to notice and tried to keep his back stiff and his face emotionless, and prayed that the sickness would not return to shame him. His pain increased.
The cortege wound through the castle strongpoints, past thousands of samurai drawn up in silent ranks. No one was challenged, no papers demanded. The mourners went through checkpoint after checkpoint, under portcullises and across the five moats without stopping. Once through the main gate, outside the main fortifications, he noticed his Grays become more wary, their eyes watching everyone nearby, keeping close to him, guarding him very carefully. This lessened his anxiety. He had not forgotten that he was a marked man. The procession curled across a clear space, went over a bridge, then took up station in the square beside the river bank.
This space was three hundred paces by five hundred paces. In the center was a pit fifteen paces square and five deep, filled With wood. Over the pit was a high matted roof dressed with white silk and surrounding it were walls of white linen sheets, hung from bamboos, that pointed exactly East, North, West, and South, a small wooden gate in the middle of each wall.
"The gates are for the soul to go through, Anjin-san, in its flight to heaven," Mariko had told him at Hakone.
"Let's go for a swim or talk of other things. Happy things."
"Yes, of course, but first please may I finish because this is a very happy thing. Our funeral is most very important to us so you should learn about it, Anjin-san, neh? Please?"
"All right. But why have four gates? Why not just one?"
"The soul must have a choice. That's wise - oh, we are very wise, neh? Did I tell thee today that I love thee?" she had said. "We are a very wise nation to allow the soul a choice. Most souls choose the south gate, Anjin-san. That's the important one, where there are tables with dried figs and fresh pomegranates and other fruits, radishes and other vegetables, and the sheaves of rice plantlets if the season is correct. And always a bowl of fresh cooked rice, Anjin-san, that's most important. You see, the soul might want to eat before leaving."
"If it's me, put a roast pheasant or-" "So sorry, no flesh - not even fish. We're serious about that, Anjin-san. Also on the table there'll be a small brazier with coals burning nicely with precious woods and oils in it to make everything smell sweet . . . .
Blackthorne felt his eyes fill with tears.
"I want my funeral to be near dawn," she had always said so serenely. "I love the dawn most of all. And, if it could also be in the autumn..."
My poor darling, he thought. You knew all along there'd never be an autumn.
His litter stopped in a place of honor in the front rank, near the center, and he was close enough to see tears on the water-sprinkled fruits. Everything was there as she had said. Around were hundreds of palanquins and the square was packed with a thousand samurai and their ladies on foot, all silent and motionless. He recognized Ishido and, beside him, Ochiba. Neither looked at him. They sat on their sumptuous litters and stared at the white linen walls that rustled in the gentling breeze. Kiyama was on the other side of Ochiba, Zataki nearby, with Ito. Onoshi's closed litter was also there. All had echelons of guards. Kiyama's samurai wore crosses. And Onoshi's.
Blackthorne looked around, seeking Yabu, but he could find him nowhere, nor were there any Browns or a friendly face. Now Kiyama was gazing at him stonily and when he saw the look in the eyes he was glad for his guards. Nonetheless he bowed slightly. But Kiyama's gaze never altered, nor was his politeness acknowledged. After a moment, Kiyama looked away and Blackthorne breathed easier.
The sound of drums and bells and metal beating on metal tore the air. Discordant. Piercing. All eyes went to the main gateway to the castle. Then, out of the maw came an ornate roofed palanquin, borne by eight Shinto priests, a high priest sitting on it like a graven Buddha. Other priests beat metal drums before and after this litter, and then came two hundred orange-robed Buddhist priests and more whiteclad Shinto priests, and then her bier.
The bier was rich and roofed, all in white, and she was dressed in white and propped sitting, her head slightly forward, her face made up and hair meticulous. Ten Browns were her pallbearers. Before the bier two priestlings strew tiny paper rose petals that the wind took and scattered, signifying that life was as ephemeral as a flower, and after them two priests dragged two spears backwards, indicating that she was samurai and duty strong as the steel blades were strong. After them came four priests with unlit torches. Saruji, her son, followed next, his face as white as his kimono. Then Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko, both in white, their hair loosed but draped in gossamer green. The girl's hair fell below her waist, Kiri's was longer. Then there was a space, and last was the remainder of the Toranaga garrison. Some of the Browns were wounded and many limped.
Blackthorne saw only her. She seemed to be in prayer and there was not a mark on her. He kept himself rigid, knowing what an honor this public ceremony, with Ishido and Ochiba as chief witnesses, was for her. But that did not lighten his misery.
For more than an hour, the high priest chanted incantations and the drums clamored. Then in a sudden silence, Saruji stepped forward and took an unlit torch and went to each of the four gates, East, North, West, and South, to make sure they were unobstructed.
Blackthorne saw that the boy was trembling, his eyes downcast as he came back to the bier. Then he lifted the white cord attached to it and guided the pallbearers through the south gate. The whole litter was placed carefully on the wood. Another solemn incantation, then Saruji touched the oil-soaked torch to the coals of the brazier. It blazed at once. He hesitated, then went back through the south gate alone and cast the torch into the pyre. The oil-impregnated wood caught. Quickly it became a furnace. Soon the flames were ten feet high. Saruji was forced back by the heat, then he fetched sweet-scented woods and oils and threw them into the fire. The tinder-dry roof exploded. The linen walls caught. Now the whole pit area was a raging, pyrogenic mass-swirling, crackling, unquenchable.
The roof posts collapsed. A sigh went through the onlookers. Priests came forward and put more wood onto the pyre and the flames rose farther, the smoke billowing. Now only the four small gates remained. Blackthorne saw the heat scorching them. Then they too burst into flames.
Then Ishido, the chief witness, got out of his palanquin and walked forward and made the ritual offering of precious wood. He bowed formally and sat again in his litter. At his order, the porters lifted him and he went back to the castle. Ochiba followed him. Others began to leave.
Saruji bowed to the flames a last time. He turned and walked over to Blackthorne. He stood in front of him and bowed. "Thank you, Anjin-san," he said. Then he went away with Kiri and Lady Sazuko.
"All finished, Anjin-san," the captain of Grays said with a grin. "Kami safe now. We go castle."
"Wait. Please."
"So sorry, orders, neh?" the captain said anxiously, the others guarding closely.
"Please wait."
Careless of their anxiety, Blackthorne got out of the litter, the pain almost blinding him. The samurai spread out, covering him. He walked to the table and picked up some of the small pieces of camphor wood and threw them into the furnace. He could see nothing through the curtain of flames.
"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, " he muttered in benediction and made a small sign of the cross. Then he turned and left the fire.
When he awoke his head was much better but he felt drained, the dull ache still throbbing behind his temples and across the front of his head.
