Why did the Anjin-san really go after Buntaro with pistols? Because of Mariko, of course. But have they pillowed? They’ve had plenty of opportunity. I think yes. “Lavish” she said that first day. Good. Nothing wrong in their pillowing—Buntaro was believed dead—providing it’s a perpetual secret. But the Anjin-san was stupid to risk so much over another man’s woman. Aren’t there always a thousand other, free and unattached, equally pretty, equally small or big or fine or tight or highborn or whatever, without the hazard of belonging elsewhere? He acted like a stupid, jealous barbarian. Remember the Rodrigues-anjin? Didn’t he duel and kill another barbarian according to their custom, just to take a lowclass merchant’s daughter that he then married in Nagasaki? Didn’t the Taikō let this murder go unavenged, against my advice, because it was only a barbarian death and not one of ours? Stupid to have two laws, one for us, one for them. There should be only one. There must be only one law.
   No, I won’t fly the Anjin-san at Buntaro, I need that fool. But whether those two pillowed or not, I hope the thought never occurs to Buntaro. Then I would have to kill Buntaro quickly, for no force on earth would stop him from killing the Anjin-san and Mariko-san and I need them more than Buntaro. Should I eliminate Buntaro now?
   The moment Buntaro had sobered up, Toranaga had sent for him. “How dare you put your interest in front of mine! How long will Mariko-san be unable to interpret?”
   “The doctor said a few days, Sire. I apologize for all the trouble!”
   “I made it very clear I needed her services for another twenty days. Don’t you remember?”
   “Yes. I’m sorry.”
   “If she’d displeased you, a few slaps on the buttocks would’ve been more than enough. All women need that from time to time, but more is loutish. You’ve selfishly jeopardized the training and acted like a bovine peasant. Without her I can’t talk to the Anjin-san!”
   “Yes. I know, Lord, I’m sorry. It’s the first time I’ve hit her. It’s just—sometimes she drives me insane, so much that—that I can’t seem to see.”
   “Why don’t you divorce her then? Or send her away? Or kill her, or order her to cut her throat when I’ve no further use for her?”
   “I can’t. I can’t, Lord,” Buntaro had said. “She’s—I’ve wanted her from the first moment I saw her. When we were married, the first time, she was everything a man could want. I thought I was blessed—you remember how every daimyo in the realm wanted her! Then … then I sent her away to protect her after the filthy assassination, pretending to be disgusted with her for her safety, and then, when the Taikō told me to bring her back years later, she excited me even more. The truth is I expected her to be grateful, and took her as a man will, and didn’t care about the little things a woman wants, like poems and flowers. But she’d changed. She was as faithful as ever, but just ice, always asking for death, for me to kill her.” Buntaro was frantic. “I can’t kill her or allow her to kill herself. She’s tainted my son and makes me detest other women but I can’t rid myself of her. I’ve … I’ve tried being kind but always the ice is there and it drives me mad. When I came back from Korea and heard she’d converted to this nonsense Christian religion I was amused, for what does any stupid religion matter? I was going to tease her about it but before I knew what was happening, I had my knife at her throat and swore I’d cut her if she didn’t renounce it. Of course she wouldn’t renounce it, what samurai would under such a threat, neh? She just looked up at me with those eyes of hers and told me to go on. ‘Please cut me, Lord,’ she said. ‘Here, let me hold my head back for you. I pray God I’ll bleed to death,’ she said. I didn’t cut her, Sire. I took her. But I did cut off the hair and ears of some of her ladies who had encouraged her to become Christian and turned them out of the castle. And I did the same to her foster mother, and cut off her nose as well, vile-tempered old hag! And then Mariko said, because … because I’d punished her ladies, the next time I came to her bed uninvited she’d commit seppuku, in any way she could, at once … in spite of her duty to you, in spite of her duty to the family, even in spite of the—the commandments of her Christian God!” Tears of rage were running down his cheeks unheeded. “I can’t kill her, much as I want to. I can’t kill Akechi Jinsai’s daughter, much as she deserves it…”
   Toranaga had let Buntaro rant on until he was spent, then dismissed him, ordering him to stay totally away from Mariko until he considered what was to be done. He dispatched his own doctor to examine her. The report was favorable: bruises but no internal damage.
   For his own safety, because he expected treachery and the sand of time was running out, Toranaga decided to increase the pressure on all of them. He ordered Mariko into Omi’s house with instructions to rest, to stay within the confines of the house and completely out of the Anjin-san’s way. Next he had summoned the Anjin-san and pretended irritation when it was clear they could hardly converse at all, dismissing him peremptorily. All training was intensified. Cadres were sent on forced marches. Naga was ordered to take the Anjin-san along and walk him into the ground. But Naga didn’t walk the Anjin-san into the ground.
   So he tried himself. He led a battalion eleven hours over the hills. The Anjin-san kept up, not with the front rank, but still he kept up. Back again at Anjiro, the Anjin-san said in his almost incomprehensible gibberish, hardly able to stand, “Toranaga-sama, I walk can. I guns training can. So sorry, no possibles two at same timings, neh?”
   Toranaga smiled now, lying under the overcast waiting for the rain, warmed by the game of breaking Blackthorne to the fist. He’s a shortwing all right. Mariko’s equally tough, equally intelligent, but more brilliant, and she’s got a ruthlessness that he’ll never have. She’s like a peregrine, like Tetsu-ko. The best. Why is it the female hawk, the falcon, is always bigger and faster and stronger than the male, always better than the male?
   They’re all hawks—she, Buntaro, Yabu, Omi, Fujiko, Ochiba, Naga and all my sons and my daughters and women and vassals, and all my enemies—all hawks, or prey for hawks.
   I must get Naga into position high over his quarry and let him stoop. Who should it be? Omi or Yabu?
   What Naga had said about Yabu was true.
   “So, Yabu-san, what have you decided?” he had asked, the second day.
   “I’m not going to Osaka until you go, Sire. I’ve ordered all Izu mobilized.”
   “Ishido will impeach you.”
   “He’ll impeach you first, Sire, and if the Kwanto falls, Izu falls. I made a solemn bargain with you. I’m on your side. The Kasigi honor their bargains.”
   “I’m equally honored to have you as an ally,” he had lied, pleased that Yabu had once more done what he had planned for him to do. The next day Yabu had assembled a host and asked him to review it and then, in front of all his men, knelt formally and offered himself as vassal.
   “You acknowledge me your feudal lord?” Toranaga had said.
   “Yes. And all the men of Izu. And Lord, please accept this gift as a token of filial duty.” Still on his knees, Yabu had offered his Murasama sword. “This is the sword that murdered your grandfather.”
   “That’s not possible!”
   Yabu had told him the history of the sword, how it had come down to him over the years and how, only recently, he had learned of its true identity. He summoned Suwo. The old man told what he had witnessed when he himself was little more than a boy.
   “It’s true, Lord,” Suwo had said proudly. “No man saw Obata’s father break the sword or cast it into the sea. And I swear by my hope of samurai rebirth that I served your grandfather, Lord Chikitada. I served him faithfully until that day he died. I was there, I swear it.”
   Toranaga had accepted the sword. It seemed to quiver with malevolence in his hand. He had always scoffed at the legend that certain swords possessed a killing urge of their own, that some swords needed to leap out of the scabbard to drink blood, but now Toranaga believed it.
   He shuddered, remembering that day. Why do Murasama blades hate us? One killed my grandfather. Another almost cut off my arm when I was six, an unexplained accident, no one near but still my sword arm was slashed and I nearly bled to death. A third decapitated my first-born son.
   “Sire,” Yabu had said, “such a befouled blade shouldn’t be allowed to live, neh? Let me take it out to sea and drown it so that this sword at least can never threaten you or your descendants.”
   “Yes—yes,” he had muttered, thankful that Yabu had made the suggestion. “Do it now!” And only when the sword had sunk out of sight, into the very deep, witnessed by his own men, had his heart begun to pump normally. He had thanked Yabu, ordered taxes to be stabilized at sixty parts for peasants, forty for their lords, and had given him Izu as his fief. So everything was as before, except that now all power in Izu belonged to Toranaga, if he wished to take it back.
   Toranaga turned over to ease the ache in his sword arm and settled again more comfortably, enjoying the nearness of the earth, gaining strength from it as always.
   That blade’s gone, never to return. Good, but remember what the old Chinese soothsayer foretold, he thought: that you would die by the sword. But whose sword and is it to be by my own hand or another’s?
   I’ll know when I know, he told himself without fear.
   Now sleep. Karma is karma. Be thou of Zen. Remember, in tranquillity, that the Absolute, the Tao, is within thee, that no priest or cult or dogma or book or saying or teaching or teacher stands between Thou and It. Know that Good and Evil are irrelevant, I and Thou irrelevant, Inside and Outside irrelevant as are Life and Death. Enter into the Sphere where there is no fear of death nor hope of afterlife, where thou art free of the impediments of life or the needs of salvation. Thou art thyself the Tao. Be thou, now, a rock against which the waves of life rush in vain…
   The faint shout brought Toranaga out of his meditation and he leaped to his feet. Naga was excitedly pointing westward. All eyes followed his point.
   The carrier pigeon was flying in a direct line for Anjiro from the west. She fluttered into a distant tree to rest for a moment, then took off once more as rain began to fall.
   Far to the west, in her wake, was Osaka.

Chapter 37

   The handler at the pigeon coop held the bird gently but firmly as Toranaga stripped off his sodden clothes. He had galloped back through the downpour. Naga and other samurai anxiously crowded the small doorway, careless of the warm rain which still fell in torrents, drumming on the tiled roof.
   Carefully Toranaga dried his hands. The man offered the pigeon. Two tiny, beaten-silver cylinders were attached to each of her legs. One would have been usual. Toranaga had to work hard to keep the nervous tremble out of his fingers. He untied the cylinders and took them over to the light of the window opening to examine the minute seals. He recognized Kiri’s secret cipher. Naga and the others were watching tensely. His face revealed nothing.
   Toranaga did not break the seals at once, much as he wanted to. Patiently he waited until a dry kimono was brought. A servant held a large oiled-paper umbrella for him and he walked to his own quarters in the fortress. Soup and cha were waiting. He sipped them and listened to the rain. When he felt calm, he posted guards and went into an inner room. In privacy he broke the seals. The paper of the four scrolls was very thin, the characters tiny, the message long and in code. Decoding was laborious. When it was completed, he read the message and then reread it twice. Then he let his mind range.
   Night came. The rain stopped. Oh, Buddha, let the harvest be good, he prayed. This was the season when the paddy fields were being flooded and, throughout the land, the pale green rice seedlings were being planted into the weedless, almost liquid fields to be harvested in four or five months, depending on the weather. And, throughout the land, the poor and the rich, eta and emperor, servant and samurai, all prayed that just the right amount of rain and sun and humidity came correctly in its season. And every man, woman, and child counted the days to harvest.
   We’ll need a great harvest this year, thought Toranaga.
   “Naga! Naga-san!”
   His son came running. “Yes, Father?”
   “At the first hour after dawn fetch Yabu-san and his chief advisers to the plateau. Also Buntaro and our three senior captains. And Mariko-san. Bring them all to the plateau at dawn. Mariko-san can serve cha. Yes. And I want the Anjin-san standing by at the camp. Guards to ring us at two hundred paces.”
   “Yes, Father.” Naga turned to obey. Unable to contain himself he blurted out, “Is it war? Is it?”
   Because Toranaga needed a harbinger of optimism throughout the fortress, he did not berate his son for the ill-disciplined impertinence.
   “Yes,” he said. “Yes—but on my terms.”
   Naga closed the shoji and rushed off. Toranaga knew that, although Naga’s face and manner would now be outwardly composed, nothing would disguise the excitement in his walk or the fire behind his eyes. So rumor and counterrumor would rush through Anjiro to spread quickly throughout Izu and beyond, if the fires were fed properly.
   “I’m committed now,” he said aloud to the flowers that stood serenely in the takonama, shadows flickering in the pleasant candlelight.
   Kiri had written: “Sire, I pray Buddha you are well and safe. This is our last carrier pigeon so I also pray Buddha guides her to you—traitors killed all the others last night by firing the coop and this one escaped only because she’s been sick and I was nursing her privately.
   “Yesterday morning Lord Sugiyama suddenly resigned, exactly as planned. But before he could make good his escape, he was trapped on the outskirts of Osaka by Ishido’s ronin. Unhappily some of Sugiyama’s family were also caught with him—I heard he was betrayed by one of his people. Rumor has it that Ishido offered him a compromise: that if Lord Sugiyama delayed his resignation until after the Council of Regents convened (tomorrow), so that you could be legally impeached, in return Ishido guaranteed that the Council would formally give Sugiyama the whole of the Kwanto and, as a measure of good faith, Ishido would release him and his family at once. Sugiyama refused to betray you. Immediately Ishido ordered eta to convince him. They tortured Sugiyama’s children, then his consort, in front of him, but he still would not abandon you. They were all given bad deaths. His, the final one, was very bad.
   “Of course, there were no witnesses to this treachery and it’s all hearsay but I believe it. Of course Ishido disclaimed any knowledge of the murders or participation in them, vowing that he’ll hunt down the ‘murderers.’ At first Ishido claimed that Sugiyama had never actually resigned, therefore, in his opinion, the Council could still meet. I sent copies of Sugiyama’s resignation to the other Regents, Kiyama, Ito, and Onoshi, and sent another openly to Ishido and circulated four more copies among the daimyos. (How clever of you, Tora-chan, to have known that extra copies would be necessary.) So, from yesterday, exactly as you planned with Sugiyama, the Council is legally no more—in this you’ve succeeded completely.
   “Good news: Lord Mogami safely turned back outside the city with all his family and samurai. Now he’s openly your ally, so your far-northern flank is secure. The Lords Maeda, Kukushima, Asano, Ikeda, and Okudiara all quietly slipped out of Osaka last night to safety—also the Christian Lord Oda.
   “Bad news is that the families of Maeda, Ikeda, and Oda and a dozen other important daimyos did not escape and are now hostage here, as are those of fifty or sixty lesser uncommitted lords.
   “Bad news is that yesterday your half brother, Zataki, Lord of Shinano, publicly declared for the Heir, Yaemon, against you, accusing you of plotting with Sugiyama to overthrow the Council of Regents by creating chaos, so now your northeastern border is breached and Zataki and his fifty thousand fanatics will oppose you.
   “Bad news is that almost every daimyo accepted the Emperor’s ‘invitation.’
   “Bad news is that not a few of your friends and allies here are incensed that you did not give them prior knowledge of your strategy so they could prepare a line of retreat. Your old friend, the great Lord Shimazu, is one. I heard this afternoon that he’s openly demanded that all lords should be ordered by the Emperor to kneel before the boy, Yaemon, now.
   “Bad news is that Lady Ochiba is brilliantly spinning her web, promising fiefs and titles and court rank to the uncommitted. Tora-chan, it’s a great pity she’s not on your side, she’s a worthy enemy. The Lady Yodoko alone advocates prayer and calm but no one listens, and the Lady Ochiba wants to precipitate war now while she feels you’re weak and isolated. So sorry, my Lord, but you’re isolated and, I think, betrayed.
   “Worst of all is that now the Christian Regents, Kiyama and Onoshi, are openly together and violently opposed to you. They issued a joint statement this morning deploring Sugiyama’s ‘defection,’ saying that his action has put the realm into confusion, that ‘we must all be strong for the sake of the Empire. The Regents have supreme responsibility. We must be ready to stamp out, together, any lord or group of lords who wish to overthrow the Taikō’s will, or the legal succession.’ (Does this mean they plan to meet as a Council of four Regents?) One of our Christian spies in the Black Robes’ headquarters here whispered that the priest Tsukku-san secretly left Osaka five days ago, but we don’t know if he went to Yedo or to Nagasaki, where the Black Ship is expected. Did you know it will be very early this season? Perhaps within twenty or thirty days?
   “Sire: I’ve always hesitated about giving quick opinions based on hearsay, rumors, spies, or a woman’s intuition (there, you see, Tora-chan, I have learned from you!) but time is short and I may not be able to speak to you again: First, too many families are trapped here. Ishido will never let them go (as he will never let us go). These hostages are an immense danger to you. Few lords have Sugiyama’s sense of duty or fortitude. Very many, I think, will now go with Ishido, however reluctantly, because of these hostages. Next, I think that Maeda will betray you, also probably Asano. I tally of all two hundred and sixty-four daimyos in our land, only twenty-four who are certain to follow you, another fifty possibly. That’s not nearly enough. Kiyama and Onoshi will sway all or most of the Christian daimyos and I believe they will not join you now. Lord Mori, the richest and greatest of all, is against you personally, as always, and he’ll pull Asano, Kobayakawa, and perhaps Oda into his net. With your half brother Lord Zataki against you, your position is terribly precarious. I counsel you to declare Crimson Sky at once and rush for Kyoto. It’s your only hope.
   “As to the Lady Sazuko and myself, we’re well and content. The child quickens nicely and if it’s the child’s karma to be born, thus will it happen. We’re safe in our corner of the castle, the door tightly locked, the portcullis down. Our samurai are filled with devotion to you and to your cause and if it is our karma to depart this life then we will depart serenely. Your Lady misses you greatly, very greatly. For myself, Tora-chan, I long to see you, to laugh with you, and to see your smile. My only regret in death would be that I could no longer do these things, and watch over you. If there is an afterlife and God or Buddha or kami exist, I promise I will somehow bend them all to your side … though first I may beseech them to make me slender and young and fruitful for you, yet leave me my enjoyment of food. Ah, that would indeed be heaven, to be able to eat and eat and yet be perpetually young and thin!
   “I send you my laughter. May Buddha bless thee and thine.”


   Toranaga read them the message, except the private part about Kiri and the Lady Sazuko. When he had finished they looked at him and each other incredulously, not only because of what the message said but also because he was so openly taking them all into his confidence.
   They were seated on mats set in a semicircle around him in the center of the plateau, without guards, safe from eavesdroppers. Buntaro, Yabu, Igurashi, Omi, Naga, the captains, and Mariko. Guards were posted two hundred paces away.
   “I want some advice,” Toranaga said. “My counselors are in Yedo. This matter is urgent and I want all of you to act in their place. What’s going to happen and what I should do. Yabu-san?”
   Yabu was in turmoil. Every path seemed to lead to disaster. “First, Sire, just exactly what is ‘Crimson Sky’?”
   “It’s the code name for my final battle plan, a single violent rush at Kyoto with all my legions, relying on mobility and surprise, to take possession of the capital from the evil forces that now surround it, to wrest the person of the Emperor from the filthy grasp of those who’ve duped him, led by Ishido. Once the Son of Heaven’s safely released from their clutches, then to petition him to revoke the mandate granted the present Council who are clearly traitorous or dominated by traitors, and grant me his mandate to form a new Council which would put the interests of the realm and the Heir before personal ambition. I would lead eighty to one hundred thousand men, leaving my lands unprotected, my flanks unguarded, and a retreat unsecured.” Toranaga saw them staring at him flabbergasted. He did not mention the cadres of elite samurai who had been so furtively planted in many of the important castles and provinces over the years, and who were to explode simultaneously into revolt to create the chaos essential to the plan.
   Yabu burst out, “But you’d have to fight every pace of the way. Ikawa Jikkyu strangles the Tokaidō for a hundred ri. Then more Ishido strongholds straddle the rest!”
   “Yes. But I plan to rush northwest along the Koshu-kaidō, then stab down on Kyoto and stay away from the coast lands.”
   At once many shook their heads and began to speak but Yabu overrode them. “But, Sire, the message said your kinsman Zataki-san’s already gone over to the enemy! Now your road north is blocked too. His province is athwart the Koshu-kaidō. You’ll have to fight through all Shinano—that’s mountainous and very hard, and his men are fanatically loyal. You’ll be carved to pieces in those mountains.”
   “That’s the only way, the only way I have a chance. I agree there are too many hostiles on the coastal road.”
   Yabu glanced at Omi, wishing he could consult with him, loathing the message and the whole Osaka mess, hating being first to speak, and utterly detesting the vassal status he had accepted at Omi’s pleading.
   “It’s your only chance, Yabu-sama,” Omi had urged. “The only way you’ll avoid Toranaga’s trap and leave yourself room to maneuver—”
   Igurashi had interrupted furiously. “Better to fall on Toranaga today while he’s got few men here! Better to kill him and take his head to Ishido while there’s time.”
   “Better to wait, better to be patient—”
   “What happens if Toranaga orders our Master to give up Izu?” Igurashi had shouted. “As liege lord to vassal, Toranaga has that right!”
   “He’ll never do it. He needs our Master more than ever now. Izu guards his southern door. He can’t have Izu hostile! He must have our Master on his—”
   “What if he orders Lord Yabu out?”
   “We rebel! We kill Toranaga if he’s here or fight any army he sends against us. But he’ll never do that, don’t you see? As his vassal, Toranaga must protect–”
   Yabu had let them argue and then at length he had seen Omi’s wisdom. “Very well. I agree! And offering him my Murasama sword to fix the bargain’s genius, Omi-san,” he had gloated, taken whole heartedly by the cunning of the plan. “Yes. Genius. His Yoshitomo blade more than takes its place. And of course, I’m more valuable to Toranaga now than ever before. Omi’s right, Igurashi. I’ve no choice. I’m committed to Toranaga from now on. A vassal!”
   “Until war comes,” Omi had said deliberately.
   “Of course. Of course only until war comes! Then I can change sides—or do a dozen things. You’re right, Omi-san, again!”
   Omi’s the best counselor I’ve ever had, he told himself. But the most dangerous. Omi’s clever enough to take Izu if I die. But what does that matter. We’re all dead.
   “You’re blocked completely,” he told Toranaga. “You’re isolated.”
   “Is there any alternative?” Toranaga asked.
   “Excuse me, Sire,” Omi said, “but how long would it take to ready this attack?”
   “It’s ready now.”
   “Izu’s ready too, Sire,” Yabu said. “Your hundred and my sixteen thousand and the Musket Regiment—is that enough?”
   “No. Crimson Sky’s a desperation plan—everything risked on one attack.”
   “You have to risk it, as soon as the rains cease and we can war,” Yabu insisted. “What choice have you got? Ishido will form a new Council at once, they still have the mandate. So you’ll be impeached, today or tomorrow or the next day. Why wait to be eaten up? Listen, maybe the Regiment could blast a way through the mountains! Let it be Crimson Sky! All men thrown into one great attack. It’s the Way of the Warrior—it’s worthy of samurai, Toranaga-sama. The guns, our guns, will blow Zataki out of our way and if you succeed or fail, what does it matter? The try will live forever!”
   Naga said, “Yes. But we’ll win—we will!” A few of the captains nodded their agreement, relieved that war had come. Omi said nothing.
   Toranaga was looking at Buntaro. “Well?”
   “Lord, I beg you to excuse me from giving an opinion. I and my men do whatever you decide. That’s my only duty. My opinion is no value to you because I do what you alone decide.”
   “Normally I’d accept that but not today!”
   “War then. What Yabu-san says is right. Let’s go to Kyoto. Today, tomorrow, or when the rains stop. Crimson Sky! I’m tired of waiting.”
   “Omi-san?” Toranaga asked.
   “Yabu-sama is correct, Sire. Ishido will bend the Taikō’s will to appoint a new Council very soon. The new Council will have the Emperor’s mandate. Your enemies will applaud and most of your friends will hesitate and so betray you. The new Council will impeach you at once. Then—”
   “Then it’s Crimson Sky?” Yabu interrupted.
   “If Lord Toranaga orders it, then it is. But I don’t think the impeachment order has any value at all. You can forget it!”
   “Why?” Toranaga asked, as all attention went to Omi.
   “I agree with you, Sire. Ishido’s evil, neh? Any daimyos who agree to serve him are equally evil. True men know Ishido for what he is, and also know that the Emperor’s been duped again.” Omi was prudently treading through the quicksands that he knew could swallow him. “I think he made a lasting mistake murdering Lord Sugiyama. Because of those foul murders, I think now all daimyos will suspect treachery from Ishido, and very few outside of Ishido’s immediate grasp will bow to the orders of his ‘Council.’ You’re safe. For a time.”
   “For how much time?”
   “The rains are with us for two months, about. When the rains cease Ishido will plan to send Ikawa Jikkyu and Lord Zataki against you simultaneously, to catch you in a pincer, and Ishido’s main army will support them over the Tokaidō Road. Meanwhile, until the rains stop, every daimyo who bears a grudge against any other daimyo will only pay Ishido lip service until he makes the first move, then I think they’ll forget him and they’ll all take revenge or grab territory at their whim. The Empire will be torn as it was before the Taikō. But you, Sire, between Yabu-sama and yourself, jointly, with luck you have enough strength to hold the passes to the Kwanto and to Izu against the first wave and beat it off. I don’t think Ishido could mount another attack—not a great one. When Ishido and the others have expended their energies, together you and Lord Yabu can cautiously come from behind our mountains and gradually take the Empire into your own hands.”

   “When will that be?”
   “In the time of your children, Sire.”
   “You say fight a defensive battle?” Yabu asked scornfully.
   “I think jointly you’re both safe behind the mountains. You wait, Toranaga-sama. You wait until you have more allies. You hold the passes. This can be done! General Ishido’s evil, but not stupid enough to commit all his force to one battle. He’ll stay skulking inside Osaka. So for the time being, we mustn’t use our regiment. We must tighten security and keep them as a secret weapon, poised and ever ready, until you come from behind your mountains– but now I don’t think I will ever see them used.” Omi was conscious of the eyes watching him. He bowed to Toranaga. “Please excuse me for talking at length, Sire.”
   Toranaga studied him, then glanced at his son. He saw the youth’s pent-up excitement and knew it was time to cast him at his prey. “Naga-san?”
   “What Omi-san said is true,” Naga told him at once, exultantly. “Most of it. But I say use the two months to gather allies, to isolate Ishido even more, and when the rains cease, attack without warning—Crimson Sky.”
   Toranaga asked, “You disagree with Omi-san’s opinion about a lengthy war?”
   “No. But isn’t this—” Naga stopped.
   “Go on, Naga-san. Speak openly!”
   Naga held his tongue, his face white.
   “You’re ordered to continue!”
   “Well, Sire, it occurred to me that—” Again he stopped, then said in a gush, “Isn’t this your great opportunity to become Shōgun? If you succeed in taking Kyoto and get the mandate, why form a Council? Why not petition the Emperor to make you Shōgun? It would be best for you and best for the realm.” Naga tried to keep the fear out of his voice for he was speaking treason against Yaemon and most samurai here—Yabu, Omi, Igurashi, and Buntaro particularly—were open loyalists. “I say you should be Shōgun!” He turned defensively on the others. “If this opportunity is let go… Omi-san, you’re right about a long war, but I say Lord Toranaga must take power, to give power! A long war will ruin the Empire, split it into a thousand fragments again! Who wants that? Lord Toranaga must be Shōgun. To gift the Empire on to Yaemon, to Lord Yaemon, the realm must be secured first! There’ll never be another opportunity…” His words trailed off. He squared his back, frightened because he had said it, glad that he had said publicly what he had been thinking forever.
   Toranaga sighed. “I have never sought to become Shōgun. How many times do I have to say it? I support my nephew Yaemon and the Taikō’s will.” He looked at them all, one by one. Lastly at Naga. The youth winced. But Toranaga said kindly, calling him back to the lure, “Your zeal and youth alone excuse you. Unfortunately, many much older and wiser than you think that’s my ambition. It isn’t. There’s only one way to settle that nonsense and that’s put Lord Yaemon into power. And that I intend to do.”
   “Yes, Father. Thank you. Thank you,” Naga replied in despair.
   Toranaga shifted his eyes to Igurashi. “What’s your counsel?”
   The one-eyed samurai scratched. “Me, I’m only a soldier, not a counselor, but I wouldn’t advise Crimson Sky, not if we can war on our terms like Omi-san says. I fought in Shinano years ago. That’s bad country, and then Lord Zataki was with us. I wouldn’t want to war in Shinano again and never if Zataki was hostile. And if Lord Maeda’s suspect, well, how can you plan a battle if your biggest ally may betray you? Lord Ishido’ll put two, three hundred thousand men against you and still keep a hundred holding Osaka. Even with the guns we’ve not enough men to attack. But behind the mountains using the guns, you could hold out forever if it happens like Omi-san says. We could hold the passes. You’ve enough rice—doesn’t the Kwanto supply half the Empire? Well, a third at least—and we could send you all the fish you need. You’d be safe. Let Lord Ishido and devil Jikkyu come at us if it’s to happen like Omi-san said, that soon the enemy’ll be feeding on each other. If not, keep Crimson Sky ready. A man can die for his lord only once in this life.”
   “Has anyone anything to add?” Toranaga asked. No one answered him. “Mariko-san?”
   “It’s not my place to speak here, Sire,” she replied. “I’m sure everything has been said that should have been said. But may I be allowed to ask for all your counselors here, what do you think will happen?”
   Toranaga chose his words deliberately. “I believe that what Omi-san forecast will happen. With one exception: the Council won’t be impotent. The Council will wield enough influence to gather an invincible allied force. When the rains cease it will be thrown against the Kwanto, bypassing Izu. The Kwanto will be gobbled up, then Izu. Only after I’m dead will the daimyos fight among themselves.”
   “But why, Sire?” Omi ventured.
   “Because I’ve too many enemies, I own the Kwanto, I’ve warred for more than forty years and never lost a battle. They’re all afraid of me. I know that first the vultures will pack together to destroy me. Later they’ll destroy themselves, but first they’ll join to destroy me if they can. Know very clearly, all of you, I’m the only real threat to Yaemon, even though I’m no threat at all. That’s the irony of it. They all believe I want to be Shōgun. I don’t. This is another war that’s not necessary at all!”
   Naga broke the silence. “Then what are you going to do, Sire?”
   “Eh?”
   “What are you going to do?”
   “Obviously, Crimson Sky,” Toranaga said.
   “But you said they’d eat us up?”
   “They would—if I gave them any time. But I’m not going to give them any time. We go to war at once!”
   “But the rains—what about the rains?”
   “We will arrive in Kyoto wet. Hot and stinking and wet. Surprise, mobility, audacity, and timing win wars, neh? Yabu-san was right. The guns will blast a way through the mountains.”


   For an hour they discussed plans and the feasibility of large-scale war in the rainy season—an unheard of strategy. Then Toranaga sent them away, except Mariko, telling Naga to order the Anjin-san here. He watched them walk off. They had all been outwardly enthusiastic once the decision had been announced, Naga and Buntaro particularly. Only Omi had been reserved and thoughtful and unconvinced. Toranaga discounted Igurashi for he knew that, rightly, the soldier would do only what Yabu ordered, and he dismissed Yabu as a pawn, treacherous certainly, but still a pawn. Omi’s the only one worthwhile, he thought. I wonder if he’s worked out yet what I’m really going to do?
   “Mariko-san. Find out, tactfully, how much the courtesan’s contract would cost.”
   She blinked. “Kiku-san, Sire?”
   “Yes.”
   “Now, Sire? At once?”
   “Tonight would do excellently.” He looked at her blandly. “Her contract’s not necessarily for me, perhaps for one of my officers.”
   “I would imagine the price would depend on whom, Sire.”
   “I imagine it will. But set a price. The girl of course has the right of refusal, if she wishes, when the samurai’s named, but tell her mama-san owner that I don’t expect the girl will have the bad manners to mistrust my choice for her. Tell the owner also that Kiku is a Lady of the First Class of Mishima and not Yedo or Osaka or Kyoto,” Toranaga added genially, “so I expect to pay Mishima prices and not Yedo or Osaka or Kyoto prices.”
   “Yes, Sire, of course.”
   Toranaga moved his shoulder to ease the ache, shifting his swords.
   “May I massage it for you, Sire? Or send for Suwo?”
   “No, thank you. I’ll see Suwo later.” Toranaga got up and relieved himself with great pleasure, then sat down again. He wore a short, light silk kimono, blue patterned, and the simple straw sandals. His fan was blue and decorated with his crest.
   The sun was low, rain clouds building heavily.
   “It’s vast to be alive,” he said happily. “I can almost hear the rain waiting to be born.”
   “Yes,” she said.
   Toranaga thought a moment. Then he said as a poem:


“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 Taikō-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 Shōgunate. 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 Shōgun, 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.”

Chapter 38

   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.
   From dawn to dusk Blackthorne had been chased by the accelerated training. He had had to suppress his frustration as he tried to teach, and strove to learn the language. By nightfall he was always exhausted. Hot and sweating and rain-soaked. And alone. Never had he felt so alone, so aware of not belonging in this alien world.
   Then there was the horror that began three days ago. It had been a very long humid day. At sunset he had wearily ridden home and had instantly felt trouble permeating his house. Fujiko had greeted him nervously.
   “Nan desu ka?”
   She had replied quietly, at length, eyes lowered.
   “Wakarimasen.” I don’t understand. “Nan desu ka?” he asked again, impatiently, his fatigue making him irritable.
   Then she had beckoned him into the garden. She pointed at the eaves but the roof seemed sound enough to him. More words and signs and it finally dawned on him that she was pointing to where he had hung the pheasant.
   “Oh, I’d forgotten about that! Watashi …” But he couldn’t remember how to say it so he just shrugged wearily. “Wakarimasu. Nan desu kiji ka?” I understand. What about the pheasant?
   Servants were peering at him from doors and windows, clearly petrified. She spoke again. He concentrated but her words did not make sense.
   “Wakarimasen, Fujiko-san.” I don’t understand, Fujiko-san.
   She took a deep breath, then shakily imitated someone removing the pheasant, carrying it away, and burying it.
   “Ahhhh! Wakarimasu, Fujiko-san. Wakarimasu! Was it getting high?” he asked. As he did not know the Japanese word he held his nose and pantomimed stench.
   “Hai, hai, Anjin-san. Dozo gomen nasai, gomen nasai.” She made the sound of flies and, with her hands, painted a picture of a buzzing cloud.
   “Ah so desu! Wakarimasu.” Once upon a time he would have apologized and, if he had known the words, he would have said, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. Instead he just shrugged, eased the ache in his back, and mumbled, “Shigata ga nai,” wanting only to slide into the ecstasy of the bath and massage, the only joy that made life possible. “The hell with it,” he said in English, turning away. “If I’d been here during the day Id’ve noticed it. The hell with it!”
   “Dozo, Anjin-san?”
   “Shigata ga nai,” he repeated louder.
   “Ah so desu, arigato goziemashita.”
   “Tare toru desu ka?” Who took it?
   “Ueki-ya.”
   “Oh, that old bugger!” Ueki-ya, the gardener, the kind, toothless old man who tended the plants with loving hands and made his garden beautiful. “Yoi. Moue kuru Ueki-ya.” Good, fetch him.
   Fujiko shook her head. Her face had become chalky white.
   “Ueki-ya shinda desu, shinda desu!” she whispered.
   “Ueki-yaga shindato? Donoyoni? Doshité? Doshité shindanoda?” How? Why? How did he die?
   Her hand pointed at the place where the pheasant had been and she spoke many gentle incomprehensible words. Then she mimed the single cut of a sword.
   “Jesus Christ God! You put that old man to death over a stinking, God-cursed pheasant?”
   At once all the servants rushed to the garden and fell on their knees. They put their heads into the dirt and froze, even the children of the cook.
   “What the piss-hell’s going on?” Blackthorne was almost berserk.
   Fujiko waited stoically until they were all there, then she too went down on her knees and bowed, as a samurai and not as a peasant. “Gomen nasai, dozo gomen na—”
   “The pox on your gomen nasai! What right’ve you to do that? Ehhhhh?” and he began to swear at her foully. “Why in the name of Christ didn’t you ask me first? Eh?”
   He fought for control, aware that all of his servants knew he legally could hack Fujiko and all of them to pieces here in the garden for causing him so much displeasure, or for no reason at all, and that not even Toranaga himself could interfere with his handling of his own household.
   He saw one of the children was trembling with terror and panic. “Jesus Christ in heaven, give me strength …” He held on to one of the posts to steady himself. “It’s not your fault,” he choked out, not realizing he wasn’t speaking Japanese. “It’s hers! It’s you! You murdering bitch!”
   Fujiko looked up slowly. She saw the accusing finger and the hatred on his face. She whispered a command to her maid, Nigatsu.
   Nigatsu shook her head and began to beg.
   “Ima!”
   The maid fled. She returned with the killing sword, tears streaming her face. Fujiko took the sword and offered it to Blackthorne with both hands. She spoke and though he did not know all the words he knew that she was saying, “I’m responsible, please take my life because I’ve displeasured you.”
   “IYé!” He grabbed the sword and threw it away. “You think that’ll bring Ueki-ya back to life?”
   Then, suddenly, he realized what he had done, and what he was doing now. “Oh, Jesus God.”
   He left them. In despair he went to the outcrop above the village near the shrine that was beside the ancient gnarled cypress tree and he wept.
   He wept because a good man was dead unnecessarily and because he knew now that he had murdered him. “Lord God forgive me. I’m responsible—not Fujiko. I killed him. I ordered that no one was to touch the pheasant but me. I asked her if everyone understood and she said yes. I ordered it with mock gravity but that doesn’t matter now. I gave the orders, knowing their law and knowing their customs. The old man broke my stupid order so what else could Fujiko-san do? I’m to blame.”
   In time the tears were spent. It was deep night now. He returned to his house.
   Fujiko was waiting for him as always, but alone. The sword was across her lap. She offered it to him. “Dozo—Dozo, Anjin-san.”
   “Iyé, “ he said, taking the sword as a sword should be taken. “Iyé, Fujiko-san. Shigata ga nai, neh? Karma, neh?” His hand touched her in apology. He knew that she had had to bear all the worst of his stupidity.
   Her tears spilled. “Arigato, arigato go—goziemashita, Anjin-san,” she said brokenly. “Gomen nasai …”
   His heart went out to her.
   Yes, Blackthorne thought with great sadness, yes it did, but that doesn’t excuse you or take away her humiliation—or bring Ueki-ya back to life. You were to blame. You should have known better…
   “Anjin-san!” Naga said.
   “Yes? Yes, Naga-san?” He pulled himself out of his remorse and looked down at the youth who walked beside him. “Sorry, what you say?”
   “I said I hoped to be your friend.”
   “Ah, thank you.”
   “Yes, and perhaps you’d—” There was a jumble of words Blackthorne did not understand.
   “Please?”
   “Teach, neh? Understand ‘teach’? Teach about world?”
   “Ah, yes, so sorry. Teach what, please?”
   “About foreign lands—outside lands. The world, neh?”
   “Ah, understand now. Yes, try.”
   They were near the guards now. “Begin tomorrow, Anjin-san. Friends, neh?”
   “Yes, Naga-san. Try.”
   “Good.” Very satisfied, Naga nodded. When they came up to the samurai Naga ordered them out of the way, motioning Blackthorne to go on alone. He obeyed, feeling very alone in the circle of men.
   “Ohayo, Toranaga-sama. Ohayo, Mariko-san,” he said, joining them.
   “Ohayo, Anjin-san. Dozo suwaru.” Good day, Anjin-san, please sit down.
   Mariko smiled at him. “Ohayo, Anjin-san. Ikaga desu ka?”
   “Yoi, domo.” Blackthorne looked back at her, so glad to see her. “Thy presence fills me with joy, great joy,” he said in Latin.
   “And thine—it is so good to see thee. But there is a shadow on thee. Why?”
   “Nan ja?” Toranaga asked.
   She told him what had been said. Toranaga grunted, then spoke.
   “My Master says you’re looking careworn, Anjin-san. I must agree too. He asks what’s troubling you.”
   “It’s nothing. Domo, Toranaga-sama. Nané mo.” It’s nothing.
   “Nan ja?” Toranaga asked directly. “Nan ja?”
   Obediently Blackthorne replied at once. “Ueki-ya,” he said helplessly. “Hai, Ueki-ya.”
   “Ah so desu!” Toranaga spoke at length to Mariko.
   “My Master says there is no need to be sad about Old Gardener. He asks me to tell you that it was all officially dealt with. Old Gardener understood completely what he was doing.”
   “I don’t understand.”
   “Yes, it would be very difficult for you, but you see, Anjin-san, the pheasant was rotting in the sun. Flies were swarming terribly. Your health, your consort’s health, and that of your whole house was being threatened. Also, so sorry, there had been some very private, cautious complaints from Omi-san’s head servant—and others. One of our most important rules is that the individual may never disturb the wa, the harmony of the group, remember? So something had to be done. You see, decay, the stench of decay, is revolting to us. It’s the worst smell in the world to us, so sorry. I tried to tell you but—well, it’s one of the things that sends us all a little mad. Your head servant—”
   “Why didn’t someone come to me at once? Why didn’t someone just tell me?” Blackthorne asked. “The pheasant was meaningless to me.”
   “What was there to tell? You’d given orders. You are head of the house. They didn’t know your customs or what to do, other than to solve the dilemma according to our custom.” She spoke to Toranaga for a moment, explaining what Blackthorne had said, then turned back again. “Is this distressing you? Do you wish me to continue?”
   “Yes, please, Mariko-san.”
   “Are you sure?”
   “Yes.”
   “Well then, your head servant, Small Tooth Cook, called a meeting of your servants, Anjin-san. Mura, the village headman, was asked to attend officially. It was decided that village eta could not be asked to take it away. This was only a house problem. One of the servants had to take it and bury it, even though you’d given absolute orders it was not to be moved. Obviously your consort was duty bound to see your orders were obeyed. Old Gardener asked to be allowed to carry it away. Lately he’d been living and sleeping in great pain from his abdomen and he found kneeling and weeding and planting very tiring, and could not do his work to his own satisfaction. Third Cook Assistant also offered, saying he was very young and stupid and he was sure his life counted for nothing against such a grave matter. At length Old Gardener was allowed the honor. Truly it was a great honor, Anjin-san. With great solemnity they all bowed to him and he to them and happily he took the thing away and buried it to the great relief of all.
   “When he came back he went directly to Fujiko-san and told her what he’d done, that he’d disobeyed your law, neh? She thanked him for removing the hazard, then told him to wait. She came to me for advice and asked me what she should do. The matter had been done formally so it would have to be dealt with formally. I told her I didn’t know, Anjin-san. I asked Buntaro-san but he didn’t know either. It was complicated, because of you. So he asked Lord Toranaga. Lord Toranaga saw your consort himself.” Mariko turned back to Toranaga and told him where she had reached in the story, as he had requested.
   Toranaga spoke rapidly. Blackthorne watched them, the woman so petite and lovely and attentive, the man compact, rock-hard, his sash tight over his large belly. Toranaga did not talk with his hands like many, but kept them still, his left hand propped on his thigh, the other always on his sword hilt.
   “Hai, Toranaga-sama. Hai.” Mariko glanced at Blackthorne and continued as formally. “Our Master asks me to explain that, so sorry, if you’d been Japanese there would have been no difficulty, Anjin-san. Old Gardener would simply have gone to the burial ground to receive his release. But, please excuse me, you’re a foreigner, even though Lord Toranaga made you hatamoto—one of his personal vassals—and it was a matter of deciding whether you were legally samurai or not. I’m honored to tell you that he ruled you are samurai and you do have samurai rights. So everything was resolved at once and made easy. A crime had been committed. Your orders had been deliberately disobeyed. The law is clear. There is no option.” She was grave now. “But Lord Toranaga knows of your sensitivity to killing, so to save you pain, he personally ordered one of his samurai to send Old Gardener into the Void.”
   “But why didn’t someone ask me first? That pheasant meant nothing to me.”
   “The pheasant has nothing do with it, Anjin-san,” she explained. “You’re head of a house. The law says no member of your house may disobey you. Old Gardener deliberately broke the law. The whole world would fall to pieces if people were allowed to flout the law. Your—”
   Toranaga broke in and spoke to her. She listened, answered some questions, then again he motioned her to continue.
   “Hai. Lord Toranaga wants me to assure you that he personally saw that Old Gardener got the quick, painless, and honorable death he merited. He even loaned the samurai his own sword, which is very sharp. And I should tell you that Old Gardener was very proud that in his failing days he was able to help your house, Anjin-san, proud that he helped to establish your samurai status before all. Most of all he was proud of the honor being paid to him. Public executioners were not used, Anjin-san. Lord Toranaga wants me to make that very clear to you.”

   “Thank you, Mariko-san. Thank you for making it clear.” Blackthorne turned to Toranaga, bowed most correctly. “Domo, Toranaga-sama, domo arigato. Wakarimasu. Domo.”
   Toranaga bowed back agreeably. “Yoi, Anjin-san. Shinpai suru monojanai, neh? Shigata ga nai, neh?” Good. Now don’t worry, eh? What could you do, eh?
   “Nané mo.” Nothing. Blackthorne answered the questions Toranaga put to him about the musket training, but nothing that they were saying reached him. His mind was tottering under the impact of what he had been told. He had abused Fujiko before all his servants and abused the trust of all his household, when Fujiko had done only what was correct and so had they.
   Fujiko was blameless. They’re all blameless. Except me.
   I cannot undo what’s been done. Neither to Ueki-ya nor to her. Or to them.
   How can I live with this shame?
   He sat cross-legged in front of Toranaga, the slight sea breeze tugging at his kimono, swords in his sash. Dully he listened and answered and nothing was important. War is coming, she was saying. When, he was asking. Very soon, she was saying, so you are to leave at once with me, you are to accompany me part of the way, Anjin-san, because I’m going to Osaka, but you’re going on to Yedo by land to prepare your ship for war…
   Suddenly the silence was colossal.
   Then the earth began to shake.
   He felt his lungs about to burst, and every fiber of his being screamed panic. He tried to stand but could not and saw all the guards were equally helpless. Toranaga and Mariko desperately held onto the ground with their hands and feet. The rumbling, catastrophic roar was coming from earth and sky. It surrounded them, building and building until their eardrums were ready to split. They became part of the frenzy. For an instant the frenzy stopped, the shock continuing. He felt his vomit rising, his unbelieving mind shrieking that this was land where it was firm and safe and not sea where the world tilted every moment. He spat to clear the foul taste away, clutching the trembling earth, retching again and again.
   An avalanche of rocks started from the mountain to the north and howled down into the valley below, adding to the tumult. Part of the samurai camp vanished. He groped to his hands and knees, Toranaga and Mariko doing the same. He heard himself shouting but no sound seemed to be coming from his lips or from theirs.
   The tremor stopped.
   The earth was firm again, firm as it had always been, firm as it always should be. His hands and knees and body were trembling uncontrollably. He tried to still them and catch his breath.
   Then again the earth cried out. The second quake began. It was more violent. Then the earth ripped open at the far end of the plateau. This gaping fissure rushed toward them at an incredible speed, passed five paces away, and tore onward. His disbelieving eyes saw Toranaga and Mariko teetering on the brink of the cleft where there should have been solid ground. As though in a nightmare he saw Toranaga, nearest to the maw, begin to topple into it. He came out of his stupor, lunged forward. His right hand grabbed Toranaga’s sash, the earth trembling like a leaf in the wind.
   The cleft was twenty paces deep and ten across and stank of death. Mud and rocks poured down, dragging Toranaga and him with it. Blackthorne fought for handhold and foothold, raving at Toranaga to help, almost pulled down into the abyss. Still partially stunned, Toranaga hacked his toes into the face of the wall and, half dragged and half carried by Blackthorne, clawed his way out. They both lay gasping in safety.
   At that moment there was another shock.
   The earth split again. Mariko screamed. She tried to scramble out of the way but this new fissure swallowed her. Frantically Blackthorne crawled for the edge, the aftershocks throwing him off balance. On the brink he stared down. She shivered on a ledge a few feet below as the ground reeled and the sky looked down. The chasm was thirty paces deep, ten wide. The lip crumbled away under him sickeningly. He let himself slide down, mud and stones almost blinding him, and caught hold of her, pulling her to the safety of another ledge. Together they fought for balance. A new shock. The ledge mostly gave way and they were lost. Then Toranaga’s iron hand caught his sash, stopping their slide into hell.
   “For Christ’s sake …” Blackthorne cried, his arms almost torn from their sockets as he held on to her and fought for holds with his feet and free hand. Toranaga grappled him until they were on a narrow shelf again, then the sash broke. A moment’s respite from the tremors gave Blackthorne time to get her onto the shelf, debris raining on them. Toranaga leapt to safety, shouting for him to hurry. The chasm howled and began to close, Blackthorne and Mariko still deep in its gullet. Toranaga could no longer help. Blackthorne’s terror lent him inhuman strength and somehow he managed to rip Mariko out of the tomb and shove her upward. Toranaga clutched her wrist and hauled her over the lip. Blackthorne scrambled after her but reeled backward as part of his wall fell away. The far wall screeched sickeningly as it approached. Mud and stones tumbled off it. For a moment he thought he was trapped but he tore himself free and groped half out of his grave. He lay on the shuddering brink, his lungs gulping air, unable to crawl away, legs in the cleft. The gap was closing. Then it stopped—six paces across the mouth, eight deep.
   All rumbling ceased. The earth firmed. The silence gathered.
   On their hands and knees, helpless, they waited for the horror to begin again. Blackthorne started to get up, sweat dripping.
   “Iyé.” Toranaga motioned him to stay down, his face a mess, a cruel gash on his temple where his head had smashed against a rock.
   They were all panting, their chests heaving, bile in their mouths. Guards were picking themselves up. Some began running toward Toranaga.
   “Iyé!” he shouted. “Maté!” Wait!
   They obeyed and went down on their hands and knees again. The waiting seemed to go on forever. Then a bird screeched out of a tree and took to the air screaming. Another bird followed. Blackthorne shook his head to clear the sweat from his eyes. He was seeing his broken, bleeding fingernails gripping the tufts of grass. Then in the grass an ant moved. Another and another. They began to forage.
   Still frightened he sat back on his heels. “When’s it safe?”
   Mariko did not answer. She was mesmerized by the cleft in the ground. He scrambled over to her. “Are you all right?”
   “Yes—yes,” she said breathlessly. Her face was daubed with mud. Her kimono was ripped and filthy. Both sandals and one tabi were missing. And her parasol. He helped her away from the lip. She was still numbed.
   Then he looked at Toranaga. “Ikaga desu ka?”
   Toranaga was unable to speak, his chest grinding, his arms and legs raw with abrasions. He pointed. The fissure which had almost swallowed him now was just a narrow ditch in the soil. Northward the ditch yawned into a ravine again but it was not as wide as it once had been, nor as deep.
   Blackthorne shrugged. “Karma.”
   Toranaga belched loudly, then hawked and spat and belched again. This helped his voice to work and a torrent of abuse poured over the ditch, his blunt fingers stabbed at it, and though Blackthorne could not understand all the words, Toranaga was clearly saying as a Japanese would, “The pox on the karma, the pox on the quake, the pox on the ditch—I’ve lost my swords and the pox on that!’
   Blackthorne burst into laughter, his relief at being alive and the stupidity of it all consuming him. A moment, then Toranaga laughed too, and their hilarity swept into Mariko.
   Toranaga got to his feet. Gingerly. Then, warmed by the joy of life, he began clowning on the ditch, burlesquing himself and the quake. He stopped and beckoned Blackthorne to join him and straddled the ditch, opened his loincloth and, laughter taking him again, told Blackthorne to do the same. Blackthorne obeyed and both men tried to urinate into the ditch. But nothing came, not even a dribble. They tried very hard, which increased their laughter and blocked them even more. At length they succeeded and Blackthorne sat down to collect his strength, leaning back on his hands. When he had recovered a little he turned to Mariko. “Is the earthquake over for good, Mariko-san?”
   “Until the next shock, yes.” She continued to brush the mud off her hands and kimono.
   “Is it always like that?”
   “No. Sometimes it’s very slight. Sometimes there’s another series of shocks after a stick of time or a day or half a stick or half a day. Sometimes there’s only one shock—you never know, Anjin-san. It’s over until it begins again. Karma, neh?”
   Guards were watching them without moving, waiting for Toranaga’s order. To the north fires were raging in the crude lean-to bivouac. Samurai were fighting the fires and digging at the rock avalanche to find the buried. To the east, Yabu, Omi, and Buntaro stood with other guards beside the far end of the fissure, untouched except for bruises, also waiting to be summoned. Igurashi had vanished. The earth had gorged on him.
   Blackthorne let himself drift. His self-contempt had vanished and he felt utterly serene and whole. Now his mind dwelt proudly on being samurai, and going to Yedo, and his ship, and war, and the Black Ship, and back to samurai again. He glanced at Toranaga and would have liked to ask him a dozen questions, but he noticed that the daimyo was lost in his own thoughts and he knew it would be impolite to disturb him. There’s plenty of time, he thought contentedly, and looked over at Mariko. She was tending her hair and face, so he did not watch. He lay full length and looked up at the sky, the earth feeling warm on his back, waiting patiently.
   Toranaga spoke, serious now. “Domo, Anjin-san, neh? Domo.”
   “Dozo, Toranaga-sama. Nané mo. Hombun, neh?” Please, Toranaga-sama, it was nothing. Duty.
   Then, not knowing enough words and wanting it accurate, Blackthorne said, “Mariko-san, would you explain for me: I seem to understand now what you meant and Lord Toranaga meant about karma and the stupidity of worrying about what is. A lot seems clearer. I don’t know why—perhaps it’s because I’ve never been so terrified, maybe that’s cleaned my head, but I seem to think clearer. It’s—well, like Old Gardener. Yes, that was all my fault and I’m truly sorry, but that was a mistake, not a deliberate choice on my part. It is. So nothing can be done about it. A moment ago we were all almost dead. So all that worry and heartache was a waste, wasn’t it? Karma. Yes, I know karma now. Do you understand?”
   “Yes.” She translated to Toranaga.
   “He says, ‘Good, Anjin-san. Karma is the beginning of knowledge. Next is patience. Patience is very important. The strong are the patient ones, Anjin-san. Patience means holding back your inclination to the seven emotions: hate, adoration, joy, anxiety, anger, grief, fear. If you don’t give way to the seven, you’re patient, then you’ll soon understand all manner of things and be in harmony with Eternity.’”
   “You believe that, Mariko-san?”
   “Yes. Very much. I try, also, to be patient, but it’s hard.”
   “I agree. That’s also wa, your harmony, your ‘tranquillity,’ neh?”
   “Yes.”
   “Tell him I thank him truly for what he did for Old Gardener. I didn’t before, not from my heart. Tell him that.”
   “There’s no need, Anjin-san. He knew before that you were just being polite.”
   “How did he know?”
   “I told you he is the wisest man in the world.”
   He grinned.
   “There,” she said, “your age has fallen off you again,” and added in Latin, “Thou art thyself again, and better than before!”
   “But thou art beautiful, as always.”
   Her eyes warmed and she averted them from Toranaga. Blackthorne saw this and marked her caution. He got to his feet and stared down into the jagged cleft. Carefully he jumped into it and disappeared.
   Mariko scrambled up, momentarily afraid, but Blackthorne quickly came back to the surface. In his hands was Fujiko’s sword. It was still scabbarded, though muddied and scarred. His short stabbing sword had disappeared.
   He knelt in front of Toranaga and offered his sword as a sword should be offered. “Dozo, Toranaga-sama,” he said simply. “Kara samurai ni samurai, neh?” Please, Lord Toranaga, from a samurai to a samurai, eh?
   “Domo, Anjin-san.” The Lord of the Kwanto accepted the sword and shoved it into his sash. Then he smiled, leaned forward, and clapped Blackthorne once on the shoulder, hard. “Tomo, neh?” Friend, eh?
   “Domo.” Blackthorne glanced away. His smile faded. A cloud of smoke was drifting over the rise above where the village would be. At once he asked Toranaga if he could leave, to make sure Fujiko was all right.
   “He says, yes, Anjin-san. And we are to see him at the fortress at sunset for the evening meal. There are some things he wishes to discuss with you.”
   Blackthorne went back to the village. It was devastated, the course of the road bent out of recognition, the surface shattered. But the boats were safe. Many fires still burned. Villagers were carrying buckets of sand and buckets of water. He turned the corner. Omi’s house was tilted drunkenly on its side. His own was a burnt-out ruin.

Chapter 39

   Fujiko had been injured. Nigatsu, her maid, was dead. The first shock had collapsed the central pillars of the house, scattering the coals of the kitchen fire. Fujiko and Nigatsu had been trapped by one of the fallen beams and the flames had turned Nigatsu into a torch. Fujiko had been pulled free. One of the cook’s children had also been killed, but the rest of his servants had suffered only bruises and some twisted limbs. They all were overjoyed to find that Blackthorne was alive and unhurt.
   Fujiko was lying on a salvaged futon near the undamaged garden fence, half conscious. When she saw also that Blackthorne was unscathed she almost wept. “I thank Buddha you’re not hurt, Anjin-san,” she said weakly.
   Still partially in shock, she tried to get up but he bade her not to move. Her legs and lower back were badly burned. A doctor was already tending her, wrapping bandages soaked in cha and other herbs around her limbs to soothe them. Blackthorne hid his concern and waited until the doctor had finished, then said privately, “Fujiko-san, yoi ka?” Lady Fujiko will be all right?
   The doctor shrugged. “Hai.” His lips came back from his protruding teeth again. “Karma, neh?”
   “Hai.” Blackthorne had seen enough burned seamen die to know that any bad burn was dangerous, the open wound almost always rotting within a few days and nothing to stop the infection spreading. “I don’t want her to die.”
   “Dozo?”
   He said it in Japanese and the doctor shook his head and told him that the Lady would surely be all right. She was young and strong.
   “Shigata ga nai,” the doctor said and ordered maids to keep her bandages moist, gave Blackthorne herbs for his own abrasions, told him he would return soon, then scuttled up the hill toward Omi’s wrecked house above.
   Blackthorne stood at his main gate, which was unharmed. Buntaro’s arrows were still embedded in the left post. Absently he touched one. Karma that she was burned, he thought sadly.
   He went back to Fujiko and ordered a maid to bring cha. He helped her to drink and held her hand until she slept, or appeared to sleep. His servants were salvaging whatever they could, working quickly, helped by a few villagers. They knew the rains would be coming soon. Four men were trying to erect a temporary shelter.
   “Dozo, Anjin-san.” The cook was offering him fresh tea, trying to keep the misery off his face. The little girl had been his favorite daughter.
   “Domo,” Blackthorne replied. “Sumimasen.” I’m sorry.
   “Arigato, Anjin-san. Karma, neh?”
   Blackthorne nodded, accepted the tea, and pretended not to notice the cook’s grief, lest he shame him. Later a samurai came up the hill bringing word from Toranaga that Blackthorne and Fujiko were to sleep in the fortress until the house was rebuilt. Two palanquins arrived. Blackthorne lifted her gently into one of them and sent her with maids. He dismissed his own palanquin, telling her he’d follow soon.
   The rain began but he paid it no heed. He sat on a stone in the garden that had given him so much pleasure. Now it was a shambles. The little bridge was broken, the pond shattered, and the streamlet had vanished.
   “Never mind,” he said to no one. “The rocks aren’t dead.”
   Ueki-ya had told him that a garden must be settled around its rocks, that without them a garden is empty, merely a place of growing.
   One of the rocks was jagged and ordinary but Ueki-ya had planted it so that if you looked at it long and hard near sunset, the reddish glow glinting off the veins and crystal buried within, you could see a whole range of mountains with lingering valleys and deep lakes and, far off, a greening horizon, night gathering there.
   Blackthorne touched the rock. “I name you Ueki-ya-sama,” he said. This pleased him and he knew that if Ueki-ya were alive, the old man would have been very pleased also. Even though he’s dead, perhaps he’ll know, Blackthorne told himself, perhaps his kami is here now. Shintoists believed that when they died they became a kami …
   ‘What is a kami, Mariko-san?’
   ‘Kami is inexplicable, Anjin-san. It is like a spirit but not, like a soul but not. Perhaps it is the insubstantial essence of a thing or person … you should know a human becomes a kami after death but a tree or rock or plant or painting is equally a kami.Kami are venerated, never worshiped. They exist between heaven and earth and visit this Land of the Gods or leave it, all at the same time.’
   ‘And Shinto? What’s Shinto?’
   ‘Ah, that is inexplicable too, so sorry. It’s like a religion, but isn’t. At first it even had no name—we only called it Shinto, the Way of the Kami, a thousand years ago, to distinguish it from Butsudo, the Way of Buddha. But though it’s indefinable Shinto is the essence of Japan and the Japanese, and though it possesses neither theology nor godhead nor faith nor system of ethics, it is our justification for existence. Shinto is a nature cult of myths and legends in which no one believes wholeheartedly, yet everyone venerates totally. A person is Shinto in the same way he is born Japanese.’
   ‘Are you Shinto too—as well as Christian?’
   ‘Oh yes, oh very yes, of course…’
   Blackthorne touched the stone again. “Please, kami of Ueki-ya, please stay in my garden.”
   Then, careless of the rain, he let his eyes take him into the rock, past the lush valleys and serene lake and to the greening horizon, darkness gathering there.


   His ears told him to come back. He looked up. Omi was watching him, squatting patiently on his haunches. It was still raining and Omi wore a newly pressed kimono under his rice-straw raincoat, and a wide, conical bamboo hat. His hair was freshly shampooed.
   “Karma, Anjin-san,” he said, motioning at the smoldering ruins.
   “Hai. Ikaga desu ka?” Blackthorne wiped the rain off his face.
   “Yoi.” Omi pointed up at his house. “Watakushi no yuya wa hakaisarete imasen ostukai ni narimasen ka?” My bath wasn’t damaged. Would you care to use it?
   “Ah so desu! Domo, Omi-san, hai, domo.” Gratefully Blackthorne followed Omi up the winding path, into his courtyard. Servants and village artisans under Mura’s supervision were already hammering and sawing and repairing. The central posts were already back in place and the roof almost resettled.
   With signs and simple words and much patience, Omi explained that his servants had managed to douse the fires in time. Within a day or two, he told Blackthorne, the house would be up again, as good as it was, so not to worry. Yours will take longer, a week, Anjin-san. Don’t worry, Fujiko-san is a fine manager. She’ll have all costs arranged with Mura in no time and your house’ll be better than ever. I hear she was burned? Well, this happens sometimes, but not to worry, our doctors are very expert with burns—they have to be, neh? Yes, Anjin-san, it was a bad quake, but not that bad. The rice fields were hardly touched and the so essential irrigation system was undamaged. And the boats weren’t damaged and that’s very important too. Only a hundred and fifty-four samurai were killed in the avalanche, that’s not many, neh? As to the village, a week and you’ll hardly know there was a quake. Five peasants were killed and a few children—nothing! Anjiro was very lucky, neh? I hear you pulled Toranaga-sama out of a death trap. We’re all grateful to you, Anjin-san. Very. If we’d lost him … Lord Toranaga said he accepted your sword—you’re lucky, that’s a great honor. Yes. Your karma ’s strong, very good, very rich. Yes, we thank you very much. Listen, we’ll talk more after you’ve bathed. I’m glad to have you as a friend.”
   Omi called out for the bath attendants. “Isogi!” Hurry up!
   The servants escorted Blackthorne to the bath house, which was set within a tiny maple grove and joined to the main house by a neat winding walk, usually roofed. The bath was much more luxurious than his own. One wall was cracked badly but villagers were already replastering it. The roof was sound although a few tiles were missing and rain leaked in here and there, but that did not matter.
   Blackthorne stripped and sat on the tiny seat. The servants lathered him and shampooed him in the rain. When he was cleansed he went inside and immersed himself in the steaming bath. All his troubles melted away.
   Fujiko’s going to be all right. I’m a lucky man—lucky I was there to pull Toranaga out, lucky to save Mariko, and lucky he was there to pull us out.
   Suwo’s magic renewed him as usual. Later he let Suwo dress his bruises and cuts and put on the clean loincloth and kimono and tabi that had been left for him, and went out. The rain had stopped.
   A temporary lean-to had been erected in one corner of the garden. It had a neat raised floor and was furnished with clean futons and a little vase with a flower arrangement. Omi was waiting for him and in attendance was a toothless, hard-faced old woman.
   “Please sit down, Anjin-san,” Omi said.
   “Thank you, and thanks for the clothes,” he replied in halting Japanese.
   “Please don’t mention it. Would you like cha or saké?”
   “Cha,” Blackthorne decided, thinking that he had better keep his head clear for his interview with Toranaga. “Thank you.”
   “This is my mother,” Omi said formally, clearly idolizing her.
   Blackthorne bowed. The old woman simpered and sucked in her breath.
   “It’s my honor, Anjin-san,” she said.
   “Thank you, but I’m honored.” Blackthorne repeated automatically the succession of formal politenesses that Mariko had taught him.
   “Anjin-san, we were so sorry to see your house in flames.”
   “What could one do? That’s karma, neh?”
   “Yes, karma.” The old woman looked away and scowled. “Hurry up! The Anjin-san wants his cha warm!”
   The girl standing beside the maid who carried the tray took Blackthorne’s breath away. Then he remembered her. Wasn’t this the girl he’d seen with Omi, the first time, when he was passing through the village square on his way to the galley?
   “This is my wife,” Omi said tersely.
   “I’m honored,” Blackthorne said as she took her place, knelt, and bowed.
   “You must forgive her slowness,” Omi’s mother said. “Is the cha warm enough for you?”
   “Thank you, it’s very good.” Blackthorne had noted that the old woman had not used the wife’s name as she should have. But then, he was not surprised because Mariko had told him already about the dominating position of a girl’s mother-in-law in Japanese society.
   “Thank God it’s not the same in Europe,” he had told her.
   “A wife’s mother-in-law can do no wrong—after all, Anjin-san, the parents choose the wife in the first place and what father would choose without first consulting his own wife? Of course, the daughter-in-law has to obey, and the son always does what his mother and father want.”
   “Always?”
   “Always.”
   “What if the son refuses?”
   “That’s not possible. Everyone has to obey the head of the house. A son’s first duty is to his parents. Of course. Sons are given everything by their mothers—life, food, tenderness, protection. She succors them all their lives. So of course it’s right that a son should heed his mother’s wishes. The daughter-in-law-she has to obey. That’s her duty.”
   “It’s not the same with us.”
   “It’s hard to be a good daughter-in-law, very hard. You just have to hope that you live long enough to have sons to become one yourself.”
   “And your mother-in-law?”
   “Ah, she’s dead, Anjin-san. She died many years ago. I never knew her. Lord Hiro-matsu, in his wisdom, never took another wife.”
   “Buntaro-san’s his only son?”
   “Yes. My husband has five living sisters, but no brothers.” She had joked, “In a way we’re related now, Anjin-san. Fujiko’s my husband’s niece. What’s the matter?”
   “I’m surprised you never told me, that’s all.”
   “Well, it’s complicated, Anjin-san.” Then Mariko had explained that Fujiko was actually an adopted daughter of Numata Akinori, who had married Buntaro’s youngest sister, and that Fujiko’s real father was a grandson of the Dictator Goroda by his eighth consort, that Fujiko had been adopted by Numata when an infant at the Taikō’s orders because the Taikō wanted closer ties between the descendants of Hiro-matsu and Goroda…
   “What?”
   Mariko had laughed, telling him that, yes, Japanese family relationships were very complicated because adoption was normal, that families exchanged sons and daughters often, and divorced and remarried and intermarried all the time. With so many legal consorts and the ease of divorce—particularly if at the order of a liege lord—all families soon become incredibly tangled.
   “To unravel Lord Toranaga’s family links accurately would take days, Anjin-san. Just think of the complications: Presently he has seven official consorts living, who have given him five sons and three daughters. Some of the consorts were widows or previously married with other sons and daughters—some of these Toranaga adopted, some he did not. In Japan you don’t ask if a person is adopted or natural. Truly, what does it matter? Inheritance is always at the whim of the head of the house, so adopted or not it is the same, neh? Even Toranaga’s mother was divorced. Later she remarried and had three more sons and two daughters by her second husband, all of whom are also now married! Her eldest son from her second marriage is Zataki, Lord of Shinano.”
   Blackthorne had mulled that. Then he had said, “Divorce isn’t possible for us. Not possible.”
   “So the Holy Fathers tell us. So sorry, but that’s not very sensible, Anjin-san. Mistakes happen, people change, that’s karma, neh? Why should a man have to bear a foul wife, or a wife a foul man? Foolish to be stuck forever, man or woman, neh?”
   “Yes.”
   “In this we are very wise and the Holy Fathers unwise. This was one of the two great reasons the Taikō would not embrace Christianity, this foolishness about divorce—and the sixth Commandment, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ The Father-Visitor sent all the way to Rome begging dispensation for Japanese about divorce. But His Holiness the Pope, in his wisdom, said no. If His Holiness had said yes, I believe the Taikō would have converted, the daimyos would be following the True Faith now, and the land would be Christian. The matter of ‘killing’ would have been unimportant because no one pays any attention to that really, Christians least of all. Such a little concession, for so much, neh?”
   “Yes,” Blackthorne had said. How sensible divorce seemed here. Why was it a mortal sin at home, opposed by every priest in Christendom, Catholic or Protestant, in the name of God?
   “What’s Toranaga’s wife like?” he had asked, wanting to keep her talking. Most of the time she avoided the subject of Toranaga and his family history and it was important for Blackthorne to know everything.
   A shadow had crossed Mariko’s face. “She’s dead. She was his second wife and she died ten or eleven years ago. She was the Taikō’s stepsister. Lord Toranaga was never successful with his wives, Anjin-san.”
   “Why?”

   “Oh, the second was old and tired and grasping, worshiping gold, though pretending not to, like her brother, the Taikō himself. Barren and bad-tempered. It was a political marriage, of course. I had to be one of her ladies-in-waiting for a time. Nothing would please her and none of the youths or men could unwind the knot in her Golden Pavilion.”
   “What?”
   “Her Jade Gate, Anjin-san. With their Turtle Heads—their Steaming Shafts. Don’t you understand? Her … thing.”
   “Oh! I understand. Yes.”
   “No one could unwind her knot … could satisfy her.”
   “Not even Toranaga?”
   “He never pillowed her, Anjin-san,” she had said, quite shocked. “Of course, after the marriage he had nothing to do with her, other than give her a castle and retainers and the keys to his treasure house—why should he? She was quite old, she’d been married twice before, but her brother, the Taikō, had dissolved the marriages. A most unpleasant woman—everyone was most relieved when she went into the Great Void, even the Taikō, and all her stepdaughters-in-law and all of Toranaga’s consorts secretly burnt incense with great joy.”
   “And Toranaga’s first wife?”
   “Ah, the Lady Tachibana. That was another political marriage. Lord Toranaga was eighteen, she fifteen. She grew up to be a terrible woman. Twenty years ago Toranaga had her put to death because he discovered she was secretly plotting to assassinate their liege lord, the Dictator Goroda, whom she hated. My father often told me he thought they were all lucky to retain their heads—he, Toranaga, Nakamura, and all the generals—because Goroda was merciless, relentless, and particularly suspicious of those closest to him. That woman could have ruined them all, however innocent they were. Because of her plot against Lord Goroda, her only son, Nobunaga, was also put to death, Anjin-san. She killed her own son. Think of that, so sad, so terrible. Poor Nobunaga—he was Toranaga’s favorite son and his official heir—brave, a general in his own right, and totally loyal. He was innocent but she still embroiled him in her plot. He was only nineteen when Toranaga ordered him to commit seppuku.”
   “Toranaga killed his own son? And his wife?”
   “Yes, he ordered them onward, but he had no choice, Anjin-san. If he hadn’t, Lord Goroda would correctly have presumed Toranaga to be part of the plot himself and would have ordered him instantly to slit his belly. Oh yes, Toranaga was lucky to escape Goroda’s wrath and wise to send her onward quickly. When she was dead her daughter-in-law and all Toranaga’s consorts were very much ecstatic. Her son had had to send his first wife home in disgrace on her orders for some imagined slight—after bearing him two children. The girl committed seppuku—did I tell you ladies commit seppuku by slitting their throats, Anjin-san, and not their stomachs like men?—but she went to death gratefully, glad to be freed from a life of tears, as the next wife prayed for death, her life made equally miserable by her mother-in-law…”
   Now, looking at Midori’s mother-in-law, the tea dribbling down her chin, Blackthorne knew that this old hag had power of life or death, divorce or degradation over Midori, provided her husband, the head of their house, agreed. And, whatever they decided, Omi would obey. How terrible, he told himself.
   Midori was as graceful and youthful as the old woman was not, her face oval, her hair rich. She was more beautiful than Mariko, but without her fire and strength, pliant as a fern and fragile as gossamer.
   “Where are the small foods? Of course the Anjin-san must be hungry, neh?” the old woman said.
   “Oh, so sorry,” Midori replied at once. “Fetch some instantly,” she said to the maid. “Hurry! So sorry, Anjin-san!”
   “So sorry, Anjin-san,” the old woman said.
   “Please don’t apologize,” Blackthorne said to Midori, and instantly knew that it was a mistake. Good manners decreed that he should acknowledge only the mother-in-law, particularly if she had an evil reputation. “So sorry,” he said. “I not hungry. Tonight I eat must with Lord Toranaga.”
   “Ah so desu! We heard you saved his life. You should know how grateful we are—all his vassals!” the old woman said.
   “It was duty. I did nothing.”
   “You did everything, Anjin-san. Omi-san and Lord Yabu appreciate your action as much as all of us.”
   Blackthorne saw the old woman looking at her son. I wish I could fathom you, you old bitch, he thought. Are you as evil as that other one, Tachibana?
   Omi said, “Mother, I’m fortunate to have the Anjin-san as a friend.”
   “We’re all fortunate,” she said.
   “No, I’m fortunate,” Blackthorne replied. “I fortunate have friends as family of Kasigi Omi-san.” We’re all lying, Blackthorne thought, but I don’t know why you are. I’m lying for self-protection and because it’s custom. But I’ve never forgotten… Wait a moment. In all honesty, wasn’t that karma? Wouldn’t you have done what Omi did? That was long ago—in a previous life, neh? It’s meaningless now.
   A group of horsemen clattered up the rise, Naga at their head. He dismounted and strode into the garden. All the villagers stopped working and went onto their knees. He motioned them to continue.
   “So sorry to disturb you, Omi-san, but Lord Toranaga sent me.”
   “Please, you’re not disturbing me. Please join us,” Omi said. Midori at once gave up her cushion, bowing very low. “Would you like cha or saké, Naga-sama?”
   Naga sat. “Neither, thank you. I’m not thirsty.”
   Omi pressed him politely, going through the interminable necessary ritual, even though it was obvious that Naga was in a hurry. “How is the Lord Toranaga?”
   “Very good. Anjin-san, you did us a great service. Yes. I thank you personally.”
   “It was duty, Naga-san. But I did little. Lord Toranaga pulled me from—pulled me from earth also.”
   “Yes. But that was afterward. I thank you very much.”
   “Naga-san, is there something I can do for Lord Toranaga?” Omi asked, etiquette finally allowing him to come to the point.
   “He would like to see you after the evening meal. There is to be a full conference of all officers.”
   “I would be honored.”
   “Anjin-san, you are to come with me now, if it pleases you.”
   “Of course. It is my honor.”
   More bows and salutations and then Blackthorne was on a horse and they were cantering down the hill. When the phalanx of samurai came to the square, Naga reined in.
   “Anjin-san!”
   “Hai?”
   “I thank you with all my heart for saving Lord Toranaga. Allow me to be your friend … “ and some words Blackthorne did not catch.
   “So sorry, I don’t understand. ‘Karite iru ’?”
   “Ah, so sorry. ‘Karite iru ’—one man karite iru another man things—like ‘debt.’ You understand ‘debt’?”
   “Owe” jumped into Blackthorne’s head. “Ah so desu! Wakarimasu.”
   “Good. I only said that I owed you a debt.”
   “It was my duty, neh?”
   “Yes. Even so, I owe you a life.”


   “Toranaga-sama says all cannon powder and shot were put back on your ship, Anjin-san, here at Anjiro before it left for Yedo. He asks you how long would it take you to get ready for sea?”
   “That depends on her state, if the men’ve careened her and cared for her, the mast replaced and so on. Does Lord Toranaga know how she is?”
   “The ship seems in order, he says, but he’s not a seaman so he couldn’t be sure. He has not been on it since it was first towed into Yedo harbor when he gave instructions for it to be cared for. Presuming the ship is seaworthy, neh, he asks how long would it take you to ready for war?”
   Blackthorne’s heart missed a beat. “On whom do I war, Mariko-san?”
   “He asks, on whom would you wish to war?”
   “This year’s Black Ship,” Blackthorne replied at once, making a sudden decision, desperately hoping that this was the correct moment to place before Toranaga the plan he’d secretly developed over the days. He was gambling that saving Toranaga’s life this morning gave him a special privilege that would help him over the rough spots.
   Mariko was taken by surprise. “What?”
   “The Black Ship. Tell Lord Toranaga that all he has to do is give me his letters of marque. I’ll do the rest. With my ship and just a little help … we split the cargo, all silks and bullion.”
   She laughed. Toranaga did not.
   “My—my Master says that would be an unforgivable act of war against a friendly nation. The Portuguese are essential to Japan.”
   “Yes, they are—at the moment. But I believe they’re his enemy as well as mine and whatever service they provide, we can do better. At less cost.”
   “He says, perhaps. But he does not believe China will trade with you. Neither the English nor the Netherlanders are in strength in Asia yet and we need the silks now and a continuing supply.”
   “He’s right, of course. But in a year or two that will change and he’ll have his proof then. So here’s another suggestion. I’m already at war with the Portuguese. Outside the three-mile limit are international waters. Legally, with my present letters of marque, I can take her as a prize and I can sail her to any port and sell her and her cargo. With my ship and a crew it’ll be easy. In a few weeks or months I could deliver the Black Ship and all she contains to Yedo. I could sell her in Yedo. Half the value’ll be his—a port tax.”
   “He says what happens at sea between you and your enemies is of little concern to him. The sea belongs to all. But this land is ours, and here our laws govern and our laws may not be broken.”
   “Yes.” Blackthorne knew his course was dangerous, but his intuition told him the timing was perfect and that Toranaga would take the bait. And Mariko. “It was only a suggestion. He asked me on whom I’d like to war. Please excuse me but sometimes it’s good to plan against any eventuality. In this I believe Lord Toranaga’s interests are mine.”
   Mariko translated this. Toranaga grunted and spoke shortly.
   “Lord Toranaga values sensible suggestions, Anjin-san, like your point about a navy, but this is ludicrous. Even if both your interests were the same, which they’re not, how could you and nine men attack such a huge vessel with nearly a thousand persons aboard?”
   “I wouldn’t. I have to get a new crew, Mariko-san. Eighty or ninety men, trained seamen and gunners. I’ll find them at Nagasaki on Portuguese ships.” Blackthorne pretended not to notice her intake of breath or the way her fan stopped. “There’ve got to be a few Frenchies, an Englishman or two if I’m lucky, some Germans or Hollanders—they’ll be renegades mostly, or pressed aboard. I’d need a safe conduct to Nagasaki, some protection, and a little silver or gold. There are always seamen in enemy fleets who’ll sign on for ready cash and a share of prize money.”
   “My Master says anyone in command who’d trust such carrion in an attack would be mad.”
   Blackthorne said, “I agree. But I have to have a crew to put to sea.”
   “He asks if it would be possible to train samurai and our seamen to be gunners and sailors?”
   “Easily. In time. But that could take months. They’d certainly be ready by next year. There’d be no chance to go against this year’s Black Ship.”
   “Lord Toranaga says, ‘I don’t plan to attack the Black Ship of the Portuguese, this year or next. They’re not my enemies and I am not at war with them.’”
   “I know. But I am at war with them. Please excuse me. Of course, this is only a discussion, but I’ll have to get some men to put to sea, to be of service to Lord Toranaga if he wishes.”
   They were sitting in Toranaga’s private quarters that overlooked the garden. The fortress had hardly been touched by the quake. The night was humid and airless and the smoke from the coils of incense rose lazily to banish the mosquitoes.
   “My Master wants to know,” Mariko was saying, “if you had your ship now, and the few crew members that arrived with you, would you sail it to Nagasaki to get these further men you require?”
   “No. That would be too dangerous. I’d be so hopelessly undermanned that the Portuguese would capture me. It would be much better to get the men first, bring them back to home waters, to Yedo, neh? Once I’m full-crewed and armed, the enemy’s got nothing in these seas to touch me.”
   “He does not think you and ninety men could take the Black Ship.”
   “I can outsail her and sink her with Erasmus. Of course, Mariko-san, I know this is all conjecture, but if I was permitted to attack my enemy, the moment I was crewed I’d sail on the tide for Nagasaki. If the Black Ship was already in port, I’d show my battle flags and stand out to sea to blockade her. I’d let her finish trading and then, when the wind was ripe for her homeward voyage, I’d pretend to need supplies and let her slip out of port. I’d catch her a few leagues out because we’ve the speed on her and my cannon would do the rest. Once she’s struck her colors I put a prize crew aboard and bring her back to Yedo. She’ll have upwards of three, almost four hundred tons of gold bullion aboard.”
   “But why won’t her captain scuttle his ship once you’ve beaten him, if you beat him, before you can go aboard?”
   “Usually …” Blackthorne was going to say, “Usually the crew mutiny if the captain’s a fanatic, but I’ve never known one that mad. Most times you make a deal with the captain—spare their lives, give them a small share and safe berth to the nearest port. But this time I’ll have Rodrigues to deal with and I know him and know what he’ll do.” But he thought better about that, or about revealing his whole plan. Best to leave barbarian ways to barbarians, he told himself. “Usually the defeated ship gives up, Mariko-san,” he said instead. “It’s a custom—one of our customs of war at sea—saving unnecessary loss of life.”
   “Lord Toranaga says, so sorry Anjin-san, that’s a disgusting custom. If he had ships there would be no surrender.” Mariko sipped some cha, then continued, “And if the ship is not yet in port?”
   “Then I sweep the sea lanes to catch her a few leagues out in international waters. She’ll be easier to take heavy laden and wallowing, but harder to bring into Yedo. When’s she expected to dock?”
   “My Lord does not know. Perhaps within thirty days, he says. The ship will be early this year.”
   Blackthorne knew he was so near the prize, so very near. “Then it’s blockade her and take her at the end of the season.” She translated and Blackthorne thought he saw disappointment momentarily cross Toranaga’s face. He paused, as though he were considering alternatives, then he said, “If this was Europe, there’d be another way. You could sail in by night and take her by force. A surprise attack.”
   Toranaga’s grip tightened on his sword hilt.
   “He says you’d dare to war on our land against your enemies?”
   Blackthorne’s lips were dry. “No. Of course this is still surmise, but if a state of war existed between him and the Portuguese, and Lord Toranaga wanted them hurt, this would be the way to do it. If I had two or three hundred well-disciplined fighters, a good crew, and Erasmus, it would be easy to go alongside the Black Ship and board her, drag her out to sea. He could choose the time of the surprise attack—if this was Europe.”
   There was a long silence.

   “Lord Toranaga says, this is not Europe and no state of war exists or will ever exist between him and the Portuguese.”
   “Of course. One last point, Mariko-san: Nagasaki is not within Lord Toranaga’s control, is it?”
   “No, Anjin-san. Lord Harima owns the port and the hinterland.”
   “But don’t the Jesuits in practice control the port and all trade?” Blackthorne marked her reluctance to translate but kept up the pressure. “Isn’t that the honto, Mariko-san? And isn’t Lord Harima Catholic? Isn’t most of Kyushu Catholic? And therefore don’t the Jesuits in some measure control the whole island?”
   “Christianity’s a religion. The daimyos control their own lands, Anjin-san,” Mariko said for herself.
   “But I was told Nagasaki’s really Portuguese soil. I’m told they act as though it is. Didn’t Lord Harima’s father sell the land to the Jesuits?”
   Mariko’s voice sharpened. “Yes. But the Taikō took the land back. No foreigner’s allowed to own land here now.”
   “But didn’t the Taikō allow his Edicts to lapse, so today nothing happens there without Jesuit approval? Don’t Jesuits control all shipping in Nagasaki and all trade? Don’t Jesuits negotiate all trade for you and act as intermediaries?”
   “You’re very well informed about Nagasaki, Anjin-san,” she said pointedly.
   “Perhaps Lord Toranaga should take control of the port from the enemy. Perhaps—”
   “They’re your enemy, Anjin-san, not ours,” she said, taking the bait at last. “The Jesuits are–”
   “Nan ja?”
   She turned apologetically to Toranaga and explained what had been said between them. When she had finished he spoke severely, a clear reprimand. “Hai,” she said several times and bowed, chastened.
   Mariko said, “Lord Toranaga reminds me my opinions are valueless and that an interpreter should interpret only, neh? Please excuse me.”
   Once Blackthorne would have apologized for trapping her. Now it did not occur to him. But since he had made his point, he laughed and said, “Hai, kawaii Tsukkuko-sama!” Yes, pretty Lady Interpreter!
   Mariko smiled wryly, furious at herself for being trapped, her mind in conflict over her divided loyalties.
   “Yoi, Anjin-san,” Toranaga said, once more genial.
   “Mariko-san kawaii desu yori Tsukku-san anamsu ka nori masen, neh?” And Mariko’s much prettier than old Mr. Tsukku, isn’t she, and so much more fragrant?
   Toranaga laughed. “Hai.”
   Mariko blushed and poured tea, a little mollified. Then Toranaga spoke. Seriously.
   “Our Master says, why were you asking so many questions—or making statements—about Lord Harima and Nagasaki?”
   “Only to show that the port of Nagasaki is in fact controlled by foreigners. By the Portuguese. And by my law, I have the legal right to attack the enemy anywhere.”
   “But this is not ‘anywhere,’ he says. This is the Land of the Gods and such an attack is unthinkable.”
   “I agree wholeheartedly. But if ever Lord Harima became hostile, or the Jesuits who lead the Portuguese become hostile, this is the way to hunt them.”
   “Lord Toranaga says neither he nor any daimyo would ever permit an attack by one foreign nation on another on Japanese soil, or the killing by them of any of our people. Against enemies of the Emperor, that is a different matter. As to getting fighters and crew, it would be easy for a man to get any number if he spoke Japanese. There are many wako in Kyushu.”
   “Wako, Mariko-san?”
   “Oh, so sorry. We call corsairs ‘wako, ’ Anjin-san. They used to have many lairs around Kyushu but they were mostly stamped out by the Taikō. Survivors can still be found, unfortunately. Wako terrorized the coasts of China for centuries. It was because of them that China closed her ports to us.” She explained to Toranaga what had been said. He spoke again, more emphatically. “He says he will never allow or plan or permit you to make a land attack, though it would be correct for you to harry your Queen’s enemy on the high seas. He repeats, this is not anywhere. This is the Land of the Gods. You should be patient as he told you before.”
   “Yes. I intend to try to be patient in his fashion. I only want to hit the enemy because they are the enemy. I believe with all my heart they’re his enemy too.”
   “Lord Toranaga says the Portuguese tell him you are his enemy, and Tsukku-san and the Visitor-General are absolutely sure of it.”
   “If I were able to capture the Black Ship at sea and bring her as a legal prize into Yedo, under the flag of England, would I be permitted to sell her and all she contains in Yedo, according to our custom?”
   “Lord Toranaga says that depends.”
   “If war comes may I be allowed to attack the enemy, Lord Toranaga’s enemy, in the best way that I can?”
   “He says that is the duty of a hatamoto. A hatamoto is, of course, under his personal orders at all times. My Master wants me to make clear that things in Japan wall never be solved by any method other than by Japanese method.”
   “Yes. I understand completely. With due humility I’d like to point out the more I know about his problems, the more I might be able to help.”
   “He says a hatamoto’s duty is always to help his lord, Anjin-san. He says I am to answer any reasonable questions you have later.”
   “Thank you. May I ask him, would he like to have a navy of his own? As I suggested on the galley?”
   “He has already said he would like a navy, a modern navy, Anjin-san, manned by his own men. What daimyo wouldn’t?”
   “Then say this: If I were lucky enough to take the enemy ship, I’d bring her to Yedo to refit and count the prize. Then I’d transship my half of the bullion to Erasmus and sell the Black Ship back to the Portuguese, or offer her to Toranaga-sama as a gift, or burn her, whatever he wishes. Then I’d sail home. Within a year I’d turn around and bring back four warships, as a gift from the Queen of England to Lord Toranaga.”
   “He asks where would be your profit in this?”
   “The honto is, there would be plenty left over for me, Mariko-san, after the ships were paid for by Her Majesty. Further, I’d like to take one of his most trusted counselors with me as an Ambassador to my Queen. A treaty of friendship between our countries might be of interest to him.”
   “Lord Toranaga says that would be much too generous of your Queen. He adds, but if such a thing miraculously happened and you came back with the new ships, who would train his sailors and samurai and captains to man them?”
   “I will, initially, if that pleases him. I’d be honored, then others could follow.”
   “He says what is ‘initially’?”
   “Two years.”
   Toranaga smiled fleetingly.
   “Our Master says two years would not be enough ‘initially.’ However, he adds, it’s all an illusion. He’s not at war with the Portuguese or Lord Harima of Nagasaki. He repeats, what you do outside Japanese waters in your own ship with your own crew is your own karma.” Mariko seemed disturbed. “Outside our waters you are foreigner, he says. But here you are samurai.”
   “Yes. I know the honor he has done to me. May I ask how a samurai borrows money, Mariko-san?”
   “From a moneylender, Anjin-san. Where else? From a filthy merchant moneylender.” She translated for Toranaga. “Why should you need money?”
   “Are there moneylenders in Yedo?”
   “Oh yes. Moneylenders are everywhere, neh? Isn’t it the same in your country? Ask your consort, Anjin-san, perhaps she would be able to help you. That is part of her duty.”
   “You said we’re leaving for Yedo tomorrow?”
   “Yes, tomorrow.”
   “Unfortunately Fujiko-san won’t be able to travel then.”
   Mariko talked with Toranaga.
   “Lord Toranaga says he will send her by galley, when it leaves. He says what do you need to borrow money for?”
   “I’ll have to get a new crew, Mariko-san—to sail anywhere, to serve Lord Toranaga, however he’d wish it. Is that permitted?”
   “A crew from Nagasaki?”
   “Yes.”
   “He will give you an answer when you reach Yedo.”
   “Domo, Toranaga-sama. Mariko-san, when I get to Yedo where do I go? Will there be someone to guide me?”
   “Oh, you must never worry about things like that, Anjin-san. You are one of Lord Toranaga’s hatamoto.” There was a knock on the inner door.
   “Come in.”
   Naga opened the shoji and bowed. “Excuse me, Father, but you wanted to be told when all your officers were present.”
   “Thank you, I’ll be there shortly.” Toranaga thought a moment, then motioned to Blackthorne, his manner friendly. “Anjin-san, go with Naga-san. He will show you to your place. Thank you for your views.”
   “Yes, Sire. Thank you for listen. Thank you for your words. Yes. I try hard be patient and perfect.”
   “Thank you, Anjin-san.” Toranaga watched him bow and go away. When they were alone, he turned to Mariko. “Well, what do you think?”
   “Two things, Sire. First, his hatred of Jesuits is measureless, even surpassing his loathing of Portuguese, so he is a scourge for you to use against either or both, if you want a scourge. We know he is brave, so he would boldly press home any attack from the sea. Second, money is still his goal. In his defense, from what I’ve learned, money is the only real means the barbarians have to lasting power. They buy lands and position—even their Queen’s a merchant and ‘sells’ land to her lords, and buys ships and lands, probably. They’re not so different from us, Lord, except in that. And also in that they do not understand power, or that war is life and life is death.”
   “Are the Jesuits my enemy?”
   “I do not believe so.”
   “The Portuguese?”
   “I believe they’re concerned only with profits, land, and spreading the word of God.”
   “Are Christians my enemy?”
   “No, Sire. Though some of your enemies may be Christian—Catholic or Protestant.”
   “Ah, you think the Anjin-san’s my enemy?”
   “No, Sire. No, I believe he honors you and, in time, will become a real vassal.”
   “What about our Christians? Who are enemy?”
   “Lords Harima, Kiyama, Onoshi, and any other samurai who turns against you.”
   Toranaga laughed. “Yes, but do the priests control them, as the Anjin-san implies?”
   “I do not think so.”
   “Will those three go against me?”
   “I don’t know, Sire. In the past, they’ve all been both hostile and friendly to you. But if they side with Ishido it would be very bad.”
   “I agree. Yes. You’re a valued counselor. It’s difficult for you being Catholic Christian, being friends with an enemy, listening to enemy ideas.”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “He trapped you, neh?”
   “Yes. But in truth he had the right. I was not doing what you had ordered. I was putting myself between his pure thoughts and you. Please accept my apologies.”
   “It will continue to be difficult. Perhaps even more so.”
   “Yes, Sire. But it’s better to know both sides of the coin. Much of what he said has been found to be true—for instance, about the world being split by Spaniards and Portuguese, about the priests smuggling guns—however impossible it is to believe. You need never fear about my loyalty, Sire. However bad it becomes, I will always do my duty to you.”
   “Thank you. Well, it’s been very interesting, what the Anjin-san said, neh? Interesting but nonsense. Yes, thank you, Mariko-san, you’re a valued counselor. Shall I order you divorced from Buntaro?”
   “Sire?”
   “Well?”
   Oh to be free, her spirit sang. Oh, Madonna, to be free!
   Remember who you are, Mariko, remember what you are. And remember that “love” is a barbarian word.
   Toranaga was watching her in the great silence. Outside, mosquitoes strayed into the spirals of incense smoke to dart away to safety. Yes, he brooded, she’s a falcon. But what prey do I cast her against?
   “No, Sire,” Mariko said at last. “Thank you, Sire, but no.”
   “The Anjin-san’s a strange man, neh? His head is filled with dreams. Ridiculous to consider attacking our friends the Portuguese, or their Black Ship. Nonsense to believe what he says about four ships or twenty.”
   Mariko hesitated. “If he says a navy is possible, Sire, then I believe it’s possible.”
   “I don’t agree,” Toranaga said emphatically. “But you’re right that he’s a balance against the others, him and his fighting ship. How curious—but how illuminating! It’s as Omi said: At the moment we need the barbarians, to learn from them. And there’s much yet to learn, particularly from him, neh?”
   “Yes.”
   “It’s time to open up the Empire, Mariko-san. Ishido will close it as tight as an oyster. If I were President of the Regents again, I’d make treaties with any nation, so long as it’s friendly. I’d send men to learn from other nations, yes and I’d send ambassadors. This man’s queen would be a good beginning. For a queen perhaps I should send a woman ambassador, if she were clever enough.”
   “She would have to be very strong and very clever, Sire.”
   “Yes. It would be a dangerous journey.”
   “All journeys are dangerous, Sire,” Mariko said.
   “Yes.” Again Toranaga switched without warning. “If the Anjin-san sailed away with his ship weighed with gold, would he come back? He himself?”
   After a long time she said, “I don’t know.”
   Toranaga decided not to press her now. “Thank you, Mariko-san,” he said in friendly dismissal. “I want you to be present at the meeting, to translate what I say for the Anjin-san.

   “Everything, Sire?”
   “Yes. And tonight when you go to the Tea House to buy Kiku’s contract, take the Anjin-san with you. Tell his consort to make the arrangements. He needs rewarding, neh?”
   “Hai.”
   When she was at the shoji Toranaga said, “Once the issue between Ishido and myself is settled, I will order you divorced.”
   Her hand tightened on the screen. She nodded slightly in acknowledgment. But she did not look back. The door closed after her.
   Toranaga watched the smoke for a moment, then got up and walked into the garden to the privy and squatted. When he had finished and had used the paper, he heard a servant slide the container away from beneath the hole to replace it with a clean one. The mosquitoes were droning and he slapped them absently. He was thinking of falcons and hawks, knowing that even the greatest falcons make mistakes, as Ishido had made a mistake, and Kiri, and Mariko, and Omi, and even the Anjin-san.


   The hundred and fifty officers were aligned in neat rows, Yabu, Omi, and Buntaro in front. Mariko knelt near Blackthorne to the side. Toranaga marched in with his personal guards and sat on the lonely cushion, facing them. He acknowledged their bows, then informed them briefly of the essence of the dispatch and laid before them, for the first time publicly, his ultimate battle plan. Again he withheld the part that related to the secret and carefully planned insurrections, and also the fact that the attack would take the northern and not the southern coastal road. And, to general acclaim—for all his warriors were glad that at last there was an end to uncertainty—he told them that when the rains ceased he would issue the code words “Crimson Sky” which would launch them on their attack. “Meanwhile I expect Ishido illegally to convene a new Council of Regents. I expect to be falsely impeached. I expect war to be declared on me, against the law.” He leaned forward, his left fist characteristically bunched on his thigh, the other tight on his sword. “Listen. I uphold the Taikō’s testament and acknowledge my nephew Yaemon as Kwampaku and heir to the Taikō. I desire no other lands. I want no other honors. But if traitors attack me I must defend myself. If traitors dupe His Imperial Highness and attempt to assume power in the land, it is my duty to defend the Emperor and banish evil. Neh?”
   A roar of approval greeted this. Battle cries of “Kasigi” and “Toranaga” poured through the room to be echoed throughout the fortress.
   “The Attack Regiment will be prepared to embark on the galleys for Yedo, Toda Buntaro-san commanding, Kasigi Omi-san second-in-command, within five days. Lord Kasigi Yabu, you will please mobilize Izu and order six thousand men to the frontier passes in case the traitor Ikawa Jikkyu swoops south to cut our lines of communication. When the rains cease, Ishido will attack the Kwanto…”
   Omi, Yabu, and Buntaro all silently agreed with Toranaga’s wisdom of withholding information about this afternoon’s decision to launch the attack in the rainy season, at once.
   That will create a sensation, Omi told himself, his bowels churning at the thought of warring in the rains through the mountains of Shinano.
   “Our guns will force a way through,” Yabu had said so enthusiastically this afternoon.
   “Yes,” Omi had agreed, having no confidence in the plan but no alternative to offer. It’s madness, he told himself, though he was delighted that he had been promoted to second-in-command. I don’t understand how Toranaga can conceive that there’s any chance of success in the northern route.
   There isn’t any, he told himself again, and half closed his ears to Toranaga’s stirring exhortation in order to allow himself to concentrate once more on the problem of his revenge. Certainly the attack on Shinano will give you a dozen opportunities to manipulate Yabu into the front line at no risk to yourself. War, any war, will be to your advantage, provided the war’s not lost…
   Then he heard Toranaga say, “Today I was almost killed. Today the Anjin-san pulled me out of the earth. That’s the second time, perhaps even the third, that he’s saved my life. My life is nothing against the future of my clan, and who is to say whether I would have lived or died without his help? But though it is bushido that vassals should never expect a reward for any service, it is the duty of a liege lord to grant favors from time to time.”
   Amid general acclaim, Toranaga said, “Anjin-san, sit here! Mariko-san, you as well.”
   Jealously Omi watched the towering man rise and kneel at the spot to which Toranaga had motioned, beside him, and there was not a man in the room who did not wish that he himself had had the good fortune to have done what the barbarian had done.
   “The Anjin-san is given a fief near the fishing village of Yokohama to the south of Yedo worth two thousand koku yearly, the right to recruit two hundred samurai retainers, full rights as samurai and hatamoto to the house of Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Chikitada-Minowara. Further, he is to receive ten horses, twenty kimonos, together with full battle equipment for his vassals—the rank of Chief Admiral and Pilot of the Kwanto.” Toranaga waited until Mariko had translated, then he called out, “Naga-san!”
   Obediently Naga brought the silk-covered package to Toranaga. Toranaga threw off the cover. There were two matching swords, one short, the other a killing sword. “Noticing that the earth had swallowed my swords and that I was unarmed, the Anjin-san went down into the crevasse again to find his own to give to me. Anjin-san, I give these in return. They were made by the master craftsman, Yori-ya. Remember, the sword is the soul of the samurai. If he forgets it, or loses it, he will never be excused.”
   To even greater acclaim and private envy Blackthorne took the swords, bowed correctly, and put them in his sash, then bowed again.
   “Thank you, Toranaga-sama. You do me too much honor. Thank you.”
   He began to move away but Toranaga bade him stay. “No, sit down here, beside me, Anjin-san.” Toranaga looked back at the militant, fanatic faces of his officers.
   “Fools!” he wanted to shout. “Don’t you understand that war, whether now or after the rains, would only be disastrous? Any war with Ishido-Ochiba-Yaemon and their present allies must end in slaughter of all my armies, all of you, and the obliteration of me and all my line? Don’t you understand I’ve no chance except to wait and hope that Ishido strangles himself?”
   Instead he incited them even more, for it was essential to throw his enemy off balance.
   “Listen, samurai: Soon you’ll be able to prove your valor, man to man, as our forefathers proved theirs. I will destroy Ishido and all his traitors and first will be Ikawa Jikkyu. I hereby give all his lands, both provinces of Suruga and Totomi worth three hundred thousand koku, to my faithful vassal Lord Kasigi Yabu, and, with Izu, confirm him and his line as their overlords.”
   A thunderous acclamation. Yabu was flushed with elation.
   Omi was banging the floor, shouting just as ecstatically. Now his prize was limitless, for by custom, Yabu’s heir would inherit all his lands.
   How to kill Yabu without waiting for war?
   Then his eyes fixed on the Anjin-san, who was cheering lustily. Why not let the Anjin-san do it for you, he asked himself, and laughed aloud at the idiotic thought. Buntaro leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder, amiably misinterpreting the laughter as happiness for Yabu. “Soon you’ll get the fief you merit, neh?” Buntaro shouted over the tumult. “You deserve recognition too. Your ideas and counsel are valuable.”
   “Thank you, Buntaro-san.”
   “Don’t worry—We can get through any mountains.”
   “Yes.” Buntaro was a ferocious battle general and Omi knew they were well matched: Omi the bold strategist, Buntaro the fearless attack leader.
   If anyone can get us through the mountains, he can.
   There was another burst of cheering as Toranaga ordered saké to be brought, ending the formal meeting.
   Omi drank his saké and watched Blackthorne drain another cup, his kimono neat, swords correct, Mariko still talking. You’ve changed very much, Anjin-san, since that first day, he thought contentedly. Many of your alien ideas are still set firm, but you’re almost becoming civilized—
   “What’s the matter, Omi-san?”
   “Nothing—nothing, Buntaro-san …”
   “You looked as though an eta had shoved his buttocks in your face.”
   “Nothing like that—not at all! Eeeee, just the opposite. I had the beginnings of an idea. Drink up! Hey, Peach-Blossom, bring more saké, my Lord Buntaro’s cup is empty!”

Chapter 40

   “I am instructed to inquire if Kiku-san would be free this evening,” Mariko said.
   “Oh, so sorry, Lady Toda, but I’m not sure,” Gyoko, the Mama-san, said ingratiatingly. “May I ask if the honored client would require Lady Kiku for the evening or part of it, or perhaps until tomorrow, if she’s not already engaged?”
   The Mama-san was a tall, elegant woman in her early fifties with a lovely smile. But she drank too much saké, her heart was an abacus, and she possessed a nose that could smell a single piece of silver from fifty ri.
   The two women were in an eight-mat room adjoining Toranaga’s private quarters. It had been set aside for Mariko, and overlooked, on the other side, a small garden which was enclosed by the first of the inner wall defenses. It was raining again and the droplets sparkled in the flares.
   Mariko said genteelly, “That would be a matter for the client to decide. Perhaps an arrangement could be made now which would cover every eventuality.”
   “So sorry, please excuse me that I don’t know her availability at once. She’s so sought after, Lady Toda. I’m sure you understand.”
   “Oh, yes, of course. We’re really very fortunate to have such a lady of quality here in Anjiro.” Mariko had accented the “Anjiro.” She had sent for Gyoko instead of visiting her, as she might possibly have done. And when the woman had arrived, just late enough to make a distinct point, but not enough to be rude, Mariko had been glad of the opportunity to lock horns with so worthy an adversary.
   “Was the Tea House damaged very much?” she asked.
   “No, fortunately, apart from some valuable pottery and clothes, though it will cost a small fortune to repair the roof and resettle the garden. It’s always so expensive to get things done quickly, don’t you find?”
   “Yes. It’s very trying. In Yedo, Mishima, or even in this village.”
   “It’s so important to have tranquil surroundings, neh? Would the client perhaps honor us at the Tea House? Or would he wish Kiku-san to visit him here, if she is available?”
   Mariko pursed her lips, thinking. “The Tea House.”
   “Ah, so desu!” The Mama-san’s real name was Heiko-ichi—First Daughter of the Wall Maker. Her father and his before him had been specialists in making garden walls. For many years she had been a courtesan in Mishima, the capital of Izu, attaining Second Class Rank. But the gods had smiled upon her and, with gifts from her patron, coupled with an astute business sense, she had made enough money to buy her own contract in good time, and so become a manager of ladies with a Tea House of her own when she was no longer sought after for the fine body and saucy wit with which the gods had endowed her. Now she called herself Gyoko-san, Lady Luck. When she was a fledgling courtesan of fourteen, she had been given the name Tsukaiko—Lady Snake Charmer. Her owner had explained to her that that special part of man could be likened to a snake, that a snake was lucky, and if she could become a snake charmer in that sense, then she would be hugely successful. Also the name would make clients laugh, and laughter was essential to this business. Gyoko had never forgotten about laughter.
   “Saké, Gyoko-san?”
   “Thank you, yes, thank you, Lady Toda.”
   The maid poured. Then Mariko dismissed her.
   They drank silently for a moment. Mariko refilled the cups.
   “Such lovely pottery. So elegant,” Gyoko said.
   “It’s very poor. I’m so sorry we have to use it.”
   “If I can make her available, would five koban be acceptable?” A koban was a gold coin that weighed eighteen grams. One koban equaled three koku of rice.
   “So sorry, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. I didn’t wish to buy all the Tea House in Mishima, only the lady’s services for an evening.”
   Gyoko laughed. “Ah, Lady Toda, your reputation is well merited. But may I point out that Kiku-san is of the First Class Rank. The Guild gave her that honor last year.”
   “True, and I’m sure that rank is merited. But that was in Mishima. Even in Kyoto—but of course you were making a joke, so sorry.”
   Gyoko swallowed the vulgarity that was on her tongue and smiled benignly. “Unfortunately I would have to reimburse clients who, I seem to remember, have already booked her. Poor child, four of her kimonos were ruined when water doused the fires. Hard times are coming to the land, Lady, I’m sure you understand. Five would not be unreasonable.”
   “Of course not. Five would be fair in Kyoto, for a week of carousing, with two ladies of First Rank. But these are not normal times and one must make allowances. Half a koban. Saké, Gyoko-san?”
   “Thank you, thank you. The saké’s so good—the quality is so good, so very good. Just one more if you please, then I must be off. If Kiku-san is not free this evening I’d be delighted to arrange one of the other ladies—Akeko perhaps. Or perhaps another day would be satisfactory? The day after tomorrow perhaps?”
   Mariko did not answer for a moment. Five koban was outrageous—as much as you’d pay for a famous courtesan of First Class in Yedo. Half a koban would be more than reasonable for Kiku. Mariko knew prices of courtesans because Buntaro used courtesans from time to time and had even bought the contract of one, and she had had to pay the bills, which had, of course, rightly come to her. Her eyes gauged Gyoko. The woman was sipping her saké calmly, her hand steady.
   “Perhaps,” Mariko said. “But I don’t think so, neither another lady nor another night… No, if tonight cannot be arranged I’m afraid that the day after tomorrow would be too late, so sorry. And as to another of the ladies …” Mariko smiled and shrugged.
   Gyoko set her cup down sadly. “I did hear that our glorious samurai would be leaving us. Such a pity! The nights are so pleasant here. In Mishima we do not get the sea breeze as you do here. I shall be sorry to leave too.”
   “Perhaps one koban. If this arrangement is satisfactory I would then like to discuss how much her contract would cost.”
   “Her contract!”
   “Yes. Saké?”
   “Thank you, yes. Contract—her contract? Well, that’s another thing. Five thousand koku.”
   “That’s impossible!”
   “Yes,” Gyoko agreed, “but Kiku-san’s like my own daughter. She is my own daughter, better than my own daughter. I’ve trained her since she was six. She’s the most accomplished Lady of the Willow World in all Izu. Oh, I know, in Yedo you have greater ladies, more witty, more worldly, but that’s only because Kiku-san hasn’t had the good fortune to mix with the same quality of persons. But even now, none can match her singing or her samisen playing. I swear it by all the gods. Give her a year in Yedo, with the right patron and correct sources of knowledge, and she’ll compete satisfactorily with any courtesan in the Empire. Five thousand koku is a small sum to pay for such a flower.” Perspiration beaded the woman’s forehead. “You must excuse me, but I’ve never considered selling her contract before. She’s barely eighteen, blemishless, the only Lady of First Class Rank that I’ve been privileged to manage. I really don’t think I could ever sell her contract even at the price mentioned. No, I think I will have to reconsider, so sorry. Perhaps we could discuss this tomorrow. Lose Kiku-san? My little Kiku-chan?” Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and Mariko thought, if those are real tears, then you, Gyoko, you’ve never spread yourself open to a Princely Pestle.
   “So sorry. Shigata ga nai, neh?” Mariko said courteously and let the woman moan and weep and refilled her cup every so often and then again. How much is the contract really worth, she was asking herself. Five hundred koku would be fantastically more than fair. It depends on the anxiety of the man, who’s not anxious in this case. Certainly Lord Toranaga isn’t. Who’s he buying for? Omi? Probably. But why did Toranaga order the Anjin-san here?
   “You agree, Anjin-san?” she had asked him earlier with a nervous laugh, over the boisterousness of the drunken officers.
   “You’re saying that Lord Toranaga’s arranged a lady for me? Part of my reward?”
   “Yes. Kiku-san. You can hardly refuse. I—I am ordered to interpret.
   “Ordered?”
   “Oh, I’ll be happy to interpret for you. But, Anjin-san, you really can’t refuse. It would be terribly impolite after so many honors, neh?” She had smiled up at him, daring him, so proud and delighted with Toranaga’s incredible generosity. “Please. I’ve never seen the inside of a Tea House before—I’d adore to look myself and talk with a real Lady of the Willow World.”
   “What?”
   “Oh, they’re called that because the ladies are supposed to be as graceful as willows. Sometimes it’s the Floating World, because they’re likened to lilies floating in a lake. Go on, Anjin-san, please agree.”
   “What about Buntaro-sama?”
   “Oh, he knows I’m to arrange it for you. Lord Toranaga told him. It’s all very official of course. I’m ordered. So are you! Please!” Then she had said in Latin, so glad that no one else in Anjiro spoke the language, “There is another reason that I will tell thee later.”
   “Ah—tell it to me now.”
   “Later. But agree, with amusement. Because I ask thee.”
   “Thou—how can I refuse thee?”
   “But with amusement. It must be with amusement. Thy promise!”
   “With laughter. I promise. I will attempt it. I promise thee nothing other than I will attempt the crest.”
   Then she had left him to make the arrangements.
   “Oh, I’m distraught at the very thought of selling my beauty’s contract,” Gyoko was groaning. “Yes, thank you, just a little more saké, then I really must go.” She drained the cup and held it out wearily for an immediate refill. “Shall we say two koban for this evening—a measure of my desire to please a Lady of such merit?”
   “One. If this is agreed, perhaps we could talk more about the contract this evening, at the Tea House. So sorry to be precipitous, but time, you understand …” Mariko waved a hand vaguely toward the conference room. “Affairs of state—Lord Toranaga—the future of the realm—you understand, Gyoko-san.”
   “Oh, yes, Lady Toda, of course.” Gyoko began to get up. “Shall we agree to one and a half for the evening? Good, then that’s set—”
   “One.
   “Oh ko, Lady, the half is a mere token and hardly merits discussion,” Gyoko wailed, thanking the gods for her acumen and keeping feigned anguish on her face. One and a half koban would be a triple fee. But, more than the money, this was, at long last, the first invitation from one of the real nobility of all Japan for which she had been angling, for which she would gladly have advised Kiku-san to do everything for nothing, twice. “By all the gods, Lady Toda, I throw myself on your mercy, one and a half koban. Please, think of my other children who have to be clothed and trained and fed for years, who do not become as priceless as Kiku-san but have to be cherished as much as she.”
   “One koban, in gold, tomorrow. Neh?”
   Gyoko lifted the porcelain flask and poured two cups. She offered one to Mariko, drained the other, and refilled her own immediately. “One,” she said, almost gagging.
   “Thank you, you’re so kind and thoughtful. Yes, times are hard.” Mariko sipped her wine demurely. “The Anjin-san and I will be at the Tea House shortly.”
   “Eh? Whatwasthatyousaid?”
   “That the Anjin-san and I will be at the Tea House shortly. I am to interpret for him.”


   “The barbarian?” Kiku gasped.
   “The barbarian. And he’ll be here any moment unless we stop him—with her, the cruelest, most grasping harpy I’ve ever met, may she be reborn a back-passage whore of the Fifteenth Rank.”
   In spite of her fear, Kiku laughed outright. “Oh, Mama-san, please don’t fret so! She seemed such a lovely lady and one whole koban—you really made a marvelous arrangement! There, there, we’ve lots of time. First some saké will take away all your heartburn. Ako, quick as a hummingbird!”
   Ako vanished.
   “Yes, the client’s the Anjin-san.” Gyoko almost choked again.
   Kiku fanned her and Hana, the little apprentice, fanned her and held sweet-smelling herbs near her nose. “I thought she was negotiating for Lord Buntaro—or Lord Toranaga himself. Of course when she said the Anjin-san I asked her at once why didn’t his own consort, Lady Fujiko, negotiate as correct manners insisted, but all she said was that his Lady was badly sick with burns and she herself had been ordered to talk to me by Lord Toranaga himself.”
   “Oh! Oh, that I should be so fortunate to serve the great Lord!”
   “You will, child, you will if we scheme. But the barbarian! What will all your other customers think? What will they say? Of course I left it undecided, telling Lady Toda that I didn’t know if you were free, so you can still refuse if you wish, without offense.”
   “What can other customers say? Lord Toranaga ordered this. There’s nothing to be done, neh?” Kiku concealed her apprehension.
   “Oh, you can easily refuse. But you must be quick, Kiku-chan. Oh ko, I should have been more clever—I should have.”
   “Don’t worry, Gyoko-sama. Everything will be all right. But we must think clearly. It’s a big risk, neh?”
   “Yes. Very.”
   “We can never turn back if we accept.”
   “Yes. I know.”
   “Advise me.”
   “I cannot, Kiku-chan. I feel I was trapped by kami. This must be your decision.”
   Kiku weighed all the horrors. Then weighed the good. “Let us gamble. Let us accept him. After all he is samurai, and hatamoto, and Lord Toranaga’s favored vassal. Don’t forget what the fortune teller said: that I would help you to become rich and famous forever. I pray I may be allowed to do that to repay all your kindnesses.”
   Gyoko stroked Kiku’s lovely hair. “Oh, child, you’re so good, thank you, thank you. Yes, I think you’re wise. I agree. Let him visit us.” She pinched her cheek affectionately. “You always were my favorite! But I would have demanded double for the barbarian admiral if I’d known.”
   “But we got double, Mama-san.”
   “We should have had triple!”
   Kiku patted Gyoko’s hand. “Don’t worry—this is the beginning of your good fortune.”
   “Yes, and it’s true the Anjin-san is no ordinary barbarian but a samurai and hatamoto barbarian. Lady Toda told me he’s been given a fief of two thousand koku and made Admiral of all Toranaga’s ships and he bathes like a civilized person and no longer stinks…”
   Ako arrived breathlessly and poured the wine without spilling a drop. Four cups disappeared in quick succession. Gyoko began to feel better. “Tonight must be perfect. Yes. If Lord Toranaga ordered it, of course it has to be. He wouldn’t order it personally unless it was important to him personally, neh? And the Anjin-san’s really like a daimyo. Two thousand koku yearly—by all kami, we should have so much good fortune! Kiku-san, listen!” She leaned closer and Ako leaned closer, all eyes. “I asked the Lady Toda, seeing that she spoke their vile language, if she knew of any strange customs or ways, stories or dances or positions or songs or instruments or potents that the Anjin-san would prefer.”
   “Ah, that would be very helpful, very,” Kiku said, frightened that she had agreed, wishing that she had had the wisdom to refuse.
   “She told me nothing! She speaks their language but knows nothing about their pillow habits. I asked her if she’d ever asked him about that and she said yes, but with disastrous results.” Gyoko related the occurrence in Osaka Castle. “Can you imagine how embarrassing that must have been!”
   “At least, we know not to suggest boys to him—that’s something.”
   “Apart from that, there’s only the maid in his household to go by!”
   “Do we have time to send for the maid?”
   “I went there myself. Straight from the fortress. Not even a month’s salary opened the girl’s mouth, stupid little weevil!”
   “Was she presentable?”