“It’s impossible. Lord General,” Ochiba said. “You can’t let a lady of her rank commit seppuku. So sorry, but you’ve been trapped.”
“I agree,” Lord Kiyama said forcefully.
“With due humility, Lady,” Ishido said, “whatever I said or didn’t say, doesn’t matter an eta’s turd to her. She’d already decided, at least Toranaga had.”
“Of course he’s behind it,” Kiyama said as Ochiba recoiled at Ishido’s uncouthness. “So sorry, but he’s outsmarted you again. Even so you can’t let her commit seppuku!”
“Why?”
“Please, so sorry, Lord General, we must keep our voices down,” Ochiba said. They were waiting in the spacious antechamber of Lady Yodoko’s sick room in the inner quarters of the donjon, on the second floor. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault and there must be a solution.”
Kiyama said quietly, “You cannot let her continue her plan, Lord General, because that will inflame every lady in the castle.”
Ishido glared at him. “You seem to forget a couple were shot by mistake and that didn’t create a ripple among them—except to stop any more escape attempts.”
“That was a terrible mistake, Lord General,” Ochiba said.
“I agree. But we are at war, Toranaga’s not yet in our hands, and until he’s dead you and the Heir are in total danger.”
“So sorry—I’m not worried for myself—only for my son,” Ochiba said. “They’ve all got to be back here in eighteen days. I advise you to let them all go.”
“That’s an unnecessary risk. So sorry. We’re not certain she means it.”
“She does,” Kiyama told him contemptuously, despising Ishido’s truculent presence in the opulent, overrich quarters that reminded him so clearly of the Taikō, his friend and revered patron. “She’s samurai.”
“Yes,” Ochiba said. “So sorry, but I agree with Lord Kiyama. Mariko-san will do what she says. Then there’s that hag Etsu! Those Maedas are a proud lot, neh?”
Ishido walked over to the window and looked out. “They can all burn as far as I’m concerned. The Toda woman’s Christian, neh? Isn’t suicide against her religion? A special sin?”
“Yes, but she’ll have a second—so it won’t be suicide.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“What?”
“Say she’s disarmed and has no second?”
“How could you do that?”
“Capture her. Confine her with carefully chosen maids until Toranaga’s across our borders.” Ishido smiled. “Then she can do what she wants. I’d be even delighted to help her.”
“How could you capture her?” Kiyama asked. “She’d always have time to commit seppuku, or to use her knife.”
“Perhaps. But say she could be captured and disarmed and held for a few days. Isn’t the ‘few days’ vital? Isn’t that why she’s insisting on going today, before Toranaga crosses over our borders and castrates himself?”
“Could it be done?” Lady Ochiba asked.
“Possibly,” Ishido said.
Kiyama pondered this. “In eighteen days Toranaga must be here. He could delay at the border for at the most another four days. She would have to be held for a week at the most.”
“Or forever,” Ochiba said. “Toranaga’s delayed so much, I sometimes think he’ll never come.”
“He has to by the twenty-second day,” Ishido said. “Ah, Lady, that was a brilliant, brilliant idea.”
“Surely that was your idea, Lord General?” Ochiba’s voice was soothing though she was very tired from a sleepless night. “What about Lord Sudara and my sister? Are they with Toranaga now?”
“No, Lady. Not yet. They will be brought here by sea.”
“She is not to be touched,” Ochiba said. “Or her child.”
“Her child is direct heir of Toranaga, who’s heir to the Minowaras. My duty to the Heir, Lady, makes me point this out again.”
“My sister is not to be touched. Nor is her son.”
“As you wish.”
She said to Kiyama, “Sire, how good a Christian is Mariko-san?”
“Pure,” Kiyama replied at once. “You mean about suicide being a sin? I—I think she would honor that or her eternal soul is forfeit, Lady. But I don’t know if . . .”
“Then there’s a simpler solution,” Ishido said without thinking. “Command the High Priest of the Christians to order her to stop harassing the legal rulers of the Empire!”
“He doesn’t have the power,” Kiyama said. Then he added, his voice even more barbed, “That’s political interference—something you’ve always been bitterly against, and rightly.”
“It seems Christians interfere only when it suits them,” Ishido said. “It was only a suggestion.”
The inner door opened and a doctor stood there. His face was grave and exhaustion aged him. “So sorry, Lady, she’s asking for you.”
“Is she dying?” Ishido asked.
“She’s near death, Lord General, yes, but when, I don’t know.”
Ochiba hurried across the large room and through the inner door, her blue kimono clinging, the skirts swaying gracefully. Both men watched her. The door closed. For a moment the two men avoided each other’s eyes, then Kiyama said, “You really think Lady Toda could be captured?”
“Yes,” Ishido told him, watching the door.
Ochiba crossed this even more opulent room and knelt beside the futons. Maids and doctors surrounded them. Sunlight seeped through the bamboo shutters and skittered off the gold and red inlaid carvings of the beams and posts and doors. Yodoko’s bed was surrounded by decorative inlaid screens. She seemed to be sleeping, her bloodless face settled within the hood of her Buddhist robe, her wrists thin, the veins knotted, and Ochiba thought how sad it was to become old. Age was so unfair to women. Not to men, only to women. Gods protect me from old age, she prayed. Buddha protect my son and put him safely into power and protect me only as long as I’m capable of protecting him and helping him.
She took Yodoko’s hand, honoring her. “Lady?”
“O-chan?” Yodoko whispered, using her nickname.
“Yes, Lady?”
“Ah, how pretty you are, so pretty, you always were.” The hand went up and caressed the beautiful hair and Ochiba was not offended by the touch but pleased as always, liking her greatly. “So young and beautiful and sweet-smelling. How lucky the Taikō was.”
“Are you in pain, Lady? Can I get you something?”
“Nothing—nothing, I just wanted to talk.” The old eyes were sunken but had lost none of their shrewdness. “Send the others away.”
Ochiba motioned them to leave and when they were alone she said, “Yes, Lady?”
“Listen, my darling, make the Lord General let her go.”
“He can’t, Lady, or all the other hostages will leave and we’ll lose strength. The Regents all agree,” Ochiba said.
“Regents!” Yodoko said with a thread of scorn. “Do you agree?”
“Yes, Lady, and last night you said she was not to go.”
“Now you must let her go or others will follow her seppuku and you and our son will be befouled because of Ishido’s mistake.”
“The Lord General’s loyal, Lady. Toranaga isn’t, so sorry.”
“You can trust Lord Toranaga—not him.”
Ochiba shook her head. “So sorry, but I’m convinced Toranaga’s committed to become Shōgun and will destroy our son.”
“You’re wrong. He’s said it a thousand times. Other daimyos are trying to use him for their own ambitions. They always have. Toranaga was the Taikō’s favorite. Toranaga has always honored the Heir. Toranaga’s Minowara. Don’t be swayed by Ishido, or the Regents. They’ve their own karmas, their own secrets, O-chan. Why not let her go? It’s all so simple. Forbid her the sea, then she can always be delayed somewhere inside our borders. She’s still in your General’s net, and Kiri and all the others, neh? She’ll be surrounded by Grays. Think like the Taikō would or like Toranaga would. You and our son are being pulled into . . .” The words trailed off and her eyelids began to flutter. The old lady gathered her remaining strength and continued, “Mariko-san could never object to guards. I know she means what she says. Let her go.”