“I’d be glad to speak with you, but the shogun has summoned me.” The pain was agonizing, but Ogyu hid it. He never let his true emotions or his physical discomfort show in public. “I must go to him first.”
“I’ll go with you.” Sano turned his horse and rode uphill through the passage alongside Ogyu.
Yesterday’s talk had been bad enough. Now Ogyu dreaded having Sano present while he dealt with the shogun. “That would be my pleasure.”
Ogyu and Sano found the shogun in the sunken bathtub in his chamber. Most of Edo’s bath chambers, private and public, had been destroyed by the earthquake; the shogun was among the few people who still had one. His head and neck stuck up from the steaming water. His valet dressed his hair while he soaked. Charcoal braziers heated the moist air. Ogyu felt as if he would suffocate.
He and Sano knelt and bowed. The shogun barely nodded to Sano. He exclaimed, “Ogyu- san, I’m so glad you’re here!”
Ogyu relaxed a little; the headache didn’t stab quite so painfully. He felt more at ease with the shogun than with anyone except his wife and children. Most people feared the shogun’s power of life and death over them, but Ogyu hadn’t been afraid of the shogun since they’d first met almost twenty years ago. On that fateful day he’d crept into the shogun’s chamber, trembling with nerves, drenched in cold sweat. His aching head echoed with his parents’ orders to make the best of this onetime opportunity. Ogyu had expected the shogun to be a physical and intellectual giant, harshly critical. To his surprise, the great dictator was a slight, frail man with a meek manner. He’d invited Ogyu to read aloud a passage from Confucius, in Chinese, then translate it into Japanese. As Ogyu obeyed, his headache and anxiety faded because he was on familiar ground. The shogun was impressed. He said, “I’m having a banquet for my scholars tonight. Would you, ahh, do me the honor of attending?”
That was the beginning of Ogyu’s rise to glory. Instead of studying alone, he studied with the shogun. Instead of lecturing outside Z o j o Temple, he debated with the court’s most renowned Confucians. He even wrote the shogun’s Confucian lectures. Best of all, the shogun had to be the least observant person in the world. Ogyu never had to worry about lapses of appearance or behavior in his presence.
“How may I serve you, Your Excellency?” Ogyu said.
“A terrible problem has come up,” the shogun fretted. “I am in, ahh, desperate need of your advice.”
The shogun often consulted Ogyu about affairs of state and how to apply Confucian principles to them. Ogyu had always managed to give advice that satisfied the shogun and didn’t create hindrances for the men who really ran the government, but this was the first time the shogun had asked for his advice since the earthquake. Many political careers were foundering as officials failed to meet the shogun’s demands to solve the problems. Ogyu’s could be next.
He tried to ignore Sano while maintaining his smoothest composure. “I’ll advise you to the best of my ability. What is the problem?”
“Have you heard what my astronomer said, about the bad constellations?” the shogun said. “That they mean the cosmos is displeased with a high-ranking person within my regime and sent the earthquake as a message?”
“Yes.” Ogyu would rather not get involved in the dangerous controversy. His head pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil.
“My spies say there’s much speculation about which high-ranking person has, ahh, offended the gods. Many people think it’s me!” the shogun cried.
Ogyu exchanged astonished glances with Sano; they shared the thought that the madness in the air was inducing men to commit treason by blaming the shogun for the earthquake and risking death. Ogyu quickly broke eye contact, afraid that Sano would read his other thoughts.
“They say I’m not a good ruler. And that the gods will-” The shogun sobbed.
“What is it, Your Excellency?” Sano said with concern.
Ogyu felt his own concern to be magnitudes greater than Sano’s. He, unlike most people, was truly fond of the shogun. “You can tell me, Your Excellency.”
“The gods will send other disasters unless I, ahh, step down!”
This shocked Ogyu, even though it was no secret that the shogun had serious shortcomings as a ruler and that many people would like to see the government in more capable hands. The office of dictator was hereditary; Japan was stuck with the shogun until he died. But now it seemed that some men would take advantage of the earthquake to force him out.
“You don’t have to listen to the opinions of people who are so cowardly that they talk behind your back instead of coming forward and saying their say in person,” Sano said in a reasonable tone.
“But what if they’re right?” the shogun asked anxiously. “What if I am such a terrible ruler that I caused the earthquake? If so, and I don’t step down, the world could end!”
Ogyu watched Sano try not to roll his eyes. Sano was skeptical about the idea that the shogun had such a degree of control over nature, but Ogyu believed in the mystical interplay between humans and the cosmos, and what mattered was that the shogun also believed in it.
“That’s why I summoned you,” the shogun told Ogyu. “You’re the expert on Confucius. Confucius was the expert on, ahh, how to keep government in harmony with the cosmos. Tell me, please, what would Confucius have me do?”
This was the most important service the shogun had ever asked of Ogyu. This moment could make or destroy him, could preserve the status quo or shatter the regime. If only it hadn’t come while Sano was watching, while the threat of a murder investigation loomed over Ogyu’s throbbing head!
“According to Confucius, it is not for your people to decide whether the government is in harmony with the cosmos,” Ogyu said carefully. “The decision belongs to you, their leader. You and your advisors must analyze your policies and determine whether you are doing right.”
The shogun puckered his brow. “But what if I discover I’m doing wrong?” Steam from the bathwater condensed on his face and dripped down his cheeks. “Must I abdicate?”
Ogyu stole a glance at Sano, whose expression was grave, cautious. They were both dismayed that the shogun was so afraid of the gods, he might be willing to relinquish the dictatorship and let a war over the succession begin.
“No, you must identify the errors of your ways and change them,” Ogyu said.
“Are you sure?” Hope brightened the shogun’s perspiring face. “I really wouldn’t want to abdicate. I like being a great dictator.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Ogyu said, confident in his knowledge.
Sighing in relief, the shogun slid deeper into the tub until his chin touched the water; he leaned his head back against the rim. “Ahh, your advice has done me good, Ogyu- san. As a token of my gratitude, I’ll send you a present as soon as I finish my bath.”
He waved his hand, dismissing Ogyu and Sano. As they walked outside together, Ogyu felt his heart pounding in time with the fist that clenched and unclenched in his head.
“I commend you for preventing His Excellency from stepping down and throwing the country into chaos,” Sano said.
Ogyu heard genuine respect and gratitude in Sano’s voice, but he knew better than to think he was safe. He also knew he should wait for Sano to say why he wanted to talk again; he mustn’t reveal his interest in the murders or the fact that he knew things about them that he was hiding. But Sano didn’t speak. The suspense cranked up the pain in Ogyu’s head, which was almost unbearable.
“Is there any news about the murders?” Ogyu finally said.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Sano sounded strangely glad that Ogyu had spared him the need to broach the topic. Ogyu wondered if he wasn’t the only one of them with something to hide. “Madam Usugumo’s apprentice has been arrested.”