“Ito just in case Anjiro is not big enough. Perhaps bigger slipways would be necessary for such a big ship. Perhaps they’re available there. Yokosé be—”
   “Are they?”
   “Yes, Sire. An—”
   “Have you been there?”
   “No, Sire. But the Anjin-san’s interested in the sea. So are you. It was my duty to try to learn about ships and shipping, and when we heard the Anjin-san’s ship was burned I wondered if it would be possible to build another, and if so, where and how. Izu is a perfect choice, Sire. It will be easy to keep Ishido’s armies out.”
   “And why Yokosé?”
   “And Yokosé because a hatamoto should have a place in the mountains where you could be entertained in the style you have a right to expect.”
   Toranaga was watching her closely. Fujiko appeared so docile and demure but he knew she was as inflexible as he was and not ready to concede either point unless he ordered it. “I agree. And I’ll consider what you said about Midori-san and Kiku-san.”
   “Thank you, Sire,” she said humbly, glad that she had done her duty to her master and repaid her debt to Mariko. Ito for its slipways, and Yokosé where Mariko had said their “love” had really begun.
   “I’m so lucky, Fujiko-chan,” Mariko had told her at Yedo. “Our journey here has brought me more joy than I have the right to expect in twenty lifetimes.”
   “I beg you to protect him in Osaka, Mariko-san. So sorry, he’s not like us, not civilized like us, poor man. His nirvana is life and not death.”
   That’s still true, Fujiko thought again, blessing Mariko’s memory. Mariko had saved the Anjin-san, no one else—not the Christian God or any gods, not the Anjin-san himself, not even Toranaga, no one—only Mariko alone. Toda Mariko-noh-Akechi Jinsai had saved him.
   Before I die I will put up a shrine at Yokosé and leave a bequest for another at Osaka and another at Yedo. That’s going to be one of my death wishes, Toranaga-sama, she promised herself, looking back at him so patiently, warmed by all the other lovely things yet to be done on the Anjin-san’s behalf. Midori to wife certainly, never Kiku as wife but only a consort and not necessarily chief consort, and the fief extended to Shimoda on the very south coast of Izu. “Do you want me to leave at once, Sire?”
   “Stay here tonight, then go direct tomorrow. Not via Yokohama.”
   “Yes. I understand. So sorry, I can take possession of my Master’s new fief on his behalf—and all it contains—the moment I arrive?”
   “Kawanabi-san will give you the necessary documents before you leave here. Now, please send Kiku-san to me.”
   Fujiko bowed and left.
   Toranaga grunted. Pity that woman’s going to end herself. She’s almost too valuable to lose, and much too smart. Ito and Yokosé? Ito understandable. Why Yokosé? And what else was in her mind?
   He saw Kiku coming across the sun-baked courtyard, her little feet in white tabi, almost dancing, so sweet and elegant with her silks and crimson sunshade, the envy of every man in sight. Ah, Kiku, he thought, I can’t afford that envy, so sorry. I can’t afford you in this life, so sorry. You should have remained where you were in the Floating World, courtesan of the First Class. Or even better, gei-sha. What a fine idea that old hag came up with! Then you’d be safe, the property of many, the adored of many, the central point of tragic suicides and violent quarrels and wonderful assignations, fawned on and feared, showered with money that you’d treat with disdain, a legend—while your beauty lasts. But now? Now I can’t keep you, so sorry. Any samurai I give you to as consort takes to his bed a double-edged knife: a complete distraction and the envy of every other man. Neh? Few would agree to marry you, so sorry, but that’s the truth and this is a day for truths. Fujiko was right. You’re not trained to run a samurai household, so sorry. As soon as your beauty goes—oh, your voice will last, child, and your wit, but soon you’ll still be cast out on to the dung heap of the world. So sorry, but that’s also the truth. Another is that the highest Ladies of the Floating World are best left in their Floating World to run other houses when age is upon them, even the most famous, to weep over lost lovers and lost youth in barrels of saké, watered with your tears. The lesser ones at best to be wife to a farmer or fisherman or merchant, or rice seller or craftsman, from which life you were born—the rare, sudden flower that appears in the wilderness for no reason other than karma, to blossom quickly and to vanish quickly.
   So sad, so very sad. How do I give you samurai children?
   You keep her for the rest of your time, his secret heart told him. She merits it. Don’t fool yourself like you fool others. The truth is you could keep her easily, taking her a little, leaving her a lot, just like your favorite Tetsu-ko, or Kogo. Isn’t Kiku just a falcon to you? Prized yes, unique yes, but just a falcon that you feed from your fist, to fly at a prey and call back with a lure, to cast adrift after a season or two, to vanish forever? Don’t lie to yourself, that’s fatal. Why not keep her? She’s only just another falcon, though very special, very high-flying, very beautiful to watch, but nothing more, rare certainly, unique certainly, and, oh, so pillowable…
   “Why do you laugh? Why are you so happy, Sire?”
   “Because you are a joy to see, Lady.”


   Blackthorne leaned his weight on one of the three hawsers that were attached to the keel plate of the wreck. “Hipparuuuu!” he called out. Puuuulll!
   There were a hundred samurai naked to their loincloths hauling lustily on each rope. It was afternoon now and low tide, and Blackthorne hoped to be able to shift the wreck and drag her ashore to salvage everything. He had adapted his first plan when he had found to his glee that all the cannon had been fished out of the sea the day after the holocaust and were almost as perfect as the day they had left their foundry near Chatham in his home county of Kent. As well, almost a thousand cannonballs, some grape and chain and many metal things had been recovered. Most were twisted and scored but he had the makings of a ship, better than he had dreamed possible.
   “Marvelous, Naga-san! Marvelous!” he had congratulated him when he had discovered the true extent of the salvage.
   “Oh, thank you, Anjin-san. Try hard, so sorry.”
   “Never mind so sorry. All good now!”
   Yes, he had rejoiced. Now The Lady can be just a mite longer and a mite more abeam, but she’ll still have her greyhound look and she’ll be a pisscutter to end all pisscutters.
   Ah, Rodrigues, he had thought without rancor, I’m glad you’re safe and away this year and there’ll be another man to sink next year. If Ferriera’s Captain-General again, that would be a gift from heaven, but I won’t count on it and I’m glad you’re safe away. I owe you my life and you were a great pilot.
   “Hipparuuuuuuu!” he shouted again and hawsers jerked, the sea dripping off them like sweat, but the wreck did not budge.
   Since that dawn on the beach with Toranaga, Mariko’s letter in his hands, the cannon discovered so soon afterward, there had not been enough hours in the day. He had drawn beginning plans and made and remade lists and changed plans and very carefully offered up lists of men and materials needed, not wanting any mistakes. And after the day, he worked at the dictionary long into the night to learn the new words he would need to tell the craftsmen what he wanted, to find out what they had already and could do already. Many times, in desperation, he had wanted to ask the priest to help but he knew there was no help there now, that their enmity was inexorably fixed.
   Karma, he had told himself without pain, pitying the priest for his misbegotten fanaticism.
   “Hipparuuuuuuuu!”
   Again the samurai strained against the hold of the sand and the sea, then a chant sprang up and they tugged in unison. The wreck shifted a fraction and they redoubled their efforts, then it jerked loose and they sprawled in the sand. They picked themselves up, laughing, congratulating themselves, and leaned on the ropes again. But now the wreck was stuck firm once more.
   Blackthorne showed them how to take the ropes to one side, then to the other, trying to ease the wreck to port or starboard but it was as fixed as though anchored.
   “I’ll have to buoy it, then the tide’ll do the work and lift it,” he said aloud in English.
   “Dozo?” Naga said, puzzled.
   “Ah, gomen nasai, Naga-san.” With signs and pictures in the sand he explained, damning his lack of words, how to make a raft and tie it to the spines at low tide; then the next high tide would float the wreck and they could pull it ashore and beach it. At the next low tide it would be easy to manage because they would have laid rollers for it to rest on.
   “Ah so desu!” Naga said, impressed. When he explained to the other officers, they also were filled with admiration and Blackthorne’s own vassals were puffed with implied importance.
   Blackthorne noticed this and he pointed a finger at one. “Where are your manners?”
   “What? Oh, so sorry, Sire, please excuse me for offending you.”
   “Today I will, tomorrow no. Swim out to ship—untie this rope.”
   The ronin -samurai quailed and rolled his eyes. “So sorry, Sire, I can’t swim.”
   Now it was silent on the beach and Blackthorne knew all were waiting to see what would happen. He was furious with himself, for an order was an order and involuntarily he had given a death sentence that was not merited this time. He thought a moment. “Toranaga-sama’s orders, all men learn swim. Neh? All my vassals swim within thirty days. Better swim in thirty days. You, in water—get first lesson now.”
   Fearfully the samurai began to walk into the sea, knowing he was a dead man. Blackthorne joined him and when the man’s head went under he pulled him up, none too kindly, and made him swim, letting him flounder but never dangerously all the way out to the wreck, the man coughing and retching and holding on. Then he pulled him ashore again and twenty yards from the shallows he shoved him off. “Swim!”
   The man made it like a half-drowned cat. Never again would he act self-important in front of his master. His fellows cheered and the men on the beach were rolling in the sand with laughter, those who could swim.
   “Very good, Anjin-san,” Naga said. “Very wise.” He laughed again, then said, “Please, I send men for bamboo. For raft, neh? Tomorrow try to get all here.”
   “Thank you.”
   “More pull today?”
   “No, no thank—” Blackthorne stopped and shaded his eyes. Father Alvito was standing on a dune, watching them.
   “No, thank you, Naga-san,” Blackthorne said. “All finish here today. Please excuse me a moment.” He went to get his clothes and swords but his men brought them to him quickly. Unhurriedly, he dressed and stuck his swords in his sash.
   “Good afternoon,” Blackthorne said, going over to Alvito. The priest looked drawn but there was friendliness in his face, as there had been before their violent quarrel outside Mishima. Blackthorne’s caution increased.
   “And to you, Captain-Pilot. I’m leaving this morning. I just wanted to talk a moment. Do you mind?”
   “No, not at all.”
   “What are you going to do, try to float the hulk?”
   “Yes.”
   “It won’t help you, I’m afraid.”
   “Never mind. I’m going to try.”
   “You really believe you can build another ship?”
   “Oh, yes,” Blackthorne said patiently, wondering what was in Alvito’s mind.
   “Are you going to bring the rest of your crew here to help you?”
   “No,” Blackthorne said, after a moment. “They’d rather be in Yedo. When the ship’s near completion … there’s plenty of time to bring them here.”
   “They live with eta, don’t they?”
   “Yes.”
   “Is that the reason you don’t want them here?”
   “One reason.”
   “I don’t blame you. I heard they’re all very quarrelsome now and drunk most of the time. Did you know a week or so ago there was a small riot among them and their house burned down, so the story goes?”
   “No. Was anyone hurt?”
   “No. But that was only through the Grace of God. Next time … It seems one of them has made a still. Terrible what drink does to a man.”
   “Yes. Pity about their house. They’ll build another.”
   Alvito nodded and looked back at the spines washed by the waves. “I wanted to tell you before I go, I know what the loss of Mariko-san means to you. I was greatly saddened by your story about Osaka, but in a way uplifted. I understand what her sacrifice means … Did she tell you about her father, all that other tragedy?”
   “Yes. Some of it.”
   “Ah. Then you understand also. I knew Ju-san Kubo quite well.”
   “What? You mean Akechi Jinsai?”
   “Oh, sorry, yes. That’s the name he’s known by now. Didn’t Mariko-sama tell you?”
   “No.”
   “The Taikō sneeringly dubbed him that: Ju-san Kubo, Shōgun of the Thirteen Days. His rebellion—from mustering his men to the great seppuku—lasted only thirteen days. He was a fine man but he hated us, not because we were Christians but because we were foreigners. I often wondered if Mariko became Christian just to learn our ways, to destroy us. He often said I poisoned Goroda against him.”
   “Did you?”
   “No.”
   “What was he like?”
   “A short, bald man, very proud, a fine general and a poet of great note. So sad to end that way, all the Akechis. And now the last of them. Poor Mariko … but what she did saved Toranaga, if God wills it.” Alvito’s fingers touched his rosary. After a moment he said, “Also, Pilot, also before I go I want to apologize for … well, I’m glad the Father-Visitor was there to save you.”
   “You apologize for my ship too?”
   “Not for the Erasmus, though I had nothing to do with that. I apologize only for those, men, Pesaro and the Captain-General. I’m glad your ship’s gone.”
   “Shigata ga nai, Father. Soon I’ll have another.”
   “What kind of craft will you try to build?”
   “One big enough and strong enough.”
   “To attack the Black Ship?”
   “To sail home to England—and defend myself against anyone.”
   “It will be a waste, all that labor.”
   “There’ll be another ‘Act of God’?”
   “Yes. Or sabotage.”

   “If there is and my new ship fails, I’m going to build another, and if that fails, another. I’m going to build a ship or get a berth and when I get back to England I’m going to beg or borrow or buy or steal a privateer and then I’m coming back.”
   “Yes. I know. That’s why you will never leave. You know too much, Anjin-san. I told you that before and I say it again, but with no malice. Truly. You’re a brave man, a fine adversary, one to respect, and I do, and there should be peace between us. We’re going to see a lot of each other over the years—if any of us survive the war.”
   “Are we?”
   “Yes. You’re too good at Japanese. Soon you’ll be Toranaga’s personal interpreter. We shouldn’t quarrel, you and I. I’m afraid our destinies are interlocked. Did Mariko-san tell you that, too? She told me.”
   “No. She never said that. What else did she tell you?”
   “She begged me to be your friend, to protect you if I could. Anjin-san, I didn’t come here to goad you, or to quarrel, but to ask a peace before I go.”
   “Where are you going?”
   “First to Nagasaki, by ship from Mishima. There are trade negotiations to conclude. Then to wherever Toranaga is, wherever the battle will be.”
   “They’ll let you travel freely, in spite of the war?”
   “Oh, yes. They need us—whoever wins. Surely we can be reasonable men, and make peace—you and I. I ask it because of Mariko-sama.”
   Blackthorne said nothing for a moment. “Once we had a truce, because she wanted it. I’ll offer you that. A truce, not a peace—providing you agree not to come within fifty miles of where my shipyard is.”
   “I agree, Pilot, of course I agree—but you’ve nothing to fear from me. A truce, then, in her memory.” Alvito put out his hand. “Thank you.”
   Blackthorne shook the hand firmly. Then Alvito said, “Soon her funeral will take place at Nagasaki. It’s to be in the cathedral. The Father-Visitor will say the service himself, Anjin-san. Part of her ashes are to be entombed there.”
   “That would please her.” Blackthorne watched the wreck for a moment, then looked back at Alvito. “One thing I … I didn’t mention to Toranaga: Just before she died I gave her a Benediction as a priest would, and the last rites as best I could. There was no one else and she was Catholic. I don’t think she heard me, I don’t know if she was conscious. And I did it again at her cremation. Would that—would that be the same? Would that be acceptable? I tried to do it before God, not mine or yours, but God.”
   “No, Anjin-san. We are taught that it would not. But two days before she died she asked for and received absolution from the Father-Visitor and she was sanctified.”
   “Then … then she knew all along she had to die … whatever happened, she was a sacrifice.”
   “Yes, God bless her and cherish her!”
   “Thank you for telling me,” Blackthorne said. “I’ve … I was always worried my intercession would never work, though I… Thank you for telling me.”
   “Sayonara, Anjin-san,” Alvito said, offering his hand again.
   “Sayonara, Tsukku-san. Please, light a candle for her … from me.”
   “I will.”
   Blackthorne shook the hand and watched the priest walk away, tall and strong, a worthy adversary. We’ll always be enemies, he thought. We both know it, truce or no truce. What would you say if you knew Toranaga’s plan and my plan? Nothing more than you’ve already threatened, neh? Good. We understand each other. A truce will do no harm. But we won’t be seeing much of each other, Tsukku-san. While my ship’s abuilding I’ll take your place as interpreter with Toranaga and the Regents and soon you’ll be out of trade negotiations, even while Portuguese ships carry the silk. And all that’ll change too. My fleet will only be the beginning. In ten years the Lion of England will rule these seas. But first The Lady, then all the rest…
   Contentedly Blackthorne walked back to Naga and settled plans for tomorrow, then climbed the slope to his temporary house, near Toranaga. There he ate rice and slivered raw fish that one of his cooks had prepared for him and found them delicious. He took a second helping and began to laugh.
   “Sire?”
   “Nothing.” But in his head he was seeing Mariko and hearing her say, ‘Oh, Anjin-san, one day perhaps we’ll even get you to like raw fish and then you’ll be on the road to nirvana—the Place of Perfect Peace.’
   Ah, Mariko, he thought, I’m so glad about the real absolution. And I thank thee.
   For what, Anjin-san? he could hear her say.
   For life, Mariko my darling. Thou…
   Many times during the days and the nights he would talk to her in his head, reliving parts of their life together and telling her about today, feeling her presence very close, always so close that once or twice he had looked over his shoulder expecting to see her standing there.
   I did that this morning, Mariko, but instead of you it was Buntaro, Tsukku-san beside him, both glaring at me. I had my sword but he had his great bow in his hands. Eeeee, my love, it took all my courage to walk over and greet them formally. Were you watching? You would have been proud of me, so calm and samurai and petrified. He said so stiffly, talking through Tsukku-san, “Lady Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko have informed me how you protected my wife’s honor and theirs. How you saved her from shame. And them. I thank you, Anjin-san. Please excuse my vile temper of before. I apologize and thank you.” Then he bowed to me and went away and I wanted you so much to be there—to know that everything’s protected and no one will ever know.
   Many times Blackthorne had looked over his shoulder expecting her there, but she was never there and never would be and this did not disturb him. She was with him forever, and he knew he would love her in the good times and in the tragic times, even in the winter of his life. She was always on the edge of his dreams. And now those dreams were good, very good, and intermixed with her were drawings and plans and the carving of the figurehead and sails and how to set the keel and how to build the ship and then, such joy, the final shape of The Lady under full sail, bellied by a sharp sou’wester, racing up the Channel, the bit between her teeth, halyards shrieking, spars stretched on a larboard tack and then, ‘All sails ho! Tops’ls, mainsails, royals, and top topgallants!’ easing out the ropes, giving her every inch, the cannonade of the sails reaching on the other tack and ‘Steady as she goes!’ every particle of canvas answering his cry, and then at long last, full-bodied, a lady of inestimable beauty turning hard aport near Beachy Head for London …


   Toranaga came up the rise near the camp, his party grouped around him. Kogo was on his gauntlet and he had hunted the coast and now he was going into the hills above the village. There were still two hours of sun left and he did not want to waste the sun, not knowing when he would ever have the time to hunt again.
   Today was for me, he thought. Tomorrow I go to war but today was to put my house in order, pretending that the Kwanto was safe and Izu safe, and my succession—that I will live to see another winter and, in the spring, hunt at leisure. Ah, today has been very good.
   He had killed twice with Tetsu-ko and she had flown like a dream, never so perfectly, not even when she’d made the kill with Naga near Anjiro—that beautiful, never-to-be-forgotten stoop to take that wily old cock pigeon. Today she had taken a crane several times her own size and come back to the lure perfectly. A pheasant had been pointed by the dogs and he had cast the falcon to her circling station aloft. Then the pheasant had been flushed and the soaring, climbing, falling had begun, to last forever, the kill beautiful. Again Tetsu-ko had come to the lure and fed from his fist proudly.
   Now he was after hare. It had occurred to him that the Anjin-san would enjoy meat. So, instead of finishing for the day, satisfied, Toranaga had decided to go for game for the pot. He quickened his pace, not wanting to fail.
   His outriders led the way past the camp and up the winding road to the crest above and he was greatly pleased with his day.
   His critical gaze swept over the camp, seeking dangers, and found none. He could see men at weapon training—all regimental training and firing was forbidden while the Tsukku-san was nearby—and that pleased him. To one side, glinting in the sun, were the twenty cannon that had been salvaged with such care and he noticed that Blackthorne was squatting cross-legged on the ground nearby, concentrating over a low table, now like any normal person would sit. Below was the wreck and he noted that it had not yet moved, and he wondered how the Anjin-san would bring it ashore if it could not be pulled ashore.
   Because, Anjin-san, you will bring it ashore, Toranaga told himself, quite certain.
   Oh, yes. And you will build your ship and I’ll destroy her like I destroyed the other one, or give her away, another sop to the Christians who are more important to me than your ships, my friend, so sorry, and the other ships waiting in your home land. Your countrymen will bring those out to me, and the treaty with your Queen. Not you. I need you here.
   When the time’s right, Anjin-san, I’ll tell you why I had to burn your ship, and by then you won’t mind because other things will be occupying you, and you’ll understand what I told you was still the truth: It was your ship or your life. I chose your life. That was correct, neh? Then we’ll laugh about the “Act of God,” you and I. Oh, it was easy to appoint a special watch of trusted men aboard with secret instructions to spread gunpowder loosely and liberally on the chosen night, having already told Naga—the moment Omi whispered about Yabu’s plot—to rearrange the roster so that the following shore and deck watch were only Izu men, particularly the fifty-three traitors. Then a single ninja with a flint out of the darkness and your ship was a torch. Of course neither Omi nor Naga was ever party to the sabotage.
   So sorry, but so necessary, Anjin-san. I saved your life, which you wanted even above your ship. Fifty times or more I’ve had to consider giving your life away but so far I’ve always managed to avoid it. I hope to continue to do that. Why? This is a day for truth, neh? The answer is because you make me laugh and I need a friend. I daren’t make friends among my own people, or among the Portuguese. Yes, I will whisper it down a well at noon but only when I’m certain I’m alone; that I need one friend. And also your knowledge. Mariko-sama was right again. Before you go I want to know everything you know. I told you we both had plenty of time, you and I.
   I want to know how to navigate a ship around the earth and understand how a small island nation can defeat a huge empire. Perhaps the answer could apply to us and China, neh? Oh yes, the Taikō was right in some things.
   The first time I saw you, I said, “There’s no excuse for rebellion,” and you said, “There’s one—if you win!” Ah, Anjin-san, I bound you to me then. I agree. Everything’s right if you win.
   Stupid to fail. Unforgivable.
   You won’t fail, and you’ll be safe and happy in your large fief at Anjiro, where Mura the fisherman will guard you from Christians and continue to feed them misinformation as I direct. How naïve of Tsukku-san to believe one of my men, even Christian, would steal your rutters and give them secretly to the priests without my knowledge, or my direction. Ah, Mura, you’ve been faithful for thirty years or more, soon you’ll get your reward! What would the priests say if they knew your real name was Akira Tonomoto, samurai—spy at my direction, as well as fisherman, headman, and Christian? They’d fart dust, neh?
   So don’t worry, Anjin-san, I’m worrying about your future. You’re in good strong hands and, ah, what a future I’ve planned for you.
   “I’m to be consort to the barbarian, oh oh oh?” Kiku had wailed aloud.
   “Yes, within the month. Fujiko-san has formally agreed.” He had told Kiku and Gyoko the truth once more, patiently giving the distraught girl face. “And a thousand koku a year after the birth of the Anjin’s first son.”
   “Eh, a thou—what did you say?”
   He had repeated the promise and added sweetly, “After all, samurai is samurai and two swords are two swords and his sons will be samurai. He’s hatamoto, one of my most important vassals, Admiral of all my ships, a close personal adviser—even a friend. Neh?”
   “So sorry, but Sire—”
   “First you’ll be his consort.”
   “So sorry, first, Sire?”
   “Perhaps you should be his wife. Fujiko-san told me she didn’t wish to marry, ever again, but I think he should be married. Why not you? If you please him enough, and I imagine you could please him enough, and still, dutifully, keep him building his ship … neh? Yes, I think you should be his wife.”
   “Oh yes oh yes oh yes!” She had thrown her arms around him and blessed him and apologized for her impulsive bad manners for interrupting and not listening dutifully, and she had left him, walking four paces off the ground where a moment ago she had been ready to throw herself off the nearest cliff.
   Ah, ladies, Toranaga thought, bemused and very content. Now she’s got everything she wants, so has Gyoko—if the ship’s built in time and it will be—so have the priests, so have—
   “Sire!” One of the hunters was pointing at a clump of bushes beside the road. He reined in and readied Kogo, loosening the jesses that held her to his fist. “Now,” he ordered softly. The dog was sent in.
   The hare broke from the brush and raced for cover and at that instant he released Kogo. With immensely powerful thrusts of her wings she hurtled in pursuit, straight as an arrow, overhauling the panicked animal. Ahead, a hundred paces across the rolling land was a brambled copse, and the hare twisted this way and that with frantic speed, making for safety, Kogo closing the gap, cutting corners, knifing ever closer a few feet off the ground. Then she was above her prey and she hacked down and the hare screamed and reared up and darted back, Kogo still in pursuit ek-ek-ek ing with rage because she had missed. The hare whirled again in a final dash for sanctuary and shrieked as Kogo struck again and got a firm grip with her talons on its neck and head and bound on fearlessly, closing her wings, oblivious of the animal’s frantic contortions and tumblings as, effortlessly, she snapped the neck. A last scream. Kogo let go and leaped into the air for an instant and shook her ruffled feathers into place again with a violent flurry, then settled back onto the warm, twitching body, talons once more in the death grip. Then and only then did she give her shriek of conquest and hiss with pleasure at the kill. Her eyes watched Toranaga.
   Toranaga trotted up and dismounted, offering the lure. Obediently the goshawk left her prey and then, as he deftly concealed the lure, she settled on his outstretched gauntlet. His fingers caught her jesses and he could feel her grip through the steel-reinforced leather of the forefinger perch.
   “Eeeeee, that was well done, my beauty,” he said, rewarding her with a morsel, part of the hare’s ear that a beater sliced off for him. “There, gorge on that but not too much—you’ve still work to do.”
   Grinning, the beater held up the hare. “Master! It must be three, four times her weight. Best we’ve seen for weeks, neh?”
   “Yes. Send it to the camp for the Anjin-san.” Toranaga swung into the saddle again and waved the others forward to the hunt once more.
   Yes, the kill had been well done, but it had none of the excitement of a peregrine kill. A goshawk’s only what it is, a cook’s bird, a killer, born to kill anything and everything that moves. Like you, Anjin-san, neh?
   Yes, you’re a short-winged hawk. Ah, but Mariko was peregrine.
   He remembered her so clearly and he wished beyond wishing that it had not been necessary for her to go to Osaka and into the Void. But it was necessary, he told himself patiently. The hostages had to be released. Not my kin, but all the others. Now I’ve another fifty allies committed secretly. Your courage and Lady Etsu’s courage and self-sacrifice have bound them and all the Maedas to my side, and through them, the whole western seaboard. Ishido had to be winkled out of his impregnable lair, the Regents split, and Ochiba and Kiyama broken to my fist. You did all this and more: You gave me time. Only time fashions snares and provides lures.
   Ah, Mariko-chan, who would have thought a little slip of a woman like you, daughter of Ju-san Kubo, my old rival, the arch-traitor Akechi Jinsai, could do so much and wreak so much vengeance so beautifully and with such dignity on the Taikō, your father’s enemy and killer. A single awesome stoop, like Tetsu-ko, and you killed all your prey which are my prey.
   So sad that you’re no more. Such loyalty deserves special favor.

   Toranaga was at the crest now and he stopped and called for Tetsu-ko. The falconer took Kogo from him and Toranaga caressed the hooded peregrine on his fist a last time, then he slipped her hood and cast her into the sky. He watched her spiral upward, ever upward, seeking a prey that he would never flush. Tetsu-ko’s freedom is my gift to you, Mariko-san, he said to her spirit, watching the falcon circle higher and higher. To honor your loyalty to me and your filial devotion to our most important rule: that a dutiful son, or daughter, may not rest under the same heaven while the murderer of her father still lives.
   “Ah, so wise, Sire,” the falconer said.
   “Eh?”
   “To release Tetsu-ko, to free her. I thought the last time you flew her she’d never come back but I wasn’t sure. Ah, Sire, you’re the greatest falconer in the realm, the best, to know, to be so sure when to give her back to the sky.”
   Toranaga permitted himself a scowl. The falconer blanched, not understanding why, quickly offered Kogo back and retreated hastily.
   Yes, Tetsu-ko was due, Toranaga thought testily, but, even so, she was still a symbolic gift to Mariko’s spirit and the quality of her revenge.
   Yes. But what about all the sons of all the men you’ve killed?
   Ah, that’s different, those men all deserved to die, he answered himself. Even so, you’re always wary of who comes within arrow range—that’s normal prudence. This observation pleased Toranaga and he resolved to add it to the Legacy.
   He squinted into the sky once more and watched the falcon, no longer his falcon. She was a creature of immense beauty up there, free, beyond all the tears, soaring effortlessly. Then some force beyond his ken took her and whirled her northward and she vanished.
   “Ah, Tetsu-ko, thank you. Bear many daughters,” he said, and turned his attention to the earth below.
   The village was neat in the lowering sun, the Anjin-san still at his table, samurai training, smoke rising from the cooking fires. Across the bay, twenty ri or so, was Yedo. Forty ri southeast was Anjiro. Two hundred and ninety ri westward was Osaka and north from there, barely thirty ri, was Kyoto.
   That’s where the main battle should be, he thought. Near the capital. Northward, up around Gifu or Ogaki or Hashima, astride the Nakasendō, the Great North Road. Perhaps where the road turns south for the capital, near the little village of Sekigahara in the mountains. Somewhere there. Oh, I’d be safe for years behind my mountains, but this is the chance I’ve waited for: Ishido’s jugular is unprotected.
   My main thrust will be along the North Road and not the Tokaidō, the coastal road, though between now and then I’ll pretend to change fifty times. My brother will ride with me. Oh yes, I think Zataki will convince himself Ishido has betrayed him to Kiyama. My brother’s no fool. And I will keep my solemn oath to seek Ochiba for him. During the battle Kiyama will change sides, I think he will change sides, and when he does, if he does, he will fall on his hated rival Onoshi. That will signal the guns to charge, I will roll up the sides of their armies and I will win. Oh yes, I will win—because Ochiba, wisely, will never let the Heir take the field against me. She knows that if she did, I would be forced to kill him, so sorry.
   Toranaga began to smile secretly. The moment I have won I will give Kiyama all Onoshi’s lands, and invite him to appoint Saruji his heir. The moment I am President of the new Council of Regents we will put Zataki’s proposal to the Lady Ochiba, who will be so incensed at his impertinence that, to placate the First Lady of the Land and the Heir, the Regents will regretfully have to invite my brother Onward. Who should take his place as Regent? Kasigi Omi. Kiyama will be Omi’s prey … yes, that’s wise, and so easy because surely by that time Kiyama, Lord of all the Christians, will be flaunting his religion, which is still against our law. The Taikō’s Expulsion Edicts are still legal, neh? Surely Omi and the others will say, “I vote the Edicts be invoked”? And once Kiyama is gone, never again a Christian Regent, and patiently our grip will tighten on the stupid but dangerous foreign dogma that is a threat to the Land of the Gods, has always threatened our wa … therefore must be obliterated. We Regents will encourage the Anjin-san’s countrymen to take over Portuguese trade. As soon as possible the Regents will order all trade and all foreigners confined to Nagasaki, to a tiny part of Nagasaki, under very serious guards. And we will close the land to them forever … to them and to their guns and to their poisons.
   So many marvelous things to do, once I’ve won, if I win, when I win. We are a very predictable people.
   It will be a golden age. Ochiba and the Heir will majestically hold Court in Osaka, and from time to time we will bow before them and continue to rule in his name, outside of Osaka Castle. Within three years or so, the Son of Heaven will invite me to dissolve the Council and become Shōgun during the remainder of my nephew’s minority. The Regents will press me to accept and, reluctantly, I will accept. In a year or two, without ceremony, I will resign in Sudara’s favor and retain power as usual and keep my eyes firmly on Osaka Castle. I will continue to wait patiently and one day those two usurpers inside will make a mistake and then they will be gone and somehow Osaka Castle will be gone, just another dream within a dream, and the real prize of the Great Game that began as soon as I could think, which became possible the moment the Taikō died, the real prize will be won: the Shōgunate.
   That’s what I’ve fought for and planned for all my life. I, alone, am heir to the realm. I will be Shōgun. And I have started a dynasty.
   It’s all possible now because of Mariko-san and the barbarian stranger who came out of the eastern sea.
   Mariko-san, it was your karma to die gloriously and live forever. Anjin-san, my friend, it is your karma never to leave this land. It is mine to be Shōgun.
   Kogo, the goshawk, fluttered on his wrist and settled herself, watching him. Toranaga smiled at her. I did not choose to be what I am. It is my karma.



   That year, at dawn on the twenty-first day of the tenth month, the Month without Gods, the main armies clashed. It was in the mountains near Sekigahara, astride the North Road, the weather foul—fog, then sleet. By late afternoon Toranaga had won the battle and the slaughter began. Forty thousand heads were taken.
   Three days later Ishido was captured alive and Toranaga genially reminded him of the prophecy and sent him in chains to Osaka for public viewing, ordering the eta to plant the General Lord Ishido’s feet firm in the earth, with only his head outside the earth, and to invite passersby to saw at the most famous neck in the realm with a bamboo saw. Ishido lingered three days and died very old.