“You what?”
   “I sent the Ingeles back aboard. What’s the problem, Captain-General? The Ingeles offended me so I threw the bugger overboard. I’d have let him drown but he could swim so I sent the mate to pick him up and put him back aboard his ship as he seemed to be in Lord Toranaga’s favor. What’s wrong?”
   “Fetch him back aboard.”
   “I’ll have to send an armed boarding party, Captain-General. Is that what you want? He was cursing and heaping hellfire on us. He won’t come back willingly this time.”
   “I want him back aboard.”
   “What’s the problem? Didn’t you say the galley’s to stay and fight or whatever? So what? So the Ingeles is hip-deep in shit. Good. Who needs the bugger, anyway? Surely the Fathers’d prefer him out of their sight. Eh, Father?”
   Dell’Aqua did not reply. Nor did Alvito. This disrupted the plan that Ferriera had formulated and had been accepted by them and by Toranaga: that the priests would go ashore at once to smooth over Ishido, Kiyama, and Onoshi, professing that they had believed Toranaga’s story about the pirates and did not know that he had “escaped” from the castle. Meanwhile the frigate would charge for the harbor mouth, leaving the galley to draw off the fishing boats. If there was an overt attack on the frigate, it would be beaten off with cannon, and the die cast.
   “But the boats shouldn’t attack us,” Ferriera had reasoned. “They have the galley to catch. It will be your responsibility, Eminence, to persuade Ishido that we had no other choice. After all, Toranaga is President of the Regents. Finally, the heretic stays aboard.
   “Neither of the priests had asked why. Nor had Ferriera volunteered his reason.
   The Visitor put a gentle hand on the Captain-General and turned his back on the galley. “Perhaps it’s just as well the heretic’s there,” he said, and he thought, how strange are the ways of God.
   No, Ferriera wanted to scream. I wanted to see him drown. A man overboard in the early dawn at sea—no trace, no witnesses, so easy. Toranaga would never be the wiser; a tragic accident, as far as he was concerned. And it was the fate Blackthorne deserved. The Captain-General also knew the horror of sea death to a pilot.
   “Nan ja?” Toranaga asked.
   Father Alvito explained that the pilot was on the galley and why. Toranaga turned to Mariko, who nodded and added what Rodrigues had said previously.
   Toranaga went to the side of the ship and gazed into the darkness. More fishing boats were being launched from the north shore and the others would soon be in place. He knew that the Anjin-san was a political embarrassment and this was a simple way the gods had given him if he desired to be rid of the Anjin-san. Do I want that? Certainly the Christian priests will be vastly happier if the Anjin-san vanishes, he thought. And also Onoshi and Kiyama, who feared the man so much that either or both had mounted the assassination attempts. Why such fear?
   It’s karma that the Anjin-san is on the galley now and not safely here. Neh? So the Anjin-san will drown with the ship, along with Yabu and the others and the guns, and that is also karma. The guns I can lose, Yabu I can lose. But the Anjin-san?
   Yes.
   Because I still have eight more of these strange barbarians in reserve. Perhaps their collective knowledge will equal or exceed that of this single man. The important thing is to be back in Yedo as quickly as possible to prepare for the war, which cannot be avoided. Kiyama and Onoshi? Who knows if they’ll support me. Perhaps they will, perhaps not. But a plot of land and some promises are nothing in the balance if the Christian weight is on my side in forty days.
   “It’s karma, Tsukku-san. Neh?”
   “Yes, Sire.” Alvito glanced at the Captain-General, very satisfied. “Lord Toranaga suggests that nothing is done. It’s the will of God.”
   “Is it?”
   The drum on the galley began abruptly. The oars bit into the water with great strength.
   “What, in the name of Christ, is he doing?” Ferriera bellowed.
   And then, as they watched the galley pulling away from them, Toranaga’s pennant came fluttering down from the masthead.
   Rodrigues said, “Looks like they’re telling every God-cursed fishing boat in the harbor that Lord Toranaga’s no longer aboard.”
   “What’s he going to do?”
   “I don’t know.”
   “Don’t you?” Ferriera asked.
   “No. But if I was him I’d head for sea and leave us in the cesspit—or try to. The Ingeles has put the finger on us now. What’s it to be?”
   “You’re ordered to Yedo.” The Captain-General wanted to add, if you ram the galley all the better, but he didn’t. Because Mariko was listening.
   The priests thankfully went ashore in the longboat.
   “All sails ho!” Rodrigues shouted, his leg paining and throbbing. “Sou’ by sou’west! All hands lay to!”
   “Senhora, please tell Lord Toranaga he’d best go below. It’ll be safer,” Ferriera said.
   “He thanks you and says he will stay here.”
   Ferriera shrugged, went to the edge of the quarterdeck. “Prime all cannon. Load grape! Action stations!”

Chapter 28

   “Isogi!” Blackthorne shouted, urging the oarsmaster to increase the beat. He looked aft at the frigate that was bearing down on them, close-hauled now under full sail, then for’ard again, estimating the next tack that she must use. He wondered if he had judged right, for there was very little sea room here near the cliffs, barely a few yards between disaster and success. Because of the wind, the frigate had to tack to make the harbor mouth, while the galley could maneuver at its whim. But the frigate had the advantage of speed. And on the last tack Rodrigues had made it clear that the galley had better stay out of the way when the Santa Theresa needed sea room.
   Yabu was chattering at him again but he paid no heed. “Don’t understand—wakarimasen, Yabu-san! Listen, Toranaga-sama said, me, Anjin-san, ichi-ban ima! I’m chief Captain-san now! Wakarimasu ka, Yabu-san?” He pointed the course on the compass to the Japanese captain, who gesticulated at the frigate, barely fifty yards aft now, overtaking them rapidly on another collision path.
   “Hold your course, by God!” Blackthorne said, the breeze cooling his sea-sodden clothes, which chilled him but helped to clear his head. He checked the sky. No clouds were near the bright moon and the wind was fair. No danger there, he thought. God keep the moon bright till we’re through.
   “Hey, Captain!” he called out in English, knowing it made no difference if he spoke English or Portuguese or Dutch or Latin because he was alone. “Send someone for saké! Saké! Wakarimasu ka?”
   “Hai, Anjin-san.”
   A seaman was sent scurrying. As the man ran he looked over his shoulder, frightened by the size of the approaching frigate and her speed. Blackthorne held their course, trying to force the frigate to turn before she had gained all space to windward. But she never wavered and came directly at him. At the last second he swung out of her way and then, when her bowsprit was almost over their aft deck, he heard Rodrigues’ order, “Bear on the larboard tack! Let go stays’ls, and steady as she goes!” Then a shout at him in Spanish, “Thy mouth in the devil’s arse, Ingeles!”
   “Thy mother was there first, Rodrigues!”
   Then the frigate peeled off the wind to scud now for the far shore, where she would have to turn again to reach into the wind and tack for this side once more before she could turn a last time again and make for the harbor mouth.
   For an instant the ships were so close that he could almost touch her, Rodrigues, Toranaga, Mariko, and the Captain-General swaying on the quarterdeck. Then the frigate was away and they were twisting in her wash.
   “Isogi, isogi, by God!”
   The rowers redoubled their efforts and with signs Blackthorne ordered more men on the oars until there were no reserves. He had to get to the mouth before the frigate or they were lost.
   The galley was eating up the distance. But so was the frigate. At the far side of the harbor she spun like a dancer and he saw that Rodrigues had added tops’ls and topgallants.
   “He’s as canny a bastard as any Portuguese born!”
   The saké arrived but it was taken out of the seaman’s hands by the young woman who had helped Mariko and offered precariously to him. She had stayed gamely on deck, even though clearly out of her element. Her hands were strong, her hair well groomed, and her kimono rich, in good taste and neat. The galley lurched in the chop. The girl reeled and dropped the cup. Her face did not change but he saw the flush of shame.
   “Por nada,” he said as she groped for it. “It doesn’t matter. Namae ka?”
   “Usagi Fujiko, Anjin-san.”
   “Fujiko-san. Here, give it to me. Dozo.” He held out his hand and took the flask and drank directly from it, gulping the wine, eager to have its heat inside his body. He concentrated on the new course, skirting the shoals that Santiago, on Rodrigues’ orders, had told him about. He rechecked the bearing from the headland that gave them a clean, hazardless run to the mouth while he finished the warmed wine, wondering in passing how it had been warmed, and why they always served it warm and in small quantities.
   His head was clear now, and he felt strong enough, if he was careful. But he knew he had no reserves to draw upon, just as the ship had no reserves.
   “Saké, dozo, Fujiko-san.” He handed her the flask and forgot her.
   On the windward tack the frigate made way too well and she passed a hundred yards ahead of them, bearing for the shore. He heard obscenities coming down on the wind and did not bother to reply, conserving his energy.
   “Isogi, by God! We’re losing!”
   The excitement of the race and of being alone again and in command—more by the strength of his will than by position—added to the rare privilege of having Yabu in his power, filled him with unholy glee. “If it wasn’t that the ship’d go down and me with her, I’d put her on the rocks just to see you drown, shit-face Yabu! For old Pieterzoon!”
   But didn’t Yabu save Rodrigues when you couldn’t? Didn’t he charge the bandits when you were ambushed? And he was brave tonight. Yes, he’s a shit-face, but even so he’s a brave shit-face and that’s the truth.
   The flask of saké was offered again. “Domo,” he said.
   The frigate was keeled over, close-hauled and greatly pleasing to him. “I couldn’t do better,” he said aloud to the wind. “But if I had her, I’d go through the boats and out to sea and never come back. I’d sail her home, somehow, and leave the Japans to the Japanese and to the pestilential Portuguese.” He saw Yabu and the captain staring at him. “I wouldn’t really, not yet. There’s a Black Ship to catch and plunder to be had. And revenge, eh, Yabu-san?”
   “Nan desu ka, Anjin-san? Nan ja?”
   “Ichi-ban! Number one!” he replied, waving at the frigate. He drained the flask. Fujiko took it from him.
   “Saké, Anjin-san?”
   “Domo, iyé!”
   The two ships were very near the massed fishing boats now, the galley heading straight for the pass that had been deliberately left between them, the frigate on the last reach and turning for the harbor mouth. Here the wind freshened as the protecting headlands fell away, open sea half a mile ahead. Gusts billowed the frigate’s sails, the shrouds crackling like pistol shots, froth now at her bow and in her wake.
   The rowers were bathed with sweat and flagging. One man dropped. And another. The fifty-odd ronin -samurai were already in position. Ahead, archers in the fishing boats either side of the narrow channel were arming their bows. Blackthorne saw small braziers in many of the boats and he knew that the arrows would be fire arrows when they came.
   He had prepared for battle as best he could. Yabu had understood that they would have to fight, and had understood fire arrows immediately. Blackthorne had erected protective wooden bulkheads around the helm. He had broken open some of the crates of muskets and had set those who could to arming them with powder and with shot. And he had brought several small kegs of powder up onto the quarterdeck and fused them.
   When Santiago, the first mate, had helped him aboard the longboat, he had told him that Rodrigues was going to help, with God’s good grace.
   “Why?” he had asked.
   “My Pilot says to tell you that he had you thrown overboard to sober you up, senhor.”
   “Why?”
   “Because, he said to tell you, Senhor Pilot, because there was danger aboard the Santa Theresa, danger for you.”
   “What danger?”
   “You are to fight your own way out, he tells you, if you can. But he will help.”
   “Why?”
   “For the Madonna’s sweet sake, hold your heretic tongue and listen, I’ve little time.”
   Then the mate had told him about the shoals and the bearings and the way of the channel and the plan. And given him two pistols. “How good a shot are you, my Pilot asks.”
   “Poor,” he had lied.
   “Go with God, my Pilot said to tell you finally.”
   “And him—and you.”
   “For me I assign thee to hell!”
   “Thy sister!”
   Blackthorne had fused the kegs in case the cannon began and there was no plan, or if the plan proved false, and also against encroaching hostiles. Even such a little keg, the fuse alight, floated against the side of the frigate would sink her as surely as a seventy-gun broadside. It doesn’t matter how small the keg, he thought, providing it guts her.
   “Isogi for your lives!” he called out and took the helm, thanking God for Rodrigues and the brightness of the moon.


   Here at the mouth the harbor narrowed to four hundred yards. Deep water was almost shore to shore, the rock headlands rising sharp from the sea.
   The space between the ambushing fishing boats was a hundred yards.
   The Santa Theresa had the bit between her teeth now, the wind abaft the beam to starboard, strong wake aft, and she was gaining on them fast. Blackthorne held the center of the channel and signed to Yabu to be ready. All their ronin -samurai had been ordered to squat below the gunwales, unseen, until Blackthorne gave the signal, when it was every man—with musket or sword—to port or to starboard, wherever they were needed, Yabu commanding the fight. The Japanese captain knew that his oarsmen were to follow the drum and the drum master knew that he had to obey the Anjin-san. And the Anjin-san alone was to guide the ship.
   The frigate was fifty yards astern, in mid-channel, heading directly for them, and making it obvious that she required the mid-channel path.


   Aboard the frigate, Ferriera breathed softly to Rodrigues, “Ram him.” His eyes were on Mariko, who stood ten paces off, near the railings, with Toranaga.
   “We daren’t—not with Toranaga there and, the girl.”
   “Senhora!” Ferriera called out. “Senhora—better to get below, you and your master. It’d be safer for him on the gundeck.”
   Mariko translated to Toranaga, who thought a moment, then walked down the companionway onto the gundeck.
   “God damn my eyes,” the chief gunner said to no one in particular. “I’d like to fire a broadside and sink something. It’s a God-cursed year since we sunk even a poxed pirate.”
   “Aye. The monkeys deserve a bath.”
   On the quarterdeck Ferriera repeated, “Ram the galley, Rodrigues!”
   “Why kill your enemy when others’re doing it for you?”
   “Madonna! You’re as bad as the priest! Thou hast no blood in thee!”
   “Yes, I have none of the killing blood,” Rodrigues replied, also in Spanish. “But thou? Thou hast it. Eh? And Spanish blood perhaps?”
   “Are you going to ram him or not?” Ferriera asked in Portuguese, the nearness of the kill possessing him.
   “If she stays where she is, yes.”
   “Then, Madonna, let her stay where she is.”
   “What had you in mind for the Ingeles? Why were you so angry he wasn’t aboard us?”
   “I do not like you or trust you now, Rodrigues. Twice you’ve sided, or seemed to side, with the heretic against me, or us. If there was another acceptable pilot in all Asia, I would beach you, Rodrigues, and I would sail off with my Black Ship.”
   “Then you will drown. There’s a smell of death over you and only I can protect you.”
   Ferriera crossed himself superstitiously. “Madonna, thou and thy filthy tongue! What right hast thou to say that?”
   “My mother was a gypsy and she the seventh child of a seventh child, as I am.”
   “Liar!”
   Rodrigues smiled. “Ah, my Lord Captain-General, perhaps I am.” He cupped his hands and shouted, “Action stations!” and then to the helmsman, “Steady as she goes, and if that belly-gutter whore doesn’t move, sink her!”


   Blackthorne held the wheel firmly, arms aching, legs aching. The oarsmaster was pounding the drum, the oarsmen making a final effort.
   Now the frigate was twenty yards astern, now fifteen, now ten. Then Blackthorne swung hard to port. The frigate almost brushed them, heeled over toward them, and then she was alongside. Blackthorne swung hard astarboard to come parallel to the frigate, ten yards from her. Then, together—side by side—they were ready to run the gauntlet between the hostiles.
   “Puuuull, pull, you bastards!” Blackthorne shouted, wanting to stay exactly alongside, because only here were they guarded by the frigate’s bulk and by her sails. Some musket shots, then a salvo of burning arrows slashed at them, doing no real damage, but several by mistake struck the frigate’s lower sails and fire broke out.
   All the commanding samurai in the boats stopped their archers in horror. No one had ever attacked a Southern Barbarian ship before. Don’t they alone bring the silks which make every summer’s humid heat bearable, and every winter’s cold bearable, and every spring and fall a joy? Aren’t the Southern Barbarians protected by Imperial decrees? Wouldn’t burning one of their ships infuriate them so much that they would, rightly, never come back again?
   So the commanders held their men in check while Toranaga’s galley was under the frigate’s wing, not daring to risk the merest chance that one of them would be the cause of the cessation of the Black Ships without General Ishido’s direct approval. And only when seamen on the frigate had doused the flames did they breathe easier.
   When the arrows stopped, Blackthorne also began to relax. And Rodrigues. The plan was working. Rodrigues had surmised that under his lee the galley had a chance, its only chance. ‘But my Pilot says you must prepare for the unexpected, Ingeles,’ Santiago had reported.
   “Shove that bastard aside,” Ferriera said. “God damn it, I ordered you to shove him into the monkeys!”
   “Five points to port!” Rodrigues ordered obligingly.
   “Five points aport it is!” the helmsman echoed.
   Blackthorne heard the command. Instantly he steered port five degrees and prayed. If Rodrigues held the course too long they would smash into the fishing boats and be lost. If he slackened the beat and fell behind, he knew the enemy boats would swamp him whether they believed Toranaga was aboard or not. He must stay alongside.
   “Five points starboard!” Rodrigues ordered, just in time. He wanted no more fire arrows either; there was too much powder on deck. “Come on, you pimp,” he muttered to the wind. “Put your cojones in my sails and get us to hell out of here.”

   Again Blackthorne had swung five points starboard to maintain station with the frigate and the two ships raced side by side, the galley’s starboard oars almost touching the frigate, the port oars almost swamping the fishing boats. Now the captain understood, and so did the oarsmaster and the rowers. They put their final strength into the oars. Yabu shouted a command and the ronin -samurai put down their bows and rushed to help and Yabu pitched in also.
   Neck and neck. Only a few hundred yards to go.
   Then Grays on some of the fishing boats, more intrepid than the others, sculled forward into their path and threw grappling hooks. The prow of the galley swamped the boats. The grappling hooks were cast overboard before they caught. The samurai holding them were drowned. And the stroke did not falter.
   “Go more to port!”
   “I daren’t, Captain-General. Toranaga’s no fool and look, there’s a reef ahead!”
   Ferriera saw the spines near the last of the fishing boats. “Madonna, drive him onto it!”
   “Two points port!”
   Again the frigate swung over and so did Blackthorne. Both ships aimed for the massed fishing boats. Blackthorne had also seen the rocks. Another boat was swamped and a salvo of arrows came aboard. He held his course as long as he dared, then shouted, “Five points starboard!” to warn Rodrigues, and swung the helm over.
   Rodrigues took evasive action and fell away. But this time he held a slight collision course which was not part of the plan.
   “Go on, you bastard,” Rodrigues said, whipped by the chase and by dread. “Let’s weigh your cojones.”
   Blackthorne had to choose instantly between the spines and the frigate. He blessed the rowers, who still stayed at their oars, and the crew and all aboard who, through their discipline, gave him the privilege of choice. And he chose.
   He swung further to starboard, pulled out his pistol and aimed it. “Make way, by God!” he shouted and pulled the trigger. The ball whined over the frigate’s quarterdeck just between the Captain-General and Rodrigues.
   As the Captain-General ducked, Rodrigues winced. Thou Ingeles son of a milkless whore! Was that luck or good shooting or did you aim to kill?
   He saw the second pistol in Blackthorne’s hand, and Toranaga staring at him. He dismissed Toranaga as unimportant.
   Blessed Mother of God, what should I do? Stick with the plan or change it? Isn’t it better to kill this Ingeles? For the good of all? Tell me, yes or no!
   Answer thyself, Rodrigues, on thy eternal soul! Art thou not a man?
   Listen then: Other heretics will follow this Ingeles now, like lice, whether this one is killed or not killed. I owe him a life and I swear I do not have the killing blood in me—not to kill a pilot.
   “Starboard your helm,” he ordered and gave way.


   “My Master asks why did you almost smash into the galley?”
   “It was just a game, senhora, a game pilots play. To test the other’s nerves.”
   “And the pistol shot?”
   “Equally a game—to test my nerve. The rocks were too close and perhaps I was pushing the Ingeles too much. We are friends, no?”
   “My Master says it is foolish to play such games.”
   “Please give him my apologies. The important thing is that he is safe and now the galley is safe and therefore I am glad. Honto.”
   “You arranged this escape, this ruse, with the Anjin-san?”
   “It happened that he is very clever and was perfect in his timing. The moon lit his way, the sea favored him, and no one made a mistake. But why the hostiles didn’t swamp him, I don’t know. It was the will of God.”
   “Was it?” Ferriera said. He was staring at the galley astern of them and he did not turn around.
   They were well beyond the harbor mouth now, safely out into the Osaka Roads, the galley a few cables aft, neither ship hurrying. Most of the galley’s oars had been shipped temporarily, leaving only enough to make way calmly while the majority of the oarsmen recuperated.
   Rodrigues paid Captain-General Ferriera no heed. He was absorbed instead with Toranaga. I’m glad we’re on Toranaga’s side, Rodrigues told himself. During the race, he had studied him carefully, glad for the rare opportunity. The man’s eyes had been everywhere, watching gunners and guns and the sails and the fire party with an insatiable curiosity, asking questions, through Mariko, of the seamen or the mate: What’s this for? How do you load a cannon? How much powder? How do you fire them? What are these ropes for?
   “My Master says, perhaps it was just karma. You understand karma, Captain-Pilot?”
   “Yes.”
   “He thanks you for the use of your ship. Now he will go back to his own.”
   “What?” Ferriera turned around at once. “We’ll be in Yedo long before the galley. Lord Toranaga’s welcome to stay aboard.”
   “My Master says, there’s no need to trouble you anymore. He will go onto his own ship.”
   “Please ask him to stay. I would enjoy his company.”
   “Lord Toranaga thanks you but he wishes to go at once to his own ship.”
   “Very well. Do as he says, Rodrigues. Signal her and lower the longboat.” Ferriera was disappointed. He had wanted to see Yedo and wanted to get to know Toranaga better now that so much of their future was tied to him. He did not believe what Toranaga had said about the means of avoiding war. We’re at war on this monkey’s side against Ishido whether we like it or not. And I don’t like it. “I’ll be sorry not to have Lord Toranaga’s company.” He bowed politely.
   Toranaga bowed back, and spoke briefly.
   “My Master thanks you.” To Rodrigues, she added, “My Master says he will reward you for the galley when you return with the Black Ship.”
   “I did nothing. It was merely a duty. Please excuse me for not getting up from my chair—my leg, neh?” Rodrigues replied, bowing. “Go with God, senhora.”
   “Thank you, Captain-Pilot. Do thou likewise.”
   As she groped wearily down the companionway behind Toranaga, she noticed that the bosun Pesaro was commanding the longboat. Her skin crawled and she almost heaved. She willed the spasm away, thankful that Toranaga had ordered them all off this malodorous vessel.
   “A fair wind and safe voyage,” Ferriera called down to them. He waved once and the salutation was returned and then the longboat cast off.
   “Stand down when the longboat’s back and that bitch galley’s out of sight,” he ordered the chief gunner.
   On the quarterdeck he stopped in front of Rodrigues. He pointed at the galley. “You’ll live to regret keeping him alive.”
   “That’s in the hands of God. The Ingeles is an ‘acceptable’ pilot, if you could pass over his religion, my Captain-General.”
   “I’ve considered that.”
   “And?”
   “The sooner we’re in Macao the better. Make record time, Rodrigues.” Ferriera went below.
   Rodrigues’ leg was throbbing badly. He took a swig from the grog sack. May Ferriera go to hell, he told himself. But, please God, not until we reach Lisbon.
   The wind veered slightly and a cloud reached for the nimbus of the moon, rain not far off and dawn streaking the sky. He put his full attention on his ship and her sails and the lie of her. When he was completely satisfied, he watched the longboat. And finally the galley.
   He sipped more rum, content that his plan had worked so neatly. Even the pistol shot that had closed the issue. And content with his decision.
   It was mine to make and I made it.
   “Even so, Ingeles,” he said with a great sadness, “the Captain-General’s right. With thee, heresy has come to Eden.”

Chapter 29

   “Anjin-san?”
   “Hai?” Blackthorne swooped out of a deep sleep.
   “Here’s some food. And cha.”
   For a moment he could not remember who he was or where he was. Then he recognized his cabin aboard the galley. A shaft of sunlight was piercing the darkness. He felt greatly rested. There was no drumbeat now and even in his deepest sleep, his senses had told him that the anchor was being lowered and his ship was safe, near shore, the sea gentle.
   He saw a maid carrying a tray, Mariko beside her—her arm no longer in a sling—and he was lying in the pilot’s bunk, the same that he had used during the Rodrigues voyage from Anjiro village to Osaka and that was now, in a way, almost as familiar as his own bunk and cabin aboard Erasmus.Erasmus! It’ll be grand to be back aboard and to see the lads again.
   He stretched luxuriously, then took the cup of cha Mariko offered.
   “Thank you. That’s delicious. How’s your arm?”
   “Much better, thank you.” Mariko flexed it to show him. “It was just a flesh wound.”
   “You’re looking better, Mariko-san.”
   “Yes, I’m better now.”
   When she had come back aboard at dawn with Toranaga she had been near fainting. “Better to stay aloft,” he had told her. “The sickness will leave you faster.”
   “My Master asks—asks why the pistol shot?”
   “It was just a game pilots play,” he had told her.
   “My Master compliments you on your seamanship.”
   “We were lucky. The moon helped. And the crew were marvelous. Mariko-san, would you ask the Captain-san if he knows these waters? Sorry, but tell Toranaga-sama I can’t keep awake much longer. Or can we hove to for an hour or so out to sea? I’ve got to sleep.”
   He vaguely remembered her telling him that Toranaga said he could go below, that the Captain-san was quite capable as they would be staying in coastal waters and not going out to sea.
   Blackthorne stretched again and opened a cabin porthole. A rocky shore was two hundred-odd yards away. “Where are we?”
   “Off the coast of Totomi Province, Anjin-san. Lord Toranaga wanted to swim and to rest the oarsmen for a few hours. We’ll be at Anjiro tomorrow.”
   “The fishing village? That’s impossible. It’s near noon and at dawn we were off Osaka. It’s impossible!”
   “Ah, that was yesterday, Anjin-san. You’ve slept a day and a night and half another day,” she replied. “Lord Toranaga said to let you sleep. Now he thinks a swim would be good to wake you up. After food.”
   Food was two bowls of rice and charcoal-roasted fish with the dark, salt-bitter, vinegar-sweet sauce that she had told him was made from fermented beans.
   “Thank you—yes, I’d like a swim. Almost thirty-six hours? No wonder I feel fine.” He took the tray from the maid, ravenous. But he did not eat at once. “Why is she afraid?” he asked.
   “She’s not, Anjin-san. Just a little nervous. Please excuse her. She’s never seen a foreigner close to before.”
   “Tell her when the moon’s full, barbarians sprout horns and fire comes out of our mouths like dragons.”
   Mariko laughed. “I certainly will not.” She pointed to the sea table. “There is tooth powder and a brush and water and fresh towels.” Then said in Latin, “it pleasures me to see thou art well. It is as was related on the march, thou hast great bravery.”
   Their eyes locked and then the moment was allowed to pass. She bowed politely. The maid bowed. The door closed behind them.
   Don’t think about her, he ordered himself. Think about Toranaga or Anjiro. Why do we stop at Anjiro tomorrow? To offload Yabu? Good riddance!
   Omi will be at Anjiro. What about Omi?
   Why not ask Toranaga for Omi’s head? He owes you a favor or two. Or why not ask to fight Omi-san. How? With pistols or with swords? You’d have no chance with a sword and it’d be murder if you had a gun. Better to do nothing and wait. You’ll have a chance soon and then you’ll be revenged on both of them. You bask in Toranaga’s favor now. Be patient. Ask yourself what you need from him. Soon we’ll be in Yedo, so you’ve not much time. What about Toranaga?
   Blackthorne was using the chopsticks as he had seen the men in the prison use them, lifting the bowl of rice to his lips and pushing the tacky rice from the lip of the bowl into his mouth with the sticks. The pieces of fish were more difficult. He was still not deft enough, so he used his fingers, glad to eat alone, knowing that to eat with his fingers would be very impolite in front of Mariko or Toranaga or any Japanese.
   When every morsel was gone he was still famished.
   “Got to get more food,” he said aloud. “Jesus God in heaven, I’d like some fresh bread and fried eggs and butter and cheese…”
   He came on deck. Almost everyone was naked. Some of the men were drying themselves, others sunbathing, and a few were leaping overboard. In the sea alongside the ship, samurai and seamen were swimming or splashing as children would.
   “Konnichi wa, Anjin-san.”
   “Konnichi wa, Toranaga-sama,” he said.
   Toranaga, quite naked, was coming up the gangway that had been let down to the sea. “Sonata wa oyogitamo ka?” he said, motioning at the sea, slapping the water off his belly and his shoulders, warm under the bright sun.
   “Hai, Toranaga-sama, domo,” Blackthorne said, presuming that he was being asked if he wanted to swim.
   Again Toranaga pointed at the sea and spoke shortly, then called Mariko to interpret. Mariko walked down from the poopdeck, shielding her head with a crimson sunshade, her informal white cotton kimono casually belted.
   “Toranaga-sama says you look very rested, Anjin-san. The water’s invigoration.”
   “Invigorating,” he said, correcting her politely. “Yes.”
   “Ah, thank you—invigorating. He says please swim then.”
   Toranaga was leaning carelessly against the gunwale, wiping the water out of his ears with a small towel, and when his left ear would not clear, he hung his head over and hopped on his left heel until it did. Blackthorne saw that Toranaga was very muscular and very taut, apart from his belly. Ill at ease, very conscious of Mariko, he stripped off his shirt and his codpiece and trousers until he was equally naked.
   “Lord Toranaga asks if all Englishmen are as hairy as you? The hair so fair?”
   “Some are,” he said.
   “We—our men don’t have hair on their chests or arms like you do. Not very much. He says you’ve a very good build.”
   “So has he. Please thank him.” Blackthorne walked away from her to the head of the gangplank, aware of her and the young woman, Fujiko, who was kneeling on the poop under a yellow parasol, a maid beside her, also watching him. Then, unable to contain his dignity enough to walk naked all the way down to the sea, he dived over the side into the pale blue water. It was a fine dive and the sea chill reached into him exhilaratingly. The sandy bottom was three fathoms down, seaweed waving, multitudes of fish unfrightened by the swimmers. Near the seabed his plummeting stopped and he twisted and played with the fish, then surfaced and began a seemingly lazy, easy, but very fast overarm stroke for the shore that Alban Caradoc had taught him.
   The small bay was desolate: many rocks, a tiny pebbled shore, and no sign of life. Mountains climbed a thousand feet to a blue, measureless sky.
   He lay on a rock sunning himself: Four samurai had swum with him and were not far away. They smiled and waved. Later he swam back, and they followed. Toranaga was still watching him.
   He came up on deck. His clothes were gone. Fujiko and Mariko and two maids were still there. One of the maids bowed and offered him a ridiculously small towel, which he took and began to dry himself with, turning uneasily into the gunwale.
   I order you to be at ease, he told himself. You’re at ease naked in a locked room with Felicity, aren’t you? It’s only in public when women are around—when she’s around—that you’re embarrassed. Why? They don’t notice nakedness and that’s totally sensible. You’re in Japan. You’re to do as they do. You will be like them and act like a king.
   “Lord Toranaga says you swim very well. Would you teach him that stroke?” Mariko was saying.
   “I’d be glad to,” he said and forced himself to turn around and lean as Toranaga was leaning. Mariko was smiling up at him—looking so pretty, he thought.
   “The way you dived into the sea. We’ve—we’ve never seen that before. We always jump. He wants to learn how to do that.”
   “Now?”
   “Yes, please.”
   “I can teach him—at least, I can try.”
   A maid was holding a cotton kimono for Blackthorne so, gratefully, he slipped it on, tying it with the belt. Now, completely relaxed, he explained how to dive, how to tuck your head between your arms and spring up and out but to beware of belly flopping.
   “It’s best to start from the foot of the gangway and sort of fall in head first to begin with, without jumping or running. That’s the way we teach children.”
   Toranaga listened and asked questions and then, when he was satisfied, he said through Mariko, “Good. I think I understand.” He walked to the head of the gangway. Before Blackthorne could stop him, Toranaga had launched himself toward the water, fifteen feet below. The belly flop was vicious. No one laughed. Toranaga spluttered back to the deck and tried again. Again he landed flat. Other samurai were equally unsuccessful.
   “It’s not easy,” Blackthorne said. “It took me a long time to learn. Give it a rest and we’ll try again tomorrow.”
   “Lord Toranaga says, ‘Tomorrow is tomorrow. Today I will learn how to dive.’”
   Blackthorne put his kimono aside and demonstrated again. Samurai aped him. Again they failed. So did Toranaga. Six times.
   After another demonstration dive Blackthorne scrambled onto the foot of the gangplank and saw Mariko among them, nude, readying to launch herself into space. Her body was exquisite, the bandage on her upper arm fresh. “Wait, Mariko-san! Better to try from here. The first time.”
   “Very well, Anjin-san.”
   She walked down to him, the tiny crucifix enhancing her nudity. He showed her how to bend and to fall forward into the sea, catching her by the waist to turn her over so that her head went in first.
   Then Toranaga tried near the waterline and was moderately successful. Mariko tried again and the touch of her skin warmed Blackthorne and he clowned momentarily and fell into the water, directing them from there until he had cooled off. Then he ran up to the deck and stood on the gunwale and showed them a deadman’s dive, which he thought might be easier, knowing that it was vital for Toranaga to succeed. “But you’ve got to keep rigid, hai? Like a sword. Then you cannot fail.” He fell outward. The dive was clean and he trod water and waited.
   Several samurai came forward but Toranaga waved them aside. He held up his arms stiffly, his backbone straight. His chest and loins were scarlet from the belly flops. Then he let himself fall forward as Blackthorne had shown. His head went into the water first and his legs tumbled over him, but it was a dive and the first successful dive of any of them and a roar of approval greeted him when he surfaced. He did it again, this time better. Other men followed, some successful, others not. Then Mariko tried.
   Blackthorne saw the taut little breasts and tiny waist, flat stomach and curving legs. A flicker of pain went across her face as she lifted her arms above her head. But she held herself like an arrow and fell bravely outward. She speared the water cleanly. Almost no one except him noticed.
   “That was a fine dive. Really fine,” he said, giving her a hand to lift her easily out of the water onto the gangway platform. “You should stop now. You might open up the cut on your arm.”
   “Yes, thank you, Anjin-san.” She stood beside him, barely reaching his shoulder, very pleased with herself. “That’s a rare sensation, the falling outward and the having to stay stiff, and most of all, the having to dominate your fear. Yes, that was a very rare sensation indeed.” She walked up the companionway and put on the kimono that the maid held out for her. Then, drying her face delicately, she went below.
   Christ Jesus, that’s much woman, he thought.


   That sunset Toranaga sent for Blackthorne. He was sitting on the poopdeck on clean futons near a small charcoal brazier upon which small pieces of aromatic wood were smoking. They were used to perfume the air and keep away the dusk gnats and mosquitoes. His kimono was pressed and neat, and the huge, winglike shoulders of the starched overmantle gave him a formidable presence. Yabu, too, was formally dressed, and Mariko. Fujiko was also there. Twenty samurai sat silently on guard. Flares were set into stands and the galley still swung calmly at anchor in the bay.
   “Saké, Anjin-san?”
   “Domo, Toranaga-sama.” Blackthorne bowed and accepted the small cup from Fujiko, lifted it in toast to Toranaga and drained it. The cup was immediately refilled. Blackthorne was wearing a Brown uniform kimono and it felt easier and freer than his own clothes.
   “Lord Toranaga says we’re staying here tonight. Tomorrow we arrive at Anjiro. He would like to hear more about your country and the world outside.”
   “Of course. What would he like to know? It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” Blackthorne settled himself comfortably, aware of her femininity. Too aware. Strange, I’m more conscious of her now that she’s clothed than when she wore nothing.
   “Yes, very. Soon it will be humid, Anjin-san. Summer is not a good time.” She told Toranaga what she had said. “My Master says to tell you that Yedo is marshy. The mosquitoes are bad in summer, but spring and autumn are beautiful—yes, truly the birth and the dying seasons of the year are beautiful.”
   “England’s temperate. The winter’s bad perhaps one winter in seven. And the summer also. Famine about once in six years, though sometimes we get two bad years in a row.”
   “We have famine too. All famine is bad. How is it in your country now?”
   “We’ve had bad harvests three times in the last ten years and no sun to ripen the corn. But that’s the Hand of the Almighty. Now England’s very strong. We’re prosperous. Our people work hard. We make all our own cloth, all arms—most of the woolen cloth of Europe. A few silks come from France but the quality’s poor and they’re only for the very rich.”
   Blackthorne decided not to tell them about plague or the riots or insurrections caused by enclosing the common lands, and the drift of peasants to towns and to cities. Instead he told them about the good kings and queens, sound leaders and wise parliaments and successful wars.
   “Lord Toranaga wants to be quite clear. You claim only sea power protects you from Spain and Portugal?”
   “Yes. That alone. Command of our seas keeps us free. You’re an island nation too, just like us. Without command of your seas, aren’t you also defenseless against an outside enemy?”
   “My Master agrees with you.”

   “Ah, you’ve been invaded too?” Blackthorne saw a slight frown as she turned to Toranaga and he reminded himself to confine himself to answers and not questions.
   When she spoke to him again she was more grave. “Lord Toranaga says I should answer your question, Anjin-san. Yes, we’ve been invaded twice. More than three hundred years ago—it would be 1274 of your counting—the Mongols of Kublai Khan, who had just conquered China and Korea, came against us when we refused to submit to his authority. A few thousand men landed in Kyushu but our samurai managed to contain them, and after a while the enemy withdrew. But seven years later they came again. This time the invasion consisted of almost a thousand Chinese and Korean ships with two hundred thousand enemy troops—Mongols, Chinese, and Korean—mostly cavalry. In all Chinese history, this was the greatest invasion force ever assembled. We were helpless against such an overwhelming force, Anjin-san. Again they began to land at Hakata Bay in Kyushu but before they could deploy all their armies a Great Wind, a tai-fun, came out of the south and destroyed the fleet and all it contained. Those left ashore were quickly killed. It was a kamikazi, a Divine Wind, Anjin-san,” she said with complete belief, “a kamikazi sent by the gods to protect this Land of the Gods from the foreign invader. The Mongols never came back and after eighty years or so their dynasty, the Chin, was thrown out of China,” Mariko added with great satisfaction. “The gods protected us against them. The gods will always protect us against invasion. After all, this is their land, neh?”
   Blackthorne thought about the huge numbers of ships and men in the invasion; it made the Spanish Armada against England seem insignificant. “We were helped by a storm too, senhora,” he said with equal seriousness. “Many believe it was also sent by God—certainly it was a miracle—and who knows, perhaps it was.” He glanced at the brazier as a coal spluttered and flames danced. Then he said, “The Mongols nearly engulfed us in Europe, too “ He told her how the hordes of Genghis Khan, Kublai Khan’s grandfather, had come almost to the gates of Vienna before his onslaught was stopped and then turned back, mountains of skulls in his wake. “People in those days believed Genghis Khan and his soldiers were sent by God to punish the world for its sins.”
   “Lord Toranaga says he was just a barbarian who was immensely good at war.”
   “Yes. Even so, in England we bless our luck we’re an island. We thank God for that and the Channel. And our navy. With China so close and so powerful—and with you and China at war—I’m surprised you don’t have a big navy. Aren’t you afraid of another attack?” Mariko did not answer but translated for Toranaga what had been said. When she had finished, Toranaga spoke to Yabu, who nodded and answered, equally serious. The two men conversed for a while. Mariko answered another question from Toranaga, then spoke to Blackthorne once more.
   “To control your seas, Anjin-san, how many ships do you need?”
   “I don’t know exactly, but now the Queen’s got perhaps a hundred and fifty ships-of-the-line. Those are ships built only for war.”
   “My Master asks how many ships a year does your queen build?”
   “Twenty to thirty warships, the best and fleetest in the world. But the ships are usually built by private groups of merchants and then sold to the Crown.”
   “For a profit?”
   Blackthorne remembered samurai opinion of profit and money. “The Queen generously gives more than the actual cost to encourage research and new styles of building. Without royal favor this would hardly be possible. For example, Erasmus, my ship, is a new class, an English design built under license in Holland.”
   “Could you build such a ship here?”
   “Yes. If I had carpenters, interpreters, and all the materials and time. First I’d have to build a smaller vessel. I’ve never built one entirely by myself before so I’d have to experiment… Of course,” he added, attempting to contain his excitement as the idea developed, “of course, if Lord Toranaga wanted a ship, or ships, perhaps a trade could be arranged. Perhaps he could order a number of warships to be built in England. We could sail them out here for him—rigged as he’d want and armed as he’d want.”
   Mariko translated. Toranaga’s interest heightened. So did Yabu’s. “He asks, can our sailors be trained to sail such ships?”
   “Certainly, given time. We could arrange for the sailing masters—or one of them—to stay in your waters for a year. Then he could set up a training program for you. In a few years you’d have your own navy. A modern navy. Second to none.”
   Mariko spoke for a time. Toranaga questioned her again searchingly and so did Yabu.
   “Yabu-san asks, second to none?”
   “Yes. Better than anything the Spaniards would have. Or the Portuguese.”
   A silence gathered. Toranaga was evidently swept by the idea though he tried to hide it.
   “My Master asks, are you sure this could be arranged”
   “Yes.”
   “How long would it take?”
   “Two years for me to sail home. Two years to build a ship or ships. Two to sail back. Half the cost would have to be paid in advance, the remainder on delivery.”
   Toranaga thoughtfully leaned forward and put some more aromatic wood on the brazier. They all watched him and waited. Then he talked with Yabu at length. Mariko did not translate what was being said and Blackthorne knew better than to ask, as much as he would dearly have liked to be party to the conversation. He studied them all, even the girl Fujiko, who also listened attentively, but he could gather nothing from any of them. He knew this was a brilliant idea that could bring immense profit and guarantee his safe passage back to England.
   “Anjin-san, how many ships could you sail out?”
   “A flotilla of five ships at a time would be best. You could expect to lose at least one ship through storm, tempest, or Spanish-Portuguese interference—I’m sure they’d try very hard to prevent your having warships. In ten years Lord Toranaga could have a navy of fifteen to twenty ships.” He let her translate that, then he continued, slowly. “The first flotilla could bring you master carpenters, shipwrights, gunners, seamen, and masters. In ten to fifteen years, England could supply Lord Toranaga with thirty modern warships, more than enough to dominate your home waters. And, by that time, if you wanted, you could possibly be building your own replacements here. We’ll—” He was going to say “sell” but changed the word. “My Queen would be honored to help you form your own navy, and yes, if you wish, we’ll train it and provision it.”
   Oh yes, he thought exultantly, as the final embellishment to the plan dropped into place, and we’ll officer it and provide the Admiral and the Queen’ll offer you a binding alliance—good for you and good for us—which will be part of the trade, and then together, friend Toranaga, we will harry the Spaniard and Portuguese dog out of these seas and own them forever. This could be the greatest single trading pact any nation has ever made, he thought gleefully. And with an Anglo-Japanese fleet clearing these seas, we English will dominate the Japan-China silk trade. Then it’ll be millions every year!
   If I can pull this off I’ll turn the course of history. I’ll have riches and honors beyond my dream. I’ll become an ancestor. And to become an ancestor is just about the best thing a man can try to do, even though he fails in the trying.
   “My Master says, it’s a pity you don’t speak our language.”
   “Yes, but I’m sure you’re interpreting perfectly.”
   “He says that not as a criticism of me, Anjin-san, but as an observation. It’s true. It would be much better for my Lord to talk direct, as I can talk to you.”
   “Do you have any dictionaries, Mariko-san? And grammars Portuguese-Japanese or Latin-Japanese grammars? If Lord Toranaga could help me with books and teachers I’d try to learn your tongue.”
   “We have no such books.”
   “But the Jesuits have. You said so yourself.”
   “Ah!” She spoke to Toranaga, and Blackthorne saw both Yabu’s and Toranaga’s eyes light up, and smiles spread over their faces.
   “My Master says you will be helped, Anjin-san.”
   At Toranaga’s orders Fujiko gave Blackthorne and Yabu more saké. Toranaga drank only cha, as did Mariko. Unable to contain himself Blackthorne said, “What does he say to my suggestion? What’s his answer?”
   “Anjin-san, it would be better to be patient. He will answer in his own time.”
   “Please ask him now.”
   Reluctantly Mariko turned to Toranaga. “Please excuse me, Sire, but the Anjin-san asks with great deference, what do you think of his plan? He very humbly and most politely requests an answer.”
   “He’ll have my answer in good time.”
   Mariko said to Blackthorne, “My Master says he will consider your plan and think carefully about what you have said. He asks you to be patient.”
   “Domo, Toranaga-sama.”
   “I’m going to bed now. We’ll leave at dawn.” Toranaga got up. Everyone followed him below, except Blackthorne. Blackthorne was left with the night.


   At first promise of dawn Toranaga released four of the carrier pigeons that had been sent to the ship with the main baggage when the ship was being prepared. The birds circled twice, then broke off, two homing for Osaka, two for Yedo. The cipher message to Kiritsubo was an order to be passed on to Hiro-matsu that they should all attempt to leave peacefully at once. Should they be prevented, they were to lock themselves in. The moment the door was forced they were to set fire to that part of the castle and to commit seppuku.
   The cipher to his son Sudara, in Yedo, told that he had escaped, was safe, and ordered him to continue secret preparations for war.
   “Get to sea, Captain.”
   “Yes, Lord.”
   By noon they had crossed the bight between Totomi and Izu provinces and were off Cape Ito, the southernmost point of the Izu peninsula. The wind was fair, the swell modest, and the single mainsail helped their passage.
   Then, close by shore in a deep channel between the mainland and some small rock islands, when they had turned north, there was an ominous rumbling ashore.
   All oars ceased.
   “What in the name of Christ …” Blackthorne’s eyes were riveted shoreward.
   Suddenly a huge fissure snaked up the cliffs and a million tons of rock avalanched into the sea. The waters seemed to boil for a moment. A small wave came out to the galley, then passed by. The avalanche ceased. Again the rumbling, deeper now and more growling, but farther off. Rocks dribbled from the cliffs. Everyone listened intently and waited, watching the cliff face. Sounds of gulls, of surf and wind. Then Toranaga motioned to the drum master, who picked up the beat once more. The oars began. Life on the ship became normal.
   “What was that?” Blackthorne said.
   “Just an earthquake.” Mariko was perplexed. “You don’t have earthquakes?”
   “No. Never. I’ve never seen one before.”
   “Oh, we have them frequently, Anjin-san. That was nothing, just a small one. The main shock center would be somewhere else, even out to sea. Or perhaps this one was just a little one here, all by itself. You were lucky to witness a small one.”
   “It was as though the whole earth was shaking. I could have sworn I saw … I’ve heard about tremors. In the Holy Land and the Ottomans, they have them sometimes. Jesus!” He exhaled, his heart still thumping roughly. “I could have sworn I saw that whole cliff shake.”
   “Oh, it did, Anjin-san. When you’re on land, it’s the most terrible feeling in the whole world. There’s no warning, Anjin-san. The tremors come in waves, sometimes sideways, sometimes up and down, sometimes three or four shakes quickly. Sometimes a small one followed by a greater one a day later. There’s no pattern. The worst that I was in was at night, six years ago near Osaka, the third day of the Month of the Falling Leaves. Our house collapsed on us, Anjin-san. We weren’t hurt, my son and I. We dug ourselves out. The shocks went on for a week or more, some bad, some very bad. The Taikō’s great new castle at Fujimi was totally destroyed. Hundreds of thousands of people were lost in that earthquake and in the fires that followed. That’s the greatest danger, Anjin-san—the fires that always follow. Our towns and cities and villages die so easily. Sometimes there is a bad earthquake far out to sea and legend has it that this causes the birth of the Great Waves. They are ten or twenty feet high. There is never a warning and they have no season. A Great Wave just comes out of the sea to our shores and sweeps inland. Cities can vanish. Yedo was half destroyed some years ago by such a wave.”
   “This is normal for you? Every year?”
   “Oh, yes. Every year in this Land of the Gods we have earth tremors. And fires and flood and Great Waves, and the monster storms—the tai-funs. Nature is very strong with us.” Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Perhaps that is why we love life so much, Anjin-san. You see, we have to. Death is part of our air and sea and earth. You should know, Anjin-san, in this Land of Tears, death is our heritage.”

Book Three

Chapter 30

   “You’re certain everything’s ready, Mura?”
   “Yes, Omi-san, yes, I think so. We’ve followed your orders exactly—and Igurashi-san’s.”
   “Nothing had better go wrong or there’ll be another headman by sunset,” Igurashi, Yabu’s chief lieutenant, told him with great sourness, his one eye bloodshot from lack of sleep. He had arrived yesterday from Yedo with the first contingent of samurai and with specific instructions.
   Mura did not reply, just nodded deferentially and kept his eyes on the ground.
   They were standing on the foreshore, near the jetty, in front of the kneeling rows of silent, overawed, and equally exhausted villagers—every man, woman, and child, except for the bed-ridden—waiting for the galley to arrive. All wore their best clothes. Faces were scrubbed, the whole village swept and sparkling and made wholesome as though this were the day before New Year when, by ancient custom, all the Empire was cleaned. Fishing boats were meticulously marshaled, nets tidy, ropes coiled. Even the beach along the bay had been raked.
   “Nothing will go wrong, Igurashi-san,” Omi said. He had had little sleep this last week, ever since Yabu’s orders had come from Osaka via one of Toranaga’s carrier pigeons. At once he had mobilized the village and every able-bodied man within twenty ri to prepare Anjiro for the arrival of the samurai and Yabu. And now that Igurashi had whispered the very private secret, for his ears only, that the great daimyo Toranaga was accompanying his uncle and had successfully escaped Ishido’s trap, he was more than pleased he had expended so much money. “There’s no need for you to worry, Igurashi-san. This is my fief and my responsibility.”
   “I agree. Yes, it is.” Igurashi waved Mura contemptuously away. And then he added quietly, “You’re responsible. But without offense, I tell you you’ve never seen our Master when something goes wrong. If we’ve forgotten anything, or these dung eaters haven’t done what they’re supposed to, our Master will make your whole fief and those to the north and south into manure heaps before sunset tomorrow.” He strode back to the head of his men.
   This morning the final companies of samurai had ridden in from Mishima, Yabu’s capital city to the north. Now they, too, with all the others, were drawn up in packed military formation on the foreshore, in the square, and on the hillside, their banners waving with the slight breeze, upright spears glinting in the sun. Three thousand samurai, the elite of Yabu’s army. Five hundred cavalry.
   Omi was not afraid. He had done everything it was possible to do and had personally checked everything that could be checked. If something went wrong, then that was just karma. But nothing is going to go wrong, he thought excitedly. Five hundred koku had been spent or was committed on the preparations—more than his entire year’s income before Yabu had increased his fief. He had been staggered by the amount but Midori, his wife, had said they should spend lavishly, that the cost was minuscule compared to the honor that Lord Yabu was doing him. “And with Lord Toranaga here—who knows what great opportunities you’ll have?” she had whispered.
   She’s so right, Omi thought proudly.
   He rechecked the shore and the village square. Everything seemed perfect. Midori and his mother were waiting under the awning that had been prepared to receive Yabu and his guest, Toranaga. Omi noticed that his mother’s tongue was wagging and he wished that Midori could be spared its constant lash. He straightened a fold in his already impeccable kimono and adjusted his swords and looked seaward.
   “Listen, Mura-san,” Uo, the fisherman, was whispering cautiously. He was one of the five village elders and they were kneeling with Mura in front of the rest. “You know, I’m so frightened, if I pissed I’d piss dust.”
   “Then don’t, old friend.” Mura suppressed his smile.
   Uo was a broad-shouldered, rocklike man with vast hands and broken nose, and he wore a pained expression. “I won’t. But I think I’m going to fart.” Uo was famous for his humor and for his courage and for the quantity of his wind. Last year when they had had the wind-breaking contest with the village to the north he had been champion of champions and had brought great honor to Anjiro.
   “Eeeeee, perhaps you’d better not,” Haru, a short, wizened fisherman, chortled. “One of the shitheads might get jealous.”
   Mura hissed, “You’re ordered not to call samurai that while even one’s near the village.” Oh ko, he was thinking wearily, I hope we’ve not forgotten anything. He glanced up at the mountainside, at the bamboo stockade surrounding the temporary fortress they had constructed with such speed and sweat. Three hundred men, digging and building and carrying. The other new house had been easier. It was on the knoll, just below Omi’s house, and he could see it, smaller than Omi’s but with a tiled roof, a makeshift garden, and a small bath house. I suppose Omi will move there and give Lord Yabu his, Mura thought.
   He looked back at the headland where the galley would appear any moment now. Soon Yabu would step ashore and then they were all in the hands of the gods, all kami, God the Father, His Blessed Son, and the Blessed Madonna, oh ko!
   Blessed Madonna, protect us! Would it be too much to ask to put Thy great eye on this special village of Anjiro? Just for the next few days? We need special favor to protect us from our Lord and Master, oh yes! I will light fifty candles and my sons will definitely be brought up in the True Faith, Mura promised.
   Today Mura was very glad to be a Christian; he could intercede with the One God and that was an added protection for his village. He had become a Christian in his youth because his own liege lord had been converted and had at once ordered all his followers to become Christians. And when, twenty years ago, this lord was killed fighting for Toranaga against the Taikō, Mura had remained Christian to honor his memory. A good soldier has but one master, he thought. One real master.
   Ninjin, a round-faced man with very buck teeth, was especially agitated by the presence of so many samurai. “Mura-san, so sorry, but it’s dangerous what you’ve done—terrible, neh? That little earthquake this morning, it was a sign from the gods, an omen. You’ve made a terrible mistake, Mura-san.”
   “What is done is done, Ninjin. Forget about it.”
   “How can I? It’s in my cellar and—”
   “Some of it’s in your cellar. I’ve plenty myself,” Uo said, no longer smiling.
   “Nothing’s anywhere. Nothing, old friends,” Mura said cautiously. “Nothing exists.” On his orders, thirty koku of rice had been stolen over the last few days from the samurai commissariat and was now secreted around the village, along with other stores and equipment—and weapons.
   “Not weapons,” Uo had protested. “Rice yes, but not weapons!”
   “War is coming.”
   “It’s against the law to have weapons,” Ninjin had wailed.
   Mura snorted. “That’s a new law, barely twelve years old. Before that we could have any weapons we wanted and we weren’t tied to the village. We could go where we wanted, be what we wanted. We could be peasant-soldier, fisherman, merchant, even samurai—some could, you know it’s the truth.”
   “Yes, but now it’s different, Mura-san, different. The Taikō ordered it to be different!”
   “Soon it’ll be as it’s always been. We’ll be soldiering again.”
   “Then let’s wait,” Ninjin had pleaded. “Please. Now it’s against the law. If the law changes that’s karma. The Taikō made the law: no weapons. None. On pain of instant death.”
   “Open your eyes, all of you! The Taikō’s dead! And I tell you, soon Omi-san’ll need trained men and most of us have warred, neh? We’ve fished and warred, all in their season. Isn’t that true?”
   “Yes, Mura-san,” Uo had agreed through his fear. “Before the Taikō we weren’t tied.”
   “They’ll catch us, they have to catch us,” Ninjin had wept. “They’ll have no mercy. They’ll boil us like they boiled the barbarian.”
   “Shut up about the barbarian!”
   “Listen, friends,” Mura had said. “We’ll never get such a chance again. It’s sent by God. Or by the gods. We must take every knife, arrow, spear, sword, musket, shield, bow we can. The samurai’ll think other samurai’ve stolen them—haven’t the shit-heads come from all over Izu? And what samurai really trusts another? We must take back our right to war, neh? My father was killed in battle—so was his and his! Ninjin, how many battles have you been in—dozens, neh? Uo—what about you? Twenty? Thirty?”
   “More. Didn’t I serve with the Taikō, curse his memory? Ah, before he became Taikō, he was a man. That’s the truth! Then something changed him, neh? Ninjin, don’t forget that Mura-san is headman! And we shouldn’t forget his father was headman too! If the headman says weapons, then weapons it has to be.”
   Now, kneeling in the sun, Mura was convinced that he had done correctly, that this new war would last forever and their world would be again as it had always been. The village would be here, and the boats and some villagers. Because all men—peasant, daimyo, samurai, even the eta —all men had to eat and the fish were waiting in the sea. So the soldier-villagers would take time out from war from time to time, as always, and they would launch their boats…
   “Look!” Uo said and pointed involuntarily in the sudden hush.
   The galley was rounding the headland.


   Fujiko was kneeling abjectly in front of Toranaga in the main cabin that he had used during the voyage, and they were alone.
   “I beg you, Sire,” she pleaded. “Take this sentence off my head.”
   “It’s not a sentence, it’s an order.”
   “I will obey, of course. But I cannot do—”
   “Cannot?” Toranaga flared. “How dare you argue! I tell you you’re to be the pilot’s consort and you have the impertinence to argue?”
   “I apologize, Sire, with all my heart,” Fujiko said quickly, the words gushing. “That was not meant as an argument. I only wanted to say that I cannot do this in the way that you wished. I beg you to understand. Forgive me, Sire, but it’s not possible to be happy—or to pretend happiness.” She bowed her head to the futon. “I humbly beseech you to allow me to commit seppuku.”
   “I’ve said before I do not approve of senseless death. I have a use for you.”
   “Please, Sire, I wish to die. I humbly beg you. I wish to join my husband and my son.”
   Toranaga’s voice slashed at her, drowning the sounds of the galley. “I’ve already refused you that honor. You don’t merit it, yet. And it’s only because of your grandfather, because Lord Hiro-matsu’s my oldest friend, that I’ve listened patiently to your ill-mannered mouthings so far. Enough of this nonsense, woman. Stop acting like a dung-headed peasant!”
   “I humbly beg permission to cut off my hair and become a nun. Buddha will–”
   “No. I’ve given you an order. Obey it!”
   “Obey?” she said, not looking up, her face stark. Then, half to herself, “I thought I was ordered to Yedo.”
   “You were ordered to this vessel! You forget your position, you forget your heritage, you forget your duty. You forget your duty! I’m disgusted with you. Go and get ready.”
   “I want to die, please let me join them, Sire.”
   “Your husband was born samurai by mistake. He was malformed, so his offspring would be equally malformed. That fool almost ruined me! Join them? What nonsense! You’re forbidden to commit seppuku! Now, get out!”
   But she did not move.
   “Perhaps I’d better send you to the eta. To one of their houses. Perhaps that’d remind you of your manners and your duty.”
   A shudder racked her, but she hissed back defiantly, “At least they’d be Japanese!”
   “I am your liege lord. You-will-do-as-I-order.”
   Fujiko hesitated. Then she shrugged. “Yes, Lord. I apologize for my ill manners.” She placed her hands flat on the futon and bowed her head low, her voice penitent. But in her heart she was not persuaded and he knew and she knew what she intended to do. “Sire, I sincerely apologize for disturbing you, for destroying your wa, your harmony, and for my bad manners. You were right. I was wrong.” She got up and went quietly to the door of the cabin.
   “If I grant you what you wish,” Toranaga said, “will you, in return, do what I want, with all your heart?”
   Slowly she looked back. “For how long, Sire? I beg to ask for how long must I be consort to the barbarian?”
   “A year.”
   She turned away and reached for the door handle.
   Toranaga said, “Half a year.”
   Fujiko’s hand stopped. Trembling, she leaned her head against the door. “Yes. Thank you, Sire. Thank you.”
   Toranaga got to his feet and went to the door. She opened it for him and bowed him through and closed it after him. Then the tears came silently.
   She was samurai.


   Toranaga came on deck feeling very pleased with himself. He had achieved what he wanted with the minimum of trouble. If the girl had been pressed too far she would have disobeyed and taken her own life without permission. But now she would try hard to please and it was important that she become the pilot’s consort happily, at least outwardly so, and six months would be more than enough time. Women are much easier to deal with than men, he thought contentedly. So much easier, in certain things.
   Then he saw Yabu’s samurai massed around the bay and his sense of well-being vanished.
   “Welcome to Izu, Lord Toranaga,” Yabu said. “I ordered a few men here to act as escort for you.”
   “Good.”
   The galley was still two hundred yards from the dock, approaching neatly, and they could see Omi and Igurashi and the futons and the awning.
   “Everything’s been done as we discussed in Osaka,” Yabu was saying. “But why not stay with me for a few days? I’d be honored and it would prove very useful. You could approve the choice of the two hundred and fifty men for the Musket Regiment, and meet their commander.”
   “Nothing would please me more but I must get to Yedo as quickly as possible, Yabu-san.”
   “Two or three days? Please. A few days free from worry would be good for you, neh? Your health is important to me—to all your allies. Some rest, good food, and hunting.”
   Toranaga was desperately seeking a solution. To stay here with only fifty guards was unthinkable. He would be totally in Yabu’s power, and that would be worse than his situation at Osaka. At least Ishido was predictable and bound by certain rules. But Yabu? Yabu’s as treacherous as a shark and you don’t tempt sharks, he told himself. And never in their home waters. And never with your own life. He knew that the bargain he had made with Yabu at Osaka had as much substance as the weight of their urine when it had reached the ground, once Yabu believed he could get better concessions from Ishido. And Yabu’s presenting Toranaga’s head on a wooden platter to Ishido would get Yabu immediately far more than Toranaga was prepared to offer.
   Kill him or go ashore? Those were the choices.

   “You’re too kind,” he said. “But I must get to Yedo.” I never thought Yabu would have time to gather so many men here. Has he broken our code?
   “Please allow me to insist, Toranaga-sama. The hunting’s very good nearby. I’ve falcons with my men. A little hunting after being confined at Osaka would be good, neh?”
   “Yes, it would be good to hunt today. I regret losing my falcons there.”
   “But they’re not lost. Surely Hiro-matsu will bring them with him to Yedo?”
   “I ordered him to release them once we were safely away. By the time they’d have reached Yedo they would have been out of training and tainted. It’s one of my few rules: only to fly the falcons that I’ve trained, and to allow them no other master. That way they make only my mistakes.”
   “It’s a good rule. I’d like to hear the others. Perhaps over food, tonight?”
   I need this shark, Toranaga thought bitterly. To kill him now is premature.
   Two ropes sailed ashore to be caught and secured. The ropes tightened and screeched under the strain and the galley swung alongside deftly. Oars were shipped. The gangway slid into place and then Yabu stood at its head.
   At once the massed samurai shouted their battle cry in unison. “Kasigi! Kasigi!” and the roar that they made sent the gulls cawing and mewing into the sky. As one man, the samurai bowed.
   Yabu bowed back, then turned to Toranaga and beckoned him expansively. “Let’s go ashore.”
   Toranaga looked out over the massed samurai, over the villagers prostrate in the dust, and he asked himself, Is this where I die by the sword as the astrologer has foretold? Certainly the first part has come to pass: my name is now written on Osaka walls.
   He put that thought aside. At the head of the gangway he called out loudly and imperiously to his fifty samurai, who now wore Brown uniform kimonos as he did, “All of you, stay here! You, Captain, you will prepare for instant departure! Mariko-san, you will be staying in Anjiro for three days. Take the pilot and Fujiko-san ashore at once and wait for me in the square.” Then he faced the shore and to Yabu’s amazement increased the force of his voice. “Now, Yabu-san, I will inspect your regiments!” At once he walked past him and stomped down the gangplank with all the easy confident arrogance of the fighting general he was.
   No general had ever won more battles and no one was more cunning except the Taikō, and he was dead. No general had fought more battles, or was ever more patient or had lost so few men. And he had never been defeated.
   A rustle of astonishment sped throughout the shore as he was recognized. This inspection was completely unexpected. His name was passed from mouth to mouth and the strength of the whispering, the awe that it generated, gratified him. He felt Yabu following but did not look back.
   “Ah, Igurashi-san,” he said with a geniality he did not feel. “It’s good to see you. Come along, we’ll inspect your men together.”
   “Yes, Lord.”
   “And you must be Kasigi Omi-san. Your father’s an old comrade in arms of mine. You follow, too.”
   “Yes, Lord,” Omi replied, his size increasing with the honor being done to him. “Thank you.”
   Toranaga set a brisk pace. He had taken them with him to prevent them from talking privately with Yabu for the moment, knowing that his life depended on keeping the initiative.
   “Didn’t you fight with us at Odawara, Igurashi-san?” he was asking, already knowing that this was where the samurai had lost his eye.
   “Yes, Sire. I had the honor. I was with Lord Yabu and we served on the Taikō right wing.”
   “Then you had the place of honor—where fighting was the thickest. I have much to thank you and your master for.”
   “We smashed the enemy, Lord. We were only doing our duty.” Even though Igurashi hated Toranaga, he was proud that the action was remembered and that he was being thanked.
   Now they had come to the front of the first regiment. Toranaga’s voice carried loudly. “Yes, you and the men of Izu helped us greatly. Perhaps, if it weren’t for you, I would not have gained the Kwanto! Eh, Yabu-sama?” he added, stopping suddenly, giving Yabu publicly the added title, and thus the added honor.
   Again Yabu was thrown off balance by the flattery. He felt it was no more than his due, but he had not expected it from Toranaga, and it had never been his intention to allow a formal inspection. “Perhaps, but I doubt it. The Taikō ordered the Beppu clan obliterated. So it was obliterated.”
   That had been ten years ago, when only the enormously powerful and ancient Beppu clan, led by Beppu Genzaemon, opposed the combined forces of General Nakamura, the Taikō-to-be, and Toranaga—the last major obstacle to Nakamura’s complete domination of the Empire. For centuries the Beppu had owned the Eight Provinces, the Kwanto. A hundred and fifty thousand men had ringed their castle-city of Odawara, which guarded the pass that led through the moun tains into the incredibly rich rice plains beyond. The siege lasted eleven months. Nakamura’s new consort, the patrician Lady Ochiba, radiant and barely eighteen, had come to her lord’s household outside the battlements, her infant son in her arms, Nakamura doting on his firstborn child. And with Lady Ochiba had come her younger sister, Genjiko, whom Nakamura proposed giving in marriage to Toranaga.
   “Sire,” Toranaga had said, “I’d certainly be honored to lock our houses closer together, but instead of me marrying the Lady Genjiko as you suggest, let her marry my son and heir, Sudara.”
   It had taken Toranaga many days to persuade Nakamura but he had agreed. Then when the decision was announced to the Lady Ochiba, she had replied at once, “With humility, Sire, I oppose the marriage.”
   Nakamura had laughed. “So do I! Sudara’s only ten and Genjiko thirteen. Even so, they’re now betrothed and on his fifteenth birthday they’ll marry.”
   “But, Sire, Lord Toranaga’s already your brother-in-law, neh? Surely that’s enough of a connection? You need closer ties with the Fujimoto and the Takashima—even at the Imperial Court.”
   “They’re dungheads at Court, and all in pawn,” Nakamura had said in his rough, peasant voice. “Listen, O-chan: Toranaga’s got seventy thousand samurai. When we’ve smashed the Beppu he’ll have the Kwanto and more men. My son will need leaders like Yoshi Toranaga, like I need them. Yes, and one day my son will need Yoshi Sudara. Better Sudara should be my son’s uncle. Your sister’s betrothed to Sudara, but Sudara will live with us for a few years, neh?”
   “Of course, Sire,” Toranaga had agreed instantly, giving up his son and heir as a hostage.
   “Good. But listen, first you and Sudara will swear eternal loyalty to my son.”
   And so it had happened. Then during the tenth month of siege this first child of Nakamura had died, from fever or bad blood or malevolent kami.
   “May all gods curse Odawara and Toranaga,” Ochiba had raved. “It’s Toranaga’s fault that we’re here—he wants the Kwanto. It’s his fault our son’s dead. He’s your real enemy. He wants you to die and me to die! Put him to death—or put him to work. Let him lead the attack, let him pay with his life for the life of our son! I demand vengeance…”
   So Toranaga had led the attack. He had taken Odawara Castle by mining the walls and by frontal attack. Then the grief-stricken Nakamura had stamped the city into dust. With its fall and the hunting down of all the Beppu, the Empire was subdued and Nakamura became first Kwampaku and then Taikō. But many had died at Odawara.
   Too many, Toranaga thought, here on the Anjiro shore. He watched Yabu. “It’s a pity the Taikō’s dead, neh?”
   “Yes.”
   “My brother-in-law was a great leader. And a great teacher too. Like him, I never forget a friend. Or an enemy.”
   “Soon Lord Yaemon will be of age. His spirit is the Taikō’s spirit. Lord Tora—” But before Yabu could stop the inspection Toranaga had already gone on again and there was little he could do but follow.
   Toranaga walked down the ranks, exuding geniality, picking out a man here, another there, recognizing some, his eyes never still as he reached into his memory for faces and names. He had that very rare quality of special generals who inspect so that every man feels, at least for a moment, that the general has looked at him alone, perhaps even talked with him alone among his comrades. Toranaga was doing what he was born to do, what he had done a thousand times: controlling men with his will.
   By the time the last samurai was passed, Yabu, Igurashi, and Omi were exhausted. But Toranaga was not, and again, before Yabu could stop him, he had walked rapidly to a vantage point and stood high and alone.
   “Samurai of Izu, vassals of my friend and ally, Kasigi Yabu-sama!” he called out in that vast sonorous voice. “I’m honored to be here. I’m honored to see part of the strength of Izu, part of the forces of my great ally. Listen, samurai, dark clouds are gathering over the Empire and threaten the Taikō’s peace. We must protect the Taikō’s gifts to us against treachery in high places! Let every samurai be prepared! Let every weapon be sharp! Together we will defend his will! And we will prevail! May the gods of Japan both great and small pay attention! May they blast without pity all those who oppose the Taikō’s orders!” Then he raised both his arms and uttered their battle cry, “Kasigi,” and, incredibly, he bowed to the legions and held the bow.
   They all stared at him. Then, “Toranaga!” came roaring back at him from the regiments again and again. And the samurai bowed in return.
   Even Yabu bowed, overcome by the strength of the moment.
   Before Yabu could straighten, Toranaga had set off down the hill once more at a fast pace. “Go with him, Omi-san,” Yabu ordered. It would have been unseemly for him to run after Toranaga himself.
   “Yes, Lord.”
   When Omi had gone, Yabu said to Igurashi, “What’s the news from Yedo?”
   “The Lady Yuriko, your wife, said first to tell you there’s a tremendous amount of mobilization over the whole Kwanto. Nothing much on the surface but underneath everything’s boiling. She believes Toranaga’s preparing for war—a sudden attack, perhaps against Osaka itself.”
   “What about Ishido?”
   “Nothing before we left. That was five days ago. Nor anything about Toranaga’s escape. I only heard about that yesterday when your Lady sent a carrier pigeon from Yedo.”
   “Ah, Zukimoto’s already set up that courier service?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Good.”
   “Her message read: ‘Toranaga has successfully escaped from Osaka with our Master in a galley. Make preparations to welcome them at Anjiro.’ I thought it best to keep this secret except from Omi-san, but we’re all prepared.”
   “How?”
   “I’ve ordered a war ‘exercise,’ Sire, throughout Izu. Within three days every road and pass into Izu will be blocked, if that’s what you want. There’s a mock pirate fleet to the north that could swamp any unescorted ship by day or by night, if that’s what you want. And there’s space here for you and a guest, however important, if that’s what you want.”
   “Good. Anything else? Any other news?”
   Igurashi was reluctant to pass along news the implications of which he did not understand. “We’re prepared for anything here. But this morning a cipher came from Osaka: ‘Toranaga has resigned from the Council of Regents.’”
   “Impossible! Why should he do that?”
   “I don’t know. I can’t think this one out. But it must be true, Sire. We’ve never had wrong information from this source before.”
   “The Lady Sazuko?” Yabu asked cautiously, naming Toranaga’s youngest consort whose maid was a spy in his employ.
   Igurashi nodded. “Yes. But I don’t understand it at all. Now the Regents will impeach him, won’t they? They’ll order his death. It’d be madness to resign, neh?”
   “Ishido must have forced him to do it. But how? There wasn’t a breath of rumor. Toranaga would never resign on his own! You’re right, that’d be the act of a madman. He’s lost if he has. It must be false.”
   Yabu walked down the hill in turmoil and watched Toranaga cross the square toward Mariko and the barbarian, with Fujiko nearby. Now Mariko was walking beside Toranaga, the others waiting in the square. Toranaga was talking quickly and urgently. And then Yabu saw him give her a small parchment scroll and he wondered what it contained and what was being said. What new trickery is Toranaga planning, he asked himself, wishing he had his wife Yuriko here to help him with her wise counsel.
   At the dock Toranaga stopped. He did not go onto the ship and into the protection of his men. He knew that it was on the shore that the final decision would be made. He could not escape. Nothing was yet resolved. He watched Yabu and Igurashi approaching. Yabu’s untoward impassivity told him very much.
   “So, Yabu-san?”
   “You will stay for a few days, Lord Toranaga?”
   “It would be better for me to leave at once.”
   Yabu ordered everyone out of hearing. In a moment the two men were alone on the shore.
   “I’ve had disquieting news from Osaka. You’ve resigned from the Council of Regents?”
   “Yes. I’ve resigned.”
   “Then you’ve killed yourself, destroyed your cause, all your vassals, all your allies, all your friends! You’ve buried Izu and you’ve murdered me!”
   “The Council of Regents can certainly take away your fief, and your life if they want. Yes.”
   “By all gods, living and dead and yet to be born …” Yabu fought to dominate his temper. “I apologize for my bad manners but your—your incredible attitude … yes, I apologize.” There was no real purpose to be gained in a show of emotion which all knew was unseemly and defacing. “Yes, it is better for you to stay here then, Lord Toranaga.”
   “I think I would prefer to leave at once.”
   “Here or Yedo, what’s the difference? The Regents’ order will come immediately. I imagine you’d want to commit seppuku at once. With dignity. In peace. I would be honored to act as your second.”
   “Thank you. But no legal order’s yet arrived so my head will stay where it is.”
   “What does a day or two matter? It’s inevitable that the order will come. I will make all arrangements, yes, and they will be perfect. You may rely on me.”
   “Thank you. Yes, I can understand why you would want my head.”
   “My own head will be forfeit too. If I send yours to Ishido, or take it and ask his pardon, that might persuade him, but I doubt it, neh?”
   “If I were in your position I might ask for your head. Unfortunately my head will help you not at all.”
   “I’m inclined to agree. But it’s worth trying.” Yabu spat violently in the dust. “I deserve to die for being so stupid as to put myself in that dunghead’s power.”
   “Ishido will never hesitate to take your head. But first he’ll take Izu. Oh yes, Izu’s lost with him in power.”
   “Don’t bait me! I know that’s going to happen!”
   “I’m not baiting you, my friend,” Toranaga told him, enjoying Yabu’s loss of face. “I merely said, with Ishido in power you’re lost and Izu’s lost, because his kinsman Ikawa Jikkyu covets Izu, neh? But, Yabu-san, Ishido doesn’t have the power. Yet.” And he told him, friend to friend, why he had resigned.
   “The Council’s hamstrung!” Yabu couldn’t believe it.
   “There isn’t any Council. There won’t be until there are five members again.” Toranaga smiled. “Think about it, Yabu-san. Now I’m stronger than ever, neh? Ishido’s neutralized—so is Jikkyu. Now you’ve got all the time you need to train your guns. Now you own Suruga and Totomi. Now you own Jikkyu’s head. In a few months you’ll see his head on a spike and the heads of all his kin, and you’ll ride in state into your new domains.” Abruptly he spun and shouted, “Igurashi-san!” and five hundred men heard the command.

   Igurashi came running but before the samurai had gone three paces, Toranaga called out, “Bring an honor guard with you. Fifty men! At once!” He did not dare to give Yabu a moment’s respite to detect the enormous flaw in his argument: that if Ishido was hamstrung now and did not have power, then Toranaga’s head on a wooden platter would be of enormous value to Ishido and thus to Yabu. Or even better, Toranaga bound like a common felon and delivered alive at the gates of Osaka Castle would bring Yabu immortality and the keys to the Kwanto.
   While the honor guard was forming in front of him, Toranaga said loudly, “In honor of this occasion, Yabu-sama, perhaps you would accept this as a token of friendship.” Then he took out his long sword, held it flat on both hands, and offered it.
   Yabu took the sword as though in a dream. It was priceless. It was a Minowara heirloom and famous throughout the land. Toranaga had possessed this sword for fifteen years. It had been presented to him by Nakamura in front of the assembled majesty of all the important daimyos in the Empire, except Beppu Genzaemon, as part payment for a secret agreement.
   This had happened shortly after the battle of Nagakudé, long before the Lady Ochiba. Toranaga had just defeated General Nakamura, the Taikō-to-be, when Nakamura was still just an upstart without mandate or formal power or formal title and his reach for absolute power still in the balance. Instead of gathering an overwhelming host and burying Toranaga, which was his usual policy, Nakamura had decided to be conciliatory. He had offered Toranaga a treaty of friendship and a binding alliance, and to cement them, his half sister as wife. That the woman was already married and middle-aged bothered neither Nakamura nor Toranaga at all. Toranaga agreed to the pact. At once the woman’s husband, one of Nakamura’s vassals—thanking the gods that the invitation to divorce her had not been accompanied by an invitation to commit seppuku—had gratefully sent her back to her half brother. Immediately Toranaga married her with all the pomp and ceremony he could muster, and the same day concluded a secret friendship pact with the immensely powerful Beppu clan, the open enemies of Nakamura, who, at this time, still sat disdainfully in the Kwanto on Toranaga’s very unprotected back door.
   Then Toranaga had flown his falcons and waited for Nakamura’s inevitable attack. But none had come. Instead, astoundingly, Nakamura had sent his revered and beloved mother into Toranaga’s camp as a hostage, ostensibly to visit her stepdaughter, Toranaga’s new wife, but still hostage nonetheless, and had, in return, invited Toranaga to the vast meeting of all the daimyos that he had arranged at Osaka. Toranaga had thought hard and long. Then he had accepted the invitation, suggesting to his ally Beppu Genzaemon that it would be unwise for them both to go. Next, he had set sixty thousand samurai secretly into motion toward Osaka against Nakamura’s expected treachery, and had left his eldest son, Noboru, in charge of his new wife and her mother. Noboru had at once piled tinder-dry brushwood to the eaves of their residence and had told them bluntly he would fire it if anything happened to his father.
   Toranaga smiled, remembering. The night before he was due to enter Osaka, Nakamura, unconventional as ever, had paid him a secret visit, alone and unarmed.
   “Well met, Tora-san.”
   “Well met, Lord Nakamura.”
   “Listen: We’ve fought too many battles together, we know too many secrets, we’ve shit too many times in the same pot to want to piss on our own feet or on each other’s.”
   “I agree,” Toranaga had said cautiously.
   “Listen then: I’m within a sword’s edge of winning the realm. To get total power I’ve got to have the respect of the ancient clans, the hereditary fief holders, the present heirs of the Fujimoto, the Takashima, and Minowara. Once I’ve got power, any daimyo or any three together can piss blood for all I care.”
   “You have my respect—you’ve always had it.”
   The little monkey-faced man had laughed richly. “You won at Nagakudé fairly. You’re the best general I’ve ever known, the greatest daimyo in the realm. But now we’re going to stop playing games, you and I. Listen: tomorrow I want you to bow to me before all the daimyos, as a vassal. I want you, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara a willing vassal. Publicly. Not to tongue my hole, but polite, humble, and respectful. If you’re my vassal, the rest’ll fart in their haste to put their heads in the dust and their tails in the air. And the few that don’t—well, let them beware.”
   “That will make you Lord of all Japan. Neh?”
   “Yes. The first in history. And you’ll have given it to me. I admit I can’t do it without you. But listen: If you do that for me you’ll have first place after me. Every honor you want. Anything. There’s enough for both of us.”
   “Is there?”
   “Yes. First I take Japan. Then Korea. Then China. I told Goroda I wanted that and that’s what I’ll have. Then you can have Japan—a province of my China!”
   “But now, Lord Nakamura? Now I have to submit, neh? I’m in your power, neh? You’re in overwhelming strength in front of me and the Beppu threaten my back.”
   “I’ll deal with them soon enough,” the peasant warlord had said. “Those sneering carrion refused my invitation to come here tomorrow—they sent my scroll back covered in bird’s shit. You want their lands? The whole Kwanto?”
   “I want nothing from them or from anyone,” he had said.
   “Liar,” Nakamura had said genially. “Listen, Tora-san: I’m almost fifty. None of my women has ever birthed. I’ve juice in plenty, always have had, and in my life I must have pillowed a hundred, two hundred women, of all types, of all ages, in every way, but none has ever birthed a child, not even stillborn. I’ve everything but I’ve no sons and never will. That’s my karma. You’ve four sons living and who knows how many daughters. You’re forty-three so you can pillow your way to a dozen more sons as easy as horses shit and that’s your karma. Also you’re Minowara and that’s karma. Say I adopt one of your sons and make him my heir?”
   “Now?”
   “Soon. Say in three years. It was never important to have an heir before but now things’re different. Our late Master Goroda had the stupidity to get himself murdered. Now the land’s mine—could be mine. Well?”
   “You’ll make the agreements formal, publicly formal, in two years?”
   “Yes. In two years. You can trust me—our interests are the same. Listen: In two years, in public; and we agree, you and I, which son. This way we share everything, eh? Our joint dynasty’s settled into the future, so no problems there and that’s good for you and good for me. The pickings’ll be huge. First the Kwanto. Eh?”
   “Perhaps Beppu Genzaemon will submit—if I submit.”
   “I can’t allow them to, Tora-san. You covet their lands.”
   “I covet nothing.”
   Nakamura’s laugh had been merry. “Yes. But you should. The Kwanto’s worthy of you. It’s safe behind mountain walls, easy to defend. With the delta you’ll control the richest rice lands in the Empire. You’ll have your back to the sea and an income of two million koku. But don’t make Kamakura your capital. Or Odawara.”
   “Kamakura’s always been capital of the Kwanto.”
   “Why shouldn’t you covet Kamakura, Tora-san? Hasn’t it contained the holy shrine of your family’s guardian kami for six hundred years? Isn’t Hachiman, the kami of war, the Minowara deity? Your ancestor was wise to choose the kami of war to worship.”
   “I covet nothing, worship nothing. A shrine is just a shrine and the kami of war’s never been known to stay in any shrine.”
   “I’m glad you covet nothing, Tora-san, then nothing will disappoint you. You’re like me in that. But Kamakura’s no capital for you. There are seven passes into it, too many to defend. And it’s not on the sea. No, I wouldn’t advise Kamakura. Listen: You’d be better and safer to go farther over the mountains. You need a seaport. There’s one I saw once—Yedo—a fishing village now, but you’ll make it into a great city. Easy to defend, perfect for trade. You favor trade. I favor trade. Good. So you must have a seaport. As to Odawara, we’re going to stamp it out, as a lesson to all the others.”
   “That will be very difficult.”
   “Yes. But it’d be a good lesson for all the other daimyos, neh?”
   “To take that city by storm would be costly.”
   Again the taunting laugh. “It could be, to you, if you don’t join me. I’ve got to go through your present lands to get at it—did you know you’re the Beppu front line? The Beppu pawn? Together you and them could keep me off for a year or two, even three. But I’ll get there in the end. Oh, yes. Eeeee, why waste more time on them? They’re all dead—except your son-in-law if you want—ah, I know you’ve an alliance with them, but it’s not worth a bowl of horseshit. So what’s your answer? The pickings are going to be vast. First the Kwanto—that’s yours—then I’ve all Japan. Then Korea—easy. Then China—hard but not impossible. I know a peasant can’t become Shōgun, but ‘our’ son will be Shōgun, and he could straddle the Dragon Throne of China too, or his son. Now that’s the end of talk. What’s your answer, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara, vassal or not? Nothing else is of value to me.”
   “Let’s piss on the bargain,” Toranaga had said, having gained everything that he had wanted and planned for. And the next day, before the bewildered majesty of the truculent daimyos, he had humbly offered up his sword and his lands and his honor and his heritage to the upstart peasant warlord. He had begged to be allowed to serve Nakamura and his house forever. And he, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara, had bowed his head abjectly into the dust. The Taikō-to-be now had been magnanimous and had taken his lands and had at once gifted him the Kwanto as a fief once it was conquered, ordering total war on the Beppu for their insults to the Emperor. And he had also given Toranaga this sword that he had recently acquired from one of the Imperial treasuries. The sword had been made by the master swordsmith Miyoshi-Go centuries before, and had once belonged to the most famous warrior in history, Minowara Yoshitomo, the first of the Minowara Shōguns.
   Toranaga remembered that day. And he recalled other days: a few years later when the Lady Ochiba gave birth to a boy; and another when, incredibly, after the Taikō’s first son had conveniently died, Yaemon, the second son, was born. So was the whole plan ruined. Karma.
   He saw Yabu holding the sword of his ancestor with reverence.
   “Is it as sharp as they say?” Yabu asked.
   “Yes.”
   “You do me great honor. I will treasure your gift.” Yabu bowed, conscious that, because of the gift, he would be the first in the land after Toranaga.
   Toranaga bowed back, and then, unarmed, he walked for the gangway. It took all his will to hide his fury and not to let his feet falter, and he prayed that Yabu’s avariciousness would keep him mesmerized for just a few moments more.
   “Cast off!” he ordered, coming onto the deck, and then turned shoreward and waved cheerfully.
   Someone broke the silence and shouted his name, then others took up the shout. There was a general roar of approval at the honor done to their lord. Willing hands shoved the ship out to sea. The oarsmen pulled briskly. The galley made way.
   “Captain, get to Yedo quickly!”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   Toranaga looked aft, his eyes ranging the shore, expecting danger any instant. Yabu stood near the jetty, still bemused by the sword. Mariko and Fujiko were waiting beside the awning with the other women. The Anjin-san was on the edge of the square where he had been told to wait—rigid, towering, and unmistakably furious. Their eyes met. Toranaga smiled and waved.
   The wave was returned, but coldly, and this amused Toranaga very much.


   Blackthorne walked cheerlessly up to the jetty.
   “When’s he coming back, Mariko-san?”
   “I don’t know, Anjin-san.”
   “How do we get to Yedo?”
   “We stay here. At least, I stay for three days. Then I’m ordered there.”
   “By sea?”
   “By land.”
   “And me?”
   “You are to stay here.”
   “Why?”
   “You expressed an interest in learning our language. And there’s work for you to do here.”
   “What work?”
   “I don’t know, I’m sorry. Lord Yabu will tell you. My Master left me here to interpret, for three days.”
   Blackthorne was filled with foreboding. His pistols were in his belt but he had no knives and no more powder and no more shot. That was all in the cabin aboard the galley.
   “Why didn’t you tell me we were staying here?” he asked. “You just said to come ashore.”
   “I didn’t know you were to remain here also,” she replied. “Lord Toranaga told me only a moment ago, in the square.”
   “Why didn’t he tell me then? Tell me himself?”
   “I don’t know.”
   “I was supposed to be going to Yedo. That’s where my crew is. That’s where my ship is. What about them?”
   “He just said you were to stay here.”
   “For how long?”
   “He didn’t tell me, Anjin-san. Perhaps Lord Yabu will know. Please be patient.”
   Blackthorne could see Toranaga standing on the quarterdeck, watching shoreward. “I think he knew all along I was to stay here, didn’t he?”
   She did not answer. How childish it is, she said to herself, to speak aloud what you think. And how extraordinarily clever Toranaga was to have escaped this trap.
   Fujiko and the two maids stood beside her, waiting patiently in the shade with Omi’s mother and wife, whom she had met briefly, and she looked beyond them to the galley. It was picking up speed now. But it was still within easy arrow range. Any moment now she knew she must begin. Oh, Madonna, let me be strong, she prayed, all her attention centering on Yabu.
   “Is it true? Is that true?” Blackthorne was asking.
   “What? Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know, Anjin-san. I can only tell you Lord Toranaga is very wise. The wisest man. Whatever his reason, it was good.” She studied the blue eyes and hard face, knowing that Blackthorne had no understanding of what had occurred here. “Please be patient, Anjin-san. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re his favored vassal and under his—”
   “I’m not afraid, Mariko-san. I’m just tired of being shoved around the board like a pawn. And I’m no one’s vassal.”
   “Is ‘retainer’ better? Or how would you describe a man who works for another or is retained by another for special …” Then she saw the blood soar into Yabu’s face.
   “The guns—the guns are still on the galley!” he cried out.
   Mariko knew the time had come. She hurried over to him as he turned to shout orders at Igurashi.
   “Your pardon, Lord Yabu,” she said, overriding him, “there’s no need to worry about your guns. Lord Toranaga said to ask your pardon for his haste but he has urgent things to do on your joint behalves at Yedo. He said he would return the galley instantly. With the guns. And with extra powder. And also with the two hundred and fifty men you require from him. They’ll be here in five or six days.”
   “What?”
   Mariko explained patiently and politely again as Toranaga had told her to do. Then, once Yabu understood, she took out a roll of parchment from her sleeve. “My Master begs you to read this. It concerns the Anjin-san.” She formally offered it to him.
   But Yabu did not take the scroll. His eyes went to the galley. It was well away now, going very fast. Out of range. But what does that matter, he thought contentedly, now over his anxiety. I’ll get the guns back quickly and now I’m out of the Ishido trap and I’ve Toranaga’s most famous sword and soon all the daimyos in the land will be aware of my new position in the armies of the East—second to Toranaga alone! Yabu could still see Toranaga and he waved once and the wave was returned. Then Toranaga vanished off the quarterdeck.
   Yabu took the scroll and turned his mind to the present. And to the Anjin-san.
   Blackthorne was watching thirty paces away and he felt his hackles rise under Yabu’s piercing gaze. He heard Mariko speaking in her lilting voice but that did not reassure him. His hand tightened covertly on the pistol.
   “Anjin-san!” Mariko called out. “Would you please come over here!”
   As Blackthorne approached them, Yabu glanced up from the parchment, nodded in friendly fashion. When Yabu had finished reading he handed the paper back to Mariko and spoke briefly, partly to her, partly to him.
   Reverently Mariko offered the paper to Blackthorne. He took it and examined the incomprehensible characters.
   “Lord Yabu says you are welcome in this village. This paper is under Lord Toranaga’s seal, Anjin-san. You are to keep it. He’s given you a rare honor. Lord Toranaga has made you a hatamoto. This is the position of a special retainer of his personal staff. You have his absolute protection, Anjin-san. Lord Yabu, of course, acknowledges this. I will explain later the privileges, but Lord Toranaga has given you also a salary of twenty koku a month. That is about—”
   Yabu interrupted her, expansively waving his hand at Blackthorne, then at the village, and spoke at length. Mariko translated. “Lord Yabu repeats that you are welcome here. He hopes you will be content, that everything will be done to make your stay comfortable. A house will be provided for you. And teachers. You will please learn Japanese as quickly as possible, he says. Tonight he will ask you some questions and tell you about some special work.”
   “Please ask him, what work?”
   “May I advise just a little more patience, Anjin-san. Now is not the time, truly.”
   “All right.”
   “Wakarimasu ka, Anjin-san?” Yabu said. Do you understand?
   “Hai, Yabu-san. Domo.”
   Yabu gave orders to Igurashi to dismiss the regiment, then strode over to the villagers, who were still prostrate in the sand.
   He stood in front of them in the warm fine spring afternoon, Toranaga’s sword still in his hand. His words whipped over them. Yabu pointed the sword at Blackthorne and harangued them a few moments more and ended abruptly. A tremor went through the villagers. Mura bowed and said “hai” several times and turned and asked the villagers a question and all eyes went to Blackthorne.
   “Wakarimasu ka?” Mura called out and they all answered “hai,” their voices mixing with the sighing of the waves upon the beach.
   “What’s going on?” Blackthorne asked Mariko, but Mura shouted, “Keirei!” and the villagers bowed low again, once to Yabu and once to Blackthorne. Yabu strode off without looking back.
   “What’s going on, Mariko-san?”
   “He—Lord Yabu told them you are his honored guest here. That you are also Lord Toranaga’s very honored vas—retainer. That you are here mostly to learn our tongue. That he has given the village the honor and responsibility of teaching you. The village is responsible, Anjin-san. Everyone here is to help you. He told them that if you have not learned satisfactorily within six months, the village will be burnt, but before that, every man, woman, and child will be crucified.”

Chapter 31

   The day was dying now, the shadows long, the sea red, and a kind wind blowing.
   Blackthorne was coming up the path from the village toward the house that Mariko had earlier pointed out and told him was to be his. She had expected to escort him there but he had thanked her and refused and had walked past the kneeling villagers toward the promontory to be alone and to think.
   He had found the effort of thinking too great. Nothing seemed to fit. He had doused salt water over his head to try to clear it but that had not helped. At length he had given up and had walked back aimlessly along the shore, past the jetty, across the square and through the village, up to this house where he was to live now and where, he remembered, there had not been a dwelling before. High up, dominating the opposite hillside, was another sprawling dwelling, part thatch, part tile, within a tall stockade, many guards at the fortified gateway.
   Samurai were strutting through the village or standing talking in groups. Most had already marched off behind their officers in disciplined groups up the paths and over the hill to their bivouac encampment. Those samurai that Blackthorne met, he absently greeted and they greeted him in return. He saw no villagers.
   Blackthorne stopped outside the gate that was set into the fence. There were more of the peculiar characters painted over the lintel and the door itself was cutout in ingenious patterns designed to hide and at the same time to reveal the garden behind.
   Before he could open the door it swung inward and a frightened old man bowed him through.
   “Konbanwa, Anjin-san.” His voice quavered piteously-Good evening.
   “Konbanwa,” he replied. “Listen, old man, er—o namae ka?”
   “Namae watashi wa, Anjin-sama? Ah, watashi Ueki-ya … Ueki-ya.” The old man was almost slavering with relief.
   Blackthorne said the name several times to help remember it and added “san” and the old man shook his head violently. “Iyé gomen nasai! Iyé ‘san,’ Anjin-sama. Ueki-ya! Ueki-ya!”
   “All right, Ueki-ya.” But Blackthorne thought, why not “san” like everyone else?
   Blackthorne waved his hand in dismissal. The old man hobbled away quickly. “I’ll have to be more careful. I have to help them,” he said aloud.
   A maid came apprehensively onto the veranda through an opened shoji and bowed low.
   “Konbanwa, Anjin-san.”
   “Konbanwa,” he replied, vaguely recognizing her from the ship. He waved her away too.
   A rustle of silk. Fujiko came from within the house. Mariko was with her.
   “Was your walk pleasant, Anjin-san?”
   “Yes, pleasant, Mariko-san.” He hardly noticed her or Fujiko or the house or garden.
   “Would you like cha? Or perhaps saké? Or a bath perhaps? The water is hot.” Mariko laughed nervously, perturbed by the look in his eyes. “The bath house is not completely finished, but we hope it will prove adequate.”
   “Saké, please. Yes, some saké first, Mariko-san.”
   Mariko spoke to Fujiko, who disappeared inside the house once more. A maid silently brought three cushions and went away. Mariko gracefully sat on one.
   “Sit down, Anjin-san, you must be tired.”
   “Thank you.”
   He sat on the steps of the veranda and did not take off his thongs. Fujiko brought two flasks of saké and a teacup, as Mariko had told her, not the tiny porcelain cup that should have been used.
   “Better to give him a lot of saké quickly,” Mariko had said. “It would be better to make him quite drunk but Lord Yabu needs him tonight. A bath and saké will perhaps ease him.”
   Blackthorne drank the proffered cup of warmed wine without tasting it. And then a second. And a third.
   They had watched him coming up the hill through the slit of barely opened shojis.
   “What’s the matter with him?” Fujiko had asked, alarmed.
   “He’s distressed by what Lord Yabu said—the promise to the village.”
   “Why should that bother him? He’s not threatened. It’s not his life that was threatened.”
   “Barbarians are very different from us, Fujiko-san. For instance, the Anjin-san believes villagers are people, like any other people, like samurai, some perhaps even better than samurai.”
   Fujiko had laughed nervously. “That’s nonsense, neh? How can peasants equal samurai?”
   Mariko had not answered. She had just continued watching the Anjin-san. “Poor man,” she said.
   “Poor village!” Fujiko’s short upper lip curled disdainfully. “A stupid waste of peasants and fishermen! Kasigi Yabu-san’s a fool! How can a barbarian learn our tongue in half a year? How long did the barbarian Tsukku-san take? More than twenty years, neh? And isn’t he the only barbarian who’s ever been able to talk even passable Japanese?”
   “No, not the only one, though he’s the best I’ve ever heard. Yes, it’s difficult for them. But the Anjin-san’s an intelligent man and Lord Toranaga said that in half a year, isolated from barbarians, eating our food, living as we do, drinking cha, bathing every day, the Anjin-san will soon be like one of us.”
   Fujiko’s face had been set. “Look at him, Mariko-san … so ugly. So monstrous and alien. Curious to think that as much as I detest barbarians, once he steps through the gate I’m committed and he becomes my lord and master.”
   “He’s brave, very brave, Fujiko. And he saved Lord Toranaga’s life and is very valuable to him.”
   “Yes, I know, and that should make me dislike him less but, so sorry, it doesn’t. Even so, I’ll try with all my strength to change him into one of us. I pray Lord Buddha will help me.”
   Mariko had wanted to ask her niece, why the sudden change? Why are you now prepared to serve the Anjin-san and obey Lord Toranaga so absolutely, when only this morning you refused to obey, you swore to kill yourself without permission or to kill the barbarian the moment he slept? What did Lord Toranaga say to change you, Fujiko?
   But Mariko had known better than to ask. Toranaga had not taken her into this confidence. Fujiko would not tell her. The girl had been too well trained by her mother, Buntaro’s sister, who had been trained by her father, Hiro-matsu.
   I wonder if Lord Hiro-matsu will escape from Osaka Castle, she asked herself, very fond of the old general, her father-in-law. And what about Kiri-san and the Lady Sazuko? Where is Buntaro, my husband? Where was he captured? Or did he have time to die?
   Mariko watched Fujiko pour the last of the saké. This cup too was consumed like the others, without expression.
   “Dozo. Saké,” Blackthorne said.
   More saké was brought. And finished. “Dozo, saké.”
   “Mariko-san,” Fujiko said, “the Master shouldn’t have any more, neh? He’ll get drunk. Please ask him if he’d like his bath now. I will send for Suwo.”
   Mariko asked him. “Sorry, he says he’ll bathe later.”
   Patiently Fujiko ordered more saké and Mariko added quietly to the maid, “Bring some charcoaled fish.”
   The new flask was emptied with the same silent determination. The food did not tempt him but he took a piece at Mariko’s gracious persuasion. He did not eat it.
   More wine was brought, and two more flasks were consumed.
   “Please give the Anjin-san my apologies,” Fujiko said. “So sorry, but there isn’t any more saké in his house. Tell him I apologize for this lack. I’ve sent the maid to fetch some more from the village.”
   “Good. He’s had more than enough, though it doesn’t seem to have touched him at all. Why not leave us now, Fujiko? Now would be a good time to make the formal offer on your behalf.”
   Fujiko bowed to Blackthorne and went away, glad that custom decreed that important matters were always to be handled by a third party in private. Thus dignity could always be maintained on both sides.
   Mariko explained to Blackthorne about the wine.
   “How long will it take to get more?”
   “Not long. Perhaps you’d like to bathe now. I’ll see that saké’s sent the instant it arrives.”
   “Did Toranaga say anything about my plan before he left? About the navy?”
   “No. I’m sorry, he said nothing about that.” Mariko had been watching for the telltale signs of drunkenness. But to her surprise none had appeared, not even a slight flush, or a slurring of words. With this amount of wine consumed so fast, any Japanese would be drunk. “The wine is not to your taste, Anjin-san?”
   “Not really. It’s too weak. It gives me nothing.”
   “You seek oblivion?”
   “No—a solution.”
   “Anything that can be done to help, will be done.”
   “I must have books and paper and pens.”
   “Tomorrow I will begin to collect them for you.”
   “No, tonight, Mariko-san. I must start now.”
   “Lord Toranaga said he will send you a book—what did you call it? —the grammar books and word books of the Holy Fathers.”
   “How long will that take?”
   “I don’t know. But I’m here for three days. Perhaps this may be a help to you. And Fujiko-san is here to help also.” She smiled, happy for him. “I’m honored to tell you she is given to you as consort and she—”
   “What?”
   “Lord Toranaga asked her if she would be your consort and she said she would be honored and agreed. She will—”
   “But I haven’t agreed.”
   “Please? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
   “I don’t want her. Either as consort or around me. I find her ugly.” Mariko gaped at him. “But what’s that got to do with consort?”
   “Tell her to leave.”
   “But Anjin-san, you can’t refuse! That would be a terrible insult to Lord Toranaga, to her, to everyone! What harm has she done you? None at all! Usagi Fujiko’s consen—”
   “You listen to me!” Blackthorne’s words ricocheted around the veranda and the house. “Tell her to leave!”
   Mariko said at once, “So sorry, Anjin-san, yes you’re right to be angry. But—”
   “I’m not angry,” Blackthorne said icily. “Can’t you … can’t you people get it through your heads I’m tired of being a puppet? I don’t want that woman around, I want my ship back and my crew back and that’s the end of it! I’m not staying here six months and I detest your customs. It’s God-cursed terrible that one man can threaten to bury a whole village just to teach me Japanese, and as to consorts—that’s worse than slavery—and it’s a goddamned insult to arrange that without asking me in advance!”
   What’s the matter now? Mariko was asking herself helplessly. What has ugliness to do with consort? And anyway Fujiko’s not ugly. How can he be so incomprehensible? Then she remembered Toranaga’s admonition: ‘Mariko-san, you’re personally responsible, firstly that Yabu-san doesn’t interfere with my departure after I’ve given him my sword, and secondly, you’re totally responsible for settling the Anjin-san docilely in Anjiro.’
   ‘I’ll do my best, Sire. But I’m afraid the Anjin-san baffles me.’
   ‘Treat him like a hawk. That’s the key to him. I tame a hawk in two days. You’ve three.’
   She looked away from Blackthorne and put her wits to work. He does seem like a hawk when he’s in a rage, she thought. He has the same screeching, senseless ferocity, and when not in rage the same haughty, unblinking stare, the same total selfcenteredness, with exploding viciousness never far away.
   “I agree. You’re completely right. You’ve been imposed upon terribly, and you’re quite right to be angry,” she said soothingly. “Yes, and certainly Lord Toranaga should have asked even though he doesn’t understand your customs. But it never occurred to him that you would object. He only tried to honor you as he would a most favored samurai. He made you a hatamoto, that’s almost like a kinsman, Anjin-san. There are only about a thousand hatamoto in all the Kwanto. And as to the Lady Fujiko, he was only trying to help you. The Lady Usagi Fujiko would be considered … among us, Anjin-san, this would be considered a great honor.”
   “Why?”
   “Because her lineage is ancient and she’s very accomplished. Her father and grandfather are daimyos. Of course she’s samurai, and of course,” Mariko added delicately, “you would honor her by accepting her. And she does need a home and a new life.”
   “Why?”
   “She is recently widowed. She’s only nineteen, Anjin-san, poor girl, but she lost a husband and a son and is filled with remorse. To be formal consort to you would give her a new life.”
   “What happened to her husband and son?”
   Mariko hesitated, distressed at Blackthorne’s impolite directness. But she knew enough about him by now to understand that this was his custom and not meant as lack of manners. “They were put to death, Anjin-san. While you’re here you will need someone to look after your house. The Lady Fujiko will be—”
   “Why were they put to death?”
   “Her husband almost caused the death of Lord Toranaga. Please con—”
   “Toranaga ordered their deaths?”
   “Yes. But he was correct. Ask her—she will agree, Anjin-san.”
   “How old was the child?”
   “A few months, Anjin-san.”
   “Toranaga had an infant put to death for something the father did?”
   “Yes. It’s our custom. Please be patient with us. In some things we are not free. Our customs are different from yours. You see, by law, we belong to our liege lord. By law a father possesses the lives of his children and wife and consorts and servants. By law his life is possessed by his liege lord. This is our custom.”
   “So a father can kill anyone in his house?”
   “Yes.”
   “Then you’re a nation of murderers.”
   “No.”

   “But your custom condones murder. I thought you were Christian.”
   “I am, Anjin-san.”
   “What about the Commandments?”
   “I cannot explain, truly. But I am Christian and samurai and Japanese, and these are not hostile to one another. To me, they’re not. Please be patient with me and with us. Please.”
   “You’d put your own children to death if Toranaga ordered it?”
   “Yes. I only have one son but yes, I believe I would. Certainly it would be my duty to do so. That’s the law—if my husband agreed.”
   “I hope God can forgive you. All of you.”
   “God understands, Anjin-san. Oh, He will understand. Perhaps He will open your mind so you can understand. I’m sorry, I cannot explain very well, neh? I apologize for my lack.” She watched him in the silence, unsettled by him. “I don’t understand you either, Anjin-san. You baffle me. Your customs baffle me. Perhaps if we’re both patient we can both learn. The Lady Fujiko, for instance. As consort she will look after your house and your servants. And your needs—any of your needs. You must have someone to do that. She will see to the running of your house, everything. You do not need to pillow her, if that concerns you—if you do not find her pleasing. You do not even need to be polite to her, though she merits politeness. She will serve you, as you wish, in any way you wish.”
   “I can treat her any way I want?”
   “Yes.”
   “I can pillow her or not pillow her?”
   “Of course. She will find someone that pleases you, to satisfy your body needs, if you wish, or she will not interfere.”
   “I can treat her like a servant? A slave?”
   “Yes. But she merits better.”
   “Can I throw her out? Order her out?”
   “If she offends you, yes.”
   “What would happen to her?”
   “Normally she would go back to her parents’ house in disgrace, who may or may not accept her back. Someone like Lady Fujiko would prefer to kill herself before enduring that shame. But she—you should know true samurai are not permitted to kill themselves without their lord’s permission. Some do, of course, but they’ve failed in their duty and aren’t worthy to be considered samurai. I would not kill myself, whatever the shame, not without Lord Toranaga’s permission or my husband’s permission. Lord Toranaga has forbidden her to end her life. If you send her away, she’ll become an outcast.”
   “Why? Why won’t her family accept her back?”
   Mariko sighed. “So sorry, Anjin-san, but if you send her away, her disgrace will be such that no one will accept her.”
   “Because she’s contaminated? From being near a barbarian?”
   “Oh no, Anjin-san, only because she had failed in her duty to you,” Mariko said at once. “She is your consort now—Lord Toranaga ordered it and she agreed. You’re master of a house now.”
   “Am I?”
   “Oh, yes, believe me, Anjin-san, you have privileges. And as a hatamoto you’re blessed. And well off. Lord Toranaga’s given you a salary of twenty koku a month. For that amount of money a samurai would normally have to provide his lord with himself and two other samurai, armed, fed, and mounted for the whole year, and of course pay for their families as well. But you don’t have to do that. I beg you, consider Fujiko as a person, Anjin-san. I beg you to be filled with Christian charity. She’s a good woman. Forgive her her ugliness. She’ll be a worthy consort.”
   “She hasn’t a home?”
   “Yes. This is her home.” Mariko took hold of herself. “I beg you to accept her formally. She can help you greatly, teach you if you wish to learn. If you prefer, think of her as nothing—as this wooden post or the shoji screen, or as a rock in your garden—anything you wish, but allow her to stay. If you won’t have her as consort, be merciful. Accept her and then, as head of the house, according to our law, kill her.”
   “That’s the only answer you have, isn’t it? Kill!”
   “No, Anjin-san. But life and death are the same thing. Who knows, perhaps you’ll do Fujiko a greater service by taking her life. It’s your right now before all the law. Your right. If you prefer to make her outcast, that too is your right.”
   “So I’m trapped again,” Blackthorne said. “Either way she’s killed. If I don’t learn your language then a whole village is butchered. If I don’t do whatever you want, some innocent is always killed. There’s no way out.”
   “There’s a very easy solution, Anjin-san. Die. You do not have to endure the unendurable.”
   “Suicide’s crazy—and a mortal sin. I thought you were Christian.”
   “I’ve said I am. But for you, Anjin-san, for you there are many ways of dying honorably without suicide. You sneered at my husband for not wanting to die fighting,neh? That’s not our custom, but apparently it’s yours. So why don’t you do that? You have a pistol. Kill Lord Yabu. You believe he’s a monster, neh? Even attempt to kill him and today you’ll be in heaven or hell.”
   He looked at her, hating her serene features, seeing her loveliness through his hate. “It’s weak to die like that for no reason. Stupid’s a better word.”
   “You say you’re Christian. So you believe in the Jesus child—in God—and in heaven. Death shouldn’t frighten you. As to ‘no reason,’ it is up to you to judge the value or nonvalue. You may have reason enough to die.”
   “I’m in your power. You know it. So do I.”
   Mariko leaned over and touched him compassionately. “Anjin-san, forget the village. A thousand million things can happen before those six months occur. A tidal wave or earthquake, or you get your ship and sail away, or Yabu dies, or we all die, or who knows? Leave the problems of God to God and karma to karma. Today you’re here and nothing you can do will change that. Today you’re alive and here and honored, and blessed with good fortune. Look at this sunset, it’s beautiful, neh? This sunset exists. Tomorrow does not exist. There is only now. Please look. It is so beautiful and it will never happen ever again, never, not this sunset, never in all infinity. Lose yourself in it, make yourself one with nature and do not worry about karma, yours, mine, or that of the village.”
   He found himself beguiled by her serenity, and by her words. He looked westward. Great splashes of purple-red and black were spreading across the sky.
   He watched the sun until it vanished.
   “I wish you were to be consort,” he said.
   “I belong to Lord Buntaro and until he is dead I cannot think or say what might be thought or said.”
   Karma, thought Blackthorne.
   Do I accept karma? Mine? Hers? Theirs?
   The night’s beautiful.
   And so is she and she belongs to another.
   Yes, she’s beautiful. And very wise: Leave the problems of God to God and karma to karma. You did come here uninvited. You are here. You are in their power.
   But what’s the answer?
   The answer will come, he told himself. Because there’s a God in heaven, a God somewhere.
   He heard the tread of feet. Some flares were approaching up the hill. Twenty samurai, Omi at their head.


   “I’m sorry, Anjin-san, but Omi-san orders you to give him your pistols.”
   “Tell him to go to hell!”
   “I can’t, Anjin-san. I dare not.”
   Blackthorne kept one hand loosely on the pistol hilt, his eyes on Omi. He had deliberately remained seated on the veranda steps. Ten samurai were within the garden behind Omi, the rest near the waiting palanquin. As soon as Omi had entered uninvited, Fujiko had come from the interior of the house and now stood on the veranda, whitefaced, behind Blackthorne. “Lord Toranaga never objected and for days I’ve been armed around him and Yabu-san.”
   Mariko said nervously, “Yes, Anjin-san, but please understand, what Omi-san says is true. It’s our custom that you cannot go into a daimyo ’s presence with arms. There’s nothing to be af—nothing to concern you. Yabu-san’s your friend. You’re his guest here.”
   “Tell Omi-san I won’t give him my guns.” Then, when she remained silent, Blackthorne’s temper snapped and he shook his head. “Iyé, Omi-san! Wakarimasu ka? Iyé!”
   Omi’s face tightened. He snarled an order. Two samurai moved forward. Blackthorne whipped out the guns. The samurai stopped. Both guns were pointed directly into Omi’s face.
   “Iyé!” Blackthorne said. And then, to Mariko, “Tell him to call them off or I’ll pull the triggers.”
   She did so. No one moved. Blackthorne got slowly to his feet, the pistols never wavering from their target. Omi was absolutely still, fearless, his eyes following Blackthorne’s catlike movements.
   “Please, Anjin-san. This is very dangerous. You must see Lord Yabu. You may not go with pistols. You’re hatamoto, you’re protected and you’re also Lord Yabu’s guest.”
   “Tell Omi-san if he or any of his men come within ten feet of me I’ll blow his head off.”
   “Omi-san says politely, ‘For the last time you are ordered to give me the guns. Now.’”
   “Iyé.”
   “Why not leave them here, Anjin-san? There’s nothing to fear. No one will touch—”
   “You think I’m a fool?”
   “Then give them to Fujiko-san!”
   “What can she do? He’ll take them from her—anyone’ll take them—then I’m defenseless.”
   Mariko’s voice sharpened. “Why don’t you listen, Anjin-san? Fujiko-san is your consort. If you order it she’ll protect the guns with her life. That’s her duty. I’ll never tell you again, but Toda-noh-Usagi Fujiko is samurai.”
   Blackthorne was concentrating on Omi, hardly listening to her. “Tell Omi-san I don’t like orders. I’m Lord Toranaga’s guest. I’m Lord Yabu’s guest. You ‘ask’ guests to do things. You don’t order them, and you don’t march into a man’s house uninvited.”
   Mariko translated this. Omi listened expressionlessly, then replied shortly, watching the unwavering barrels.
   “He says, ‘I, Kasigi Omi, I would ask for your pistols, and ask you to come with me because Kasigi Yabu-sama orders you into his presence. But Kasigi Yabu-sama orders me to order you to give me your weapons. So sorry, Anjin-san, for the last time I order you to give them to me.’”
   Blackthorne’s chest was constricted. He knew he was going to be attacked and he was furious at his own stupidity. But there comes a time when you can’t take any more and you pull a gun or a knife and then blood is spilled through stupid pride. Most times stupid. If I’m to die Omi will die first, by God!
   He felt very strong though somewhat light-headed. Then what Mariko said began to ring in his ears: ‘Fujiko’s samurai, she is your consort!’ And his brain began to function. “Just a moment! Mariko-san, please say this to Fujiko-san. Exactly: ‘I’m going to give you my pistols. You are to guard them. No one except me is to touch them.’”
   Mariko did as he asked, and behind him, he heard Fujiko say, “Hai.”
   “Wakarimasu ka, Fujiko-san?” he asked her.
   “Wakarimasu, Anjin-san,” she replied in a thin, nervous voice.
   “Mariko-san, please tell Omi-san I’ll go with him now. I’m sorry there’s been a misunderstanding. Yes, I’m sorry there was a misunderstanding.”
   Blackthorne backed away, then turned. Fujiko accepted the guns, perspiration beading her forehead. He faced Omi and prayed he was right. “Shall we go now?”
   Omi spoke to Fujiko and held out his hand. She shook her head. He gave a short order. The two samurai started toward her. Immediately she shoved one pistol into the sash of her obi, held the other with both hands at arm’s length and leveled it at Omi. The trigger came back slightly and the striking lever moved. “Ugoku na!” she said. “Dozo!”
   The samurai obeyed. They stopped.
   Omi spoke rapidly and angrily and she listened and when she replied her voice was soft and polite but the pistol never moved from his face, the lever half-cocked now, and she ended, “Iyé, gomen nasai, Omi-san!” No, I’m sorry, Omi-san.
   Blackthorne waited.
   A samurai moved a fraction. The lever came back dangerously, almost to the top of its arc. But her arm remained steady.
   “Ugoku na!” she ordered.
   No one doubted that she would pull the trigger. Not even Blackthorne. Omi said something curtly to her and to his men. They came back. She lowered the pistol but it was still ready.
   “What did he say?” Blackthorne asked.
   “Only that he would report this incident to Yabu-san.”
   “Good. Tell him I will do the same.” Blackthorne turned to her. “Domo, Fujiko-san.” Then, remembering the way Toranaga and Yabu talked to women, he grunted imperiously at Mariko. “Come on, Mariko-san … ikamasho!” He started for the gate.
   “Anjin-san!” Fujiko called out.
   “Hai?” Blackthorne stopped. Fujiko was bowing to him and spoke quickly to Mariko.
   Mariko’s eyes widened, then she nodded and replied, and spoke to Omi, who also nodded, clearly enraged but restraining himself.
   “What’s going on?”
   “Please be patient, Anjin-san.”
   Fujiko called out, and there was an answer from within the house. A maid came onto the veranda. In her hands were two swords. Samurai swords.
   Fujiko took them reverently, offered them to Blackthorne with a bow, speaking softly.
   Mariko said, “Your consort rightly points out that a hatamoto is, of course, obliged to wear the two swords of the samurai. More than that, it’s his duty to do so. She believes it would not be correct for you to go to Lord Yabu without swords—that it would be impolite. By our law it’s duty to carry swords. She asks if you would consider using these, unworthy though they are, until you buy your own.”