Twelve days later, in the afternoon, the courier from Osaka arrived. An escort of ten samurai rode in with him. Their horses were lathered and near death. The flags at their spearheads carried the cipher of the all-powerful Council of Regents. It was hot, overcast, and humid.
The courier was a lean, hard samurai of senior rank, one of Ishido’s chief lieutenants. His name was Nebara Jozen and he was known for his ruthlessness. His Gray uniform kimono was tattered and mud-stained, his eyes red with fatigue. He refused food or drink and impolitely demanded an immediate audience with Yabu.
‘Forgive my appearance, Yabu-san, but my business is urgent,’ he said. ‘Yes, I ask your pardon. My Master says first, why do you train Toranaga’s soldiers along with your own and, second, why do they drill with so many guns?’
Yabu had flushed at the rudeness but he kept his temper, knowing that Jozen would have had specific instructions and that such lack of manners bespoke an untoward position of power. And too, he was greatly unsettled that there had been another leak in his security.
‘You’re very welcome, Jozen-san. You may assure your master that I always have his interests at heart,’ he said with a courteousness that fooled no one present.
They were on the veranda of the fortress. Omi sat just behind Yabu. Igurashi, who had been forgiven a few days before, was nearer to Jozen and surrounding them were intimate guards. ‘What else does your master say?’
Jozen replied, ‘My Master will be glad that your interests are his. Now, about the guns and the training: my Master would like to know why Toranaga’s son, Naga, is second-in-command. Second-in-command of what? What’s so important that a Toranaga son should be here, the Lord General Ishido asks with politeness. That’s of interest to him. Yes. Everything his allies do interests him. Why is it, for instance, the barbarian seems to be in charge of training? Training of what? Yes, Yabu-sama, that’s very interesting also.’ Jozen shifted his swords more comfortably, glad that his back was protected by his own men. ‘Next: The Council of Regents meets again on the first day of the new moon. In twenty days. You are formally invited to Osaka to renew your oath of fidelity.’
Yabu’s stomach twisted. ‘I understood Toranaga-sama had resigned?’
‘He has, Yabu-san, indeed he has. But Lord Ito Teruzumi’s taking his place. My Master will be the new President of the Regents.’
Yabu was panic-stricken. Toranaga had said that the four Regents could never agree on a fifth. Ito Teruzumi was a minor daimyo of Negato Province in western Honshu but his family was ancient, descended from Fujimoto lineage, so he would be acceptable as a Regent, though he was an ineffectual man, effeminate and a puppet. ‘I would be honored to receive their invitation,’ Yabu said defensively, trying to buy time to think.
‘My Master thought you might wish to leave at once. Then you would be in Osaka for the formal meeting. He orders me to tell you all the daimyos are getting the same invitation. Now. So all will have an opportunity to be there in good time on the twenty-first day. A Flower-Viewing Ceremony has been authorized by His Imperial Highness, Emperor Go-Nijo, to honor the occasion.’ Jozen offered an official scroll.
‘This isn’t under the seal of the Council of Regents.’
‘My Master has issued the invitation now, knowing that, as a loyal vassal of the late Taikō, as a loyal vassal of Yaemon, his son and heir and the rightful ruler of the Empire when he becomes of age, you will understand that the new Council will, of course, approve his action. Neh?‘
‘It would certainly be a privilege to witness the formal meeting.’ Yabu struggled to control his face.
‘Good,’ Jozen said. He pulled out another scroll, opened it, and held it up. ‘This is a copy of Lord Ito’s letter of appointment, accepted and signed and authorized by the other Regents, Lords Ishido, Kiyama, Onoshi, and the Lord Sugiyama.’ Jozen did not bother to conceal a triumphant look, knowing that this totally closed the trap on Toranaga and any of his allies, and that equally the scroll made him and his men invulnerable.
Yabu took the scroll. His fingers trembled. There was no doubt of its authenticity. It had been countersigned by the Lady Yodoko, the wife of the Taikō, who affirmed that the document was true and signed in her presence, one of six copies that were being sent throughout the Empire, and that this particular copy was for the Lords of Iwari, Mikawa, Totomi, Sugura, Izu, and the Kwanto. It was dated eleven days ago.
‘The Lords of Iwari, Mikawa, Suruga and Totomi have already accepted. Here are their seals. You’re the last but one on my list. Last is the Lord Toranaga.’
‘Please thank your master and tell him I look forward to greeting him and congratulating him,’ Yabu said.
‘Good. I’ll require it in writing. Now would be satisfactory.’
‘This evening, Jozen-san. After the evening meal.’
‘Very well. And now we can go and see the training.’
‘There is none today. All my men are on forced marches,’ Yabu said. The moment Jozen and his men had entered Izu, word had been rushed to Yabu, who had at once ordered his men to cease all firing and to continue only silent weapon training well away from Anjiro. ‘Tomorrow you can come with me—at noon, if you wish.’
Jozen looked at the sky. It was late afternoon now. ‘Good. I could use a little sleep. But I’ll come back at dusk, with your permission. Then you and your commander, Omi-san, and the second commander, Naga-san, will tell me, for my Master’s interest, about the training, the guns, and everything. And about the barbarian.’
‘He’s—yes. Of course.’ Yabu motioned to Igurashi. ‘Arrange quarters for our honored guest and his men.’
‘Thank you, but that’s not necessary,’ Jozen said at once. ‘The ground’s futon enough for a samurai, my saddle’s pillow enough. Just a bath, if you please . . . this humidity, neh? I’ll camp on the crest—of course, with your permission.’
‘As you wish.’
Jozen bowed stiffly and walked away, surrounded by his men. All were heavily armed. Two bowmen had been left holding their horses.
Once they were well away, Yabu’s face contorted with rage. ‘Who betrayed me? Who? Where’s the spy?’
Equally ashen, Igurashi waved the guards out of earshot. ‘Yedo, Sire,’ he said. ‘Must be. Security’s perfect here.’
‘Oh ko!‘ Yabu said, almost rending his clothes. ‘I’m betrayed. We’re isolated. Izu and the Kwanto are isolated. Ishido’s won. He’s won.’
Omi said quickly, ‘Not for twenty days, Sire. Send a message at once to Lord Toranaga. Inform him that—’
‘Fool!’ Yabu hissed. ‘Of course Toranaga already knows. Where I’ve one spy he has fifty. He’s left me in the trap.’
‘I don’t think so, Sire,’ Omi said, unafraid. ‘Iwari, Mikawa, Totomi, and Sugura are all hostile to him, neh? And to anyone who’s allied to him. They’d never warn him, so perhaps he doesn’t know yet. Inform him and suggest—’
‘Didn’t you hear?’ Yabu shouted. ‘All four Regents agree to Ito’s appointment, so the Council’s legal again and the Council meets in twenty days!’
‘The answer to that is simple, Sire. Suggest to Toranaga that he have Ito Teruzumi or one of the other Regents assassinated at once.’
Yabu’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’
‘If you don’t wish to do that, send me, let me try. Or Igurashi-san. With Lord Ito dead, Ishido’s helpless again.’
‘I don’t know whether you’ve gone mad; or what,’ Yabu said helplessly. ‘Do you understand what you’ve just said?’
‘Sire, I beg you, please, to be patient with me. The Anjin-san’s given you priceless knowledge, neh? More than we ever dreamed possible. Now Toranaga knows this also, through your reports, and probably from Naga-san’s private reports. If we can win enough time, our five hundred guns and the other three hundred will give you absolute battle power, but only once. When the enemy, whoever he is, sees the way you use men and firepower they’ll learn quickly. But they’ll have lost that first battle. One battle—if it’s the right battle—will give Toranaga total victory.’
‘Ishido doesn’t need any battle. In twenty days he has the Emperor’s mandate.’
‘Ishido’s a peasant. He’s the son of a peasant, a liar, and he runs away from his comrades in battle.’
Yabu stared at Omi, his face mottled. ‘You—do you know what you’re saying?’
‘That’s what he did in Korea. I was there. I saw it, my father saw it. Ishido did leave Buntaro-san and us to fight our own way out. He’s just a treacherous peasant—the Taikō’s dog, certainly. You can’t trust peasants. But Toranaga’s Minowara. You can trust him. I advise you to consider only Toranaga’s interests.’
Yabu shook his head in disbelief. ‘Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear Nebara Jozen? Ishido’s won. The Council is in power in twenty days. ‘
‘May be in power.’
‘Even if Ito. . . . How could you? It’s not possible.’
‘Certainly I could try but I could never do it in time. None of us could, not in twenty days. But Toranaga could.’ Omi knew he had put himself into the jaws of the dragon. ‘I beg you to consider it.’
Yabu wiped his face with his hands, his body wet. ‘After this summons, if the Council is convened and I’m not present, I and all my clan are dead, you included. I need two months, at least, to train the regiment. Even if we had them trained now, Toranaga and I could never win against all the others. No, you’re wrong, I have to support Ishido.’
Omi said, ‘You don’t have to leave for Osaka for ten days—fourteen, if you go by forced march. Tell Toranaga about Nebara Jozen at once. You’ll save Izu and the Kasigi house. I beg you. Ishido will betray you and eat you up. Ikawa Jikkyu is his kinsman, neh?‘
‘But what about Jozen?’ Igurashi exclaimed. ‘Eh? And the guns? The grand strategy? He wants to know about everything tonight.’
‘Tell him. In detail. What is he but a lackey,’ Omi said, beginning to maneuver them. He knew he was risking everything, but he had to try to protect Yabu from siding with Ishido and ruining any chance they had. ‘Open your plans to him.’
Igurashi disagreed heatedly. ‘The moment Jozen learns what we’re doing, he’ll send a message back to Lord Ishido. It’s too important not to. Ishido’ll steal the plans, then we’re finished.’
‘We trail the messenger and kill him at our convenience.’
Yabu flushed. ‘That scroll was signed by the highest authority in the land! They all travel under the Regents’ protection! You must be mad to suggest such a thing! That would make me an outlaw!’
Omi shook his head, keeping confidence on his face. ‘I believe Yodoko-sama and the others have been duped, as His Imperial Highness has been duped, by the traitor Ishido. We must protect the guns, Sire. We must stop any messenger—’
‘Silence! Your advice is madness!’
Omi bowed under the tongue-lash. But he looked up and said calmly, ‘Then please allow me to commit seppuku, Sire. But first, please allow me to finish. I would fail in my duty if I didn’t try to protect you. I beg this last favor as a faithful vassal.’
‘Finish!’
‘There’s no Council of Regents now, so there is no legal protection now for that insulting, foul-mannered Jozen and his men, unless you honor an illegal document through’—Omi was going to say ‘weakness’ but he changed the word and kept his voice quietly authoritative—’through being duped like the others, Sire. There is no Council. They cannot ‘order’ you to do anything, or anyone. Once it’s convened, yes, they can, and then you will have to obey. But now, how many daimyos will obey before legal orders can be issued? Only Ishido’s allies, neh? Aren’t Iwari, Mikawa, Totomi, and Sugura all ruled by his kinsmen and allied to him openly? That document absolutely means war, yes, but I beg you to wage it on your terms and not Ishido’s. Treat this threat with the contempt it deserves! Toranaga’s never been beaten in battle. Ishido has. Toranaga avoided being part of the Taikō’s ruinous attack on Korea. Ishido didn’t. Toranaga’s in favor of ships and trade. Ishido isn’t. Toranaga will want the barbarian’s navy—didn’t you advocate it to him? Ishido won’t. Ishido will close the Empire. Toranaga will keep it open. Ishido will give Ikawa Jikkyu your hereditary fief of Izu if he wins. Toranaga will give you all Jikkyu’s province. You’re Toranaga’s chief ally. Didn’t he give you his sword? Hasn’t he given you control of the guns? Don’t the guns guarantee one victory, with surprise? What does the peasant Ishido give in return? He sends a ronin-samurai with no manners, with deliberate orders to shame you in your own province! I say Toranaga Minowara is your only choice. You must go with him.’ He bowed and waited in silence.
Yabu glanced at Igurashi. ‘Well?’
‘I agree with Omi-san, Sire.’ Igurashi’s face mirrored his worry. ‘As to killing a messenger—that would be dangerous, no turning back then, Sire. Jozen will certainly send one or two tomorrow. Perhaps they could vanish, killed by bandits—’ He stopped in midsentence. ‘Carrier pigeons! There were two panniers of them on Jozen’s pack horses!’
‘We’ll have to poison them tonight,’ Omi said.
‘How? They’ll be guarded.’
‘I don’t know. But they’ve got to be removed or maimed before dawn.’
Yabu said, ‘Igurashi, send men to watch Jozen at once. See if he sends one of his pigeons now—today.’
‘I suggest you send all our falcons and falconers to the east, also at once,’ Omi added quickly.
Igurashi said, ‘He’ll suspect treachery if he sees his bird downed, or his birds tampered with.’
Omi shrugged. ‘It must be stopped.’
Igurashi looked at Yabu.
Yabu nodded resignedly. ‘Do it.’
When Igurashi came back he said, ‘Omi-san, one thing occurred to me. A lot of what you said was right, about Jikkyu and Lord Ishido. But if you advise making the messengers ‘vanish,’ why toy with Jozen at all? Why tell him anything? Why not just kill them all at once?’
‘Why not indeed? Unless it might amuse Yabu-sama. I agree your plan’s better, Igurashi-san,’ Omi said.
Both men were looking at Yabu now. ‘How can I keep the guns secret?’ he asked them.
‘Kill Jozen and his men,’ Omi replied.
‘No other way?’
Omi shook his head. Igurashi shook his head.
‘Maybe I could barter with Ishido,’ Yabu said, shaken, trying to think of a way out of the trap. ‘You’re correct about the time. I’ve ten days, fourteen at the most. How to deal with Jozen and still leave time to maneuver?’
‘It would be wise to pretend that you’re going to Osaka,’ Omi said. ‘But there’s no harm in informing Toranaga at once, neh? One of our pigeons could get to Yedo before dusk. Perhaps. No harm in that.’
Igurashi said, ‘You could tell Lord Toranaga about Jozen arriving, and about the Council meeting in twenty days, yes. But the other, about assassinating Lord Ito, that’s too dangerous to put in writing even if . . . Much too dangerous, neh?‘
‘I agree. Nothing about Ito. Toranaga should think of that himself. It’s obvious, neh?‘
‘Yes, Sire. Unthinkable but obvious.’
Omi waited in the silence, his mind frantically seeking a solution. Yabu’s eyes were on him but he was not afraid. His advice had been sound and offered only for the protection of the clan and the family and Yabu, the present leader of the clan. That Omi had decided to remove Yabu and change the leadership had not prevented him from counseling Yabu sagaciously. And he was prepared to die now. If Yabu was so stupid as not to accept the obvious truth of his ideas, then there soon would be no clan to lead anyway. Karma.
Yabu leaned forward, still undecided. ‘Is there any way to remove Jozen and his men without danger to me, and stay uncommitted for ten days?’
‘Naga. Somehow bait a trap with Naga,’ Omi said simply.
At dusk, Blackthorne and Mariko rode up to the gate of his house, outriders following. Both were tired. She rode as a man would ride, wearing loose trousers and over them a belted mantle. She had on a wide-brimmed hat and gloves to protect her from the sun. Even peasant women tried to protect their faces and their hands from the rays of the sun. From time immemorial, the darker the skin the more common the person; the whiter, the more prized.
Male servants took the halters and led the horses away. Blackthorne dismissed his outriders in tolerable Japanese and greeted Fujiko, who waited proudly on the veranda as usual.
‘May I serve you cha, Anjin-san,’ she said ceremoniously, as usual, and ‘No,’ he said as usual. ‘First I will bathe. Then saké and some food. ‘ And, as usual, he returned her bow and went through the corridor to the back of the house, out into the garden, along the circling path to the mud-wattled bath house. A servant took his clothes and he went in and sat down naked. Another servant scrubbed him and soaped him and shampooed him and poured water over him to wash away the lather and the dirt. Then, completely clean, gradually—because the water was so hot—he stepped into the huge iron-sided bath and lay down.
‘Christ Jesus, that’s grand,’ he exulted, and let the heat seep into his muscles, his eyes closed, the sweat running down his forehead.
He heard the door open and Suwo’s voice and ‘Good evening, Master,’ followed by many words of Japanese which he did not understand. But tonight he was too tired to try to converse with Suwo. And the bath, as Mariko had explained many times, ‘is not merely for cleaning the skin. The bath is a gift to us from God or the gods, a god-bequeathed pleasure to be enjoyed and treated as such.’
‘No talk, Suwo,’ he said. ‘Tonight wish think.’
‘Yes, Master. Your pardon, but you should say, `Tonight I wish to think.”
‘Tonight I wish to think.’ Blackthorne repeated the correct Japanese, trying to get the almost incomprehensible sounds into his head, glad to be corrected but very weary of it.
‘Where’s the dictionary-grammar book?’ he had asked Mariko first thing this morning. ‘Has Yabu-sama sent another request for it?’
‘Yes. Please be patient, Anjin-san. It will arrive soon.’
‘It was promised with the galley and the troops. It didn’t arrive. Troops and guns but no books. I’m lucky you’re here. It’d be impossible without you.’
‘Difficult, but not impossible, Anjin-san.’
‘How do I say, ‘No, you’re doing it wrong! You must all run as a team, stop as a team, aim and fire as a team’?’
‘To whom are you talking, Anjin-san?’ she had asked.
And then again he had felt his frustration rising. ‘It’s all very difficult, Mariko-san.’
‘Oh, no, Anjin-san. Japanese is very simple to speak compared with other languages. There are no articles, no ‘the,’ ‘a,’ or ‘an.’ No verb conjugations or infinitives. All verbs are regular, ending in masu, and you can say almost everything by using the present tense only, if you want. For a question just add ka after the verb. For a negative just change masu to masen. What could be easier? Yukimasu means I go, but equally you, he, she, it, we, they go, or will go, or even could have gone. Even plural and singular nouns are the same. Tsuma means wife, or wives. Very simple.’
‘Well, how do you tell the difference between I go, yukimasu, and they went, yukimasu?‘
‘By inflection, Anjin-san, and tone. Listen: yukimasu—yukimasu.‘
‘But these both sounded exactly the same.’
‘Ah, Anjin-san, that’s because you’re thinking in your own language. To understand Japanese you have to think Japanese. Don’t forget our language is the language of the infinite. It’s all so simple, Anjin-san. Just change your concept of the world. Japanese is just learning a new art, detached from the world. . . . It’s all so simple.’
‘It’s all shit,’ he had muttered in English, and felt better.
‘What? What did you say?’
‘Nothing. But what you say doesn’t make sense.’
‘Learn the written characters,’ Mariko had said.
‘I can’t. It’ll take too long. They’re meaningless.’
‘Look, they’re really simple pictures, Anjin-san. The Chinese are very clever. We borrowed their writing a thousand years ago. Look, take this character, or symbol, for a pig.’
‘It doesn’t look like a pig.’
‘Once it did, Anjin-san. Let me show you. Here. Add a ‘roof’ symbol over a ‘pig’ symbol and what do you have?’
‘A pig and a roof.’
‘But what does that mean? The new character?’
‘I don’t know.’
”Home.’ In the olden days the Chinese thought a pig under a roof was home. They’re not Buddhists, they’re meat eaters, so a pig to them, to peasants, represented wealth, hence a good home. Hence the character.’
‘But how do you say it?’
‘That depends if you’re Chinese or Japanese.’
‘Oh ko!‘
‘Oh ko, indeed,’ she had laughed. ‘Here’s another character. A ‘roof’ symbol and a ‘pig’ symbol and a ‘woman’ symbol. A ‘roof’ with two ‘pigs’ under it means ‘contentment.’ A ‘roof’ with two ‘women’ under it equals ‘discord.’ Neh?‘
‘Absolutely!’
‘Of course, the Chinese are very stupid in many things and their women are not trained as women are here. There’s no discord in your home, is there?’
Blackthorne thought about that now, on the twelfth day of his rebirth. No. There was no discord. But neither was it a home. Fujiko was only like a trustworthy housekeeper and tonight when he went to his bed to sleep, the futons would be turned back and she would be kneeling beside them patiently, expressionlessly. She would be dressed in her sleeping kimono, which was similar to a day kimono but softer and with only a loose sash instead of a stiff obi at the waist.
‘Thank you, Lady,’ he would say. ‘Good night.’
She would bow and go silently to the room across the corridor, next to the one Mariko slept in. Then he would get under the fine silk mosquito net. He had never known such nets before. Then he would lie back happily, and in the night, hearing the few insects buzzing outside, he would dwell on the Black Ship, how important the Black Ship was to Japan.
Without the Portuguese, no trade with China. And no silks for clothes or for nets. Even now, with the humidity only just beginning, he knew their value.
If he stirred in the night a maid would open the door almost instantly to ask if there was anything he wanted. Once he had not understood. He motioned the maid away and went to the garden and sat on the steps, looking at the moon. Within a few minutes Fujiko, tousled and bleary, came and sat silently behind him.
‘Can I get you anything, Lord?’
‘No, thank you. Please go to bed.’
She had said something he did not understand. Again he had motioned her away so she spoke sharply to the maid, who attended her like a shadow. Soon Mariko came.
‘Are you all right, Anjin-san?’
‘Yes. I don’t know why you were disturbed. Christ Jesus—I’m just looking at the moon. I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted some air.’
Fujiko spoke to her haltingly, ill at ease, hurt by the irritation in his voice. ‘She says you told her to go back to sleep. She just wanted you to know that it’s not our custom for a wife or consort to sleep while her master’s awake, that’s all, Anjin-san.’
‘Then she’ll have to change her custom. I’m often up at night. By myself. It’s a habit from being at sea—I sleep very lightly ashore.’
‘Yes, Anjin-san.’
Mariko had explained and the two women had gone away. But Blackthorne knew that Fujiko had not gone back to sleep and would not, until he slept. She was always up and waiting whatever time he came back to the house. Some nights he walked the shore alone. Even though he insisted on being alone, he knew that he was followed and watched. Not because they were afraid he was trying to escape. Only because it was their custom for important people always to be attended. In Anjiro he was important.
In time he accepted her presence. It was as Mariko had first said, ‘Think of her as a rock or a shoji or a wall. It is her duty to serve you.’
It was different with Mariko.
He was glad that she had stayed. Without her presence he could never have begun the training, let alone explained the intricacies of strategy. He blessed her and Father Domingo and Alban Caradoc and his other teachers.
I never thought the battles would ever be put to good use, he thought again. Once when his ship was carrying a cargo of English wools to Antwerp, a Spanish army had swooped down upon the city and every man had gone to the barricades and to the dikes. The sneak attack had been beaten off and the Spanish infantry outgunned and outmaneuvered. That was the first time he had seen William, Duke of Orange, using regiments like chess pieces. Advancing, retreating in pretended panic to regroup again, charging back again, guns blazing in packed, gut-hurting, ear-pounding salvos, breaking through the Invincibles to leave them dying and screaming, the stench of blood and powder and urine and horses and dung filling you, and a wild frantic joy of killing possessing you and the strength of twenty in your arms.
‘Christ Jesus, it’s grand to be victorious,’ he said aloud in the tub.
‘Master?’ Suwo said.
‘Nothing,’ he replied in Japanese. ‘I talking—I was just think—just thinking aloud. ‘
‘I understand, Master. Yes. Your pardon.’
Blackthorne let himself drift away.
Mariko. Yes, she’s been invaluable.
After that first night of his almost suicide, nothing had ever been said again. What was there to say?
I’m glad there’s so much to do, he thought. No time to think except here in the bath for these few minutes. Never enough time to do everything. Ordered to concentrate on training and teaching and not on learning, but wanting to learn, trying to learn, needing to learn to fulfill the promise to Yabu. Never enough hours. Always exhausted and drained by bedtime, sleeping instantly, to be up at dawn and riding fast to the plateau. Training all morning, then a sparse meal, never satisfying and never meat. Then every afternoon until nightfall—sometimes till very late at night—with Yabu and Omi and Igurashi and Naga and Zukimoto and a few of the other officers, talking about war, answering questions about war. How to wage war. How barbarians war and how Japanese war. On land and at sea. Scribes always taking notes. Many, many notes.
Sometimes with Yabu alone.
But always Mariko there—part of him—talking for him. And for Yabu. Mariko different now toward him, he no longer a stranger.
Other days the scribes reading back the notes, always checking, being meticulous, revising and checking again until now, after twelve days and a hundred hours or so of detailed exhaustive explanation, a war manual was forming. Exact. And lethal.
Lethal to whom? Not to us English or Hollanders, who will come here peacefully and only as traders. Lethal to Yabu’s enemies and to Toranaga’s enemies, and to our Portuguese and Spanish enemies when they try to conquer Japan. Like they’ve done everywhere else. In every newly discovered territory. First the priests arrive. Then the conquistadores.
But not here, he thought with great contentment. Never here—now. The manual’s lethal and proof against that. No conquest here, given a few years for the knowledge to spread.
‘Anjin-san?’
‘Hai, Mariko-san?’
She was bowing to him. ‘Yabu-ko wa kiden no goshusseki o konya wa hitsuyo to senu to oserareru, Anjin-san.’
The words formed slowly in his head: ‘Lord Yabu does not require to see you tonight.’
‘Ichi-ban,‘ he said blissfully. ‘Domo.‘
‘Gomen nasai, Anjin-san. Anatawa—’
Yes, Mariko-san,’ he interrupted her, the heat of the water sapping his energy. ‘I know I should have said it differently but I don’t want to speak any more Japanese now. Not tonight. Now I feel like a schoolboy who’s been let out of school for the Christmas holiday. Do you realize these’ll be the first free hours I’ve had since I arrived?’
‘Yes, yes I do.’ She smiled wryly. ‘And do you realize, Senhor Captain-Pilot B’rack’fon, these will be the first free hours I’ve had since I arrived?’
He laughed. She was wearing a thick cotton bathing robe tied loosely, and a towel around her head to protect her hair. Every evening as soon as his massage began, she would take the bath, sometimes alone, sometimes with Fujiko.
‘Here, you have it now,’ he said, beginning to get out.
‘Oh, please, no, I don’t wish to disturb you.’
‘Then share it. It’s wonderful.’
‘Thank you. I can hardly wait to soak the sweat and dust away.’ She took off her robe and sat on the tiny seat. A servant began to lather her, Suwo waiting patiently near the massage table.
‘It is rather like a school holiday,’ she said, as happily.
The first time Blackthorne had seen her naked on the day that they swam he had been greatly affected. Now her nakedness, of itself, did not touch him physically. Living closely in Japanese style in a Japanese house where the walls were paper and the rooms multipurpose, he had seen her unclothed and partially clothed many times. He had even seen her relieving herself.
‘What’s more normal, Anjin-san? Bodies are normal, and differences between men and women are normal, neh?‘
‘Yes, but it’s, er, just that we’re trained differently.’
‘But now you’re here and our customs are your customs and normal is normal. Neh?‘
Normal was urinating or defecating in the open if there were no latrines or buckets, just lifting your kimono or parting it and squatting or standing, everyone else politely waiting and not watching, rarely screens for privacy. Why should one require privacy? And soon one of the peasants would gather the feces and mix it with water to fertilize crops. Human manure and urine were the only substantial source of fertilizer in the Empire. There were few horses and bullocks, and no other animal sources at all. So every human particle was harbored and sold to the farmers throughout the land.
And after you’ve seen the highborn and the lowborn parting or lifting and standing or squatting, there’s not much left to be embarrassed about.
‘Is there, Anjin-san?’
‘No.’
‘Good,’ she had said, very satisfied. ‘Soon you will like raw fish and fresh seaweed and then you’ll really be hatamoto.’
The maid poured water over her. Then, cleansed, Mariko stepped into the bath and lay down opposite him with a longdrawn sigh of ecstasy, the little crucifix dangling between her breasts.
‘How do you do that?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Get in so quickly. It’s so hot.’
‘I don’t know, Anjin-san, but I asked them to put more firewood on and to heat up the water. For you, Fujiko always makes sure it’s—we would call it tepid.’
‘If this is tepid, then I’m a Dutchman’s uncle!’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
The water’s heat made them drowsy and they lolled a while, not saying a word.
Later she said, ‘What would you like to do this evening, Anjin-san?’
‘If we were up in London we’d—’ Blackthorne stopped. I won’t think about them, he told himself. Or London. That’s gone. That doesn’t exist. Only here exists
‘If?’ She was watching him, aware of the change.
‘We’d go to a theater and see a play,’ he said, dominating himself. ‘Do you have plays here?’
‘Oh, yes, Anjin-san. Plays are very popular with us. The Taikō liked to perform in them for the entertainment of his guests, even Lord Toranaga likes to. And of course there are many touring companies for the common people. But our plays are not quite like yours, so I believe. Here our actors and actresses wear masks. We call the plays ‘Nōh.’ They’re part music, partially danced and mostly very sad, very tragic, historical plays. Some are comedies. Would we see a comedy, or perhaps a religious play?’
‘No, we’d go to the Globe Theater and see something by a playwright called Shakespeare. I like him better than Ben Jonson or Marlowe. Perhaps we’d see The Taming of the Shrew or A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Romeo and Juliet. I took my wife to Romeo and Juliet and she liked it very much.’ He explained the plots to her.
Mostly Mariko found them incomprehensible. ‘It would be unthinkable here for a girl to disobey her father like that. But so sad, neh? Sad for a young girl and sad for the boy. She was only thirteen? Do all your ladies marry so young?’
‘No. Fifteen or sixteen’s usual. My wife was seventeen when we were married. How old were you?’
‘Just fifteen, Anjin-san.’ A shadow crossed her brow which he did not notice. ‘And after the play, what would we do?’
‘I would take you to eat. We’d go to Stone’s Chop House in Fetter Lane, or the Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street. They are inns where the food’s special.’
‘What would you eat?’
‘I’d rather not remember,’ he said with a lazy smile, turning his mind back to the present. ‘I can’t remember. Here is where we are and here is where we’ll eat, and I enjoy raw fish and karma is karma.‘ He sank deeper into the tub. ‘A great word ‘karma.‘ And a great idea. Your help’s been enormous to me, Mariko-san.’
‘It’s my pleasure to be of a little service to you.’ Mariko relaxed into the warmth. ‘Fujiko has some special food for you tonight.’
‘Oh?’
‘She bought a—I think you call it a pheasant. It’s a large bird. One of the falconers caught it for her.’
‘A pheasant? You really mean it? Honto?‘
‘Honto,‘ she replied. ‘Fujiko asked them to hunt for you. She asked me to tell you.’
‘How is it being cooked?’
‘One of the soldiers had seen the Portuguese preparing them and he told Fujiko-san. She asks you to be patient if it’s not cooked properly.’
‘But how is she doing it—how’re the cooks doing it?’ He corrected himself, for servants alone did the cooking and cleaning.
‘She was told that first someone pulls out all the feathers, then—then takes out the entrails.’ Mariko controlled her squeamishness. ‘Then the bird’s either cut into small pieces and fried with oil, or boiled with salt and spices.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘Sometimes they cover it with mud and put it into the coals of a fire and bake it. We have no ovens, Anjin-san. So it will be fried. I hope that’s all right.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be perfect,’ he said, certain it would be inedible.
She laughed. ‘You’re so transparent, Anjin-san, sometimes.’
‘You don’t understand how important food is!’ In spite of himself he smiled. ‘You’re right. I shouldn’t be interested in food. But I can’t control hunger.’
‘You’ll soon be able to do that. You’ll even learn how to drink cha from an empty cup.’
‘What?’
‘This is not the place to explain that, Anjin-san, or the time. For that you must be very awake and very alert. A quiet sunset, or dawning, is necessary. I will show you how, one day, because of what you did. Oh, it is so good to lie here, isn’t it? A bath is truly the gift of God.’
He heard the servants outside the wall, stoking the fire. He bore the intensifying heat as long as he could, then emerged from the water, half helped by Suwo, and lay back gasping on the thick towel cloth. The old man’s fingers probed. Blackthorne could have cried out with pleasure. ‘That’s so good.’
‘You’ve changed so much in the last few days, Anjin-san.’
‘Have I?’
‘Oh yes, since your rebirth—yes, very much.’
He tried to recall the first night but could remember little. Somehow he had made it back on his own legs. Fujiko and the servants had helped him to bed. After a dreamless sleep, he woke at dawn and went for a swim. Then, drying in the sun, he had thanked God for the strength and the clue that Mariko had given him. Later, walking home, he greeted the villagers, knowing secretly that they were freed of Yabu’s curse, as he was freed.
Then, when Mariko had arrived, he had sent for Mura.
‘Mariko-san, please tell Mura this: ‘We have a problem, you and I. We will solve it together. I want to join the village school. To learn to speak with children.”
‘They haven’t a school, Anjin-san.’
‘None?’
‘No. Mura says there’s a monastery a few ri to the west and the monks could teach you reading and writing if you wish. But this is a village, Anjin-san. The children here need to learn the ways of fish, the sea, making nets, planting and growing rice and crops. There’s little time for anything else, except reading and writing. And, too, parents and grandparents teach their own, as always.’
‘Then how can I learn when you’ve gone?’
‘Lord Toranaga will send the books.’
‘I’ll need more than books.’
‘Everything will be satisfactory, Anjin-san.’
‘Yes. Perhaps. But tell the headman that whenever I make a mistake, everyone—everyone, even a child—is to correct me. At once. I order it.’
‘He says thank you, Anjin-san.’
‘Does anyone here speak Portuguese?’
‘He says no.’
‘Anyone nearby?’
‘Iyé, Anjin-san.’
‘Mariko-san, I’ve got to have someone when you leave.’
‘I’ll tell Yabu-san what you’ve said.’
‘Mura-san, you—’
‘He says you must not use ‘san’ to him or to any villagers. They are beneath you. It’s not correct for you to say ‘san’ to them or anyone beneath you.’
Fujiko had also bowed to the ground that first day. ‘Fujiko-san welcomes you home, Anjin-san. She says you have done her great honor and she begs your forgiveness for being rude on the ship. She is honored to be consort and head of your house. She asks if you will keep the swords as it would please her greatly. They belonged to her father, who is dead. She had not given them to her husband because he had swords of his own.’
‘Thank her and say I’m honored she’s consort,’ he had said.
Mariko had bowed too. Formally. ‘You are in a new life now, Anjin-san. We look at you with new eyes. It is our custom to be formal sometimes, with great seriousness. You have opened my eyes. Very much. Once you were just a barbarian to me. Please excuse my stupidity. What you did proves you’re samurai. Now you are samurai. Please forgive my previous bad manners.’
He had felt very tall that day. But his self-inflicted near-death had changed him more than he realized and scarred him forever, more than the sum of all his other near-deaths.
Did you rely on Omi? he asked himself. That Omi would catch the blow? Didn’t you give him plenty of warning?
I don’t know. I only know I’m glad he was ready, Blackthorne answered himself truthfully. That’s another life gone!
‘That’s my ninth life. The last!’ he said aloud. Suwo’s fingers ceased at once.
‘What?’ Mariko asked. ‘What did you say, Anjin-san?’
‘Nothing. It was nothing,’ he replied, ill at ease.
‘I hurt you, Master?’ Suwo said.
‘No.’ Suwo said something more that he did not understand.
‘Dozo?‘
Mariko said distantly, ‘He wants to massage your back now.’
Blackthorne turned on his stomach and repeated the Japanese and forgot it at once. He could see her through the steam. She was breathing deeply, her head tilted back slightly, her skin pink.
How does she stand the heat, he asked himself. Training, I suppose, from childhood.
Suwo’s fingers pleasured him, and he drowsed momentarily.
What was I thinking about?
You were thinking about your ninth life, your last life, and you were frightened, remembering the superstition. But it is foolish here in this Land of the Gods to be superstitious. Things are different here and this is forever. Today is forever.
Tomorrow many things can happen.
Today I’ll abide by their rules.
I will.
The maid brought in the covered dish. She held it high above her head as was custom, so that her breath would not defile the food. Anxiously she knelt and placed it carefully on the tray table in front of Blackthorne. On each little table were bowls and chopsticks, saké cups and napkins, and a tiny flower arrangement. Fujiko and Mariko were sitting opposite him. They wore flowers and silver combs in their hair. Fujiko’s kimono was a pale green pattern of fish on a white background, her obi gold. Mariko wore black and red with a thin silver overlay of chrysanthemums and a red and silver check obi. Both wore perfume, as always. Incense burned to keep the night bugs away.
Blackthorne had long since composed himself. He knew that any displeasure from him would destroy their evening. If pheasants could be caught there would be other game, he thought. He had a horse and guns and he could hunt himself, if only he could get the time.
Fujiko leaned over and took the lid off the dish. The small pieces of fried meat were browned and seemed perfect. He began to salivate at the aroma.
Slowly he took a piece of meat in his chopsticks, willing it not to fall, and chewed the flesh. It was tough and dry, but he had been meatless for so long it was delicious. Another piece. He sighed with pleasure. ‘Ichi-ban, ichi-ban, by God!’
Fujiko blushed and poured him saké to hide her face. Mariko fanned herself, the crimson fan a dragonfly. Blackthorne quaffed the wine and ate another piece and poured more wine and ritualistically offered his brimming cup to Fujiko. She refused, as was custom, but tonight he insisted, so she drained the cup, choking slightly. Mariko also refused and was also made to drink. Then he attacked the pheasant with as little gusto as he could manage. The women hardly touched their small portions of vegetables and fish. This didn’t bother him because it was a female custom to eat before or afterward so that all their attention could be devoted to the master.
He ate all the pheasant and three bowls of rice and slurped his saké, which was also good manners. He felt replete for the first time in months. During the meal he had finished six flasks of the hot wine, Mariko and Fujiko two between them. Now they were flushed and giggling and at the silly stage.
Mariko chuckled and put her hand in front of her mouth. ‘I wish I could drink saké like you, Anjin-san. You drink saké better than any man I’ve ever known. I wager you’d be the best in Izu! I could win a lot of money on you!’
‘I thought samurai disapproved of gambling.’
‘Oh they do, absolutely they do, they’re not merchants and peasants. But not all samurai are as strong as others and many—how do you say—many’ll bet like the Southern Bar—like the Portuguese bet.’
‘Do women bet?’
‘Oh, yes. Very much. But only with other ladies and in careful amounts and always so their husbands never find out!’ She gaily translated for Fujiko, who was more flushed than she.
‘Your consort asks do Englishmen bet? Do you like to wager?’
‘It’s our national pastime.’ And he told them about horse racing and skittles and bull baiting and coursing and whippets and hawking and bowls and the new stock companies and letters of marque and shooting and darts and lotteries and boxing and cards and wrestling and dice and checkers and dominoes and the time at the fairs when you put farthings on numbers and bet against the wheels of chance.
‘But how do you find time to live, to war, and to pillow, Fujiko asks?’
‘There’s always time for those.’ Their eyes met for a moment but he could not read anything in hers, only happiness and maybe too much wine.
Mariko begged him to sing the hornpipe song for Fujiko, and he did and they congratulated him and said it was the best they had ever heard.
‘Have some more saké!’
‘Oh, you mustn’t pour, Anjin-san, that’s woman’s duty. Didn’t I tell you?’
‘Yes. Have some more, dozo.‘
‘I’d better not. I think I’ll fall over.’ Mariko fluttered her fan furiously and the draft stirred the threads of hair that had escaped from her immaculate coiffure.
‘You have nice ears,’ he said.
‘So have you. We, Fujiko-san and I, we think your nose is perfect too, worthy of a daimyo.‘
He grinned and bowed elaborately to them. They bowed back. The folds of Mariko’s kimono fell away from her neck slightly, revealing the edge of her scarlet under-kimono and the swell of her breasts, and it stirred him considerably.
‘Saké, Anjin-san?’
He held out the cup, his fingers steady. She poured, watching the cup, the tip of her tongue touching her lips as she concentrated.
Fujiko reluctantly accepted some too, though she said that she couldn’t feel her legs anymore. Her quiet melancholia had gone tonight and she seemed young again. Blackthorne noticed that she was not as ugly as he had once thought.
Jozen’s head was buzzing. Not from saké but from the incredible war strategy that Yabu, Omi, and Igurashi had described so openly. Only Naga, the second-in-command, son of the arch-enemy, had said nothing, and had remained throughout the evening cold, arrogant, stiff-backed, with the characteristic large Toranaga nose on a taut face.
‘Astonishing, Yabu-sama,’ Jozen said. ‘Now I can understand the reason for secrecy. My Master will understand it also. Wise, very wise. And you, Naga-san, you’ve been silent all evening. I’d like your opinion. How do you like this new mobility—this new strategy?’
‘My father believes that all war possibilities should be considered, Jozen-san,’ the young man replied.
‘But you, what’s your opinion?’
‘I was sent here only to obey, to observe to listen, to learn, and to test. Not to give opinions.’
‘Of coarse. But as second-in-command—I should say, as an illustrious second-in-command—do you consider the experiment a success?’
‘Yabu-sama or Omi-san should answer that. Or my father.’
‘But Yabu-sama said that everyone tonight was to talk freely. What’s there to hide? We are all friends, neh? So famous a son of so famous a father must have an opinion. Neh?‘
Naga’s eyes narrowed under the taunt but he did not reply.
‘Everyone can speak freely, Naga-san,’ Yabu said. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think that, with surprise, this idea would win one skirmish or possibly one battle. With surprise, yes. But then?’ Naga’s voice swept on icily. ‘Then all sides would use the same plan and vast numbers of men would die unnecessarily, slain without honor by an assailant who won’t even know who he has killed. I doubt if my father will actually authorize its use in a real battle.’
‘He’s said that?’ Yabu put the question incisively, careless of Jozen.
‘No, Yabu-sama. I’m giving my own opinion. Of course.’
‘But the Musket Regiment—you don’t approve of it? It disgusts you?’ Yabu asked darkly.
Naga looked at him with flat, reptilian eyes. ‘With great deference, since you ask my opinion, yes, I find it disgusting. Our forefathers have always known whom they killed or who defeated them. That’s bushido, our way, the Way of the Warrior, the way of a true samurai. The better man victorious, neh? But now this? How do you prove your valor to your lord? How can he reward courage? To charge bullets is brave, yes, but also stupid. Where’s the valor in that? Guns are against our samurai code. Barbarians fight this way, peasants fight this way. Do you realize filthy merchants and peasants, even eta, could fight this way?’ Jozen laughed and Naga continued even more menacingly. ‘A few fanatic peasants could easily kill any number of samurai with enough guns! Yes, peasants could kill any one of us, even the Lord Ishido, who wants to sit in my father’s place.’
Jozen bridled. ‘Lord Ishido doesn’t covet your father’s lands. He only seeks to protect the Empire for its rightful heir.’
‘My father’s no threat to the Lord Yaemon, or to the Realm.’
‘Of course, but you were talking about peasants. The Lord Taikō was once a peasant. My Lord Ishido was once a peasant. I was once a peasant. And a ronin!‘
Naga wanted no quarrel. He knew he was no match for Jozen, whose prowess with sword and ax was renowned. ‘I wasn’t trying to insult your master or you or anyone, Jozen-san. I was merely saying that we samurai must all make very certain that peasants never have guns or none of us will be safe.’
‘Merchants and peasants’ll never worry us,’ Jozen said.
‘I agree,’ Yabu added, ‘and Naga-san, I agree with part of what you say. Yes. But guns are modern. Soon all battles will be fought with guns. I agree it’s distasteful. But it’s the way of modern war. And then it’ll be as it always was—the bravest samurai will always conquer.’
‘No, so sorry, but you’re wrong, Yabu-sama! What did this cursed barbarian tell us—the essence of their war strategy? He freely admits that all their armies are conscript and mercenary. Neh? Mercenary! No sense of duty to their lords. The soldiers only fight for pay and loot, to rape and to gorge. Didn’t he say their armies are peasant armies? That’s what guns have brought to their world and that’s what guns will bring to ours. If I had power, I’d take this barbarian’s head tonight and outlaw all guns permanently.’
‘Is that what your father thinks?’ Jozen asked too quickly.
‘My father doesn’t tell me or anyone what he thinks, as you surely know. I don’t speak for my father, no one speaks for him,’ Naga replied, angry at allowing himself to be trapped into talking at all. ‘I was sent here to obey, to listen and not to talk. I apologize for talking. I would not have spoken unless you asked me. If I have offended you, or you, Yabu-sama, or you, Omi-san, I apologize.’
‘There’s no need to apologize. I asked your views,’ Yabu said. ‘Why should anyone be offended? This is a discussion, neh? Among leaders. You’d outlaw guns?’
‘Yes. I think you’d be wise to keep a very close check on every gun in your domain.’
‘All peasants are forbidden weapons of any kind. My peasants and my people are very well controlled.’
Jozen smirked at the slim youth, loathing him. ‘Interesting ideas you have, Naga-san. But you’re mistaken about the peasants. They’re nothing to samurai but providers. They’re no more threat than a pile of dung.’
‘At the moment!’ Naga said, his pride commanding him. ‘That’s why I’d outlaw guns now. You’re right, Yabu-san, that a new era requires new methods. But because of what this Anjin-san, this one barbarian, has said, I’d go much further than our present laws. I would issue Edicts that anyone other than a samurai found with a gun or caught trading in guns would immediately forfeit his life and that of every member of his family of every generation. Further, I would prohibit the making or importing of guns. I’d prohibit barbarians from wearing them or from bringing them to our shores. Yes, if I had power—which I do not seek and never will—I’d keep barbarians out of our country totally, except for a few priests and one port for trade, which I’d surround with a high fence and trusted warriors. Last, I’d put this foul-minded barbarian, the Anjin-san, to death at once so that his filthy knowledge will not spread. He’s a disease.’
Jozen said, ‘Ah, Naga-san, it must be good to be so young. You know, my Master agrees with much of what you said about the barbarians. I’ve heard him say many times, ‘Keep them out—kick them out—kick their arses away to Nagasaki and keep them bottled there!’ You’d kill the Anjin-san, eh? Interesting. My Master doesn’t like the Anjin-san either. But for him—’ He stopped. ‘Ah, yes, you’ve a good thought about guns. I can see that clearly. May I tell that to my Master? Your idea about new laws?’
‘Of course.’ Naga was mollified, and calmer now that he had spoken what had been bottled up from the first day.
‘You’ve given this opinion to Lord Toranaga?’ Yabu asked.
‘Lord Toranaga has not asked my opinion. I hope one day he will honor me by asking as you have done,’ Naga replied at once with sincerity, and wondered if any of them detected the lie.
Omi said, ‘As this is a free discussion, Sire, I say this barbarian is a treasure. I believe we must learn from the barbarian. We must know about guns and fighting ships because they know about them. We must know everything they know as soon as they know it, and even now, some of us must begin to learn to think like they do so that soon we can surpass them.’
Naga said confidently, ‘What could they possibly know, Omi-san? Yes, guns and ships. But what else? How could they destroy us? There’s not a samurai among them. Doesn’t this Anjin admit openly that even their kings are murderers and religious fanatics? We’re millions, they’re a handful. We could swamp them with our hands alone.’
‘This Anjin-san opened my eyes, Naga-san. I’ve discovered that our land, and China, isn’t the whole world, it’s only a very small part. At first I thought the barbarian was just a curiosity. Now I don’t. I thank the gods for him. I think he’s saved us and I know we can learn from him. Already he’s given us power over the Southern Barbarians—and over China.’
‘What?’
‘The Taikō failed because their numbers are too great for us, man to man, arrow to arrow, neh? With guns and barbarian skill we could take Peking.’
‘With barbarian treachery, Omi-san!’
‘With barbarian knowledge, Naga-san, we could take Peking. Whoever takes Peking eventually controls China. And whoever controls China can control the world. We must learn not to be ashamed of taking knowledge from wherever it comes.’
‘I say we need nothing from outside.’
‘Without offense, Naga-san, I say we must protect this Land of the Gods by any means. It’s our prime duty to protect the unique, divine position we have on earth. Only this is the Land of the Gods, neh? Only our Emperor is divine. I agree this barbarian should be gagged. But not by death. By permanent isolation here in Anjiro, until we have learned everything he knows.’
Jozen scratched thoughtfully. ‘My Master will be told of your views. I agree the barbarian should be isolated. Also that training should cease at once.’
Yabu took a scroll from his sleeve. ‘Here is a full report on the experiment for Lord Ishido. When Lord Ishido wishes the training to cease, of course, the training will cease.’
Jozen accepted the scroll. ‘And Lord Toranaga? What about him?’ His eyes went to Naga. Naga said nothing but stared at the scroll.
Yabu said, ‘You will be able to ask his opinion directly. He has a similar report. I presume you’ll be leaving for Yedo tomorrow? Or would you like to witness the training? I hardly need tell you the men are not yet proficient.’
‘I would like to see one ‘attack.”
‘Omi-san, arrange it. You lead it.’
‘Yes, Sire.’
Jozen turned to his second-in-command and gave him the scroll. ‘Masumoto, take this to Lord Ishido. You will leave at once.’
‘Yes, Jozen-san.’
Yabu said to Igurashi, ‘Provide him with guides to the border and fresh horses.’
Igurashi left with the samurai immediately.
Jozen stretched and yawned. ‘Please excuse me,’ he said, ‘but it’s all the riding I’ve done in the last few days. I must thank you for an extraordinary evening, Yabu-sama. Your ideas are far-reaching. And yours, Omi-san. And yours, Naga-san. I’ll compliment you to the Lord Toranaga and to my Master. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m very tired and Osaka is a long way off.’
‘Of course,’ Yabu said. ‘How was Osaka?’
‘Very good. Remember those bandits, the ones that attacked you by land and sea?’
‘Of course.’
‘We took four hundred and fifty heads that night. Many were wearing Toranaga uniforms.’
‘Ronin have no honor. None.’
‘Some ronin have,’ Jozen said, smarting from the insult. He lived always with the shame of having once been ronin. ‘Some were even wearing our Grays. Not one escaped. They all died.’
‘And Buntaro-san?’
‘No. He—’ Jozen stopped. The ‘no’ had slipped out but now that he had said it he did not mind. ‘No. We don’t know for certain—no one collected his head. You’ve heard nothing about him?’
‘No,’ Naga said.
‘Perhaps he was captured. Perhaps they just cut him into pieces and scattered him. My Master would like to know when you have news. All’s very good now at Osaka. Preparations for the meeting go forward. There’ll be lavish entertainments to celebrate the new era, and of course, to honor all the daimyos.‘
‘And Lord Toda Hiro-matsu?’ Naga asked politely.
‘Old Iron Fist’s as strong and gruff as ever.’
‘He’s still there?’
‘No. He left with all your father’s men a few days before I did.’
‘And my father’s household?’
‘I heard that the Lady Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko asked to stay with my Master. A doctor advised the Lady to rest for a month—her health, you know. He thought the journey would not be good for the expected child.’ To Yabu he added, ‘She fell down the night you left, didn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s nothing serious, I hope,’ Naga asked, very concerned. ‘No, Naga-san, nothing serious,’ Jozen said, then again to Yabu, ‘You’ve informed Lord Toranaga of my arrival?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good.’
‘The news you brought us would interest him greatly.’
‘Yes. I saw a carrier pigeon circle and fly north.’
‘I have that service now.’ Yabu did not add that Jozen’s pigeon had also been observed, or that falcons had intercepted it near the mountains, or that the message had been decoded: ‘At Anjiro. All true as reported. Yabu, Naga, Omi, and barbarian here.’
‘I will leave tomorrow, with your permission, after the ‘attack.’ You’ll give me fresh horses? I must not keep Lord Toranaga waiting. I look forward to seeing him. So does my Master. At Osaka. I hope you’ll accompany him, Naga-san.’
‘If I’m ordered there, I will be there.’ Naga kept his eyes lowered but he was burning with suppressed fury.
Jozen left and walked with his guards up the hill to his camp. He rearranged the sentries and ordered his men to sleep and got into his small brush lean-to that they had constructed against the coming rain. By candlelight, under a mosquito net, he rewrote the previous message on a thin piece of rice paper and added: ‘The five hundred guns are lethal. Massed surprise gun attacks planned—full report already sent with Masumoto.’ Then he dated it and doused the candle. In the darkness he slipped out of his net, removed one of the pigeons from the panniers and placed the message in the tiny container on its foot. Then he stealthily made his way to one of his men and handed him the bird.
‘Take it out into the brush,’ he whispered. ‘Hide it somewhere where it can roost safely until dawn. As far away as you can. But be careful, there are eyes all around. If you’re intercepted say I told you to patrol, but hide the pigeon first.’
The man slid away as silently as a cockroach.
Pleased with himself, Jozen looked toward the village below. There were lights on in the fortress and on the opposite slope, in the house that he knew to be Omi’s. There were a few also in the house just below, the one presently occupied by the barbarian.
That whelp Naga’s right, Jozen thought, waving his hand at a mosquito. The barbarian’s a filthy plague.
‘Good night, Fujiko-san.’
‘Good night, Anjin-san.’
The shoji closed behind her. Blackthorne took off his kimono and loincloth and put on the lighter sleeping kimono, got under the mosquito net, and lay down.
He blew out the candle. Deep darkness enveloped him. The house was quiet now. The small shutters were closed and he could hear the surf. Clouds obscured the moon.
The wine and laughter had made him drowsy and euphoric and he listened to the surf and felt himself drifting with it, his mind fogged. Occasionally, a dog barked in the village below. I should get a dog, he thought, remembering his own bull terrier at home. Wonder if he’s still alive? Grog was his name but Tudor, his son, always called him ‘Og-Og.’
Ah, Tudor, laddie. It’s been such a long time.
Wish I could see you all—even write a letter and send it home. Let’s see, he thought. How would I begin?
‘My darlings: This is the first letter I’ve been able to send home since we made landfall in Japan. Things are well now that I know how to live according to their ways. The food is terrible but tonight I had pheasant and soon I’ll get my ship back again. Where to start my story? Today I’m like a feudal lord in this strange country. I have a house, a horse, eight servants, a housekeeper, my own barber, and my own interpreter. I’m clean-shaven now and shave every day—the steel razors they have here must certainly be the best in the world. My salary’s huge—enough to feed two hundred and fifty Japan families for one year. In England that’d be the equivalent of almost a thousand golden guineas a year! Ten times my salary from the Dutch company. . . .
The shoji began to open. His hand sought his pistol under the pillow and he readied, dragging himself back. Then he caught the almost imperceptible rustle of silk and a waft of perfume.
‘Anjin-san?’ A thread of whisper, filled with promise.
‘Hai?‘ he asked as softly, peering into the darkness, unable to see clearly.
Footsteps came closer. There was the sound of her kneeling and the net was pulled aside and she joined him inside the enclosing net. She took his hand and lifted it to her breast, then to her lips.
‘Mariko-san?’
At once fingers reached up in the darkness and touched his lips, cautioning silence. He nodded, understanding the awful risk they were taking. He held her tiny wrist and brushed it with his lips. In the pitch black his other hand sought and caressed her face. She kissed his fingers one by one. Her hair was loose and waist length now. His hands traveled her. The lovely feel of silk, nothing beneath.
Her taste was sweet. His tongue touched her teeth, then rimmed her ears, discovering her. She loosened his robe and let hers fall aside, her breathing more languorous now. She pushed closer, nestling, and pulled the covering over their heads. Then she began to love him, with hands and with lips. With more tenderness and seeking and knowledge than he had ever known.
