Shike, Robert J. Shea [ebook reader that looks like a book TXT] 📗

assistance, so it cannot later be said that there was a conspiracy to shorten his life.”

The temple priests agreed with General Miura’s estimate of Hideyori’s condition. Gravely, they told her she must expect the Shogun’s death. She warned the chief priest to be prepared in the next few days for the comings and goings of many officials of high rank. Then she sat beside Hideyori and stared down at the pale, immobile face. Surprisingly, she felt a pang of sorrow for him. A murderer, partly mad and deadly to those close to him, he was also a man whose powers of the mind equalled those of Kublai Khan.

Working with exquisite care, the priest-physicians removed Hideyori’s helmet and armour and bathed his face and body with cool water. Pairs of priests took turns ministering to him and chanting in the room where he lay. The chief priest assured Taniko that the temple was saying its most puissant prayers for the Shogun’s recovery or happy passage into the next world.

Seated beside Hideyori, lulled by the monotony of the priests’ voices, Taniko wondered what had really happened. If any spirit were powerful enough to return to earth after death, that spirit would be Jebu’s. But she had never before seen a ghost, and that made it harder to believe that the apparition that had frightened Hideyori’s horse came from the spirit world. There had been nothing ghostly in the monk’s appearance. It had seemed solid, breathing, fleshly, albeit aged and emaciated. But if it had been a ghost, would it not have taken the form of a younger, healthier Jebu? The more she considered it, the more certain she became that Jebu must be alive. The thought made her head swim. Yet, there was the report of his death in the mountains of Oshu. Her own father, Bokuden, had identified Jebu’s head. What should she believe? What others told her, or what she had seen with her own eyes? But how could Jebu have survived?

One person might know-Moko. He had disappeared after learning that Jebu was in Oshu. When she had made inquiries, his family had said he had gone to supervise the building of warships in Nagato province. He had not come back until long after Jebu was reported dead. Perhaps he was hiding something. She must talk to him as soon as possible. Her mind spun dizzily as it tried to absorb the sudden reversal of her position. Early this morning Hideyori was triumphant, Jebu was dead, and she expected to be killed. Now Hideyori was dying, Jebu might be alive and she was, for the moment, safe. It was as Eisen was always saying; it was foolish to be certain of anything. The evil she had heard about Jebu, after Atsue’s death, had turned out to be a lie. She could love Jebu again. She looked down at the dying Hideyori and apologized to him in her mind for the joy she was beginning, uncertainly, to feel at his deathbed.

More pressing problems demanded her attention. What would Hideyori’s death mean to the future of her family? She realized that she was no longer just a woman who had no control over what happened to herself. She was the widow of the Shogun and foster mother of the Shogun’s heir. She could command attention. Her first and most important consideration must be to make sure of Sametono’s claim to the Shogunate. But the boy was only nine years old. Just as the Emperors in Heian Kyo had Regents who governed in their name, so a Regent would have to be appointed to head the Bakufu in Sametono’s name. She couldn’t hold that position herself. Not for centuries had a woman held any high office in the Sunrise Land. Who then? With sinking heart she realized that the probable choice was Shima Bokuden. The Shima had been Hideyori’s earliest and strongest allies. As Sametono’s senior male relative, Bokuden would be the boy’s official guardian. Bokuden, that crafty, greedy, mean-spirited man whom she had despised ever since she could remember, would be the real ruler of the Sacred Islands. But Bokuden could never hold together the coalition of powerful, wilful warrior chieftains Hideyori had built to overthrow the Takashi and set up the Bakufu. Bokuden was the right sort of man to be Hideyori’s second-in-command, utterly without scruple, but such a man did not command enough respect to lead the nation. His inevitable failure could mean another civil war. And that, with the Mongols gathering their armies just over the horizon, might destroy the Sunrise Land forever. Still, there was no way for her to prevent Bokuden’s appointment as Regent. She would have to accept it and be ready for whatever developments might come afterwards. As today had proved, it was impossible to plan for an ever-changing future.

By afternoon the leading officers of the Bakufu, shocked and solemn, had assembled at the Hachiman shrine. Each went first to offer condolences to Taniko and stare down at the nearly lifeless Hideyori and make a silent estimate of how long he had to live. Then they held a brief meeting. Later, Ryuichi told her what had been decided.

“Eorgive me for saying it, but it makes it easier for us that the Shogun is so obviously about to die,” said Ryuichi. “Who would dare propose a successor for Lord Hideyori if there were a possibility of his recovering?”

The Bakufu’s leaders had agreed, as Taniko hoped they would, that Sametono must be the next Shogun. He was the only candidate whom all could accept without dispute. Next they decided, as Taniko had expected, that there must be a Regency until Sametono was old enough to govern, and that Shima Bokuden was the only possible choice for Regent. He would preside over a council of Bakufu officers.

“Hideyori did choose intelligent subordinates,” said Taniko. “Lesser men would have bickered for a month over so many important decisions.”

“Their intelligence in choosing my brother as Regent escapes me,” said Ryuichi. “No one respects him.”

“When strong men cannot find a leader whom everyone respects,” said Taniko, “they are better off with a leader whom no one respects.”

Now the Bakufu officers publicly announced that Hideyori had been badly injured in a fall from his horse and was unconscious. Even then they did not add that the Shogun was likely to die. They sent for Sametono, who came from the Shogun’s castle in an ox-drawn carriage like an old noble of Heian Kyo. The people of Kamakura lined up to watch the stately vehicle pass, knowing that the future of the realm rode in it. Taniko had not left Hideyori’s side all day, and she was still sitting there when Sametono entered. The boy’s round face was serious but calm. He looked thoughtfully down at Hideyori for a long time, then recited the invocation to Amida. Erom his sleeve he took a scroll.

“I wrote a poem for him. If I read it to him, do you think he’d hear it?”

“Perhaps,” Taniko said wearily. “We never know what unconscious people can hear.”

Sametono nodded and read his poem:

Beholding the stars,

I know that one day

They will fall from the sky.

If even stars must vanish,

Why mourn the shortness of life?

“That’s very beautiful, Sametono-chan. And it was kind of you to think of it.” Sametono took the flute, Little Branch, from its silk case at his belt. At the sight of the flute that had belonged to Kiyosi and Atsue, Taniko felt tears come to her eyes. To think, Hideyori would probably have killed this boy. Sametono sat on cushions at Hideyori’s feet and began to play soft, soothing airs, many of them well-known musical settings for the sutras. The priests in the corner of the room stopped chanting and listened with beatific smiles. Without apparent fatigue, Sametono played on for over an hour.

Hideyori opened his eyes. He blinked. The dark pupils focused on Taniko. His lips twitched. They were dry and stuck together. Taniko wet them with a damp cloth, and he licked his lips thirstily. She helped him sip water from a cup. A whisper crackled in his throat. She leaned forward, holding her hair back from her ear.

“Yukio is here. I can hear his flute.”

“That’s Sametono, your son. He is playing for your pleasure.”

“I never had any children. Karma. Get the priests to drive Yukio’s ghost away.” The fluttering lids curtained the dark eyes.

“What did he say, Mother?”

“He thanks you for your playing. He asks you to let him sleep now.”

That night she and Sametono slept side by side on pillows and quilts the priests set next to Hideyori’s bed. Somewhere in her dreams the pious chanting droned on. She woke many times during the night, listening to Hideyori’s laboured breathing, staring at his motionless face. There was a bubbling sound coming from his throat and chest. He’s going to drown, she thought, just as Horigawa did.

Sametono remained beside her the following morning, occupying himself by reading poems he had brought with him. Every so often he would read one aloud to her and the unconscious Hideyori. Taniko’s only fear was that Hideyori might waken and say something dreadful to Sametono that would hurt the boy. During the hour of the sheep Hideyori did manage to wake up again. She leaned forward to catch his words.

“What happened to me?”

“You fell from your horse.”

“I remember. A ghost. The Zinja.” His eyes widened in terror. “I can’t move.”

It was her duty to help him prepare himself, but she could not bring herself to say the words. Then Sametono was beside her.

“Eather, you are dying. Ask all the gods and Buddhas to be merciful to you.”

“Pray for me,” Hideyori murmured, fear and anguish in his face. “The whole realm prays for you,” said Sametono.

“I was only protecting myself,” Hideyori whispered. “I have never wanted to die.”

Eeeling an urge to comfort him, Taniko said, “I will see that the great Buddha you spoke of is built at Kamakura. It will bring you an abundance of good karma.” While at Heian Kyo, Hideyori had ordered the restoration of the great bronze statue of Buddha at the Todaiji in Nara, which had been burnt by the Takashi. He had remarked to Taniko that he dreamed of erecting an equally large Buddha for Kamakura.

The black eyes fixed on hers. “Have mercy on me, Mother, I’m afraid of them.”

Sametono turned to her, open-mouthed. “What did he mean by that? Mother?”

She sighed. “Your foster father was very attached to his mother.”

That evening the chief priest of the shrine came to visit them. “There are strange stories going about the city, my lady. People are saying that the ghost of Muratomo no Yukio caused the Shogun’s horse to throw him.”

In case Jebu was alive, Taniko shaped her answer to protect him. “I was too upset to see anything clearly. Those who have sympathy for the lieutenant might say his ghost took its vengeance on my husband. Perhaps it’s true. I don’t know.”

Taniko and Sametono fell asleep early that night, exhausted by the long hours of sitting and waiting. Suddenly she felt a hand gently shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes. Sametono was standing over her.

“He’s gone, Mother.” Tears were trickling down Sametono’s cheeks. Even for such a man as Hideyori, she thought, there was someone to weep.