He awoke refreshed. A clean kimono and loincloth and tabi were laid out. The scabbards of his swords had been polished. He dressed quickly. Outside the house samurai were waiting. They got off their haunches and bowed.
   “We’re your guard today, Anjin-san.”
   “Thank you. Go ship now?”
   “Yes. Here’s your pass.”
   “Good. Thank you. May I ask your name please?”
   “Musashi Mitsutoki.”
   “Thank you, Musashi-san. Go now?”
   They went down to the wharves. Erasmus was moored tightly in three fathoms over a sanding bottom. The bilges were sweet. He dived over the side and swam under the keel. Seaweed was minimal and there were only a few barnacles. The rudder was sound. In the magazine, which was dry and spotless, he found a flint and struck a spark to a tiny test mound of gunpowder. It burned instantly, in perfect condition.
   Aloft at the foremast peak he looked for telltale cracks. None there or on the climb up, or around any of the spars that he could see. Many of the ropes and halyards and shrouds were joined incorrectly, but that would only take half a watch to change.
   Once more on the quarterdeck he allowed himself a great smile. “You’re sound as a … as a what?” He could not think of a sufficiently great ‘what’ so he just laughed and went below again. In his cabin he felt alien. And very alone. His swords were on the bunk. He touched them, then slid Oil Seller out of its scabbard. The workmanship was marvelous and the edge perfect. Looking at the sword gave him pleasure, for it was truly a work of art. But a deadly one, he thought as always, twisting it in the light.
   How many deaths have you caused in your life of two hundred years? How many more before you die yourself? Do some swords have a life of their own as Mariko says? Mariko. What about her…
   Then he caught sight of his sea chest reflected in the steel and this took him out of his sudden melancholy.
   He sheathed Oil Seller, careful to avoid fingering the blade, for custom said that even a single touch might mar such perfection.
   As he leaned against the bunk, his eyes went to his empty sea chest.
   “What about rutters? And navigation instruments?” he asked his image in the copper sea lamp that had been scrupulously polished like everything else. He saw himself answer, “You buy them at Nagasaki, along with your crew. And you snatch Rodrigues. Yes. You snatch him before the attack. Neh?”
   He watched his smile grow. “You’re very sure Toranaga will let you go, aren’t you?”
   “Yes,” he answered with complete confidence. “If he goes to Osaka or not, I’ll get what I want. And I’ll get Mariko too.”
   Satisfied, he stuck his swords in his sash and walked up on deck and waited until the doors were resealed.
   When he got back to the castle it was not yet noon so he went to his own quarters to eat. He had rice and two helpings of fish that had been broiled over charcoal with soya by his own cook as he had taught the man. A small flask of saké, then cha.
   “Anjin-san?”
   “Hai?”
   The shoji opened. Fujiko smiled shyly and bowed.

Chapter 49

   “I’d forgotten about you,” he said in English. “I was afraid you were dead.”
   “Dozo goziemashita, Anjin-san, nan desu ka?”
   “Nani mo, Fujiko-san,” he told her, ashamed of himself. “Gomen nasai. Hai. Gomen nasai. Ma-suware odoroita honto ni mata aete ureshi.” Please excuse me … a surprise, neh? Good to see you. Please sit down.
   “Domo arigato goziemashita,” she said, and told him in her thin, high voice how pleased she was to see him, how much his Japanese had improved, how well he looked, and how most very glad she was to be here.
   He watched her kneel awkwardly on the cushion opposite. “Legs …” He sought the word “burns” but couldn’t remember it, so he said instead, “Legs fire hurt. Bad?”
   “No. So sorry. But it still hurts a little to sit,” Fujiko said, concentrating, watching his lips. “Legs hurt, so sorry.”
   “Please show me.”
   “So sorry, please, Anjin-san, I don’t wish to trouble you. You have other problems. I’m—”
   “Don’t understand. Too fast, sorry.”
   “Ah, sorry. Legs all right. No trouble,” she pleaded.
   “Trouble. You are consort, neh? No shame. Show now!”
   Obediently she got up. Clearly she was uncomfortable, but once she was upright, she began to untie the strings of her obi.
   “Please call maid,” he ordered.
   She obeyed. At once the shoji slid open and a woman he did not recognize rushed to assist her.
   First the stiff obi was unwound. The maid put Fujiko’s sheathed dagger and obi to one side.
   “What’s your name?” he asked the maid brusquely, as a samurai should.
   “Oh, please excuse me, Sire, so very sorry. My name is Hana-ichi.”
   He grunted an acknowledgment. Miss First Blossom, now there’s a fine name! All maids, by custom, were called Miss Brush or Crane or Fish or Second Broom or Fourth Moon or Star or Tree or Branch, and so on.
   Hana-ichi was middle-aged and very concerned. I’ll bet she’s a family retainer, he told himself. Perhaps a vassal of Fujiko’s late husband. Husband! I’d forgotten about him as well, and the child who was murdered—as the husband was murdered by fiend Toranaga who’s not a fiend but a daimyo and a good, perhaps great leader. Yes. Probably the husband deserved his fate if the real truth were known, neh? But not the child, he thought. There’s no excuse for that.
   Fujiko allowed her green patterned outer kimono to fall aside loosely. Her fingers trembled as she untied the thin silken sash of the yellow, under kimono and let that fall aside also. Her skin was light and the part of her breasts he could see within the folds of silk showed that they were flat and small. Hana-ichi knelt and untied the strings of the underskirt that reached from her waist to the floor to enable her mistress to step out of it.
   “Iyé, “ he ordered. He walked over and lifted the hem. The burns began at the backs of her calves. “Gomen nasai,” he said.
   She stood motionless. A tear of sweat trickled down her cheek, spoiling her makeup. He pulled the skirt higher. The skin was burned all up the backs of her legs but it seemed to be healing perfectly. Scar tissue had formed already and there was no infection, and no suppurations, only a little clean blood where the new scar tissue had broken at the backs of her knees as she had knelt.
   He moved her kimonos aside and loosed the underskirt waist band. The burns stopped at the top of her legs, bypassed her rump where the beam had pinned her down and protected her, then began again in the small of her back. A swathe of burn, half a hand span, girdled her waist. Scar tissue was already settling into permanent crinkles. Unsightly, but healing perfectly.
   “Doctor very good. Best I ever see!” He let her kimonos fall back. “Best, Fujiko-san! The scars, what does it matter, neh? Nothing. I see many fire hurts, understand? Want see, then sure good or not good. Doctor very good. Buddha watch Fujiko-san.” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes.
   “No worry now. Shigata ga nai, neh? You understand?”
   Her tears spilled. “Please excuse me, Anjin-san. I’m so embarrassed. Please excuse my stupidity for being there, caught there like a half-witted eta. I should have been with you, guarding you—not stuck with servants in the house. There’s nothing for me in the house, nothing, no reason to be in a house…”
   He let her talk on though he understood almost nothing of what she said, holding her compassionately. I’ve got to find out what the doctor used, he thought excitedly. That’s the quickest and the best healing I’ve ever seen. Every master of every one of Her Majesty’s ships should know that secret—yes, and truly, every captain of every ship in Europe. Wait a moment, wouldn’t every master pay golden guineas for that secret? You could make a fortune! Yes. But not that way, he told himself, never that. Never out of a sailor’s agony.
   She’s lucky though that it was only the backs of her legs and her back and not her face. He looked down at her face. It was still as square and flat as ever, her teeth just as sharp and ferretlike, but the warmth that flowed from her eyes compensated for the ugliness. He gave her another hug. “Now. No weep. Order!”
   He sent the maid for fresh cha and saké and many cushions and helped her recline on them, as much as at first it embarrassed her to obey. “How can I ever thank you?” she said.
   “No thanks. Give back—” Blackthorne thought a moment but he couldn’t remember the Japanese words for “favor” or “remember,” so he pulled out the dictionary and looked them up. “Favor: o-negai” … “remember: omoi dasu.”
   “Hai, mondoso o-negai! Omi desu ka?” Give back favor. Remember? He held up his fists mimicking pistols and pointing them. “Omi-san, remember?”
   “Oh, of course,” she cried out. Then, in wonder, she asked to look at the book. She had never seen Roman writing before, and the column of Japanese words into Latin and into Portuguese and vice versa were meaningless to her, but she quickly grasped its purpose. “It’s a book of all our … so sorry. Word book, neh?”
   “Hai.”
   “‘Hombun’?” she asked.
   He showed her how to find the word in Latin and in Portuguese. “Hombun: duty.” Then added in Japanese, “I understand duty. Samurai duty, neh?”
   “Hai.” She clapped her hands as if she had been shown a magic toy. But it is magic, isn’t it, he told himself, a gift from God. This unlocks her mind and Toranaga’s mind and soon I’ll speak perfectly.
   She gave him other words and he told her English or Latin or Portuguese, always understanding the words she chose and always finding them. The dictionary never failed.
   He looked up a word. “Majutsu desu, neh?” It’s magic, isn’t it?
   “Yes, Anjin-san. The book’s magic.” She sipped her cha. “Now I can talk to you. Really talk to you.”
   “Little. Only slow, understand?”
   “Yes. Please be patient with me. Please excuse me.”
   The huge donjon bell sounded the Hour of the Goat and the temples in Yedo echoed the time change.
   “I go now. Go Lord Toranaga.” He put the book into his sleeve.
   “I’ll wait here please, if I may.”
   “Where stay?”
   She pointed. “Oh, there, my room’s next door. Please excuse my abruptness–”
   “Slowly. Talk slowly. Talk simply!”
   She repeated it slowly, with more apologies. “Good,” he said. “Good. I’ll see you later.”
   She began to get up but he shook his head and went into the courtyard. The day was overcast now, the air suffocating. Guards awaited him. Soon he was in the donjon forecourt. Mariko was there, more slender than ever, more ethereal, her face alabaster under her rust-gold parasol. She wore somber brown, edged with green.
   “Ohayo, Anjin-san. Ikaga desu ka?” she asked, bowing formally.
   He told her that he was fine, happily keeping up their custom of talking in Japanese for as long as he could, turning to Portuguese only when he was tired or when they wished to be more secretive.
   “Thou …” he said cautiously as they walked up the stairs of the donjon.
   “Thou,” Mariko echoed, and went immediately into Portuguese with the same gravity as last night. “So sorry, please, no Latin today, Anjin-san, today Latin cannot sit well—Latin cannot serve the purpose it was made for, neh?”
   “When can I talk to you?”
   “That’s very difficult, so sorry. I have duties…”
   “There’s nothing wrong, is there?”
   “Oh no,” she replied. “Please excuse me, what could be wrong? Nothing’s wrong.”
   They climbed another flight in silence. On the next level their passes were checked as always, guards leading and following them. Rain began heavily and this eased the humidity.
   “It’ll rain for hours,” he said.
   “Yes. But without the rains there’s no rice. Soon the rains will stop altogether, in two or three weeks, then it will be hot and humid until the autumn.” She looked out of the windows at the enveloping cloudburst. “You’ll enjoy the autumn, Anjin-san.”
   “Yes.” He was watching Erasmus, far distant, down beside the wharf. Then the rains obscured his ship and he climbed a little way. “After we’ve talked with Lord Toranaga we’ll have to wait till this has passed. Perhaps there’d be somewhere here we could talk?”
   “That might be difficult,” she said vaguely, and he found this odd. She was usually decisive and implemented his polite “suggestions” as the orders they would normally be considered. “Please excuse me, Anjin-san, but things are difficult for me at the moment, and there are many things I have to do.” She stopped momentarily and shifted her parasol to her other hand, holding the hem of her skirt. “How was your evening? How were your friends, your crew?”
   “Fine. Everything was fine,” he said.
   “But not ‘fine’?” she asked.
   “Fine—but very strange.” He looked back at her. “You notice everything, don’t you?”
   “No, Anjin-san. But you didn’t mention them and you’ve been thinking about them greatly this last week or so. I’m no magician. So sorry.”
   After a pause, he said, “You’re sure you’re all right? There’s no problem with Buntaro-san, is there?”
   He had never discussed Buntaro with her or mentioned his name since Yokosé. By agreement that specter was never conjured up by either of them since the first moment. “This is my only request, Anjin-san,” she had whispered the first night. “Whatever happens during our journey to Mishima or, Madonna willing, to Yedo, this has nothing to do with anyone but us, neh? Nothing is to be mentioned between us about what really is. Neh? Nothing. Please?”
   “I agree. I swear it.”
   “And I do likewise. Finally, our journey ends at Yedo’s First Bridge.”
   “No.”
   “There must be an ending, my darling. At First Bridge our journey ends. Please, or I will die with agony over fear for you and the danger I have put you in…”
   Yesterday morning he had stood at the threshold of First Bridge, a sudden weight on his spirit, in spite of his elation over Erasmus.
   “We should cross the bridge now, Anjin-san,” she had said.
   “Yes. But it is only a bridge. One of many. Come along, Mariko-san. Walk beside me across this bridge. Beside me, please. Let us walk together,” then added in Latin, “and believe that thou art carried and that we go hand in hand into a new beginning.”
   She stepped out of her palanquin and walked beside him until they reached the other side. There she got back into the curtained litter and they went up the slight rise. Buntaro was waiting at the castle gate.
   Blackthorne remembered how he had prayed for a lightning bolt to come out of the sky.
   “There’s no problem with him, is there?” he asked again as they came to the final landing.
   She shook her head.


   Toranaga said, “Ship very ready, Anjin-san? No mistake?”
   “No mistake, Sire. Ship perfect.”
   “How many extra men—how many more want for ship…” Toranaga glanced at Mariko. “Please ask him how many extra crew he’ll need to sail the ship properly. I want to be quite sure he understands what I want to know.”
   “The Anjin-san says, to sail her a minimum of thirty seamen and twenty gunners. His original crew was one hundred and seven, including cooks and merchants. To sail and fight in these waters, the complement of two hundred samurai would be enough.”
   “And he believes the other men he needs could be hired in Nagasaki?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   Toranaga said distastefully, “I certainly wouldn’t trust mercenaries.”
   “Please excuse me, do you wish me to translate that, Sire?”
   “What? Oh no, never mind that.”
   Toranaga got up, still pretending peevishness, and looked out of the windows at the rain. The whole city was obscured by the downpour. Let it rain for months, he thought. All gods, make the rain last until New Year. When will Buntaro see my brother? “Tell the Anjin-san I’ll give him his vassals tomorrow. Today’s terrible. This rain will go on all day. There’s no point in getting soaked.”
   “Yes, Sire,” he heard her say and smiled ironically to himself. Never in his whole life had weather prevented him from doing anything. That should certainly convince her, or any other doubters, that I’ve changed permanently for the worse, he thought, knowing he could not yet diverge from his chosen course. “Tomorrow or the next day, what does it matter? Tell him when I’m ready I’ll send for him. Until then he’s to wait in the castle.”
   He heard her pass on the orders to the Anjin-san.
   “Yes, Lord Toranaga, I understand,” Blackthorne replied for himself. “But may I respectfully ask: Possible go Nagasaki quick? Think important. So sorry.”
   “I’ll decide that later,” Toranaga said brusquely, not making it easy for him. He motioned him to leave. “Good-bye, Anjin-san. I’ll decide your future soon.” He saw that the man wanted to press the point but politely didn’t. Good, he thought, at least he’s learning some manners! “Tell the Anjin-san there’s no need for him to wait for you, Mariko-san. Good-bye, Anjin-san.”
   Mariko did as she was ordered. Toranaga turned back to contemplate the city and the cloudburst. He listened to the sound of the rain. The door closed behind the Anjin-san. “What was the quarrel about?” Toranaga asked, not looking at her.
   “Sire?”
   His ears, carefully tuned, had caught the slightest tremble in her voice. “Of course between Buntaro and yourself, or have you had another quarrel that concerns me?” he added with biting sarcasm, needing to precipitate the matter quickly. “With the Anjin-san perhaps, or my Christian enemies, or the Tsukku-san?”
   “No, Sire. Please excuse me. It began as always, like most quarrels, Sire, between husband and wife. Really over nothing. Then suddenly, as always, all the past gets spewed up and it infects the man and the woman if the mood’s on them.”
   “And the mood was on you?”

   “Yes. Please excuse me. I provoked my husband unmercifully. It was my fault entirely. I regret, Sire, in those times, so sorry, people say wild things.”
   “Come on, hurry up, what wild things?” She was like a doe at bay. Her face was chalky. She knew that spies must have already whispered to him what was shouted in the quiet of their house.
   She told him everything that had been said as best she could remember it. Then she added, “I believe my husband’s words were spoken in wild rage which I provoked. He’s loyal—I know he’s loyal. If anyone is to be punished it’s me, Sire. I did provoke the madness.”
   Toranaga sat again on the cushion, his back ramrod, his face granite. “What did the Lady Genjiko say?”
   “I haven’t spoken to her, Sire.”
   “But you intend to, or intended to, neh?”
   “No, Sire. With your permission I intend to leave at once for Osaka.”
   “You will leave when I say and not before and treason is a foul beast wherever it’s to be found!”
   She bowed under the whiplash of his tongue. “Yes, Sire. Please forgive me. The fault is mine.”
   He rang a small hand bell. The door opened. Naga stood there. “Yes, Sire?”
   “Order the Lord Sudara here with the Lady Genjiko at once.”
   “Yes, Sire.” Naga turned to go.
   “Wait! Then summon my Council, Yabu and all—and all senior generals. They’re to be here at midnight. And clear this floor. All guards! You come back with Sudara!”
   “Yes, Sire.” Whitefaced, Naga closed the door after him.
   Toranaga heard men clattering down the stairs. He went to the door and opened it. The landing was clear. He slammed the door and bolted it. He picked up another bell and rang it. An inner door at the far end of the room opened. This door was hardly noticeable, so cleverly had it been melded with the woodwork. A middle-aged heavy-set woman stood there. She wore a cowled Buddhist nun’s habit. “Yes, Great Lord?”
   “Cha please, Chano-chan,” he said. The door closed. Toranaga’s eyes went back to Mariko. “So you think he’s loyal?”
   “I know it, Sire. Please forgive me, it was my fault, not his,” she said, desperate to please. “I provoked him.”
   “Yes, you did that. Disgusting. Terrible. Unforgivable!” Toranaga took out a paper kerchief and wiped his brow. “But fortunate,” he said.
   “Sire?”
   “If you hadn’t provoked him, perhaps I might never have learned of any treason. And if he’d said all that without provocation, there’d be only one course of action. As it is,” he continued, “you give me an alternative.”
   “Sire?”
   He did not answer. He was thinking, I wish Hiro-matsu were here, then there’d be at least one man I could trust completely. “What about you? What about your loyalty?”
   “Please, Sire, you must know you have that.”
   He did not reply. His eyes were unrelenting.
   The inner door opened and Chano, the nun, came confidently into the room without knocking, a tray in her hands. “Here you are, Great Lord, it was ready for you.” She knelt as a peasant, her hands were rough like a peasant’s, but her self-assurance was enormous and her inner contentment obvious. “May Buddha bless you with his peace.” Then she turned to Mariko, bowed as a peasant would bow, and settled back comfortably. “Perhaps you’d honor me by pouring, Lady. You’ll do it prettily without spilling it, neh?” Her eyes gleamed with private amusement.
   “With pleasure, Oku-san,” Mariko said, giving her the religious Mother title, hiding her surprise. She had never seen Naga’s mother before. She knew most of Toranaga’s other official ladies, having seen them at official ceremonies, but she was on good terms only with Kiritsubo and Lady Sazuko.
   Toranaga said, “Chano-chan, this is the Lady Toda Mariko-noh-Buntaro.”
   “Ah, so desu, so sorry, I thought you were one of my Great Lord’s honored ladies. Please excuse me, Lady Toda, may the blessings of Buddha be upon thee.”
   “Thank you,” Mariko said. She offered the cup to Toranaga. He accepted it and sipped.
   “Pour for Chano-san and yourself,” he said.
   “So sorry, not for me, Great Lord, with your permission, but my back teeth’re floating from so much cha and the bucket’s a long way away for these old bones.”
   “The exercise would do you good,” Toranaga said, glad that he had sent for her when he returned to Yedo.
   “Yes, Great Lord. You’re right—as you always were.” Chano turned her genial attention again to Mariko. “So you’re Lord Akechi Jinsai’s daughter.”
   Mariko’s cup hesitated in the air. “Yes. Please excuse me …”
   “Oh, that’s nothing to wish to be excused about, child.” Chano laughed kindly, and her stomach heaved up and down. “I didn’t place you without your name, please excuse me, but the last time I saw you was at your wedding.”
   “Oh?”
   “Oh, yes, I saw you at your wedding, but you didn’t see me. I spied you from behind a screen. Yes, you and all the great ones, the Dictator, and Nakamura, the Taikō-to-be, and all the nobles. Oh, I was much too shy to mix in that company. But that was such a good time for me. The best of my life. That was the second year my Great Lord favored me and I was heavy with child—though still the peasant I’ve always been.” Her eyes crinkled and she added, “You’re very little different from those days, still one of Buddha’s chosen.”
   “Ah, I wish that were true, Oku-san.”
   “It’s true. Did you know you were one of Buddha’s chosen?”
   “I’m not, Oku-san, much as I would like to be.”
   Toranaga said, “She’s Christian.”
   “Ah, Christian—what does that matter to a woman, Christian or Buddha, Great Lord? Not a lot sometimes, though some god’s necessary to a woman.” Chano chuckled gleefully. “We women need a god, Great Lord, to help us deal with men, neh?”
   “And we men need patience, godlike patience, to deal with women, neh?”
   The woman laughed, and it warmed the room and, for an instant, lessened some of Mariko’s foreboding. “Yes, Great Lord,” Chano continued, “and all because of a Heavenly Pavilion that has no future, little warmth, and a sufficiency of hell.”
   Toranaga grunted. “What do you say to that, Mariko-san?”
   “The Lady Chano is wise beyond her youth,” Mariko said.
   “Ah, Lady, you say pretty things to an old fool,” the nun told her. “I remember you so well. Your kimono was blue with the loveliest pattern of cranes on it I’ve ever seen. In silver.” Her eyes went back to Toranaga. “Well, Great Lord, I just wanted to sit for a moment. Please excuse me now.”
   “There’s time yet. Stay where you are.”
   “Yes, Great Lord,” Chano said, ponderously getting to her feet, “I would obey as always but nature calls. So please be kind to an old peasant, I’d hate to disgrace you. It’s time to go. Everything’s ready, there’s food and saké when you wish it, Great Lord.”
   “Thank you.”
   The door closed noiselessly behind her. Mariko waited until Toranaga’s cup was empty, then she filled it again.
   “What are you thinking?”
   “I was waiting, Sire.”
   “For what, Mariko-san?”
   “Lord, I’m hatamoto. I’ve never asked a favor before. I wish to ask a favor as a hata—”
   “I don’t wish you to ask any favor as a hatamoto,” Toranaga said.
   “Then a lifetime wish.”
   “I’m not a husband to grant that.”
   “Sometimes a vassal may ask a liege—”
   “Yes, sometimes, but not now! Now you will hold your tongue about any lifetime wish or favor or request or whatever.” A lifetime wish was a favor that, by ancient custom, a wife might ask of her husband, or a son of a father—and occasionally a husband of a wife—without loss of face, on the condition that if the wish was granted, the person agreed never again to ask another favor in this life. By custom, no questions about the favor might be asked, nor was it ever to be mentioned again.
   There was a polite knock at the door.
   “Unbolt it,” Toranaga said.
   She obeyed. Sudara entered, followed by his wife, the Lady Genjiko, and Naga.
   “Naga-san. Go down to the second landing below and prevent anyone from coming up without my orders.”
   Naga stalked off.
   “Mariko-san, shut the door and sit down there.” Toranaga pointed at a spot slightly in front of him facing the others.
   “I’ve ordered you both here because there are private, urgent family matters to discuss.”
   Sudara’s eyes involuntarily went to Mariko, then back to his father. The Lady Genjiko’s did not waver.
   Toranaga said roughly, “She’s here, my son, for two reasons: the first is because I want her here and the second because I want her here!”
   “Yes, Father,” Sudara replied, ashamed of his father’s discourtesy to all of them. “May I please ask why I have offended you?”
   “Is there any reason why I should be offended?”
   “No, Sire, unless my zeal for your safety and my reluctance to allow you to depart this earth is cause for offense.”
   “What about treason? I hear you’re daring to assume my place as leader of our clan!”
   Sudara’s face blanched. So did the Lady Genjiko’s. “I have never done that in thought or word or deed. Neither has any member of my family or anyone in my presence.”
   “That is true, Sire,” Lady Genjiko said with equal strength.
   Sudara was a proud, lean man with cold, narrow eyes and thin lips that never smiled. He was twenty-four years old, a fine general and the second of Toranaga’s five living sons. He adored his children, had no consorts, and was devoted to his wife.
   Genjiko was short, three years older than her husband, and dumpy from the four children she had already borne him. But she had a straight back and all of her sister Ochiba’s proud, ruthless protectiveness over her own brood, together with the same latent ferocity inherited from their grandfather, Goroda.
   “Whoever accused my husband is a liar,” she said.
   “Mariko-san,” Toranaga said, “ask the Lady Genjiko what your husband ordered you to say!”
   “My Lord Buntaro asked me, ordered me, to persuade you that the time had come for Lord Sudara to assume power, that others in the Council shared my husband’s opinion, that if our Lord Toranaga did not wish to give over power, it—it should be taken from him forcibly.”
   “Never has either of us entertained that thought, Father,” Sudara said. “We’re loyal and I would never con—”
   “If I gave you power what would you do?” Toranaga asked.
   Genjiko replied at once, “How can Lord Sudara know when he has never considered such an unholy possibility? So sorry, Sire, but it’s not possible for him to answer because that’s never been in his mind. How could it be in his mind? And as to Buntaro-san, obviously the kami have taken possession of him.”
   “Buntaro claimed that others share his opinion.”
   “Who?” Sudara asked venomously. “Tell me who and they’ll die within moments.”
   “You tell me who!”
   “I don’t know any, Sire, or I’d have reported it to you.”
   “You wouldn’t have killed them first?”
   “Your first law is to be patient, your second is to be patient. I’ve always followed your orders. I would have waited and reported it. If I’ve offended you, order me to commit seppuku. I do not merit your anger, Lord, I’ve committed no treason. I cannot bear your anger washing over me.”
   The Lady Genjiko concurred. “Yes, Sire. Please excuse me but I humbly agree with my husband. He is blameless and so are all our people. We’re faithful—whatever we have is yours, whatever we are you’ve made, whatever you order we’ll do.”
   “So! You’re loyal vassals, are you? Obedient? You always obey orders?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Good. Then go and put your children to death. Now.”
   Sudara took his eyes off his father and looked at his wife.
   Her head moved slightly and she nodded her agreement.
   Sudara bowed to Toranaga. His hand tightened on his sword hilt and he got up. He closed the door quietly behind him. There was a great silence in his wake. Genjiko looked once at Mariko, then stared at the floor.
   Bells tolled the middle of the Hour of the Goat. The air in the room seemed to thicken. Rain stopped briefly then began again, heavier than before.
   Just after the bells tolled the next hour there was a knock.
   “Yes?”
   The door opened. Naga said, “Please excuse me, Sire, my brother … Lord Sudara wants to come up again.”
   “Let him—then return to your post.”
   Sudara came in and knelt and bowed. He was soaking, his hair matted from the rain. His shoulders shook slightly. “My—my children are… You’ve already taken my children, Sire.”
   Genjiko wavered and almost pitched forward. But she dominated her weakness and stared at her husband. “You—you didn’t kill them?”
   Sudara shook his head and Toranaga said grimly, “Your children are in my quarters, on the floor below. I ordered Chano-san to fetch them after you’d been ordered here. I needed to be sure of you both. Foul times require foul tests.” He rang the hand bell.
   “You—you withdraw your or—your order, Sire?” Genjiko asked, desperately trying to maintain a cold dignity.
   “Yes. My order’s withdrawn. This time. It was necessary to know you. And my heir.”
   “Thank you, thank you, Sire.” Sudara lowered his head abjectly.
   The inner door opened. “Chano-san, bring my grandchildren here for a moment,” Toranaga said.
   Soon three somberly clad foster mothers and the wet nurse brought the children. The girls were four, three, and two, and the infant son, a few weeks old, was asleep in the arms of his wet nurse. All the girls wore scarlet kimonos with scarlet ribbons in their hair. The foster mothers knelt and bowed to Toranaga and their wards copied them importantly and put their heads to the tatamis—except the youngest girl, whose head needed assistance from a gentle though firm hand.
   Toranaga bowed back gravely. Then, their duty done, the children rushed into his embrace—except the littlest one, who toddled into her mother’s arms.

   At midnight Yabu strutted arrogantly across the flare-lit donjon forecourt. Toranaga’s elite corps of personal guards were everywhere. The moon was vague and misted and the stars barely visible.
   “Ah, Naga-san, what’s the reason for all this?”
   “I don’t know, Lord, but everyone’s ordered to the conference chamber. Please excuse me, but you must leave your swords with me.”
   Yabu flushed at this unheard-of breach of etiquette. “Are you—” He changed his mind, sensing the youth’s chilling tenseness and the restless nervousness of the nearby guards. “On whose orders please, Naga-san?”
   “My father’s, Lord. So sorry, you can please yourself if you don’t wish to go to the conference, but I have to advise you that you are ordered there without swords and, so sorry, that is the way you will appear. Please excuse me, but I have no choice.”
   Yabu saw the pile of swords already in the lee of the guardhouse beside the huge main gate. He weighed the dangers of a refusal and found them formidable. Reluctantly he relinquished his arms. Naga bowed politely, equally embarrassed, as he accepted them. Yabu went inside. The huge room was embrasured, stone floored, and wooden beamed.
   Soon the fifty senior generals were gathered, twenty-three counselors, and seven friendly daimyos from minor northern provinces. All were keyed up and fidgeted uncomfortably.
   “What’s all this about?” Yabu asked as he sourly took his place.
   A general shrugged. “It’s probably about the trek to Osaka.”
   Another looked around hopefully. “Perhaps it’s a change of plan, neh? He’s going to order Crimson—”
   “So sorry, but your head’s in the clouds. He’s decided. Our Lord’s decided—it’s Osaka and nothing else! Hey, Yabu-sama, when did you get here?”
   “Yesterday. I’ve been stuck at a filthy little fishing village called Yokohama for more than two weeks, south of here, with my troops. The port’s fine but the bugs! Stinking mosquitoes and bugs—they were never so bad in Izu.”
   “You’re up to date with all the news?”
   “You mean all the bad news? The move’s still in six days, neh?”
   “Yes, terrible. Shameful!”
   “True, but tonight’s worse,” another general said grimly. “I’ve never been without swords before. Never.”
   “It’s an insult,” Yabu said deliberately. All those nearby looked at him.
   “I agree,” General Kiyoshio replied, breaking the silence. Serata Kiyoshio was the grizzled, tough Commander of the Seventh Army. “I’ve never been without swords in public before. Makes me feel like a stinking merchant! I think … eeeeee, orders are orders but some orders should not be given.”
   “That’s quite right,” someone said. “What would old Iron Fist have done if he’d been here?”
   “He’d have slit his belly, before he gave up his swords! He’d have done it tonight in the forecourt!” a young man said. He was Serata Tomo, the general’s eldest son, second-in-command of the Fourth Army. “I wish Iron Fist were here! He could get sense … he’d have slit his belly first.”
   “I considered it.” General Kiyoshio cleared his throat harshly. “Someone has to be responsible—and do his duty! Someone has to make the point that liege lord means responsibility and duty!”
   “So sorry, but you’d better watch your tongue,” Yabu advised.
   “What’s the use of a tongue in a samurai’s mouth if he’s forbidden to be samurai?”
   “None,” Isamu, an old counselor, replied. “I agree. Better to be dead.”
   “So sorry, Isamu-san, but that’s our immediate future anyway,” the young Serata Tomo said. “We’re staked pigeons to a certain dishonored hawk!”
   “Please hold your tongues!” Yabu said, hiding his own satisfaction. Then he added carefully, “He’s our liege lord and until Lord Sudara or the Council takes open responsibility he stays liege lord and he is to be obeyed. Neh?”
   General Kiyoshio studied him, his hand unconsciously feeling for his sword hilt. “What have you heard, Yabu-sama?”
   “Nothing.”
   “Buntaro-san said that—” the counselor began.
   General Kiyoshio interrupted thinly. “Please excuse me, Isamu-san, but what General Buntaro said or what he didn’t say is unimportant. What Yabu-sama says is true. A liege lord is a liege lord. Even so, a samurai has rights, a vassal has rights. Even daimyos. Neh?”
   Yabu looked back at him, gauging the depth of that invitation. “Izu is Lord Toranaga’s province. I’m no longer daimyo of Izu—only overlord for him.” He glanced around the huge room. “Everyone’s here; neh?”
   “Except Lord Noboru,” a general said, mentioning Toranaga’s eldest son, who was universally loathed.
   “Yes. Just as well. Never mind, General, the Chinese sickness’ll finish him soon and we’ll be done with his foul humor forever,” someone said.
   “And stench.”
   “When’s he coming back?”
   “Who knows? We don’t even know why Toranaga-sama sent him north. Better he stays there, neh?”
   “If you had that sickness, you’d be as foul-humored as he is, neh?”
   “Yes, Yabu-san. Yes, I would. Pity he’s poxed, he’s a good general—better than the Cold Fish,” General Kiyoshio added, using Sudara’s private nickname.
   “Eeeee,” the counselor whistled. “There’re devils in the air tonight to make you so careless with your tongue. Or is it saké?”
   “Perhaps it’s the Chinese sickness,” General Kiyoshio replied with a bitter laugh.
   “Buddha protect me from that!” Yabu said. “If only Lord Toranaga would change his mind about Osaka!”
   “I’d slit my belly now if that’d convince him,” the young man said.
   “No offense, my son, but your head’s in the clouds. He’ll never change.”
   “Yes, Father. But I just don’t understand him…”
   “We’re all to go with him? In the same contingent?” Yabu asked after a moment.
   Isamu, the old counselor, said, “Yes. We’re to go as an escort. With two thousand men with full ceremonial equipment and trappings. It’ll take us thirty days to get there. We’ve six days left.”
   General Kiyoshio said, “That’s not much time. Is it, Yabu-sama?”
   Yabu did not reply. There was no need. The general did not require an answer. They settled into their own thoughts.
   A side door opened. Toranaga came in. Sudara followed. Everyone bowed stiffly. Toranaga bowed back and sat facing them, Sudara as heir presumptive slightly in front of him, also facing the others. Naga came in from the main door and closed it.
   Only Toranaga wore swords.
   “It’s been reported that some of you speak treason, think treason, and plan treason,” he said coldly. No one answered or moved. Slowly, relentlessly, Toranaga looked from face to face.
   Still no movement. Then General Kiyoshio spoke. “May I respectfully ask, Sire, what do you mean by ‘treason’?”
   “Any questioning of an order, or a decision, or a position of any liege lord, at any time, is treason,” Toranaga slammed back at him.
   The general’s back stiffened. “Then I’m guilty of treason.”
   “Then go out and commit seppuku at once.”
   “I will, Sire,” the soldier said proudly, “but first I claim the right of free speech before your loyal vassals, officers, and coun—”
   “You’ve forfeited all rights!”
   “Very well. Then I claim it as a dying wish—as hatamoto—and in return for twenty-eight years of faithful service!”
   “Make it very short.”
   “I will, Sire,” General Kiyoshio replied icily. “I beg to say, first: Going to Osaka and bowing to the peasant Ishido is treason against your honor, the honor of your clan, the honor of your faithful vassals, your special heritage, and totally against bushido. Second: I indict you for this treason and say you’ve therefore forfeited your right to be our liege lord. Third: I petition that you immediately abdicate in Lord Sudara’s favor and honorably depart this life—or shave your head and retire to a monastery, whichever you prefer.”
   The general bowed stiffly, then sat back on his haunches. Everyone waited, hardly breathing now that the unbelievable had become a reality.
   Abruptly Toranaga hissed, “What are you waiting for?”
   General Kiyoshio stared back at him. “Nothing, Sire. Please excuse me.” His son began to get up.
   “No. You’re ordered to stay here!” he said.
   The general bowed a last time to Toranaga, got up, and walked out with immense dignity. Some stirred nervously and a swell moved through the room but Toranaga’s harshness dominated again: “Is there anyone else who admits treason? Anyone else who dares to break bushido, anyone who dares to accuse his liege lord of treason?”
   “Please excuse me, Sire,” Isamu, the old counselor, said calmly. “But I regret to say that if you go to Osaka it is treason against your heritage.”
   “The day I go to Osaka you will depart this earth.”
   The gray-haired man bowed politely. “Yes, Sire.”
   Toranaga looked them over. Pitilessly. Someone shifted uneasily and eyes snapped onto him. The samurai, a warrior who years ago had lost his wish to fight and had shaved his head to become a Buddhist monk and was now a member of Toranaga’s civil administration, said nothing, almost wilting with an untoward fear he tried desperately to hide.
   “What’re you afraid of, Numata-san?”
   “Nothing, Sire,” the man said, his eyes downcast.
   “Good. Then go and commit seppuku because you’re a liar and your fear’s an infectious stench.”
   The man whimpered and stumbled out. Dread stalked them all now. Toranaga watched. And waited.
   The air became oppressive, the slight crackling of the torch flames seemed strangely loud. Then, knowing it was his duty and responsibility, Sudara turned and bowed. “Please, Sire, may I respectfully make a statement?”
   “What statement?”
   “Sire, I believe there is no … no more treason here, and that there will be no more trea—”
   “I don’t share your opinion.”
   “Please excuse me, Sire, you know I will obey you. We will all obey you. We seek only the best for your—”
   “The best is my decision. What I decide is best.”
   Helplessly Sudara bowed his acquiescence and became silent. Toranaga did not look away from him. His gaze was remorseless. “You are no longer my heir.”
   Sudara paled. Then Toranaga shattered the tension in the room: “I am liege lord here.”
   He waited a moment, then, in utter silence, he got up and arrogantly marched out. The door closed behind him. A great sigh went through the room. Hands sought sword hilts impotently. But no one left his place.
   “This … this morning I … I heard from our commander-in-chief,” Sudara began at last. “Lord Hiro-matsu will be here in a few days. I will … talk to him. Be silent, be patient, be loyal to our liege Lord. Let us go and pay our respects to General Serata Kiyoshio…”
   Toranaga was climbing the stairs, a great loneliness upon him, his footsteps reverberating in the emptiness of the tower. Near the top he stopped and leaned momentarily against the wall, his breathing heavy. The ache was gripping his chest again and he tried to rub it away. “It’s just lack of exercise,” he muttered. “That’s all, just lack of exercise.”
   He went on. He knew he was in great jeopardy. Treason and fear were contagious and both had to be cauterized without pity the moment they appeared. Even then you could never be sure they were eradicated. The struggle he was locked into was not a child’s game. The weak had to be food for the strong, the strong pawns for the very strong. If Sudara publicly claimed his mantle he was powerless to prevent it. Until Zataki answered, he had to wait.
   Toranaga shut and bolted his door and walked to a window. Below, he could see his generals and counselors silently streaming away to their homes outside the donjon walls. Beyond the castle walls, the city lay in almost total darkness. Above, the moon was pallid and misted. It was a brooding, darkling night. And, it seemed to him, doom walked the heavens

Chapter 50

   Blackthorne was sitting alone in the morning sun in a corner of the garden outside his guest house daydreaming, his dictionary in his hand. It was a fine cloudless day—the first for many weeks—and the fifth day since he had last seen Toranaga. All that time he had been confined to the castle, unable to see Mariko or visit his ship or crew, or explore the city, or go hunting or riding. Once a day he went swimming in one of the moats with other samurai, and to pass the time he taught some to swim and some to dive. But this did not make the waiting easier.
   “So sorry, Anjin-san, but it’s the same for everyone,” Mariko had said yesterday when he met her by chance in his section of the castle. “Even Lord Hiro-matsu’s been kept waiting. It’s two days since he arrived and he still hasn’t seen Lord Toranaga. No one has.”
   “But this is important, Mariko-chan. I thought he understood every day’s vital. Isn’t there some way I can get a message to him?”
   “Oh yes, Anjin-san. That’s simple. You just write. If you tell me what you want to say I’ll write it for you. Everyone has to write for an interview, those are his present orders. Please be patient, that’s all we can do.”
   “Then please ask for an interview. I’d appreciate it…”
   “That’s no trouble, it’s my pleasure.”
   “Where have you been? It’s four days since I saw you.”
   “Please excuse me but I’ve had to do so many things. It’s—it’s a little difficult for me, so many preparations…”
   “What’s going on? This whole castle’s been like a hive about to swarm for almost a week now.”
   “Oh, so sorry. Everything’s fine, Anjin-san.”
   “Is it? So sorry, a general and a senior administrator commit seppuku in the donjon forecourt. That’s usual? Lord Toranaga locks himself away in the ivory tower, keeping people waiting without apparent reason—that’s also usual? What about Lord Hiro-matsu?”
   “Lord Toranaga is our lord. Whatever he does is right.”
   “And you, Mariko-san? Why haven’t I seen you?”
   “Please excuse me, so sorry, but Lord Toranaga ordered me to leave you to your studies. I’m visiting your consort now, Anjin-san. I’m not supposed to visit you.”
   “Why should he object to that?”
   “Merely, I suppose, so that you are obliged to speak our tongue. It’s only been a few days, neh?”
   “When are you leaving for Osaka?”
   “I don’t know. I expected to go three days ago but Lord Toranaga hasn’t signed my pass yet. I’ve arranged everything—porters and horses—and daily I submit my travel papers to his secretary for signing, but they’re always sent back. ‘Submit them tomorrow.’”
   “I thought I was going to take you to Osaka by sea. Didn’t he say I was to take you by sea?”
   “Yes. Yes, he did, but—well, Anjin-san, you never know with our liege Lord. He changes plans.”
   “Has he always been like that?”
   “Yes and no. Since Yokosé he’s been filled with—how do you say it—melancholy, neh? —yes, melancholy, and very different. He—yes, he’s different now.”
   “Since First Bridge you’ve been filled with melancholy and very different. Yes, you’re different now.”
   “First Bridge was an end and a beginning, Anjin-san, and our promise. Neh?”
   “Yes. Please excuse me.”
   She had bowed sadly and left, and then, once safely away, not turning back, she had whispered, “Thou …” The word lingered in the corridor with her perfume.
   At the evening meal he had tried to question Fujiko. But she also knew nothing of importance or would not, or could not, explain what was amiss at the castle.
   “Dozo gomen nasai, Anjin-san.”
   He went to bed seething. Seething with frustration over the delays, and the nights without Mariko. It was always bad knowing she was so near, that Buntaro was gone from the city, and now, because of the “Thou …” that her desire was still as intense as his. A few days ago he had gone to her house on the pretext that he needed help with Japanese. The samurai guard had told him, so sorry, she was not at home. He had thanked them, then wandered listlessly to the main south gate. He could see the ocean. Because the land was so flat, he could see nothing of the wharves or docks though he thought he could distinguish the tall masts of his ship in the distance.
   The ocean beckoned him. It was the horizon more than the deep, the need for a fair wind washing him, eyes squinting against its strength, tongue tasting its salt, the deck heeled over, and aloft the spars and rigging and halyards creaking and groaning under the press of sails that, from time to time, would cackle with glee as the stalwart breeze shifted a point or two.
   And it was freedom more than the horizon. Freedom to go to any quarter in any weather at any whim. To stand on his quarterdeck and to be arbiter, as here Toranaga alone was arbiter.
   Blackthorne looked up at the topmost part of the donjon. Sun glinted off its shapely tiled curves. He had never seen movement there, though he knew that every window below the topmost floor was guarded.
   Gongs sounded the hour change. For the first time his mind told him this was the middle of the Hour of the Horse, and not eight bells of this watch—high noon.
   He put his dictionary into his sleeve, glad that it was time for the first real meal.
   Today it was rice and quick-broiled prawns and fish soup and pickled vegetables.
   “Would you like some more, Anjin-san?”
   “Thank you, Fujiko. Yes. Rice, please. And some fish. Good—very …” He looked up the word for “delicious” and said it several times to memorize it. “Yes, delicious, neh?”
   Fujiko was pleased. “Thank you. This fish from north. Water colder north, understand? Its name is ‘kurima-ebi. ’”
   He repeated the name and put it into his memory. When he had finished and their trays were taken away, she poured more cha and took a package out of her sleeve.
   “Here money, Anjin-san.” She showed him the gold coins. “Fifty koban. Worth one hundred fifty koku. You want it, neh? For sailors. Please excuse me, do you understand?”
   “Yes, thank you.”
   “You’re welcome. Enough?”
   “Yes. Think so. Where get?”
   “Toranaga-sama’s chief …” Fujiko sought a simple way to say it. “I go important Toranaga man. Headman. Like Mura, neh? Not samurai—only moneyman. Sign my name for you.”
   “Ah, understand. Thank you. My money? My koku?”
   “Oh, yes.”
   “This house. Food. Servants. Who pay?”
   “Oh, I pay. From your—from koku one year.”
   “Is that enough, please? Enough koku?”
   “Oh, yes. Yes, I believe so,” she said.
   “Why worry? Worry in face?”
   “Oh, please excuse me, Anjin-san. I’m not worried. No worry …”
   “Pain? Burn pain?”
   “No pain. See.” Fujiko carefully got off the thick cushions he insisted she use. She knelt directly onto the tatamis with no sign of discomfort, then sat back on her heels and settled herself. “There, all better.”
   “Eeeee, very good,” he said, pleased for her. “Show, eh?”
   She got up carefully and lifted the hem of her skirts and allowed him to look at the backs of her legs. The scar tissue had not split and there were no suppurations. “Very good,” he said. “Yes, soon like baby skin, neh?”
   “Thank you, yes. Soft. Thank you, Anjin-san.”
   He noticed the slight change in her voice but did not comment. That night he did not dismiss her.
   The pillowing was satisfactory. No more. For him there was no afterglow, no joyous lassitude. It was just a mating. So wrong, he thought, yet not wrong, neh?
   Before she left him she knelt and bowed again to him and put her hands on his forehead. “I thank you with all my heart. Please sleep now, Anjin-san.”
   “Thank you, Fujiko-san. I sleep later.”
   “Please sleep now. It is my duty and would give me great pleasure.”
   The touch of her hand was warm and dry and not pleasing. Nonetheless he pretended to sleep. She caressed him ineptly though with great patience. Then, quietly, she went back to her own room. Now alone again, glad to be alone, Blackthorne propped his head on his arms and looked up into the darkness.
   He had decided about Fujiko during the journey from Yokosé to Yedo. “It is your duty,” Mariko had told him, lying in his arms.
   “I think that’d be a mistake, neh? If she gets with child, well, it’ll take me four years to sail home and come back again and, in that time, God knows what could happen.” He remembered how Mariko had trembled then.
   “Oh, Anjin-san, that is very much time.”
   “Three then. But you’ll be aboard with me. I’ll take you back with—”
   “Thy promise, my darling! Nothing that is, neh?”
   “Thou art right. Yes. But with Fujiko, so many bad things could happen. I don’t think she would want my child.”
   “You do not know that. I do not understand you, Anjin-san. It is your duty. She could always prevent a child, neh? Don’t forget, she is your consort. In truth, you take away her face if you don’t invite her to the pillow. After all, Toranaga himself ordered her into your house.”
   “Why did he do that?”
   “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. He ordered it, therefore it is the best for you and best for her. It has been good, neh? She’s done her duty as best she can, neh? Please excuse me, but don’t you think you should do yours?”
   “Enough of your lectures! Love me and do not talk anymore.”
   “How should I love thee? Ah, like Kiku-san told me today?”
   “How is that?”
   “Like this.”
   “That is very good—so very good.”
   “Oh, I forgot, please light the lamp, Anjin-san. I have something to show thee.”
   “Later, now I—”
   “Oh, please excuse me, it should be now. I bought it for you. It’s a pillow book. The pictures are very funny.”
   “I don’t want to look at a pillow book now.”
   “But, so sorry, Anjin-san, perhaps one of the pictures would excite you. How can you learn about pillowing without a pillow book?”
   “I’m excited already.”
   “But Kiku-san said it’s a very first best way of choosing positions. There are forty-seven. Some of them look astonishing and very difficult, but she said it was important to try all… Why do you laugh?”
   “You’re laughing—why shouldn’t I laugh too?”
   “But I was laughing because you were chuckling and I felt your stomach shaking and you won’t let me up. Please let me up. Anjin-san!”
   “Ah, but you can’t be cross, Mariko my darling. There’s no woman in the world who can be really even a little cross like this…”
   “But Anjin-san, please, you must let me up. I want to show you.”
   “All right. If that—”
   “Oh, no, Anjin-san, I didn’t want—you mustn’t—can’t you just reach out—please not yet—oh, please don’t leave me—oh, how I love thee like this…”
   Blackthorne remembered that loving. Mariko excited him more than Kiku had, and Fujiko was nothing compared to either. And Felicity?
   Ah, Felicity, he thought, focusing on his great problem. I must be mad to love Mariko, and Kiku. And yet … the truth about Felicity is that now she can’t compare even with Fujiko. Fujiko was clean. Poor Felicity. I’ll never be able to tell her, but the memory of her and me rutting like a pair of stoats in the hay or under rancid covers makes my skin crawl now. Now I know better. Now I could teach her but would she wish to learn? And how could we ever get clean and stay clean and live clean?
   Home is filth piled on filth, but that’s where my wife is and where my children are and where I belong.
   “Don’t think about that home, Anjin-san,” Mariko had once said when the dark mists were on him. “Real home is here—the other’s ten million times ten million sticks away. Here is reality. You’ll send yourself mad if you try to get wa out of such impossibilities. Listen, if you want peace you must learn to drink cha from an empty cup.”
   She had shown him how. “You think reality into the cup, you think the cha there—the warm, pale-green drink of the gods. If you concentrate hard… Oh, a Zen teacher could show you, Anjin-san. It is most difficult but so easy. How I wish I was clever enough to show it to you, for then all things in the world can be yours for the asking … even the most unobtainable gift—perfect tranquillity.”
   He had tried many times, but he could never sip the drink when it wasn’t there.
   “Never mind, Anjin-san. It takes such a long time to learn but you will, sometime.”
   “Can you?”
   “Rarely. Only in moments of great sadness or loneliness. But the taste of the unreal cha seems to give a meaning to life. It is hard to explain. I’ve done it once or twice. Sometimes you gain wa just by trying.”
   Now, lying in the dark of the castle, sleep so far away, he lit the candle with the flint and concentrated on the little porcelain cup that Mariko had given him which now he always kept beside his bed. For an hour he tried. But he could not purify his mind. Inevitably the same thoughts kept chasing each other: I want to leave, I want to stay. I’m afraid of going back, I’m afraid to remain. I hate both and want both. And then there are the “eters.”
   If it was up to me alone I wouldn’t leave, not yet. But others are involved and they’re not eters and I signed on as Pilot: ‘By the Lord God I promise to take the fleet out and through the Grace of God bring her home again. ’ I want Mariko. I want to see the land Toranaga’s given me and I need to stay here, to enjoy the fruit of my great luck for just a little longer. Yes. But also duty’s involved and that transcends everything, neh?
   With the dawn Blackthorne knew that though he pretended he had put off the decision again, in reality, he had decided. Irrevocably.
   God help me, first and last I’m Pilot.

   Toranaga uncurled the tiny slip of paper that arrived two hours after dawn. The message from his mother said simply: “Your brother agrees, my son. His letter of confirmation will leave today by hand. The state visit of Lord Sudara and his family must begin within ten days.”
   Toranaga sat down weakly. The pigeons fluttered in their roosts then settled back once more. Morning sun filtered into the loft pleasingly though rain clouds were building. Gathering his strength, he hurried down the steps into his quarters below to begin.
   “Naga-san!”
   “Yes, Father?”
   “Send Hiro-matsu-san here. After him, my secretary.”
   “Yes, Father.”
   The old general came quickly. His joints were creaking from the climb and he bowed low, his sword loose in his hands as ever, his face fiercer than ever, older than ever, and even more resolute.
   “You’re welcome, old friend.”
   “Thank you, Lord.” Hiro-matsu looked up. “I’m saddened to see the cares of the world are in your face.”
   “And I’m saddened to see and hear so much treason.”
   “Yes. Treason is a terrible thing.”
   Toranaga saw the firm old eyes measuring him. “You can speak freely.”
   “Have you ever known me not to, Sire?” The old man was grave.
   “Please excuse me for keeping you waiting.”
   “Please excuse me for troubling you. What is your pleasure, Sire? Please give me your decision about the future of your house. Is it finally Osaka—bending to that manure pile?”
   “Have you ever known me to make a final decision about anything?”
   Hiro-matsu frowned, then thoughtfully straightened his back to ease the ache in his shoulders. “I’ve always known you to be patient and decisive and you’ve always won. That’s why I can’t understand you now. It’s not like you to give up.”
   “Isn’t the realm more important than my future?”
   “No.”
   “Ishido and the other Regents are still legal rulers according to the Taikō’s will.”
   “I am the vassal of Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara and I acknowledge no one else.”
   “Good. The day after tomorrow is my chosen day to leave for Osaka.”
   “Yes. I’ve heard that.”
   “You’ll be in command of the escort, Buntaro second-in-command.”
   The old general sighed. “I know that too, Sire. But since I’ve been back, Sire, I’ve talked to your senior advisers and gener—”
   “Yes. I know. And what is their opinion?”
   “That you should not leave Yedo. That your orders should be temporarily overruled.”
   “By whom?”
   “By me. By my orders.”
   “That’s what they wish? Or that is what you’ve decided?”
   Hiro-matsu put his sword on the floor nearer to Toranaga and, now defenseless, looked directly at him. “Please excuse me, Sire, I wish to ask you what I should do. My duty seems to tell me I should take command and prevent your leaving. This will at once force Ishido to come against us. Yes, of course we will lose, but that seems to be the only honorable way.”
   “But stupid, neh?”
   The general’s iron-gray brows knotted. “No. We die in battle, with honor. We regain wa. The Kwanto is a spoil of war, but we’ll not see the new master in this life. Shigata ga nai.”
   “I’ve never enjoyed expending men uselessly. I’ve never lost a battle and see no reason why I should begin now.”
   “Losing one battle is no dishonor, Sire. Is surrender honorable?”
   “You are all agreed in this treason?”
   “Sire, please excuse me, I asked individuals for a military opinion only. There’s no treason or plot.”
   “You still listened to treason.”
   “Please excuse me, but if I agree, as your commander-in-chief, then it no longer becomes treason but legal state policy.”
   “Taking decisions away from your liege lord is treason.”
   “Sire, there are too many precedents for deposing a lord. You’ve done it, Goroda did it, the Taikō—we’ve all done that and worse. A victor never commits treason.”
   “You’ve decided to depose me?”
   “I ask for your help in the decision.”
   “You’re the one person I thought I could trust!”
   “By all gods I only wish to be your most devoted vassal. I’m only a soldier. I wish to do my duty to you. I think only of you. I merit your trust. If it will help, take my head. If it will convince you to fight, I gladly give you my life, my clan’s life blood, today—in public or private or whatever way you wish—isn’t that what our friend General Kiyoshio did? I’m sorry but I do not understand why I should permit you to throw away a lifetime of effort.”
   “Then you refuse to obey my orders to head the escort that will leave for Osaka the day after tomorrow?”
   A cloud passed over the sun and both men looked out of the windows. “It’ll rain again soon,” Toranaga said.
   “Yes. There’s been too much rain this year, neh? The rains must stop soon or the harvest’ll be ruined.”
   They looked at each other.
   “Well?”
   Iron Fist said simply, “I formally ask you, Sire, do you order me to escort you from Yedo, the day after tomorrow, to begin the trek to Osaka?”
   “As there seems to be advice from all my counselors to the contrary, I’ll accept their opinion, and yours, and delay my departure.”
   Hiro-matsu was totally unprepared for this. “Eh? You won’t be leaving?”
   Toranaga laughed, the mask fell off, and he was the old Toranaga again. “I never intended to go to Osaka. Why should I be so stupid?”
   “What?”
   “My agreement at Yokosé was nothing more than a trick to gain time,” Toranaga said affably. “Ishido took the bait. The fool expects me in Osaka within a few weeks. Zataki also took that bait. And you and all my valiant, untrusting vassals also took the bait. With no real concession whatsoever I’ve gained a month, put Ishido and his filthy allies in turmoil. I hear they’re already scrambling for the Kwanto. Kiyama’s been promised it as well as Zataki.”
   “You never intended to go?” Hiro-matsu shook his head, then as the clarity of the idea suddenly hit him, his face broke into a delighted grin. “It’s all a ruse?”
   “Of course. Listen, everyone had to be taken in, neh? Zataki, everyone, even you! Or spies would have told Ishido and he would have moved against us at once and no good fortune on earth or gods in heaven could have prevented disaster to me.”
   “That’s true … ah, Lord, forgive me. I’m so stupid. I deserve to lose my head! So it was all nonsense, always nonsense. But … but what about General Kiyoshio?”
   “He said he was guilty of treason. I don’t need treasonous generals, only obedient vassals.”
   “But why attack Lord Sudara? Why withdraw your favor from him?”
   “Because it pleases me to do so,” Toranaga said harshly.
   “Yes. Please excuse me. That’s your sole privilege. I beg you to forgive me for doubting you.”
   “Why should I forgive you for being you, old friend? I needed you to do what you did and say what you said. Now I need you more than ever. I must have someone I can trust. That’s why I’m taking you into my confidence. This has got to be secret between us.”
   “Oh Sire. You make me so happy…”
   “Yes,” Toranaga said. “That’s the only thing I’m afraid of.”
   “Sire?”
   “You’re commander-in-chief. You alone can neutralize this stupid, brooding mutiny while I’m waiting. I trust you and must trust you. My son can’t hold my generals in check, though he’d never show outward joy at the secret—if he knew it—but your face is the gateway to your soul, old friend.”
   “Then let me take my life after I’ve settled the generals.”
   “That’s no help. You must hold them together pending my pretended departure, neh? You’ll just have to guard your face and your sleep like never before. You’re the only one in all the world who knows—you’re the only one I must trust, neh?”
   “Forgive me for my stupidity. I won’t fail. Explain to me what I must do.”
   “Say to my generals what’s true—that you persuaded me to take your advice, which is also theirs, neh? I formally order my departure postponed for seven days. Later I’ll postpone it again. Sickness, this time. You’re the only one to know.”
   “Then? Then it will be Crimson Sky?”
   “Not as originally planned. Crimson Sky was always a last plan, neh?”
   “Yes. What about the Musket Regiment? Could it blast a path through the mountains?”
   “Part of the way. But not all the way to Kyoto.”
   “Have Zataki assassinated.”
   “That might be possible. But Ishido and his allies are still invincible.” Toranaga told him the arguments of Omi, Yabu, Igurashi, and Buntaro the day of the earthquake. “At that time I ordered Crimson Sky as another feint to throw Ishido into confusion … and also had the right parts of the discussion whispered into the wrong ears. But the fact is, Ishido’s force is still invincible.”
   “How can we split them up? What about Kiyama and Onoshi?”
   “No, those two are implacably against me. All the Christians will be against me—except my Christian, and I will soon put him and his ship to very good use. Time is what I need most. I’ve allies and secret friends throughout the Empire and if I have time… Every day I gain weakens Ishido further. That’s my battle plan. Every day of delay is important. Listen, after the rains, Ishido will come against the Kwanto, a simultaneous pincer, Ikawa Jikkyu spearheading the south, Zataki in the north. We contain Jikkyu at Mishima, then fall back to the Hakoné Pass and Odawara, where we make our final stand. In the north we’ll hold Zataki fast in the mountains along the Hosho-kaidō Road somewhere near Mikawa. It’s true what Omi and Igurashi said: We can hold off the first attack and there shouldn’t be another great invasion. We fight and we wait behind our mountains. We fight and delay and wait and then when the fruit is ripe for plucking—Crimson Sky.”
   “Eeeeee, let that day be soon!”
   “Listen, old friend, only you can hold my generals in check. With time and the Kwanto secure, completely secure, we can weather the first attack and then Ishido’s alliances will begin to break up. Once that happens Yaemon’s future is assured and the Taikō’s testament inviolate.”
   “You will not take sole power, Sire?”
   “For the last time: ‘The law may upset reason but reason may never upset the law, or our whole society will shred like an old tatami. The law may be used to confound reason, reason must certainly not be used to overthrow the law.’ The Taikō’s will is law.”
   Hiro-matsu bowed an acceptance. “Very well, Sire. I will never mention it again. Please excuse me. Now—” He let his smile show. “Now, what must I do?”
   “Pretend that you’ve persuaded me to delay. Just keep them all in your iron fist.”
   “How long must I keep up the pretense?”
   “I don’t know.”
   “I don’t trust myself, Sire. I may make a mistake, not meaning to. I think I can keep the joy off my face for a few days. With your permission my ‘aches’ should become so bad that I’ll be confined to bed—no visitors, neh?”
   “Good. Do that in four days. Let some of the pain show from today on. That won’t be difficult, neh?”
   “No, Sire. So sorry. I’m glad the battle begins this year. Next … I may not be able to help.”
   “Nonsense. But it will be this year whether I say yes or no. In sixteen days I will leave Yedo for Osaka. By that time you will have given your ‘reluctant approval’ and you will lead the march. Only you and I know there will be further delays and that long before I reach my borders I’ll turn back to Yedo.”
   “Please forgive me for doubting you. If it wasn’t that I must remain alive to help your plans I could not live with my shame.”
   “No need for shame, old friend. If you hadn’t been convinced, Ishido and Zataki would have seen through the trick. Oh, by the way, how was Buntaro-san when you saw him?”
   “Seething, Sire. It will be good to have a battle for him to fight.”
   “He suggested removing me as liege lord?”
   “If he’d said that to me I would have removed his head! At once!”
   “I’ll send for you in three days. Ask to see me daily but I’ll refuse until then.”
   “Yes, Sire.” The old general bowed abjectly. “Please forgive this old fool. You’ve given my life purpose again. Thank you.” He left.
   Toranaga took out the little slip of paper from his sleeve and reread the message from his mother with enormous satisfaction. With the northern route possibly open and Ishido possibly betrayed there, his odds had enormously improved. He put the message to the flame. The paper curled into ash. Contentedly, he pounded the ash to dust. Now, who should be the new commander-in-chief? he asked himself.


   At noon, Mariko walked across the donjon forecourt, through the silent ranks of brooding guards, and went inside. Toranaga’s secretary was waiting for her in one of the anterooms on the ground floor. “So sorry to send for you, Lady Toda,” he said listlessly.
   “It’s my pleasure, Kawanabi-san.”

   Kawanabi was a sharp-featured, elderly samurai with a shaven head. Once he had been a Buddhist priest. For years now he had handled all of Toranaga’s correspondence. Normally he was bright and enthusiastic. Today, like most people in the castle, he was greatly unsettled. He handed her a small scroll. “Here are your travel documents for Osaka, duly signed. You are to leave tomorrow and get there as soon as possible.”
   “Thank you.” Her voice sounded tiny to her.
   “Lord Toranaga says he may have some private dispatches for you to take to Lady Kiritsubo and Lady Koto. Also for General Lord Ishido and Lady Ochiba. They’ll be delivered to you tomorrow at dawn if … so sorry, if they’re ready, I’ll see they’re delivered to you.”
   “Thank you.”
   From a number of scrolls that were stacked with pedantic neatness on his low desk, Kawanabi selected an official document. “I’m directed to give you this. It is the increase in your son’s fief as promised by Lord Toranaga. Ten thousand koku yearly. It’s dated from the last day of last month and … well, here it is.”
   She accepted it, read it, and checked the official chops. Everything was perfect. But it gave her no happiness. Both believed it was an empty paper now. If her son’s life was spared he would become ronin. “Thank you. Please thank Lord Toranaga for the honor he does us. May I be allowed to see him before I go?”
   “Oh, yes. When you leave here now you’re asked to go to the barbarian ship. You’re requested to wait for him there.”
   “I’m—I’m to interpret?”
   “He didn’t say. I would presume so, Lady Toda.” The secretary squinted at a list in his hand. “Captain Yoshinaka’s been ordered to lead your escort to Osaka, if it pleases you.”
   “I would be honored to be in his charge again. Thank you. May I ask how Lord Toranaga is?”
   “He seems well enough, but for an active man like him to coop himself up for days on end… What can I say?” He spread his hands helplessly. “So sorry. At least today he saw Lord Hiro-matsu and agreed to a delay. He’s also agreed to deal with a few other things … rice prices must be stabilized now in case of a bad harvest… But there’s so much to do and … it’s just not like him, Lady Toda. These are terrible times, neh? And terrible omens: The soothsayers say the harvest will be ruined this year.”
   “I will not believe them—until harvest time.”
   “Wise, very wise. But not many of us will see harvest time. I’m to go with him to Osaka.” Kawanabi shivered and leaned forward nervously. “I heard a rumor that the plague’s begun again between Kyoto and Osaka—smallpox. Is that another heavenly sign that the gods are turning their faces from us?”
   “It’s not like you to believe rumors or heavenly signs, Kawanabi-san, or to pass on rumors. You know what Lord Toranaga thinks of that.”
   “I know. So sorry. But, well … no one seems to be normal these days, neh?”
   “Perhaps the rumor’s not true—I pray it’s not true.” She shook off her foreboding. “Has the new date for the departure been set?”
   “I understood Lord Hiro-matsu to say that it was postponed for seven days. I’m so glad our commander-in-chief returned and so glad he persuaded… I wish the whole departure was put off forever. Better fight here than be dishonored there, neh?”
   “Yes,” she agreed, knowing there was no point any longer in pretending that this was not foremost in everyone’s mind. “Now that Lord Hiro-matsu’s back, perhaps our Lord will see that surrender’s not the best course.”
   “Lady, for your ears alone. Lord Hiro-matsu—” He stopped, looked up, and put a smile on his face. Yabu strode into the room, swords jingling. “Ah, Lord Kasigi Yabu, how nice to see you.” He bowed and Mariko bowed and there were pleasantries and then he said, “Lord Toranaga’s expecting you, Sire. Please go up at once.”
   “Good. What does he want to see me about?”
   “So sorry, Sire, he didn’t tell me—only that he wished to see you.”
   “How is he?”
   Kawanabi hesitated. “No change, Sire.”
   “His departure—has a new date been fixed?”
   “I understand it’ll be in seven days.”
   “Perhaps Lord Hiro-matsu’ll put it off even more, neh?”
   “That would be up to our Lord, Sire.”
   “Of course.” Yabu walked out.
   “You were saying about Lord Hiro-matsu?”
   “Only for your ears, Lady—as Buntaro-san’s not here,” the secretary whispered. “When old Iron Fist came from seeing Lord Toranaga, he had to rest for the best part of an hour. He was in very great pain, Lady.”
   “Oh! It would be terrible if something happened to him now!”
   “Yes. Without him there’d be a revolt, neh? This delay solves nothing, does it? It’s only a truce. The real problem—I’m—I’m afraid since Lord Sudara acted as formal second to General Kiyoshio, every time Lord Sudara’s name has been mentioned our Lord gets very angry… It’s only Lord Hiro-matsu who’s persuaded him to delay and that’s the only thing that …” Tears started running down the secretary’s cheeks. “What’s happening, Lady? He’s lost control, neh?”
   “No,” she said firmly, without conviction. “I’m sure everything will be all right. Thank you for telling me. I’ll try to see Lord Hiro-matsu before I leave.”
   “Go with God, Lady.”
   She was startled. “I didn’t know you were Christian, Kawanabi-san.”
   “I’m not, Lady. But I know it is your custom.”
   She walked out into the sun, greatly concerned over Hiro-matsu, at the same time blessing God that her waiting was over and tomorrow she would escape. She went toward the palanquin and escort waiting for her.
   “Ah, Lady Toda,” Gyoko said, stepping out of the shadows, intercepting her.
   “Ah, good morning, Gyoko-san, how nice to see you. I hope you’re well?” she said pleasantly, a sudden chill rushing through her.
   “Not well at all, I’m afraid, so sorry. So very sad. It seems we’re not in our Lord’s favor, Kiku-san and I. Ever since we got here we’ve been confined to a filthy third-class hotel I wouldn’t put an eighth-class male courtesan in.”
   “Oh, so sorry. I’m sure there must be some mistake.”
   “Ah yes, a mistake. I certainly hope so, Lady. At long last today I’ve been given permission to come to the castle, at long last there’s an answer to my petition to see the Great Lord, at long last I’m permitted to bow before the Great Lord again—later today.” Gyoko smiled at her crookedly. “I heard you were also coming to see the lord-secretary, so I thought I’d wait to greet you. I hope you don’t mind.”
   “It’s a pleasure to see you, Gyoko-san. I would have visited you and Kiku-san, or asked you both to visit me, but unfortunately that hasn’t been possible.”
   “Yes—so sad. These are sad times. Difficult for nobles. Difficult for peasants. Poor Kiku-san’s quite sick with worry to be out of our Lord’s favor.”
   “I’m sure she’s not, Gyoko-san. He—Lord Toranaga has many pressing problems, neh?”
   “True—true. Perhaps we could take some cha now, Lady Toda. I would be honored to be allowed to talk to you for a moment.”
   “Ah, so sorry, but I’m ordered to go on official business. Otherwise I would have been honored.”
   “Ah yes, you’ve to go to the Anjin-san’s ship now. Ah, I forgot, so sorry. How is the Anjin-san?”
   “I believe he is well,” Mariko said, furious that Gyoko knew her private business. “I’ve seen him only once—and then just for a few moments—since we arrived.”
   “An interesting man. Yes, very. Sad not to see one’s friends, neh?”
   Both women wore smiles, their voices polite and carefree, both conscious of the impatient samurai watching and listening to them.
   “I heard the Anjin-san visited his friends—his crew. How did he find them?”
   “He never told me, Gyoko-san. As I said, I only saw him for a moment. So sorry, but I must go …”
   “Sad not to see one’s friends. Perhaps I could tell you about them. For instance, that they live in an eta village.”
   “What?”
   “Yes. It seems his friends asked permission to live there, preferring it to civilized areas. Curious, neh? Not like the Anjin-san, who’s different. The rumor is they say it’s more like home to them—the eta village. Curious, neh …”
   Mariko was remembering how strange the Anjin-san had been on the stairs that day. That explains it, she thought. Eta! Madonna, poor man. How ashamed he must have been. “I’m sorry, Gyoko-san, what did you say?”
   “Just that it’s curious the Anjin-san’s so different from the others.”
   “What’re they like? Have you seen them? The others?”
   “No, Lady. I wouldn’t go there. What should I have to do with them? Or with eta? I must think of my clients and my Kiku-san. And my son.”
   “Ah yes, your son.”
   Gyoko’s face saddened under her parasol but her eyes remained flinty brown like her kimono. “Please excuse me, but I suppose you’ve no idea why we should be out of favor with Lord Toranaga?”
   “No. I’m sure you’re mistaken. The contract was settled, neh? According to the agreement?”
   “Oh yes, thank you. I’ve a letter of credit on the Mishima rice merchants, payable on demand. Less the amount we agreed. But money was furthest from my mind. What’s money when you’ve lost the favor of your patron—whoever he or she is. Neh?”
   “I’m sure you retain his favor.”
   “Ah, favors! I was worried about your favor, too, Lady Toda.”
   “You always have my goodwill. And friendship, Gyoko-san. Perhaps we could talk another time, I really must go now, so sorry…”
   “Ah yes, how kind you are. I’d enjoy that.” Gyoko added in her most honeyed voice as Mariko began to turn away, “But will you have time? You go tomorrow, neh? To Osaka?”
   Mariko felt a sudden ice barb in her chest as the trap closed.
   “Is there anything wrong, Lady?”
   “No … no, Gyoko-san. Will … during the Hour of the Dog tonight … would that be convenient?”
   “You’re too kind, Lady. Oh, yes, as you’re going to see our Master now, before me, would you intercede for us? We need such a little favor. Neh?”
   “I would be glad to.” Mariko thought a moment. “Some favors can be asked but, even so, are not granted.”
   Gyoko stiffened slightly. “Ah! You’ve already asked him the … asked him to favor us?”
   “Of course—why shouldn’t I?” Mariko said carefully. “Isn’t Kiku-san a favorite? And aren’t you a devoted vassal? Haven’t you been granted favors in the past?”
   “My requests are always so little. Everything I said before still applies, Lady. Perhaps more so.”
   “About empty-bellied dogs?”
   “About long ears and safe tongues.”
   “Ah yes. And secrets.”
   “It would be so easy to satisfy me. My Lord’s favor—and my Lady’s—is not much to ask, neh?”
   “No. If an opportunity occurs… I can promise nothing.”
   “Until this evening, Lady.”
   They bowed to each other and no samurai was any the wiser. Mariko got into the palanquin to more bows, hiding the trembles that beset her, and the cortege left. Gyoko stared after her.
   “You, woman,” a young samurai said roughly as he passed. “What’re you waiting for? Go about your business.”
   “Ha!” Gyoko said disdainfully to the amusement of others. “Woman, is it, puppy? If I went about your business I might have a very hard time finding it, hey, even though you’re not yet man enough to have thatch!”
   The others laughed. With a toss of her head she walked on fearlessly.


   “Hello,” Blackthorne said.
   “Good afternoon, Anjin-san. You look happy!”
   “Thank you. It’s the sight of such a lovely lady, neh?”
   “Ah, thank you,” Mariko replied. “How is your ship?”
   “First class. Would you like to come aboard? I’d like to show you around.”
   “Is that permitted? I was ordered here to meet Lord Toranaga.”
   “Yes. We’re all waiting for him now.” Blackthorne turned and spoke to the senior samurai on the wharf. “Captain, I take Lady Toda there. Show ship. When Lord Toranaga arrive—you call, neh?”
   “As you wish, Anjin-san.”
   Blackthorne led the way off the jetty. Samurai were manning the barriers and security was tighter than ever, ashore and on deck. First he went to the quarterdeck. “This is mine, all mine,” he said with pride.
   “Are any of your crew here?”
   “No—none. Not today, Mariko-san.” He pointed out everything as quickly as he could, then guided her below. “This is the main cabin.” The aft bay windows overlooked the foreshore. He closed the door. Now they were totally alone.
   “This is your cabin?” she asked.
   He shook his head, watching her. She went into his arms. He held her tight. “Oh, how I have missed thee.”
   “And I have missed thee…”
   “There’s so much to tell thee. And to ask thee,” he said.
   “I’ve nothing to tell thee. Except that I love thee with all my heart.” She shivered in his arms, trying to throw off her terror that Gyoko or someone would denounce them. “I’m so afraid for thee.”
   “Don’t be afraid, Mariko my darling. Everything’s going to be all right.”
   “That’s what I tell myself. But today it’s impossible to accept karma and the will of God.”
   “You were so distant the last time.”
   “This is Yedo, my love. And beyond First Bridge.”
   “It was because of Buntaro-san. Wasn’t it?”

   “Yes,” she said simply. “That and Toranaga’s decision to surrender. It’s such a dishonorable uselessness… I never thought I’d ever say that out loud but I have to say it. So sorry.” She nestled closer into the protection of his shoulder.
   “When he goes to Osaka, you’re finished, too?”
   “Yes. The Toda clan are too powerful and important. In any event I would not be left alive.”
   “Then you must come with me. We’ll escape. We’ll—”
   “So sorry, but there’s no escape.”
   “Unless Toranaga allows it, neh?”
   “Why should he allow it?”
   Quickly Blackthorne told her what he had said to Toranaga, but not that he had also asked for her. “I know I can force the priests to bring Kiyama or Onoshi to his side, if he’ll allow me to take this Black Ship,” he finished excitedly, “and I know I can do that!”
   “Yes,” she said, glad for the sake of the Church that he was hobbled by Toranaga’s decision. Again she examined the logic of his plan and found it flawless. “It should work, Anjin-san. Now that Harima’s hostile, there would be no reason why Toranaga-sama shouldn’t order an attack if he were going to war, and not surrendering.”
   “If Lord Kiyama or Lord Onoshi, or both of them, joined him, would that tip the scale toward him?”
   “Yes,” she said. “With Zataki and time.” She had already explained the strategic importance of Zataki’s control of the northern route. “But Zataki’s opposed to Toranaga-sama.”
   “Listen, I can strangle the priests. So sorry, but they are my enemy though they are your priests. I can dominate them on his behalf—on mine too. Will you help me to help him?”
   She stared up at him. “How?”
   “Help me to persuade him to give me the chance, and persuade him to delay going to Osaka.”
   There was the sound of horses and voices raised on the jetty. Distracted, they went to the windows. Samurai were pulling aside one of the barriers. Father Alvito spurred forward into the clearing.
   “What does he want?” Blackthorne muttered sourly.
   They watched the priest as he dismounted and pulled out a scroll from his sleeve and gave it to the senior samurai. The man read it. Alvito looked up at the ship.
   “Whatever it is, is official,” she said in a small voice.
   “Listen, Mariko-san, I’m not against the Church. The Church isn’t evil, it’s the priests. And they’re not all bad. Alvito isn’t, though he’s fanatic. I swear to God I believe the Jesuits will bow to Lord Toranaga if I get their Black Ship and threaten next year’s, because they’ve got to have money—Portugal and Spain have got to have money. Toranaga’s more important. Will you help me?”
   “Yes. Yes, I’ll help you, Anjin-san. But, please excuse me, I cannot betray the Church.”
   “All I ask is that you talk to Toranaga, or help me to talk to him if you think that’s better.”
   A distant bugle sounded. They looked out of the windows again. Everyone was staring west. The head of a procession of samurai around a curtained litter approached from the direction of the castle.
   The cabin door opened. “Anjin-san, you will come now, please,” the samurai said.
   Blackthorne led the way on deck and down to the jetty. His nod to Alvito was coldly polite. The priest was equally glacial.
   To Mariko, Alvito was kind. “Hello, Mariko-san. How nice to see you.”
   “Thank you, Father,” she said, bowing low.
   “May the blessings of God be upon you.” He made the sign of the cross over her. “In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.”
   “Thank you, Father.”
   Alvito glanced at Blackthorne. “So, Pilot? How is your ship?”
   “I’m sure you already know.”
   “Yes, I know.” Alvito looked Erasmus over, his face taut. “May God curse her and all who sail in her if she’s used against Faith and Portugal.”
   “Is that why you came here? To spread more venom?”
   “No, Pilot,” Alvito said. “I was asked here to meet Lord Toranaga. I find your presence as distasteful as you find mine.”
   “Your presence isn’t distasteful, Father. It’s just the evil you represent.”
   Alvito flushed and Mariko said quickly, “Please. It is bad to quarrel this way in public. I beg you both to be more circumspect.”
   “Yes, please excuse me. I apologize, Mariko-san.” Father Alvito turned away and looked at the curtained litter coming through the barrier, Toranaga’s pennant fluttering, and uniformed samurai before and after, hemming in a straggling, motley group of samurai.
   The palanquin stopped. The curtains parted. Yabu stepped out. Everyone was startled. Nonetheless they bowed. Yabu returned the salutation arrogantly.
   “Ah, Anjin-san,” Yabu said. “How are you?”
   “Good, thank you, Sire. And you?”
   “Good, thank you. Lord Toranaga’s sick. He asked me to come in his place. You understand?”
   “Yes. Understand,” Blackthorne replied, trying to cover his disappointment at Toranaga’s non-arrival. “So sorry Lord Toranaga sick.”
   Yabu shrugged, acknowledged Mariko deferentially, pretended not to notice Alvito, and studied the ship for a moment. His smile was twisted as he turned back to Blackthorne. “So desu, Anjin-san. Your ship’s different from the last time I saw it, neh? Yes, the ship’s different, you’re different, everything’s different—even our world’s different! Neh?”
   “So sorry, I don’t understand, Sire. Please excuse me but your words very fast. As my—” Blackthorne began the stock phrase but Yabu interrupted gutturally, “Mariko-san, please translate for me.”
   She did so.
   Blackthorne nodded and said slowly, “Yes. Different, Yabu-sama.”
   “Yes, very different—you’re no longer barbarian but samurai, and so is your ship, neh?”
   Blackthorne saw the smile on the thick lips, the pugnacious stance, and suddenly he was back at Anjiro, back on the beach on his knees, Croocq in the cauldron, Pieterzoon’s screams ringing in his ears, the stench of the pit in his nostrils, and his mind was shouting, ‘So unnecessary all that—all the suffering and terror and Pieterzoon and Spillbergen and Maetsukker and the jail and eta and trapped and all your fault!’
   “Are you all right, Anjin-san?” Mariko asked, apprehensive at the look in his eyes.
   “What? Oh—oh, yes. Yes, I’m all right.”
   “What’s the matter with him?” Yabu said.
   Blackthorne shook his head, trying to clear it and wash the hatred off his face. “So sorry. Please excuse me. I’m—I—it’s nothing. Head bad—no sleep. So sorry.” He stared back into Yabu’s eyes, hoping he had covered his dangerous lapse. “Sorry Toranaga-sama sick—hope no trouble Yabu-sama.”
   “No, no trouble.” Yabu was thinking, yes trouble, you’re nothing but trouble and I’ve had nothing but trouble ever since you and your filthy ship arrived on my shores. Izu gone, my guns gone, all honor gone, and now my head forfeit because of a coward. “No trouble, Anjin-san,” he said so nicely. “Toranaga-sama asked me to hand over your vassals to you as he promised.” His eyes fell on Alvito. “So, Tsukku-san! Why are you enemy to Toranaga-sama?”
   “I’m not, Kasigi Yabu-sama.”
   “Your Christian daimyos are, neh?”
   “Please excuse me, Sire, but we are priests only, we’re not responsible for the political views of those who worship the True Faith, nor do we exercise control over those daimyos who—”
   “The True Faith of this Land of the Gods is Shinto, together with the Tao, the Way of Buddha!”
   Alvito did not answer. Yabu turned contemptuously away and snapped an order. The ragged group of samurai began to line up in front of the ship. Not one was armed. Some had their hands bound.
   Alvito stepped forward and bowed. “Perhaps you will excuse me, Sire. I was to see Lord Toranaga. As he isn’t coming—”
   “Lord Toranaga wanted you here to interpret for him with the Anjin-san,” Yabu interrupted with deliberate bad manners, as Toranaga had told him to do. “Yes, to interpret as you alone can do so cleverly, speaking directly and at once, neh? Of course you have no objection to doing for me what Lord Toranaga required, before you go?”
   “No, of course not, Sire.”
   “Good. Mariko-san! Lord Toranaga asks that you see the Anjin-san’s responses are equally correctly translated.” Alvito reddened but held onto his temper.
   “Yes, Sire,” Mariko said, hating Yabu.
   Yabu snapped another order. Two samurai went to the litter and returned with the ship’s strongbox, heavy between them. “Tsukku-san, now you will begin: Listen, Anjin-san, firstly, Lord Toranaga’s asked me to return this. It’s your property, neh? Open it,” he ordered the samurai. The box was brimful with silver coins. “This is as it was taken off the ship.”
   “Thank you.” Blackthorne was hardly able to believe his eyes, for this gave him power to buy the very best crew, without promises.
   “It is to be put in the ship’s strong room.”
   “Yes, of course.”
   Yabu waved those samurai aboard. Then, to Alvito’s growing fury as he continued with the almost simultaneous translating, Yabu said, “Next: Lord Toranaga says you are free to go, or to stay. When you are in our land you are samurai, hatamoto, and governed by samurai law. At sea, beyond our shores, you are as you were before you came here and governed by barbarian laws. You are granted the right for your lifetime to dock at any port in Lord Toranaga’s control without search by port authorities. Last, these two hundred men are your vassals. He asked me to formally hand them over, with arms, as he promised.”
   “I can leave when and how I want?” Blackthorne asked with disbelief.
   “Yes, Anjin-san, you can leave as Lord Toranaga has agreed.”
   Blackthorne stared at Mariko but she avoided his eyes, so he looked again at Yabu. “Could I leave tomorrow?”
   “Yes, if you want to.” Yabu added, “About these men. They’re all ronin. All from the northern provinces. They’ve all agreed to swear eternal allegiance to you and your seed. All are good warriors. None has committed a crime that could be proved. All became ronin because their liege lords were killed, died, or were deposed. Many fought on ships against wako.” Yabu smiled in his vicious way. “Some may have been wako —you understand ‘wako ’?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Those who are bound are probably bandits or wako. They came forward as a band and volunteered to serve you fearlessly in return for a pardon for any past crimes. They’ve sworn to Lord Noboni who handpicked all these men for you on Lord Toranaga’s orders—that they’ve never committed any crime against Lord Toranaga or any of his samurai. You can accept them individually, or as a group, or refuse them. You understand?”
   “I can refuse any of them?”
   “Why should you do that?” Yabu asked. “Lord Noboru picked them carefully.”
   “Of course, so sorry,” Blackthorne told Yabu wearily, conscious of the daimyo ’s growing ill humor. “I quite understand. But those who are bound—what happens if I refuse them?”
   “Their heads will be hacked off. Of course. What’s that got to do with anything?”
   “Nothing. So sorry.”
   “Follow me.” Yabu stalked over to the litter.
   Blackthorne glanced at Mariko. “I can leave. You heard it!”
   “Yes.”
   “That means… It’s almost like a dream. He said—”
   “Anjin-san!”
   Obediently Blackthorne hurried over to Yabu. Now the litter served as a dais. A clerk had set up a low table on which were scrolls. A little farther off, samurai guarded a pile of short swords and long swords, spears, shields, axes, bows and arrows, that porters were unloading from pack horses. Yabu motioned Blackthorne to sit beside him, Alvito just in front and Mariko on his other side. The clerk called out names. Each man came forward, bowed with great formality, gave his name and lineage, swore allegiance, signed his scroll, and sealed it with a drop of blood that the clerk ritually pricked from his finger. Each knelt to Blackthorne a final time, then got up and hurried to the armorer. First he was handed a killing sword, then the short one. Each accepted both blades with reverence and examined them meticulously, expressing pride at their quality, and shoved them into his sash with savage glee. Then he was issued other weapons and a war shield. When the men took up their new places, fully armed now, samurai again and no longer ronin, they were stronger and straighter and looked even more fierce.
   Last were the thirty bound ronin. Blackthorne insisted on personally cutting the bonds of each. One by one they swore allegiance as had all the others: “On my honor as a samurai, I swear your enemies are my enemies, and total obedience.”
   After each man had sworn, he collected his weapons.
   Yabu called out, “Uraga-noh-Tadamasa!”
   The man stepped forward. Alvito was heartsick. Uraga—Brother Joseph—had been standing unnoticed among the samurai grouped nearby. He was unarmed and wore a simple kimono and bamboo hat. Yabu smirked at Alvito’s discomposure and turned to Blackthorne.
   “Anjin-san. This is Uraga-noh-Tadamasa. Samurai, now ronin. You recognize him? Understand ‘recognize’?”
   “Yes. Understand. Yes, recognize.”
   “Good. Once Christian priest, neh?”
   “Yes.”
   “Now not. Understand? Now ronin.”
   “Understand, Yabu-sama.”
   Yabu watched Alvito. Alvito was staring fixedly at the apostate, who stared back with hatred. “Ah, Tsukku-san, you recognize him too?”
   “Yes. I recognize him, Sire.”
   “Are you ready to translate again—or haven’t you any stomach for it anymore?”
   “Please continue, Sire.”
   “Good.” Yabu waved a hand at Uraga. “Listen, Anjin-san, Lord Toranaga gives this man to you, if you want him. Once he was a Christian priest—a novice priest. Now he’s not. Now he’s denounced the false foreign god and has reverted to the True Faith of Shinto and—” He stopped as the Father stopped. “Did you say it exactly, Tsukku-san? True Faith of Shinto?”

   The priest did not answer. He exhaled, then said it exactly, adding, “That’s what he said, Anjin-san, may God forgive him.” Mariko let that pass without comment, hating Yabu even more, promising herself vengeance on him one day soon.
   Yabu watched them, then he continued, “So Uraga-san’s a Christian that was. Now he’s prepared to serve you. He can speak barbarian and the private tongue of the priests and he was one of the four samurai youths sent to your lands. He even met the chief Christian of all the Christians, so they say—but now he hates them all, just like you, neh?” Yabu was watching Alvito, baiting him, his eyes flicking back and forth to Mariko, who was listening as intently. “You hate Christians, Anjin-san, neh?”
   “Most Catholics are my enemy, yes,” he answered, completely aware of Mariko, who was staring stonily into the distance. “Spain and Portugal are enemies of my country, yes.”
   “Christians are our enemies too. Eh, Tsukku-san?”
   “No, Sire. And Christianity gives you the key to immortal life.”
   “Does it, Uraga-san?” Yabu said.
   Uraga shook his head. His voice was raw. “I no longer think so, Sire. No.”
   “Tell the Anjin-san.”
   “Senhor Anjin-san,” Uraga said, his accent thick but his Portuguese words correct and easily understandable, “I do not think this Catholicism is the lock—so sorry, is the key to immortality.”
   “Yes,” Blackthorne said. “I agree.”
   “Good,” Yabu continued. “So Lord Toranaga offers this ronin to you, Anjin-san. He’s renegade but from good samurai family. Uraga swears, if you’ll accept him, he’ll be your secretary, translator, and do anything you want. You’ll have to give him swords. What else, Uraga? Tell him.”
   “Senhor, please excuse me. First …” Uraga took off his hat. His hair was a stubble now, his pate shaven in samurai style, but he had no queue yet. “First, I’m shamed my hair is not correct and I have no queue as a samurai should have. But my hair will grow and I am not less samurai for that.” He put his hat back on his head. He told Yabu what he had said, and those ronin who were near and could hear also listened attentively as he continued, “Second, please excuse me greatly but I cannot use swords—or any weapons. I’ve—I’ve never been trained in them. But I will learn, believe me I will learn. Please excuse my shame. I swear absolute allegiance to you and beg you to accept me …” Sweat trickled down his face and back.
   Blackthorne said compassionately; “Shigata ga nai, neh? Ukeru anatawa desu, Uraga-san.” What does that matter? I accept you, Uraga-san.
   Uraga bowed, then explained to Yabu what he had said. No one laughed. Except Yabu. But his laughter was cut short by the beginning of an altercation between the last two ronin over the selection of the remaining swords. “You two, shut up,” he shouted.
   Both men spun around and one snarled, “You’re not my master! Where are your manners? Say please, or shut up yourself!”
   Instantly Yabu leaped to his feet and rushed the offending ronin, his sword on high. Men scattered, and the ronin fled. Near the side of the wharf the man jerked out his sword and abruptly turned to the attack with a fiendish battle cry. At once all his friends darted to his rescue, swords ready, and Yabu was trapped. The man charged. Yabu avoided a violent sword thrust, hacked back, and missed as the pack surged forward for the kill. Too late Toranaga samurai rushed forward, knowing Yabu was a dead man.
   “Stop!” Blackthorne shouted in Japanese. Everyone froze at the power of his voice. “Go there!” He pointed to where the men had been lined up before. “Now! Order!”
   For a moment all the men on the wharf remained motionless. Then they started to move. The spell broke. Yabu darted at the man who had insulted him. The ronin jumped back, sidestepped, his sword held violently above his head, two-handed, waiting fearlessly for the next attack. His friends hesitated.
   “Go there! Now! Order!”
   Reluctantly but obediently, the rest of the men backed out of the way, sheathed their swords. Yabu and the man circled each other slowly.
   “You!” Blackthorne shouted. “Stop! Sword down! I order!”
   The man kept his furious eyes on Yabu but he heard the order and wet his lips. He feinted left, then right. Yabu retreated and the man slipped out of his grasp and rushed nearer to Blackthorne and put his sword down in front of him. “I obey, Anjin-san. I didn’t attack him.” As Yabu charged, he leaped out of the way and retreated fearlessly, more fleet than Yabu, younger than Yabu, taunting him.
   “Yabu-san,” Blackthorne called out. “So sorry—think mistake, neh? Perhaps—”
   But Yabu spouted a flood of Japanese and rushed the man, who fled again without fear.
   Alvito was now coldly amused. “Yabu-san said there’s no mistake, Anjin-san. This cabron has to die, he says. No samurai could accept such an insult!”
   Blackthorne felt all their eyes on him as he desperately tried to decide what to do. He watched Yabu stalk the man. Just to the left a Toranaga samurai aimed his bow. The only noise was that of the two men panting and running and shouting at one another. The ronin backed, then turned and ran away, around the clearing, sidestepping, weaving, all the time keeping up a guttural hissing flood of invective.
   Alvito said, “He’s baiting Yabu, Anjin-san. He says: ‘I’m samurai—I don’t kill unarmed men like you—you’re not a samurai, you’re a manure—stinking peasant ah, so that’s it, you’re not samurai, you’re eta, neh? Your mother was eta, your father was eta, and—’” The Jesuit stopped as Yabu let out a bellow of rage and pointed at one of the men and shouted something. “Yabu says: ‘You! Give him his sword.’”
   The ronin hesitated and looked at Blackthorne for the order.
   Yabu turned to Blackthorne and shouted, “Give him his sword!”
   Blackthorne picked up the sword. “Yabu-san, ask not fight,” he said, wishing him dead. “Please ask not fight—”
   “Give him the sword!”
   An angry murmur went through Blackthorne’s men. He held up his hand. “Silence!” He looked at his ronin vassal. “Come here. Please!” The man watched Yabu, feinted left then right, and each time Yabu hacked at him in wild rage but the man managed to slip away and race to Blackthorne. This time Yabu did not follow. He just waited and watched like a mad bull readying his charge. The man bowed to Blackthorne and took the sword. Then he turned on Yabu and, with a howling battle cry, flung himself to the attack. Swords clashed and clashed again. Now the two men circled in the silence. There was another frantic exchange, the swords singing. Then Yabu stumbled and the ronin charged in for the easy kill. But Yabu neatly sidestepped and struck. The man’s hands, still gripping the sword, were sliced off. For a moment the ronin stood there howling, staring at his stumps, then Yabu hacked off his head.
   There was silence. Then a roar of applause surrounded Yabu. Yabu slashed once more at the twitching corpse. Then, honor vindicated, he picked up the head by the topknot, spat carefully in the face, and tossed it aside. Quietly he walked back to Blackthorne. and bowed.
   “Please excuse my bad manners, Anjin-san. Thank you for giving him his sword,” he said, his voice polite, Alvito translating. “I apologize for shouting. Thank you for allowing me to blood my sword honorably.” His eyes dropped to the heirloom Toranaga had given him. Carefully he examined its edge. It was still perfect. He undid his silk sash to cleanse the blood away. “Never touch a blade with your fingers, Anjin-san, that will ruin it. A blade must feel only silk or the body of an enemy.” He stopped and looked up. “May I politely suggest you allow your vassals to test their blades? It will be a good omen for them.”
   Blackthorne turned to Uraga. “Tell them.”


   When Yabu returned to his house it was late in the day. Servants took his sweat-soiled clothes and gave him a fresh lounging kimono and put his feet into clean tabi. Yuriko, his wife, was waiting for him in the cool of the veranda with cha and saké, piping hot, the way he liked to drink it.
   “Saké, Yabu-san?” Yuriko was a tall thin woman with gray-streaked hair. Her dark kimono of poor quality set off her fair skin nicely.
   “Thank you, Yuriko-san.” Yabu drank the wine gratefully, enjoying the sweet, harsh rasp as it slid down his parched throat.
   “It went well, I hear.”
   “Yes.”
   “How impertinent of that ronin!”
   “He served me well, Lady, very well. I feel fine now. I’ve blooded Toranaga’s sword and made it really mine.” Yabu finished the cup and she refilled it. His hand fondled his sword hilt. “But you wouldn’t have enjoyed the fight. He was a child—he fell into the first trap.”
   She touched him tenderly. “I’m glad he did, husband.”
   “Thank you, but I hardly got up a sweat.” Yabu laughed. “You should have seen the priest though! It would have made you warm to see that barbarian sweating—I’ve never seen him so angry. He was so angry it almost choked him to hold it in. Cannibal! They’re all cannibals. Pity there’s no way to stamp them out before we depart this earth.”
   “Do you think the Anjin-san could?”
   “He’s going to try. With ten of those ships and ten of him, I could control the seas from here to Kyushu. With only him I could hurt Kiyama, Onoshi, and Harima and smash Jikkyu and keep Izu! We only need a little time and every daimyo ’ll be fighting his own special enemy. Izu would be safe and mine again! I don’t understand why Toranaga’s going to let the Anjin-san go. That’s another stupid waste!” He bunched his fist and slammed it on the tatamis. The maid flinched but said nothing. Yuriko did not make the slightest move. A smile flickered across her face.
   “How did the Anjin-san take his freedom, and his vassals?” she asked.
   “He was so happy he was like an old man dreaming he had a four-pronged Yang. He—oh yes—” Yabu frowned, remembering. “But there was one thing I still don’t understand. When those wako first surrounded me I was a dead man. No doubt about it. But the Anjin-san stopped them and gave me back my life. No reason for him to do that, neh? Just before, I’d seen the hate written all over him. So naïve to pretend otherwise—as if I’d trust him.”
   “He gave you your life?”
   “Oh yes. Strange, neh?”
   “Yes. Many strange things are going on, husband.” She dismissed the maid, then asked quietly, “What did Toranaga really want?”
   Yabu bent forward and whispered, “I think he wants me to become commander-in-chief.”
   “Why should he do that? Is Iron Fist dying?” Yuriko asked. “What about Lord Sudara? Or Buntaro? Or Lord Noboru?”
   “Who knows, Lady? They’re all out of favor, neh? Toranaga changes his mind so often no one can predict what he’ll do now. First he asked me to go in his place to the wharf and told how he wanted everything said, then he talked about Hiro-matsu, how old he was getting, and asked what I really thought about the Musket Regiment.”
   “Could he be readying Crimson Sky again?”
   “That’s always ready. But he hasn’t got the Fruit for it. That will need leadership and skill. Once he had it, not now. Now he’s a shadow of the Minowara he was. I was shocked at how he looked. So sorry, I made a mistake. I should have gone with Ishido.”
   “I think you chose correctly.”
   “What?”
   “First have your bath, then I think I have a present for you.”
   “What present?”
   “Your brother Mizuno is coming after the evening meal.”
   “That’s a present?” Yabu bristled. “What would I want with that fool?”
   “Special information or wisdom, even from a fool, can be just as valuable as from a counselor, neh? Sometimes more so.”
   “What information?”
   “First your bath. And food. You’ll need a cool head tonight, Yabu-chan.”
   Yabu would have pressed her but the bath tempted him, and in truth, he was filled with a pleasing lassitude he had not felt in many a day. Part of it was due to Toranaga’s deference this morning, part to the generals’ deference over the last few days. But most of it was due to the killing, the ripple of joy that had rushed from sword to arm to head. Ah, to kill so cleanly, man to man—in front of men —that’s a joy given to so few, so rarely. Rare enough to be appreciated and savored.
   So he left his wife and relaxed further into his joy. He allowed hands to tend his body and then, refreshed and renewed, he went to a veranda room. The last rays of sunset bedecked the sky. The moon was low, crescent, and thin. One of his personal maids served his evening meal delicately. He ate sparingly and in silence. A little soup and fish and pickled vegetables.
   The girl smiled invitingly. “Shall I turn down the futons now, Sire?”
   Yabu shook his head. “Later. First tell my wife I wish to see her.”
   Yuriko arrived, wearing a neat but old kimono.
   “So desu ka?”
   “Your brother’s waiting. We should see him alone. See him first, Sire, then we’ll talk, you and I—also alone. Please be patient, neh?”
   Kasigi Mizuno, Yabu’s younger brother and Omi’s father, was a small man with bulbous eyes, high forehead, and thin hair. His swords did not seem to suit him and he could barely handle them. Even with bow and arrow he was not much better.
   Mizuno bowed and complimented Yabu on his skill this afternoon, for the news of the exploit had quickly spread around the castle, further enhancing Yabu’s reputation as a fighter. Then, anxious to please, he came to the point. “I received a coded letter today from my son, Sire. The Lady Yuriko thought I’d better give it to you personally.” He handed the scroll to Yabu, with the decoding. The message from Omi read: “Father, please tell Lord Yabu quickly and privately: first Lord Buntaro came to Mishima, secretly via Takato. One of his men let this slip during a drunken evening that I’d arranged in their honor. Second: During this secret visit at Takato, which lasted three days, Buntaro saw Lord Zataki twice and the Lady, Zataki’s mother, three times. Third: Before Lord Hiro-matsu left Mishima he told his new consort, the Lady Oko, not to worry because ‘while I’m alive Lord Toranaga will never leave the Kwanto.’ Fourth: that—”
   Yabu looked up. “How can Omi-san possibly know what Iron Fist said privately to his consort? We don’t have spies in his house.”
   “We have now, Sire. Please read on.”
   “Fourth: that Hiro-matsu is resolved to commit treason, if necessary, and will confine Toranaga in Yedo, if necessary, and will order Crimson Sky over Toranaga’s refusal with or without Lord Sudara’s assent, if necessary. Fifth: that these are truths that can be believed. Lady Oko’s personal maid is the daughter of my wife’s foster mother and was introduced into the Lady Oko’s service here at Mishima when, regrettably, her own maid curiously acquired a wasting malaise. Sixth: Buntaro-san is like a madman, brooding and angry—today he challenged and slaughtered a samurai purposelessly, cursing the name of the Anjin-san. Last: Spies report that Ikawa Jikkyu has massed ten thousand men in Suruga, ready to sweep across our borders. Please give Lord Yabu my greetings…” The rest of the message was inconsequential.
   “Jikkyu, eh! Must I go to my death with that devil unrevenged!”
   “Please be patient, Sire,” Yuriko said. “Tell him, Mizuno-san.”
   “Sire,” the little man began. “For months we’ve tried to put your plan into effect, the one you suggested when the barbarian first arrived. You remember, with all those silver coins, you mentioned that a hundred or even five hundred in the hands of the right cook would eliminate Ikawa Jikkyu once and for all.” Mizuno’s eyes seemed to grow even more froglike. “It seems that Mura, headman of Anjiro, has a cousin who has a cousin whose brother now is the best cook in Suruga. I heard today he’s been accepted into Jikkyu’s household. He’s been given two hundred on account and the whole price is five hun—”
   “We haven’t got that money! Impossible! How can I raise five hundred—I’m so in debt now I can’t even raise one hundred!”
   “Please excuse me, Sire. So sorry, but the money’s already set aside. Not all the barbarian coins remained in the strongbox. A thousand coins strayed before it was officially counted. So sorry.”

   Yabu gawked at him. “How?”
   “It seems Omi-san was ordered to do that in your name. The money was brought here secretly to the Lady Yuriko, from whom permission was asked and granted before risking your displeasure.”
   Yabu thought about that a long time. “Who ordered it?”
   “I did. After seeking permission.”
   “Thank you, Mizuno-san. And thank you, Yuriko-san.” Yabu bowed to both. “So! Jikkyu, eh? At long last!” He clapped his brother warmly on the shoulder and the smaller man was almost pathetic in his fawning pleasure. “You did very well, brother. I’ll send you some bolts of silk from the treasury. How is the lady, your wife?”
   “Well, Sire, very well. She asked you to accept her best wishes.”
   “We must have food together. Good—good. Now about the rest of the report—what are your views?”
   “Nothing, Sire. I would be most interested in what you think it means.”
   “First—” Yabu stopped as he caught his wife’s look, cautioning him, and changed what he was going to say, “First and last, it means that Omi-san, your son, is loyal and an excellent vassal. If I had control of the future I’d promote him—yes, he deserves promotion, neh?”
   Mizuno was unctuously delighted. Yabu was patient with him, chatting with him, again complimenting him and, as soon as was polite, he dismissed him.
   Yuriko sent for cha. When they were quite alone again he said, “What does the rest mean?”
   Her face mirrored her excitement now, “Please excuse me, Sire, but I want to give you a new idea: Toranaga is playing us all for fools and has no intention, and never had any intention, of going to Osaka to surrender.”
   “Nonsense!”
   “Let me give you facts… Oh, Sire, you don’t know how fortunate you are in your vassal Omi and that stupid brother who stole a thousand coins. Proof of my theory could be as follows: Buntaro-san, a trusted intimate, is sent to Zataki secretly. Why? Obviously to carry a new offer. What would tempt Zataki? The Kwanto—only that. So the offer is the Kwanto—in return for allegiance, once Toranaga is again President of the Council of Regents—a new one with the new mandate. He can afford to give it then, neh?” She waited, then went on painstakingly. “If he persuades Zataki to betray Ishido, he’s a quarter of the way to the capital, Kyoto. How can the pact with his brother be cemented? Hostages! I heard this afternoon Lord Sudara, the Lady Genjiko, and their daughters and their son are going to visit their revered grandmother at Takato within ten days.”
   “All of them?”
   “Yes. Next Toranaga gives the Anjin-san back his ship, as good as new, with all the cannon and powder, two hundred fanatics and all that money, surely enough to buy more barbarian mercenaries, wako scum out of Nagasaki. Why? To allow him to attack and take the Black Ship of the barbarians. No Black Ship, no money, and immense trouble for the Christian priests who control Kiyama, Onoshi, and all traitorous Christian daimyos.”
   “Toranaga’d never dare to do that! The Taikō tried and failed and he was all powerful. The barbarians will sail away in fury. We’ll never trade again.”
   “Yes. If we did it. But this time it’s barbarian against barbarian, neh? It’s nothing to do with us. And say the Anjin-san attacks Nagasaki and puts it to the torch—isn’t Harima now hostile, and Kiyama and Onoshi, and, because of them, most Kyushu daimyos? Say the Anjin-san burns a few of their other ports, harries their shipping, and at the same time—”
   “And at the same time Toranaga launches Crimson Sky!” Yabu exploded.
   “Yes. Oh yes,” Yuriko agreed happily. “Doesn’t this explain Toranaga? Doesn’t this intrigue fit him like a skin? Isn’t he doing what he’s always done, just waiting like always, playing for time like always, a day here a day there and soon a month has passed and again he has an overwhelming force to sweep all opposition aside? He’s gained almost a month since Zataki brought the summons to Yokosé.”
   Yabu could feel his pulse roaring in his ears. “Then we’re safe?”
   “No, but we’re not lost. I believe it’s no surrender.” She hesitated. “But everyone was deceived. Oh, he’s so clever, neh? Everyone fooled like us. Until tonight. Omi gave me the clues. We all forgot Toranaga is a great Nōh actor who can wear his own face as a mask if need be. Neh?”
   Yabu tried to marshal his thoughts but could not. “But Ishido still has all Japan against us!”
   “Yes. Less Zataki. And there must be other secret alliances. Toranaga and you can hold the passes until the time.”
   “Ishido has Osaka Castle and the Heir and the Taikō’s wealth.”
   “Yes. But he’ll stay skulking inside. Someone will betray him.”
   “What should I do?”
   “The opposite to Toranaga. Let him do the waiting, you must force the pace.
   “How?”
   “The first thing, Sire, is this: Toranaga’s forgotten the one thing you noticed this afternoon. The Tsukku-san’s total fury. Why? Because the Anjin-san threatens the Christian future, neh? So you’ve got to put the Anjin-san under your protection at once, because those priests or their puppets will murder him within hours. Next: The Anjin-san needs you to protect and guide him, to help him get his new crew at Nagasaki. Without you and your men he has to fail. Without him and his ship and his cannon and more barbarians, Nagasaki won’t burn, and that must happen or Kiyama, Onoshi, and Harima and the filthy priests won’t be distracted enough to temporarily withdraw their support from Ishido. Meanwhile, Toranaga, now miraculously supported by Zataki and his fanatics, with you leading the Musket Regiment, sweeps through the Shinano passes down to the Kyota plains.”
   “Yes. Yes, you are right, Yuriko-chan! It has to be that way. Oh, you are so clever, so wise!”
   “Wisdom and Luck are no good without the means to put a plan into effect, Sire. You alone can do that—you’re the leader, the fighter, the battle-general that Toranaga must have. You must see him tonight.”
   “I can’t go to Toranaga and tell him I’ve seen through his ruse, neh?”
   “No, but you’ll beg him to allow you to go with the Anjin-san, that you must leave at once. We can think of a plausible reason.”
   “But if the Anjin-san attacks Nagasaki and the Black Ship, won’t they stop trading and sail away?”
   “Yes. Possibly. But that’s next year. By next year Toranaga will be a Regent, President of the Regents. And you his commander-in-chief.” Yabu came down from the clouds. “No,” he said firmly. “Once he has power he’ll order me to commit seppuku.”
   “Long before that you will have the Kwanto.”
   His eyes blinked. “How?”
   “Toranaga will never actually give his half brother the Kwanto. Zataki’s a perpetual threat. Zataki’s a wild man, pride-filled, neh? It will be so easy for Toranaga to maneuver Zataki into begging for the foremost place in the battle. If Zataki doesn’t get killed … perhaps a stray bullet or arrow? Probably a bullet. You must lead the Musket Regiment in the battle, Sire.”
   “Why shouldn’t I receive a stray bullet equally?”
   “You may, Sire. But you’re not Toranaga’s kinsman and therefore no threat to his power. You will become his most devoted vassal. He needs fighting generals. You’ll earn the Kwanto, and that should be your only goal. He’ll give it to you when Ishido’s betrayed because he’ll take Osaka for himself.”
   “Vassal? But you said to wait and soon I’d nev—”
   “Now I counsel you to support him with all your strength. Not to follow his orders blindly like old Iron Fist, but cleverly. Don’t forget, Yabu-chan, during battle, as in any battle, soldiers make mistakes, stray bullets do happen. So long as you lead the Regiment, you can choose, too—any time, neh?”
   “Yes,” he said, awed by her.
   “Remember, Toranaga’s worth following. He’s Minowara, Ishido’s a peasant. Ishido’s the fool. I can see that now. Ishido should be hammering at the gates of Odawara right now, rain or no rains. Didn’t Omi-san say that months ago too? Isn’t Odawara undermanned? Isn’t Toranaga isolated?”
   Yabu pounded his fist on the floor with delight. “Then it’s war after all! How clever you are to have seen through him! Ah, so he’s been playing the fox all the time, neh?”
   “Yes,” she said, greatly satisfied.


   Mariko had come to the same astonishing conclusion, though not from all the same facts. Toranaga must be pretending, playing a secret game, she reasoned. That’s the only possible explanation for his incredible conduct—giving the Anjin-san the ship, the money, all the cannon, and freedom in front of Tsukku-san. Now the Anjin-san will absolutely go against the Black Ship. He will take it, and threaten the one next year, and therefore he’ll maul the Holy Church terribly and force the Holy Fathers to compel Kiyama and Onoshi to betray Ishido…
   But why? If that’s true, she thought, perplexed, and Toranaga’s considering such a long-range plan, then of course he can’t go to Osaka and bow before Ishido, neh? He must… Ah! What about today’s delay that Hiro-matsu persuaded Toranaga to make? Oh, Madonna on high, Toranaga never intended to surrender! It’s all a trick.
   Why? To gain time.
   To accomplish what? To wait and weave a thousand more tricks, and it doesn’t matter what, only that Toranaga’s once more what he always was, the almighty puppeteer.
   How long before Ishido’s impatience shatters and he raises the battle standard and moves against us? One month—at the most two. No more. So by the ninth month of this Fifth Year of Keichō, the battle for the Kwanto begins!
   But what’s Toranaga gained in two months? I don’t know—I only know that now my son has a chance to inherit his ten thousand koku, and to live and breed, and that now perhaps my father’s line will not perish from the earth.
   She relished her newfound knowledge, toying with it, examining it, finding her logic flawless. But what to do between now and then? she asked herself. Nothing more than you’ve already done—and decided to do. Neh?
   “Mistress?”
   “Yes, Chimmoko?”
   “Gyoko-san is here. She has an appointment, she says.”
   “Ah yes. I forget to tell you. First heat saké, then bring it, and her, here.”
   Mariko reflected on the afternoon. She remembered his arms around her, so safe and warm and strong. ‘Can I see you tonight?’ he had asked very cautiously, after Yabu and Tsukku-san had left.
   ‘Yes,’ she had said impulsively. ‘Yes, my darling. Oh, how happy I am for thee. Tell Fujiko-san … ask her to send for me after the Hour of the Boar.’
   In the quiet of her house her throat tightened. So much foolishness and danger.
   She checked her makeup and coiffure in her mirror and tried to compose herself. Footsteps approached. The shoji slid open. “Ah, Lady,” Gyoko said, bowing deeply. “How kind of you to see me.”
   “You’re welcome, Gyoko-san.”
   They drank saké, Chimmoko pouring for them.
   “Such lovely pottery, Lady. So beautiful.”
   They made polite conversation, then Chimmoko was sent away.
   “So sorry, Gyoko-san, but our Master did not arrive this afternoon. I haven’t seen him, though I hope to before I leave.”
   “Yes, I heard Yabu-san went to the jetty in his place.”
   “When I see Toranaga-sama I will ask him once more. But I expect his answer will be the same.” Mariko poured saké for both of them. “So sorry, he will not grant my request.”
   “Yes, I believe you. Not unless there is great pressure.”
   “There’s no pressure that I can use. So sorry.”
   “So sorry too, Lady.”
   Mariko put down her cup. “Then you’ve decided that some tongues are not safe.”
   Gyoko said harshly, “If I were going to whisper secrets about you, would I tell you to your face? Do you think I’d be so naïve?”
   “Perhaps you’d better go, so sorry, but I have so much to do.”
   “Yes, Lady, and so have I!” Gyoko replied, her voice rough. “Lord Toranaga asked me, to my face, what I knew about you and the Anjin-san. This afternoon. I told him there was nothing between you. I said, ‘Oh yes, Sire, I’ve heard the foul rumors too, but there’s no truth in them. I swear it on the head of my son, Sire, and his sons. If anyone would know, surely it would be me. You may believe it’s all a malicious lie—gossip, jealous gossip, Sire…’ Oh yes, Lady, you may believe I was suitably shocked, my acting perfect, and he was convinced.” Gyoko quaffed the saké, and added bitterly, “Now we are all ruined if he gets proof—which wouldn’t be difficult to get. Neh?”
   “How?”
   “Put the Anjin-san to the test—Chinese methods. Chimmoko—Chinese methods. Me—Kiku-san—Yoshinaka … so sorry, even you, Lady—Chinese methods.”
   Mariko took a deep breath. “May—may I ask you—why you took such a risk?”
   “Because in certain situations women must protect each other against men. Because I actually saw nothing. Because you’ve done me no harm. Because I like you and the Anjin-san and believe you both have your own karmas. And because I’d rather have you alive and a friend than dead, and it’s exciting to watch you three moths circling the flame of life.”
   “I don’t believe you.”
   Gyoko laughed softly. “Thank you, Lady.” Controlled now, she said with complete sincerity, “Very well, I’ll tell you the real reason. I need your help. Yes, Toranaga-sama won’t grant my request but perhaps you can think of a way. You’re the only chance I’ve ever had, that I’ll ever have in this lifetime, and I can’t release it lightly. There, now you know. Please, I humbly beg you to help me with my request.” She put both hands on the futons and bowed low. “Please excuse my impertinence, Lady Toda, but all that I have will be put at your side if you will help me.” Then she settled back on her heels, adjusted the folds of her kimono, and finished the saké.
   Mariko tried to think straight. Her intuition told her to trust the woman but her mind was still partially befogged with her newfound insight into Toranaga and her relief that Gyoko had not denounced her as she had expected, so she decided to put that decision aside for later consideration. “Yes, I will try. You must give me time, please.”
   “I can give you better than that. Here’s a fact: You know Amida Tong? The assassins?”
   “What about them?”
   “Remember the one in Osaka Castle, Lady? He went against the Anjin-san—not Toranaga-sama. Lord Kiyama’s chief steward gave two thousand koku for that attempt.”
   “Kiyama? But why?”
   “He’s Christian, neh? The Anjin-san was the enemy even then, neh? If then, what about now? Now that the Anjin-san’s samurai, and free, with his ship.”
   “Another Amida? Here?”
   Gyoko shrugged. “Who knows? But I wouldn’t give an eta ’s loincloth for the Anjin-san’s life if he’s careless outside the castle.”
   “Where is he now?”