“My answer is souls. But since you’ve enlightened me on Jappo affairs let me put Jappo affairs in their correct perspective. Jappo silver alone unlocks Chinese silks and Chinese gold. The immense profits we make and export to Malacca and Goa and thence to Lisbon support our whole Asian Empire, all forts, all missions, all expeditions, all missionaries, all discoveries, and pays for most, if not all of our European commitments, prevents the heretics from overrunning us and keeps them out of Asia, which would provide them with all the wealth they need to destroy us and the Faith at home. What’s more important, Father—Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian Christendom, or Jappo Christendom?”
   Dell’Aqua glared down at the soldier. “Once and for all, you-will-not-involve-yourself-with-the-internal-politics-here!”
   A coal fell from the fire and spluttered on the rug. Ferriera, the nearest, kicked it to safety. “And if I’m to be—to be curbed, what do you propose to do about the heretic? Or Toranaga?”
   Dell’Aqua sat down, believing that he had won. “I don’t know, at the moment. But even to think of removing Toranaga is ludicrous. He’s very sympathetic to us, and very sympathetic to increasing trade”—his voice became more withering—”and therefore to increasing your profits.”
   “And your profits,” Ferriera said, taking the bit again.
   “Our profits are committed to the work of Our Lord. As you well know.” Dell’Aqua tiredly poured some wine, offered it, placating him. “Come now, Ferriera, let’s not quarrel in this fashion. This business of the heretic—terrible, yes. But quarreling avails nothing. We need your counsel and your brains and your strength. You can believe me, Toranaga is vital to us. Without him to restrain the other Regents, this whole country will go back to anarchy again.”
   “Yes, it’s true, Captain-General,” Alvito said. “But I don’t understand why he’s still in the castle and has agreed to a delay in the meeting. It’s incredible that he seems to have been outmaneuvered. He must surely know that Osaka’s locked tighter than a jealous crusader’s chastity belt. He should have left days ago.”
   Ferriera said, “If he’s vital, why support Onoshi and Kiyama? Haven’t those two sided with Ishido against him? Why don’t you advise them against it? It was discussed only two days ago.”
   “They told us of their decision, Captain. We did not discuss it.”
   “Then perhaps you should have, Eminence. If it’s so important, why not order them against it? With a threat of excommunication.”
   Dell’Aqua sighed. “I wish it were so simple. You don’t do things like that in Japan. They abhor outside interference in their internal affairs. Even a suggestion on our part has to be offered with extreme delicacy.”
   Ferriera drained his silver goblet and poured some more wine and calmed himself, knowing that he needed the Jesuits on his side, that without them as interpreters he was helpless. You’ve got to make this voyage successful, he told himself. You’ve soldiered and sweated eleven years in the service of the King to earn, rightfully—twenty times over—the richest prize in his power to give, the Captain-Generalship of the annual Black Ship for one year and the tenth part that goes with the honor, a tenth of all silk, of all gold, of all silver, and of all profit from each transaction. You’re rich for life now, for thirty lifetimes if you had them, all from this one single voyage. If you accomplish it.
   Ferriera’s hand went to the haft of his rapier, to the silver cross that formed part of the silver filigree. “By the Blood of Christ, my Black Ship will sail on time from Macao to Nagasaki and then, the richest treasure ship in history, she’ll head south with the monsoon in November for Goa and thence home! As Christ is my judge, that’s what’s going to happen.” And he added silently, if I have to burn all Japan and all Macao and all China to do it, by the Madonna!”
   “Our prayers are with you, of course they are,” dell’Aqua replied, meaning it. “We know the importance of your voyage.”
   “Then what do you suggest? Without port clearances and safe conducts to trade, I’m hamstrung. Can’t we avoid the Regents? Perhaps there’s another way?”
   Dell’Aqua shook his head. “Martin? You’re our trade expert.”
   “I’m sorry, but it’s not possible,” Alvito said. He had listened to the heated exchange with simmering indignation. Foul-mannered, arrogant, motherless cretin, he had thought, then immediately, oh, God, give me patience, for without this man and others like him, the Church dies here. “I’m sure within a day or two, Captain-General, everything will be sealed. A week at the most. Toranaga has very special problems at the moment. It will be all right, I’m sure.”
   “I’ll wait a week. No more.” The undercurrent of menace in Ferriera’s tone was frightening. “I’d like to get my hands on that heretic. I’d rack the truth out of him. Did Toranaga say anything about the supposed fleet? An enemy fleet?”
   “No.”
   “I’d like to know that truth, because inbound, my ship will be wallowing like a fat pig, her holds bulging with more silks than have ever been sent at one time. We’re one of the biggest ships in the world but I’ve no escort, so if a single enemy frigate were to catch us at sea—that Dutch whore, the Erasmus —we’d be at her mercy. She’d make me haul down the Imperial flag of Portugal with no trouble at all. The Ingeles had better not get his ship to sea, with gunners and cannon and shot aboard.”
   “E vero, e solamente vero,” dell’Aqua muttered.
   Ferriera finished his wine. “When’s Blackthorne being sent to Izu?”
   “Toranaga didn’t say,” Alvito replied. “I got the impression it would be soon.”
   “Today?”
   “I don’t know. Now the Regents meet in four days. I would imagine it would be after that.”
   Dell’Aqua said heavily, “Blackthorne must not be interfered with. Neither he nor Toranaga.”
   Ferriera stood up. “I’ll be getting back to my ship. You’ll dine with us? Both of you? At dusk? There’s a fine capon, a joint of beef and Madeira wine, even some new bread.”
   “Thank you, you’re very kind.” Dell’Aqua brightened slightly. “Yes, some good food again would be wonderful. You’re very kind.”
   “You’ll be informed the instant I have word from Toranaga, Captain-General,” Alvito said.
   “Thank you.”
   When Ferriera had gone and the Visitor was sure that he and Alvito could not be overheard, he said anxiously, “Martin, what else did Toranaga say?”
   “He wants an explanation, in writing, of the gun-running incident, and the request for conquistadores.”
   “Mamma mia …”
   “Toranaga was friendly, even gentle, but—well, I’ve never seen him like this before.”
   “What exactly did he say?”
   “‘I understand, Tsukku-san, that the previous head of your order of Christians, Father da Cunha, wrote to the governors of Macao, Goa, and the Spanish Viceroy in Manila, Don Sisco y Vivera, in July of 1588 of your counting, asking for an invasion of hundreds of Spanish soldiers with guns to support some Christian daimyos in a rebellion which the chief Christian priest was trying to incite against their lawful liege lord, my late master, the Taikō. What were the names of these daimyos? Is it true that no soldiers were sent but vast numbers of guns were smuggled into Nagasaki under your Christian seal from Macao? Is it true that the Father-Giant secretly seized these guns when he returned to Japan for the second time, as Ambassador from Goa, in March or April 1590, by your counting, and secretly smuggled them out of Nagasaki on the Portuguese ship, the Santa Cruz, back to Macao?’” Alvito wiped the sweat off his hands.
   “Did he say anything more?”
   “Not of importance, Eminence. I had no chance to explain—he dismissed me at once. The dismissal was polite but it was still a dismissal.”
   “Where is that cursed Englishman getting his information from?”
   “I wish I knew.”
   “Those dates and names. You’re not mistaken? He said them exactly like that?”
   “No, Eminence. The names were written on a piece of paper. He showed it to me.”
   “Blackthorne’s writing?”
   “No. The names were written phonetically in Japanese, in hiragana.”
   “We’ve got to find out who’s interpreting for Toranaga. He must be astonishingly good. Surely not one of ours? It can’t be Brother Manuel, can it?” he asked bitterly, using Masamanu Jiro’s baptismal name. Jiro was the son of a Christian samurai who had been educated by the Jesuits since childhood and, being intelligent and devout, had been selected to enter the seminary to be trained to be a full priest of the four vows, of which there were none from the Japanese yet. Jiro had been with the Society for twenty years, then, incredibly, he left before being ordained and he was now a violent antagonist of the Church.
   “No. Manuel’s still in Kyushu, may he burn in hell forever. He’s still a violent enemy of Toranaga’s, he’d never help him. Fortunately, he was never party to any political secrets. The interpreter was the Lady Maria,” Alvito said, using Toda Mariko’s baptismal name.
   “Toranaga told you that?”
   “No, your Eminence. But I happen to know that she’s been visiting the castle, and she was seen with the Ingeles.”
   “You’re sure?”
   “Our information is completely accurate.”
   “Good,” dell’Aqua said. “Perhaps God is helping us in His inscrutable fashion. Send for her at once.”
   “I’ve already seen her. I made it my business to meet her by chance. She was delightful as always, deferential, pious as always, but she said pointedly before I had an opportunity to question her, ‘Of course, the Empire is a very private land, Father, and some things, by custom, have to stay very private. Is it the same in Portugal, and within the Society of Jesus?’”
   “You’re her confessor.”
   “Yes. But she won’t say anything.”
   “Why?”
   “Clearly she’s been forewarned and forbidden to discuss what happened and what was said. I know them too well. In this, Toranaga’s influence would be greater than ours.”
   “Is her faith so small? Has our training of her been so inept? Surely not. She’s as devout and as good a Christian as any woman I’ve ever met. One day she’ll become a nun—perhaps even the first Japanese abbess.”
   “Yes. But she will say nothing now.”
   “The Church is in jeopardy. This is important, perhaps too important,” dell’Aqua said. “She would understand that. She’s far too intelligent not to realize it.”
   “I beg you, do not put her faith to the test in this. We must lose. She warned me. That’s what she was saying as clearly as if it were written down.”
   “Perhaps it would be good to put her to the test. For her own salvation.”
   “That’s up to you to order or not to order. But I’m afraid that she must obey Toranaga, Eminence, and not us.”
   “I will think about Maria. Yes,” dell’Aqua said. He let his eyes drift to the fire, the weight of his office crushing him. Poor Maria. That cursed heretic! How do we avoid the trap? How do we conceal the truth about the guns? How could a Father Superior and Vice-Provincial like da Cunha, who was so well trained, so experienced, with seven years’ practical knowledge in Macao and Japan—how could he make such a hideous mistake?
   “How?” he asked the flames.
   I can answer, he told himself. It’s too easy. You panic or you forget the glory of God or become pride-filled or arrogant or petrified. Who wouldn’t have, perhaps, under the same circumstances? To be received by the Taikō at sunset with favor, a triumphal meeting with pomp and ceremony—almost like an act of contrition by the Taikō, who was seemingly on the point of converting. And then to be awakened in the middle of the same night with the Taikō’s Expulsion Edicts decreeing that all religious orders were to be out of Japan within twenty days on pain of death, never to return, and worse, that all Japanese converts throughout the land were ordered to recant at once or they would immediately be exiled or put to death.
   Driven to despair, the Superior had wildly advised the Kyushu Christian daimyos —Onoshi, Misaki, Kiyama and Harima of Nagasaki among them—to rebel to save the Church and had written frantically for conquistadores to stiffen the revolt.
   The fire spluttered and danced in the iron grate. Yes, all true, dell’Aqua thought. If only I’d known, if only da Cunha had consulted me first. But how could he? It takes six months to send a letter to Goa and perhaps another six months for one to return and da Cunha did write immediately but he was the Superior and on his own and had to cope at once with the disaster.
   Though dell’Aqua had sailed immediately on receiving the letter, with hastily arranged credentials as Ambassador from the Viceroy of Goa, it had taken months to arrive at Macao, only to learn that da Cunha was dead, and that he and all Fathers were forbidden to enter Japan on pain of death.
   But the guns had already gone.
   Then, after ten weeks, came the news that the Church was not obliterated in Japan, that the Taikō was not enforcing his new laws. Only half a hundred churches had been burned. Only Takayama had been smashed. And word seeped back that though the Edicts would remain officially in force, the Taikō was now prepared to allow things to be as they were, provided that the Fathers were much more discreet in their conversions, their converts more discreet and well behaved, and that there were no more blatant public worship or demonstrations and no burning of Buddhist churches by zealots.
   Then, when the ordeal seemed at an end, dell’Aqua had remembered that the guns had gone weeks before, under Father Superior da Cunha’s seal, that they still lay in the Jesuit Nagasaki warehouses.
   More weeks of agony ensued until the guns were secretly smuggled back to Macao—yes, under my seal this time, dell’Aqua reminded himself, hopefully the secret buried forever. But those secrets never leave you in peace, however much you wish or pray.
   How much does the heretic know?
   For more than an hour his Eminence sat motionless in his highbacked leather chair, staring sightlessly at the fire. Alvito waited patiently near the bookcase, his hands in his lap. Shafted sunlight danced off the silver crucifix on the wall behind the Father-Visitor. On one side wall was a small oil by the Venetian painter Titian that dell’Aqua had bought in his youth in Padua, where he had been sent by his father to study law. The other wall was lined with his Bibles and his books, in Latin, Portuguese, Italian, and Spanish. And, from the Society’s own movable-type press at Nagasaki that he had ordered and brought at so much cost from Goa ten years ago, two shelves of Japanese books and pamphlets: devotional books and catechisms of all sorts, translated with painstaking labor into Japanese by Jesuits; works adapted from Japanese into Latin to try to help Japanese acolytes learn that language; and last, two small books that were beyond price, the first Portuguese-Japanese grammar, Father Sancho Alvarez’s life’s work, printed six years ago, and its companion, the incredible Portuguese-Latin-Japanese dictionary printed last year in Roman letters as well as hiragana script. It had been begun at his order twenty years ago, the first dictionary of Japanese words ever compiled.
   Father Alvito picked up the book and caressed it lovingly. He knew that it was a unique work of art. For eighteen years he himself had been compiling such a work and it was still nowhere near finished. But his was to be a dictionary with explanatory supplements and far more detailed—almost an introduction to Japan and the Japanese, and he knew without vanity that if he managed to finish it, it would be a masterpiece compared to Father Alvarez’s work, that if his name was ever to be remembered, it would be because of his book and the Father-Visitor, who was the only father he had ever known.
   “You want to leave Portugal, my son, and join the service of God?” the giant Jesuit had said the first day he had met him.
   “Oh, yes, please, Father,” he had replied, craning up at him with desperate longing.
   “How old are you, my son?”

   “I don’t know, Father, perhaps ten, perhaps eleven, but I can read and write, the priest taught me, and I’m alone, I’ve no one of my own, I belong to no one…”
   Dell’Aqua had taken him to Goa and thence to Nagasaki, where he had joined the seminary of the Society of Jesus, the youngest European in Asia, at long last belonging. Then came the miracle of the gift of tongues and the positions of trust as interpreter and trade adviser, first to Harima Tadao, daimyo of the fief of Hizen in Kyushu where Nagasaki lay, and then in time to the Taikō himself. He was ordained, and later even attained the privilege of the fourth vow. This was the special vow over and above the normal vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, given only to the elite of Jesuits, the vow of obedience to the Pope personally—to be his personal tool for the work of God, to go where the Pope personally ordered and do what he personally wanted; to become, as the founder of the Society, the Basque soldier Loyola, designed, one of the Regimini Militantis Ecclesiae, one of the professed, the special private soldiers of God for His elected general on earth, the Vicar of Christ.
   I’ve been so very lucky, Alvito thought. Oh, God, help me to help.
   At last dell’Aqua got up and stretched and went to the window. Sun sparkled off the gilded tiles of the soaring central castle donjon, the sheer elegance of the structure belying its massive strength. Tower of evil, he thought. How long will it stand there to remind each one of us? Is it only fifteen—no, it was seventeen years ago that the Taikō put four hundred thousand men to building and excavating, and bled the country to pay for this, his monument, and then, in two short years, Osaka Castle was finished. Incredible man! Incredible people! Yes. And there it stands, indestructible. Except to the Finger of God. He can humble it in an instant, if He wishes. Oh, God, help me to do Thy will.
   “Well, Martin, it seems we have work to do.” Dell’Aqua began to walk up and down, his voice now as firm as his step. “About the English pilot: If we don’t protect him he’ll be killed and we risk Toranaga’s disfavor. If we manage to protect him he’ll soon hang himself. But dare we wait? His presence is a threat to us and there is no telling how much further damage he can do before that happy date. Or we can help Toranaga to remove him. Or, last, we can convert him.”
   Alvito blinked. “What?”
   “He’s intelligent, very knowledgeable about Catholicism. Aren’t most Englishmen really Catholic at heart? The answer is yes if their king or queen is Catholic, and no if he or she is Protestant. The English are careless about religion. They’re fanatic against us at the moment, but isn’t that because of the Armada? Perhaps Blackthorne can be converted. That would be the perfect solution—to the Glory of God, and save his heretic soul from a damnation he’s certainly going to.
   “Next, Toranaga: We’ll give him the maps he wants. Explain about ‘spheres of influence.’ Isn’t that really what the lines of demarcation were for, to separate the influence of the Portuguese and our Spanish friends? Si, e vero! Tell him that on the other important matters I will personally be honored to prepare them for him and will give them to him as soon as possible. Because I’ll have to check the facts in Macao, could he please grant a reasonable delay? And in the same breath say that you are delighted to inform him that the Black Ship will sail three weeks early, with the biggest cargo of silks and gold ever, that all our assignments of goods and our portion of the cargo and …” he thought a moment—and at least thirty percent of the whole cargo will be sold through Toranaga’s personally appointed broker.”
   “Eminence, the Captain-General won’t like sailing early and won’t like—”
   “It will be your responsibility to get Toranaga’s immediate sailing clearance for Ferriera. Go and see him at once with my reply. Let him be impressed with our efficiency, isn’t that one of the things he admires? With immediate clearances, Ferriera will concede the minor point of arriving early in the season, and as to the broker, what’s the difference to the Captain-General between one native or another? He will still get his percentage.”
   “But Lords Onoshi and Kiyama and Harima usually split the brokerage of the cargo between them. I don’t know if they’d agree.”
   “Then solve the problem. Toranaga will agree to the delay for a concession. The only concessions he needs are power, influence, and money. What can we give him? We cannot deliver the Christian daimyos to him. We—”
   “Yet,” Alvito said.
   “Even if we could, I don’t know yet if we should or if we will. Onoshi and Kiyama are bitter enemies, but they’ve joined against Toranaga because they’re sure he’d obliterate the Church—and them—if he ever got control of the Council.”
   “Toranaga will support the Church. Ishido’s our real enemy.”
   “I don’t share your confidence, Martin. We mustn’t forget that because Onoshi and Kiyama are Christians, all their followers are Christians in their tens of thousands. We cannot offend them. The only concession we can give to Toranaga is something to do with trade. He’s fanatic about trade but has never managed to participate personally. So the concession I suggest might tempt him to grant a delay which perhaps we can extend into a permanent one. You know how the Japanese like this form of solution—the big stick poised, which both sides pretend does not exist, eh?”
   “In my opinion it’s politically unwise for Lord Onoshi and Lord Kiyama to turn against Toranaga at this time. They should follow the old proverb about keeping a line of retreat open, no? I could suggest to them that an offer to Toranaga of twenty-five percent—so each has an equal share, Onoshi, Kiyama, Harima, and Toranaga—would be a small consideration to soften the impact of their ‘temporary’ siding with Ishido against him.”
   “Then Ishido will distrust them and hate us even more when he finds out.”
   “Ishido hates us immeasurably now. Ishido doesn’t trust them any more than they trust him and we don’t know yet why they’ve taken his side. With Onoshi and Kiyama’s agreement, we would formally put the proposal as though it was merely our idea to maintain impartiality between Ishido and Toranaga. Privately we can inform Toranaga of their generosity.”
   Dell’Aqua considered the virtues and defects of the plan. “Excellent,” he said at length. “Put it into effect. Now, about the heretic. Give his rutters to Toranaga today. Go back to Toranaga at once. Tell him that the rutters were sent to us secretly.”
   “How do I explain the delay in giving them to him?”
   “You don’t. Just tell the truth: they were brought by Rodrigues but that neither of us realized the sealed package contained the missing rutters. Indeed, we did not open them for two days. They were in truth forgotten in the excitement about the heretic. The rutters prove Blackthorne to be pirate, thief, and traitor. His own words will dispose of him once and for all, which is surely divine justice. Tell Toranaga the truth—that Mura gave them to Father Sebastio, as indeed happened, who sent them to us knowing we would know what to do with them. That clears Mura, Father Sebastio, everyone. We should tell Mura by carrier pigeon what has been done. I’m sure Toranaga will realize that we have had his interests at heart over Yabu’s. Does he know that Yabu’s made an arrangement with Ishido?”
   “I would say certainly, Eminence. But rumor has it that Toranaga and Yabu are friends now.”
   “I wouldn’t trust that satan’s whelp.”
   “I’m sure Toranaga doesn’t. Any more than Yabu has really made any commitment to him.”
   Suddenly they were distracted by an altercation outside. The door opened and a cowled monk came barefooted into the room, shaking off Father Soldi. “The blessings of Jesus Christ upon you,” he said, his voice rasping with hostility. “May He forgive you your sins.”
   “Friar Perez—what are you doing here?” dell’Aqua burst out.
   “I’ve come back to this cesspit of a land to proclaim the word of God to the heathen again.”
   “But you’re under Edict never to return on pain of immediate death for inciting to riot. You escaped the Nagasaki martyrdom by a miracle and you were ordered—”
   “That was God’s will, and a filthy heathen Edict of a dead maniac has nothing to do with me,” the monk said. He was a short, lean Spaniard with a long unkempt beard. “I’m here to continue God’s work.” He glanced at Father Alvito. “How’s trade, Father?”
   “Fortunately for Spain, very good,” Alvito replied icily.
   “I don’t spend time in the counting house, Father. I spend it with my flock.”
   “That’s commendable,” dell’Aqua said sharply. “But spend it where the Pope ordered—outside of Japan. This is our exclusive province. And it’s also Portuguese territory, not Spanish. Do I have to remind you that three Popes have ordered all denominations out of Japan except us? King Philip also ordered the same.”
   “Save your breath, Eminence. The work of God surpasses earthly orders. I’m back and I’ll throw open the doors of the churches and beseech the multitudes to rise up against the ungodly.”
   “How many times must you be warned? You can’t treat Japan like an Inca protectorate peopled with jungle savages who have neither history nor culture. I forbid you to preach and insist you obey Holy orders.”
   “We will convert the heathen. Listen, Eminence, there’s another hundred of my brothers in Manila waiting for ships here, good Spaniards all, and lots of our glorious conquistadores to protect us if need be. We’ll preach openly and we’ll wear our robes openly, not skulk about in idolatrous silken shirts like Jesuits!”
   “You must not agitate the authorities or you’ll reduce Mother Church to ashes!”
   “I tell you to your face we’re coming back to Japan and we’ll stay in Japan. We’ll preach the Word in spite of you—in spite of any prelate, bishop, king, or even any pope, for the glory of God!” The monk slammed the door behind him.
   Flushed with rage, dell’Aqua poured a glass of Madeira. A little of the wine slopped onto the polished surface of his desk. “Those Spaniards will destroy us all.” Dell’Aqua drank slowly, trying to calm himself. At length he said, “Martin, send some of our people to watch him. And you’d better warn Kiyama and Onoshi at once. There’s no telling what’ll happen if that fool flaunts himself in public.”
   “Yes, Eminence.” At the door Alvito hesitated. “First Blackthorne and now Perez. It’s almost too much of a coincidence. Perhaps the Spaniards in Manila knew about Blackthorne and let him come here just to bedevil us.”
   “Perhaps, but probably not.” Dell’Aqua finished his glass and set it down carefully. “In any event, with the help of God and due diligence, neither of them will be permitted to harm the Holy Mother Church—whatever the cost.”

Chapter 20

   “I’ll be a God-cursed Spaniard if this isn’t the life!”
   Blackthorne lay seraphically on his stomach on thick futons, wrapped partially in a cotton kimono, his head propped on his arms. The girl was running her hands over his back, probing his muscles occasionally, soothing his skin and his spirit, making him almost want to purr with pleasure. Another girl was pouring saké into a tiny porcelain cup. A third waited in reserve, holding a lacquer tray with a heaping bamboo basket of deep-fried fish in Portuguese style, another flask of saké, and some chopsticks.
   “Nan desu ka, Anjin-san?” What is it, Honorable Pilot—what did you say?
   “I can’t say that in Nihon-go, Rako-san.” He smiled at the girl who offered the saké. Instead he pointed at the cup. “What’s this called? Namae ka?”
   “Sabazuki.” She said it three times and he repeated it and then the other girl, Asa, offered the fish and he shook his head. “Iyé, domo.” He did not know how to say “I’m full now” so he tried instead “not hungry now.”
   “Ah! Ima hara hette wa oranu,” Asa explained, correcting him. He said the phrase several times and they all laughed at his pronunciation, but eventually he made it sound right.
   I’ll never learn this language, he thought. There’s nothing to relate the sounds to in English, or even Latin or Portuguese.
   “Anjin-san?” Asa offered the tray again.
   He shook his head and put his hand on his stomach gravely. But he accepted the saké and drank it down. Sono, the girl who was massaging his back, had stopped, so he took her hand and put it on his neck and pretended to groan with pleasure. She understood at once and continued to massage him.
   Each time he finished the little cup it was immediately refilled. Better go easy, he thought, this is the third flask and I can feel the warmth into my toes.
   The three girls, Asa, Sono, and Rako, had arrived with the dawn, bringing cha, which Friar Domingo had told him the Chinese sometimes called t’ee, and which was the national drink of China and Japan. His sleep had been fitful after the encounter with the assassin but the hot piquant drink had begun to restore him. They had brought small rolled hot towels, slightly scented. When he did not know what they were used for, Rako, the chief of the girls, showed him how to use them on his face and hands.
   Then they had escorted him with his four samurai guards to the steaming baths at the far side of this section of the castle and handed him over to the bath attendants. The four guards sweated stoically while he was bathed, his beard trimmed, his hair shampooed and massaged.
   Afterwards, he felt miraculously renewed. They gave him another fresh, knee-length cotton kimono and more fresh tabi and the girls were waiting for him again. They led him to another room where Kiri and Mariko were. Mariko said that Lord Toranaga had decided to send the Anjin-san to one of his provinces in the next few days to recuperate and that Lord Toranaga was very pleased with him and there was no need for him to worry about anything for he was in Lord Toranaga’s personal care now. Would Anjin-san please also begin to prepare the maps with material that she would provide. There would be other meetings with the Master soon, and the Master had promised that she would be made available soon to answer any questions the Anjin-san might have. Lord Toranaga was very anxious that Blackthorne should learn about the Japanese as he himself was anxious to learn about the outside world, and about navigation and ways of the sea. Then Blackthorne had been led to the doctor. Unlike samurai, doctors wore their hair close-cropped without a queue.
   Blackthorne hated doctors and feared them. But this doctor was different. This doctor was gentle and unbelievably clean. European doctors were barbers mostly and uncouth, and as louse-ridden and filthy as everyone else. This doctor touched carefully and peered politely and held Blackthorne’s wrist to feel his pulse, looked into his eyes and mouth and ears, and softly tapped his back and his knees and the soles of his feet, his touch and manner soothing. All a European doctor wanted was to look at your tongue and say “Where is the pain?” and bleed you to release the foulnesses from your blood and give you a violent emetic to clean away the foulnesses from your entrails.
   Blackthorne hated being bled and purged and every time was worse than before. But this doctor had no scalpels or bleeding bowl nor the foul chemic smell that normally surrounded them, so his heart had begun to slow and he relaxed a little.
   The doctor’s fingers touched the scars on his thigh interrogatively. Blackthorne made the sound of a gun because a musket ball had passed through his flesh there many years ago. The doctor said “Ah so desu” and nodded. More probes, deep but not painful, over his loins and stomach. At length, the doctor spoke to Rako, and she nodded and bowed and thanked him.
   “Ichi ban?” Blackthorne had asked, wanting to know if he was all right.
   “Hai, Anjin-san.”
   “Honto ka?”
   “Honto.”
   What a useful word, honto —’Is it the truth?’ ‘Yes, the truth,’ Blackthorne thought. “Domo, Doctor-san.”
   “Do itashimashité,” the doctor said, bowing. You’re welcome—think nothing of it.
   Blackthorne bowed back. The girls had led him away and it was not until he was lying on the futons, his cotton kimono loosed, the girl Sono gentling his back, that he remembered he had been naked at the doctor’s, in front of the girls and the samurai, and that he had not noticed or felt shame.
   “Nan desu ka, Anjin-san?” Rako asked. What is it, Honorable Pilot? Why do you laugh? Her white teeth sparkled and her eyebrows were plucked and painted in a crescent. She wore her dark hair piled high and a pink flowered kimono with a gray-green obi.
   “Because I’m happy, Rako-san. But how to tell you? How do I tell you I laughed because I’m happy and the weight’s off my head for the first time since I left home. Because my back feels marvelous—all of me feels marvelous. Because I’ve Toranaga-sama’s ear and I’ve put three fat broadsides into the God-cursed Jesuits and another six into the poxy Portuguese!” Then he jumped up, tied his kimono tight, and began dancing a careless hornpipe, singing a sea shanty to keep time.
   Rako and the others were agog. The shoji had slid open instantly and now the samurai guards were equally popeyed. Blackthorne danced and sang mightily until he could contain himself no longer, then he burst out laughing and collapsed. The girls clapped and Rako tried to imitate him, failing miserably, her trailing kimono inhibiting her. The others got up and persuaded him to show them how to do it, and he tried, the three girls standing in a line watching his feet, holding up their kimonos. But they could not, and soon they were all chattering and giggling and fanning themselves.
   Abruptly the guards were solemn and bowing low. Toranaga stood in the doorway flanked by Mariko and Kiri and his ever present samurai guards. The girls all knelt, put their hands flat on the floor and bowed, but the laughter did not leave their faces, nor was there any fear in them. Blackthorne bowed politely also, not as low as the women.
   “Konnichi wa, Toranaga-sama,” Blackthorne said.
   “Konnichi wa, Anjin-san,” Toranaga replied. Then he asked a question.
   “My Master says, what were you doing, senhor?” Mariko said.
   “It was just a dance, Mariko-san,” Blackthorne said, feeling foolish. “It’s called a hornpipe. It’s a sailors’ dance and we sing shanties—songs—at the same time. I was just happy—perhaps it was the saké. I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t disturb Toranaga-sama.”
   She translated.
   “My Master says he would like to see the dance and hear the song.”
   “Now?”
   “Of course now.”
   At once Toranaga sat cross-legged and his small court spread themselves around the room and they looked at Blackthorne expectantly.
   There, you fool, Blackthorne told himself. That’s what comes of letting your guard down. Now you’ve got to perform and you know your voice is off and your dancing clumsy.
   Even so, he tied his kimono tight and launched himself with gusto, pivoting, kicking, twirling, bouncing, his voice roaring lustily.
   More silence.
   “My Master says that he’s never seen anything like that in his whole life.”
   “Arigato goziemashita!” Blackthorne said, sweating partially from his effort and partially from his embarrassment. Then Toranaga put his swords aside, tucked his kimono high into his belt, and stood beside him. “Lord Toranaga will dance your dance,” Mariko said.
   “Eh?”
   “Please teach him, he says.”
   So Blackthorne began. He demonstrated the basic step, then repeated it again and again. Toranaga mastered it quickly. Blackthorne was not a little impressed with the agility of the large-bellied, amply buttocked older man.
   Then Blackthorne began to sing and to dance and Toranaga joined in, tentatively at first, to the cheers of the onlookers. Then Toranaga threw off his kimono and folded his arms and began to dance with equal verve alongside Blackthorne, who threw off his kimono and sang louder and picked up the tempo, almost overcome by the grotesqueness of what they were doing, but swept along now by the humor of it. Finally Blackthorne did a sort of hop, skip, and jump and stopped. He clapped and bowed to Toranaga and they all clapped for their master, who was very happy.
   Toranaga sat down in the center of the room, breathing easily. Immediately Rako sped forward to fan him and the others ran for his kimono. But Toranaga pushed his own kimono toward Blackthorne and took the simple kimono instead.
   Mariko said, “My Master says that he would be pleased for you to accept this as a gift.” She added, “Here it would be considered a great honor to be given even a very old kimono by one’s liege lord.”
   “Arigato goziemashita, Toranaga-sama.” Blackthorne bowed low, then said to Mariko, “Yes, I understand the honor he does to me, Mariko-san. Please thank Lord Toranaga with the correct formal words that I unfortunately do not yet know, and tell him I will treasure it and, even more, the honor that he did me in dancing my dance with me.”
   Toranaga was even more pleased.
   With reverence, Kiri and the servant girls helped Blackthorne into their master’s kimono and showed Blackthorne how to tie the sash. The kimono was brown silk with the five scarlet crests, the sash white silk.
   “Lord Toranaga says he enjoyed the dance. One day he will perhaps show you some of ours. He would like you to learn to speak Japanese as quickly as possible.”
   “I’d like that too.” But even more, Blackthorne thought, I’d like to be in my own clothes, eating my own food in my own cabin in my own ship with my cannon primed, pistols in my belt, and the quarterdeck tilted under a press of sails. “Would you ask Lord Toranaga when I can have my ship back?”
   “Senhor?”
   “My ship, senhora. Please ask him when I can get my ship back. My crew, too. All her cargo’s been removed—there were twenty thousand pieces of eight in the strongbox. I’m sure he’ll understand that we’re merchants, and though we appreciate his hospitality, we’d like to trade—with the goods we brought with us—and move on homeward. It’ll take us almost eighteen months to get home.”
   “My Master says you have no need to be concerned. Everything will be done as soon as possible. You must first become strong and healthy. You’re leaving at dusk.”
   “Senhora?”
   “Lord Toranaga said you were to leave at dusk, senhor. Did I say it wrongly?”
   “No, no, not at all, Mariko-san. But an hour or so ago you told me I’d be leaving in a few days.”
   “Yes, but now he says you will leave tonight.” She translated all this to Toranaga, who replied again.
   “My Master says it’s better and more convenient for you to go tonight. There is no need to worry, Anjin-san, you are in his personal care. He is sending the Lady Kiritsubo to Yedo to prepare for his return. You will go with her.”
   “Please thank him for me. Is it possible—may I ask if it would be possible to release Friar Domingo? The man has a great deal of knowledge.”
   She translated this.
   “My Master says, so sorry, the man is dead. He sent for him immediately—you asked yesterday but he was already dead.”
   Blackthorne was dismayed. “How did he die?”
   “My Master says he died when his name was called out.”
   “Oh! Poor man.”
   “My Master says, death and life are the same thing. The priest’s soul will wait until the fortieth day and then it will be reborn again. Why be sad? This is the immutable law of nature.” She began to say something but changed her mind, adding only, “Buddhists believe that we have many births or rebirths, Anjin-san. Until at length we become perfect and reach nirvana—heaven.”
   Blackthorne put off his sadness for the moment and concentrated on Toranaga and the present. “May I please ask him if my crew—” He stopped as Toranaga glanced away. A young samurai came hurriedly into the room, bowed to Toranaga, and waited.
   Toranaga said, “Nan ja?”
   Blackthorne understood none of what was said except he thought he caught Father Alvito’s nickname “Tsukku.” He saw Toranaga’s eyes flick across to him and noted the glimmer of a smile, and he wondered if Toranaga had sent for the priest because of what he had told him. I hope so, he thought, and I hope Alvito’s in the muck up to his nostrils. Is he or isn’t he? Blackthorne decided not to ask Toranaga though he was tempted greatly.
   “Kare ni matsu yoni,” Toranaga said curtly.
   “Gyoi.” The samurai bowed and hurried away. Toranaga turned back to Blackthorne. “Nan ja, Anjin-san?”
   “You were saying, Captain?” Mariko said. “About your crew?”
   “Yes. Can Toranaga-sama take them under his protection too? See that they’re well cared for? Will they be sent to Yedo too?”
   She asked him. Toranaga stuck his swords in the belt of the short kimono. “My Master says of course their arrangements have already been made. You need have no concern over them. Or over your ship.”
   “My ship is all right? She’s taken care of?”
   “Yes. He says the ship is already at Yedo.”
   Toranaga got up. Everyone began to bow but Blackthorne broke in unexpectedly. “One last thing—” He stopped and cursed himself, realizing that he was being discourteous. Toranaga had clearly terminated the interview and they had all begun to bow but had been stopped by Blackthorne’s words and now they were all nonplussed, not knowing whether to complete their bows or to wait, or to start again.
   “Nan ja, Anjin-san?” Toranaga’s voice was brittle and unfriendly, for he too had been momentarily thrown off balance.
   “Gomen nasai, I’m sorry, Toranaga-sama. I didn’t wish to be impolite. I just wanted to ask if the Lady Mariko would be allowed to talk with me for a few moments before I go? It would help me.”
   She asked him.
   Toranaga merely grunted an imperious affirmative and walked out, followed by Kiri and his personal guards.
   Touchy bastards, all of you, Blackthorne said to himself. Jesus God, you’ve got to be so careful here. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and saw the immediate distress on Mariko’s face. Rako hurriedly proffered a small kerchief that they always seemed to have ready from a seemingly inexhaustible supply, tucked secretly somewhere into the back of their obis. Then he realized that he was wearing “the Master’s” kimono and that you don’t, obviously, wipe your sweaty forehead with “the Master’s” sleeve, by God, so you’ve committed another blasphemy! I’ll never learn, never—Jesus God in Heaven—never!
   “Anjin-san?” Rako was offering some saké.

   He thanked her and drank it down. Immediately she refilled it. He noticed a sheen of perspiration on all their foreheads.
   “Gomen nasai,” he said to all of them, apologizing, and he took the cup and offered it to Mariko with good humor. “I don’t know if it’s a polite custom or not, but would you like some saké? Is that allowed? Or do I have to bang my head on the floor?”
   She laughed. “Oh yes, it is quite polite and no, please don’t hurt your head. There’s no need to apologize to me, Captain. Men don’t apologize to ladies. Whatever they do is correct. At least, that is what we ladies believe.” She explained what she had said to the girls and they nodded as gravely but their eyes were dancing. “You had no way of knowing, Anjin-san,” Mariko continued, then took a tiny sip of the saké and gave him back the cup. “Thank you, but no, I won’t have any more saké, thank you. Saké goes straight to my head and to my knees. But you learn quickly—it must be very hard for you. Don’t worry, Anjin-san, Lord Toranaga told me that he found your aptitude exceptional. He would never have given you his kimono if he wasn’t most pleased.”
   “Did he send for Tsukku-san?”
   “Father Alvito?”
   “Yes.”
   “You should have asked him, Captain. He did not tell me. In that he would be quite wise, for women don’t have wisdom or knowledge in political things.”
   “Ah, so desu ka? I wish all our women were equally—wise.”
   Mariko fanned herself, kneeling comfortably, her legs curled under her. “Your dance was very excellent, Anjin-san. Do your ladies dance the same way?”
   “No. Just the men. That was a man’s dance, a sailor’s dance.”
   “Since you wish to ask me questions, may I ask you some first?”
   “Certainly.”
   “What is the lady, your wife, like?”
   “She’s twenty-nine. Tall compared with you. By our measurements, I’m six feet two inches, she’s about five feet eight inches, you’re about five feet, so she’d be a head taller than you and equally bigger—equally proportioned. Her hair’s the color of …” He pointed at the unstained polished cedar beams and all their eyes went there, then came back to him again. “About that color. Fair with a touch of red. Her eyes are blue, much bluer than mine, blue-green. She wears her hair long and flowing most of the time.”
   Mariko interpreted this for the others and they all sucked in their breaths, looked at the cedar beams, back to him once more, the samurai guards also listening intently. A question from Rako.
   “Rako-san asks if she is the same as us in her body?”
   “Yes. But her hips would be larger and more curved, her waist more pronounced and—well, generally our women are more rounded and have much heavier breasts.”
   “Are all your women—and men—so much taller than us?”
   “Generally yes. But some of our people are as small as you. I think your smallness delightful. Very pleasing.”
   Asa asked something and all their interests quickened.
   “Asa asks, in matters of the pillow, how would you compare your women with ours?”
   “Sorry, I don’t understand.”
   “Oh, please excuse me. The pillow—in intimate matters. Pillowing’s our way of referring to the physical joining of man and woman. It’s more polite than fornication, neh?”
   Blackthorne squelched his embarrassment and said, “I’ve, er, I’ve only had one, er, pillow experience here—that was, er, in the village—and I don’t remember it too clearly because, er, I was so exhausted by our voyage that I was half dreaming and half awake. But it, er, seemed to me to be very satisfactory.”
   Mariko frowned. “You’ve pillowed only once since you arrived?”
   “Yes.”
   “You must be feeling very constricted, neh? One of these ladies would be delighted to pillow with you, Anjin-san. Or all of them, if you wish.”
   “Eh?”
   “Certainly. If you don’t want one of them, there’s no need to worry, they’d certainly not be offended. Just tell me the sort of lady you’d like and we’ll make all the arrangements.”
   “Thank you,” Blackthorne said. “But not now.”
   “Are you sure? Please excuse me, but Kiritsubo-san has given specific instructions that your health is to be protected and improved. How can you be healthy without pillowing? It’s very important for a man, neh? Oh, very yes.”
   “Thank you, but I’m—perhaps later.”
   “You’d have plenty of time. I would be glad to come back later. There will be plenty of time to talk, if you wish. You’d have at least four sticks of time,” she said helpfully. “You don’t have to leave until sunset.”
   “Thanks. But not now,” Blackthorne said, flattened by the bluntness and lack of delicacy of the suggestion.
   “They’d really like to accommodate you, Anjin-san. Oh! Perhaps—perhaps you would prefer a boy?”
   “Eh?”
   “A boy. It’s just as simple if that’s what you wish.” Her smile was guileless, her voice matter-of-fact.
   “Eh?”
   “What’s the matter?”
   “Are you seriously offering me a boy?”
   “Why, yes, Anjin-san. What’s the matter? I only said we’d send a boy here if you wished it.”
   “I don’t wish it!” Blackthorne felt the blood in his face. “Do I look like a God-cursed sodomite?”
   His words slashed around the room. They all stared at him transfixed. Mariko bowed abjectly, kept her head to the floor. “Please forgive me, I’ve made a terrible error. Oh, I’ve offended where I was only trying to please. I’ve never talked to a—to a foreigner other than one of the Holy Fathers before, so I’ve no way of knowing your—your intimate customs. I was never taught about them, Anjin-san the Fathers did not discuss them. Here some men want boys sometimes—priests have boys from time to time, ours and some of yours—I foolishly presumed that your customs were the same as ours.”
   “I’m not a priest and it’s not our general custom.”
   The samurai leader, Kazu Oan, was watching angrily. He was charged with the barbarian’s safety and with the barbarian’s health and he had seen, with his own eyes, the incredible favor that Lord Toranaga had shown to the Anjin-san, and now the Anjin-san was furious. “What’s the matter with him?” he asked challengingly, for obviously the stupid woman had said something to offend his very important prisoner.
   Mariko explained what had been said and what the Anjin-san had replied. “I really don’t understand what he’s irritated about, Oan-san,” she told him.
   Oan scratched his head in disbelief. “He’s like a mad ox just because you offered him a boy?”
   “Yes.”
   “So sorry, but were you polite? Did you use a wrong word, perhaps?”
   “Oh, no, Oan-san, I’m quite sure. I feel terrible. I’m obviously responsible.”
   “It must be something else. What?”
   “No, Oan-san. It was just that.”
   “I’ll never understand these barbarians,” Oan said exasperatedly. “For all our sakes, please calm him down, Mariko-san. It must be because he hasn’t pillowed for such a long time. “You,” he ordered Sono, “you get more saké, hot saké, and hot towels! You, Rako, rub the devil’s neck.” The maids fled to obey. A sudden thought: “I wonder if it’s because he’s impotent. His story about pillowing in the village was vague enough, neh? Perhaps the poor fellow’s enraged because he can’t pillow at all and you brought the subject up?”
   “So sorry, I don’t think so. The doctor said he’s very well endowed.”
   “If he was impotent—that would explain it, neh? It’d be enough to make me shout too. Yes! Ask him.”
   Mariko immediately did as she was ordered, and Oan was horrified as the blood rushed into the barbarian’s face again and a spate of foul-sounding barbarian filled the room.
   “He—he said ‘no.’” Mariko’s voice was barely a whisper.
   “All that just meant ‘no’?”
   “They—they use many descriptive curse words when they get excited.”
   Oan was beginning to sweat with anxiety for he was responsible. “Calm him down!”
   One of the other samurai, an older soldier, said helpfully, “Oan-san, perhaps he’s one of those that likes dogs, neh? We heard some strange stories in Korea about the Garlic Eaters. Yes, they like dogs and … I remember now, yes, dogs and ducks. Perhaps these golden heads are like the Garlic Eaters, they stink like them, hey? Maybe he wants a duck.”
   Oan said, “Mariko-san, ask him! No, perhaps you’d better not. Just calm—” He stopped short. Hiro-matsu was approaching from the far corner. “Salute,” he said crisply, trying to keep his voice from quaking because old Iron Fist, in the best of circumstances a disciplinarian, had been like a tiger with boils on his arse for the last week and today he had been even worse. Ten men had been demoted for untidiness, the entire night watch paraded in ignominy throughout the castle, two samurai ordered to commit seppuku because they were late for their watch, and four nightsoil collectors thrown off the battlements for spilling part of a container in the castle garden.
   “Is he behaving himself, Mariko-san?” Oan heard Iron Fist ask irritably. He was certain the stupid woman who had caused all this trouble was going to blurt out the truth, which would have surely lifted their heads, rightfully, off their shoulders.
   To his relief he heard her say, “Yes, Lord. Everything is fine, thank you.”
   “You’re ordered to leave with Kiritsubo-san.”
   “Yes, Lord.” As Hiro-matsu continued with his patrol, Mariko brooded over why she was being sent away. Was it merely to interpret for Kiri with the barbarian on the voyage? Surely that’s not so important? Were Toranaga’s other ladies going? The Lady Sazuko? Isn’t it dangerous for Sazuko to go by sea now? Am I to go alone with Kiri, or is my husband going also? If he stays—and it would be his duty to stay with his lord—who will look after his house? Why do we have to go by ship? Surely the Tokaidō Road is still safe? Surely Ishido won’t harm us? Yes, he would—think of our value as hostages, the Lady Sazuko, Kiritsubo, and the others. Is that why we’re to be sent by sea?
   Mariko had always hated the sea. Even the sight of it almost made her sick. But if I am to go, I am to go, and there’s the end of it. Karma. She turned her mind off the inevitable to the immediate problem of the baffling foreign barbarian who was causing her nothing but grief.
   When Iron Fist had vanished around the corner, Oan raised his head and all of them sighed. Asa came scurrying down the corridor with the saké, Sono close behind with the hot towels.
   They watched while the barbarian was ministered to. They saw the taut mask of his face, and the way he accepted the saké without pleasure and the hot towels with cold thanks.
   “Oan-san, why not let one of the women send for the duck?” the old samurai whispered agreeably. “We just put it down. If he wants it everything’s fine, if not he’ll pretend he hasn’t seen it.”
   Mariko shook her head. “Perhaps we shouldn’t take this risk. It seems, Oan-san, his type of barbarian has some aversion to talking about pillowing, neh? He is the first of his kind to come here, so we’ll have to feel our way.”
   “I agree,” Oan said. “He was quite gentle until that was mentioned.” He glowered at Asa.
   “I’m sorry, Oan-san. You’re quite right, it was entirely my fault,” Asa said at once, bowing, her head almost to the floor.
   “Yes. I shall report the matter to Kiritsubo-san.”
   “Oh!”
   “I really think the Mistress should also be told to take care about discussing pillowing with this man,” Mariko said diplomatically. “You’re very wise, Oan-san. Yes. But perhaps in a way Asa was a fortunate instrument to save the Lady Kiritsubo and even Lord Toranaga from an awful embarrassment! Just think what would have happened if Kiritsubo-san herself had asked that question in front of Lord Toranaga yesterday! If the barbarian had acted like that in front of him …”
   Oan winced. “Blood would have flowed! You’re quite right, Mariko-san, Asa should be thanked. I will explain to Kiritsubo-san that she was fortunate.”
   Mariko offered Blackthorne more saké.
   “No, thank you.”
   “Again I apologize for my stupidity. You wanted to ask me some questions?”
   Blackthorne had watched them talking among themselves, annoyed at not being able to understand, furious that he couldn’t curse them roundly for their insults or bang the guards’ heads together. “Yes. You said that sodomy is normal here?”
   “Oh, forgive me, may we please discuss other things?”
   “Certainly, senhora. But first, so I can understand you, let’s finish this subject. Sodomy’s normal here, you said?”
   “Everything to do with pillowing is normal,” she said defiantly, prodded by his lack of manners and obvious imbecility, remembering that Toranaga had told her to be informative about nonpolitical things but to recount to him later all questions asked. Also, she was not to take any nonsense from him, for the Anjin was still a barbarian, a probable pirate, and under a formal death sentence which was presently held in abeyance at Toranaga’s pleasure. “Pillowing is quite normal. And as to a man going with another man or boy, what has this got to do with anyone but them? What harm does it do them, or others—or me or you? None!” What am I, she thought, an illiterate outcast without brains? A stupid tradesman to be intimidated by a mere barbarian? No. I’m samurai! Yes, you are, Mariko, but you’re also very foolish! You’re a woman and you must treat him like any man if he is to be controlled: Flatter him and agree with him and honey him. You forget your weapons. Why does he make you act like a twelve-year-old child?
   Deliberately she softened her tone. “But if you think—”
   “Sodomy’s a foul sin, an evil, God-cursed abomination, and those bastards who practice it are the dregs of the world!” Blackthorne overrode her, still smarting under the insult that she had believed he could be one of those. Christ’s blood, how could she? Get hold of yourself, he told himself. You’re sounding like a pox-ridden fanatic puritan or a Calvinist! And why are you so fanatic against them? Isn’t it because they’re ever present at sea, that most sailors have tried it that way, for how else can they stay sane with so many months at sea? Isn’t it because you’ve been tempted and you’ve hated yourself for being tempted? Isn’t it because when you were young you had to fight to protect yourself and once you were held down and almost raped, but you broke away and killed one of the bastards, the knife snapped in his throat, you twelve, and this the first death on your long list of deaths? “It’s a God-cursed sin—and absolutely against the laws of God and man!”
   “Surely those are Christian words which apply to other things?” she retorted acidly, in spite of herself, nettled by his complete uncouthness. “Sin? Where is the sin in that?”
   “You should know. You’re Catholic, aren’t you? You were brought up by Jesuits, weren’t you?”
   “A Holy Father educated me to speak Latin and Portuguese and to write Latin and Portuguese. I don’t understand the meaning you attach to Catholic but I am a Christian, and have been a Christian for almost ten years now, and no, they did not talk to us about pillowing. I’ve never read your pillow books—only religious books. Pillowing a sin? How could it be? How can anything that gives a human pleasure be sinful?”

   “Ask Father Alvito!”
   I wish I could, she thought in turmoil. But I am ordered not to discuss anything that is said with anyone but Kiri and my Lord Toranaga. I’ve asked God and the Madonna to help me but they haven’t spoken to me. I only know that ever since you came here, there has been nothing but trouble. I’ve had nothing but trouble… “If it’s a sin as you say, why is it so many of our priests do it and always have? Some Buddhist sects even recommend it as a form of worship. Isn’t the moment of the Clouds and the Rain as near to heaven as mortals can get? Priests are not evil men, not all of them. And some of the Holy Fathers have been known to enjoy pillowing this way also. Are they evil? Of course not! Why should they be deprived of an ordinary pleasure if they’re forbidden women? It’s nonsense to say that anything to do with pillowing is a sin and God-cursed!”
   “Sodomy’s an abomination, against all law! Ask your confessor!”
   You’re the one who’s the abomination—you, Captain-Pilot, Mariko wanted to shout. How dare you be so rude and how can you be so moronic! Against God, you said? What absurdity! Against your evil god, perhaps. You claim to be a Christian but you’re obviously not, you’re obviously a liar and a cheat. Perhaps you do know extraordinary things and have been to strange places, but you’re no Christian and you blaspheme. Are you sent by Satan? Sin? How grotesque!
   You rant over normal things and act like a madman. You upset the Holy Fathers, upset Lord Toranaga, cause strife between us, unsettle our beliefs, and torment us with insinuations about what is true and what isn’t—knowing that we can’t prove the truth immediately.
   I want to tell you that I despise you and all barbarians. Yes, barbarians have beset me all my life. Didn’t they hate my father because he distrusted them and openly begged the Dictator Goroda to throw them all out of our land? Didn’t barbarians pour poison into the Dictator’s mind so he began to hate my father, his most loyal general, the man who had helped him even more than General Nakamura or Lord Toranaga? Didn’t barbarians cause the Dictator to insult my father, sending my poor father insane, forcing him to do the unthinkable and thus cause all my agonies?
   Yes, they did all that and more. But also they brought the peerless Word of God, and in the dark hours of my need when I was brought back from hideous exile to even more hideous life, the Father-Visitor showed me the Path, opened my eyes and my soul and baptized me. And the Path gave me strength to endure, filled my heart with limitless peace, released me from perpetual torment, and blessed me with the promise of Eternal Salvation.
   Whatever happens I am in the Hand of God. Oh, Madonna, give me thy peace and help this poor sinner to overcome thine enemy.
   “I apologize for my rudeness,” she said. “You’re right to be angry. I’m just a foolish woman. Please be patient and forgive my stupidity, Anjin-san.”
   At once Blackthorne’s anger began to fade. How can any man be angry for long with a woman if she openly admits she was wrong and he right? “I apologize too, Mariko-san,” he said, a little mollified, “but with us, to suggest a man is a bugger, a sodomite, is the worst kind of insult.”
   Then you’re all childish and foolish as well as vile, uncouth, and without manners, but what can one expect from a barbarian, she told herself, and said, outwardly penitent, “Of course you’re right. I meant no harm, Anjin-sama, please accept my apologies. Oh yes,” she sighed, her voice so delicately honeyed that even her husband in one of his most foul moods would have been soothed, “oh yes, it was my fault entirely. So sorry.”


   The sun had touched the horizon and still Father Alvito waited in the audience room, the rutters heavy in his hands.
   God damn Blackthorne, he thought.
   This was the first time that Toranaga had ever kept him waiting, the first time in years that he had waited for any daimyo, even the Taikō. During the last eight years of the Taikō’s rule, he had been given the incredible privilege of immediate access, just as with Toranaga. But with the Taikō the privilege had been earned because of his fluency in Japanese and because of his business acumen. His knowledge of the inner workings of international trade had actively helped to increase the Taikō’s incredible fortune. Though the Taikō was almost illiterate, his grasp of language was vast and his political knowledge immense. So Alvito had happily sat at the foot of the Despot to teach and to learn, and, if it was the will of God, to convert. This was the specific job he had been meticulously trained for by dell’Aqua, who had provided the best practical teachers among all the Jesuits and among the Portuguese traders in Asia. Alvito had become the Taikō’s confidant, one of the four persons—and the only foreigner—ever to see all the Taikō’s personal treasure rooms.
   Within a few hundred paces was the castle donjon, the keep. It towered seven stories, protected by a further multiplicity of walls and doors and fortifications. On the fourth story were seven rooms with iron doors. Each was crammed with gold bullion and chests of golden coins. In the story above were the rooms of silver, bursting with ingots and chests of coins. And in the one above that were the rare silks and potteries and swords and armor—the treasure of the Empire.
   At our present reckoning, Alvito thought, the value must be at least fifty million ducats, more than one year’s worth of revenue from the entire Spanish Empire, the Portuguese Empire, and Europe together. The greatest personal fortune of cash on earth.
   Isn’t this the great prize? he reasoned. Doesn’t whoever controls Osaka Castle control this unbelievable wealth? And doesn’t this wealth therefore give him power over the land? Wasn’t Osaka made impregnable just to protect the wealth? Wasn’t the land bled to build Osaka Castle, to make it inviolate to protect the gold, to hold it in trust against the coming of age of Yaemon?
   With a hundredth part we could build a cathedral in every city, a church in every town, a mission in every village throughout the land. If only we could get it, to use it for the glory of God!
   The Taikō had loved power. And he had loved gold for the power it gave over men. The treasure was the gleaning of sixteen years of undisputed power, from the immense, obligatory gifts that all daimyos, by custom, were expected to offer yearly, and from his own fiefs. By right of conquest, the Taikō personally owned one fourth of all the land. His personal annual income was in excess of five million koku. And because he was Lord of all Japan with the Emperor’s mandate, in theory he owned all revenue of all fiefs. He taxed no one. But all daimyos, all samurai, all peasants, all artisans, all merchants, all robbers, all outcasts, all barbarians, even eta, contributed voluntarily, in great measure. For their own safety.
   So long as the fortune is intact and Osaka is intact and Yaemon the de facto custodian, Alvito told himself, Yaemon will rule when he is of age in spite of Toranaga, Ishido, or anyone.
   A pity the Taikō’s dead. With all his faults, we knew the devil we had to deal with. Pity, in fact, that Goroda was murdered, for he was a real friend to us. But he’s dead, and so is the Taikō, and now we have new pagans to bend—Toranaga and Ishido.
   Alvito remembered the night that the Taikō had died. He had been invited by the Taikō to keep vigil—he, together with Yodoko-sama, the Taikō’s wife, and the Lady Ochiba, his consort and mother of the Heir. They had watched and waited long in the balm of that endless summer’s night.
   Then the dying began, and came to pass.
   “His spirit’s gone. He’s in the hands of God now,” he had said gently when he was sure. He had made the sign of the cross and blessed the body.
   “May Buddha take my Lord into his keeping and rebirth him quickly so that he will take back the Empire into his hands once more,” Yodoko had said in silent tears. She was a nice woman, a patrician samurai who had been a faithful wife and counselor for forty-four of her fifty-nine years of life. She had closed the eyes and made the corpse dignified, which was her privilege. Sadly she had made an obeisance three times and then she had left him and the Lady Ochiba.
   The dying had been easy. For months the Taikō had been sick and tonight the end was expected. A few hours ago he had opened his eyes and smiled at Ochiba and at Yodoko, and had whispered, his voice like a thread: “Listen, this is my death poem:


Like dew I was born
Like dew I vanish
Osaka Castle and all that I have ever done
Is but a dream
Within a dream.”


   A last smile, so tender, from the Despot to them and to him. “Guard my son, all of you.” And then the eyes had opaqued forever.
   Father Alvito remembered how moved he had been by the last poem, so typical of the Taikō. He had hoped because he had been invited that, on the threshold, the Lord of Japan would have relented and would have accepted the Faith and the Sacrament that he had toyed with so many times. But it was not to be. “You’ve lost the Kingdom of God forever, poor man,” he had muttered sadly, for he had admired the Taikō as a military and political genius.
   “What if your Kingdom of God’s up a barbarian’s back passage?” Lady Ochiba had said.
   “What?” He was not certain he had heard correctly, revolted by her unexpected hissing malevolence. He had known Lady Ochiba for almost twelve years, since she was fifteen, when the Taikō had first taken her to consort, and she had ever been docile and subservient, hardly saying a word, always smiling sweetly and happy. But now …
   “I said, ‘What if your God’s kingdom’s in a barbarian’s back passage?’”
   “May God forgive you! Your Master’s dead only a few moments—”
   “The Lord my Master’s dead, so your influence over him is dead. Neh? He wanted you here, very good, that was his right. But now he’s in the Great Void and commands no more. Now I command. Priest, you stink, you always have, and your foulness pollutes the air. Now get out of my castle and leave us to our grief!”
   The stark candlelight had flickered across her face. She was one of the most beautiful women in the land. Involuntarily he had made the sign of the cross against her evil.
   Her laugh was chilling. “Go away, priest, and never come back. Your days are numbered!”
   “No more than yours. I am in the hands of God, Lady. Better you take heed of Him, Eternal Salvation can be yours if you believe.”
   “Eh? You’re in the hands of God? The Christian God, neh? Perhaps you are. Perhaps not. What will you do, priest, if when you’re dead you discover there is no God, that there’s no hell and your Eternal Salvation just a dream within a dream?”
   “I believe! I believe in God and in the Resurrection and in the Holy Ghost!” he said aloud. “The Christian promises are true. They’re true, they’re true—I believe!”
   “Nan ja, Tsukku-san?”
   For a moment he only heard the Japanese and it had no meaning for him.
   Toranaga was standing in the doorway surrounded by his guards.
   Father Alvito bowed, collecting himself, sweat on his back and face. “I am sorry to have come uninvited. I—I was just daydreaming. I was remembering that I’ve had the good fortune to witness so many things here in Japan. My whole life seems to have been here and nowhere else.”
   “That’s been our gain, Tsukku-san.”
   Toranaga walked tiredly to the dais and sat on the simple cushion. Silently the guards arranged themselves in a protective screen.
   “You arrived here in the third year of Tensho, didn’t you?”
   “No, Sire, it was the fourth. The Year of the Rat,” he replied, using their counting, which had taken him months to understand. All the years were measured from a particular year that was chosen by the ruling Emperor. A catastrophe or a godsend might end an era or begin one, at his whim. Scholars were ordered to select a name of particularly good omen from the ancient books of China for the new era which might last a year or fifty years. Tensho meant “Heaven Righteousness.” The previous year had been the time of the great tidal wave when two hundred thousand had died. And each year was given a number as well as a name—one of the same succession as the hours of the day: Hare, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Cock, Dog, Boar, Rat, Ox and Tiger. The first year of Tencho had fallen in the Year of the Cock, so it followed that 1576 was the Year of the Rat in the Fourth Year of Tencho.
   “Much has happened in those twenty-four years, neh, old friend?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Yes. The rise of Goroda and his death. The rise of the Taikō and his death. And now?” The words ricocheted off the walls.
   “That is in the hands of the Infinite.” Alvito used a word that could mean God, and also could mean Buddha.
   “Neither the Lord Goroda nor the Lord Taikō believed in any gods, or any Infinite.”
   “Didn’t the Lord Buddha say there are many paths to nirvana, Sire?”
   “Ah, Tsukku-san, you’re a wise man. How is someone so young so wise?”
   “I wish sincerely I was, Sire. Then I could be of more help.”
   “You wanted to see me?”
   “Yes. I thought it important enough to come uninvited.”
   Alvito took out Blackthorne’s rutters and placed them on the floor in front of him, giving the explanations dell’Aqua had suggested. He saw Toranaga’s face harden and he was glad of it.
   “Proof of his piracy?”
   “Yes, Sire. The rutters even contain the exact words of their orders, which include: ‘if necessary to land in force and claim any territory reached or discovered.’ If you wish I can make an exact translation of all the pertinent passages.”
   “Make a translation of everything. Quickly,” Toranaga said.
   “There’s something else the Father-Visitor thought you should know.” Alvito told Toranaga everything about the maps and reports and the Black Ship as had been arranged, and he was delighted to see the pleased reaction.
   “Excellent,” Toranaga said. “Are you sure the Black Ship will be early? Absolutely sure?”
   “Yes,” Alvito answered firmly. Oh, God, let it happen as we hope!
   “Good. Tell your liege lord that I look forward to reading his reports. Yes. I imagine it will take some months for him to obtain the correct facts?”
   “He said he would prepare the reports as soon as possible. We will be sending you the maps as you wanted. Would it be possible for the Captain-General to have his clearances soon? That would help enormously if the Black Ship is to come early, Lord Toranaga.”
   “You guarantee the ship will arrive early?”
   “No man can guarantee the wind and storm and sea. But the ship will leave Macao early.”
   “You will have them before sunset. Is there anything else? I won’t be available for three days, until after the conclusion of the meeting of the Regents.”
   “No, Sire. Thank you. I pray that the Infinite will keep you safe, as always.” Alvito bowed and waited for his dismissal, but instead, Toranaga dismissed his guards.
   This was the first time Alvito had ever seen a daimyo unattended.
   “Come and sit here, Tsukku-san.” Toranaga pointed beside him, on the dais.
   Alvito had never been invited onto the dais before. Is this a vote of confidence—or a sentence?
   “War is coming,” Toranaga said.

  “Yes,” he replied, and he thought, this war will never end.
   “The Christian Lords Onoshi and Kiyama are strangely opposed to my wishes.”
   “I cannot answer for any daimyo, Sire.”
   “There are bad rumors, neh? About them, and about the other Christian daimyos.”
   “Wise men will always have the interests of the Empire at heart.”
   “Yes. But in the meantime, against my will, the Empire is being split into two camps. Mine and Ishido’s. So all interests in the Empire lie on one side or another. There is no middle course. Where do the interests of the Christians lie?”
   “On the side of peace. Christianity is a religion, Sire, not a political ideology.”
   “Your Father-Giant is head of your Church here. I hear you speak—you can speak in this Pope’s name.”
   “We are forbidden to involve ourselves in your politics, Sire.”
   “You think Ishido will favor you?” Toranaga’s voice hardened. “He’s totally opposed to your religion. I’ve always shown you favor. Ishido wants to implement the Taikō’s Expulsion Edicts at once and close the land totally to all barbarians. I want an expanding trade.”
   “We do not control any of the Christian daimyos.”
   “How do I influence them, then?”
   “I don’t know enough to attempt to counsel you.”
   “You know enough, old friend, to understand that if Kiyama and Onoshi stand against me alongside Ishido and the rest of his rabble, all other Christian daimyos will soon follow them-then twenty men stand against me for every one of mine.”
   “If war comes, I will pray you win.”
   “I’ll need more than prayers if twenty men oppose one of mine.”
   “Is there no way to avoid war? It will never end once it starts.”
   “I believe that too. Then everyone loses—we and the barbarian and the Christian Church. But if all Christian daimyos sided with me now—openly—there would be no war. Ishido’s ambitions would be permanently curbed. Even if he raised his standard and revolted, the Regents could stamp him out like a rice maggot.”
   Alvito felt the noose tightening around his throat. “We are here only to spread the Word of God. Not to interfere in your politics, Sire.”
   “Your previous leader offered the services of the Christian daimyos of Kyushu to the Taikō before we had subdued that part of the Empire.”
   “He was mistaken to do so. He had no authority from the Church or from the daimyos themselves.”
   “He offered to give the Taikō ships, Portuguese ships, to transport our troops to Kyushu, offered Portuguese soldiers with guns to help us. Even against Korea and against China.”
   “Again, Sire, he did it mistakenly, without authority from anyone.”
   “Soon everyone will have to choose sides, Tsukku-san. Yes. Very soon.”
   Alvito felt the threat physically. “I am always ready to serve you.”
   “If I lose, will you die with me? Will you commit jenshi —will you follow me, or come with me into death, like a loyal retainer?”
   “My life is in the hands of God. So is my death.”
   “Ah, yes. Your Christian God!” Toranaga moved his swords slightly. Then he leaned forward. “Onoshi and Kiyama committed to me, within forty days, and the Council of Regents will repeal the Taikō’s Edicts.”
   How far dare I go? Alvito asked himself helplessly. How far? “We cannot influence them as you believe.”
   “Perhaps your leader should order them. Order them! Ishido will betray you and them. I know him for what he is. So will the Lady Ochiba. Isn’t she already influencing the Heir against you?”
   Yes, Alvito wanted to shout. But Onoshi and Kiyama have secretly obtained Ishido’s sworn commitment in writing to let them appoint all of the Heir’s tutors, one of whom will be a Christian. And Onoshi and Kiyama have sworn a Holy Oath that they’re convinced you will betray the Church, once you have eliminated Ishido. “The Father-Visitor cannot order them, Lord. It would be an unforgivable interference with your politics.”
   “Onoshi and Kiyama in forty days, the Taikō’s Edicts repealed—and no more of the foul priests. The Regents will forbid them to come to Japan.”
   “What?”
   “You and your priests only. None of the others—the stenching, begging Black Clothes—the barefoot hairies! The ones who shout stupid threats and create nothing but open trouble. Them. You can have all their heads if you want them—the ones who are here.”
   Alvito’s whole being cried caution. Never had Toranaga been so open. One slip now and you’ll offend him and make him the Church’s enemy forever.
   Think what Toranaga’s offering! Exclusivity throughout the Empire! The one thing that would guarantee the purity of the Church and her safety while she is growing strong. The one thing beyond price. The one thing no one can provide—not even the Pope! No one—except Toranaga. With Kiyama and Onoshi supporting him openly, Toranaga could smash Ishido and dominate the Council.
   Father Alvito would never have believed that Toranaga would be so blunt. Or offer so much. Could Onoshi and Kiyama be made to reverse themselves? Those two hate each other. For reasons only they know they have joined to oppose Toranaga. Why? What would make them betray Ishido?
   “I’m not qualified to answer you, Sire, or to speak on such a matter, neh? I only tell you our purpose is to save souls,” he said.
   “I hear my son Naga’s interested in your Christian Faith.”
   Is Toranaga threatening or is he offering? Alvito asked himself. Is he offering to allow Naga to accept the Faith—what a gigantic coup that would be—or is he saying, “Unless you cooperate I will order him to cease”? “The Lord, your son, is one of many nobles who have open minds about religion, Sire.”
   Alvito suddenly realized the enormity of the dilemma that Toranaga faced. He’s trapped—he has to make an arrangement with us, he thought exultantly. He has to try! Whatever we want, he has to give us—if we want to make an arrangement with him. At long last he openly admits the Christian daimyos hold the balance of power! Whatever we want! What else could we have? Nothing at all. Except …
   Deliberately he dropped his eyes to the rutters that he had laid before Toranaga. He watched his hand reach out and put the rutters safely in the sleeve of his kimono.
   “Ah, yes, Tsukku-san,” Toranaga said, his voice eerie and exhausted. “Then there’s the new barbarian—the pirate. The enemy of your country. They will be coming here soon, in numbers, won’t they? They can be discouraged—or encouraged. Like this one pirate. Neh?”
   Father Alvito knew that now they had everything. Should I ask for Blackthorne’s head on a silver platter like the head of St. John the Baptist to seal this bargain? Should I ask for permission to build a cathedral at Yedo, or one within the walls of Osaka Castle? For the first time in his life he felt himself floundering, rudderless in the reach for power.
   We want no more than is offered! I wish I could settle the bargain now! If it were up to me alone, I would gamble. I know Toranaga and I would gamble on him. I would agree to try and I’d swear a Holy Oath. Yes, I would excommunicate Onoshi or Kiyama if they would not agree, to gain those concessions for Mother Church. Two souls for tens of thousands, for hundreds of thousands, for millions. That’s fair! I would say, Yes, yes, yes, for the Glory of God. But I can settle nothing, as you well know. I’m only a messenger, and part of my message …
   “I need help, Tsukku-san. I need it now.”
   “All that I can do, I will do, Toranaga-sama. You have my promise.”
   Then Toranaga said with finality, “I will wait forty days. Yes. Forty days.”
   Alvito bowed. He noticed that Toranaga returned the bow lower and more formally than he had ever done before, almost as though he were bowing to the Taikō himself. The priest got up shakily. Then he was outside the room, walking up the corridor. His step quickened. He began to hurry.
   Toranaga watched the Jesuit from the embrasure as he crossed the garden, far below. The shoji edged open again but he cursed his guards away and ordered them, on pain of death, to leave him alone. His eyes followed Alvito intently, through the fortified gate, out into the forecourt, until the priest was lost in the maze of innerworks.
   And then, in the lonely silence, Toranaga began to smile. And he tucked up his kimono and began to dance. It was a hornpipe.

Chapter 21

   Just after dusk Kiri waddled nervously down the steps, two maids in attendance. She headed for her curtained litter that stood beside the garden hut. A voluminous cloak covered her traveling kimono and made her appear even more bulky, and a vast, wide-brimmed hat was tied under her jowls.
   The Lady Sazuko was waiting patiently for her on the veranda, heavily pregnant, Mariko nearby. Blackthorne was leaning against the wall near the fortified gate. He wore a belted kimono of the Browns and tabi socks and military thongs. In the forecourt, outside the gate, the escort of sixty heavily armed samurai was drawn up in neat lines, every third man carrying a flare. At the head of these soldiers Yabu talked with Buntaro—Mariko’s husband—a short, thickset, almost neckless man. Both were attired in chain mail with bows and quivers over their shoulders, and Buntaro wore a horned steel war helmet. Porters and kaga-men squatted patiently in well-disciplined silence near the multitudinous baggage.
   The promise of summer floated on the slight breeze, but no one noticed it except Blackthorne, and even he was conscious of the tension that surrounded them all. And too, he was intensely aware that he alone was unarmed.
   Kiri plodded over to the veranda. “You shouldn’t be waiting in the cold, Sazuko-san. You’ll catch a chill! You must remember the child now. These spring nights are still filled with damp.”
   “I’m not cold, Kiri-san. It’s a lovely night and it’s my pleasure.”
   “Is everything all right?”
   “Oh, yes. Everything’s perfect.”
   “I wish I weren’t going. Yes. I hate going.”
   “There’s no need to worry,” Mariko said reassuringly, joining them. She wore a similar wide-brimmed hat, but hers was bright where Kiri’s was somber. “You’ll enjoy getting back to Yedo. Our Master will be following in a few days.”
   “Who knows what tomorrow will bring, Mariko-san?”
   “Tomorrow is in the hands of God.”
   “Tomorrow will be a lovely day, and if it isn’t, it isn’t!” Sazuko said. “Who cares about tomorrow? Now is good. You’re beautiful and we’ll all miss you, Kiri-san, and you, Mariko-san!” She glanced at the gateway, distracted, as Buntaro shouted angrily at one of the samurai, who had dropped a flare.
   Yabu, senior to Buntaro, was nominally in charge of the party. He had seen Kiri arrive and strutted back through the gate. Buntaro followed.
   “Oh, Lord Yabu—Lord Buntaro,” Kiri said with a flustered bow. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. Lord Toranaga was going to come down, but in the end, decided not to. You are to leave now, he said. Please accept my apologies.”
   “None are necessary.” Yabu wanted to be quit of the castle as soon as possible, and quit of Osaka, and back in Izu. He still could hardly believe that he was leaving with his head, with the barbarian, with the guns, with everything. He had sent urgent messages by carrier pigeon to his wife in Yedo to make sure that all was prepared at Mishima, his capital, and to Omi at the village of Anjiro. “Are you ready?”
   Tears glittered in Kiri’s eyes. “Just let me catch my breath and then I’ll get into the litter. Oh, I wish I didn’t have to go!” She looked around, seeking Blackthorne, finally catching sight of him in the shadows. “Who is responsible for the Anjin-san? Until we get to the ship?”
   Buntaro said testily, “I’ve ordered him to walk beside my wife’s litter. If she can’t keep him in control, I will.”
   “Perhaps, Lord Yabu, you’d escort the Lady Sazuko—”
   “Guards!”
   The warning shout came from the forecourt. Buntaro and Yabu hurried through the fortified door as all the men swirled after them and others poured from the innerworks.
   Ishido was approaching down the avenue between the castle walls at the head of two hundred Grays. He stopped in the forecourt outside the gate and, though no man seemed hostile on either side and no man had his hand on his sword or an arrow in his bow, all were ready.
   Ishido bowed elaborately. “A fine evening, Lord Yabu.”
   “Yes, yes indeed.”
   Ishido nodded perfunctorily to Buntaro, who was equally offhand, returning the minimum politeness allowable. Both had been favorite generals of the Taikō. Buntaro had led one of the regiments in Korea when Ishido had been in overall command. Each had accused the other of treachery. Only the personal intervention and a direct order of the Taikō had prevented bloodshed and a vendetta.
   Ishido studied the Browns: Then his eyes found Blackthorne. He saw the man half bow and nodded in return. Through the gateway he could see the three women and the other litter. His eyes came to rest on Yabu again. “You’d think you were all going into battle, Yabu-san, instead of just being a ceremonial escort for the Lady Kiritsubo.”
   “Hiro-matsu-san issued orders, because of the Amida assassin…”
   Yabu stopped as Buntaro stomped pugnaciously forward and planted his huge legs in the center of the gateway. “We’re always ready for battle. With or without armor. We can take on ten men for each one of ours, and fifty of the Garlic Eaters. We never turn our backs and run like snot-nosed cowards, leaving our comrades to be overwhelmed!”
   Ishido’s smile was filled with contempt, his voice a goad. “Oh? Perhaps you’ll get an opportunity soon—to stand against real men, not Garlic Eaters!”
   “How soon? Why not tonight? Why not here?”
   Yabu moved carefully between them. He also had been in Korea and he knew that there was truth on both sides and that neither was to be trusted, Buntaro less than Ishido. “Not tonight because we’re among friends, Buntaro-san,” he said placatingly, wanting desperately to avoid a clash that would lock them forever within the castle. “We’re among friends, Buntaro-san.”
   “What friends? I know friends—and I know enemies!” Buntaro whirled back to Ishido. “Where’s this man—this real man you talked of, Ishido-san? Eh? Or men? Let him—let them all crawl out of their holes and stand in front of me—Toda Buntaro, Lord of Sakura—if any one of them’s got the juice!”
   Everyone readied.
   Ishido stared back malevolently.
   Yabu said, “This is not the time, Buntaro-san. Friends or ene—”
   “Friends? Where? In this manure pile?” Buntaro spat into the dust.
   One of the Grays’ hands flashed for his sword hilt, ten Browns followed, fifty Grays were a split second behind, and now all were waiting for Ishido’s sword to come out to signal the attack.
   Then Hiro-matsu walked out of the garden shadows, through the gateway into the forecourt, his killing sword loose in his hands and half out of its scabbard.
   “You can find friends in manure, sometimes, my son,” he said calmly. Hands eased off sword hilts. Samurai on the opposing battlements—Grays and Browns—slackened the tension of their arrow-armed bowstrings. “We have friends all over the castle. All over Osaka. Yes. Our Lord Toranaga keeps telling us so.” He stood like a rock in front of his only living son, seeing the blood lust in his eyes. The moment Ishido had been seen approaching, Hiro-matsu had taken up his battle station at the inner doorway. Then, when the first danger had passed, he had moved with catlike quiet into the shadows. He stared down into Buntaro’s eyes. “Isn’t that so, my son?”
   With an enormous effort, Buntaro nodded and stepped back a pace. But he still blocked the way to the garden.
   Hiro-matsu turned his attention to Ishido. “We did not expect you tonight, Ishido-san.”
   “I came to pay my respects to the Lady Kiritsubo. I was not informed until a few moments ago that anyone was leaving.”
   “Is my son right? We should worry we’re not among friends? Are we hostages who should beg favors?”
   “No. But Lord Toranaga and I agreed on protocol during his visit. A day’s notice of the arival or departure of high personages was to be given so I could pay the proper respects.”
   “It was a sudden decision of Lord Toranaga’s. He did not consider the matter of sending one of his ladies back to Yedo important enough to disturb you,” Hiro-matsu told him. “Yes, Lord Toranaga is merely preparing for his own departure.”
   “Has that been decided upon?”
   “Yes. The day the meeting of the Regents concludes. You’ll be informed at the correct time, according to protocol.”
   “Good. Of course, the meeting may be delayed again. The Lord Kiyama is even sicker.”
   “Is it delayed? Or isn’t it?”
   “I merely mentioned that it might be. We hope to have the pleasure of Lord Toranaga’s presence for a long time to come, neh? He will hunt with me tomorrow?”
   “I have requested him to cancel all hunting until the meeting. I don’t consider it safe. I don’t consider any of this area safe any longer. If filthy assassins can get through your sentries so easily, how much more easy would treachery be outside the walls?”
   Ishido let the insult pass. He knew this and the affronts would further inflame his men but it did not suit him to light the fuse yet. He had been glad that Hiro-matsu had interceded for he had almost lost control. The thought of Buntaro’s head in the dust, the teeth chattering, had consumed him. “All commanders of the guards on that night have already been ordered into the Great Void as you well know. The Amidas are laws unto themselves, unfortunately. But they will be stamped out very soon. The Regents will be asked to deal with them once and for all. Now, perhaps I may pay my respects to Kiritsubo-san.”
   Ishido walked forward. His personal bodyguard of Grays stepped after him. They all shuddered to a stop. Buntaro had an arrow in his bow and, though the arrow pointed at the ground, the bow was already bent to its limit. “Grays are forbidden through this gate. That’s agreed by protocol!”
   “I’m Governor of Osaka Castle and Commander of the Heir’s Bodyguard! I have the right to go anywhere!”
   Once more Hiro-matsu took control of the situation. “True, you are Commander of the Heir’s Bodyguard and you do have the right to go anywhere. But only five men may accompany you through that gate. Wasn’t that agreed by you and my Master while he is here?”
   “Five or fifty, it makes no difference! This insult is intol—”
   “Insult? My son means no insult. He’s following orders agreed by his liege Lord and by you. Five men. Five!” The word was an order and Hiro-matsu turned his back on Ishido and looked at his son. “The Lord Ishido does us honor by wishing to pay respect to the Lady Kiritsubo.”
   The old man’s sword was two inches out of its scabbard and no one was sure if it was to slash at Ishido if the fight began or to hack off his son’s head if he pointed the arrow. All knew that there was no affection between father and son, only a mutual respect for the other’s viciousness. “Well, my son, what do you say to the Commander of the Heir’s Bodyguard?”
   The sweat was running down Buntaro’s face. After a moment he stepped aside and eased the tension off the bow. But he kept the arrow poised.
   Many times Ishido had seen Buntaro in the competition lists firing arrows at two hundred paces, six arrows launched before the first hit the target, all equally accurate. He would happily have ordered the attack now and obliterated these two, the father and son, and all the rest. But he knew it would be the act of a fool to start with them and not with Toranaga, and, in any event, perhaps when the real war came Hiro-matsu would be tempted to leave Toranaga and fight with him. The Lady Ochiba had said she would approach old Iron Fist when the time came. She had sworn that he would never forsake the Heir, that she would weld Iron Fist to her, away from Toranaga, perhaps even get him to assassinate his master and so avoid any conflict. What hold, what secret, what knowledge does she have over him? Ishido asked himself again. He had ordered Lady Ochiba to be spirited out of Yedo, if it was possible, before the Regents’ meeting. Her life would not be worth a grain of rice after Toranaga’s impeachment—which all the other Regents had agreed upon. Impeachment and immediate seppuku, forced if need be. If she escapes, good. If not, never mind. The Heir will rule in eight years.
   He strode through the gateway into the garden, Hiro-matsu and Yabu accompanying him. Five guards followed. He bowed politely and wished Kiritsubo well. Then, satisfied that all was as it should be, he turned and left with all his men.
   Hiro-matsu exhaled and scratched his piles. “You’d better leave now, Yabu-san. That rice maggot’ll give you no more trouble.”
   “Yes. At once.”
   Kiri kerchiefed the sweat off her brow. “He’s a devil kami! I’m afraid for our Master.” The tears began to flow. “I don’t want to leave!”
   “No harm will come to Lord Toranaga, I promise you, Lady,” Hiro-matsu said. “You must go. Now!”
   Kiri tried to stifle her sobs and unloosed the thick veil that hung from the brim of her wide hat. “Oh, Yabu-sama, would you escort Lady Sazuko inside? Please?”
   “Of course.”
   Lady Sazuko bowed and hurried off, Yabu following. The girl ran up the steps. As she neared the top she slipped and fell.
   “The baby!” Kiri shrieked. “Is she hurt?”
   All their eyes flashed to the prostrate girl. Mariko ran for her but Yabu reached her first. He picked her up. Sazuko was more startled than hurt. “I’m all right,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly all right. It was foolish of me.”
   When he was sure, Yabu walked back to the forecourt preparing for instant departure.
   Mariko came back to the gateway, greatly relieved. Blackthorne was gaping at the garden.
   “What is it?” she asked.
   “Nothing,” he said after a pause. “What did Lady Kiritsubo shout out?”
   “‘The baby! Is she hurt?’ The Lady Sazuko’s with child,” she explained. “We were all afraid the fall might have hurt her.”
   “Toranaga-sama’s child?”
   “Yes,” Mariko said, looking back at the litter.
   Kiri was inside the closed translucent curtains now, the veil loosed. Poor woman, Mariko thought, knowing she was only trying to hide the tears. I would be equally terrified to leave my Lord, if I were she.
   Her eyes went to Sazuko, who waved once more from the top of the steps, then went inside. The iron door clanged after her. That sounded like a death knell, Mariko thought. Will we ever see them again?
   “What did Ishido want?” Blackthorne asked.
   “He was—I don’t know the correct word. He was investigating—making a tour of inspection without warning.”
   “Why?”
   “He’s Commander of the Castle,” she said, not wishing to tell the real reason.
   Yabu was shouting orders at the head of the column and set off. Mariko got into her litter, leaving the curtains partially open. Buntaro motioned Blackthorne to move aside. He obeyed.
   They waited for Kiri’s litter to pass. Blackthorne stared at the half-seen, shrouded figure, hearing the muffled sobs. The two frightened maids, Asa and Sono, walked alongside. Then he glanced back a last time. Hiro-matsu was standing alone beside the little hut, leaning on his sword. Now the garden was shut from his view as samurai closed the huge fortified door. The great wooden bar fell into place. There were no guards in the forecourt now. They were all on the battlements.
   “What’s going on?” Blackthorne asked.
   “Please, Anjin-san?”
   “It looks like they’re under siege. Browns against the Grays. Are they expecting trouble? More trouble?”
   “Oh, so sorry. It’s normal to close the doors at night,” Mariko said.
   He began to walk beside her as her litter moved off, Buntaro and the remainder of the rear guard taking up their station behind him. Blackthorne was watching the litter ahead, the swaying gait of the bearers and the misted figure inside the curtains. He was greatly unsettled though he tried to hide it. When Kiritsubo had suddenly shrieked, he had looked at her instantly. Everyone else was looking at the prostrate girl on the staircase. His impulse was to look over there as well but he saw Kiritsubo suddenly scuttle with surprising speed inside the little hut. For a moment he thought his eyes were playing him tricks because in the night her dark cloak and dark kimono and dark hat and dark veil made her almost invisible. He watched as the figure vanished for a moment, then reappeared, darted into the litter, and jerked the curtains closed. For an instant their eyes met. It was Toranaga

Chapter 22

   The little cortege surrounding the two litters went slowly through the maze of the castle and through the continual checkpoints. Each time there were formal bows, the documents were meticulously examined afresh, a new captain and group of escorting Grays took over, and then they were passed. At each checkpoint Blackthorne watched with ever increasing misgivings as the captain of the guard came close to scrutinize the drawn curtains of Kiritsubo’s litter. Each time the man bowed politely to the half-seen figure, hearing the muffled sobs, and in the course of time, waved them on again.
   Who else knows, Blackthorne was asking himself desperately. The maids must know—that would explain why they’re so frightened. Hiro-matsu certainly must have known, and Lady Sazuko, the decoy, absolutely. Mariko? I don’t think so. Yabu? Would Toranaga trust him? That neckless maniac Buntaro? Probably not.
   Obviously this is a highly secret escape attempt. But why should Toranaga risk his life outside the castle? Isn’t he safer inside? Why the secrecy? Who’s he escaping from? Ishido? The assassins? Or someone else in the castle? Probably all of them, Blackthorne thought, wishing they were safely in the galley and out to sea. If Toranaga’s discovered it’s going to rain dung, the fight’s going to be to the death and no quarter asked or given. I’m unarmed and even if I had a brace of pistols or a twenty pounder and a hundred bully boys, the Grays’d swamp us. I’ve nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. It’s a turd-stuffed fornicator whichever way you count it!
   “Are you tiring, Anjin-san?” Mariko asked daintily. “If you like, I’ll walk and you can ride.”
   “Thanks,” he replied sourly, missing his boots, the thonged slippers still awkward. “My legs are fine. I was just wishing we were safe at sea, that’s all.”
   “Is the sea ever safe?”
   “Sometimes, senhora. Not often.” Blackthorne hardly heard her. He was thinking, by the Lord Jesus, I hope I don’t give Toranaga away. That would be terrible! It’d be so much simpler if I hadn’t seen him. That was just bad luck, one of those accidents that can disrupt a perfectly planned and executed scheme. The old girl, Kiritsubo, she’s a great actress, and the young one too. It was only because I couldn’t understand what she’d shouted out that I didn’t fall for the ruse. Just bad luck I saw Toranaga clearly—bewigged, made up, kimonoed, and cloaked, just like Kiritsubo, but still Toranaga.
   At the next checkpoint the new captain of Grays came closer than ever before, the maids tearfully bowing and standing in the way without trying to appear as though they were standing in the way. The captain peered across at Blackthorne and walked over. After an incredulous scrutiny he talked with Mariko, who shook her head and answered him. The man grunted and strolled back to Yabu, returned the documents and waved the procession onward again.
   “What did he say?” Blackthorne asked.
   “He wondered where you were from—where your home was.”
   “But you shook your head. How was that an answer?”
   “Oh, so sorry, he said—he wondered if the far-distant ancestors of your people were related to the kami —the spirit—that lives to the north, on the outskirts of China. Till quite recently we thought China was the only other civilized place on earth—except for Japan, neh? China is so immense it is like the world itself,” she said, and closed the subject. The captain had actually asked if she thought this barbarian was descended from Harimwakairi, the kami that looked after cats, adding this one certainly stank like a polecat in rut, as the kami was supposed to do.
   She had replied that she didn’t think so, inwardly ashamed of the captain’s rudeness, for the Anjin-san did not have a stench like Tsukku-san or the Father-Visitor or usual barbarians. His aroma was almost imperceptible now.
   Blackthorne knew she wasn’t telling him the truth. I wish I could speak their gibberish, he thought. I wish more I could get off this cursed island, back aboard Erasmus, the crew fit and plenty of grub, grog, powder, and shot, our goods traded and away home again. When will that be? Toranaga said soon. Can he be trusted? How did he get the ship to Yedo? Tow it? Did the Portuguese sail her? I wonder how Rodrigues is. Did his leg rot? He should know by now if he’s going to live with two legs or one—if the amputation doesn’t kill him—or if he’s going to die. Jesus God in Heaven, protect me from wounds and all doctors. And priests.
   Another checkpoint. For the life of him, Blackthorne could not understand how everyone could remain so polite and patient, always bowing and allowing the documents to be handed over and handed back, always smiling and no sign of irritation whatsoever on either side. They’re so different from us.
   He glanced at Mariko’s face, which was partially obscured by her veil and wide hat. He thought she looked very pretty and he was glad that he had had it out with her over her mistake. At least I won’t have any more of that nonsense, he told himself. Bastard queers, they’re all blood-mucked bastards!
   After he had accepted her apology this morning he had begun to ask about Yedo and Japanese customs and Ishido and about the castle. He had avoided the topic of sex. She had answered at length, but had avoided any political explanations and her replies were informative but innocuous. Soon she and the maids had left to prepare for her departure, and he had been alone with the samurai guards.
   Being so closely hemmed in all the time was making him edgy. There’s always someone around, he thought. There are too many of them. They’re like ants. I’d like the peace of a bolted oak door for a change, the bolt my side and not theirs. I can’t wait to get aboard again, out into the air, out to sea. Even in that sow-bellied gut-churner of a galley.
   Now as he walked through Osaka Castle, he realized that he would have Toranaga in his own element, at sea, where he himself was king. We’ll have time enough to talk, Mariko’ll interpret and I’ll get everything settled. Trade agreements, the ship, the return of our silver, and payment if he wants to trade for the muskets and powder. I’ll make arrangements to come back next year with a full cargo of silk. Terrible about Friar Domingo, but I’ll put his information to good use. I’m going to take Erasmus and sail her up the Pearl River to Canton and I’ll break the Portuguese and China blockade. Give me my ship back and I’m rich. Richer than Drake! When I get home I’ll call up all the seadogs from Plymouth to the Zuider Zee and we’ll take over the trade of all Asia. Where Drake singed Philip’s beard, I’m going to cut off his testicles. Without silk, Macao dies, without Macao, Malacca dies, then Goa! We can roll up the Portuguese Empire like a carpet. ‘You want the trade of India, Your Majesty? Afrique? Asia? The Japans? Here’s how you can take it in five years!’
   ‘Arise, Sir John!’
   Yes, knighthood was within easy reach, at long last. And perhaps more. Captains and navigators became admirals, knights, lords, even earls. The only way for an Englishman, a commoner, to safety, the true safety of position within the realm, was through the Queen’s favor, bless her. And the way to her favor was to bring her treasure, to help her pay for the war against stinking Spain, and that bastard the Pope.
   Three years’ll give me three trips, Blackthorne gloated. Oh, I know about the monsoon winds and the great storms, but Erasmus’ ll be closehauled and we’ll ship in smaller amounts. Wait a minute—why not do the job properly and forget the small amounts? Why not take this year’s Black Ship? Then you have everything!
   How?
   Easily—if she has no escort and we catch her unawares. But I’ve not enough men. Wait, there’re men at Nagasaki! Isn’t that where all the Portuguese are? Didn’t Domingo say it was almost like a Portuguese seaport? Rodrigues said the same! Aren’t there always seamen in their ships who’ve been pressed aboard or forced aboard, always some who’re ready to jump ship for quick profit on their own, whoever the captain and whatever the flag? With Erasmus and our silver I could hire a crew. I know I could. I don’t need three years. Two will be enough. Two more years with my ship and a crew, then home. I’ll be rich and famous. And we’ll part company, the sea and I, at long last. Forever.
   Toranaga’s the key. How are you going to handle him?
   They passed another checkpoint, and turned a corner. Ahead was the last portcullis and last gateway of the castle proper, and beyond it, the final drawbridge and final moat. At the far side was the ultimate strongpoint. A multitude of flares made the night into crimson day.
   Then Ishido stepped out of the shadows.
   The Browns saw him almost at the same instant. Hostility whipped through them. Buntaro almost leaped past Blackthorne to get nearer the head of the column.
   “That bastard’s spoiling for a fight,” Blackthorne said.
   “Senhor? I’m sorry, senhor, what did you say?”
   “Just—I said your husband seems—Ishido seems to get your husband very angry, very quickly.”
   She made no reply.
   Yabu halted. Unconcerned he handed the safe conduct to the captain of the gate and wandered over to Ishido. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Your guards are very efficient.”
   “Thank you.” Ishido was watching Buntaro and the closed litter behind him.
   “Once should be enough to check our pass” Buntaro said, his weapons rattling ominously. “Twice at the most. What are we—a war party? It’s insulting.”
   “No insult is intended, Buntaro-san. Because of the assassin, I ordered tighter security.” Ishido eyed Blackthorne briefly and wondered again if he should let him go or hold him as Onoshi and Kiyama wanted. Then he looked at Buntaro again. Offal, he thought. Your head will be on a spike soon. How could such exquisiteness as Mariko stay married to an ape like you?
   The new captain was meticulously checking everyone, ensuring that they matched the list. “Everything’s in order, Yabu-sama,” he said as he returned to the head of the column. “You don’t need the pass anymore. We keep it here.”
   “Good.” Yabu turned to Ishido. “We meet soon.”
   Ishido took a roll of parchment out of his sleeve. “I wanted to ask Lady Kiritsubo if she’d take this with her to Yedo. For my niece. It’s unlikely I’ll go to Yedo for some time.”
   “Certainly.” Yabu put out his hand.
   “Don’t trouble yourself, Yabu-san. I’ll ask her.” Ishido walked toward the litter.
   The maids obsequiously intercepted him. Asa held out her hand. “May I take the message, Lord. My Mis—”
   “No.”
   To the surprise of Ishido and everyone nearby, the maids did not move out of the way.
   “But my Mis—”
   “Move!” Buntaro snarled.
   Both maids backed off with abject humility, frightened now.
   Ishido bowed to the curtain. “Kiritsubo-san, I wonder if you’d be kind enough to take this message for me to Yedo? To my niece?”
   There was a slight hesitation between the sobs and the figure bowed an assent.
   “Thank you.” Ishido offered up the slim roll of parchment an inch from the curtains.
   The sobs stopped. Blackthorne realized Toranaga was trapped. Politeness demanded that Toranaga take the scroll and his hand would give him away.
   Everyone waited for the hand to appear.
   “Kiritsubo-san?”
   Still no movement. Then Ishido took a quick pace forward, jerked the curtains apart and at the same instant Blackthorne let out a bellow and began dancing up and down like a maniac. Ishido and the others whirled on him dumbfounded.
   For an instant Toranaga was in full view behind Ishido. Blackthorne thought that perhaps Toranaga could pass for Kiritsubo at twenty paces but here at five, impossible, even though the veil covered his face. And in the never-ending second before Toranaga had tugged the curtains closed again, Blackthorne knew that Yabu had recognized him, Mariko certainly, Buntaro probably, and some of the samurai possibly. He lunged forward, grabbed the roll of parchment and thrust it through a crack in the curtains and turned, babbling, “It’s bad luck in my country for a prince to give a message himself like a common bastard … bad luck …”
   It had all happened so unexpectedly and so fast that Ishido’s sword was not out until Blackthorne was bowing and raving in front of him like an insane jack-in-the-box, then his reflexes took over and sent the sword slashing for the throat.
   Blackthorne’s desperate eyes found Mariko. “For Christ’s sake, help—bad luck—bad luck!”
   She cried out. The blade stopped a hair’s breadth from his neck. Mariko poured out an explanation of what Blackthorne had said. Ishido lowered his sword, listened for a moment, overrode her with a furious harangue, then shouted with increasing vehemence and hit Blackthorne in the face with the back of his hand.
   Blackthorne went berserk. He bunched his great fists and hurled himself at Ishido.
   If Yabu hadn’t been quick enough to catch Ishido’s sword arm Blackthorne’s head would have rolled in the dust. Buntaro, a split second later, grabbed Blackthorne, who already had his hands around Ishido’s throat. It took four Browns to haul him off Ishido, then Buntaro smashed him hard on the back of the neck, stunning him. Grays leaped to their master’s defense, but Browns surrounded Blackthorne and the litters and for a moment it was a standoff, Mariko and the maids deliberately wailing and crying, helping to create further chaos and diversions.
   Yabu began placating Ishido, Mariko tearfully repeated over and over in forced semi-hysteria that the mad barbarian believed he was only trying to save Ishido, the Great Commander—whom he thought was a prince—from a bad kami. “And it’s the worst insult to touch their faces, just like with us, that’s what sent him momentarily mad. He’s a senseless barbarian but a daimyo in his own land and he was only trying to help you, Lord!”
   Ishido ranted and kicked Blackthorne, who was just coming to. Blackthorne heard the tumult with great peace. His eyes cleared. Grays were surrounding them twenty to one, swords drawn, but so far no one was dead and everyone waited in discipline.
   Blackthorne saw that all attention was focused on him. But now he knew he had allies.
   Ishido spun on him again and came closer, shouting. He felt the grip of the Browns tighten and knew the blow was coming, but this time, instead of trying to fight out of their grasp, which they expected, he started to collapse, then immediately straightened and broke away, laughing insanely, and began a jibbering hornpipe. Friar Domingo had told him that everyone in Japan believed madness was caused only by a kami and thus madmen, like all young children and very old men, were not responsible and had special privileges, sometimes. So he capered in a frenzy, singing in time to Mariko, “Help … I need help for God’s sake … can’t keep this up much longer … help …” desperately acting the lunatic, knowing it was the only thing that might save them.
   “He’s mad—he’s possessed,” Mariko cried out, at once realizing Blackthorne’s ploy.
   “Yes,” Yabu said, still trying to recover from the shock of seeing Toranaga, not knowing yet if the Anjin-san was acting or if he had really gone mad.
   Mariko was beside herself. She didn’t know what to do. The Anjin-san saved Lord Toranaga but how did he know? she kept repeating to herself senselessly.
   Blackthorne’s face was bloodless except for the scarlet weal from the blows. He danced on and on, frantically waiting for help but none came. Then, silently damning Yabu and Buntaro as motherless cowards and Mariko for the stupid bitch she was, he stopped the dance suddenly, bowed to Ishido like a spastic puppet and half walked, half danced for the gateway. “Follow me, follow me!” he shouted, his voice almost strangling him, trying to lead the way like a Pied Piper.
   The Grays barred his way. He roared with feigned rage and imperiously ordered them out of the way, immediately switching to hysterical laughter.
   Ishido grabbed a bow and arrow. The Grays scattered. Blackthorne was almost through the gateway. He turned at bay, knowing there was no point in running. Helplessly he began his rabid dance again.
   “He’s mad, a mad dog! Mad dogs have to be dealt with!” Ishido’s voice was raw. He armed the bow and aimed.
   At once Mariko leapt forward from her protective position near Toranaga’s litter and began to walk toward Blackthorne. “Don’t worry, Lord Ishido,” she cried out. “There’s no need to worry—it’s a momentary madness—may I be permitted …” As she came closer she could see Blackthorne’s exhaustion, the set maniacal smile, and she was frightened in spite of herself. “I can help now, Anjin-san,” she said hurriedly. “We have to try to—to walk out. I will follow you. Don’t worry, he won’t shoot us. Please stop dancing now.”
   Blackthorne stopped instantly, turned and walked quietly onto the bridge. She followed a pace behind him as was custom, expecting the arrows, hearing them.
   A thousand eyes watched the giant madman and the tiny woman on the bridge, walking away.
   Yabu came to life. “If you want him killed, let me do it, Ishido-sama. It’s unseemly for you to take his life. A general doesn’t kill with his own hands. Others should do his killing for him.” He came very close and he dropped his voice. “Leave him alive. The madness came from your blow. He’s a daimyo in his own land and the blow—it was as Mariko-san said, neh? Trust me, he’s valuable to us alive.”
   “What?”
   “He’s more valuable alive. Trust me. You can have him dead any time. We need him alive.”
   Ishido read desperation in Yabu’s face, and truth. He put the bow down. “Very well. But one day I’ll want him alive. I’ll hang him by his heels over the pit.”
   Yabu swallowed and half bowed. He nervously waved the cortege onward, fearful that Ishido would remember the litter and “Kiritsubo.”
   Buntaro, pretending deference, took the initiative and started the Browns on their way. He did not question the fact that Toranaga had magically appeared like a kami in their midst, only that his master was in danger and almost defenseless. He saw that Ishido had not taken his eyes off Mariko and the Anjin-san, but even so, he bowed politely to him and set himself behind Toranaga’s litter to protect his master from any arrows if the fight began here.
   The column was approaching the gate now. Yabu fell into place as a lonely rear guard. Any moment he expected the cortege to be halted. Surely some of the Grays must have seen Toranaga, he thought. How soon before they tell Ishido? Won’t he think I was part of the escape attempt? Won’t this ruin me forever?
   Halfway over the bridge Mariko looked back for an instant. “They’re following, Anjin-san, both litters are through the gate and they’re on the bridge now!”
   Blackthorne did not reply or turn back. It required all of his remaining will to stay erect. He had lost his sandals, his face burned from the blow, and his head pounded with pain. The last guards let him through the portcullis and beyond. They also let Mariko pass without stopping. And then the litters.
   Blackthorne led the way down the slight hill, past the open ground and across the far bridge. Only when he was in the wooded area totally out of sight of the castle did he collapse.

Chapter 23

   “Anjin-san-Anjin-san!”
   Semiconscious, he allowed Mariko to help him drink some saké. The column had halted, the Browns arranged tightly around the curtained litter, their escorting Grays ahead and behind. Buntaro had shouted at one of the maids, who had immediately produced the flask from one of the baggage kagas, told his personal guards to keep everyone away from “Kiritsubo-san’s” litter, then hurried to Mariko. “Is the Anjin-san all right?”
   “Yes, yes, I think so,” Mariko replied. Yabu joined them.
   To try to throw off the captain of the Grays, Yabu said carelessly, “We can go on, Captain. We’ll leave a few men and Mariko-san. When the barbarian’s recovered, she and the men can follow.”
   “With great deference, Yabu-san, we will wait. I’m charged to deliver you all safely to the galley. As one party,” the captain told him.
   They all looked down as Blackthorne choked slightly on the wine. “Thanks,” he croaked. “Are we safe now? Who else knows that—”
   “You’re safe now!” she interrupted deliberately. She had her back to the captain and she cautioned him with her eyes. “Anjin-san, you’re safe now and there’s no need to worry. Do you understand? You had some kind of fit. Just look around—you’re safe now!”
   Blackthorne did as she ordered. He saw the captain and the Grays and understood. His strength was returning quickly now, helped by the wine. “Sorry, senhora. It was just panic, I think. I must be getting old. I go mad often and can never remember afterwards what happened. Speaking Portuguese is exhausting, isn’t it?” He switched to Latin. “Canst thou understand?”
   “Assuredly.”
   “Is this tongue ‘easier’?”
   “Perhaps,” she said, relieved that he understood the need for caution, even using Latin, which was to Japanese an almost incomprehensible and unlearnable language except to a handful of men in the Empire, all of whom would be Jesuit trained and most committed to the priesthood. She was the only woman in all their world who could speak and read and write Latin and Portuguese. “Both languages are difficult, each hath dangers.”
   “Who else knoweth the ‘dangers’?”
   “My husband and he who leads us.”
   “Art thou sure?”
   “Both indicated thusly.”
   The captain of Grays shifted restlessly and said something to Mariko.
   “He asks if thou art yet dangerous, if thy hands and feet should be restrained. I said no. Thou art cured of thy palsy now.”
   “Yes,” he said, lapsing back into Portuguese. “I have fits often. If someone hits me in the face it sends me mad. I’m sorry. Never can remember what happens during them. It’s the Finger of God.” He saw that the captain was concentrating on his lips and he thought, caught you, you bastard, I’ll bet you understand Portuguese.
   Sono the maid had her head bent close to the litter curtains. She listened, and came back to Mariko.
   “So sorry, Mariko-sama, but my Mistress asks if the madman is well enough to continue? She asks if you would give him your litter because my Mistress feels we should hurry for the tide. All the trouble that the madman has caused has made her even more upset. But, knowing that the mad are only afflicted by the gods, she will say prayers for his return to health, and will personally give him medicines to cure him once we are aboard.”
   Mariko translated.
   “Yes. I’m all right now.” Blackthorne got up and swayed on his feet.
   Yabu barked a command.
   “Yabu-san says you will ride in the litter, Anjin-san.” Mariko smiled when he began to protest. “I’m really very strong and you needn’t worry, I’ll walk beside you so you can talk if you wish.”
   He allowed himself to be helped into the litter. At once they started again. The rolling gait was soothing and he lay back depleted. He waited until the captain of the Grays had strode away to the head of the column, then whispered in Latin, warning her, “That centurion understandeth the other tongue.”
   “Aye. And I believe some Latin also,” she whispered back as quietly. She walked for a moment. “In seriousness, thou art a brave man. I thank thee for saving him.”
   “Thou hadst stronger bravery.”
   “No, the Lord God hath placed my feet onto the path, and rendered me a little useful. Again I thank thee.”
   The city by night was a fairyland. The rich houses had many colored lanterns, oil-lit and candle-lit, hanging over their gateways and in their gardens, the shoji screens giving off a delightful translucence. Even the poor houses were mellowed by the shojis. Lanterns lit the way of pedestrians and kagas, and of samurai, who rode horseback.
   “We burn oil for lamps in the houses as well as candles, but with the coming of night, most people go to bed,” Mariko explained as they continued through the city streets, winding and curling, the pedestrians bowing and the very poor on their knees until they had passed, the sea glittering in the moonlight.
   “It’s the same with us. How do you cook? Over a wood stove?” Blackthorne’s strength had returned quickly and his legs no longer felt like jelly. She had refused to take the litter back, so he lay there, enjoying the air and the conversation.
   “We use a charcoal brazier. We don’t eat foods like you do, so our cooking is more simple. Just rice and a little fish, raw mostly, or cooked over charcoal with a sharp sauce and pickled vegetables, a little soup perhaps. No meat—never meat. We’re a frugal people—we have to be, only so little of our land, perhaps a fifth of our soil, can be cultivated—and we’re many. With us it’s a virtue to be frugal, even in the amount of food we eat.”
   “Thou art brave. I thank thee. The arrows flew not, because of the shield of thy back.”
   “No, Captain of Ships. It cometh from the will of God.”
   “Thou art brave and thou art beautiful.”
   She walked in silence for a moment. No one has ever called me beautiful before—no one, she thought. “I am not brave and I am not beautiful. Swords are beautiful. Honor is beautiful.”
   “Courage is beautiful and thou hast it in abundance.”
   Mariko did not answer. She was remembering this morning and all the evil words and evil thoughts. How can a man be so brave and so stupid, so gentle and so cruel, so warming and so detestable—all at the same time? The Anjin-san was limitlessly brave to take Ishido’s attention off the litter, and completely clever to feign madness and so lead Toranaga out of the trap. How wise of Toranaga to escape this way! But be cautious, Mariko, she warned herself. Think about Toranaga and not about this stranger. Remember his evil and stop the moist warmth in your loins that you have never had before, the warmth courtesans talk about and storybooks and pillowbooks describe.
   “Aye,” she said. “Courage is beautiful and thou hast it in abundance.” Then she turned to Portuguese once more. “Latin is such a tiring language.”
   “You learned it in school?”
   “No, Anjin-san, it was later. After I was married I lived in the far north for quite a long time. I was alone, except for servants and villagers, and the only books I had were Portuguese and Latin—some grammars and religious books, and a Bible. Learning the languages passed the time very well, and occupied my mind. I was very fortunate.”
   “Where was your husband?”
   “At war.”
   “How long were you alone?”
   “We have a saying that time has no single measure, that time can be like frost or lightning or a tear or siege or storm or sunset, or even like a rock.”
   “That’s a wise saying,” he told her. Then added, “Your Portuguese is very good, senhora. And your Latin. Better than mine.”
   “You have a honeyed tongue, Anjin-san!”
   “It’s honto!”
   “Honto is a good word. The honto is that one day a Christian Father came to the village. We were like two lost souls. He stayed for four years and helped me immensely. I’m glad I can speak well,” she said, without vanity. “My father wanted me to learn the languages.”
   “Why?”
   “He thought we should know the devil with which we had to deal.”
   “He was a wise man.”
   “No. Not wise.”
   “Why?”
   “One day I will tell you the story. It’s a sadness.”
   “Why were you alone for a rock of time?”
   “Why don’t you rest? We have a long way to go yet.”
   “Do you want to ride?” Again he began to get up but she shook her head.
   “No, thank you. Please stay where you are. I enjoy walking.”
   “All right. But you don’t want to talk anymore?”
   “If it pleases you we can talk. What do you want to know?”
   “Why were you alone for a rock of time?”
   “My husband sent me away. My presence had offended him. He was perfectly correct to do this. He honored me by not divorcing me. Then he honored me even more by accepting me and our son back again.” Mariko looked at him. “My son is fifteen now. I’m really an old lady.”
   “I don’t believe you, senhora.”
   “It’s honto.”
   “How old were you when you were married?”
   “Old, Anjin-san. Very old.”
   “We have a saying: Age is like frost or siege or sunset, even sometimes like a rock.” She laughed. Everything about her is so graceful, he thought, mesmerized by her. “On you, Venerable Lady, old age sits prettily.”
   “For a woman, Anjin-san, old age is never pretty.”
   “Thou art wise as thou art beautiful.” The Latin came too easily and though it sounded more formal and more regal, it was more intimate. Watch yourself, he thought.
   No one has ever called me beautiful before, she repeated to herself. I wish it were true. “Here it is not wise to notice another man’s woman,” she said. “Our customs are quite severe. For example, if a married woman is found alone with a man in a room with the door closed—just if they are alone and talking privately—by law her husband or his brother or his father has the right to put her to death instantly. If the girl is unmarried, the father can, of course, always do with her as he pleases.”
   “That’s not fair or civilized.” He regretted the slip instantly.
   “We find ourselves quite civilized, Anjin-san.” Mariko was glad to be insulted again, for it had broken the spell and dispelled the warmth. “Our laws are very wise. There are far too many women, free and unattached, for a man to take one who belongs elsewhere. It’s a protection for women, in truth. A wife’s duty is solely to her husband. Be patient. You’ll see how civilized, how advanced we are. Women have a place, men have a place. A man may have only one official wife at one time—but of course, many consorts—but women here have much more freedom than Spanish or Portuguese ladies, from what I’ve been told. We can go freely where we please, when we please. We may leave our husbands, if we wish, divorce them. We may refuse to marry in the first place, if we wish. We own our own wealth and property, our bodies and our spirits. We have tremendous powers if we wish. Who looks after all your wealth, your money, in your household?”
   “I do, naturally.”
   “Here the wife looks after everything. Money is nothing to a samurai. It’s beneath contempt to a real man. I manage all my husband’s affairs. He makes all the decisions. I merely carry out his wishes and pay his bills. This leaves him totally free to do his duty to his lord, which is his sole duty. Oh, yes, Anjin-san, you must be patient before you criticize.”
   “It wasn’t meant as a criticism, senhora. It’s just that we believe in the sanctity of life, that no one can lightly be put to death unless a law court—the Queen’s law court—agrees.”
   She refused to allow herself to be soothed. “You say a lot of things I don’t understand, Anjin-san. But didn’t you say ‘not fair and not civilized’?”
   “Yes.”

   “That then is a criticism, neh? Lord Toranaga asked me to point out it’s unseemly to criticize without knowledge. You must remember our civilization, our culture, is thousands of years old. Three thousand of these are documented. Oh yes, we are an ancient people. As ancient as China. How many years does your culture go back?”
   “Not long, senhora.”
   “Our Emperor, Go-Nijo, is the one hundred and seventh of his unbroken line, right back to Jimmu-tenno, the first earthling, who was descended from the five generations of terrestrial spirits and, before them, the seven generations of celestial spirits who came from Kuni-toko-tachi-noh-Mikoto—the first spirit—who appeared when the earth was split from the heavens. Not even China can claim such a history. How many generations have your kings ruled your land?”
   “Our Queen’s the third of the Tudor line, senhora. But she’s old now and childless so she’s the last.”
   “One hundred and seven generations, Anjin-san, back to divinity,” she repeated proudly.
   “If you believe that, senhora, how can you also say you’re Catholic?” He saw her bridle, then shrug.
   “I am only a ten-year Christian and therefore a novice, and though I believe in the Christian God, in God the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, with all my heart, our Emperor is directly descended from the gods or from God. He is divine. There are a lot of things I cannot explain or understand. But the divinity of my Emperor is without question. Yes, I am Christian, but first I am a Japanese.”
   Is this the key to all of you? That first you are Japanese? he asked himself. He had watched her, astonished by what she was saying. Their customs are insane! Money means nothing to a real man? That explains why Toranaga was so contemptuous when I mentioned money at the first meeting. One hundred and seven generations? Impossible! Instant death just for being innocently in a closed room with a woman? That’s barbarism—an open invitation to murder. They advocate and admire murder! Isn’t that what Rodrigues said? Isn’t that what Omi-san did? Didn’t he just murder that peasant? By Christ’s blood, I haven’t thought of Omi-san for days. Or the village. Or the pit or being on my knees in front of him. Forget him, listen to her, be patient as she says, ask her questions because she’ll supply the means to bend Toranaga to your plan. Now Toranaga is absolutely in your debt. You saved him. He knows it, everyone knows it. Didn’t she thank you, not for saving her but for saving him?
   The column was moving through the city heading for the sea. He saw Yabu keeping the pace up and momentarily Pieterzoon’s screams came soaring into his head. “One thing at a time,” he muttered, half to himself.
   “Yes,” Mariko was saying. “It must be very difficult for you. Our world is so very different from yours. Very different but very wise.” She could see the dim figure of Toranaga within the litter ahead and she thanked God again for his escape. How to explain to the barbarian about us, to compliment him for his bravery? Toranaga had ordered her to explain, but how? “Let me tell you a story, Anjin-san. When I was young my father was a general for a daimyo called Goroda. At that time Lord Goroda was not the great Dictator but a daimyo still struggling for power. My father invited this Goroda and his chief vassals to a feast. It never occurred to him that there was no money to buy all the food and saké and lacquerware and tatamis that such a visit, by custom, demanded. Lest you think my mother was a bad manager, she wasn’t. Every groat of my father’s revenue went to his own vassal samurai and although, officially, he had only enough for four thousand warriors, by scrimping and saving and manipulating my mother saw that he led five thousand three hundred into battle to the glory of his liege lord. We, the family—my mother, my father’s consorts, my brothers and sisters—we had barely enough to eat. But what did that matter? My father and his men had the finest weapons and the finest horses, and they gave of their best to their lord.
   “Yes, there was not enough money for this feast, so my mother went to the wigmakers in Kyoto and sold them her hair. I remember it was like molten darkness and hung to the pit of her back. But she sold it. The wigmakers cut it off the same day and gave her a cheap wig and she bought everything that was necessary and saved the honor of my father. It was her duty to pay the bills and she paid. She did her duty. For us duty is all important.”
   “What did he say, your father, when he found out?”
   “What should he say, other than to thank her? It was her duty to find the money. To save his honor.”
   “She must have loved him very much.”
   “Love is a Christian word, Anjin-san. Love is a Christian thought, a Christian ideal. We have no word for ‘love’ as I understand you to mean it. Duty, loyalty, honor, respect, desire, those words and thoughts are what we have, all that we need.” She looked at him and in spite of herself, she relived the instant when he had saved Toranaga, and through Toranaga, her husband. Never forget they were both trapped there, they would both be dead now, but for this man.
   She made sure that no one was near. “Why did you do what you did?”
   “I don’t know. Perhaps because …” He stopped. There were so many things he could say: ‘Perhaps because Toranaga was helpless and I didn’t want to get chopped… Because if he was discovered we’d all be caught in the mess… Because I knew that no one knew except me and it was up to me to gamble… Because I didn’t want to die—there’s too much to do to waste my life, and Toranaga’s the only one who can give me back my ship and my freedom.’ Instead he replied in Latin, “Because He hath said, render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.”
   “Aye,” she said, and added in the same language, “aye, that is what I was attempting to say. To Caesar those things, and to God those things. It is thusly with us. God is God and our Emperor is from God. And Caesar is Caesar, to be honored as Caesar.” Then, touched by his understanding and the tenderness in his voice, she said, “Thou art wise. Sometimes I think thou understandst more than thou sayest.”
   Aren’t you doing what you swore you would never do? Blackthorne asked himself. Aren’t you playing the hypocrite? Yes and no. I owe them nothing. I’m a prisoner. They’ve stolen my ship and my goods and murdered one of my men. They’re heathen—well, some of them are heathen and the rest are Catholics. I owe nothing to heathens and Catholics. But you’d like to bed her and you were complimenting her, weren’t you?
   God curse all consciences!
   The sea was nearer now, half a mile away. He could see many ships, and the Portuguese frigate with her riding lights. She’d make quite a prize. With twenty bully boys I could take her. He turned back to Mariko. Strange woman, from a strange family. Why did she offend Buntaro—that baboon? How could she bed with that, or marry that? What is the “sadness”?
   “Senhora,” he said, keeping his voice gentle, “your mother must have been a rare woman. To do that.”
   “Yes. But because of what she did, she will live forever. Now she is legend. She was as samurai as—as my father was samurai.”
   “I thought only men were samurai.”
   “Oh, no, Anjin-san. Men and women are equally samurai, warriors with responsibilities to their lords. My mother was true samurai, her dutifulness to her husband exceeded everything.”
   “She’s at your home now?”
   “No. Neither she nor my father nor any of my brothers or sisters or family. I am the last of my line.”
   “There was a catastrophe?”
   Mariko suddenly felt tired. I’m tired of speaking Latin and foul-sounding Portuguese and tired of being a teacher, she told herself.
   I’m not a teacher. I’m only a woman who knows her duty and wants to do it in peace. I want none of that warmth again and none of this man who unsettles me so much. I want none of him.
   “In a way, Anjin-san, it was a catastrophe. One day I will tell you about it.” She quickened her pace slightly and walked away, nearer to the other litter. The two maids smiled nervously.
   “Have we far to go, Mariko-san?” Sono asked.
   “I hope not too far,” she said reassuringly.
   The captain of Grays loomed abruptly out of the darkness on the other side of the litter. She wondered how much that she had said to the Anjin-san had been overheard.
   “You’d like a kaga, Mariko-san? Are you getting tired?” the captain asked.
   “No, no thank you.” She slowed deliberately, drawing him away from Toranaga’s litter. “I’m not tired at all.”
   “The barbarian’s behaving himself? He’s not troubling you?”
   “Oh, no. He seems to be quite calm now.”
   “What were you talking about?”
   “All sorts of things. I was trying to explain some of our laws and customs to him.” She motioned back to the castle donjon that was etched against the sky above. “Lord Toranaga asked me to try to get some sense into him.”
   “Ah yes, Lord Toranaga.” The captain looked briefly at the castle, then back to Blackthorne. “Why’s Lord Toranaga so interested in him, Lady?”
   “I don’t know. I suppose because he’s an oddity.”
   They turned a corner, into another street, with houses behind garden walls. There were few people about. Beyond were wharves and the sea. Masts sprouted over the buildings and the air was thick with the smell of seaweed. “What else did you talk about?”
   “They’ve some very strange ideas. They think of money all the time.”
   “Rumor says his whole nation’s made up of filthy merchant pirates. Not a samurai among them. What’s Lord Toranaga want with him?”
   “So sorry, I don’t know.”
   “Rumor says he’s Christian, he claims to be Christian. Is he?”
   “Not our sort of Christian, Captain. You’re Christian, Captain?”
   “My Master’s Christian so I am Christian. My Master is Lord Kiyama.”
   “I have the honor to know him well. He honored my husband by betrothing one of his granddaughters to my son.”
   “Yes, I know, Lady Toda.”
   “Is Lord Kiyama better now? I understand the doctors won’t allow anyone to see him.”
   “I haven’t seen him for a week. None of us has. Perhaps it’s the Chinese pox. God protect him from that, and God curse all Chinese!” He glared toward Blackthorne. “Doctors say these barbarians brought the pest to China, to Macao, and thence to our shores.”
   “Sumus omnes in manu Dei,” she said. We are all in the hands of God.
   “Ita, amen,” the captain replied without thinking, falling into the trap.


   Blackthorne had caught the slip also and he saw a flash of anger on the captain’s face and heard him say something through his teeth to Mariko, who flushed and stopped also. He slid out of the litter and walked back to them. “If thou speakest Latin, Centurion, then it would be a kindness if thou wouldst speak a little with me. I am eager to learn about this great country of thine.”
   “Yes, I can speak thy tongue, foreigner.”
   “It is not my tongue, Centurion, but that of the Church and of all educated people in my world. Thou speakest it well. How and when did thou learn?”
   The cortege was passing them and all the samurai, both Grays and Browns, were watching them. Buntaro, near Toranaga’s litter, stopped and turned back. The captain hesitated, then began walking again and Mariko was glad that Blackthorne had joined them. They walked in silence a moment.
   “The Centurion speaks the tongue fluidly, splendidly, doesn’t he?” Blackthorne said to Mariko.
   “Yes, indeed. Didst thou learn it in a seminary, Centurion?”
   “And thou, foreigner,” the captain said coldly, paying her no attention, loathing the recollection of the seminary at Macao that he had been ordered into as a child by Kiyama to learn the languages. “Now that we speak directly, tell me with simplicity why did thou ask this lady: ‘Who else knoweth …’ Who else knoweth what?”
   “I recollect not. My mind was wandering.”
   “Ah, wandering, eh? Then why didst thou say: ‘Things of Caesar render to Caesar’?”
   “It was just a pleasantry. I was in discussion with this lady, who tells illuminating stories that are sometimes difficult to understand.”
   “Yes, there is much to understand. What sent thee mad at the gate? And why didst thou recover so quickly from thy fit?”
   “That came through the beneficence of God.”
   They were walking beside the litter once more, the captain furious that he had been trapped so easily. He had been forewarned by Lord Kiyama, his master, that the woman was filled with boundless cleverness: ‘Don’t forget she carries the taint of treachery throughout her whole being, and the pirate’s spawned by the devil Satan. Watch, listen, and remember. Perhaps she’ll impeach herself and become a further witness against Toranaga for the Regents. Kill the pirate the moment the ambush begins.’
   The arrows came out of the night and the first impaled the captain through the throat and, as he felt his lungs fill with molten fire and death swallowing him, his last thought was one of wonder because the ambush was not to have been here in this street but further on, down beside the wharves, and the attack was not to be against them but against the pirate.
   Another arrow had slammed into the litter post an inch from Blackthorne’s head. Two arrows had pierced the closed curtains of Kiritsubo’s litter ahead, and another had struck the girl Asa in the waist. As she began screaming, the bearers dropped the litters and took to their heels in the darkness. Blackthorne rolled for cover, taking Mariko with him into the lee of the tumbled litter, Grays and Browns scattering. A shower of arrows straddled both litters. One thudded into the ground where Mariko had been the instant before. Buntaro was covering Toranaga’s litter with his body as best he could, an arrow stuck into the back of his leather-chainmail-bamboo armor, and then, when the volley ceased, he rushed forward and ripped the curtains apart. The two arrows were imbedded in Toranaga’s chest and side but he was unharmed and he jerked the barbs out of the protective armor he wore beneath the kimono. Then he tore off the wide-brimmed hat and the wig. Buntaro searched the darkness for the enemy, on guard, an arrow ready in his bow, while Toranaga fought out of the curtains and, pulling his sword from under the coverlet, leapt to his feet. Mariko started to scramble to help Toranaga but Blackthorne pulled her back with a shout of warning as again arrows bracketed the litters, killing two Browns and a Gray. Another came so close to Blackthorne that it took the skin off his cheek. Another pinned the skirt of his kimono to the earth. The maid, Sono, was beside the writhing girl, who was bravely holding back her screams. Then Yabu shouted and pointed and charged. Dim figures could be seen on one of the tiled roofs. A last volley whooshed out of the darkness, always at the litters. Buntaro and other Browns blocked their path to Toranaga. One man died. A shaft ripped through a joint in Buntaro’s shoulder armor and he grunted with pain. Yabu and Browns and Grays were near the wall now in pursuit but the ambushers vanished into the blackness, and though a dozen Browns and Grays raced for the corner to head them off, all knew that it was hopeless. Blackthorne groped to his feet and helped Mariko up. She was shaken but untouched.
   “Thank you,” she said, and hurried over to Toranaga to help screen him from Grays. Buntaro was shouting to some of his men to douse the flares near the litters. Then one of the Grays said, “Toranaga!” and though it was spoken quietly everyone heard.
   In the flickering light of the flares, the sweat-streaked makeup made Toranaga seem grotesque.
   One of the officer Grays bowed hastily. Here, incredibly, was the enemy of his master, free, outside the castle walls. “You will wait here, Lord Toranaga. You,” he snapped at one of his men, “report to Lord Ishido at once,” and the man raced away.
   “Stop him,” Toranaga said quietly. Buntaro launched two arrows. The man fell dying. The officer whipped out his two-handed sword and leaped for Toranaga with a screaming battle cry but Buntaro was ready and parried the blow. Simultaneously the Browns and the Grays, all intermixed, jerked out their swords and jumped for space. The street erupted into a swirling melee. Buntaro and the officer were well matched, feinting and slashing. Suddenly a Gray broke from the pack and charged for Toranaga but Mariko immediately picked up a flare, ran forward, and shoved it into the officer’s face. Buntaro hacked his assailant in two, then whirled and ripped the second man apart, and cut down another who was trying to reach Toranaga as Mariko darted back out of the way, a sword now in her hands, her eyes never leaving Toranaga or Buntaro, his monstrous bodyguard.
   Four Grays banded together and hurled themselves at Blackthorne, who was still rooted near his litter. Helplessly he saw them coming. Yabu and a Brown leaped to intercept, fighting demonically. Blackthorne jumped away, grabbed a flare, and using it as a whirling mace, threw the attackers momentarily off balance. Yabu killed one, maimed another, then four Browns rushed back to dispose of the last two Grays. Without hesitation Yabu and the wounded Brown hurled themselves into the attack once more, protecting Toranaga. Blackthorne ran forward and picked up a long half-sword, half-spear and raced nearer to Toranaga. Toranaga alone stood motionless, his sword sheathed, in the screaming fracas.
   The Grays fought courageously. Four joined in a suicidal charge at Toranaga. The Browns broke it and pressed their advantage. The Grays regrouped and charged again. Then a senior officer ordered three to retreat for help and the rest to guard the retreat. The three Grays tore off, and though they were pursued and Buntaro shot one, two escaped.
   The rest died.