“In his quarters, Lady. You’re going to visit him soon, neh? Perhaps it’d be as well to warn him.”
   “You seem to know everything that’s going on, Gyoko-san!”
   “I keep my ears open, Lady, and my eyes.”
   Mariko curbed her anxiety over Blackthorne. “Did you tell Toranaga-sama?”
   “Oh yes, I told him that.” The corners of Gyoko’s eyes crinkled and she sipped her saké. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think he was surprised. That’s interesting, don’t you think?”
   “Perhaps you were mistaken.”
   “Perhaps. In Mishima I heard a rumor that there was a poison plot against Lord Kiyama. Terrible, neh?”
   “What plot?”
   Gyoko told her the details.
   “Impossible! One Christian daimyo would never do that to another!”
   Mariko filled the cups.
   “May I ask what else was said, by you and by him?”
   “Part of it, Lady, was my plea to get back into his favor and out of that flea-sack inn, and to that he agreed. Now we’re to have proper quarters within the castle, near the Anjin-san, in one of the guest houses and I may come and go as I wish. He asked Kiku-san to entertain him tonight and that’s another improvement, though nothing will get him out of his melancholia. Neh?” Gyoko was watching Mariko speculatively. Mariko kept her face guileless, and merely nodded. The other woman sighed and continued, “Yes, he’s very sad. Pity. Part of the time was spent on the three secrets. He asked me to repeat what I knew, what I’d told you.”
   Ah, Mariko thought, as another clue fell neatly into its slot. Ochiba? So that was Zataki’s bait. And Toranaga’s also got a cudgel over Omi’s head if needed, and a weapon to use against Onoshi with Harima, or even Kiyama.
   “You smile, Lady?”
   Oh yes, Mariko wanted to say, wanting to share her elation with Gyoko. How valuable your information must have been to our Master, she wanted to tell Gyoko. How he should reward you! You should be made a daimyo yourself! And how fantastic Toranaga-sama is to have listened, apparently so unconcernedly. How marvelous he is!
   But Toda Mariko-noh-Buntaro only shook her head and said calmly, “I’m sorry your information didn’t cheer him up.”
   “Nothing I said improved his humor, which was dull and defeated. Sad, neh?”
   “Yes, so sorry.”
   “Yes.” Gyoko sniffed. “Another piece of information before I go, to interest you, Lady, to cement our friendship. It’s very possible the Anjin-san is very fertile.”
   “What?”
   “Kiku-sans with child.”
   “The Anjin-san?”
   “Yes. Or Lord Toranaga. Possibly Omi-san. All were within the correct time span. Of course she took precautions after Omi-san as usual, but as you know, no method is perfect, nothing is ever guaranteed, mistakes happen, neh? She believes she forgot after the Anjin-san but she’s not sure. That was the day the courier arrived at Anjiro, and in the excitement of leaving for Yokosé and of Lord Toranaga’s buying her contract—it’s understandable, neh?” Gyoko lifted her hands, greatly perturbed. “After Lord Toranaga, at my suggestion, she did the reverse. Also we both lit incense sticks and prayed for a boy.”
   Mariko studied the pattern on her fan. “Who? Who do you think?”
   “That’s the trouble, Lady. I don’t know. I’d be grateful for your advice.”
   “This beginning must be stopped. Of course. There’s no risk to her.”
   “I agree. Unfortunately, Kiku-san does not agree.”
   “What? I’m astonished, Gyoko-san! Of course she must. Or Lord Toranaga must be told. After all, it happened before he—”
   “Perhaps it happened before him, Lady.”
   “Lord Toranaga will have to be told. Why is Kiku-san so disobedient and foolish?”
   “Karma, Lady. She wants a child.”
   “Whose child?”
   “She won’t say. All she said was that any one of the three had advantages.”
   “She’d be wise to let this one go and be sure next time.”
   “I agree. I thought you should know in case… There are many, many days before anything shows or before a miscarriage would be a danger to her. Perhaps she will change her mind. In this I cannot force her. She’s no longer my property, though for the time being I’m trying to look after her. It would be splendid if the child was Lord Toranaga’s. But say it had blue eyes… A last piece of advice, Lady: Tell the Anjin-san to trust this Uraga-noh-Tadamasa only so far, and never in Nagasaki. Never there. That man’s final allegiance will always be to his uncle, Lord Harima.”
   “How do you find out these things, Gyoko-san?”
   “Men need to whisper secrets, Lady. That’s what makes them different from us—they need to share secrets, but we women only reveal them to gain an advantage. With a little silver and a ready ear and I have both– it’s all so easy. Yes. Men need to share secrets. That’s why we’re superior to them and they’ll always be in our power.”

Chapter 51

   In the darkness just before dawn, the portcullis of a side gate lifted noiselessly and ten men hurried out across the narrow drawbridge of the innermost moat. The iron grille closed after them. At the far side of the bridge the alert sentries deliberately turned their backs and allowed the men to pass unchallenged. All wore dark kimonos and conical hats and held their swords tightly: Naga, Yabu, Blackthorne, Uraga-noh-Tadamasa, and six samurai. Naga led, Yabu beside him, and he took them unerringly through a maze of side turnings, up and down staircases and along little-used passages. Whenever they met patrols or sentries—ever alert—Naga held up a silver cipher and the party was allowed to pass unhindered and unquestioned.
   By devious byways he brought them to the main south gate, which was the sole way across the castle’s first great moat. Here a company of samurai awaited them. Silently these men surrounded Naga’s party, screening them, and they all hurried across the bridge. Still they were not challenged. They continued on, down the slight rise toward First Bridge, keeping as close as they could to the shadows of the flares that abounded near the castle. Once across First Bridge they turned south and vanished into the labyrinth of alleys, heading for the sea.
   Just outside the cordon surrounding the Erasmus wharf the accompanying samurai stopped and motioned the ten forward, then saluted and turned about and melted into the darkness again.
   Naga led the way through the barriers. They were admitted onto the jetty without comment. There were more flares and guards here than before.
   “Everything’s ready?” Yabu asked, taking charge now.
   “Yes, Sire,” the senior samurai replied.
   “Good. Anjin-san, did you understand?”
   “Yes, thank you, Yabu-san.”
   “Good. You’d better hurry.”
   Blackthorne saw his own samurai drawn up in a loose square to one side, and he waved Uraga across to them as had been prearranged. His eyes raced over his ship, checking and rechecking as he hurried aboard and jubilantly stood on his quarterdeck. The sky was still dark with no sign of dawn yet. All signs indicated a fair day with calm seas.
   He looked back at the wharf. Yabu and Naga were deep in conversation. Uraga was explaining to his vassals what was going on. Then the barriers were opening again and Baccus van Nekk and the rest of the crew, all obviously apprehensive, stumbled into the clearing surrounded by caustic guards.
   Blackthorne went to the gunwale and called out, “Hey! Come aboard!”
   When his men saw him they seemed less fearful, and began to hurry, but their guards cursed them and they stopped in their tracks.
   “Uraga-san!” Blackthorne shouted. “Tell them to let my men aboard. At once.” Uraga obeyed with alacrity. The samurai listened and bowed toward the ship and released the crew.
   Vinck was first aboard, Baccus groping his way last. The men were still frightened, but none came up onto the quarterdeck which was Blackthorne’s domain alone.
   “Great Jesus, Pilot,” Baccus panted, above the hubbub of questions. “What’s going on?”
   “What’s amiss, Pilot?” Vinck echoed with the others. “Christ, one moment we was asleep, then all hell broke loose, the door burst open an’ the monkeys were marching us here…”
   Blackthorne held up his hand. “Listen!” When there was silence he began quietly, “We’re taking Erasmus to a safe harbor across the—”
   “We’ve not men enough, Pilot,” Vinck broke in anxiously. “We’ll nev—”
   “Listen, Johann! We’re going to be towed. The other ship’ll be here any moment. Ginsel, go for’ard—you’ll swing the lead. Vinck, take the helm, Jan Roper and Baccus stand by the forewinch, Salamon and Croocq aft. Sonk—go below and check our stores. Break out some grog if you can find any. Lay to!”
   “Wait a minute, Pilot!” Jan Roper said. “What’s all the hurry? Where’re we going and why?”
   Blackthorne felt a surge of indignation at being questioned, but he reminded himself that they were entitled to know, they were not vassals and not eta but his crew, his shipmates, and, in some respects, almost partners. “This is the beginning of the storm season. Tai-funs they call them—Great Storms. This berth isn’t safe. Across the harbor, a few leagues south, is their best and safest anchorage. It’s near a village called Yokohama. Erasmus will be safe there and can ride out any storm. Now lay to!”
   No one moved.
   Van Nekk said, “Only a few leagues, Pilot?”
   “Yes.”
   “What then? And, well, what’s the hurry?”
   “Lord Toranaga agreed to let me do it now,” Blackthorne answered, telling half the truth. “The sooner the better, I thought. He might change his mind again, neh? At Yokohama …” He looked away as Yabu came stomping aboard with his six guards. The men fled out of his way.
   “Jesus,” Vinck choked out. “It’s him! It’s the bastard who gave Pieterzoon his!”
   Yabu came up near to the quarterdeck, smiling broadly, oblivious of the terror that infected the crew as they recognized him. He pointed out to sea. “Anjin-san, look! There! Everything’s perfect, neh?”
   A galley like some monstrous sea caterpillar was sweeping silently toward them from the western darkness.
   “Good, Yabu-sama! You want stand here?”
   “Later, Anjin-san.” Yabu walked off to the head of the gangway.
   Blackthorne turned back to his men. “Lay for’ard. On the double—and watch your tongues. Speak only gutter Dutch—there’s one aboard who understands Portuguese! I’ll talk to you when we’re under way! Move!”
   The men scattered, glad to get away from Yabu’s presence. Uraga and twenty of Blackthorne’s samurai loped aboard. The others were forming up on the jetty to board the galley.
   Uraga said, “These your personal guards, if it pleases you, senhor.”
   “My name’s Anjin-san, not senhor,” Blackthorne said.
   “Please excuse me, Anjin-san.” Uraga began to come up the steps.
   “Stop! Stay below! No one ever comes onto the quarterdeck without my permission! Tell them.”
   “Yes, Anjin-san. Please excuse me.”
   Blackthorne went to the side to watch the galley docking, just to the west of them. “Ginsel! Go ashore and watch ‘em take our hawsers! See they’re secured properly. Look lively now!”
   Then, his ship in control, Blackthorne scrutinized the twenty men. “Why are they all chosen from the bound group, Uraga-san?”
   “They’re a clan, sen– Anjin-san. Like brothers, Sire. They beg for the honors of defending you.”
   “Anatawa—anatawa—anatawa—” Blackthorne pointed out ten men at random and ordered them ashore, to be replaced from his other vassals, also to be selected by Uraga at random. And he told Uraga to make it clear all his vassals were to be like brothers or they could commit seppuku now.
   “Wakarimasu?”
   “Hai, Anjin-san. Gomen nasai.”
   Soon the bow hawsers were secured aboard the other craft. Blackthorne inspected everything, checked the wind again using all his sea sense, knowing that even within the benign waters of the vast Yedo harbor, their journey could be dangerous if a sudden squall began.
   “Cast off!” he shouted. “Ima, Captain-san!”
   The other captain waved and let his galley ease away from the jetty. Naga was aboard the craft, which was packed with samurai and the rest of Blackthorne’s vassals. Yabu stood beside Blackthorne on the quarterdeck of Erasmus. She heeled slightly and a tremor went through her as she was taken by the weight of a current. Blackthorne and all the crew were filled with jubilation, their excitement at being once more at sea overriding their anxieties. Ginsel was leaning over the side of the tiny, roped starboard platform, swinging the lead, calling out the fathoms. The jetty began to fall away.
   “Ahoy ahead, Yukkuri sei!” Slow down!
   “Hai, Anjin-san,” came the answering shout. Together the two ships felt their way out into the harbor stream, riding lights at their mastheads.
   “Good, Anjin-san,” Yabu said. “Very good!”
   Yabu waited until they were well out to sea, then he took Blackthorne aside. “Anjin-san,” he said warily. “You saved my life yesterday. Understand? Calling off those ronin, Remember?”
   “Yes. Only my duty.”
   “No, not duty. At Anjiro, you remember that other man, the seaman … remember?”
   “Yes, I remember.”
   “Shigata ga nai, neh? Karma, neh? That was before samurai or hatamoto …” Yabu’s eyes were glittering in the light of the sea lantern and he touched Blackthorne’s sword and spoke softly and clearly. “… Before Oil Seller, neh? As samurai to samurai ask forget all before. Start new. Tonight. Please? Understand?”
   “Yes, understand.”
   “You need me, Anjin-san. Without me, no barbarian wako. You can’t get them alone. Not from Nagasaki. Never. I can get them—help you get them. Now we fight same side. Toranaga’s side. Same side. Without me, no wako, understand?”
   Blackthorne watched the galley ahead for a moment and checked the deck and his seamen. Then he looked down on Yabu. “Yes. Understand.”
   “You understand ‘hate’—the word ‘hate’?”
   “Yes.”
   “Hate comes from fear. I do not fear you. You need not fear me. Never again. I want what you want: your new ships here, you here, captain of new ships. I can help you very much. First the Black Ship … ah yes, Anjin-san,” he said, seeing the joy flood across Blackthorne’s face, “I will persuade Lord Toranaga. You know I’m a fighter, neh? I’ll lead the charge. I’ll take the Black Ship for you on land. Together you and I are stronger than one. Neh?”
   “Yes. Possible get more men? More than two hundred my?”
   “If you need two thousand men … five thousand! Don’t worry, you lead ship—I’ll lead the fight. Agree?”
   “Yes. Fair trade. Thank you. I agree.”
   “Good, very good, Anjin-san,” Yabu said contentedly. He knew this mutual partnership would benefit them both however much the barbarian hated him. Again Yuriko’s logic had been flawless.
   Earlier that evening he had seen Toranaga and asked permission to go at once to Osaka to prepare the way for him. “Please excuse me but I thought the matter urgent enough. After all, Sire,” Yabu had said deferentially as he and his wife had planned, “you should have someone of rank there to make sure that all your arrangements are perfect. Ishido’s a peasant and doesn’t understand ceremony, neh? The arrangement must be perfect or you should not go, neh? It could take weeks, neh?”
   He had been delighted with the ease with which Toranaga had been persuaded. “Then there’s also the barbarian ship, Sire. Better to put it at Yokohama at once in case of tai-fun. I’ll supervise that myself, with your permission, before I go. The Musket Regiment can be its guards, give them something to do. Then I’ll go on directly to Osaka with the galley. By sea’d be better and quicker, neh?”
   “Very well, yes, if you think that wise, Yabu-san, do it. But take Naga-san with you. Leave him in charge at Yokohama.”
   “Yes, Sire.” Then Yabu had told Toranaga about Tsukku-san’s anger; how, if Lord Toranaga wanted the Anjin-san to live long enough to obtain men at Nagasaki in case Toranaga wanted the ship to put to sea, then perhaps this should be done at once without hesitation. “The priest was very angry—I think angry enough to set his converts against the Anjin-san!”
   “You’re sure?”
   “Oh yes, Sire. Perhaps I should put the Anjin-san under my protection for the moment.” Then, as though it were a sudden thought, Yabu added, “The simplest thing would be to take the Anjin-san with me. I can start arrangements at Osaka—continue to Nagasaki, get the new barbarians, then complete the arrangements on my return.”
   “Do whatever you think fit,” Toranaga had said. “I’ll leave it to you to decide, my friend. What does it matter, neh? What does anything matter?”
   Yabu was happy that, at long last, he could act. Only Naga’s presence had not been planned but that did not matter, and truly, it would be wise to have him at Yokohama.
   Yabu was watching the Anjin-san—the tall, arrogant stance, feet slightly apart, swaying so easily with the pitch and toss of the waves, seemingly part of the ship, so huge and strong and different. So different from when ashore. Consciously Yabu began to take up a similar stance, aping him carefully.
   “I want more than the Kwanto, Yuriko-san,” he had whispered to his wife just before he had left their house. “Just one more thing. I want command of the sea. I want to be Lord High Admiral. We’ll put the whole revenue of the Kwanto behind Omi’s plan to escort the barbarian to his home, to buy more ships and bring them back again. Omi will go with him, neh?”
   “Yes,” she had said, as happily. “We can trust him.”


   The wharf at Yedo was deserted now. The last of the samurai guards were disappearing into the byways heading back toward the castle. Father Alvito came out of the shadows, Brother Michael beside him. Alvito looked seaward. “May God curse her and all who sail in her.”
   “Except one, Father. One of our people sails with the ship. And Naga-san. Naga-san’s sworn to become Christian in the first month of next year.”
   “If there ever is a next year for him,” Alvito said, filled with gloom. “I don’t know about Naga, perhaps he means it, perhaps not. That ship’s going to destroy us and there’s nothing we can do.”
   “God will help us.”
   “Yes, but meanwhile we’re Soldiers of God and we have to help Him. The Father-Visitor must be warned at once, and the Captain-General. Have you found a carrier pigeon for Osaka yet?”
   “No, Father, not for any amount of money. Nor even one for Nagasaki. Months ago Toranaga-sama ordered them all into his keeping.”
   Alvito’s gloom deepened. “There must be someone with one! Pay anything that’s necessary. The heretic will wound us terribly, Michael.”
   “Perhaps not, Father.”
   “Why are they moving the ship? Of course for safety, but more to put it out of our reach. Why has Toranaga given the heretic two hundred wako and his bullion back? Of course to use as a strike force, and the specie’s to buy more pirates—gunners and seamen. Why give Blackthorne freedom? To harry us through the Black Ship. God help us, Toranaga’s forsaken us too!”
   “We’ve forsaken him, Father.”
   “There’s nothing we can do to help him! We’ve tried everything with the daimyos. We’re helpless.”
   “Perhaps if we prayed harder, perhaps God would show us a way.”

   “I pray and pray, but … perhaps God has forsaken us, Michael, rightly. Perhaps we’re not worthy of His mercy. I know I’m not.”
   “Perhaps the Anjin-san won’t find gunners or seamen. Perhaps he’ll never arrive at Nagasaki.”
   “His silver will buy him all the men he needs. Even Catholics—even Portuguese. Men foolishly think more about this world than the next. They won’t open their eyes. They sell their souls all too easily. Yes. I pray Blackthorne never arrives there. Or his emissaries. Don’t forget, there’s no need at all for him to go there. The men could be bought and brought to him. Come along, let’s go home now.” Dispiritedly, Alvito led the way toward the Jesuit Mission which was a mile or so westward, near the docks, behind one of the large warehouses that normally housed the season’s silks and rice and formed part of the market complex the Jesuits governed on behalf of buyer and seller.
   They walked a while along the shore, then Alvito stopped and looked seaward again. Dawn was breaking. He could see nothing of the ships. “What chance of our message being delivered?” Yesterday, Michael had discovered that one of Blackthorne’s new vassals was a Christian. When the news had flared through the underground network of Yedo last night that something was going to happen with the Anjin-san and his ship, Alvito had hastily scrawled a ciphered message for dell’Aqua, giving all the latest news, and had begged the man to deliver it secretly if ever he reached Osaka.
   “The message will arrive.” Brother Michael added quietly, “Our man knows he sails with the enemy.”
   “May God watch him and give him strength and curse Uraga.” Alvito looked across at the younger man. “Why? Why did he become apostate?”
   “He told you, Father,” Brother Michael said. “He wanted to be a priest—ordained in our Society. That wasn’t much to ask, for a proud servant of God.”
   “He was too proud, Brother. God in His wisdom tempted him and found him wanting.”
   “Yes. I pray I am not found wanting when my turn comes.”
   Alvito wandered past their Mission toward the large plot of land that had been set aside by Toranaga for the cathedral that should soon rise from the earth to the glory of God. The Jesuit could already see it in his mind, tall, majestic yet delicate, dominating the city, peerless bells cast in Macao or Goa or even Portugal ringing the changes, the vast bronze doors ever wide to the faithful nobility. He could smell the incense and hear the sound of the Latin chants.
   But war will destroy that dream, he told himself. War will come again to plague this land and it will be as it ever was.
   “Father!” Brother Michael whispered, cautioning him.
   A woman was ahead of them, looking at the beginning foundations that already were marked out and partially dug. Beside her were two maids. Alvito waited motionlessly, peering in the half-light. The woman was veiled and richly dressed. Then Brother Michael moved slightly. His foot touched a stone and sent it clattering against an iron shovel, unseen in the gloaming. The woman turned, startled. Alvito recognized her.
   “Mariko-san? It’s me—Father Alvito.”
   “Father? Oh, I was—I was just coming to see you. I’m leaving shortly but I wanted to talk to you before I left.”
   Alvito came up to her. “I’m so glad to see you, Mariko-san. Yes. I heard you were leaving. I tried to see you several times but, at the moment, I’m still forbidden the castle.” Wordlessly, Mariko looked back at the beginnings of the cathedral. Alvito glanced at Brother Michael, who was also bewildered that a lady of such importance would be so scantily attended, wandering here so early and unannounced.
   “You’re here just to see me, Mariko-san?”
   “Yes. And to see the ship leave.”
   “What can I do for you?”
   “I wish to be confessed.”
   “Then let it be here,” he said. “Let yours be the first in this place though the ground is barely hallowed.”
   “Please excuse me, but could you say Mass here, Father?”
   “There’s no church or altar or vestments or the Eucharist. I could do that in our chapel if you’ll foll—”
   “Could we drink cha from an empty cup, Father? Please,” she asked in a tiny voice. “So sorry to ask. There’s so little time.”
   “Yes,” he agreed, at once understanding her.
   So he walked to where the altar perhaps would be one day within the magnificent nave, under a vaulting roof. Today, the lightening sky was the roof, and birds and the sound of the surf the majestic choir. He began to chant the solemn beauty of the Mass and Brother Michael helped, and together they brought the Infinite to earth.
   But before the giving of the make-believe Sacrament he stopped and said, “Now I must hear thy confession, Maria.” He motioned Brother Michael away and sat on a rock within an imaginary confessional and closed his eyes. She knelt. “Before God, do—”
   “Before I begin, Father, I beg a favor.”
   “From me or from God, Maria?”
   “I beg a favor, before God.”
   “What is thy favor?”
   “The Anjin-san’s life in return for knowledge.”
   “His life is not mine to give or to withhold.”
   “Yes. So sorry, but an order could be spread among all Christians that his life is not to be taken as a sacrifice to God.”
   “The Anjin-san is the enemy. A terrible enemy of our Faith.”
   “Yes. Even so I beg for his life. In return—in return perhaps I can be of great help.”
   “How?”
   “Is my favor granted, Father? Before God?”
   “I cannot grant such a favor. It’s not mine to give or to withhold. You cannot barter with God.”
   Mariko hesitated, kneeling on the hard earth before him. Then she bowed and began to get up. “Very well. Then please excuse—”
   Alvito said, “I will put the request before the Father-Visitor.”
   “That’s not enough, Father, please excuse me.”
   “I will put it before him and beg him in God’s name to consider your petition.”
   “If what I tell you is very valuable, will you, before God, swear that you will do everything in your power, everything to succor him and guard him, providing it is not directly against the Church?”
   “Yes. If it is not against the Church.”
   “And, so sorry, you agree to put my request before the Father-Visitor?”
   “Before God, yes.”
   “Thank you, Father. Listen then…” She told him her reasoning about Toranaga and the hoax.
   Suddenly everything was falling into place for Alvito. “You’re right, you must be right! God forgive me, how could I have been so stupid?”
   “Please listen again, Father, here are more facts.” She whispered the secrets about Zataki and Onoshi.
   “It’s not possible!”
   “There’s also a rumor that Lord Onoshi plans to poison Lord Kiyama.”
   “Impossible!”
   “Please excuse me, very possible. They’re ancient enemies.”
   “Who told you all this, Maria?”
   “The rumor is that Onoshi will poison Lord Kiyama during the Feast of the Blessed Saint Bernard this year,” Mariko said tiredly, deliberately not answering the question. “Onoshi’s son will be the new lord of all Kiyama’s lands. General Ishido has agreed to this, providing my Master has already gone into the Great Void.”
   “Proof, Mariko-san? Where’s the proof?”
   “So sorry, I have none. But Lord Harima’s party to the knowledge.”
   “How do you know this? How does Harima know? You say he’s part of the plot?”
   “No, Father. Just party to the secret.”
   “Impossible! Onoshi’s too close-mouthed and much too clever. If he’d planned that, no one would ever know. You must be mistaken. Who gave you this information?”
   “I cannot tell you, so sorry, please excuse me. But I believe it to be true.”
   Alvito let his mind rush over the possibilities. And then: “Uraga! Uraga was Onoshi’s confessor! Oh, Mother of God, Uraga broke the sanctity of the confessional and told his liege lord…”
   “Perhaps this secret’s not true, Father. But I believe it to be true. Only God knows the real truth, neh?”
   Mariko had not put her veils aside and Alvito could see nothing of her face. Above, dawn was spreading over the sky. He looked seaward. Now he could see the two ships on the horizon heading southwest, the galley’s oars dipping in unison, the wind fair and the sea calm. His chest hurt and his head echoed with the enormity of what he had been told. He prayed for help and tried to sort fact from fancy. In his heart he knew the secrets were true and her reasoning flawless.
   “You’re saying that Lord Toranaga will outmaneuver Ishido—that he’ll win?”
   “No, Father. No one will win, but without your help Lord Toranaga will lose. Lord Zataki’s not to be trusted. Zataki must always be a major threat to my Lord. Zataki will know this and that all Toranaga’s promises are empty because Toranaga must try to eliminate him eventually. If I were Zataki I’d destroy Sudara and the Lady Genjiko and all their children the moment they gave themselves into my hands, and at once I’d move against Toranaga’s northern defenses. I’d hurl my legions against the north, which would pull Ishido, Ikawa Jikkyu, and all the others out of their stupid lethargy. Toranaga can be eaten up too easily, Father.”
   Alvito waited a moment, then he said, “Lift your veils, Maria.”
   He saw that her face was stark. “Why have you told me all this?”
   “To save the Anjin-san’s life.”
   “You commit treason for him, Maria? You, Toda Mariko-noh-Buntaro, daughter of the General Lord Akechi Jinsai, you commit treason because of a foreigner? You ask me to believe that?”
   “No, so sorry, also—also to protect the Church. First to protect the Church, Father… I don’t know what to do. I thought you might… Lord Toranaga is the Church’s only hope. Perhaps you can somehow help him … to protect the Church. Lord Toranaga must have help now, he’s a good and wise man and the Church will prosper with him. I know Ishido’s the real enemy.”
   “Most Christian daimyos believe Toranaga will obliterate the Church and the Heir if ever he conquers Ishido and gets power.”
   “He may, but I doubt it. He will treat the Church fairly. He always has. Ishido is violently anti-Christian. So is the Lady Ochiba.”
   “All the great Christians are against Toranaga.”
   “Ishido’s a peasant. Toranaga-sama is fair and wise and wants trade.”
   “There has to be trade, whoever rules.”
   “Lord Toranaga has always been your friend, and if you’re honest with him, he always will be with you.” She pointed to the foundations. “Isn’t this a measure of his fairness? He gave this land freely—even when you failed him and he’d lost everything—even your friendship.”
   “Perhaps.”
   “Last, Father, only Toranaga-sama can prevent perpetual war, you must know that. As a woman I ask that there be no everlasting war.”
   “Yes, Maria. He’s the only one who could do that, perhaps.”
   His eyes drifted away from her. Brother Michael was kneeling, lost in prayer, the two servants nearer the shore, waiting patiently. The Jesuit felt overwhelmed yet uplifted, exhausted yet filled with strength. “I’m glad that you have come here and told me this. I thank thee. For the Church and for me, a servant of the Church. I will do everything that I have agreed.”
   She bowed her head and said nothing.
   “Will you carry a dispatch, Mariko-san? To the Father-Visitor.”
   “Yes. If he is at Osaka.”
   “A private dispatch?”
   “Yes.”
   “The dispatch is verbal. You will tell him everything you said to me and what I said to you. Everything.”
   “Very well.”
   “I have your promise? Before God?”
   “You have no need to say that to me, Father. I have agreed.”
   He looked into her eyes, firm and strong and committed. “Please excuse me, Maria. Now let me hear thy confession.”
   She dropped her veils again. “Please excuse me, Father, I’m not worthy even to confess.”
   “Everyone is worthy in the sight of God.”
   “Except me. I’m not worthy, Father.”
   “You must confess, Maria. I cannot go on with your Mass—you must come before Him cleansed.”
   She knelt. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned but I can only confess that I am not worthy to confess,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
   Compassionately Father Alvito put his hand lightly on her head. “Daughter of God, let me beg God’s forgiveness for thy sins. Let me in His name absolve thee and make thee whole in His sight.” He blessed her, and then he continued her Mass in this imaginary cathedral, under the breaking sky … the service more real and more beautiful than it had ever been, for him and for her.

   Erasmus was anchored in the best storm harbor Blackthorne had ever seen, far enough from shore to give her plenty of sea room, yet close enough for safety. Six fathoms of clear water over a strong seabed were below, and except for the narrow neck of the entrance, high land all around that would keep any fleet snug from the ocean’s wrath.
   The day’s journey from Yedo had been uneventful though tiring. Half a ri northward the galley was moored to a pier near Yokohama fishing village, and now they were alone aboard, Blackthorne and all his men, both Dutch and Japanese. Yabu and Naga were ashore inspecting the Musket Regiment and he had been told to join them shortly. Westward the sun was low on the horizon and the red sky promised another fine day tomorrow.
   “Why now, Uraga-san?” Blackthorne was asking from the quarterdeck, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. He had just ordered the crew and everyone to stand down, and Uraga had asked him to delay for a moment to find out if there were any Christians among the vassals. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
   “No, Sire, so sorry.” Uraga was looking up at him in front of the assembled samurai vassals, the Dutch crew gathering into a nervous knot near the quarterdeck railing. “Please excuse me, but it is most important you find out at once. You are their most enemy. Therefore you must know, for your protection. I only wish to protect you. Not take long, neh?”
   “Are they all on deck?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   Blackthorne went closer to the railing and called out in Japanese, “Is anyone Christian?” There was no answer. “I order any Christian come forward.” No one moved. So he turned back to Uraga. “Set ten deck guards, then dismiss them.”
   “With your permission, Anjin-san.” From under his kimono Uraga brought out a small painted icon that he had brought from Yedo and threw it face upward on the deck. Then, deliberately, he stamped on it. Blackthorne and the crew were greatly disquieted by the desecration. Except Jan Roper. “Please. Make every vassal do same,” Uraga said.
   “Why?”
   “I know Christians.” Uraga’s eyes were half hidden by the brim of his hat. “Please, Sire. Important every man do same. Now, tonight.”
   “All right,” Blackthorne agreed reluctantly.
   Uraga turned to the assembled vassals. “At my suggestion our Master requires each of us to do this.”
   The samurai were grumbling among themselves and one interrupted, “We’ve already said that we’re not Christians, neh? What does stamping on a barbarian god picture prove? Nothing!”
   “Christians are our Master’s enemy. Christians are treacherous—but Christians are Christian. Please excuse me, I know Christians—to my shame I forsook our real gods. So sorry, but I believe this is necessary for our Master’s safety.”
   At once a samurai in front declared, “In that case, there’s nothing more to be said.” He came forward and stamped on the picture. “I worship no barbarian religion! Come on, the rest of you, do what’s asked!”
   They came forward one by one. Blackthorne watched, despising the ceremony.
   Van Nekk said worriedly, “Doesn’t seem right.”
   Vinck looked up at the quarterdeck. “Sodding bastards. They’ll all cut our throats with never a thought. You sure you can trust ‘em, Pilot?”
   “Yes.”
   Ginsel said, “No Catholic’d ever do that, eh, Johann? That Uraga-sama’s clever.”
   “What’s it matter if those buggers’re Papist or not, they’re all shit-filled samurai.”
   “Yes,” Croocq said.
   “Even so, it’s not right to do that,” van Nekk repeated.
   The samurai continued to stamp the icon into the deck one by one, and moved into loose groups. It was a tedious affair and Blackthorne was sorry he had agreed to it, for there were more important things to do before dusk. His eyes went to the village and the headlands. Hundreds of the thatch lean-tos of the Musket Regiment camp spotted the foothills. So much to do, he thought, anxious to go ashore, wanting to see the land, glorying in the fief Toranaga had given him which contained Yokohama. Lord God on high, he told himself, I’m lord of one of the greatest harbors in the world.
   Abruptly a man bypassed the icon, tore out his sword, and leaped at Blackthorne. A dozen startled samurai jumped courageously in his way, screening the quarterdeck as Blackthorne spun around, a pistol cocked and aimed. Others scattered, shoving, stumbling, milling in the uproar. The samurai skidded to a halt, howling with rage, then changed direction and hacked at Uraga, who somehow managed to avoid the thrust. The man whirled as other samurai lunged at him, fought them off ferociously for a moment, then rushed for the side and threw himself overboard.
   Four who could swim dropped their killing swords, put their short stabbing knives in their mouths, and jumped after him, the rest and the Dutchmen crowding the side.
   Blackthorne jumped for the gunwale. He could see nothing below; then he caught sight of swirling shadows in the water. A man came up for air and went down again. Soon four heads surfaced. Between them was the corpse, a knife in his throat.
   “So sorry, Anjin-san, it was his own knife,” one called up over the roars of the others.
   “Uraga-san, tell them to search him, then leave him to the fish.”
   The search revealed nothing. When all were back on deck, Blackthorne pointed at the icon with his cocked pistol. “All samurai—once more!” He was obeyed instantly and he made sure that every man passed the test. Then, because of Uraga, and to praise him, he ordered his crew to do the same. There was the beginning of a protest.
   “Come on,” Blackthorne snarled. “Hurry up, or I’ll put my foot on your backs!”
   “No need to say that, Pilot,” van Nekk said. “We’re not stinky pagan wogs!”
   “They’re not stinky pagan wogs! They’re samurai, by God!”
   They stared up at him. Anger, whipped by fear, rippled through them. Van Nekk began to say something but Ginsel butted in.
   “Samurai’re heathen bastards and they—or men like ‘em—murdered Pieterzoon, our Captain-General, and Maetsukker!”
   “Yes, but without these samurai we’ll never get home—understand?”
   Now all the samurai were watching. Ominously they moved nearer Blackthorne protectively. Van Nekk said, “Let it rest, eh? We’re all a bit touchy and overtired. It was a long night. We’re not our own masters here, none of us. Nor’s the Pilot. The Pilot knows what he’s doing—he’s the leader, he’s Captain-General now.”
   “Yes, he is. But it’s not right for him to take their side over us, and by the Lord God, he’s not a king—we’re equal to him,” Jan Roper hissed. “Just because he’s armed like them and dressed like them and can talk to the sods doesn’t make him king over us. We’ve rights and that’s our law and his law, by the Lord God, even though he’s English. He swore Holy Oaths to abide by the rules—didn’t you, Pilot!”
   “Yes,” Blackthorne said. “It’s our law in our seas—where we’re masters and in the majority. Now we’re not. So do what I tell you to do and do it fast.”
   Muttering, they obeyed.
   “Sonk! Did you find any grog?”
   “Nosirnotagodcurseddribble!”
   “I’ll get saké sent aboard.” Then, in Portuguese, Blackthorne added, “Uraga-san, you’ll come ashore with me and bring someone to scull. You four,” he said in Japanese, pointing at the men who had dived over the side, “you four now captains. Understand? Take fifty men each.”
   “Hai, Anjin-san.”
   “What’s your name?” he asked one of them, a tall, quiet man with a scarred cheek.
   “Nawa Chisato, Lord.”
   “You’re captain today. All ship. Until I return.”
   “Yes, Lord.”
   Blackthorne went to the gangway. A skiff was tied below.
   “Where’re you going, Pilot?” van Nekk said anxiously.
   “Ashore. I’ll be back later.”
   “Good, we’ll all go!”
   “By God I’ll come with—”
   “And me. I’m go—”
   “Christ Jesus, don’t leave me be—”
   “No! I’m going alone!”
   “But for God’s sake what about us!” van Nekk cried out. “What are we going to do? Don’t leave us, Pilot. What are—”
   “You just wait!” Blackthorne told them. “I’ll see food and drink’s sent aboard.”
   Ginsel squared up to Blackthorne. “I thought we were going back tonight. Why aren’t we going back tonight?”
   “How long we going to stay here, Pilot, and how long—”
   “Pilot, what about Yedo?” Ginsel asked louder. “How long we going to stay here, with these God-cursed monkeys?”
   “Yes, monkeys, by God,” Sonk said happily. “What about our gear and our own folk?”
   “Yes, what about our eters, Pilot? Our people and our doxies?”
   “They’ll be there tomorrow.” Blackthorne pushed down his loathing. “Be patient, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Baccus, you’re in charge.” He turned to go.
   “I’m going with you,” Jan Roper said truculently, following him. “We’re in harbor so we take precedence and I want some arms.”
   Blackthorne turned on him and a dozen swords left their scabbards, ready to kill Jan Roper. “One more word out of you and you’re a dead man.” The tall, lean merchant flushed and came to a halt. “You curb your tongue near these samurai because any one of them’ll take your head before I can stop them just because of your goddamned bad manners—let alone anything else! They’re touchy, and near you I’m getting touchy, and you’ll get arms when you need them. Understand?”
   Jan Roper nodded sullenly and backed off. The samurai were still menacing but Blackthorne quieted them, and ordered them, on pain of death, to leave his crew alone. “I’ll be back soon.” He walked down the gangway and got into the skiff, Uraga and another samurai following. Chisato, the captain, went up to Jan Roper, who quailed under the menace, bowed, and backed away.
   When they were well away from the ship Blackthorne thanked Uraga for catching the traitor.
   “Please, no thanks. It was only duty.”
   Blackthorne said in Japanese so that the other man could understand, “Yes, duty. But your koku change now. Now not twenty, now one hundred a year.”
   “Oh, Sire, thank you. I don’t deserve it. I was only doing my duty and I must—”
   “Speak slowly. Don’t understand.”
   Uraga apologized and said it slower.
   Blackthorne praised him again, then settled more comfortably in the stern of the boat, his exhaustion overcoming him. He forced his eyes open and glanced back at his ship to reassure himself she was well placed. Van Nekk and the others were at the gunwale and he was sorry that he had brought them aboard though he knew he had had no option. Without them the journey would not have been safe.
   Mutinous scum, he thought. What the hell do I do about them? All my vassals know about the eta village and they’re all as disgusted as… Christ Jesus, what a mess! Karma, neh?
   He slept. As the skiff nosed into the shore near the pier he awoke. At first he could not remember where he was. He had been dreaming he was back in the castle in Mariko’s arms, just like last night.
   Last night they had been lying in half-sleep after loving, Fujiko a party to the loving, Chimmoko on guard, when Yabu and his samurai had pounded on the door post. The evening had begun so pleasingly. Fujiko had also discreetly invited Kiku, and never had he seen her more beautiful and exuberant. As bells ended the Hour of the Boar, Mariko had punctually arrived. There had been merriment and saké but soon Mariko had shattered the spell.
   “So sorry, but you’re in great danger, Anjin-san.” She explained, and when she had added what Gyoko had said about not trusting Uraga, both Kiku and Fujiko were equally perturbed.
   “Please don’t worry. I’ll watch him, never fear,” he had reassured them.
   Mariko had continued, “Perhaps you should watch Yabu-sama too, Anjin-san.”
   “What?”
   “This afternoon I saw the hatred in your face. So did he.”
   “Never mind,” he had said. “Shigata ga nai, neh?”
   “No. So sorry, it was a mistake. Why did you call your men off when they had Yabu-sama surrounded at first? Surely that was a bad mistake too. They would have killed him quickly and your enemy would have been dead without risk to you.”
   “That wouldn’t have been right, Mariko-san. So many men against one. Not fair.”
   Mariko had explained to Fujiko and Kiku what he had said. “Please excuse me, Anjin-san, but we all believe that is a very dangerous way of thinking and beg you to forsake it. It’s quite wrong and very naïve. Please excuse me for being so blunt. Yabu-san will destroy you.”
   “No. Not yet. I’m still too important to him. And to Omi-san.”
   “Kiku-san says, please tell the Anjin-san to beware of Yabu—and this Uraga. The Anjin-san may find it difficult to judge ‘importance’ here, neh?”
   “Yes, I agree with Kiku-san,” Fujiko had said.
   Later Kiku had left to go and entertain Toranaga. Then Mariko broke the peace in the room again. “Tonight I must say sayonara, Anjin-san. I am leaving at dawn.”
   “No, there’s no need now,” he had said. “That can all be changed now. I’ll see Toranaga tomorrow. Now that I’ve permission to leave, I’ll take you to Osaka. I’ll get a galley, or coastal boat. At Nagasa—”
   “No, Anjin-san. So sorry, I must leave as ordered.” No amount of persuasion would touch her.
   He had felt Fujiko watching him in the silence, his heart aching with the thought of Mariko leaving. He had looked across at Fujiko. She asked them to excuse her for a moment. She closed the shoji behind her and they were alone and they knew that Fujiko would not return, that they were safe for a little time. Their loving was urgent and violent. Then there were voices and footsteps and barely enough time to become composed before Fujiko joined them through the inner door and Yabu strode in, bringing Toranaga’s orders for an immediate, secret departure. “—Yokohama, then Osaka for a brief stop, Anjin-san, on again to Nagasaki, back to Osaka, and home here again! I’ve sent for your crew to report to the ship.”
   Excitement had rushed through him at this heaven-sent victory. “Yes, Yabu-san. But Mariko-san—Mariko-san go Osaka also, neh? Better with us—quicker, safer, neh?”
   “Not possible, so sorry. Must hurry. Come along! Tide—understand ‘tide,’ Anjin-san?”
   “Hai, Yabu-san. But Mariko-san go Osaka—”
   “So sorry, she has orders like we have orders. Mariko-san! Explain to him. Tell him to hurry!”
   Yabu had been inflexible, and so late at night it was impossible to go to Toranaga to ask him to rescind the order. There had been no time or privacy to talk any more with Mariko or Fujiko, other than to say formal good-bys. But they would meet soon in Osaka. “Very soon, Anjin-san,” Mariko had said…
   “Lord God, don’t let me lose her,” Blackthorne said, the sea gulls cawing above the beach, their cries intensifying his loneliness.
   “Lose who, Sire?”
   Blackthorne came back into reality. He pointed at the distant ship. “We call ships her —we think of ships as female, not male. Wakarimasu ka?”
   “Hai.”
   Blackthorne could still see the tiny figures of his crew and his insoluble dilemma confronted him once more. You’ve got to have them aboard, he said to himself, and more like them. And the new men’ll not take kindly to samurai either, and they’ll be Catholic as well, most of them. God in heaven, how to control them all? Mariko was right. Near Catholics I’m a dead man.
   “Even me, Anjin-san,” she had said last night.
   “No, Mariko-chan. Not you.”
   “You said we’re your enemy, this afternoon.”
   “I said most Catholics are my enemies.”
   “They will kill you if they can.”
   “Yes. But thou … will we truly meet in Osaka?”
   “Yes. I love thee. Anjin-san, remember, beware of Yabu-san…”
   They were all right about Yabu, Blackthorne thought, whatever he says, whatever he promises. I made a bad mistake calling my men off when he was trapped. That bastard’ll cut my throat as soon as I’ve outlived my usefulness, however much he pretends otherwise. And yet Yabu’s right too: I need him. I’ll never get into Nagasaki and out again without protection. He could surely help to persuade Toranaga. With him leading two thousand more fanatics, we could lay waste all Nagasaki and maybe even Macao…
   Madonna! Alone I’m helpless.
   Then he remembered what Gyoko had told Mariko about Uraga, about not trusting him. Gyoko was wrong about him, he thought. What else is she wrong about?

Book Five

Chapter 52

   Once more in the crowded Osaka sea roads after the long journey by galley, Blackthorne again felt the same crushing weight of the city as when he had first seen it. Great swathes had been laid waste by the tai-fun and some areas were still fire-blackened, but its immensity was almost untouched and still dominated by the castle. Even from this distance, more than a league, he could see the colossal girth of the first great wall, the towering battlements, all dwarfed by the brooding malevolence of the donjon.
   “Christ,” Vinck said nervously, standing beside him on the prow, “doesn’t seem possible to be so big. Amsterdam’d be a flyspeck alongside it.”
   “Yes. The storm’s hurt the city but not that badly. Nothing could touch the castle.”
   The tai-fun had slammed out of the southwest two weeks ago. They had had plenty of warning, with lowering skies and squalls and rain, and had rushed the galley into a safe harbor to wait out the tempest. They had waited five days. Beyond the harbor the ocean had been whipped to froth and the winds were more violent and stronger than anything Blackthorne had ever experienced.
   “Christ,” Vinck said again. “Wish we were home. We should’ve been home a year ago.”
   Blackthorne had brought Vinck with him from Yokohama and sent the others back to Yedo, leaving Erasmus safely harbored and guarded under Naga’s command. His crew had been happy to go—as he had been happy to see the last of them. There had been more quarreling that night and a violent argument over the ship’s bullion. The money was company money, not his. Van Nekk was treasurer of the expedition and chief merchant and, jointly with the Captain-General, had legal jurisdiction over it. After it had been counted and recounted and found correct, less a thousand coins, van Nekk supported by Jan Roper had argued about the amount that he could take with him to get new men.
   “You want far too much, Pilot! You’ll have to offer them less!”
   “Christ Jesus! Whatever it takes we have to pay. I must have seamen and gunners.” He had slammed his fist on the table of the great cabin. “How else are we going to get home?”
   Eventually he had persuaded them to let him take enough, and was disgusted that they had made him lose his temper with their pettifogging. The next day he had shipped them back to Yedo, a tenth of the treasure split up among them as back pay, the rest under guard on the ship.
   “How do we know it’ll be safe here?” Jan Roper asked, scowling.
   “Stay and guard it yourself then!”
   But none of them had wanted to stay aboard. Vinck had agreed to come with him.
   “Why him, Pilot?” van Nekk had asked.
   “Because he’s a seaman and I’ll need help.”
   Blackthorne had been glad to see the last of them. Once at sea he began to change Vinck to Japanese ways. Vinck was stoic about it, trusting Blackthorne, having sailed too many years with him not to know his measure. “Pilot, for you I’ll bathe and wash every day but I’ll be God-cursed afore I wear a poxy nighty!”
   Within ten days Vinck was happily swinging the lead half-naked, his wide leather belt over his paunch, a dagger stuck in a sheath at his back and one of Blackthorne’s pistols safely within his clean though ragged shirt.
   “We don’t have to go to the castle, do we, Pilot?”
   “No.”
   “Christ Jesus—I’d rather stay away from there.”
   The day was fine, a high sun shimmering off the calm sea. The rowers were still strong and disciplined.
   “Vinck—that’s where the ambush was!”
   “Christ Jesus, look at those shoals!”
   Blackthorne had told Vinck about the narrowness of his escape, the signal fires on those battlements, the piles of dead ashore, the enemy frigate bearing down on him.
   “Ah, Anjin-san.” Yabu came to join them. “Good, neh?” He motioned at the devastation.
   “Bad, Yabu-sama.”
   “It’s enemy, neh?”
   “People are not enemy. Only Ishido and samurai enemy, neh?”
   “The castle is enemy,” Yabu replied, reflecting his disquiet, and that of all those aboard. “Here everything is enemy.”
   Blackthorne watched Yabu move to the bow, the wind whipping his kimono away from his hard torso.
   Vinck dropped his voice. “I want to kill that bastard, Pilot.”
   “Yes. I’ve not forgotten about old Pieterzoon either, don’t worry.”
   “Nor me, God be my judge! Beats me how you talk their talk. What’d he say?”
   “He was just being polite.”
   “What’s the plan?”
   “We dock and wait. He goes off for a day or two and we keep our heads down and wait. Toranaga said he’d send messages for the safe conducts we’d need but even so, we’re going to keep our heads down and stay aboard.” Blackthorne scanned the shipping and the waters for dangers but found none. Still, he said to Vinck, “Better call the fathoms now, just in case!”
   “Aye!”
   Yabu watched Vinck swinging the lead for a moment, then strolled back to Blackthorne. “Anjin-san, perhaps you’d better take the galley and go on to Nagasaki. Don’t wait, eh?”
   “All right,” Blackthorne said agreeably, not rising to the bait.
   Yabu laughed. “I like you, Anjin-san! But so sorry, alone you’ll soon die. Nagasaki’s very bad for you.”
   “Osaka bad—everywhere bad!”
   “Karma.” Yabu smiled again. Blackthorne pretended to share the joke.
   They had had variations of the same conversation many times during the voyage. Blackthorne had learned much about Yabu. He hated him even more, distrusted him even more, respected him more, and knew their karmas were interlocked.
   “Yabu-san’s right, Anjin-san,” Uraga had said. “He can protect you at Nagasaki, I cannot.”
   “Because of your uncle, Lord Harima?”
   “Yes. Perhaps I’m already declared outlaw, neh? My uncle’s Christian—though I think a rice Christian.”
   “What’s that?”
   “Nagasaki is his fief. Nagasaki has great harbor on the coast of Kyushu but not the best. So he quickly sees the light, neh? He becomes Christian, and orders all his vassals Christian. He ordered me Christian and into the Jesuit School, and then had me sent as one of the Christian envoys to the Pope. He gave land to the Jesuits and—how would you say it—fawns on them. But his heart is only Japanese.”
   “Do the Jesuits know what you think?”
   “Yes, of course.”
   “Do they believe that about rice Christians?”
   “They don’t tell us, their converts, what they truly believe, Anjin-san. Or even themselves most times. They are trained to have secrets, to use secrets, to welcome them, but never to reveal them. In that they’re very Japanese.”
   “You’d better stay here in Osaka, Uraga-san.”
   “Please excuse me, Sire, I am your vassal. If you go to Nagasaki, I go.”
   Blackthorne knew that Uraga was becoming an invaluable aid. The man was revealing so many Jesuit secrets: the how and why and when of their trade negotiations, their internal workings and incredible international machinations. And he was equally informative about Harima and Kiyama and how the Christian daimyos thought, and why, probably, they would stay sided with lshido. God, I know so much now that’d be priceless in London, he thought, and so much still to learn. How can I pass on the knowledge? For instance that China’s trade, just in silk to Japan, is worth ten million in gold a year, and that, even now, the Jesuits have one of their professed priests at the Court of the Emperor of China in Peking, honored with courtly rank, a confidant of the rulers, speaking Chinese perfectly. If only I could send a letter—if only I had an envoy.
   In return for all the knowledge Blackthorne began to teach Uraga about navigation, about the great religious schism, and about Parliament. Also he taught him and Yabu how to fire a gun. Both were apt pupils. Uraga’s a good man, he thought. No problem. Except he’s ashamed of his lack of a samurai queue. That’ll soon grow.
   There was a warning shout from the forepoop lookout.
   “Anjin-san!” The Japanese captain was pointing ahead at an elegant cutter, oared by twenty men, that approached from the starboard quarter. At the masthead was Ishido’s cipher. Alongside it was the cipher of the Council of Regents, the same that Nebara Jozen and his men had traveled under to Anjiro, to their deaths.
   “Who is it?” Blackthorne asked, feeling a tension throughout the ship, all eyes straining into the distance.
   “I can’t see yet, so sorry,” the captain said.
   “Yabu-san?”
   Yabu shrugged. “An official.”
   As the cutter came closer, Blackthorne saw an elderly man sitting under the aft canopy, wearing ornate ceremonial dress with the winged overmantle. He wore no swords. Surrounding him were Ishido’s Grays.
   The drum master ceased the beat to allow the cutter to come alongside. Men rushed to help the official aboard. A Japanese pilot jumped after him and after numerous bows took formal charge of the galley.
   Yabu and the elderly man were also formal and painstaking. At length they were seated on cushions of unequal rank, the official taking the most favored position on the poop. Samurai, Yabu’s and Grays, sat cross-legged or knelt on the main deck surrounding them in even lesser places. “The Council welcomes you, Kasigi Yabu, in the name of His Imperial Highness,” the man said. He was small and stocky, somewhat effete, a senior adviser to the Regents on protocol who also had Imperial Court rank. His name was Ogaki Takamoto, he was a Prince of the Seventh Rank, and his function was to act as one of the intermediaries between the Court of His Imperial Highness, the Son of Heaven, and the Regents. His teeth were dyed black in the manner that all courtiers of the Imperial Court had, by custom, affected for centuries.
   “Thank you, Prince Ogaki. It’s a privilege to be here on Lord Toranaga’s behalf,” Yabu said, vastly impressed with the honor being done to him.
   “Yes, I’m sure it is. Of course, you’re here on your own behalf also, neh?” Ogaki said dryly.
   “Of course,” Yabu replied. “When does Lord Toranaga arrive? So sorry, but the tai-fun delayed me for five days and I’ve had no news since I left.”
   “Ah, yes, the tai-fun. Yes, the Council were so happy to hear that the storm did not touch you.” Ogaki coughed. “As to your master, I regret to tell you that he hasn’t even reached Odawara yet. There have been interminable delays, and some sickness. Regrettable, neh?”
   “Oh yes, very—nothing serious, I trust?” Yabu asked quickly, immensely glad to be party to Toranaga’s secret.
   “No, fortunately nothing serious.” Again the dry cough. “Lord Ishido understands that your master reaches Odawara tomorrow.”
   Yabu was suitably surprised. “When I left, twenty-one days ago, everything was ready for his immediate departure, then Lord Hiro-matsu became sick. I know Lord Toranaga was gravely concerned but anxious to begin his journey—as I’m anxious to begin preparations for his arrival.”
   “Everything’s prepared,” the small man said.
   “Of course the Council will have no objections if I check the arrangements, neh?” Yabu was expansive. “It’s essential the ceremony be worthy of the Council and occasion, neh?”
   “Worthy of His Imperial Majesty, the Son of Heaven. It’s his summons now.”
   “Of course but …” Yabu’s sense of well-being died. “You mean … you mean His Imperial Highness will be there?”
   “The Exalted has agreed to the Regents’ humble request to accept personally the obeisance of the new Council, all major daimyos, including Lord Toranaga, his family, and vassals. The senior advisers of His Imperial Highness were asked to choose an auspicious day for such a—such a ritual. The twenty-second day of this month, in this, the fifth year of the era Keichō.”
   Yabu was stupefied. “In—in nineteen days?”
   “At noon.” Fastidiously Ogaki took out a paper kerchief from his sleeve and delicately blew his nose. “Please excuse me. Yes, at noon. The omens were perfect. Lord Toranaga was informed by Imperial messenger fourteen days ago. His immediate humble acceptance reached the Regents three days ago.” Ogaki took out a small scroll. “Here is your invitation, Lord Kasigi Yabu, to the ceremony.”
   Yabu quailed as he saw the Imperial seal of the sixteen-petal chrysanthemum and knew that no one, not even Toranaga, could possibly refuse such a summons. A refusal would be an unthinkable insult to the Divinity, an open rebellion, and as all land belonged to the reigning Emperor, would result in immediate forfeiture of all land, coupled with an Imperial invitation to commit seppuku at once, issued on his behalf by the Regents, also sealed with the Great Seal. Such an invitation would be absolute and would have to be obeyed.
   Yabu frantically tried to recover his composure.
   “So sorry, are you unwell?” Ogaki asked solicitously.
   “So sorry,” Yabu stuttered, “but never in my wildest dreams… No one could have imagined the Exalted would—would so honor us, neh?”
   “I agree, oh yes. Extraordinary!”
   “Astonishing … that His Imperial Highness would—would consider leaving Kyoto and—and come to Osaka.”
   “I agree. Even so, on the twenty-second day, the Exalted and the Imperial Regalia will be here.” The Imperial Regalia, without which no succession was valid, were the Three Sacred Treasures, considered divine, that all believed had been brought to earth by the god Ninigi-noh-Mikoto and passed on by him personally to his grandson, Jimmu Tenno, the first human Emperor, and by him personally to his successor down to the present holder, the Emperor Go-Nijo: the Sword, the Jewel, and the Mirror. The Sacred Sword and the Jewel always traveled in state with the Emperor whenever he had to stay overnight away from the palace; the Mirror was kept within the inner sanctuary at the great Shinto shrine of Ise. The Sword, the Mirror, and the Jewel belonged to the Son of Heaven. They were divine symbols of legitimate authority, of his divinity, that when he was on the move, the divine throne moved with him. And thus that with him went all power.
   Yabu croaked, “It’s almost impossible to believe that preparations for his arrival could be made in time.”
   “Oh, the Lord General Ishido, on behalf of the Regents, petitioned the Exalted the moment he first heard from Lord Zataki at Yokosé that Lord Toranaga had agreed, equally astonishingly, to come to Osaka and bow to the inevitable. Only the great honor that your master does the Regents prompted them to petition the Son of Heaven to grace the occasion with the Presence.” Again the dry cough. “Please excuse me, you would perhaps give me your formal acceptance in writing as soon as is convenient?”
   “May I do it at once?” Yabu asked, feeling very weak.

   “I’m sure the Regents would appreciate that.”
   Feebly Yabu sent for writing materials. Nineteen kept pounding in his brain. Nineteen days! Toranaga can delay only nineteen days and then he must be here too. Time enough for me to get to Nagasaki and safely back to Osaka, but not time enough to launch the seaborne attack on the Black Ship and take it, so not time enough to pressure Harima, Kiyama, or Onoshi, or the Christian priests, therefore not time enough to launch Crimson Sky, therefore Toranaga’s whole scheme is just another illusion … oh oh oh!
   Toranaga’s failed. I should have known that he would. The answer to my dilemma is clear: Either I blindly trust Toranaga to squeeze out of this net and I help the Anjin-san as planned to get the men to take the Black Ship even more rapidly, or I’ve got to go to Ishido and tell him everything I know and try to barter for my life and for Izu.
   Which?
   Paper and brush and ink arrived. Yabu put his anguish aside for a moment and concentrated on writing as perfectly and beautifully as he could. It was unthinkable to reply to the Presence with a cluttered mind. When he had finished his acceptance, he had made the critical decision: He would follow Yuriko’s advice completely. At once the weight tumbled off his wa and he felt greatly cleansed. He signed his name with an arrogant flourish.
   How to be Toranaga’s best vassal? So simple: Remove Ishido from this earth.
   How to do that, yet leave enough time to escape?
   Then he heard Ogaki say, “Tomorrow you are invited to a formal reception given by the General Lord Ishido to honor the birthday of the Lady Ochiba.”


   Still travel-worn, Mariko embraced Kiri first, then hugged the Lady Sazuko, admired the baby, and hugged Kiri again. Personal maids fussed and bustled around them, bringing cha and saké and taking away the trays again, hurrying in and out with cushions and sweet-smelling herbs, opening and closing the shojis overlooking the inner garden in their section of Osaka Castle, waving fans, chattering, and weeping also.
   At length Kiri clapped her hands, dismissed the maids, and groped heavily for her special cushion, overcome with excitement and happiness. She was very flushed. Hastily Mariko and the Lady Sazuko fanned her and ministered to her, and only after three large cups of saké was she able to catch her breath again.
   “Oh, that’s better,” she said. “Yes, thank you child, yes, I’ll have some more! Oh, Mariko-chan, you’re really here?”
   “Yes, yes. Really here, Kiri-san.”
   Sazuko, looking much younger than her seventeen years, said, “Oh, we’ve been so worried with only rumors and—”
   “Yes, nothing but rumors, Mariko-chan,” Kiri interrupted. “Oh, there’s so much I want to know, I feel faint.”
   “Poor Kiri-san, here, have some saké,” Sazuko said solicitously. “Perhaps you should loosen your obi and—”
   “I’m perfectly all right now! Please don’t fuss, child.” Kiri exhaled and folded her hands over her ample stomach. “Oh Mariko-san, it’s so good to see a friendly face again from outside Osaka Castle.”
   “Yes,” Sazuko echoed, nestling closer to Mariko, and said in a torrent, “whenever we go out of our gate Grays swarm around us like we were queen bees. We’re not allowed to leave the castle, except with the Council’s permission—none of the ladies are, even Lord Kiyama’s—and the Council almost never meets and they hem and haw so there’s never any permission and the doctor still says I’m not to travel yet but I’m fine and the baby’s fine and… But first tell us—”
   Kiri interrupted, “First tell us how our Master is.”
   The girl laughed, her vivacity undiminished. “I was going to ask that, Kiri-san!”
   Mariko replied as Toranaga had ordered. “He’s committed to his course—he’s confident and content with his decision.” She had rehearsed herself many times during her journey. Even so the strength of the gloom she created almost made her want to blurt out the truth. “So sorry,” she said.
   “Oh!” Sazuko tried not to sound frightened.
   Kiri heaved herself to a more comfortable position. “Karma is karma, neh?”
   “Then—then there’s no change—no hope?” the girl asked.
   Kiri patted her hand. “Believe that karma is karma, child, and Lord Toranaga is the greatest, wisest man alive. That is enough, the rest is illusion. Mariko-chan, do you have messages for us?”
   “Oh, so sorry. Yes, here.” Mariko took the three scrolls from her sleeve. “Two for you, Kiri-chan—one from our Master, one from Lord Hiro-matsu. This is for you, Sazuko, from your Lord, but he told me to tell you he misses you and wants to see his newest son. He made me remember to tell you three times. He misses you very much and oh so wants to see his youngest son. He misses you very …”
   Tears were spilling down the girl’s cheeks. She mumbled an apology and ran out of the room clutching the scroll.
   “Poor child. It’s so very hard for her here.” Kiri did not break the seals of her scrolls. “You know about His Imperial Majesty being present?”
   “Yes.” Mariko was equally grave. “A courier from Lord Toranaga caught up with me a week ago. The message gave no details other than that, and named the day he will arrive here. Have you heard from him?”
   “Not directly—nothing private—not for a month now. How is he? Really?”
   “Confident.” She sipped some saké. “Oh, may I pour for you?”
   “Thank you.”
   “Nineteen days isn’t much time, is it, Kiri-chan?”
   “It’s time enough to go to Yedo and back again if you hurry, time enough to live a lifetime if you want, more than enough time to fight a battle or lose an Empire—time for a million things, but not enough time to eat all the rare dishes or drink all the sake…” Kiri smiled faintly. “I’m certainly not going to diet for the next twenty days. I’m—” She stopped. “Oh, please excuse me—listen to me prattling on and you haven’t even changed or bathed. There’ll be plenty of time to talk later.”
   “Oh, please don’t concern yourself. I’m not tired.”
   “But you must be. You’ll stay at your house?”
   “Yes. That’s where the General Lord Ishido’s pass permits me to go.” Mariko smiled wryly. “His welcome was flowery!”
   Kiri scowled. “I doubt if he’d be welcome even in hell.”
   “Oh? So sorry, what now?”
   “Nothing more than before. I know he ordered the Lord Sugiyama murders and tortures though I’ve no proof. Last week one of Lord Oda’s consorts tried to sneak out with her children, disguised as a street cleaner. Sentries shot them ‘by mistake.’”
   “How terrible!”
   “Of course, great ‘apologies’! Ishido claims security is all important. There was a trumped-up assassination attempt on the Heir—that’s his excuse.”
   “Why don’t the ladies leave openly?”
   “The Council has ordered wives and families to wait for their husbands, who must return for the Ceremony. The great Lord General feels ‘the responsibility of their safety too gravely to allow them to wander.’ The castle’s locked tighter than an old oyster.”
   “So is the outside, Kiri-san. There are many more barriers than before on the Tokaidō, and Ishido’s security’s very strong within fifty ri. Patrols everywhere.”
   “Everyone’s frightened of him, except us and our few samurai, and we’re no more trouble to him than a pimple on a dragon’s rump.”
   “Even our doctors?”
   “Them too. Yes, they still advise us not to travel, even if it were permitted, which it will never be.”
   “Is the Lady Sazuko fit—is the baby fit, Kiri-san?”
   “Yes, you can see that for yourself. And so am I.” Kiri sighed, the strain showing now, and Mariko noticed there was much more gray in her hair than before. “Nothing’s changed since I wrote to Lord Toranaga at Anjiro. We’re hostages and we’ll stay hostages with all the rest until The Day. Then there’ll be a resolution.”
   “Now that His Imperial Highness is arriving … that makes everything final, neh?”
   “Yes. It would seem so. Go and rest, Mariko-chan, but eat with us tonight. Then we can talk, neh? Oh, by the way, one piece of news for you. Your famous barbarian hatamoto—bless him for saving our Master, we heard about that—he docked safely this morning, with Kasigi Yabu-san.”
   “Oh! I was so worried about them. They left the day before I did by sea. We were also caught in part of the tai-fun, near Nagoya, but it wasn’t that bad for us. I was afraid at sea… Oh, that’s a relief.”
   “It wasn’t too bad here except for the fires. Many thousands of homes burned but barely two thousand dead. We heard today that the main force of the storm hit Kyushu, on the east coast, and part of Shikoku. Tens of thousands died. No one yet knows the full extent of the damage.”
   “But the harvest?” Mariko asked quickly.
   “Much of it’s flattened here—fields upon fields. The farmers hope that it will recover but who knows? If there’s no damage to the Kwanto during the season, their rice may have to support the whole Empire this year and next.”
   “It would be far better if Lord Toranaga controlled such a harvest than Ishido. Neh?”
   “Yes. But, so sorry, nineteen days is not time enough to take in a harvest, with all the prayers in the world.”
   Mariko finished her saké. “Yes.”
   Kiri said, “If their ship left the day before you, you must have hurried.”
   “I thought it best not to dawdle, Kiri-chan. It’s no pleasure for me to travel.”
   “And Buntaro-san? He’s well?”
   “Yes. He’s in charge of Mishima and all the border at the moment. I saw him briefly coming here. Do you know where Kasigi Yabu-sama’s staying? I have a message for him.”
   “In one of the guest houses. I’ll find out which and send you word at once.” Kiri accepted more wine. “Thank you, Mariko-chan. I heard the Anjin-san’s still on the galley.”
   “He’s a very interesting man, Kiri-san. He’s become more than a little useful to our Master.”
   “I heard that. I want to hear everything about him and the earthquake and all your news. Oh yes, there’s a formal reception tomorrow evening for Lady Ochiba’s birthday, given by Lord Ishido. Of course you’ll be invited. I heard that the Anjin-san’s going to be invited too. The Lady Ochiba wanted to see what he looks like. You remember the Heir met him once. Wasn’t that the first time you saw him too?”
   “Yes. Poor man, so he’s to be shown off, like a captive whale?”
   “Yes.” Kiri added placidly, “With all of us. We’re all captives, Mariko-chan, whether we like it or not.”


   Uraga hurried furtively down the alley toward the shore, the night dark, the sky clear and starlit, the air pleasant. He was dressed in the flowing orange robe of a Buddhist priest, his inevitable hat, and cheap straw sandals. Behind him were warehouses and the tall, almost European bulk of the Jesuit Mission. He turned a corner and redoubled his pace. Few people were about. A company of Grays carrying flares patrolled the shore. He slowed as he passed them courteously, though with a priest’s arrogance. The samurai hardly noticed him.
   He went unerringly along the foreshore, past beached fishing boats, the smells of the sea and shore heavy on the slight breeze. It was low tide. Scattered over the bay and sanding shelves were night fishermen, like so many fireflies, hunting with spears under their flares. Ahead two hundred paces were the wharves and jetties, barnacle encrusted. Moored to one of them was a Jesuit lorcha, the flags of Portugal and the Company of Jesus fluttering, flares and more Grays near the gangway. He changed direction to skirt the ship, heading back into the city a few blocks, then cut down Nineteenth Street, turned into twisting alleys, and came out on to the road that followed the wharves once more.
   “You! Halt!”
   The order came out of the darkness. Uraga stopped in sudden panic. Grays came forward into the light and surrounded him. “Where’re you going, priest?”
   “To the east of the city,” Uraga said haltingly, his mouth dry. “To our Nichiren shrine.”
   “Ah, you’re Nichiren, neh?”
   Another samurai said roughly, “I’m not one of those. I’m Zen Buddhist like the Lord General.”
   “Zen—ah yes, Zen’s the best,” another said. “Wish I could understand that. It’s too hard for my old head.”
   “He’s sweating a lot for a priest, isn’t he? Why are you sweating?”
   “You mean priests don’t sweat?”
   A few laughed and someone held a flare closer.
   “Why should they sweat?” the rough man said. “All they do is sleep all day and pillow all night—nuns, boys, dogs, themselves, anything they can get—and all the time stuff themselves with food they’ve never labored for. Priests are parasites, like fleas.”
   “Eh, leave him alone, he’s just—”
   “Take off your hat, priest.”
   Uraga stiffened. “Why? And why taunt a man who serves Buddha? Buddha’s doing you no—”
   The samurai stepped forward pugnaciously. “I said take off your hat!”
   Uraga obeyed. His head was newly shaven as a priest’s should be and he blessed whatever kami or spirit or gift from Buddha had prompted him to take that added precaution in case he was caught breaking curfew. All the Anjin-san’s samurai had been ordered confined to the vessel by the port authorities, pending instructions from higher up. “There’s no cause to have foul manners,” he flared with a Jesuit’s unconscious authority. “Serving Buddha’s an honorable life, and becoming a priest is honorable and should be the final part of every samurai’s old age. Or do you know nothing of bushido? Where are your manners?”
   “What? You’re samurai?”
   “Of course I’m samurai. How else would I dare to talk to samurai about bad manners?” Uraga put on his hat. “It would be better for you to be patrolling than accosting and insulting innocent priests!” He walked off haughtily, his knees weak.
   The samurai watched him for a time, then one spat. “Priests!”
   “He was right,” the senior samurai said sourly. “Where are your manners?”
   “So sorry. Please excuse me.”
   Uraga walked along the road, very proud of himself. Nearer the galley he became wary again and waited a moment in the lee of a building. Then, gathering himself together, he walked into the flare-lit area.
   “Good evening,” he said politely to the Grays who lolled beside the gangplank, then added the religious blessing, “Namu Amida Butsu,” In the Name of the Buddha Amida.
   “Thank you. Namu Amida Butsu.” The Grays let him pass without hindrance. Their orders were that the barbarian and all samurai were forbidden ashore except for Yabu and his honor guard. No one had said anything about the Buddhist priest who traveled with the ship.
   Greatly tired now, Uraga came onto the main deck.

   “Uraga-san,” Blackthorne called out softly from the quarterdeck. “Over here.”
   Uraga squinted to adjust his eyes to the darkness. He saw Blackthorne and he smelt the stale, brassy body aroma and knew that the second shadow there had to be the other barbarian with the unpronounceable name who could also speak Portuguese. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be away from the barbarian odor that was part of his life. The Anjin-san was the only one he had met who did not reek, which was one reason why he could serve him.
   “Ah, Anjin-san,” he whispered and picked his way over to him, briefly greeting the ten guards who were scattered around the deck.
   He waited at the foot of the gangway until Blackthorne motioned him up onto the quarterdeck. “It went very—”
   “Wait,” Blackthorne cautioned him as softly and pointed. “Look ashore. Over there, near the warehouse. See him? No, north a little—there, you see him now?” A shadow moved briefly, then merged into the darkness again.
   “Who was it?”
   “I’ve been watching you ever since you came into the road. He’s been dogging you. You never saw him?”
   “No, Sire,” Uraga replied, his foreboding returning to him. “I saw no one, felt no one.”
   “He didn’t have swords, so he wasn’t samurai. A Jesuit?”
   “I don’t know. I don’t think so—I was most careful there. Please excuse me that I didn’t see him.”
   “Never mind.” Blackthorne glanced at Vinck. “Go below now, Johann. I’ll finish this watch and wake you at dawn. Thanks for waiting.”
   Vinck touched his forelock and went below. The dank smell left with him. “I was getting worried about you,” Blackthorne said. “What happened?”
   “Yabu-sama’s messenger was slow, Anjin-san. Here is my report: I went with Yabu-sama and waited outside the castle from noon till just after dark when—”
   “What were you doing all that time? Exactly?”
   “Exactly, Sire? I chose a quiet place near the marketplace in sight of First Bridge, and I put my mind into meditation—the Jesuit practice, Anjin-san, but not about God, only about you and Yabu-sama and your future, Sire.” Uraga smiled. “Many passersby put coins into my begging bowl, I let my body rest and my mind roam, though I watched the First Bridge all the time. Yabu-sama’s messenger came after dark and pretended to pray with me until we were quite alone. The messenger whispered this: ‘Yabu-sama says that he will be staying in the castle tonight and that he will return tomorrow morning. There is to be an official function in the castle tomorrow night that you will be invited to, given by General Lord Ishido. Finally, you should consider seventy.’” Uraga peered at him. “The samurai repeated that twice, so I presume it’s private code, Sire.”
   Blackthorne nodded but did not volunteer that this was one of many prearranged signals between Yabu and himself. “Seventy” meant that he should ensure the ship was prepared for an instant retreat to sea. But with all his samurai, seamen, and rowers confined aboard, the ship was ready. And as everyone was very aware they were in enemy waters and all were greatly troubled, Blackthorne knew it would require no effort to get the ship headed out to sea.
   “Go on, Uraga-san.”
   “That was all except I was to tell you Toda Mariko-san arrived today.”
   “Ah! Did she… Isn’t that a very fast time to make the land journey here from Yedo?”
   “Yes, Sire. Actually, while I was waiting, I saw her company go across the bridge. It was in the afternoon, the middle of the Hour of the Goat. The horses were lathered and muddy and the bearers very tired. Yoshinaka-san led them.”
   “Did any of them see you?”
   “No, Sire. No, I don’t think so.”
   “How many were there?”
   “About two hundred samurai, with porters and baggage horses. Twice that number of Grays escorting them. One of the baggage horses had panniers of carrier pigeons.”
   “Good. Next?”
   “As soon as I was able, I left. There’s a noodle shop near the Mission that many merchants, rice and silk brokers, Mission people use. I—I went there and ate and listened. The Father-Visitor is again in residence here. Many more converts in Osaka area. Permission has been granted for a huge Mass in twenty days, in honor of Lords Kiyama and Onoshi.”
   “Is that important?”
   “Yes, and astonishing for such a service to be permitted openly. It is to celebrate the Feast of Saint Bernard. Twenty days is the day after the Obeisance Ceremony before the Exalted.”
   Yabu had told Blackthorne about the Emperor through Uraga. The news had swept through the whole ship, increasing everyone’s premonition of disaster.
   “What else?”
   “In the marketplace many rumors. Most ill-omened. Yodoko-sama, the Taikō’s widow, is very sick. That’s bad, Anjin-san, because her counsel is always listened to and always reasonable. Some say Lord Toranaga is already near Nagoya, others say he’s not yet reached Odawara, so no one knows what to believe. All agree the harvest will be terrible this year, here in Osaka, which means the Kwanto becomes even more greatly important. Most people think civil war will begin as soon as Lord Toranaga’s dead, at which time the great daimyos will begin to fight among themselves. The price of gold is very high and interest rates up to seventy percent which—”
   “That’s impossibly high, you must be mistaken.” Blackthorne got up and eased his back, then leaned wearily against the gunwale. Politely Uraga and all samurai got up too. It would have been bad manners for them to sit while their master stood.
   “Please excuse me, Anjin-san,” Uraga was saying, “it’s never less than fifty percent, and usually sixty-five to seventy, even eighty. Almost twenty years ago the Father-Visitor petitioned the Holy Fa—petitioned the Pope, to allow us—to allow the Society to lend at ten percentage. He was right that his suggestion—it was approved, Anjin-san—would bring lusters to Christianity and many converts for, of course, only Christians could get loans, which were always modest. You don’t pay such highs in your country?”
   “Rarely. That’s usury! You understand ‘usury’?”
   “I understand the word, yes. But usury would not begin for us under one hundred percentage. I was going to tell you also now rice is very expensive and that’s a bad omen—it’s double what it was when I was here a few weeks ago. Land is cheap. Now would be a good time to buy land here. Or a house. In the tai-fun and fires perhaps ten thousand homes die, and two, three thousand people. That’s all, Anjin-san.”
   “That’s very good. You’ve done very well. You’ve missed your real vocation!”
   “Sire?”
   “Nothing,” Blackthorne said, not yet knowing how far he could tease Uraga. “You’ve done very well.”
   “Thank you, Sire.”
   Blackthorne thought a moment, then asked him about the function tomorrow and Uraga advised him as best he could. Finally Uraga told him about his escape from the patrol.
   “Would your hair have given you away?” Blackthorne asked.
   “Oh yes. Enough for them to take me to their officer.” Uraga wiped the sweat off his forehead. “So sorry, it’s hot, neh?”
   “Very,” Blackthorne agreed politely, and let his mind sift the information. He glanced seaward, unconsciously checking the sky and sea and wind. Everything was fine and orderly, the fishing boats complacently drifting with the tide, near and far, a spearman in the prow of each under a lantern stabbing down from time to time, and most always bringing up a fine bream or mullet or red snapper that curled and twisted on the spike.
   “One last thing, Sire. I went to the Mission—all around the Mission. The guards were very alert and I could never get in there—at least, I don’t think so, not unless I went past one of them. I watched for a while, but before I left I saw Chimmoko, Lady Toda’s maid, go in.”
   “You’re sure?”
   “Yes. Another maid was with her. I think—”
   “Lady Mariko? Disguised?”
   “No, Sire. I’m sure it was not—this second maid was too tall.”
   Blackthorne looked seaward again and murmured, half to himself, “What’s the significance of that?”
   “Lady Mariko is Chris—she’s Catholic, neh? She knows the Father-Visitor very well. It was he who converted her. Lady Mariko is the most very important Lady, the most famous in the realm, after the three highest nobility: the Lady Ochiba, the Lady Genjiko, and Yodoko-sama, the wife of the Taikō.”
   “Mariko-san might want Confession? Or a Mass? Or a conference? She sent Chimmoko to arrange them?”
   “Any or all, Anjin-san. All ladies of the daimyos, both of friends to the Lord General and of those who might oppose him, are confined very much to the castle, neh? Once in, they stay in, like fish in a golden bowl, waiting to be speared.”
   “Leave it! Enough of your doom talk.”
   “So sorry. Even so, Anjin-san, I think now the Lady Toda will come out no more. Until the nineteenth day.”
   “I told you to leave it! I understand about hostages and a last day.” It was quiet on deck, all their voices muted. The guard was resting easily, waiting out their watch. Small water lapped the hull and the ropes creaked pleasantly.
   After a moment, Uraga said, “Perhaps Chimmoko brought a summons—a request for the Father-Visitor to go to her. She was surely under guard when she crossed First Bridge. Surely Toda Mariko-noh-Buntaro-noh-Jinsai was under guard from the first moments she crossed from Lord Toranaga’s borders. Neh?”
   “Can we know if the Father-Visitor goes to the castle?”
   “Yes. That is easy.”
   “How to know what’s said—or what’s done?”
   “That is very hard. Very sorry, but they would speak Portuguese or Latin, neh? And who speaks both but you and me? I would be recognized by both.” Uraga motioned at the castle and at the city. “There are many Christians there. Any would gain great favor by removing you, or me—neh?”
   Blackthorne did not answer. No answer was needed. He was seeing the donjon etched against the stars and he remembered Uraga telling him about the legendary, limitless treasure it protected, the Taikō’s plunder-levy of the Empire. But now his mind was on what Toranaga might be doing and thinking and planning, and exactly where Mariko was and what was the use of going on to Nagasaki. ‘Then you’re saying the nineteenth day is the last day, a death day, Yabu-san?’ he had repeated, almost nauseated by the knowledge that the trap was sprung on Toranaga. And therefore on him and Erasmus.
   ‘Shigata ga nai! We go quickly Nagasaki and back again. Quick, understand? Only four days to get men. Then come back.’
   ‘But why? When Toranaga here, all die, neh? ’ he had said. But Yabu had gone ashore, telling him that the day after tomorrow they would leave. In a ferment he had watched him go, wishing that he had brought Erasmus and not the galley. If he had had Erasmus he knew that he would have somehow bypassed Osaka and headed straight for Nagasaki, or even more probably, he would have limped off over the horizon to find some snug harbor and taken time out from eternity to train his vassals to work the ship.
   You’re a fool, he flayed himself. With the few crew you’ve got now you couldn’t have docked her here, let alone found that harbor to wait out the devil storm. You’d be dead already.
   “No worry, Sire. Karma,” Uraga was saying.
   “Aye. Karma.” Then Blackthorne heard danger seaward and his body moved before his mind ordered it and he was twisting as the arrow swooshed past, missed him fractionally to shudder into the bulkhead. He lunged at Uraga to pull him down to safety as another arrow of the same volley hissed into Uraga’s throat, impaling him, and then they were both cowering in safety on the deck, Uraga shrieking and samurai shouting and peering over the gunwale out to sea. Grays from the shore guard poured aboard. Another volley came out of the night from the sea and everyone scattered for cover. Blackthorne crawled to the gunwale and peeped through a scupper and saw a nearby fishing boat dousing its flare to vanish into the darkness. All the boats were doing the same, and for a split second he saw scullers pulling away frantically, light glinting off swords and bows.
   Uraga’s shrieking subsided into a burbling, gut-shattering agony as Grays rushed on to the quarterdeck, bows ready, the whole ship now in an uproar. Vinck came on deck fast, pistol ready, ducked over as he ran. “Christ, what’s going on—you all right, Pilot?”
   “Yes. Watch out—they’re in the fishing boats!” Blackthorne slithered back to Uraga, who was clawing at the shaft, blood seeping from his nose and mouth and ears.
   “Jesus,” Vinck gasped.
   Blackthorne took hold of the arrow’s barb with one hand and put his other on the warm, pulsing flesh and pulled with all his strength. The arrow came out cleanly but in its wake blood gushed in a pumping stream. Uraga began to choke.
   Now Grays and Blackthorne’s own samurai surrounded them. Some had brought shields and they covered Blackthorne, heedless of their own safety. Others quaked in safety though the danger was over. Others were raging at the night, firing at the night, ordering the vanished fishing boats back.
   Blackthorne held Uraga in his arms helplessly, knowing there was something he should do but not knowing what, knowing nothing could be done, the frantic sick-sweet-death smell clogging his nostrils, his brain shrieking as always, ‘Christ Jesus, thank God it’s not my blood, not mine, thank God.’
   He saw Uraga’s eyes begging, the mouth working with no sound but choking, the chest heaving, then he saw his own fingers move of themselves and they made the sign of the cross before the eyes and he felt Uraga’s body shuddering, fluttering, the mouth howling soundlessly, reminding him of any one of the impaled fish.
   It took Uraga a hideous time to die.

Chapter 53

   Now Blackthorne was walking in the castle with his honor guard of twenty vassals surrounded by ten times that number of escorting Grays. Proudly he wore a new uniform, Brown kimono with the five Toranaga ciphers and, for the first time, a formal, huge-winged overmantle. His golden wavy hair was tied in a neat queue. The swords that Toranaga had given him jutted from his sash correctly. His feet were encased in new tabi and thonged sandals.
   Grays in abundance were at every intersection, covering every battlement, in a vast show of Ishido strength, for every daimyo and general and every samurai officer of importance in Osaka had been invited tonight to the Great Hall that the Taikō had built within the inner ring of fortifications. The sun was down and night arriving quickly.
   It’s terrible luck to lose Uraga, Blackthorne was thinking, still not knowing if the attack had been against Uraga or himself. I’ve lost the best source of knowledge I could ever have.
   “At noon you go castle, Anjin-san,” Yabu had said this morning, when he had returned to the galley. “Grays come for you. You understand?”
   “Yes, Yabu-sama.”
   “Quite safe now. Sorry about attack. Shigata ga nai! Grays take you safe place. Tonight you stay in castle. Toranaga part of castle. Also next day we go Nagasaki.”
   “We have permission?” he had asked.
   Yabu shook his head with exasperation. “Pretend go Mishima to collect Lord Hiro-matsu. Also Lord Sudara and family. Understand?”
   “Yes.”
   “Good. Sleep now, Anjin-san. Don’t worry about attack. Now all boats ordered stay away from here. It’s kinjiru here now.”
   “I understand. Please excuse me, what happens tonight? Why me to castle?”
   Yabu had smiled his twisted smile and told him he was on show, that Ishido was curious to see him again. “As a guest you’ll be safe,” and he had left the galley once more.
   Blackthorne had gone below, leaving Vinck on watch, but the moment he was deeply asleep Vinck was tugging him awake and he rushed on deck again.
   A small Portuguese twenty-cannon frigate was barreling into harbor, the bit between her teeth, heeled over under a full press of canvas.
   “Bastard’s in a hurry,” Vinck said, quaking.
   “Got to be Rodrigues. No one else’d come in with all that sail.”
   “If I was you, Pilot, I’d get us the hell away from here on the tide, or without the tide. Christ Jesus, we’re like moths in a grog bottle. Let’s get out—”
   “We stay! Can’t you get it through your head? We stay until we’re allowed to leave. We stay until Ishido says we can go even if the Pope and the King of Spain come ashore together with the whole God-cursed Armada!”
   Again he had gone below but sleep had avoided him. At noon, Grays arrived. Heavily escorted, he went with them to the castle. They wound through the city passing the execution ground, the five crosses still there, figures still being tied up and taken down, each cross with its two spearsmen, the crowd watching. He had relived that agony and the terror of the ambush, and the feel of his hand on the hilt of his sword, the kimono about him, his own vassals with him, did not lessen his dread.
   The Grays had guided him to Toranaga’s part of the castle that he had visited the first time, where Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko and her child were still ensconced, along with the remainder of Toranaga’s samurai. There he had had a bath and found the new clothes that had been laid out for him.
   “Is Lady Mariko here?”
   “No, Sire, so sorry,” the servant had told him.
   “Then where can I find her, please? I have urgent message.”
   “So sorry, Anjin-san, I don’t know. Please excuse me.”
   None of the servants would help him. All said, “So sorry, I don’t know.”
   He had dressed, then referred to his dictionary, remembering key words that he would need and prepared as best he could. Then he went into the garden to watch the rocks growing. But they never grew.
   Now he was walking across the innermost moat. Flares were everywhere.
   He shook off his anxiety and stepped out onto the wooden bridge. Other guests with Grays were all around heading the same way. He could feel them watching him covertly.
   His feet took him under the final portcullis and his Grays led through the maze again up to the huge door. Here they left him. So did his own men. They went to one side with other samurai to await him. He went forward into the flare-lit maw.
   It was an immense, high-raftered room with a golden ornamented ceiling. Gold-paneled columns supported the rafters, which were made of rare and polished woods and cherished like the hangings on the walls. Five hundred samurai and their ladies were there, wearing all the colors of the rainbow, their fragrances mingling with incense perfume from the precious woods that smoked on tiny wall braziers. Blackthorne’s eyes raced over the crowd to find Mariko, or Yabu, or any friendly face. But he found none. To one side was a line of guests who waited to bow before the raised platform at the far end. The courtier, Prince Ogaki Takamoto, was standing there. Blackthorne recognized Ishido—tall, lean, and autocratic—also beside the platform, and he remembered vividly the blinding power of the man’s blow on his face, and then his own fingers knotting around the man’s throat.
   On the platform, alone, was the Lady Ochiba. She sat comfortably on a cushion. Even from this distance he could see the exquisite richness of her kimono, gold threads on the rarest blue-black silk. “The Most High,” Uraga had called her in awe, telling him much about her and her history during their journey.
   She was slight, almost girlish in build, with a luminous glow to her fair skin. Her sloe eyes were large under painted, arched brows, her hair set like a winged helmet.
   The procession of guests crept forward. Blackthorne was standing to one side in a pool of light, a head taller than those nearby. Politely he stepped aside to get out of the way of some passing guests and saw Ochiba’s eyes turn to him. Now Ishido was looking at him too.
   They said something to each other and her fan moved. Their eyes returned to him. Uneasily he went toward a wall to become less conspicuous but a Gray barred his way. “Dozo,” this samurai said politely, motioning at the line.
   “Hai, domo,” Blackthorne said and joined it.
   Those in front bowed and others that came after him bowed. He returned their bows. Soon all conversation died. Everyone was looking at him.
   Embarrassed, the men and women ahead in the line moved out of his way. Now no one was between him and the platform. He stood rigid momentarily. Then, in the utter silence, he walked forward.
   In front of the platform he knelt and bowed formally, once to her and once to Ishido as he had seen others do. He got up again, petrified that his swords would fall or that he would slip and be disgraced, but everything went satisfactorily and he began to back away.
   “Please wait, Anjin-san,” she said.
   He waited. Her luminosity seemed to have increased, and her femininity. He felt the extraordinary sensuality that surrounded her, without conscious effort on her part.
   “It is said that you speak our language?” Her voice was unaccountably personal.
   “Please excuse me, Highness,” Blackthorne began, using his timetried stock phrase, stumbling slightly in his nervousness. “So sorry, but I have to use short words and respectfully ask you to use very simple words to me so that I may have the honor of understanding you.” He knew that without doubt his life could easily depend on his answers. All attention in the room was on them now. Then he noticed Yabu moving carefully through the throng, coming closer. “May I respectfully congratulate you on your birthday and pray that you live to enjoy a thousand more.”
   “These are hardly simple words, Anjin-san,” Lady Ochiba said, very impressed.
   “Please excuse me, Highness. I learn that last night. The right way to say, neh?”
   “Who taught you that?”
   “Uraga-noh-Tadamasa, my vassal.”
   She frowned, then glanced at Ishido, who bent forward and spoke, too rapidly for Blackthorne to catch anything other than the word “arrows.”
   “Ah, the renegade Christian priest who was killed last night on your ship?”
   “Highness?”
   “The man—samurai who was killed, neh? Last night on ship. You understand?”
   “Ah, so sorry. Yes, him.” Blackthorne glanced at Ishido, then back at her. “Please excuse me, Highness, your permission greet the Lord General?”
   “Yes, you have that permission.”
   “Good evening, Lord General,” Blackthorne said with studied politeness. “Last time meet, I very terrible mad. So sorry.”
   Ishido returned the bow perfunctorily. “Yes, you were. And very impolite. I hope you won’t get mad tonight or any other night.”
   “Very mad that night, please excuse me.”
   “That madness is usual among barbarians, neh?”
   Such public rudeness to a guest was very bad. Blackthorne’s eyes flashed to Lady Ochiba for an instant and he discerned surprise in her too. So he gambled. “Ah, Lord General, you are most very right. Barbarian always same madness. But, so sorry, now I am samurai—hatamoto—this great, so very great honor to me. I am no longer barbarian.” He used his quarterdeck voice which carried without shouting and filled all the corners of the room. “Now I understand samurai manners—and little bushido. And wa. I am no longer barbarian, please excuse. Neh?” He spoke the last word as a challenge, unafraid. He knew that Japanese understood masculinity and pride, and honored them.
   Ishido laughed. “So, samurai Anjin-san,” he said, jovial now. “Yes, I accept your apology. Rumors about your courage are true. Good, very good. I should apologize also. Terrible that filthy ronin could do such a thing, you understand? Attack in night?”
   “Yes, I understand, Sire. Very bad. Four men dead. One of my, three Grays.”
   “Listen, bad, very bad. Don’t worry, Anjin-san. No more.” Thoughtfully Ishido glanced at the room. Everyone understood him very clearly. “Now I order guards. Understand? Very careful guards. No more assassin attacks. None. You very carefully guarded now. Quite safe in castle.”
   “Thank you. So sorry for trouble.”
   “No trouble. You important, neh? You samurai. You have special samurai place with Lord Toranaga. I don’t forget—never fear.”
   Blackthorne thanked Ishido again and turned to the Lady Ochiba. “Highness, in my land we has Queen—have Queen. Please excuse my bad Japanese… Yes, my land rule by Queen. In my land we have custom always must give lady birthday gift. Even Queen.” From the pocket in his sleeve he took out the pink camellia blossom that he had cut off a tree in the garden. He laid it in front of her, fearful he was overreaching himself. “Please excuse me if not good manners to give.”
   She looked at the flower. Five hundred people waited breathlessly to see how she would respond to the daring and the gallantry of the barbarian—and the trap he had, perhaps, unwittingly placed her in.
   “I am not a Queen, Anjin-san,” she said slowly. “Only the mother of the Heir and widow of the Lord Taikō. I cannot accept your gift as a Queen for I am not a Queen, could never be a Queen, do not pretend to be a Queen, and do not wish to be a Queen.” Then she smiled at the room and said to everyone, “But as a lady on her birthday, perhaps I may have your permission to accept the Anjin-san’s gift?”
   The room burst into applause. Blackthorne bowed and thanked her, having understood only that the gift was accepted. When the crowd was silent again, Lady Ochiba called out, “Mariko-san, your pupil does you credit, neh?”
   Mariko was coming through the guests, a youth beside her. Near them he recognized Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko. He saw the youth smile at a young girl then, self-consciously, catch up with Mariko. “Good evening, Lady Toda,” Blackthorne said, then added dangerously in Latin, intoxicated by his success, “The evening is more beautiful because of thy presence.”
   “Thank you, Anjin-san,” she replied in Japanese, her cheeks coloring. She walked up to the platform, but the youth stayed within the circle of onlookers. Mariko bowed to Ochiba. “I have done little, Ochiba-sama. It’s all the Anjin-san’s work and the word book that the Christian Fathers gave him.”
   “Ah yes, the word book!” Ochiba made Blackthorne show it to her and, with Mariko’s help, explain it elaborately. She was fascinated. So was Ishido. “We must get copies, Lord General. Please order them to give us a hundred of the books. With these, our young men could soon learn barbarian, neh?”
   “Yes. It’s a good idea, Lady. The sooner we have our own interpreters, the better.” Ishido laughed. “Let Christians break their own monopoly, neh?”
   An iron-gray samurai in his sixties who stood in the front of the guests said, “Christians own no monopoly, Lord General. We ask the Christian Fathers—in fact we insist that they be interpreters and negotiators because they’re the only ones who can talk to both sides and are trusted by both sides. Lord Goroda began the custom, neh? And then the Taikō continued it.”
   “Of course, Lord Kiyama, I meant no disrespect to daimyos or samurai who have become Christian. I referred only to the monopoly of the Christian priests,” Ishido said. “It would be better for us if our people and not foreign priests—any priests for that matter—controlled our trade with China.”
   Kiyama said, “There’s never been a case of fraud, Lord General. Prices are fair, the trade is easy and efficient, and the Fathers control their own people. Without the Southern Barbarians there’s no silk, no China trade. Without the Fathers we could have much trouble. Very much trouble, so sorry. Please excuse me for mentioning it.”
   “Ah, Lord Kiyama,” the Lady Ochiba said, “I’m sure Lord Ishido is honored that you correct him, isn’t that so, Lord General? What would the Council be without Lord Kiyama’s advice?”
   “Of course,” Ishido said.
   Kiyama bowed stiffly, not unpleased. Ochiba glanced at the youth and fluttered her fan. “How about you, Saruji-san? Perhaps you would like to learn barbarian?”
   The boy blushed under their scrutiny. He was slim and handsome and tried hard to be more manly than his almost fifteen years. “Oh, I hope I wouldn’t have to do that, Ochiba-sama, oh no—but if it is ordered I will try. Yes, I’d try very hard.”
   They laughed at his ingenuousness. Mariko said proudly in Japanese, “Anjin-san, this is my son, Saruji.” Blackthorne had been concentrating on their conversation, most of which was too fast and too vernacular for him to comprehend. But he had heard “Kiyama,” and an alarm went off. He bowed to Saruji and the bow was formally returned. “He’s a very fine man, neh? Lucky have such a fine son, Mariko-sama.” His veiled eyes were looking at the youth’s right hand. It was permanently twisted. Then he remembered that once Mariko had told him her son’s birth had been prolonged and difficult. Poor lad, he thought. How can he use a sword? He took his eyes away. No one had noticed the direction of his glance except Saruji. He saw embarrassment and pain in the youth’s face.
   “Lucky have fine son,” he said to Mariko. “But surely impossible, Mariko-sama, you have such big son—not enough years, neh?”
   Ochiba said, “Are you always so gallant, Anjin-san? Do you always say such clever things?”
   “Please?”
   “Ah, always so clever? Compliments? Do you understand?”
   “No, so sorry, please excuse me.” Blackthorne’s head was aching from concentration. Even so, when Mariko told him what had been said he replied with mock gravity, “Ah, so sorry, Mariko-sama. If Saruji-san is truly your son, please tell the Lady Ochiba I did not know that ladies here were married at ten.”
   She translated. Then added something that made them laugh.
   “What did you say?”
   “Ah!” Mariko noticed Kiyama’s baleful eyes on Blackthorne. “Please excuse me, Lord Kiyama, may I introduce the Anjin-san to you?”
   Kiyama acknowledged Blackthorne’s very correct bow politely. “They say you claim to be a Christian?”
   “Please?”

   Kiyama did not deign to repeat it so Mariko translated.
   “Ah, so sorry, Lord Kiyama,” Blackthorne said in Japanese. “Yes. I’m Christian—but different sect.”
   “Your sect is not welcome in my lands. Nor in Nagasaki—or Kyushu, I’d imagine—or in any lands of any Christian daimyos.”
   Mariko kept her smile in place. She was wondering if Kiyama had personally ordered the Amida assassin, and also the attack last night. She translated, taking the edge off Kiyama’s discourtesy, everyone in the room listening intently.
   “I’m not a priest, Lord,” Blackthorne said, direct to Kiyama. “If I in your land—only trade. No priest talk or teach. Respectfully ask trade only.”
   “I do not want your trade. I do not want you in my lands. You are forbidden my lands on pain of death. Do you understand?”
   “Yes, I understand,” Blackthorne said. “So sorry.”
   “Good.” Kiyama haughtily turned to Ishido. “We should exclude this sect and these barbarians completely from the Empire. I will propose this at the Council’s next meeting. I must say openly that I think Lord Toranaga was ill-advised to make any foreigner, particularly this man samurai. It’s a very dangerous precedent.”
   “Surely that’s unimportant! All the mistakes of the present Lord of the Kwanto will be corrected very soon. Neh?”
   “Everyone makes mistakes, Lord General,” Kiyama said pointedly. “Only God is all-seeing and perfect. The only real mistake Lord Toranaga has ever made is to put his own interests before those of the Heir.”
   “Yes,” Ishido said.
   “Please excuse me,” Mariko said. “But that’s not true. I’m sorry, but you’re both mistaken about my Master.”
   Kiyama turned on her. Politely. “It’s perfectly correct for you to take that position, Mariko-san. But, please let’s not discuss that tonight. So, Lord General, where is Lord Toranaga now? What’s your latest news?”
   “By yesterday’s carrier pigeon, I heard he was at Mishima. Now I’m getting daily reports on his progress.”
   “Good. Then in two days he’ll leave his own borders?” Kiyama asked.
   “Yes. Lord Ikawa Jikkyu is ready to welcome him as his position merits.”
   “Good.” Kiyama smiled at Ochiba. He was very fond of her. “On that day, Lady, in honor of the occasion, perhaps you would ask the Heir if he would allow the Regents to bow before him?”
   “The Heir would be honored, Sire,” she replied, to applause. “And afterwards perhaps, you and everyone here would be his guests at a poetry competition. Perhaps the Regents would be the judges?”
   There was more applause.
   “Thank you, but please, perhaps you and Prince Ogaki and some of the ladies would be the judges.”
   “Very well, if you wish.”
   “Now, Lady, what’s the theme to be? And the first line of the poem?” Kiyama asked, very pleased, for he was renowned for his poetry as well as his swordsmanship and ferocity in war.
   “Please, Mariko-san, would you answer Lord Kiyama?” Ochiba said, and again many there admired her adroitness—she was an indifferent poetess where Mariko was renowned.
   Mariko was glad the time had come to begin. She thought a moment. Then she said, “It should be about today, Lady Ochiba, and the first line: ‘On a leafless branch …’”
   Ochiba and all of them complimented her on her choice. Kiyama was genial now, and said, “Excellent, but we’ll have to be very good to compete with you, Mariko-san.”
   “I hope you will excuse me, Sire, but I won’t be competing.”
   “Of course you’ll compete!” Kiyama laughed. “You’re one of the best in the realm! It wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t.”
   “So sorry, Sire, please excuse me, but I will not be here.”
   “I don’t understand.”
   Ochiba said, “What do you mean, Mariko-chan?”
   “Oh, please excuse me, Lady,” Mariko said, “but I’m leaving Osaka tomorrow—with the Lady Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko.”
   Ishido’s smile vanished. “Leaving for where?”
   “To meet our liege Lord, Sire.”
   “He—Lord Toranaga will be here in a few days, neh?”
   “It’s months since the Lady Sazuko has seen her husband, and my Lord Toranaga hasn’t yet had the pleasure of seeing his newest son. Naturally the Lady Kiritsubo will accompany us. It’s been equally long since he’s seen the Mistress of his Ladies, neh?”
   “Lord Toranaga will be here so soon that to go to meet him isn’t necessary.”
   “But I think it is necessary, Lord General.”
   Ishido said crisply, “You’ve only just arrived and we’ve been looking forward to your company, Mariko-san. The Lady Ochiba particularly. I agree again with Lord Kiyama, of course you must compete.”
   “So sorry, but I will not be here.”
   “Obviously you’re tired, Lady. You’ve just arrived. Certainly this is hardly the time to discuss such a private matter.” Ishido turned to Ochiba. “Perhaps, Lady Ochiba, you should greet the remainder of the guests?”
   “Yes—yes, of course,” Ochiba said, flustered. At once the line began to form up obediently and nervous conversation began, but the silence fell again as Mariko said, “Thank you, Lord General. I agree, but this isn’t a private matter and there’s nothing to discuss. I am leaving tomorrow to pay my respects to my liege Lord, with his ladies.”
   Ishido said coldly, “You are here, Lady, at the personal invitation of the Son of Heaven, together with the welcome of the Regents. Please be patient. Your lord will be here very soon now.”
   “I agree, Sire. But His Imperial Majesty’s invitation is for the twenty-second day. It does not order me—or anyone—confined to Osaka until that time. Or does it?”
   “You forget your manners, Lady Toda.”
   “Please excuse me, that was the last thing I intended. So sorry, I apologize.” Mariko turned to Ogaki, the courtier. “Lord, does the Exalted’s invitation require me to stay here until He arrives?”
   Ogaki’s smile was set. “The invitation is for the twenty-second day of this month, Lady. It requires your presence then.”
   “Thank you, Sire.” Mariko bowed and faced the platform again. “It requires my presence then, Lord General. Not before. So I shall leave tomorrow.”
   “Please be patient, Lady. The Regents have welcomed you and there are many preparations on which they’ll need your assistance, against the Exalted’s arrival. Now, Lady Ochi—”
   “So sorry, Sire, but the orders of my liege Lord take precedence. I must leave tomorrow.”
   “You will not leave tomorrow and you are asked, no, begged, Mariko-san, to take part in the Lady Ochiba’s competition. Now, Lady—”
   “Then I am confined here—against my will?”
   Ochiba said, “Mariko-san, let’s leave the matter now, please?”
   “So sorry, Ochiba-sama, but I am a simple person. I’ve said openly I have orders from my liege Lord. If I cannot obey them I must know why. Lord General, am I confined here until the twenty-second day? If so, by whose orders?”
   “You are an honored guest,” Ishido told her carefully, willing her to submit. “I repeat, Lady, your lord will be here soon enough.”
   Mariko felt his power and she fought to resist it. “Yes, but so sorry, again I respectfully ask: Am I confined to Osaka for the next eighteen days and if so, on whose orders?”
   Ishido kept his eyes riveted on her. “No, you are not confined.”
   “Thank you, Sire. Please excuse me for speaking so directly,” Mariko said. Many of the ladies in the room turned to their neighbors, and some whispered openly what all those held against their will in Osaka were thinking: ‘If she can go, so can I, neh? So can you, neh? I’m going tomorrow—oh, how wonderful!’
   Ishido’s voice cut through the undercurrent of whispering. “But, Lady Toda, since you’ve chosen to speak in this presumptuous fashion, I feel it is my duty to ask the Regents for a formal rejection in case others might share your misunderstanding.” He smiled mirthlessly in the frozen hush, “Until that time you will hold yourself in readiness to answer their questions and receive the ruling.”
   Mariko said, “I would be honored, Sire, but my duty is to my liege Lord.”
   “Of course. But this will only be for a few days.”
   “So sorry, Sire, but my duty is to my liege Lord for the next few days.”
   “You will possess yourself with patience, Lady. It will take but a little time. This matter is ended. Now, Lord Ki—”
   “So sorry, but I cannot delay my departure for a little time.”
   Ishido bellowed, “You refuse to obey the Council of Regents?”
   “No, Sire,” Mariko said proudly. “Not unless they trespass on my duty to my liege Lord, which is a samurai’s paramount duty”
   “You-will-hold-yourself-ready-to-meet-the-Regents-with-filial-patience!”
   “So sorry, I am ordered by my liege Lord to escort his ladies to meet him. At once.” She took a scroll out of her sleeve and handed it to Ishido formally.
   He tore it open and scanned it. Then he looked up and said, “Even so, you will wait for a ruling from the Regents.”
   Mariko looked hopefully to Ochiba but there was only bleak disapproval there. She turned to Kiyama. Kiyama was equally silent, equally unmoved.
   “Please excuse me, Lord General, but there’s no war,” she began. “My Master’s obeying the Regents, so for the next eighteen—”
   “This matter is closed!”
   “This matter is closed, Lord General, when you have the manners to let me finish! I’m no peasant to be trodden on. I’m Toda Mariko-noh-Buntaro-noh-Hiro-matsu, daughter of the Lord Akechi Jinsai, my line’s Takashima and we’ve been samurai for a thousand years and I say I will never be captive or hostage or confined. For the next eighteen days and until the day, by fiat of the Exalted, I am free to go as I please—as is anyone.”
   “Our—our Master, the Taikō, was once a peasant. Many—many samurai are peasants, were peasants. Every daimyo was, once, in the past, peasant. Even the first Takashima. Everyone was peasant once. Listen carefully: You-will-await-the-pleasure-of-the-Regents.”
   “No. So sorry, my first duty is obedience to my liege Lord.”
   Enraged, Ishido began to walk toward her.
   Although Blackthorne had understood almost nothing of what had been said, his right hand slid unnoticed into his left sleeve to prepare the concealed throwing knife.
   Ishido stood over her. “You-will—”
   At that moment there was a movement at the doorway. A tearstained maid weaved through the throng and ran up to Ochiba. “Please excuse me, Mistress,” she whimpered, “but it’s Yodoko-sama—she’s asking for you, she’s… You must hurry, the Heir’s already there…”
   Worriedly Ochiba looked back at Mariko and at Ishido, then at the faces staring up at her. She half bowed to her guests and hurried away. Ishido hesitated. “I’ll deal with you later, Mariko-san,” he said, then followed Ochiba, his footsteps heavy on the tatamis.
   In his wake the whispering began to ebb and flow again. Bells tolled the hour change.
   Blackthorne walked over to Mariko. “Mariko-san,” he asked, “what’s happening?”
   She continued to stare sightlessly at the platform. Kiyama took his cramped hand off his sword hilt and flexed it. “Mariko-san!”
   “Yes? Yes, Sire?”
   “May I suggest you go back to your house. Perhaps I may be permitted to talk to you later—say, at the Hour of the Boar?”
   “Yes, yes, of course. Please—please excuse me but I had to…” Her words trailed away.
   “This is an ill-omened day, Mariko-san. May God take you into His keeping.” Kiyama turned his back on her and spoke to the room with authority. “I suggest we return to our homes to wait … to wait and to pray that the Infinite may take the Lady Yodoko quickly and easily and with honor into His peace, if her time has come.” He glanced at Saruji, who was still transfixed. “You come with me.” He walked out. Saruji began to follow, not wanting to leave his mother, but impelled by the order and intimidated by the attention on him.
   Mariko made a half bow to the room and started to leave. Kiri licked her dry lips. Lady Sazuko was beside her, tremulously apprehensive. Kiri took the Lady Sazuko’s hand and together the two women followed Mariko. Yabu stepped forward with Blackthorne and they strode out behind them, very conscious that they were the only samurai present wearing Toranaga’s uniform.
   Outside, Grays awaited them.


   “But what in the name of all gods possessed you to take such a stand? Stupid, neh?” Yabu stormed at her.
   “So sorry,” Mariko said, hiding the true reason, wishing Yabu would leave her in peace, furious at his foul manners. “It just happened, Sire. One moment it was a birthday celebration and then … I don’t know. Please excuse me, Yabu-sama. Please excuse me, Anjin-san.”
   Again Blackthorne began to say something but once more Yabu overrode him and he leaned back against the window post, completely aggravated, his head throbbing from the effort of trying to understand.
   “So sorry, Yabu-sama,” Mariko said, and thought, how tiresome men are, they need everything explained in such detail. They can’t even see the hairs on their own eyelids.
   “You’ve started a storm that’ll swallow us all! Stupid, neh?”
   “Yes, but it’s not right we should be locked up and Lord Toranaga did give me orders that—”
   “Those orders are mad! Devils must have taken possession of his head! You’ll have to apologize and back down. Now security’s going to be tighter than a gnat’s arsehole. Ishido will certainly cancel our permits to leave and you’ve ruined everything.” He looked across at Blackthorne. “Now what do we do?”
   “Please?”
   The three of them had just arrived in the main reception room of Mariko’s house that was within the outermost ring of fortifications. Grays had escorted them there and many more than usual were now stationed outside her gate. Kiri and the Lady Sazuko had gone to their own quarters with another “honor” guard of Grays, and Mariko had promised to join them after her meeting with Kiyama.
   “But the guards won’t let you, Mariko-san,” Sazuko had said, distraught.
   “Don’t worry,” she had said. “Nothing’s changed. Inside the castle we can move freely, though with escorts.”
   “They’ll stop you! Oh, why did you—”

   “Mariko-san’s right, child,” Kiri had said, unafraid. “Nothing’s changed. We’ll see you soon, Mariko-chan.” Then Kiri had led the way inside their castle wing and Browns had closed the fortified gate and Mariko had breathed again and come to her own house with Yabu and Blackthorne.
   Now she was remembering how, when she was standing there alone, carrying the banner alone, she had seen Blackthorne’s right hand readying the throwing knife and she had become stronger because of it. Yes, Anjin-san, she thought. You’re the only one I knew I could count on. You were there when I needed you.
   Her eyes went to Yabu, who sat cross-legged opposite her, grinding his teeth. That Yabu had taken a public stand in her support by following her out had surprised her. Because of his support, and because losing her own temper with him would achieve nothing, she dismissed his truculent insolence and began to play him. “Please excuse my stupidity, Yabu-sama,” she said, her voice now penitent and overlaid with tears. “Of course you’re right. So sorry, I’m just a stupid woman.”
   “I agree! Stupid to oppose Ishido in his own nest, neh?”
   “Yes, so sorry, please excuse me. May I offer you saké or cha?” Mariko clapped her hands. At once the inner door opened and Chimmoko appeared, her hair disheveled, her face frightened and puffed from weeping. “Bring cha and saké for my guests. And food. And make yourself presentable! How dare you appear like that! What do you think this is, a peasant cottage? You shame me before Lord Kasigi!”
   Chimmoko fled in tears.
   “So sorry, Sire. Please excuse her insolence.”
   “Eh, that’s unimportant, neh? What about Ishido? Eeeee Lady … your shaft about ‘peasant,’ that hit the mark, that hurt the mighty Lord General. You’ve made such an enemy there now! Eeeeee, that took his Fruit and squeezed them before everyone!”
   “Oh, do you think so? Oh, please excuse me, I didn’t mean to insult him.”
   “Eh, he is a peasant, always has been, always will be, and he’s always hated those of us who are real samurai.”
   “Oh, how clever of you, Lord, to know that. Oh, thank you for telling me.” Mariko bowed and appeared to brush away a tear and added, “May I please say that I feel so protected now—your strength… If it hadn’t been for you, Lord Kasigi, I think I would have fainted.”
   “Stupid to attack Ishido in front of everyone,” Yabu said, slightly mollified.
   “Yes. You’re right. It’s such a pity all our leaders aren’t as strong and as clever as you, Sire, then Lord Toranaga wouldn’t be in such trouble.”
   “I agree. But you’ve still put us into a latrine up to our noses.”
   “Please excuse me. Yes, it’s all my fault.” Mariko pretended to hold back tears bravely. She looked down and whispered, “Thank you, Sire, for accepting my apologies. You’re so generous.”
   Yabu nodded, believing the praise merited, her servility necessary, and himself peerless. She apologized again, and soothed and cajoled him. Soon he was pliant. “May I please explain my stupidity to the Anjin-san? Perhaps he can suggest a way out of…” She let her words fade away penitently.
   “Yes. Very well.”
   Mariko bowed her grateful thanks, turned to Blackthorne, and spoke in Portuguese. “Please listen, Anjin-san, listen and don’t ask questions for the moment. So sorry, but first I had to calm this ill-tempered baasterd—is that how you say it?” Quickly she told him what had been said, and why Ochiba had hurried off.
   “That’s bad,” he said, his gaze searching her. “Neh?”
   “Yes. Lord Yabu asks for your counsel. What should be done to overcome the mess my stupidity’s put you both into?”
   “What stupidity?” Blackthorne was watching her and her disquiet increased. She looked down at the mats. He spoke directly to Yabu. “Don’t know yet, Sire. Now understand—now think.”
   Yabu replied sourly, “What’s there to think about? We’re locked in.”
   Mariko translated without looking up.
   “That’s true, isn’t it, Mariko-san?” Blackthorne said. “That’s always been true.”
   “Yes, so sorry.”
   He turned away to stare into the night. Flares were placed in brackets on the stone walls that surrounded the front garden. Light flickered off the leaves and plants that had been watered for just that purpose. Westward was the ironbanded gate, guarded by a few Browns.
   “Thou,” she heard him say, without turning back. “I must speak with thee in private.”
   “Thou. Yes and I to thee,” she replied, keeping her face from Yabu, also not trusting herself. “Tonight I will find thee.” She looked up at Yabu. “The Anjin-san agrees with you, Sire, about my stupidity, so sorry.”
   “But what’s the good of that now?”
   “Anjin-san,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact, “later tonight I’m going to Kiritsubo-san. I know where your quarters are. I’ll find you.”
   “Yes. Thank you.” He still kept his back to her.
   “Yabu-sama,” she said humbly, “tonight I’m going to Kiritsubo-san. She’s wise—perhaps she’ll have a solution.”
   “There’s only one solution,” Yabu said with a finality that unnerved her, his eyes coals. “Tomorrow you will apologize. And you will stay.”


   Kiyama arrived punctually. Saruji was with him and her heart sank.
   When the formal greetings were completed, Kiyama said gravely, “Now, please explain why, Mariko-chan.”
   “There’s no war, Sire. We shouldn’t be confined—nor treated as hostages—so I can go as I please.”
   “You don’t have to be at war to have hostages. You know that. The Lady Ochiba was hostage in Yedo against your master’s safety here and no one was at war. Lord Sudara and his family are hostage with his brother today, and they’re not at war. Neh?”
   She kept her eyes lowered.
   “There are many here who are hostages against the dutiful obedience of their lords to the Council of Regents, the legal rulers of the realm. That’s wise. It’s an ordinary custom. Neh?”
   “Yes, Sire.”
   “Good. Now please tell me the real reason.”
   “Sire?”
   Kiyama said testily. “Don’t play games with me! I’m no peasant either! I want to know why you did what you did tonight.”
   Mariko raised her eyes. “So sorry, but the Lord General simply annoyed me with his arrogance, Sire. I do have orders. There’s no harm in taking Kiri and Lady Sazuko away for a few days to meet our Master.”
   “You know very well that’s impossible. Lord Toranaga must know that as well.”
   “So sorry, but my Master gave me orders. A samurai doesn’t question his lord’s orders.”
   “Yes. But I question them because they’re nonsense. Your master doesn’t deal in nonsense, or make mistakes. And I insist I have the right to question you as well.”
   “Please excuse me, Sire, there’s nothing to discuss.”
   “But there is. There’s Saruji to discuss. Also the fact that I’ve known you all your life, have honored you all your life. Hiro-matsu-sama is my oldest living friend and your father was a cherished friend and an honored ally of mine, until the last fourteen days of his life.”
   “A samurai doesn’t question the orders of a liege lord.”
   “Now you can do only one of two things, Mariko-chan. You apologize and stay, or you try to leave. If you try to leave you will be stopped.”
   “Yes. I understand.”
   “You will apologize tomorrow. I will call a meeting of the Regents and they will give a ruling about this whole matter. Then you will be allowed to go with Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko.”
   “Please excuse me, how long will that take?”
   “I don’t know. A few days.”
   “So sorry, I don’t have a few days, I am ordered to leave at once.”
   “Look at me!” She obeyed. “I, Kiyama Ukon-noh-Odanaga, Lord of Higo, Satsuma, and Osumi, a Regent of Japan, from the line Fujimoto, chief Christian daimyo of Japan, I ask you to stay.”
   “So sorry. My liege Lord forbids me to stay.”
   “Don’t you understand what I’m telling you?”
   “Yes, Sire. But I have no choice, please excuse me.”
   He motioned toward her son. “The betrothal between my granddaughter and Saruji … I can hardly allow this to go forward if you’re disgraced.”
   “Yes, yes, Sire,” Mariko replied, misery in her eyes. “I understand that.” She saw the desperation in the boy. “So sorry, my son. But I must do my duty.”
   Saruji started to say something but changed his mind and then, after a moment, he said, “Please excuse me, Mother, but isn’t … isn’t your duty to the Heir more important than your duty to Lord Toranaga? The Heir’s our real liege lord, neh?”
   She thought about that. “Yes, my son. And no. Lord Toranaga has jurisdiction over me, the Heir does not.”
   “Then doesn’t that mean Lord Toranaga has jurisdiction over the Heir, too?”
   “No, so sorry.”
   “Please excuse me, Mother, I don’t understand, but it seems to me if the Heir gives an order, he must overrule our Lord Toranaga.”
   She did not reply.
   “Answer him,” Kiyama barked.
   “Was that your thought, my son? Or did someone put it into your head?”
   Saruji frowned, trying to remember. “We—Lord Kiyama and—and his Lady—we discussed it. And the Father-Visitor. I don’t remember. I think I thought of it myself. The Father-Visitor said I was correct, didn’t he, Sire?”
   “He said the Heir is more important than Lord Toranaga in the realm. Legally. Please answer him directly, Mariko-san.”
   Mariko said, “If the Heir was a man, of age, Kwampaku, legal ruler of this realm like the Taikō, his father was, then I would obey him over Lord Toranaga in this. But Yaemon’s a child, actually and legally, and therefore not capable. Legally. Does that answer you?”
   “But—but he’s still the Heir, neh? The Regents listen to him—Lord Toranaga honors him. What’s … what’s a year, a few years mean, Mother? If you don’t apol—Please excuse me, but I’m afraid for you.” The youth’s mouth was trembling.
   Mariko wanted to reach out and embrace him and protect him. But she did not. “I’m not afraid, my son. I fear nothing on this earth. I fear only God’s judgment,” she said, turning to Kiyama.
   “Yes,” Kiyama said. “I know that. May the Madonna bless you for it.” He paused. “Mariko-san, will you apologize publicly to the Lord General?”
   “Yes, gladly, providing he publicly withdraws all troops from my path and gives me, the Lady Kiritsubo, and the Lady Sazuko written permission to leave tomorrow.”
   “Will you obey an order from the Regents?”
   “Please excuse me, Sire, in this matter, no.”
   “Will you honor a request from them?”
   “Please excuse me, in this matter, no.”
   “Will you agree to a request from the Heir and the Lady Ochiba?”
   “Please excuse me, what request?”
   “To visit them, to stay with them for a few days, while we resolve this affair.”
   “Please excuse me, Sire, but what is there to resolve?”
   Kiyama’s restraint broke and he shouted, “The future and good order of the realm for one thing, the future of the Mother Church for another, and you for another! It’s clear your close contact with the barbarian has infected you and addled your brain as I knew it would!”
   Mariko said nothing, just stared back at him.
   With an effort Kiyama brought himself back into control.
   “Please excuse my … my temper. And my bad manners,” he said stiffly. “My only excuse is that I’m gravely concerned.” He bowed with dignity. “I apologize.”
   “It was my fault, Sire. Please excuse me for destroying your harmony and causing you trouble. But I have no alternative.”
   “Your son’s given you one, I’ve given you several.”
   She did not answer him.
   The air in the room had become stifling for all of them although the night was cool and a breeze fanned the flares.
   “You’re resolved then?”
   “I have no choice, Sire.”
   “Very well, Mariko-san. There’s nothing more to be said. Other than to say again I order you not to force the issue—and I ask it.”
   She bowed her head.
   “Saruji-san, please wait for me outside,” Kiyama ordered.
   The youth was distraught, barely able to speak. “Yes, Sire.” He bowed to Mariko. “Please excuse me, Mother.”
   “May God keep you in His hands for all eternity.”
   “And thou.”
   “Amen to that,” Kiyama said.
   “Good night, my son.”
   “Good night, Mother.”
   When they were alone Kiyama said, “The Father-Visitor’s very worried.”
   “About me, Sire?”