Book Six

Chapter 60

   He stood in the shallows and looked out at the charred skeleton of his ship aground and heeled over, awash in the small surf, seventy yards seaward, masts gone, decks gone, everything gone, except for the keel and the ribs of her chest that jutted to the sky.
   “The monkeys tried to beach her,” Vinck said sullenly.
   “No. The tide took her there.”
   “For Christ’s sweet sake, why say that, Pilot? If you’ve a God-cursed fire and you’re near the God-cursed shore you beach her to fight it there! Jesus, even these piss-arsed bastards know that!” Vinck spat on the sand. “Monkeys! You should never’ve left her to them. What’re we going to do now? How we going to get home? You should’ve left her at Yedo safe, an’ us safe, with our eters.”
   The whine in Vinck’s voice irritated Blackthorne. Everything about Vinck irritated him now. Three times in the last week he had almost told his vassals to knife Vinck quietly and throw him overboard to put him out of his misery when the weeping and bewailing and accusations had become too much. But he had always curbed his temper and gone aloft or below to seek out Yabu. Near Yabu, Vinck made no sound, petrified of him, and rightly. Aboard it had been easy to contain himself. Here, shamed before his ship’s nakedness, it was not easy.
   “Perhaps they beached her, Johann,” he said, weary unto death.
   “You bet the muck-eating bastards beached her! But they didn’t put out the fire, God curse them all to hell! Should never’ve let Jappos on her, stinking, piss-arsed monkeys…”
   Blackthorne shut his ears and concentrated on the galley. She was moored downwind to the wharf, a few hundred paces away, by Yokohama village. The lean-tos of the Musket Regiment were still scattered about the foreshore and foothills, men drilling, hurrying, a pall of anxiety over all of them. It was a warm sunny day with a fair wind blowing. His nose caught a scent of mimosa perfume. He could see Kiri and Lady Sazuko in conversation under orange sunshades on the forepoop and he wondered if the perfume came from them. Then he watched Yabu and Naga walking up and down the wharf, Naga talking and Yabu listening, both very tense. Then he saw them look across at him. He sensed their restlessness.
   When the galley had rounded the point two hours ago, Yabu had said, “Why go look closer, Anjin-san? Ship dead, neh? All finished. Go Yedo! Get ready for war. No time now.”
   “So sorry—stop here. Must look close. Please.”
   “Go Yedo! Ship dead—finished. Neh?”
   “You want, you go. I swim.”
   “Wait. Ship dead, neh?”
   “So sorry, please stop. Little time. Then Yedo.”
   At length Yabu had agreed and they had docked and Naga had met them. “So sorry, Anjin-san. Neh?” Naga had said, his eyes bleary from sleeplessness.
   “Yes, so sorry. Please what happen?”
   “So sorry, don’t know. Not honto. I was not here, understand? I was ordered Mishima few days. When come back, men say earthquake at night—all happen at night, understand? You understand ‘earthquake,’ Anjin-san?”
   “Understand. Yes. Please continue.”
   “So little earthquake. At night. Some men say tidal wave arrive, some say not tidal wave but just one big wave, storm wave. There was a storm that night, neh? Little tai-fun. You understand ‘tai-fun ’?”
   “Yes.”
   “Ah, so sorry. Very dark night. They say big wave come. They say oil lamps on deck break. Ship catch fire, neh? Everything fire, quick, very—”
   “But guards, Naga-san? Where deck men?”
   “Very dark. Fire very quick, understand? So sorry. Shigata ga nai, neh?” he added hopefully.
   “Where deck men, Naga-san? I leave guard. Neh?”
   “When I returned one day later, very sorry, neh? Ship finished, still burning there in shallows—near shore. Ship finished. I get all men from ship and all shore patrol of that night. I ask them to report. No one is sure what happened. “ Naga’s face darkened. “I order them to salvage—to bring everything possible, understand? Everything. All up there now in camp.” He pointed to the plateau. “Under guard. My guards. Then I put them to death and rushed back to Mishima to report to Lord Toranaga.”
   “All of them? All to death?”
   “Yes—they failed in their duty.”
   “What Lord Toranaga say?”
   “Very angry. Very right to be angry, neh? I offer seppuku. Lord Toranaga refuse permission. Eeeeee! Lord Toranaga very angry, Anjin-san.” Naga waved a nervous hand around the foreshore. “Whole regiment in disgrace, Anjin-san. Everyone. All chief officers here in disgrace, Anjin-san. Sent to Mishima. Fifty-eight seppuku already.”
   Blackthorne had thought about that number and he wanted to shriek, five thousand or fifty thousand can’t repay the loss of my ship! “Bad,” his mouth was saying. “Yes, very bad.”
   “Yes. Better go Yedo. Today. War today, tomorrow, next day. Sorry.”
   Then Naga had spoken intently with Yabu for a few moments, and Blackthorne, dull-witted, hating the foul-sounding words, hating Naga and Yabu and all of them, could barely follow him though he saw Yabu’s unease increase. Naga turned again to him with an embarrassed finality. “So sorry, Anjin-san. Nothing more I could do. Honto, neh?”
   Blackthorne had forced himself to nod. “Honto. Domo, Naga-san. Shigata ga nai.” He had made some excuse and left them to walk down to his ship, to be alone, no longer trusting himself to contain his insane rage, knowing that there was nothing he could do, that he would never know any more of the truth, that whatever the truth he had lost his ship, that the priests had somehow managed to pay men, or cajole men, or threaten them into this filthy desecration. He had fled from Yabu and Naga, walking slowly and erect, but before he could escape the wharf, Vinck had rushed after him and begged not to be left behind. Seeing the man’s abject cringing fear, he had agreed and allowed him to follow. But he had closed his mind to him.
   Then, suddenly, down by the shore, they had come on the grisly remains of the heads. More than a hundred, hidden from the wharf by dunes and stuck on spears. Seabirds rose up in a white shrieking cloud as they approached, and settled back to continue ravaging and quarreling once they had hurried past.
   Now he was studying the hulk of his ship, one thought obsessing him: Mariko had seen the truth and had whispered the truth to Kiyama or to the priests: ‘Without his ship the Anjin-san’s helpless against the Church. I ask you to leave him alive, just kill the ship…’
   He could hear her saying it. She was right. It was such a simple solution to the Catholics’ problem. Yes. But any one of them could have thought of the same thing. And how did they breach the four thousand men? Whom did they bribe? How?
   It doesn’t matter who. Or how. They’ve won.
   God help me, without my ship I’m dead. I can’t help Toranaga and his war will swallow us up.
   “Poor ship,” he said. “Forgive me—so sad to die so uselessly. After all those leagues.”
   “Eh?” Vinck said.
   “Nothing,” he said. Poor ship, forgive me. It was never my bargain with her or anyone. Poor Mariko. Forgive her too.
   “What did you say, Pilot?”
   “Nothing. I was just thinking out loud.”
   “You said something. I heard you say something, for Christ’s sake!”
   “For Christ’s sake, shut up!”
   “Eh? Shut up, is it? We’re marooned with these piss eaters for the rest of our lives! Eh?”
   “Yes!”
   “We’re to grovel to these God-cursed heathen shit-heads for the rest of our muck-eating lives and how long’ll that be when all they talk about’s war war war? Eh?”
   “Yes.”
   “Yes, is it?” Vinck’s whole body trembling, and Blackthorne readied. “It’s your fault. You said to come to the Japans and we come and how many died coming here? You’re to blame!”
   “Yes. Sorry, but you’re right!”
   “Sorry are you, Pilot? How’re we going to get home? That’s your God-cursed job, to get us home! How you going to do that? Eh?”
   “I don’t know. Another of our ships’ll get here, Johann. We’ve just got to wait anoth—”
   “Wait? How long’re we to wait? Five muck-plagued years, twenty? Christ Jesus, you said yourself all these shitheads’re at war now!” Vinck’s mind snapped. “They’re going to chop off our heads and stick them like those there and the birds’ll eat us…” A paroxysm of insane laughter shook him and he reached into his ragged shirt. Blackthorne saw the pistol butt and it would have been easy to smash Vinck to the ground and take the pistol but he did nothing to defend himself. Vinck waved the pistol in his face, dancing around him with drooling, lunatic glee. Blackthorne waited unafraid, hoping for the bullet, then Vinck took to his heels down the beach, the seabirds scudding into the air, mewing and cawing out of his path. Vinck ran for a frantic hundred paces or more, then collapsed, ending up on his back, his legs still moving, arms waving, mouthing obscenities. After a moment he turned on his belly with a last shriek, facing Blackthorne, and froze. There was a silence.
   When Blackthorne came up to Vinck the pistol was leveled at him, the eyes staring with demented antagonism, the lips pulled back from his teeth. Vinck was dead.
   Blackthorne closed the eyes and picked him up and slung him over his shoulder and walked back. Samurai were running toward him, Naga and Yabu at their head.
   “What happened, Anjin-san?”
   “He went mad.”
   “Is that so? Is he dead?”
   “Yes. First burial, then Yedo. All right?”
   “Hai.”
   Blackthorne sent for a shovel and asked them to leave him for a while and he buried Vinck above the water line on a crest that overlooked the wreck. He said a service over the grave and planted a cross in the grave that he fashioned out of two pieces of driftwood. It was so easy to say the service. He had spoken it too many times. On this voyage alone over a hundred times for his own crew since they’d left Holland. Only Baccus van Nekk and the boy Croocq survived now; the others had come from other ships—Salamon the mute, Jan Roper, Sonk the cook, Ginsel the sailmaker. Five ships and four hundred and ninety-six men. And now Vinck. All gone now except the seven of us. And for what?
   To circumnavigate the globe? To be the first?
   “I don’t know,” he said to the grave. “But that won’t happen now.”
   He made everything tidy. “Sayonara, Johann.” Then he walked down to the sea and swam naked to the wreck to purify himself. He had told Naga and Yabu that this was their custom after burying one of their men on land. The captain had to do it in private if there was no one else and the sea was the purifier before their God, which was the Christian God but not quite the same as the Jesuit Christian God.
   He hung on to one of the ship’s ribs and saw that barnacles were already clustering, sand already silting over the keel plate, three fathoms below. Soon the sea would claim her and she would vanish. He looked around aimlessly. Nothing to salvage, he told himself, expecting nothing.
   He swam ashore. Some of his vassals waited with fresh clothes. He dressed and put his swords in his sash and walked back. Near the wharf one of his vassals pointed. “Anjin-san!”
   A carrier pigeon, pursued by a hawk, was clattering wildly for the safety of the home coop in the village. The coop was in the attic of the tallest building, set back from the seashore on a slight rise. With a hundred yards to go, the hawk on station, high above its prey, closed its wings and plummeted. The stoop hit with a burst of feathers but it was not perfect. The pigeon fell screeching as though mortally wounded, then, near the ground, recovered and fled for home. She scrambled through a hole in the coop to safety, the hawk ek-ek-ek-ing with rage a few paces behind, and everyone cheered, except Blackthorne. Even the pigeon’s cleverness and bravery did not touch him. Nothing touched anymore.
   “Good, neh?” one of his vassals said, embarrassed by his master’s dourness.
   “Yes.” Blackthorne went back to the galley. Yabu was there and the Lady Sazuko, Kiri and the captain. Everything was ready. “Yabu-san. Ima Yedo ka?” he asked.
   But Yabu did not answer and no one noticed him. All eyes were on Naga, who was hurrying toward the village. A pigeon handler came out of the building to meet him. Naga broke the seal and read the slip of paper. “Galley and all aboard to stay at Yokohama until I arrive.” It was signed Toranaga.


   The horsemen came rapidly over the lip of the hill in the early sun. First were the fifty outriders and scouts of the advance guard led by Buntaro. Next came the banners. Then Toranaga. After him was the bulk of the war party under the command of Omi. Following them were Father Alvito Tsukku-san and ten acolytes in a tight group and, after them, a small rear guard, among them hunters with falcons on their gloves, all hooded except one great yellow-eyed goshawk. All samurai were heavily armed and wore chain cuirasses and cavalry battle armor.
   Toranaga rode easily, his spirit lightened now, a newer and stronger man, and he was glad to be near the end of his journey. It was two and a half days since he had sent the order to Naga to keep the galley at Yokohama and had left Mishima on this forced march. They had come very fast, picking up fresh horses every twenty ri or so. At one station where horses were not available the samurai in charge was removed, his stipend given to another, and he was invited to commit seppuku or shave his head and become a priest. The samurai chose death.
   The fool had been warned, Toranaga thought, the whole Kwanto’s mobilized and on a war footing. Still, that man wasn’t a total waste, he told himself. At least the news of that example will flash the length of my domains and there’ll be no more unnecessary delays.
   So much yet to do, he thought, his mind frantic with facts and plans and counterplans. In four days it will be the day, the twenty-second day of eighth month, the Month for Viewing the Moon. Today, at Osaka, the courtier Ogaki Takamoto formally goes to Ishido and regretfully announces that the Son of Heaven’s visit to Osaka has to be delayed for a few days due to ill health.
   It had been so easy to manipulate the delay. Although Ogaki was a Prince of the Seventh Rank and descended from the Emperor Go-Shoko, the ninety-fifth of the dynasty, he was impoverished like all members of the Imperial Court. The Court possessed no revenue of its own. Only samurai possessed revenue and, for hundreds of years, the Court had had to exist on a stipend—always carefully controlled and lean—granted it by the Shōgun, Kwampaku, or ruling Junta of the day. So Toranaga had humbly and very cautiously assigned ten thousand koku yearly to Ogaki, through intermediaries, to donate to needy relatives as Ogaki himself wished, saying with due humility that, being Minowara and therefore also descended from Go-Shoko, he was delighted to be of service and trusted that the Exalted would take care of his precious health in so treacherous a climate as Osaka’s, particularly around the twenty-second day.

   Of course there was no guarantee that Ogaki could persuade or dissuade the Exalted, but Toranaga had surmised that the advisers to the Son of Heaven, or the Son of Heaven himself, would welcome an excuse to delay—hopefully, at length to cancel. Only once in three centuries had a ruling Emperor ever left his sanctuary at Kyoto. That had been four years ago at the invitation of the Taikō to view the cherry blossoms near Osaka Castle, coincident with his resigning the Kwampaku title in favor of Yaemon—and so, by implication, putting the Imperial Seal on the succession.
   Normally no daimyo, even Toranaga, would have dared to make such an offer to any member of the Court because it insulted and usurped the prerogative of a superior—in this case the Council—and would instantly be construed as treason, as it rightly was. But Toranaga knew he was already indicted for treason.
   Tomorrow Ishido and his allies will move against me. How much more time have I left? Where should the battle be? Odawara? Victory depends only on the time and the place, and not on the number of men. They’ll outnumber me three to one at the very least. Never mind, he thought, Ishido’s coming out of Osaka Castle! Mariko pried him out. In the chess game for power I sacrificed my queen but Ishido’s lost two castles.
   Yes. But you lost more than a queen in the last play. You lost a ship. A pawn can become a queen—but not a ship!
   They were riding downhill in a quick, bone-jarring trot. Below was the sea. They turned a corner on the path and there was Yokohama village, with the wreck just offshore. He could see the plateau where the Musket Regiment were drawn up in battle review with their horses and equipment, muskets in their holsters, other samurai, equally well armed, lining his route as an honor guard nearer the shore. On the outskirts of the village the villagers were kneeling in neat rows waiting to honor him. Beyond them was the galley, the sailors waiting with their captain. On either side of the wharf, fishing boats were beached in meticulous array and he made a mental note to reprimand Naga. He had ordered the regiment ready for instant departure, but to stop fishermen or peasants from fishing or working the fields was irresponsible.
   He turned in his saddle and called up a samurai, ordering him to tell Buntaro to go ahead and see that all was safe and prepared. “Then go to the village and dismiss all the villagers to their work, except the headman.”
   “Yes, Sire.” The man dug in his spurs and galloped away.
   Now Toranaga was near enough to the plateau to distinguish faces. The Anjin-san and Yabu, then Kiri and the Lady Sazuko. His excitement quickened.


   Buntaro was galloping down the track, his great bow and two full quivers on his back, half a dozen samurai close behind him. They swung off the track and came out onto the plateau. Instantly he saw Blackthorne and his face became even sterner. Then he reined in and looked around cautiously. A roofed reviewing stand bearing a single cushion was facing the regiment. Another, smaller and lower, was nearby. Kiri and the Lady Sazuko waited under it. Yabu, as the most senior officer, was at the head of the regiment, Naga on his right, the Anjin-san on his left. All seemed safe, and Buntaro waved the main party onward. The advance guard trotted up, dismounted, and spread protectively around the reviewing stand. Then Toranaga rode into the arena. Naga lifted the battle standard on high. At once the four thousand men shouted, “Toranagaaaaaaa!” and bowed.
   Toranaga did not acknowledge their salute. In absolute silence he took stock. He noticed that Buntaro was covertly watching the Anjin-san. Yabu was wearing the sword he had given him, but was very nervous. The Anjin-san’s bow was correct and motionless, the haft of his sword broken. Kiri and his youngest consort were kneeling, their hands flat on the tatamis, their faces demurely lowered. His eyes softened momentarily, then he gazed disapprovingly at the regiment. Every man was still bowing. He did not bow back, just nodded curtly and he felt the tremor that went through the samurai as they straightened up again. Good, he thought, dismounting nimbly, glad that they feared his vengeance. A samurai took his reins and led his horse away as he turned his back on the regiment and, sweat stained like all of them in the humidity, he walked over to his ladies. “So, Kiri-san, welcome home!”
   She bowed again joyously. “Thank you, Sire. I never thought I’d have the pleasure of seeing you ever again.”
   “Nor I, Lady.” Toranaga let a glimmer of his happiness show. He glanced at the young girl. “So, Sazuko-san? Where’s my son?”
   “With his wet nurse, Sire,” she replied breathlessly, basking in his open favor.
   “Please send someone to fetch our child at once.”
   “Oh please, Sire, with your permission, may I bring him to you myself?”
   “Yes, yes, if you wish.” Toranaga smiled and watched her go for a moment, liking her greatly. Again he looked at Kiri. “Is everything all right with you?” he asked for her ears alone.
   “Yes, Lord. Oh, yes—and seeing you so strong fills me with gladness.”
   “You’ve lost weight, Kiri-chan, and you’re younger than ever.”
   “Ah, so sorry, Sire, it’s not true. But thank you, thank you.”
   He grinned at her. “Whatever it is then, it suits you. Tragedy—loneliness—being forsaken… I’m pleased to see you, Kiri-chan.”
   “Thank you, Sire. I’m so happy that her obedience and sacrifice unlocked Osaka. It would please her greatly, Sire, to know she was successful.”
   “First I have to deal with this rabble, then later we’ll talk. There’s lots to talk about, neh?”
   “Yes, oh yes!” Her eyes sparkled. “The Son of Heaven will be delayed, neh?”
   “That would be wise. Neh?”
   “I have a private message from Lady Ochiba.”
   “Ah? Good! But it will have to wait.” He paused. “The Lady Mariko, she died honorably? By choice and not by accident or mistake?”
   “Mariko-sama chose death. It was seppuku. If she hadn’t done what she did, they would have captured her. Oh, Sire, she was so marvelous all those evil days. So brave. And the Anjin-san. If it hadn’t been for him, she would have been captured and shamed. We would all have been captured and shamed.”
   “Ah yes, the ninja.” Toranaga exhaled, his eyes became jet and she shivered in spite of herself. “Ishido’s got much to answer for, Kiri-chan. Please excuse me.” He stalked over to the reviewing stand and sat, stern and menacing again. His guards surrounded him.
   “Omi-san!”
   “Yes, Sire?” Omi came forward and bowed, seeming older than before, leaner now.
   “Escort the Lady Kiritsubo to her quarters, and make sure mine are adequate. I’ll stay here tonight.”
   Omi saluted and walked off and Toranaga was glad to see that the sudden change of plan produced not even a flicker in Omi’s eyes. Good, he thought, Omi’s learning, or his spies have told him I’ve secretly ordered Sudara and Hiro-Matsu here so I could not possibly leave until tomorrow.
   Now he turned his full attention on the regiment. At his signal Yabu came forward and saluted. He returned the salutation politely. “So, Yabu-san! Welcome back.”
   “Thank you, Sire. May I say how happy I am you avoided Ishido’s treachery.”
   “Thank you. And you too. Things did not go well at Osaka. Neh?”
   “No. My harmony is destroyed, Sire. I had hoped to lead the retreat from Osaka bringing you both your ladies safely, and your son, and also the Lady Toda, the Anjin-san, and seamen for his ship. Unfortunately, so sorry, we were both betrayed—there and here.”
   “Yes.” Toranaga looked at the wreck below that was washed by the sea. Anger flickered across his face and everyone readied for the outburst. But none came. “Karma,” he said. “Yes, karma, Yabu-san. What can one do against the elements? Nothing. Negligence is another thing. Now, about Osaka, I want to hear everything that happened, in detail—as soon as the regiment’s dismissed and I’ve bathed.”
   “I have a report for you in writing, Sire.”
   “Good. Thank you, but first I’d prefer you to tell it to me.”
   “Is it true the Exalted won’t go to Osaka?”
   “What the Exalted decides is up to the Exalted.”
   “Do you wish to review the regiment before I dismiss them?” Yabu asked formally.
   “Why should I give them that honor? Don’t you know they’re in disgrace, the elements notwithstanding?” he added thinly.
   “Yes, Sire. So sorry. Terrible.” Yabu was trying unsuccessfully to read Toranaga’s mind. “I was appalled when I heard what had happened. It seems almost impossible.”
   “I agree.” Toranaga’s face darkened and he looked at Naga and beyond him to the massed ranks. “I still fail to understand how there could be such incompetence. I needed that ship!”
   Naga was agitated. “Please excuse me, Sire, but do you wish me to make another inquiry?”
   “What can you do now that you haven’t already done?”
   “I don’t know, Sire, nothing Sire, please excuse me.”
   “Your investigation was thorough, neh?”
   “Yes, Sire. Please forgive my stupidity.”
   “It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t here. Or in command.” Impatiently Toranaga turned back to Yabu. “It’s curious, even sinister, that the shore patrol, the camp patrol, the deck patrol, and the commander were all Izu men on that night—except for the Anjin-san’s few ronin.”
   “Yes, Sire. Curious, but not sinister, so sorry. You were perfectly correct to hold the officers responsible, as Naga-san was to punish the others. So sorry, I made my own investigations as soon as I arrived but I’ve no more information, nothing to add. I agree it’s karma—karma helped somehow by manure-eating Christians. Even so, I apologize.”
   “Ah, you say it was sabotage?”
   “There’s no evidence, Sire, but a tidal wave and simple fire seem too easy an explanation. Certainly any fire should have been doused. Again I apologize.”
   “I accept your apologies but, meanwhile, please tell me how I replace that ship. I need that ship!”
   Yabu could feel acid in his stomach. “Yes, Sire. I know. So sorry, it cannot be replaced, but the Anjin-san told us during the voyage that soon other fighting ships from his country will come here.”
   “How soon?”
   “He doesn’t know, Sire.”
   “A year? Ten years? I’ve barely got ten days.”
   “So sorry, I wish I knew. Perhaps you should ask him, Sire.”
   Toranaga looked directly at Blackthorne for the first time. The tall man was standing alone, the light gone from his face. “Anjin-san!”
   “Yes, Sire?”
   “Bad, neh? Very bad.” Toranaga pointed at the wreck below. “Neh?”
   “Yes, very bad, Sire.”
   “How soon other ships come?”
   “My ships, Sire?”
   “Yes.”
   “When—when Buddha says.”
   “Tonight we talk. Go now. Thank you for Osaka. Yes. Go to galley—or village. Talk tonight. Understand?”
   “Yes. Talk tonight, yes, understand, Sire. Thank you. When tonight, please?”
   “I’ll send a messenger. Thank you for Osaka.”
   “My duty, neh? But I do little. Toda Mariko-sama give everything. Everything for Toranaga-sama.”
   “Yes.” Gravely Toranaga returned the bow. The Anjin-san began to leave, but stopped. Toranaga glanced at the far end of the plateau. Tsukku-san and his acolytes had just ridden in and were dismounting there. He had not granted the priest an interview at Mishima—though he had sent word to him at once about the ship’s destruction—and had deliberately kept him waiting, pending the outcome of Osaka and the safe arrival of the galley at Anjiro. Only then had he decided to bring the priest here with him to allow the confrontation to happen, at the right time.
   Blackthorne began to head for the priest.
   “No, Anjin-san. Later, not now. Now go village!” he ordered.
   “But, Sire! That man kill my ship! He’s the enemy!”
   “You will go there!” Toranaga pointed to the village below. “You will wait there please. Tonight we will talk.”
   “Sire, please, that man—”
   “No. You will go to the galley,” Toranaga said. “You will go now. Please.” This is better than breaking any falcon to the fist, he thought excitedly, momentarily distracted, putting his will to bear on Blackthorne. It’s better because the Anjin-san’s just as wild and dangerous and unpredictable, always an unknown quantity, unique, unlike any man I’ve ever known.
   From the corner of his eyes he noticed Buntaro had moved into the Anjin-san’s path, ready and anxious to force obedience. How foolish, Toranaga thought in passing, and so unnecessary. He kept his eyes on Blackthorne. And dominated him.
   “Yes. Go now, Lord Toranaga. So sorry. Go now,” Blackthorne said. He wiped the sweat off his face and started to go.
   “Thank you, Anjin-san,” Toranaga said. He did not allow his triumph to show. He watched Blackthorne obediently walk away—violent, strong, murderous, but controlled now by the will of Toranaga.
   Then he changed his mind. “Anjin-san!” he called out, deciding it was time to release the jesses and let the killer fly free. The final test. “Listen, go there if you wish. I think it better not to kill the Tsukku-san. But if you want to kill him—kill. Better not to kill.” He said it slowly and carefully, and repeated it. “Wakarimasu ka?”
   “Hai.”
   Toranaga looked into the incredibly blue eyes that were filled with an unthinking animosity and he wondered if this wild bird, cast at its prey, would kill or not kill at his whim alone and return to the fist without eating. “Wakarimasu ka?”
   “Hai.”
   Toranaga waved his hand in dismissal. Blackthorne turned and stalked off northward. Toward the Tsukku-san. Buntaro moved out of his way. Blackthorne did not seem to notice anyone except the priest. The day seemed to become more sultry.
   “So, Yabu-san. What’s he going to do?” Toranaga asked.
   “Kill. Of course he’ll kill if he can catch him. The priest deserves to die, neh? All Christian priests deserve to die, neh? All Christians. I’m sure they were behind the sabotage—the priests and Kiyama, though I can’t prove it.”
   “You’ll gamble your life he’ll kill Tsukku-san?”
   “No, Sire,” Yabu said hastily. “No. I wouldn’t. So sorry. He’s barbarian—they’re both barbarian.”
   “Naga-san?”
   “If it were me, I’d kill the priest and all of them, now that I had your permission. I’ve never known anyone openly to hate so much. The last two days the Anjin-san’s been like an insane man, walking up and down, muttering, staring at the wreck, sleeping there curled up on the sand, hardly eating…” Naga looked after Blackthorne again. “I agree it wasn’t just nature that destroyed the ship. I know the priests, somehow they were behind it—I can’t prove it either, but somehow… I don’t believe it happened because of the storm.
   “Choose!”

   “He’ll explode. Look at his walk… I think he’ll kill—I hope he’ll kill.”
   “Buntaro-san?”
   Buntaro turned back, his heavy jowls unshaven, his brawny legs planted, his fingers on his bow. “You advised him not to kill the Tsukku-san so you do not want the priest dead. If the Anjin-san kills or doesn’t kill matters nothing to me, Sire. I care only what matters to you. May I stop him if he begins to disobey you? I can do it easily from this range.”
   “Could you guarantee to wound him only?”
   “No, Sire.”
   Toranaga laughed softly and broke the spell. “The Anjin-san won’t kill him. He’ll shout and rave or hiss like a snake and rattle his sword and the Tsukku-san will be swollen up with ‘holy’ zeal, completely unafraid, and he’ll hiss back saying, ‘It was an Act of God. I never touched your ship!’ Then the Anjin-san will call him a liar and the Tsukku-san will be filled with more zeal and repeat the claim and swear to the truth in his God’s name and he’ll probably curse him back and they’ll hate each other for twenty lifetimes. No one will die. At least, not now.”
   “How do you know all that, Father?” Naga exclaimed.
   “I don’t know it for certain, my son. But that’s what I think will happen. It’s always important to take time to study men—important men. Friends and enemies. To understand them. I’ve watched both of them. They’re both very important to me. Neh, Yabu-san?”
   “Yes, Sire,” Yabu said, suddenly disquieted.
   Naga shot a quick glance after Blackthorne. The Anjin-san was still walking with the same unhurried stride, now seventy paces away from the Tsukku-san, who waited at the head of his acolytes, the breeze moving their orange robes.
   “But, Father, neither is a coward, neh? Why doesn’t—how can they back away now with honor?”
   “He won’t kill for three reasons. First, because the Tsukku-san’s unarmed and won’t fight back, even with his hands. It’s against their code to kill an unarmed man—that’s a dishonor, a sin against their Christian God. Second, because he’s Christian. Third, because I decided it was not the time.”
   Buntaro said, “Please excuse me, but I can understand the third, even the first, but isn’t the real reason for their hate that both believe the other man’s not Christian but evil—a Satan worshiper? Isn’t that what they call it?”
   “Yes, but this Jesus God of theirs taught or was supposed to have taught that you forgive your enemy. That’s being Christian.”
   “That’s stupid, neh?” Naga said. “To forgive your enemy is stupid.”
   “I agree.” Toranaga looked at Yabu. “It is foolish to forgive an enemy. Neh, Yabu-san?”
   “Yes,” Yabu agreed.
   Toranaga looked northward. The two figures were very close and now, privately, Toranaga was cursing his impetuousness. He still needed both men very much, and there had been no need to risk either of them. He had launched the Anjin-san for personal excitement, not to kill, and he regretted his stupidity. Now he waited, caught up as all of them. But it happened as he had forecast and the clash was short and sharp and spite-filled, even from this distance, and he fanned himself, greatly relieved. He would have dearly liked to have understood what had actually been said, to know if he had been correct. Soon they saw the Anjin-san stride away. Behind him, the Tsukku-san mopped his brow with a colored paper handkerchief.
   “Eeeee!” Naga uttered in admiration. “How can we lose with you in command?”
   “Too easily, my son, if that is my karma.” Then his mood changed. “Naga-san, order all samurai who came back with the galley from Osaka to my quarters.”
   Naga hurried away.
   “Yabu-san. I’m pleased to welcome you back safely. Dismiss the regiment—after the evening meal we’ll talk. May I send for you?”
   “Of course. Thank you, Sire.” Yabu saluted and went off.
   Now alone but for guards that he waved out of hearing, Toranaga studied Buntaro. Buntaro was unsettled, as a dog would be when stared at. When he could bear it no longer, he said, “Sire?”
   “Once you asked for his head, neh? Neh?”
   “Yes—yes, Sire.”
   “Well?”
   “He—he insulted me at Anjiro. I’m—I’m still shamed.”
   “I order that shame dismissed.”
   “Then it’s dismissed, Sire. But she betrayed me with him and that cannot be dismissed, not while he’s alive. I’ve proof. I want him dead. Now. He … please, his ship’s gone, what use is he now to you, Sire? I ask it as a lifetime favor.”
   “What proof?”
   “Everyone knows. On the way from Yokosé. I talked to Yoshinaka. Everyone knows,” he added sullenly.
   “Yoshinaka saw her and him together? He accused her?”
   “No. But what he said …” Buntaro looked up, in agony. “I know, that is enough. Please, I beg it as a lifetime favor. I’ve never asked anything of you, neh?”
   “I need him alive. But for him the ninja would have captured her, and shamed her, and therefore you.”
   “A lifetime wish,” Buntaro said. “I ask it. His ship’s gone—he’s, he’s done what you wanted. Please.”
   “I have proof he did not shame you with her.”
   “So sorry, what proof?”
   “Listen. This is for your ears alone—as I agreed with her. I ordered her to become his friend.” Toranaga bore down on him. “They were friends, yes. The Anjin-san worshiped her, but he never shamed you with her, or she with him. At Anjiro, just before the earthquake, when she first suggested going to Osaka to free all the hostages—by challenging Ishido publicly and then forcing a crisis by committing seppuku, whatever he tried to do—on that day I de—”
   “That was planned then?”
   “Of course. Will you never learn? On that day I ordered her divorced from you.”
   “Sire?”
   “Divorced. Isn’t the word clear?”
   “Yes, but—”
   “Divorced. She’d driven you insane for years, you’d treated her foully for years. What about your treatment of her foster mother and ladies? Didn’t I tell you I needed her to interpret the Anjin-san, yet you lost your temper and beat her—the truth is you almost killed her that time, neh? Neh?”
   “Yes—please excuse me.”
   “The time had come to finish that marriage. I ordered it finished. Then.”
   “She asked for divorce?”
   “No. I decided and I ordered it. But your wife begged me to revoke the order. I refused. Then your wife said she would commit seppuku at once without my permission before she would allow you to be shamed in that way. I ordered her to obey. She refused.” Toranaga continued angrily, “Your wife forced me, her liege lord, to withdraw my legal order and made me agree to make my order absolute only after Osaka—both of us knowing that Osaka for her meant death. Do you understand?”
   “Yes—yes, I understand that.”
   “At Osaka the Anjin-san saved her honor and the honor of my ladies and my youngest son. But for him, they and all the hostages at Osaka would still be in Osaka, I’d be dead or in Ikawa Jikkyu’s hands, probably in chains like a common felon!”
   “Please excuse me … but why did she do that? She hated me—why should she delay divorce? Because of Saruji?”
   “For your honor. She understood duty. Your wife was so concerned for your honor—even after her death—that part of my agreement was that this was to be a private affair between her and you and myself. No one else would ever know, not the Anjin-san, her son, anyone—not even her Christian priest confessor.”
   “What?”
   Toranaga explained it again. At length Buntaro understood clearly and Toranaga dismissed him and then, at long last alone for the moment, he got up and stretched, exhausted by all his labor since he had arrived. The sun was still high though it was afternoon now. His thirst was great. He accepted cold cha from his personal bodyguard, then walked down to the shore. He stripped off his sopping kimono and swam, the sea feeling glorious to him, refreshing him. He swam underwater but did not stay submerged too long, knowing that his guards would be anxious. He surfaced and floated on his back, looking up into the sky, gathering strength for the long night ahead.
   Ah, Mariko, he thought, what a wondrous lady you are. Yes, are, because you will certainly live forever. Are you with your Christian God in your Christian heaven? I hope not. That would be a terrible waste. I hope your spirit’s just awaiting Buddha’s forty days for rebirth somewhere here. I pray your spirit comes into my family. Please. But again as a lady—not as a man. We could not afford to have you as a man. You’re much too special to waste as a man.
   He smiled. It had happened at Anjiro just as he had told Buntaro, though she had never forced him to rescind his order. “How could she force me to do anything I didn’t want?” he said to the sky. She had asked him dutifully, correctly, not to make the divorce public until after Osaka. But, he assured himself, she would certainly have committed seppuku if I’d refused her. She would have insisted, neh? Of course she would have insisted and that would have ruined everything. By agreeing in advance I merely saved her unnecessary shame and argument, and myself unnecessary trouble—and by keeping it private now, as I’m sure she would have wished it, everyone gains further. I’m glad I conceded, he thought benignly, then laughed aloud. A slight wave chopped over him and he took a mouthful of sea water and choked.
   “Are you all right, Sire?” an anxious guard, swimming nearby, called out.
   “Yes. Of course yes.” Toranaga retched again and spat out the phlegm, treading water, and thought, that will teach you to be smug. That’s your second mistake today. Then he saw the wreck. “Come on, I’ll race you!” he called out to his guard.
   A race with Toranaga meant a race. Once one of his generals had deliberately allowed him to win, hoping to gain favor. That mistake cost the man everything.
   The guard won. Toranaga congratulated him and held onto one of the ribs and waited until his breathing was normal, then he looked around, his curiosity enormous. He swam down and inspected the keel of Erasmus. When he was satisfied he went ashore and returned to the camp, refreshed and ready.
   A temporary house had been set up for him in a good position under a wide thatched roof that was supported with strong bamboo posts. Shoji walls and partitions were set on a raised deck flooring of wood and tatamis. Sentries were already stationed, and rooms were also there for Kiri and Sazuko and servants and cooks, joined by a complex of simple paths, raised on temporary pilings.
   He saw his child for the first time. Obviously the Lady Sazuko would never have been so impolite as to bring her son back to the plateau at once, fearing that she might intrude in important matters—as she would have done—even though he had happily given her that opportunity.
   The child pleased him greatly. “He’s a fine boy,” he boasted, holding the infant with practiced assurance. “And, Sazuko, you’re younger and more attractive than ever. We must have more children at once. Motherhood suits you.”
   “Oh, Sire,” she said, “I was afraid I’d never see you again, and never be able to show you your newest son. How are we going to escape the trap … Ishido’s armies…”
   “Look what a fine boy he is! Next week I’ll build a shrine in his honor and endow it with …” He stopped and halved the figure he’d first thought of and then halved that again. “… with twenty koku a year.”
   “Oh, Sire, how generous you are!”
   Her smile was guileless. “Yes,” he said. “That’s enough for a miserable parasite priest to say a few Namu Amida Butsu, neh?”
   “Oh, yes, Sire. Will the shrine be near the castle in Yedo? Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if it could be on a river or stream?”
   He agreed reluctantly even though such a choice plot would cost more than he had wanted to spend on such frippery. But the boy’s fine, I can afford to be generous this year, he thought.
   “Oh, thank you, Sire …” The Lady Sazuko stopped. Naga was hurrying over to where they sat on a shaded veranda.
   “Please excuse me, Father, but your Osaka samurai? How do you want to see them, singly or all together?”
   “Singly.”
   “Yes, Sire. The priest Tsukku-san would like to see you when convenient.”
   “Tell him I’ll send for him as soon as possible.” Again Toranaga began to talk with his consort but, politely and at once, she asked to be excused, knowing that he wanted to deal with the samurai immediately. He asked her to stay but she begged to be allowed to go and he agreed.
   He interviewed the men carefully, sifting their stories, calling a samurai back occasionally, cross-checking. By sunset he knew clearly what had happened, or what they all thought had happened. Then he ate lightly and quickly, his first meal today, and summoned Kiri, sending all guards out of hearing.
   “First tell me what you did, what you saw, and what you witnessed, Kiri-chan.” Night had fallen before he was satisfied, even though she was perfectly prepared.
   “Eeeeeee,” he said. “That was a near thing, Kiri-chan. Too near.”
   “Yes,” Kiri replied, her hands folded in her ample lap. Then she added with great tenderness, “All gods, great and small, were guarding you, Sire, and us. Please excuse me that I doubted the outcome, doubted you. The gods were watching over us.”
   “It seems that way, yes, very much.” Toranaga watched the night. The flames of the flares were being wafted by the slight sea breeze that also blew away the night insects and made the evening more comfortable. A fine moon rode the sky and he could see the dark marks on its face and he wondered absently if the dark was land and the rest ice and snow, and why the moon was there, and who lived there. Oh, there are so many things I’d like to know, he thought.
   “Can I ask a question, Tora-chan?”
   “What question, Lady?”
   “Why did Ishido let us go? Really? He needn’t have, neh? If I’d been him I wouldn’t have done it—never. Why?”
   “First tell me the Lady Ochiba’s message.”
   “The Lady Ochiba said, ‘Please tell Lord Toranaga that I respectfully wish there was some way that his differences with the Heir could be resolved. As a token of the Heir’s affection, I’d like to tell Toranaga-sama the Heir has said many times he does not want to lead any armies against his uncle, the Lord of the Kwan—’”
   “She said that!”
   “Yes. Oh yes.”
   “Surely she must know—and Ishido—that if Yaemon holds the standard against me I must lose!”
   “That’s what she said, Sire.”
   “Eeeeeee!” Toranaga bunched his great calloused fist and banged it on the tatamis. “If that’s a real offer and not a trick I’m halfway to Kyoto, and one pace beyond.”
   “Yes,” Kiri said.
   “What’s the price?”

   “I don’t know. She said nothing more, Sire. That was all the message—apart from good wishes to her sister.”
   “What can I give Ochiba that she doesn’t have already? Osaka’s hers, the treasure’s hers, Yaemon’s always been Heir of the realm for me. This war’s unnecessary. Whatever happens, in eight years Yaemon becomes Kwampaku and inherits the earth, this earth. There’s nothing left to give her.”
   “Perhaps she wants marriage?”
   Toranaga shook his head emphatically. “No, not her. That woman would never marry me.”
   “It’s the perfect solution, Sire, for her.”
   “She’d never consider it. Ochiba my wife? Four times she begged the Taikō to invite me Onward.”
   “Yes. But that was when he was alive.”
   “I will do anything that would cement the realm, keep the peace, and make Yaemon Kwampaku. Is that what she wants?”
   “It would confirm the succession. That’s her lodestone.”
   Again Toranaga stared at the moon, but now his mind was concentrating on the puzzle, reminded again of what Lady Yodoko had said at Osaka. When no immediate answer was forthcoming he put it aside to continue with the more important present. “I think she’s up to her tricks again. Did Kiyama tell you that the barbarian ship had been sabotaged?”
   “No, Sire.”
   Toranaga frowned. “That’s surprising, because he must have known about it then. I told Tsukku-san as soon as I heard—he went through the motions of sending a carrier bird at once, though it would only have confirmed what they already must have known.”
   “Their treachery should be punished, neh? On the instigators as well as the fools who allowed it.”
   “With patience they’ll get their reward, Kiri-san. I hear the Christian priests claim it was an ‘Act of God.’”
   “Such hypocrisy! Stupid, neh?”
   “Yes.” Very stupid in one way, Toranaga thought, not in another. “Well, thank you, Kiri-san. Again I’m delighted you’re safe. We’ll stay here tonight. Now, please excuse me. Send for Yabu-san and when he arrives, bring cha and saké and then leave us alone.”
   “Yes, Sire. May I ask my question now?”
   “The same question?”
   “Yes, Sire. Why did Ishido let us go?”
   “The answer is, Kiri-chan, I don’t know. He made a mistake.”
   She bowed and went away contentedly.


   It was almost the middle of the night before Yabu left. Toranaga bowed him away as an equal and thanked him again for everything. He had invited him to the secret Council of War tomorrow, had confirmed him as General of the Musket Regiment, and confirmed his Overlordship of Totomi and Suruga in writing—once they were conquered and secured.
   “Now the regiment’s absolutely vital, Yabu-san. You’re to be solely responsible for its strategy and training. Omi-san can be liaison between us. Use the Anjin-san’s knowledge—anything. Neh?”
   “Yes, that will be perfect, Sire. May I humbly thank you.”
   “You did me a great service bringing my ladies, my son, and the Anjin-san back safely. Terrible about the ship—karma. Perhaps another one will arrive soon. Good night, my friend.”
   Toranaga sipped his cha. He was feeling very tired now.
   “Naga-san?”
   “Sire?”
   “Where’s the Anjin-san?”
   “By the wreck with some of his vassals.”
   “What’s he doing there?”
   “Just staring at it.” Naga became uneasy under his father’s piercing gaze. “So sorry, shouldn’t he be there, Sire?”
   “What? Oh no, it doesn’t matter. Where’s Tsukku-san?”
   “In one of the guest houses, Sire.”
   “Have you told him you want to become Christian next year?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Good. Fetch him.”
   In moments Toranaga saw the tall, lean priest approach under the flares—his taut face deeply lined, his black tonsured hair without a fleck of gray—and he was reminded suddenly of Yokosé. “Patience is very important, Tsukku-san. Neh?”
   “Yes, always. But why did you say that, Sire?”
   “Oh, I was thinking about Yokosé. How everything was very different then, such a little time ago.”
   “Ah, yes. God moves in curious ways, yes, Sire. I’m so very pleased you’re still within your own borders.”
   “You wanted to see me?” Toranaga asked, fanning himself, secretly envying the priest his flat stomach and his gift of tongues.
   “Only to apologize for what happened.”
   “What did the Anjin-san say?”
   “Many angry words—and accusations that I’d burned his ship.”
   “Did you?”
   “No, Sire.”
   “Who did?”
   “It was an Act of God. The storm came and the ship was burned.”
   “It wasn’t an Act of God. You say you didn’t help it, you or any priest, or any Christian?”
   “Oh, I helped, Sire. I prayed. We all did. Before God, I believe that ship was an instrument of the Devil—I’ve said so to you many times. I know it wasn’t your opinion and again I ask your forgiveness for opposing you on this. But perhaps this Act of God helped and did not hinder.”
   “Oh? How?”
   “The Father-Visitor’s no longer distracted, Sire. Now he can concentrate on Lords Kiyama and Onoshi.”
   Toranaga said bluntly, “I’ve heard all this before, Tsukku-san. What practical help can the chief Christian priest give me?”
   “Sire, put your trust in—” Alvito caught himself, then said sincerely, “Please excuse me, Sire, but I feel with all my heart that if you put your trust in God, He will help you.”
   “I do, but more in Toranaga. Meanwhile I hear Ishido, Kiyama, Onoshi, and Zataki have gathered their legions. Ishido will have three or four hundred thousand men in the field against me.”
   “The Father-Visitor’s implementing his agreement with you, Sire. At Yokosé I reported failure, now I think there’s hope.”
   “I can’t use hope against swords.”
   “Yes, but God can win against any odds.”
   “Yes. If God exists he can win against any odds.” Then Toranaga’s voice edged even more. “What hope are you referring to?”
   “I don’t know, actually, Sire. But isn’t Ishido coming against you? Out of Osaka Castle? Isn’t that another Act of God?”
   “No. But you understand the importance of that decision?”
   “Oh yes, very clearly. I’m sure the Father-Visitor understands that also.”
   “You say this is his work?”
   “Oh, no, Sire. But it is happening.”
   “Perhaps Ishido will change his mind and make Lord Kiyama commander-in-chief and skulk at Osaka and leave Kiyama and the Heir opposing me?”
   “I can’t answer that, Sire. But if Ishido leaves Osaka it will be a miracle. Neh?”
   “Are you seriously claiming this to be another Act of your Christian God?”
   “No. But it could be. I believe nothing happens without His knowledge.”
   “Even after we’re dead we still may never know about God.” Then Toranaga added abruptly, “I hear the Father-Visitor’s left Osaka,” and was pleased to see a shadow cross the Tsukku-san’s face. The news had come the day they’d left Mishima.
   “Yes,” the priest was saying, his apprehension increasing. “He’s gone to Nagasaki, Sire.”
   “To conduct a special burial for Toda Mariko-sama?”
   “Yes. Ah, Sire, you know so much. We’re all clay on the potter’s wheel you spin.”
   “That’s not true. And I don’t like idle flattery. Have you forgotten?”
   “No, Sire, please excuse me. It wasn’t meant to be.” Alvito became even more on guard, almost wilting. “You’re opposed to the service, Sire?”
   “It doesn’t matter to me. She was a very special person and her example merits honor.”
   “Yes, Sire. Thank you. The Father-Visitor will be very pleased. But he thinks it matters quite a lot.”
   “Of course. Because she was my vassal and a Christian her example won’t go unnoticed—by other Christians. Or by those considering conversion. Neh?”
   “I would say it will not go unnoticed. Why should it? On the contrary she merits great praise for her self-sacrifice.”
   “In giving her life that others might live?” Toranaga asked cryptically, not mentioning seppuku or suicide.
   “Yes.”
   Toranaga smiled to himself, noticing that Tsukku-san had never once mentioned the other girl, Kiyama Achiko, her bravery or death or burial, also with great pomp and ceremony. He hardened his voice. “And you know of no one who ordered or assisted in the sabotage of my ship?”
   “No, Sire. Other than by prayer.”
   “I hear your church building in Yedo is going well.”
   “Yes, Sire. Again thank you.”
   “Well, Tsukku-san, I hope the labors of the High Priest of the Christians will bear fruit soon. I need more than hope and I’ve a very long memory. Now, please, I require your services as interpreter.” Instantly he sensed the priest’s antagonism. “You have nothing to fear.”
   “Oh, Sire, I’m not afraid of him, please excuse me, I just don’t want to be near him.”
   Toranaga got up. “I require you to respect the Anjin-san. His bravery is unquestioned and he saved the Mariko-sama’s life many times. Also he’s understandably almost berserk at the moment—the loss of his ship, neh?”
   “Yes, yes, so sorry.”
   Toranaga led the way toward the shore, guards with flares lighting their way. “When do I have your High Priest’s report on the gun-running incident?”
   “As soon as he gets all the information from Macao.”
   “Please ask him to speed his inquiries.”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Who were the Christian daimyos concerned?”
   “I don’t know, so sorry, or even if any were involved.”
   “A pity you don’t know, Tsukku-san. That would save me a lot of time. There are more than a few daimyos who would be interested to know the truth of that.”
   Ah, Tsukku-san, Toranaga thought, but you do know and I could press you into a corner now and, while you would twist and thrash around like a cornered snake, at length I’d order you to swear by your Christian God, and then if you did you would have to say: “Kiyama, Onoshi, and probably Harima.” But the time’s not ready. Yet. Nor ready for you to know I believe you Christians had nothing to do with the sabotage. Nor did Kiyama, or Harima, or even Onoshi. In fact, I’m sure. But it still wasn’t an Act of God. It was an Act of Toranaga.
   Yes.
   ‘But why?’ you might ask.
   Kiyama wisely refused the offer in my letter that Mariko gave him. He had to be given proof of my sincerity. What else could I give but the ship—and the barbarian—that terrified you Christians? I expected to lose both, though I only gave one. Today in Osaka, intermediaries will tell Kiyama and the chief of your priests this is a free gift from me to them, proof of my sincerity: that I am not opposed to the Church, only Ishido. It is proof, neh?
   Yes, but can you ever trust Kiyama? you will ask quite rightly.
   No. But Kiyama is Japanese first and Christian second. You always forget that. Kiyama will understand my sincerity. The gift of the ship was absolute, like Mariko’s example and the Anjin-san’s bravery.
   And how did I sabotage the ship? you might want to know.
   What does that matter to you, Tsukku-san? It is enough that I did. And no one the wiser, except me, a few trusted men, and the arsonist. Him? Ishido used ninja, why shouldn’t I? But I hired one man and succeeded. Ishido failed.
   “Stupid to fail,” he said aloud.
   “Sire?” Alvito asked.
   “Stupid to fail to—bottle up such an incendiary secret as smuggled muskets,” he said gruffly, “and to incite Christian daimyos into rebellion against their liege lord, the Taikō. Neh?”
   “Yes, Sire. If it’s true.”
   “Oh, I’m sure it’s true, Tsukku-san.” Toranaga let the conversation lapse now that Tsukku-san was clearly agitated and ready to be a perfect interpreter.
   They were down by the shore now and Toranaga led, sure-footed in the semi-darkness, brushing his weariness aside. As they passed the heads on the shore he saw Tsukku-san cross himself in fear and he thought, how stupid to be so superstitious—and to be afraid of nothing.
   The Anjin-san’s vassals were already on their feet, bowing, long before he arrived. The Anjin-san was not. The Anjin-san was still sitting staring bleakly out to sea.
   “Anjin-san,” Toranaga called out gently.

   “Yes, Sire?” Blackthorne came out of his reverie and got to his feet. “Sorry, you want talk now?”
   “Yes. Please. I bring Tsukku-san because I want talk clearly. Understand? Quick and clear?”
   “Yes.” Toranaga saw the fixity of the man’s eyes in the light of the flares and his utter exhaustion. He glanced at Tsukku-san. “Does he understand what I said?” He watched the priest talk, and listened to the evil-sounding language. The Anjin-san nodded, his accusatory gaze never faltering.
   “Yes, Sire,” the priest said.
   “Now interpret for me, please, Tsukku-san, as before. Everything exact: Listen, Anjin-san, I’ve brought Tsukku-san so we can talk directly and quickly without missing the meaning of any word. It’s so important to me that I ask your patience. I think it’s best this way.”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Tsukku-san, first swear before your Christian God nothing he says will ever pass your lips to another. Like a confessional. Neh? As sacred! To me and to him.”
   “But Sire, this isn’t—”
   “This you will do. Now. Or I will withdraw all my support, forever, from you and your Church.”
   “Very well, Sire. I agree. Before God.”
   “Good. Thank you. Explain to him your agreement.” Alvito obeyed, then Toranaga settled himself on the sand dunes and waved his fan against the encroaching night bugs. “Now, please tell me, Anjin-san, what happened at Osaka.”
   Blackthorne began haltingly, but gradually his mind began to relive it all and soon the words gushed and Father Alvito had difficulty in keeping up. Toranaga listened in silence, never interrupting the flow, just adding cautious encouragement when needed, the perfect listener.
   Blackthorne finished at dawn. By then Toranaga knew everything there was to tell—everything the Anjin-san was prepared to tell, he corrected himself. The priest knew it also but Toranaga was sure there was nothing in it the Catholics or Kiyama could use against him or against Mariko or against the Anjin-san, who, by now, hardly noticed the priest.
   “You’re sure the Captain-General would have put you to the stake, Anjin-san?” he asked again.
   “Oh, yes. If it hadn’t been for the Jesuit. I’m a heretic in his eyes—fire’s supposed to ‘cleanse’ your soul somehow.”
   “Why did the Father-Visitor save you?”
   “I don’t know. It was something to do with Mariko-sama. Without my ship I can’t touch them. Oh, they would have thought of that themselves but perhaps she gave them a clue how to do it.”
   “What clue? What would she know about burning ships?”
   “I don’t know. Ninja got into the castle. Perhaps ninja got through the men here. My ship was sabotaged. She saw the Father-Visitor at the castle the day she died. I think she told him how to burn Erasmus —in return for my life. But I have no life without my ship, Sire. None.”
   “You’re wrong, Anjin-san. Thank you, Tsukku-san,” Toranaga said in dismissal. “Yes, I appreciate your labor. Please get some rest now.”
   “Yes, Sire. Thank you.” Alvito hesitated. “I apologize for the Captain-General. Men are born in sin, most stay in sin though they’re Christians.”
   “Christians are born in sin, we’re not. We’re a civilized people who understand what sin really is, not illiterate peasants who know no better. Even so, Tsukku-san, if I’d been your Captain-General I would not have let the Anjin-san go while I had him in my grasp. It was a military decision, a good one. I think he’ll live to regret he didn’t insist—and so will your Father-Visitor.”
   “Do you want me to translate that, Sire?”
   “That was for your ears. Thank you for your help.” Toranaga returned the priest’s salutation and sent men to accompany him back to his house, then turned to Blackthorne. “Anjin-san. First swim.”
   “Sire?”
   “Swim!” Toranaga stripped and went into the water in the growing light. Blackthorne and the guards followed. Toranaga swam strongly out to sea, then turned and circled the wreck. Blackthorne came after him, refreshed by the chill. Soon Toranaga returned ashore. Servants had towels ready now, fresh kimonos and cha, saké and food.
   “Eat, Anjin-san.”
   “So sorry, not hungry.”
   “Eat!”
   Blackthorne took a few mouthfuls, then retched. “So sorry.”
   “Stupid. And weak. Weak like a Garlic Eater. Not like hatamoto. Neh?”
   “Sire?”
   Toranaga repeated it. Brutally. Then he pointed at the wreck, knowing that now he had Blackthorne’s full attention. “That’s nothing. Shigata ga nai. Unimportant. Listen: Anjin-san is hatamoto, neh? Not Garlic Eater. Understand?”
   “Yes, so sorry.”
   Toranaga beckoned his bodyguard, who handed him the sealed scroll. “Listen, Anjin-san, before Mariko-sama left Yedo, she gave me this. Mariko-sama say if you live after Osaka—if you live, understand—she ask me to give this to you.”
   Blackthorne took the proffered scroll and, after a moment, broke the seal.


   “What message say, Anjin-san?” Toranaga asked.
   Mariko had written in Latin: “Thou. I love thee. If this is read by thee then I am dead in Osaka and perhaps, because of me, thy ship is dead too. I may sacrifice this most prized part of thy life because of my Faith, to safeguard my Church, but more to save thy life which is more precious to me than everything—even the interest of my Lord Toranaga. It may come to a choice, my love: thee or thy ship. So sorry, but I choose life for thee. This ship is doomed anyway—with or without thee. I will concede thy ship to thine enemy so that thou may live. This ship is nothing. Build another. This thou canst do—were you not taught to be a builder of ships as well as a navigator of ships? I believe Lord Toranaga will give thee all the craftsmen, carpenters, and metal craftsmen necessary—he needs you and your ships —and from my personal estate I have bequeathed thee all the money necessary. Build another ship and build another life, my love. Take next year’s Black Ship, and live forever. Listen, my dear one, my Christian soul prays to see thee again in a Christian heaven—my Japanese hara prays that in the next life I will be whatever is necessary to bring thee joy and to be with thee wherever thou art. Forgive me—but thy life is all important. I love thee.”
   “What message say, Anjin-san?”
   “So sorry, Sire. Mariko-sama say this ship not necessary. Say build new ship. Say—”
   “Ah! Possible? Possible, Anjin-san?”
   Blackthorne saw the daimyo ’s flashing interest. “Yes. If get …” He could not remember the word for carpenter.
   “If Toranaga-sama give men, ship-making men, neh? Yes. I can.” In his mind the new ship began to take shape. Smaller, much smaller than Erasmus. About ninety to a hundred tons would be all he could manage, for he had never overseen or designed a complete ship by himself before, though Alban Caradoc had certainly trained him as a shipwright as well as pilot. God bless you, Alban, he exulted. Yes, ninety tons to start with. Drake’s Golden Hind was thereabouts and remember what she endured! I can get twenty cannon aboard and that would be enough to …” Christ Jesus, the cannon!”
   He whirled and peered at the wreck, then saw Toranaga and all of them staring at him and realized he’d been talking English to them. “Ah, so sorry, Sire. Think too quick. Big guns—there, in sea, neh? Must get quick!”
   Toranaga spoke to his men, then faced Blackthorne again. “Samurai say everything from ship at camp. Some things fished from sea, shallow, here at low tide, neh? Now in camp. Why?”
   Blackthorne felt light-headed. “Can make ship. If have big guns can fight enemy. Can Toranaga-sama get gunpowder?”
   “Yes. How many carpenters? How much need?”
   “Forty carpenters, blacksmiths, oak for timbers, do you have oak here? Then I’ll need iron, steel, I’ll set up a forge and I’ll need a master …” Blackthorne realized he was talking in English again. “Sorry. I write on paper. Carefully. And I think carefully. Please, you give men to help?”
   “All men, all money. At once. I need ship. At once! How fast can you build it?”
   “Six months from the day we lay keel.”
   “Oh, not faster?”
   “No, so sorry.”
   “Later we talk some more, Anjin-san. What else Mariko-sama say?”
   “Little more, Sire. Say give money to help ship, her money. Say also sorry if … if she help my enemy destroy ship.”
   “What enemy? What way destroy ship?”
   “Not say who—or how, Sire. Nothing clear. Just sorry if. Mariko-sama say sayonara. Hope seppuku serves Lord Toranaga.”
   “Ah yes, serves greatly, neh?”
   “Yes.”
   Toranaga smiled at him. “Glad all good now, Anjin-san. Eeeeee, Mariko-sama was right. Don’t worry about that!” Toranaga pointed at the hulk. “Build new ship at once. A fighting ship, neh? You understand?”
   “Understand very much.”
   “This new ship … could this new ship fight the Black Ship?”
   “Yes.”
   “Ah! Next year’s Black Ship?”
   “Possible.”
   “What about crew?”
   “Please?”
   “Seamen—gunners?”
   “Ah! By next year can train my vassals as gunners. Not seamen.”
   “You can have the pick of all the seamen in the Kwanto.”
   “Then next year possible.” Blackthorne grinned. “Is next year possible? War? What about war?”
   Toranaga shrugged. “War or no war—still try, neh? That’s your prey—understand ‘prey’? And our secret. Between you and me only, neh? The Black Ship.”
   “Priests will soon break secret.”
   “Perhaps. But this time no tidal wave or tai-fun, my friend. You will watch and I will watch.”
   “Yes.”
   “First Black Ship, then go home. Bring me back a navy. Understand?”
   “Oh yes.”
   “If I lose—karma. If not, then everything, Anjin-san. Everything as you said. Everything—Black Ship, ambassador, treaty, ships! Understand?”
   “Yes. Oh yes! Thank you.”
   “Thank Mariko-sama. Without her …” Toranaga saluted him warmly, for the first time as an equal, and went away with his guards. Blackthorne’s vassals bowed, completely impressed with the honor done to their master.
   Blackthorne watched Toranaga leave, exulting, then he saw the food. The servants were beginning to pack up the remains. “Wait. Now food, please.”
   He ate carefully, slowly and with good manners, his own men quarreling for the privilege of serving him, his mind roving over all the vast possibilities that Toranaga had opened up for him. You’ve won, he told himself, wanting to dance a hornpipe with glee. But he did not. He reread her letter once more. And blessed her again.
   “Follow me,” he ordered, and led the way toward the camp, his brain already designing the ship and her gunports. Jesus God in heaven, help Toranaga to keep Ishido out of the Kwanto and Izu and please bless Mariko, wherever she is, and let the cannon not be rusted up too much. Mariko was right: Erasmus was doomed, with or without me. She’s given me back my life. I can build another life and another ship. Ninety tons! My ship’ll be a sharp-nosed, floating battle platform, as sleek as a greyhound, better than the Erasmus class, her bowsprit jutting arrogantly and a lovely figurehead just below, and her face’ll look just like her, with her lovely slanting eyes and high cheekbones. My ship’ll … Jesus God, there’s a ton of stuff I can salvage from the wreck! I can use part of the keel, some of the ribs—and there’ll be a thousand nails around, and the rest of the keel’ll make bindings and braces and everything I need … if I’ve the time.
   Yes. My ship’ll be like her, he promised himself. She’ll be trim and miniature and perfect like a Yoshitomo blade, and that’s the best in the world, and just as dangerous. Next year she’ll take a prize twenty times her own weight, like Mariko did at Osaka, and she’ll rip the enemy out of Asia. And then, the following year or the one after, I’ll sail her up the Thames to London, her pockets full of gold and the seven seas in her wake. “The Lady will be her name,” he said aloud.

Chapter 61

   Two dawns later Toranaga was checking the girths of his saddle. Deftly he kneed the horse in the belly, her stomach muscles relaxed, and he tightened the strap another two notches. Rotten animal, he thought, despising horses for their constant trickeries and treacheries and ill-tempered dangerousness. This is me, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Chikitadanoh-Minowara, not some addle-brained child. He waited a moment and kneed the horse hard again. The horse grunted and rattled her bridle and he tightened the straps completely.
   “Good, Sire! Very good,” the Hunt Master said with admiration. He was a gnarled old man as strong and weathered as a brine-pickled vat. “Many would’ve been satisfied the first time.”
   “Then the rider’s saddle would’ve slipped and the fool would have been thrown and his back maybe broken by noon. Neh?”
   The samurai laughed. “Yes, and deserving it, Sire!”
   Around them in the stable area were guards and falconers carrying their hooded hawks and falcons. Tetsu-ko, the peregrine, was in the place of honor and, dwarfing her, alone unhooded, was Kogo the goshawk, her golden, merciless eyes scrutinizing everything.
   Naga led up his horse. “Good morning, Father.”
   “Good morning, my son. Where’s your brother?”
   “Lord Sudara’s waiting at the camp, Sire.”
   “Good.” Toranaga smiled at the youth. Then because he liked him, he drew him to one side. “Listen, my son, instead of going hunting, write out the battle orders for me to sign when I return this evening.”
   “Oh, Father,” Naga said, bursting with pride at the honor of formally taking up the gauntlet cast down by Ishido in his own handwriting, implementing the decision of yesterday’s Council of War to order the armies to the passes. “Thank you, thank you.”
   “Next: The Musket Regiment is ordered to Hakoné at dawn tomorrow. Next: The baggage train from Yedo will arrive this afternoon. Make sure everything’s ready.”
   “Yes, certainly. How soon do we fight?”
   “Very soon. Last night I received news Ishido and the Heir left Osaka to review the armies. So it’s committed now.”
   “Please forgive me that I can’t fly to Osaka like Tetsu-ko and kill him, and Kiyama and Onoshi, and settle this whole problem without having to bother you.”
   “Thank you, my son.” Toranaga did not trouble to tell him the monstrous problems that would have to be solved before those killings could become fact. He glanced around. All the falconers were ready. And his guards. He called the Hunt Master to him. “First I’m going to the camp, then we’ll take the coast road for four ri north.”
   “But the beaters are already in the hills…” The Hunt Master swallowed the rest of his complaint and tried to recover. “Please excuse my—er—I must have eaten something rotten, Sire.”
   “That’s apparent. Perhaps you should pass over your responsibility to someone else. Perhaps your piles have affected your judgment, so sorry,” Toranaga said. If he had not been using the hunt as a cover he would have replaced him. “Eh?”
   “Yes, so sorry, Sire,” the old samurai said. “May I ask—er—do you wish to hunt the areas you picked last night or would you—er—like to hunt the coast?”
   “The coast.”
   “Certainly, Sire. Please excuse me so I can make the change.” The man rushed off. Toranaga kept his eyes on him. It’s time for him to be retired, he thought without malice. Then he noticed Omi coming into the stable compound with a young samurai beside him who limped badly, a cruel knife wound still livid across his face from the fight at Osaka.
   “Ah, Omi-san!” He returned their salute. “Is this the fellow?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   Toranaga took the two of them aside and questioned the samurai expertly. He did this out of courtesy to Omi, having already come to the same conclusion when he had talked to the man the first night, just as he had been polite to the Anjin-san; asking what was in Mariko’s letter though he had already known what Mariko had written.
   “But please put it in your own words, Mariko-san,” he had said before she left Yedo for Osaka.
   “I am to give his ship to his enemy, Sire?”
   “No, Lady,” he had said as her eyes filled with tears. “No. I repeat: You are to whisper the secrets you’ve told me to Tsukku-san at once here at Yedo, then to the High Priest and Kiyama at Osaka, and say to them all that without his ship, the Anjin-san is no threat to them. And you are to write the letter to the Anjin-san as I suggest, now.”
   “Then they will destroy the ship.”
   “They will try to. Of course they’ll think of the same answer themselves so you’re not giving anything away really, neh?”
   “Can you protect his ship, Sire?”
   “It will be guarded by four thousand samurai.”
   “But if they succeed … the Anjin-san’s worthless without his ship. I beg for his life.”
   “You don’t have to, Mariko-san. I assure you he’s valuable to me, with or without a ship. I promise you. Also in your letter to him say, if his ship’s lost, please build another.”
   “What?”
   “You told me he can do that, neh? You’re sure? If I give him all the carpenters and metalworkers?”
   “Oh, yes. Oh, how clever you are! Oh yes, he’s said many times that he was a trained shipbuilder…”
   “You’re quite sure, Mariko-san?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Good.”
   “Then you think the Christian Fathers will succeed, even against four thousand men?”
   “Yes. So sorry, but the Christians will never leave the ship alive, or him alive as long as it’s floating and ready for sea. It’s too much of a threat to them. This ship is doomed, so there’s no harm in conceding it to them. But only you and I know and are to know his only hope is to build another. I’m the only one who can help him do that. Solve Osaka for me and I’ll see he builds his ship.”
   I told her the truth, Toranaga thought, here in the dawn at Yokohama, amid the smell of horses and dung and sweat, his ears hardly listening now to the wounded samurai and Omi, his whole being sad for Mariko. Life is so sad, he told himself, weary of men and Osaka and games that brought so much suffering to the living, however great the stakes.
   “Thank you for telling me, Kosami,” he said as the samurai finished. “You’ve done very well. Please come with me. Both of you.”
   Toranaga walked back to his mare and kneed her a last time. This time she whinnied but he got no more tightness on the girth. “Horses are far worse than men for treachery,” he said to no one in particular and swung into the saddle and galloped off, pursued by his guards and Omi and Kosami.
   At the camp on the plateau he stopped. Buntaro was there beside Yabu and Hiro-matsu and Sudara, a peregrine on his fist. They saluted him. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully, beckoning Omi to be part of their conversation but waving everyone else well away. “Are you ready, my son?”
   “Yes, Father,” Sudara said. “I’ve sent some of my men to the mountains to make sure the beaters are perfect for you.”
   “Thank you, but I’ve decided to hunt the coast.”
   At once Sudara called out to one of the guards and sent him riding away to pull back the men from the hills and switch them to the coast. “So sorry, Sire, I should have thought of that and been prepared. Please excuse me.”
   “Yes. So, Hiro-matsu-san, how’s the training?”
   Hiro-matsu, his sword inevitably loose in his hands, scowled. “I still think this is all dishonorable and unnecessary. Soon we’ll be able to forget it. We’ll piss all over Ishido without this sort of treachery.”
   Yabu said, “Please excuse me, but without these guns and this strategy, Hiro-matsu-san, we’ll lose. This is a modern war, this way we’ve a chance to win.” He looked back at Toranaga, who had not yet dismounted. “I heard in the night that Jikkyu’s dead.”
   “You’re certain?” Toranaga pretended to be startled. He had got the secret information the day he left Mishima.
   “Yes, Sire. It seems he’s been sick for some time. My informant reports he died two days ago,” Yabu said, gloating openly. “His heir’s his son, Hikoju.”
   “That puppy?” Buntaro said with contempt.
   “Yes—I agree he’s nothing but a whelp.” Yabu seemed to be several inches taller than usual. “Sire, doesn’t this open up the southern route? Why not attack along the Tokaidō Road immediately? With the old devil fox dead, Izu’s safe now, and Suruga and Totomi are as helpless as beached tuna. Neh?”
   Toranaga dismounted thoughtfully. “Well?” he asked Hiro-matsu quietly.
   The old general replied at once, “If we could grab the road all the way to Utsunoya Pass and all the bridges and get over the Tenryu quickly—with all our communications secure—we’d slice into Ishido’s underbelly. We could contain Zataki in the mountains and reinforce the Tokaidō attack and rush on to Osaka. We’d be unbeatable.”
   Sudara said, “So long as the Heir leads Ishido’s armies we’re beatable.”
   “I don’t agree,” Hiro-matsu said.
   “Nor I, so sorry,” Yabu said.
   “But I agree,” Toranaga said, as flat and as grave as Sudara. He had not yet told them about Zataki’s possible agreement to betray Ishido when the time was ripe. Why should I tell them? he thought. It’s not fact. Yet.
   But how do you propose to implement your solemn agreement with your half brother to marry Ochiba to him if he supports you, and at the same time marry Ochiba yourself, if that’s her price? That’s a fair question, he said to himself. But it’s highly unlikely Ochiba would betray Ishido. If she did and that’s the price, then the answer’s simple: My brother will have to bow to the inevitable.
   He saw them all looking at him. “What?”
   There was a silence. Then Buntaro said, “What happens, Sire, when we oppose the banner of the Heir?”
   None of them had ever asked that question formally, directly, and publicly. “If that happens, I lose,” Toranaga said. “I will commit seppuku and those who honor the Taikō’s testament and the Heir’s undoubted legal inheritance will have to submit themselves humbly at once to his pardon. Those who don’t will have no honor. Neh?”
   They all nodded. Then he turned to Yabu to finish the business at hand, and became genial again. “However, we’re not on that battlefield yet, so we continue as planned. Yes, Yabu-sama, the southern route’s possible now. What did Jikkyu die of?”
   “Sickness, Sire.”
   “A five-hundred-koku sickness?”
   Yabu laughed, but inwardly he was rabid that Toranaga had breached his security net. “Yes,” he said. “I would presume so, Sire. My brother told you?” Toranaga nodded and asked him to explain to the others. Yabu complied, not displeased, for it was a clever and devious stratagem, and he told them how Mizuno, his brother, had passed over the money that had been acquired from the Anjin-san to a cook’s helper who had been inserted into Jikkyu’s personal kitchen.
   “Cheap, neh?” Yabu said happily. “Five hundred koku for the southern route?”
   Hiro-matsu said stiffly to Toranaga, “Please excuse me but I think that’s a disgusting story.”
   Toranaga smiled. “Treachery’s a weapon of war, neh?”
   “Yes. But not of a samurai.”
   Yabu was indignant. “So sorry, Lord Hiro-matsu, but I presume you mean no insult?”
   “He meant no insult. Did you, Hiro-matsu-san?” Toranaga said.
   “No, Sire,” the old general replied. “Please excuse me.”
   “Poison, treachery, betrayal, assassination have always been weapons of war, old friend,” Toranaga said. “Jikkyu was an enemy and a fool. Five hundred koku for the southern route is nothing! Yabu-sama has served me well. Here and at Osaka. Neh, Yabu-san?”
   “I always try to serve you loyally, Sire.”
   “Yes, so please explain why you killed Captain Sumiyori before the ninja attack,” Toranaga said.
   Yabu’s face did not change. He was wearing his Yoshitomo sword, his hand as usual loose on the hilt. “Who says that? Who accuses me of that, Sire?”
   Toranaga pointed at the pack of Browns forty paces away. “That man! Please come here, Kosami-san.” The youthful samurai dismounted, limped forward and bowed.
   Yabu glared at him. “Who are you, fellow?”
   “Sokura Kosami of the Tenth Legion, attached to the Lady Kiritsubo’s bodyguard at Osaka, Sire,” the youth said. “You put me on guard outside your quarters—and Sumiyori-san’s—the night of the ninja attack.”
   “I don’t remember you. You dare to say I killed Sumiyori?”
   The youth wavered. Toranaga said, “Tell him!”
   Kosami said in a rush, “I just had time before the ninja fell on us, Sire, to open the door and shout a warning to Sumiyori-san but he never moved, so sorry, Sire.” He turned to Toranaga, quailing under their collective gaze. “He’d—he was a light sleeper, Sire, and it was only an instant after … that’s all, Sire.”
   “Did you go into the room? Did you shake him?” Yabu pressed.
   “No, Sire, oh no, Sire, the ninja came so quickly we retreated at once and counterattacked as soon as we could, it was as I said…”
   Yabu looked at Toranaga. “Sumiyori-san had been on duty for two days. He was exhausted—we all were. What does that prove?” he asked all of them.
   “Nothing,” Toranaga agreed, still cordial. “But later, Kosami-san, you went back to the room. Neh?”
   “Yes, Sire, Sumiyori-san was still lying in the futons as I’d last seen him and … and the room wasn’t disturbed, not at all, Sire, and he’d been knifed, Sire, knifed in the back once. I thought it was ninja at the time and nothing more about it until Omi-sama questioned me.”
   “Ah!” Yabu turned his eyes on his nephew, his total hara centered on his betrayer, measuring the distance between them. “So you questioned him?”
   “Yes, Sire,” Omi replied. “Lord Toranaga asked me to recheck all the stories. This was one strangeness I felt should be brought to our Master’s attention.”
   “One strangeness? There’s another?”
   “Following Lord Toranaga’s orders, I questioned the servants who survived the attack, Sire. There were two. So sorry, but they both said you went through their quarters with one samurai and returned shortly afterward alone, shouting ‘Ninja! ’ Then they—”
   “They rushed us and killed the poor fellow with a spear and a sword and almost overran me. I had to retreat to give the alarm.” Yabu turned to Toranaga, carefully putting his feet in a better attack position. “I’ve already told you this, Sire, both personally and in my written report. What have servants to do with me?”
   “Well, Omi-san?” Toranaga asked.
   “So sorry, Yabu-sama,” Omi said, “but both saw you open the bolts of a secret door in the dungeon and heard you say to the ninja, ‘I am Kasigi Yabu.’ This alone gave them time to hide from the massacre.”
   Yabu’s hand moved a fraction. Instantly Sudara leapt in front of Toranaga to protect him and in the same moment Hiro-Matsu’s sword was flashing at Yabu’s neck.
   “Hold!” Toranaga ordered.

   Hiro-matsu’s sword stopped, his control miraculous. Yabu had made no overt motion. He stared at them, then laughed insolently. “Am I a filthy ronin who’d attack his liege lord? This is Kasigi Yabu, Lord of Izu, Suruga, and Totomi. Neh?” He looked directly at Toranaga. “What am I accused of, Sire? Helping ninja? Ridiculous! What have servants’ fantasies to do with me? They’re liars! Or this fellow—who implies something that can’t be proved and I can’t defend?”
   “There’s no proof, Yabu-sama,” Toranaga said. “I agree completely. There’s no proof at all.”
   “Yabu-sama, did you do those things?” Hiro-matsu asked.
   “Of course not!”
   Toranaga said, “But I think you did, so all your lands are forfeit. Please slit your belly today. Before noon.”
   The sentence was final. This was the supreme moment Yabu had prepared for all his life.
   Karma, he was thinking, his brain now working at frantic speed. There’s nothing I can do, the order’s legal, Toranaga’s my liege lord, they can take my head or I can die with dignity. I’m dead either way. Omi betrayed me but that is my karma. The servants were all to be put to death as part of the plan but two survived and that is my karma. Be dignified, he told himself, groping for courage. Think clearly and be responsible.
   “Sire,” he began with a show of audacity, “first, I’m guiltless of those crimes, Kosami’s mistaken, and the servants liars. Second, I’m the best battle general you have. I beg the honor of leading the charge down the Tokaidō—or the first place in the first battle—so my death will be of direct use.”
   Toranaga said cordially, “It’s a good suggestion, Yabu-san, and I agree wholeheartedly that you’re the best general for the Musket Regiment but, so sorry, I don’t trust you. Please slit your belly by noon.”
   Yabu dominated his blinding temper and fulfilled his honor as a samurai and as the leader of his clan with the totality of his self-sacrifice. “I formally absolve my nephew Kasigi Omi-san from any responsibility in my betrayal and formally appoint him my heir.”
   Toranaga was as surprised as everyone.
   “Very well,” Toranaga said. “Yes, I think that’s very wise. I agree.”
   “Izu is the hereditary fief of the Kasigi. I will it to him.”
   “Izu is no longer yours to give. You are my vassal, neh? Izu is one of my provinces, to give as I wish, neh?”
   Yabu shrugged. “I will it to him, even though …” He laughed. “It’s a lifetime favor. Neh?”
   “To ask is fair. Your request is refused. And, Yabu-san, all your final orders are subject to my approval. Buntaro-san, you will be the formal witness. Now, Yabu-san, whom do you want as your second?”
   “Kasigi Omi-san.”
   Toranaga glanced at Omi. Omi bowed, his face colorless. “It will be my honor,” he said.
   “Good. Then everything’s arranged.”
   Hiro-matsu said, “And the attack down the Tokaidō?”
   “We’re safer behind our mountains.” Toranaga breezily returned their salutes, mounted his horse, and trotted off. Sudara nodded politely and followed. Once Toranaga and Sudara were out of range, Buntaro and Hiro-matsu relaxed but Omi did not, and no one took his eyes off Yabu’s sword arm.
   Buntaro said, “Where do you want to do it, Yabu-sama?”
   “Here, there, down by the shore, or on a dung heap—it’s all the same to me. I don’t need ceremonial robes. But, Omi-san, you will not strike till I’ve made the two cuts.”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “With your permission, Yabu-san, I will also be a witness,” Hiro-matsu said.
   “Are your piles up to it?”
   The general bristled and said to Buntaro, “Please send for me when he’s ready.”
   Yabu spat. “I’m already ready. Are you?”
   Hiro-matsu turned on his heel.
   Yabu thought for a moment, then took his scabbarded Yoshitomo sword out of his sash. “Buntaro-san, perhaps you’d do me a favor. Give this to the Anjin-san.” He offered him the sword, then frowned. “On second thought, if it’s no trouble, will you please send for him, then I can give it to him myself?”
   “Certainly.”
   “And please fetch that stinking priest as well so I can talk directly with the Anjin-san.”
   “Good. What arrangements do you want made?”
   “Just some paper and ink and a brush for my will and death poem, and two tatamis—there’s no reason to hurt my knees or to kneel in the dirt like a stinking peasant. Neh?” Yabu added with bravado.
   Buntaro walked over to the other samurai, who were shifting from one foot to the other with suppressed excitement. Carelessly Yabu sat cross-legged and picked his teeth with a grass stalk. Omi squatted nearby, warily out of sword range.
   “Eeeeee,” Yabu said. “I was so near success!” Then he stretched out his legs and hammered them against the earth in a sudden flurry of rage. “Eeeeee, so near! Eh, karma, neh?Karma!” Then he laughed uproariously and hawked and spat, proud that he still had saliva in his mouth. “That on all gods living or dead or yet to be born! But, Omi-san, I die happy. Jikkyu’s dead and when I cross the Last River and see him waiting there, gnashing his teeth, I’ll be able to spit in his eye forever.”
   Omi said, meaning it, though watching him like a hawk, “You have done Lord Toranaga a great service, Sire. The coastal route’s open now. You’re right, Sire, and Iron Fist’s wrong and Sudara’s wrong. We should attack at once—the guns will get us through.”
   “That old manure heap! Fool!” Yabu laughed again. “Did you see him go purple when I mentioned his piles? Ha! I thought they were going to burst on him then and there. Samurai? I’m more samurai than he is! I’ll show him! You will not strike until I give the order.”
   “May I thank you humbly for giving me that honor, and also for making me your heir? I formally swear the Kasigi honor is safe in my hands.”
   “If I didn’t think so I wouldn’t have suggested it.” Yabu lowered his voice. “You were right to betray me to Toranaga. I’d have done the same if I’d been you, though it’s all lies. It’s Toranaga’s excuse. He’s always been jealous of my battle prowess, and my understanding the guns and the value of the ship. It’s all my idea.”
   “Yes, Sire, I remember.”
   “You’ll save the family. You’re as cunning as a scabby old rat. You’ll get back Izu and more—that’s all that’s important now and you’ll hold it for your sons. You understand the guns. And Toranaga. Neh?”
   “I swear I will try, Sire.”
   Yabu’s eyes dropped to Omi’s sword hand, noting his alertly defensive kneeling posture. “You think I’ll attack you?”
   “So sorry, of course not, Sire.”
   “I’m glad you’re on guard. My father was like you. Yes, you’re a lot like him.” Without making a sudden movement he put both of his swords on the ground, just out of reach. “There! Now I’m defenseless. A few moments ago I wanted your head—but not now. Now you’ve no need to fear me.”
   “There’s always a need to fear you, Sire.”
   Yabu chortled softly and sucked another grass stalk. Then he threw it away. “Listen, Omi-san, these are my last orders as Lord of the Kasigis. You will take my son into your household and use him if he’s worth using. Next: Find good husbands for my wife and consort, and thank them deeply for serving me so well. About your father, Mizuno: He’s ordered to commit seppuku at once.”
   “May I request that he be given the alternative of shaving his head and becoming a priest?”
   “No. He’s too much of a fool, you’ll never be able to trust him—how dare he pass on my secrets to Toranaga!—and he’ll always be in your way. As to your mother …” He bared his teeth. “She’s ordered to shave her head and become a nun and join a monastery outside Izu and spend the rest of her life saying prayers for the future of the Kasigis. Buddhist or Shinto—I prefer Shinto. You agree, Shinto?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Good. That way,” Yabu added with malicious delight, “she’ll stop distracting you from Kasigi matters with her constant whining.”
   “It will be done.”
   “Good. You are ordered to avenge the lies against me by Kosami and those treacherous servants. Soon or later, I don’t care, so long as you do it before you die.”
   “I will obey.”
   “Is there anything I’ve forgotten?”
   Carefully Omi made sure they were not overheard. “What about the Heir?” he asked cautiously. “When the Heir’s in the field against us, we lose, neh?”
   “Take the Musket Regiment and blast a way through and kill him, whatever Toranaga says. Yaemon’s your prime target.”
   “That was my conclusion too. Thank you.”
   “Good. But better than waiting all that time, put a secret price on his head now, with ninja … or the Amida Tong.”
   “How do I find them?” Omi asked, a tremor in his voice.
   “The old hag Gyoko, the Mama-san, she’s one of those who knows how.”
   “Her?”
   “Yes. But beware of her, and Amidas. Don’t use them lightly, Omi-san. Never touch her, always protect her. She knows too many secrets and the pen’s a long arm from the other side of death. She was my father’s unofficial consort for a year … it may even be that her son is my half brother. Eh, beware of her, she knows too many secrets.”
   “But where do I get the money?”
   “That’s your problem. But get it. Anywhere, anyhow.”
   “Yes. Thank you. I will obey.”
   Yabu leaned closer. At once Omi readied suspiciously, his sword almost out of the scabbard. Yabu was gratified that even defenseless he was still a man to beware of. “Bury that secret very deep. And listen, nephew, remain very good friends with the Anjin-san. Try to get control of the navy he will bring back one day. Toranaga doesn’t understand the Anjin-san’s real value, but he’s right to stay behind the mountains. That gives him time and you time. We’ve got to get off the land and out to sea—our crews in their ships—with Kasigis in overall command. The Kasigis must go to sea, to command the sea. I order it.”
   “Yes—oh, yes,” Omi said. “Trust me. That will happen.”
   “Good. Lastly, never trust Toranaga.”
   Omi said with his complete being, “I don’t, Sire. I never have. And never will.”
   “Good. And those filthy liars, don’t forget, deal with them. And Kosami.” Yabu exhaled, at peace with himself. “Now please excuse me, I must consider my death poem.”
   Omi got to his feet and backed off and when he was well away he bowed and went another twenty paces. Within the safety of his own guards he sat down once more and began to wait.


   Toranaga and his party were trotting along the coast road that circled the vast bay, the sea coming almost up to the road and on his right. Here the land was low-lying and marshy with many mud flats. A few ri north this road joined with the main artery of the Tokaidō Road. Northward twenty ri more was Yedo.
   He had a hundred samurai with him, ten falconers and ten birds on their gloved fists. Sudara had twenty guards and three birds, and rode as advance guard.
   “Sudara!” Toranaga called out as though it was a sudden idea. “Stop at the next inn. I want some breakfast!”
   Sudara waved acknowledgment and galloped ahead. By the time Toranaga rode up, maids were bowing and smiling, the innkeeper bobbing with all his people. Guards covered north and south, and his banners were planted proudly.
   “Good morning, Sire, please what can I get for you to eat?” the innkeeper asked. “Thank you for honoring my poor inn.”
   “Cha—and some noodles with a little soya, please.”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   The food was produced in a fine bowl almost instantly, cooked just the way he liked it, the innkeeper having been forewarned by Sudara. Without ceremony, Toranaga squatted on a veranda and consumed the simple peasant dish with gusto and watched the road ahead. Other guests bowed and went about their own business contentedly, proud that they were staying in the same inn as the great daimyo. Sudara toured the outposts, making sure everything was perfect. “Where’re the beaters now?” he asked the Master of the Hunt.
   “Some are north, some south, and I’ve got extra men in the hills there.” The old samurai pointed back inland toward Yokohama, miserable and sweating. “Please excuse me but have you any idea where our Master’ll wish to go?”
   “None at all. But don’t make any more mistakes today.”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   Sudara finished his rounds then reported to Toranaga. “Is everything satisfactory, Sire? Is there anything I can do for you?”
   “No, thank you.” Toranaga finished the bowl and drank the last of the soup. Then he said in a flat voice, “You were correct to say that about the Heir.”
   “Please excuse me, I was afraid I might have offended you, without meaning to.”
   “You were right—so why should I be offended? When the Heir stands against me—what will you do then?”
   “I will obey your orders.”
   “Please send my secretary here and come back with him.”
   Sudara obeyed. Kawanabi, the secretary—once a samurai and priest—who always traveled with Toranaga, was quickly there with his neat traveling box of papers, inks, seal chops, and brush pens that fitted into his saddled pannier.
   “Sire?”
   “Write this: ‘I, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara, reinstate my son Yoshi Sudara-noh-Minowara as my heir with all his revenues and titles restored.”
   Sudara bowed. “Thank you, Father,” he said, his voice firm, but asking himself, why?
   “Swear formally to abide by all my dictates, testaments—and the Legacy.”
   Sudara obeyed. Toranaga waited silently until Kawanabi had written the order, then he signed it and made it legal with his chop. This was a small square piece of ivory with his name carved in one end. He pressed the chop against the almost solid scarlet ink, then onto the bottom of the rice paper. The imprint was perfect. “Thank you, Kawanabi-san, date it yesterday. That’s all for the moment.”
   “Please excuse me but you’ll need five more copies, Sire, to make your succession inviolate: one for Lord Sudara, one for the Council of Regents, one for the House of Records, one for your personal files, and one for the archives.”
   “Do them at once. And give me an extra copy.”

   “Yes, Sire.” The secretary left them. Now Toranaga glanced at Sudara and studied the narrow expressionless face. When he had made the deliberately sudden announcement nothing had shown on Sudara, neither on his face nor in his hands. No gladness, thankfulness, pride—not even surprise, and this saddened him. But then, Toranaga thought, why be sad, you have other sons who smile and laugh and make mistakes and shout and rave and pillow and have many women. Normal sons. This son is to follow after you, to lead after you’re dead, to hold the Minowaras tight and to pass on the Kwanto and power to other Minowaras. To be ice and calculating, like you. No, not like me, he told himself truthfully. I can laugh sometimes and be compassionate sometimes, and I like to fart and pillow and storm and dance and play chess and Nōh, and some people gladden me, like Naga and Kiri and Chano and the Anjin-san, and I enjoy hunting and winning, and winning, and winning. Nothing gladdens you, Sudara, so sorry. Nothing. Except your wife, the Lady Genjiko. The Lady Genjiko’s the only weak link in your chain.
   “Sire?” Sudara asked.
   “I was trying to remember when I last saw you laugh.”
   “You wish me to laugh, Sire?”
   Toranaga shook his head, knowing he had trained Sudara to be the perfect son for what had to be done. “How long would it take you to be sure if Jikkyu is really dead?”
   “Before I left camp I sent a top-priority cipher to Mishima in case you didn’t already know if it was true or not, Father. I will have a reply within three days.”
   Toranaga blessed the gods that he had had advance knowledge of the Jikkyu plot from Kasigi Mizuno and a few days’ notice of that enemy’s death. For a moment he reexamined his plan and could find no flaw in it. Then, faintly nauseated, he made the decision. “Order the Eleventh, Sixteenth, Ninety-fourth, and Ninety-fifth Regiments in Mishima on instant alert. In four days fling them down the Tokaidō.”
   “Crimson Sky?” Sudara asked, thrown off balance. “You’re attacking?”
   “Yes. I’m not waiting for them to come against me.”
   “Then Jikkyu’s dead?”
   “Yes.”
   “Good,” Sudara said. “May I suggest you add the Twentieth and Twenty-third.”
   “No. Ten thousand men should be enough—with surprise. I’ve still got to hold all my border in case of failure, or a trap. And there’s also Zataki to contain.”
   “Yes,” Sudara said.
   “Who should lead the attack?”
   “Lord Hiro-matsu. It’s a perfect campaign for him.”
   “Why?”
   “It’s direct, simple, old-fashioned, and the orders clear, Father. He will be perfect for this campaign.”
   “But no longer suitable as commander-in-chief?”
   “So sorry, Yabu-san was right—guns have changed the world. Iron Fist is out of date now.”
   “Who then?”
   “Only you, Sire. Until after the battle I counsel you to have no one between you and the battle.”
   “I’ll consider it,” Toranaga said. “Now, go to Mishima. You’ll prepare everything. Hiro-matsu’s assault force will have twenty days to get across the Tenryu River and secure the Tokaidō Road.”
   “Please excuse me, may I suggest their final objective be a little farther, the crest of the Shiomi Slope. Allow them in all thirty days.”
   “No. If I make that an order, some men will reach the crest. But the majority will be dead and won’t be able to throw back the counterattack, or harass the enemy as our force retreats.”
   “But surely you’ll send reinforcements at once hard on their heels?”
   “Our main attack goes through Zataki’s mountains. This is a feint.” Toranaga was appraising his son very carefully. But Sudara revealed nothing, neither surprise nor approval nor disapproval.
   “Ah. So sorry. Please excuse me, Sire.”
   “With Yabu gone, who’s to command the guns?”
   “Kasigi Omi.”
   “Why?”
   “He understands them. More than that, he’s modern, very brave, very intelligent, very patient—also very dangerous, more dangerous than his uncle. I counsel that if you win, and if he survives, then find some excuse to invite him Onward.”
   “If I win?”
   “Crimson Sky has always been a last plan. You’ve said it a hundred times. If we get mauled on the Tokaidō, Zataki will sweep down into the plains. The guns won’t help us then. It’s a last plan. You’ve never liked last plans.”
   “And the Anjin-san? What do you advise about him?”
   “I agree with Omi-san and Naga-san. He should be bottled up. The rest of his men are nothing—they’re eta and they’ll cannibalize themselves soon, so they’re nothing. I advise that all foreigners should be bottled up or thrown out. They’re a plague—to be treated as such.”
   “Then there’s no silk trade. Neh?”
   “If that was the price then I’d pay it. They’re a plague.”
   “But we must have silk and, to protect ourselves, we must learn about them, learn what they know, neh?”
   “They should be confined to Nagasaki, under very close guard, and their numbers strictly limited. They could still trade once a year. Isn’t money their essential motive? Isn’t that what the Anjin-san says?”
   “Ah, then he is useful?”
   “Yes. Very. He’s taught us the wisdom of the Expulsion Edicts. The Anjin-san is very wise, very brave. But he’s a toy. He amuses you, Sire, like Tetsu-ko, so he’s valuable, though still a toy.”
   Toranaga said, “Thank you for your opinions. Once the attack is launched you will return to Yedo and wait for further orders.” He said it hard and deliberately. Zataki still held the Lady Genjiko, and their son and three daughters hostage at his capital of Takato. At Toranaga’s request Zataki had granted Sudara a leave of absence, but only for ten days, and Sudara had solemnly agreed to the bargain and to return within that time. Zataki was famous for his narrowmindedness about honor. Zataki would and could legally obliterate all the hostages on this point of honor, irrespective of any overt or covert treaty or agreement. Both Toranaga and Sudara knew without any doubt Zataki would do that if Sudara did not return as promised. “You will wait at Yedo for further orders.”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “You will leave for Mishima at once.”
   “Then it will save time if I go that way.” Sudara pointed at the junction ahead.
   “Yes. I’ll send you a dispatch tomorrow.”
   Sudara bowed and went to his horse and, with his twenty guards, rode off.
   Toranaga picked up the bowl and took a remaining morsel of the now cold noodles. “Oh, Sire, so sorry, do you want some more?” the young maid said breathlessly, running up. She was round-faced and not pretty, but sharp and observant—just as he liked his serving maids, and his women. “No, thank you. What’s your name?”
   “Yuki, Sire.”
   “Tell your master he makes good noodles, Yuki.”
   “Yes; Sire, thank you. Thank you, Sire, for honoring our house. Just raise a knuckle joint for whatever you require and you’ll have it instantly.” He winked at her and she laughed, collected his tray, and hurried off. Containing his impatience, he checked the far bend in the road, then examined his surroundings. The inn was in good repair, the tiled surrounds to the well clean and the earth broomed. Out in the courtyard and all around, his men waited patiently but he could detect nervousness in the Hunt Master and decided that today was the man’s last day of active duty. If Toranaga had been seriously concerned with the hunt for itself alone, he would have told him to go back to Yedo now, giving him a generous pension, and appointed another in his place.
   That’s the difference between me and Sudara, he thought without malice. Sudara wouldn’t hesitate. Sudara would order the man to commit seppuku now, which would save the pension and all further bother and increase the expertise of the replacement. Yes, my son, I know you very well. You’re most important to me.
   What about Lady Genjiko and their children, he asked himself, bringing to the fore that vital question. If the Lady Genjiko were not sister to Ochiba—her favorite and cherished sister—I would regretfully allow Zataki to eliminate them all now and so save Sudara an enormous amount of danger in the future, if I die soon, because they are his only weak link. But fortunately Genjiko is Ochiba’s sister, and so an important piece in the Great Game, and I don’t have to allow that to happen. I should but I won’t. This time I have to gamble. So I’ll remind myself Genjiko’s valuable in other ways—she’s as sharp as a shark’s spine, makes fine children, and is as fanatically ruthless over her nest as Ochiba, with one enormous difference: Genjiko is loyal to me first, Ochiba to the Heir first.
   So that’s decided. Before the tenth day Sudara must be back in Zataki’s hands. An extension? No, that might make Zataki even more suspicious than he is now, and he’s the last man I want suspicious now. Which way will Zataki jump?
   You were wise to settle Sudara. If there’s a future, the future will be safe in his hands and Genjiko’s, providing they follow the Legacy to the letter. And the decision to reinstate him now was correct and will please Ochiba.
   He had already written the letter this morning that he would send off to her tonight with a copy of the order. Yes, that will remove one fish bone from her gullet that was making her choke, deliberately set there so long ago for that purpose. It’s good to know Genjiko is one of Ochiba’s weak links, perhaps her only one. What’s Genjiko’s weakness? None. At least I haven’t found one yet, but if there is one, I’ll find it.
   He was scrutinizing his falcons. Some were prating, some preening themselves, all in good fettle, all hooded except Kogo, her great yellow eyes darting, watching everything, as interested as he was.
   What would you say, my beauty, he asked her silently, what would you say if I told you I must be impatient and break out and my main thrust will be along the Tokaidō, and not through Zataki’s mountains, as I told Sudara? You’d probably say, why? Then I’d answer, because I don’t trust Zataki as far as I can fly. And I can’t fly at all. Neh?
   Then he saw Kogo’s eyes snap to the road. He squinted into the distance and smiled as he saw the palanquins and baggage horses approaching around the bend.


   “So, Fujiko-san? How are you?”
   “Good, thank you, Sire, very good.” She bowed again and he noticed she was not in pain from her burn scars. Now her limbs were as supple as ever, and there was a pleasing bloom on her cheeks. “May I ask how the Anjin-san is?” she said. “I heard the journey from Osaka was very bad, Sire.”
   “He’s in good health now, very good.”
   “Oh, Sire, that’s the best news you could have given me.”
   “Good.” He turned to the next palanquin to greet Kiku and she smiled gaily and saluted him with great fondness, saying that she was so pleased to see him and how much she had missed him. “It’s been so long, Sire.”
   “Yes, please excuse me, I’m sorry,” he said, heated by her astounding beauty and inner joy in spite of his overwhelming anxieties. “I’m very pleased to see you.” Then his eyes went to the last litter. “Ah, Gyoko-san, it’s been a long time,” he added, dry as tinder.
   “Thank you, Lord, yes, and I’m reborn now that these old eyes have had the honor of seeing you again.” Gyoko’s bow was impeccable and she was carefully resplendent, and he caught the merest flash of a scarlet under kimono of the most expensive silk. “Ah, how strong you are, Sire, a giant among men,” she crooned.
   “Thank you. You’re looking well too.”
   Kiku clapped her hands at the sally and they all laughed with her. “Listen,” he said, happy because of her, “I’ve made arrangements for you to stay here for a while. Now, Fujiko-san, please come with me.
   He took Fujiko aside and after giving her cha and refreshments and chatting about unimportant things he came to the point. “You agreed half a year and I agreed half a year. So sorry, but I must know today if you will change that agreement.”
   The square little face became unattractive as the joy went out of it. The tip of her tongue touched her sharp teeth for a moment. “How can I change that agreement, Sire?”
   “Very easy. It’s finished. I order it.”
   “Please excuse me, Sire,” Fujiko said, her voice toneless, “I didn’t mean that. I made that agreement freely and solemnly before Buddha with the spirit of my dead husband and my dead son. It cannot be changed.”
   “I order it changed.”
   “So sorry, Sire, please excuse me, but then bushido releases me from obedience to you. Your contract was equally solemn and binding and any change must be agreed by both parties without duress.”
   “Does the Anjin-san please you?”
   “I am his consort. It is necessary for me to please him.”
   “Could you continue to live with him if the other agreement did not exist?”
   “Life with him is very, very difficult, Sire. All formalities, most politenesses, every kind of custom that makes life safe and worthy and rounded and bearable has to be thrown away, or maneuvered around, so his household is not safe, it has no wa —no harmony for me. It’s almost impossible to get servants to understand, or for me to understand … but, yes, I could continue to do my duty to him.”
   “I ask you to finish with the agreement.”
   “My first duty is to you. My second duty is to my husband.”
   “My thought, Fujiko-san, was that the Anjin-san would marry you. Then you would not be a consort.”
   “A samurai cannot serve two lords or a wife two husbands. My duty is to my dead husband. Please excuse me, I cannot change.”
   “With patience everything changes. Soon the Anjin-san will know more of our ways and his household will also have wa. He’s learned incredibly since he’s been—”
   “Oh, please, Sire, don’t misunderstand me, the Anjin-san’s the most extraordinary man I’ve ever known, certainly the kindest. He’s given me great honor and, oh yes, I know his house will be a real house soon, but … but please excuse me, I must do my duty. My duty is to my husband, my only husband…” She fought for control. “It must be, neh? It must be, Sire, or then all … all the shame and the suffering and dishonor are meaningless, neh? His death, my child’s, his swords broken and buried in the eta village… Without duty to him, isn’t all our bushido an immortal joke?”
   “You must answer one question now, Fujiko-san: Doesn’t your duty to a request from me, your liege lord, and to an astonishingly brave man who is becoming one of us and is your master, and,” he added, believing he recognized the bloom in her face, “your duty to his unborn child, doesn’t all that take precedence over a previous duty?”
   “I’m … I’m not carrying his child, Sire.”
   “Are you sure?”

   “No, not sure.”
   “Are you late?”
   “Yes … but only a little and that could be …”
   Toranaga watched and waited. Patiently. There was much yet to do before he could ride away and cast Tetsu-ko or Kogo aloft and he was avid for that pleasure, but that would be for himself alone and therefore unimportant. Fujiko was important and he had promised himself that at least for today he would pretend that he won, that he had time and could be patient and arrange matters it was his duty to arrange. “Well?”
   “So sorry, Sire, no.”
   “Then it’s no, Fujiko-san. Please excuse me for asking you but it was necessary.” Toranaga was neither angry nor pleased. The girl was only doing what was honorable and he had known when he had agreed to the bargain with her that there would never be a change. That’s what makes us unique on earth, he thought with satisfaction. A bargain with death is a bargain that is sanctified. He bowed to her formally. “I commend you for your honor and sense of duty to your husband, Usagi Fujiko,” he said, mentioning the name that had ceased to be.
   “Oh, thank you, Sire,” she said at the honor he did to her, her tears streaming from the complete happiness that possessed her, knowing this simple gesture cleansed the stigma from the only husband she would have in this life.
   “Listen, Fujiko, twenty days before the last day you are to leave for Yedo—whatever happens to me. Your death may take place during the journey and must appear to be accidental. Neh?”
   “Yes, yes, Sire.”
   “This will be our secret. Yours and mine only.”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Until that time you will remain head of his household.”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Now, please tell Gyoko to come here. I’ll send for you again before I go. I have some other things to discuss with you.”
   “Yes, Sire.” Fujiko bowed deeply and said, “I bless you for releasing me from life.” She went away.
   Curious, Toranaga thought, how women can change like chameleons—one moment ugly, the next attractive, sometimes even beautiful, though in reality they’re not.
   “You sent for me, Sire?”
   “Yes, Gyoko-san. What news have you for me?”
   “All sorts of things, Sire,” Gyoko said, her well-made-up face unafraid, a glint in her eyes, but her bowels in upheaval. She knew it was no coincidence that this meeting was taking place and her instinct told her Toranaga was more dangerous than usual. “Arrangements for the Guild of Courtesans progress satisfactorily and rules and regulations are being drawn up for your approval. There is a fine area to the north of the city that would—”
   “The area I’ve already chosen is nearer the coast. The Yoshiwara.”
   She complimented him on his choice, groaning inwardly. The Yoshiwara—Reed Moor—was presently a bog and mosquitoed and would have to be drained and reclaimed before it could be fenced and built on. “Excellent, Sire. Next: Rules and regulations for the gei-sha are also being prepared for your perusal.”
   “Good. Make them short and to the point. What sign are you going to put over the gateway to the Yoshiwara?”
   “‘Lust will not keep—something must be done about it.’”
   He laughed, and she smiled but did not relax her guard, though she added seriously, “Again may I thank you on behalf of future generations, Sire.”
   “It’s not for you or them I agreed,” Toranaga told her, and quoted one of his comments in the Legacy: “Virtuous men throughout history have always decried bawdy houses and Pillow Places, but men aren’t virtuous and if a leader outlaws houses and pillowing he’s a fool because greater evils will soon erupt like a plague of boils.”
   “How wise you are.”
   “And as to putting all the Pillow Places in one area, that means all the unvirtuous may be watched, taxed, and serviced, all at the same time. You’re right again, Gyoko-san, ‘Lust will not keep.’ It soon gets addled. Next?”
   “Kiku-san has regained her health, Sire. Perfectly.”
   “Yes, I saw. How delightful she is! I’m sorry—Yedo’s certainly hot and unkind in the summer. You’re sure she’s fine now?”
   “Yes, oh yes, but she has missed you, Sire. We are to accompany you to Mishima?”
   “What other rumors have you heard?”
   “Only that Ishido’s left Osaka Castle. The Regents have formally declared you outlaw—what impertinence, Sire.”
   “Which way’s he planning to attack me?”
   “I don’t know, Sire,” she said cautiously. “But I imagine a two-forked attack, along the Tokaidō with Ikawa Hikoju now that his father, Lord Jikkyu, is dead, and along the Koshu-kaidō, from Shinano, as Lord Zataki has foolishly sided with Lord Ishido against you. But behind your mountains you’re safe. Oh, yes, I’m sure you’ll live to a ripe old age. With your permission, I’m shifting all my affairs to Yedo.”
   “Certainly. Meanwhile see if you can find out where the main thrust will be.”
   “I’ll try, oh yes, Sire. These are terrible times, Sire, when brother will go against brother, son against father.”
   Toranaga’s eyes were veiled and he made a note to increase vigilance on Noboru, his eldest son, whose final allegiance was with the Taikō. “Yes,” he agreed. “Terrible times. Times of great change. Some bad, some good. You, for example, you’re rich now and your son, for example. Isn’t he in charge of your saké factory at Odawara?”
   “Yes, Sire.” Gyoko went gray under her makeup.
   “He’s been making great profits, neh?”
   “He’s certainly the best manager in Odawara, Sire.”
   “So I hear. I have a job for him. The Anjin-san’s going to build a new ship. I’m providing all craftsmen and materials, so I want the business side handled with very great care.”
   Gyoko almost collapsed with relief. She had presumed Toranaga was going to obliterate them all before he left for the war, or tax her out of existence, because he’d found out she’d lied to him about the Anjin-san and the Lady Toda, or about Kiku’s unfortunate miscarriage, which was not by chance as she had reported so tearfully a month ago, but by careful inducement, at her insistence with Kiku’s dutiful agreement. “Oh ko, Sire, when do you want my son in Yokohama? He will ensure it’s the cheapest ship ever built.”
   “I don’t want it cheap. I want it the very best—for the most reasonable price. He’s to be overseer and responsible under the Anjin-san.”
   “Sire, you have my guarantee, my future, my future hopes that it will be as you wish.”
   “If the ship is built perfectly, exactly as the Anjin-san wants, within six months from the first day, then I will make your son samurai.”
   She bowed low and for a moment was unable to talk. “Please excuse a poor fool, Sire. Thank you, thank you.”
   “He has to learn everything the Anjin-san knows about building the ship so others can be taught when he leaves. Neh?”
   “It will be done.”
   “Next: Kiku-san. Her talents merit a better future than just being alone in a box, one of many women.”
   Gyoko looked up, again expecting the worst. “You’re going to sell her contract?”
   “No, she shouldn’t be a courtesan again or even one of your gei-sha. She should be in a household, one of few ladies, very few.”
   “But, Sire, seeing you even occasionally, how could she possibly have a better life?”
   He allowed her to compliment him and he complimented her back, and Kiku, then said, “Frankly, Gyoko-san, I’m getting too fond of her and I can’t afford to be distracted. Frankly she’s far too pretty for me—far too perfect… Please excuse me, but this must be another of our secrets.”
   “I agree, Sire, of course, whatever you say,” Gyoko said fervently, dismissing it all as lies, racking her brain for the real reason. “If the person could be someone Kiku could admire, I would die content.”
   “But only after seeing the Anjin-san’s ship under sail within the six months,” he said dryly.
   “Yes—oh yes.” Gyoko moved her fan for the sun was hot now and the air sticky and breathless, trying to fathom why Toranaga was being so generous with both of them, knowing that the price would be heavy, very heavy. “Kiku-san will be distraught to leave your house.”
   “Yes, of course. I think there should be some compensation for her obedience to me, her liege lord. Leave that with me—and don’t mention this to her for the present.”
   “Yes, Sire. And when do you want my son in Yokohama?”
   “I’ll let you know that before I leave.”
   She bowed and tottered away. Toranaga went for a swim. Northward the sky was very dark and he knew it would be raining heavily there. When he saw the small group of horsemen coming from the direction of Yokohama he returned.
   Omi dismounted and unwrapped the head. “Lord Kasigi Yabu obeyed, Sire, just before noon.” The head had been freshly washed, the hair groomed, and it was stuck on the spike of a small pedestal that was customarily used for the viewing.
   Toranaga inspected an enemy as he had done ten thousand times before in his lifetime, wondering as always how his own head would look after death, viewed by his conqueror, and whether terror would show, or agony or anger or horror or all of them or none of them. Or dignity. Yabu’s death mask showed only berserk wrath, the lips pulled back into a ferocious challenge. “Did he die well?”
   “The best I have ever seen, Sire. Lord Hiro-matsu said the same. The two cuts, then a third in the throat. Without assistance and without a sound.” Omi added, “Here is his will.”
   “You took off the head with one stroke?”
   “Yes, Sire. I asked the Anjin-san’s permission to use Lord Yabu’s sword.”
   “The Yoshitomo? The one I gave Yabu? He gave it to the Anjin-san?”
   “Yes, Sire. He spoke to him through the Tsukku-san. He said, ‘Anjin-san, I give you this to commemorate your arrival at Anjiro and as a thank you for the pleasure that little barbarian gave me.’ At first the Anjin-san refused to take it, but Yabu begged him to and said, ‘None of these manure eaters deserves such a blade.’ Eventually he agreed.”
   Curious, Toranaga thought. I expected Yabu to give the blade to Omi.
   “What were his last instructions?” he asked.
   Omi told him. Exactly. If they had not all been also written in the will that had been given publicly to the formal witness, Buntaro, he would not have passed all of them on, and indeed, would have invented others. Yabu was right, he thought furiously, reminding himself to remember forever that the pen’s a long arm from the grave.
   “To honor your uncle’s death bravery, I should honor his death wishes. All of them, without change, neh?” Toranaga said, testing him.
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Yuki!”
   “Yes, Sire,” the maid said.
   “Bring cha, please.”
   She scurried away and Toranaga let his mind weigh Yabu’s last wishes. They were all wise. Mizuno was a fool and completely in Omi’s way. The mother was an irritating, unctuous old hag, also in Omi’s way. “Very well, since you agree, they’re confirmed. All of them. And I also wish to approve your father’s death wishes before they become final. As a reward for your devotion you are appointed Commander of the Musket Regiment.”
   “Thank you, Sire, but I don’t deserve such an honor,” Omi said, exulting.
   “Naga will be second-in-command. Next: You’re appointed head of the Kasigis and your new fief will be the border lands of Izu, from Atami on the east to Nimazu on the west, including the capital, Mishima, with a yearly income of thirty thousand koku.”
   “Yes, Sire, thank you. Please … I don’t know how to thank you. I’m not worthy of such honors.”
   “Make sure you are, Omi-sama,” Toranaga said good-naturedly. “Take possession of the castle at Mishima at once. Leave Yokohama today. Report to Lord Sudara at Mishima. The Musket Regiment will be sent to Hakoné and be there in four days. Next, privately, for your knowledge alone: I’m sending the Anjin-san back to Anjiro. He’ll build a new ship there. You’ll pass over your present fief to him. At once.”
   “Yes, Sire. May I give him my house?”
   “Yes, you may,” Toranaga said, though of course a fief contained everything therein, houses, property, peasants, fishermen, boats. Both men looked off as Kiku’s trilling laugh came through the air and they saw her playing the fan-throwing game in the far courtyard with her maid, Suisen, whose contract Toranaga had also bought as a consolation gift to Kiku after the unfortunate miscarriage of his child.
   Omi’s adoration was clear for all the world to see, much as he tried to hide it, so sudden and unexpected had been her appearance. Then they saw her look toward them. A lovely smile spread over her face and she waved gaily and Toranaga waved back and she returned to her game.
   “She’s pretty, neh?”
   Omi felt his ears burning. “Yes.”
   Toranaga had originally bought her contract to exclude Omi from her, because she was one of Omi’s weaknesses and clearly a prize, to give or withhold, until Omi had declared and proved his real allegiance and had assisted or not assisted in Yabu’s removal. And he had assisted, miraculously, and proved himself many times. Investigating the servants had been Omi’s suggestion. Many, if not all, of Yabu’s fine ideas had come from Omi. Omi had, a month ago, uncovered the details of Yabu’s secret plot with some of the Izu officers in the Musket Regiment to assassinate Naga and the other Brown officers during battle.
   “There’s no mistake, Omi-san?” he had asked when Omi reported to him secretly at Mishima, while he was awaiting the outcome of Mariko’s challenge.
   “No, Sire. Kiwami Matano of the Third Izu Regiment is outside.”
   The Izu officer, a jowly, heavyset, middle-aged man, had laid out the whole plot, given the passwords, and explained how the scheme would work. “I couldn’t live with the shame of this knowledge anymore, Sire. You are our liege lord. Of course, in fairness I should say the plan was only if necessary. I supposed that meant if Yabu-sama decided to change sides suddenly during the battle. So sorry, you were to be the prime target, then Naga-san. Then Lord Sudara.”
   “When was this plan first ordered and who knows about it?”
   “Shortly after the regiment was formed. Fifty-four of us know—I’ve given all the names in writing to Omi-sama. The plan, code name ‘Plum Tree,’ was confirmed personally by Kasigi Yabu-sama before he left for Osaka the last time.”
   “Thank you. I commend your loyalty. You are to keep this secret until I tell you. Then you will be given a fief worth five thousand koku.”
   “Please excuse me, I deserve nothing, Sire. I beg permission to commit seppuku for having held this shameful secret so long.”
   “Permission is refused. It will be as I ordered.”
   “Please excuse me, I do not deserve such reward. At least allow me to remain as I am. This is my duty and merits no reward. Truly I should be punished.”
   “What’s your income now?”

   “Four hundred koku, Sire. It’s enough.”
   “I’ll consider what you say, Kiwami-san.”
   After the officer had left he had said, “What did you promise him, Omi-san?”
   “Nothing, Sire. He came to me of his own accord yesterday.”
   “An honest man? You’re telling me he’s an honest man?”
   “I don’t know about that, Sire. But he came to me yesterday, and I rushed here to tell you.”
   “Then he will really be rewarded. Such loyalty’s more important than anything, neh?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Say nothing of this to anyone.”
   Omi had left and Toranaga had wondered if Mizuno and Omi had trumped up the plot to discredit Yabu. At once he put his own spies to find out the truth. But the plot had been true, and the burning of the ship had been a perfect excuse to remove the fifty-three traitors, all of whom had been placed among the Izu guards on that night. Kiwami Matano he had sent to the far north with a good, though modest, fief.
   “Surely this Kiwami is the most dangerous of all,” Sudara had said, the only one admitted to the plot.
   “Yes. And he’ll be watched all his life and not trusted. But generally there’s good in evil people and evil in good people. You must choose the good and get rid of the evil without sacrificing the good. There’s no waste in my domains to be cast away lightly.”
   Yes, Toranaga thought with great satisfaction, you certainly deserve a prize, Omi.
   “Listen, Omi-san, the battle will begin in a few days. You’ve served me loyally. On the last battlefield, after my victory, I’ll appoint you Overlord of Izu, and make your line of the Kasigi hereditary daimyos again.”
   “So sorry, Sire, please excuse me, but I don’t deserve such honor,” Omi said.
   “You’re young but you show great promise, beyond your years. Your grandfather was very like you, very clever, but he had no patience.” Again the sound of the ladies’ laughter, and Toranaga watched Kiku, trying to decide about her, his original plan now cast aside.
   “May I ask what you mean by patience, Sire?” Omi said, instinctively feeling that Toranaga wanted the question to be asked.
   Toranaga still looked at the girl, warmed by her. “Patience means restraining yourself. There are seven emotions, neh? Joy, anger, anxiety, adoration, grief, fear, and hate. If a man doesn’t give way to these, he’s patient. I’m not as strong as I might be but I’m patient. Understand?”
   “Yes, Sire. Very clearly.”
   “Patience is very necessary in a leader.”
   “Yes.”
   “That lady, for example. She’s a distraction to me, too beautiful, too perfect for me. I’m too simple for such a rare creature. So I’ve decided she belongs elsewhere.”
   “But, Sire, even as one of your lesser ladies …” Omi mouthed the politeness that both men knew a sham, though obligatory, and all the time Omi was praying as he had never prayed before, knowing what was possible, knowing that he could never ask.
   “I quite agree,” Toranaga said. “But great talent merits sacrifice.” He was still watching her throwing her fan, catching her maid’s fan in return, her gaiety infectious. Then both the ladies were obscured by the horses. So sorry, Kiku-san, he thought, but I have to pass you on, to settle you out of reach quickly. The truth is, I really am getting too fond of you, though Gyoko would never believe I had told her the truth, nor will Omi, nor even you yourself. “Kiku-san is worthy of a house of her own. With a husband of her own.”
   “Better a consort of the lowest samurai than wife of a farmer or merchant, however rich.”
   “I don’t agree.”
   For Omi those words ended the matter. Karma, he told himself, his misery overwhelming him. Put your sadness away, fool. Your liege lord has decided, so that is the end of it. Midori is a perfect wife. Your mother is to become a nun, so now your house will have harmony.
   So much sadness today. And happiness: daimyo of Izu-to-be; Commander of the Regiment; the Anjin-san’s to be kept in Anjiro, therefore the first ship is to be built within Izu—in my fief. Put aside your sadness. Life is all sadness. Kiku-san has her karma, I have mine, Toranaga has his, and my Lord Yabu shows how foolish it is to worry about this or that or anything.
   Omi looked up at Toranaga, his mind clear and everything compartmentalized. “Please excuse me, Sire, I beg your forgiveness. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
   “You may greet her if you wish, before you leave.”
   “Thank you, Sire.” Omi wrapped up Yabu’s head. “Do you wish me to bury it—or display it?”
   “Put it on a spear, facing the wreck.”
   “Yes Sire”
   “What was his death poem?”
   Omi said:


“What are clouds
But an excuse for the sky?
What is life
But an escape from death?”


   Toranaga smiled. “Interesting,” he said.
   Omi bowed and gave the wrapped head to one of his men and went through the horses and samurai to the far courtyard.
   “Ah, Lady,” he said to her with kind formality. “I’m so pleased to see you well and happy.”
   “I’m with my Lord, Omi-san, and he’s strong and content. How can I be anything but happy.”
   “Sayonara, Lady.”
   “Sayonara, Omi-sama.” She bowed, aware of a vast finality now, never quite realizing it before. A tear welled and she brushed it aside and bowed again as he walked away.
   She watched his tall, firm stride and would have wept aloud, her heart near breaking, but then, as always, she heard the so-many-times-said words in her memory, kindly spoken, wisely spoken, ‘Why do you weep, child? We of the Floating World live only for the moment, giving all our time to the pleasures of cherry blossoms and snow and maple leaves, the calling of a cricket, the beauty of the moon, waning and growing and being reborn, singing our songs and drinking cha and saké, knowing perfumes and the touch of silks, caressing for pleasure, and drifting, always drifting. Listen, child: never sad, always drifting as a lily on the current in the stream of life. How lucky you are, Kiku-chan, you’re a Princess of Ukiyo, the Floating World, drift, live for the moment…’
   Kiku brushed away a second tear, a last tear. Silly girl to weep. Weep no more! she ordered herself. You’re so incredibly lucky! You’re consort to the greatest daimyo himself, even though a very lesser, unofficial one, but what does that matter—your sons will be born samurai. Isn’t this the most incredible gift in the world? Didn’t the soothsayer predict such an incredible good fortune, never to be believed? But now it’s true, neh? If you must weep there are more important things to weep about. About the growing seed in your loins that the weird-tasting cha took out of you. But why weep about that? It was only an “it” and not a child and who was the father? Truly?
   “I don’t know, not for certain, Gyoko-san, so sorry, but I think it’s my Lord’s,” she had said finally, wanting his child so much to bind the promise of samurai.
   “But say the child’s born with blue eyes and a fair skin? It may, neh? Count the days.”
   “I’ve counted and counted, oh, how I’ve counted!”
   “Then be honest with yourself. So sorry, but both of our futures depend on you now. You’ve many a birthing year ahead of you. You’re just eighteen, child, neh? Better to be sure, neh?”
   Yes, she thought again, how wise you are, Gyoko-san, and how silly I was, bewitched. It was only an “it” and how sensible we Japanese are to know that a child is not a proper child until thirty days after birth when its spirit is firmly fixed in its body and its karma inexorable. Oh, how lucky I am, and I want a son and another and another and never a girl child. Poor girl children! Oh gods, bless the soothsayer and thank you thank you thank you for my karma that I am favored by the great daimyo, that my sons will be samurai and oh, please make me worthy of such marvelousness…
   “What is it, Mistress?” little Suisen asked, awed by the joy that seemed to pour out of Kiku.
   Kiku sighed contentedly. “I was thinking about the soothsayer and my Lord and my karma, just drifting, drifting…”
   She went farther out into the courtyard, shading herself with her scarlet umbrella, to seek Toranaga. He was almost hidden by the horses and samurai and falcons in the courtyard, but she could see he was still on the veranda, sipping cha now, Fujiko bowing before him again. Soon it’ll be my turn, she thought. Perhaps tonight we can begin a new “it.” Oh, please… Then, greatly happy, she turned back to her game.
   Outside the gateway Omi was mounting his horse and he galloped off with his guards, faster and ever faster, the speed refreshing him, cleansing him, the pungent sweat-smell of his horse pleasing. He did not look back at her because there was no need. He knew that he had left all his life’s passion, and everything that he had adored, at her feet. He was sure he would never know passion again, the spirit-joining ecstasy that ignited man and woman. But this did not displease him. On the contrary, he thought with a newfound icy clarity, I bless Toranaga for releasing me from servitude. Now nothing binds me. Neither father nor mother nor Kiku. Now I can be patient too. I’m twenty-one, I’m almost daimyo of Izu, and I’ve a world to conquer.


   “Yes, Sire?” Fujiko was saying.
   “You’re to go direct from here to Anjiro. I’ve decided to change the Anjin-san’s fief from around Yokohama to Anjiro. Twenty ri in every direction from the village, with a yearly income of four thousand koku. You’ll take over Omi-san’s house.”
   “May I thank you on his behalf, Sire. So sorry, do I understand that he doesn’t know about this yet?”
   “No. I’ll tell him today. I’ve ordered him to build another ship, Fujiko-san, to replace the one lost, and Anjiro will be a perfect shipyard, much better than Yokohama. I’ve arranged with the Gyoko woman for her eldest son to be business overseer for the Anjin-san, and all materials and craftsmen will be paid for out of my treasury. You’ll have to help him set up some form of administration.”
   “Oh ko, Sire,” she said, immediately concerned. “My time remaining with the Anjin-san will be so short.”
   “Yes. I’ll have to find him another consort—or wife. Neh?”
   Fujiko looked up, her eyes narrowing. Then she said, “Please, how may I help?”
   Toranaga said, “Whom would you suggest? I want the Anjin-san to be content. Contented men work better, neh?”
   “Yes.” Fujiko reached into her mind. Who would compare with Mariko-sama? Then she smiled. “Sire, Omi-san’s present wife, Midori-san. His mother hates her, as you know, and wants Omi divorced—so sorry, but she had the astounding bad manners to say it in front of me. Midori-san’s such a lovely lady and, oh, so very clever.”
   “You think Omi wants to be divorced?” Another piece of the puzzle fell in place.
   “Oh, no, Sire, I’m sure he doesn’t. What man wants really to obey his mother? But that’s our law, so he should have divorced her the first time his parents mentioned it, neh? Even though his mother’s very bad tempered, she surely knows what’s best for him, of course. So sorry, I have to be truthful as this is a most important matter. Of course I mean no offense, Sire, but filial duty to one’s parents is the corner post of our law.”
   “I agree,” Toranaga said, pondering this fortunate new thought. “The Anjin-san would consider Midori-san a good suggestion?”
   “No, Sire, not if you ordered the marriage … but, so sorry, there’s no need for you to order him.”
   “Oh?”
   “You could perhaps think of a way to make him think of it himself. That would certainly be best. With Omi-san, of course, you just order him.”
   “Of course. You’d approve of Midori-san?”
   “Oh, yes. She’s seventeen, her present son’s healthy, she’s from good samurai stock, so she’d give the Anjin-san fine sons. I suppose Omi’s parents will insist Midori give up her son to Omi-san, but if they don’t the Anjin-san could adopt him. I know my Master likes her because Mariko-sama told me she teased him about her. She’s very good samurai stock, very prudent, very clever. Oh, yes, he’d be very safe with her. Also her parents are both dead now so there’d be no ill feeling from them about her marrying a—marrying the Anjin-san.”
   Toranaga toyed with the idea. I’ve certainly got to keep Omi off balance, he told himself. Young Omi can become a thorn in my side too easily. Well, I won’t have to do anything to get Midori divorced. Omi’s father will absolutely have definite last wishes before he commits seppuku and his wife will certainly insist the most important last thing he does on this earth will be to get their son married correctly. So Midori will be divorced within a few days anyway. Yes, she’d be a very good wife.
   “If not her, Fujiko-san, what about Kiku? Kiku-san?”
   Fujiko gaped at him. “Oh, so sorry, Sire, you’re going to relinquish her?”
   “I might. Well?”
   “I would have thought Kiku-san would be a perfect unofficial consort, Sire. She’s so brilliant and wonderful. Though I can see she would be an enormous distraction for an ordinary man, and, so sorry, it would be years before the Anjin-san would be able to appreciate the rare quality of her singing or dancing or wit. As wife?” she asked, with just enough emphasis to indicate absolute disapproval. “Ladies of the Willow World aren’t usually trained the same as … as others are, Sire. Their talents lie elsewhere. To be responsible for the finances and the affairs of a samurai house is different from the Floating World.”
   “Could she learn?”
   Fujiko hesitated a long while. “The perfect thing for the Anjin-san would be Midori-san for wife, Kiku-san as consort.”
   “Could they learn to live with all his—er—different attitudes?”
   “Midori-san’s samurai, Sire. It would be her duty. You would order her. Kiku-san also.”
   “But not the Anjin-san?”
   “You know him better than I, Sire. But in pillow things and … it would be better for him to, well, think of it himself.”
   “Toda Mariko-sama would have made a perfect wife for him. Neh?”
   “That’s an extraordinary idea, Sire,” Fujiko replied, without blinking. “Certainly both had an enormous respect for each other.”
   “Yes,” he said dryly. “Well, thank you, Fujiko-san. I’ll consider what you said. He’ll be at Anjiro in about ten days.”
   “Thank you, Sire. If I might suggest, the port of Ito and the Yokosé Spa should be included within the Anjin-san’s fief.”
   “Why?”