At the Hour of the Goat the cortege crossed the bridge again. Everything was as before, except that now Zataki and his men were lightly dressed for traveling—or skirmishing. They were all heavily armed and, though very well disciplined, all were spoiling for the death fight, if it came. They seated themselves neatly opposite Toranaga’s forces, which heavily outnumbered them. Father Alvito was to one side among the onlookers. And Blackthorne.
Toranaga welcomed Zataki with the same calm formality, prolonging the ceremonious seating. Today the two daimyos were alone on the dais, the cushions farther apart under a lower sky. Yabu, Omi, Naga, and Buntaro were on the earth surrounding Toranaga and four of Zataki’s fighting counselors spaced themselves behind him.
At the correct time, Zataki took out the second scroll. ‘I’ve come for your formal answer.’
‘I agree to go to Osaka and to submit to the will of the Council,’ replied Toranaga evenly, and bowed.
‘You’re going to submit?’ Zataki began, his face twisting with disbelief. ‘You, Toranaga-noh-Minowara, you’re going—’
‘Listen,’ Toranaga interrupted in his resonant commanding voice that richocheted around the clearing without seeming to be loud. ‘The Council of Regents should be obeyed! Even though it’s illegal, it is constituted and no single daimyo has the right to tear the realm apart, however much truth is on his side. The realm takes precedence. If one daimyo revolts, it is the duty of all to stamp him out. I swore to the Taikō I’d never be the first to break the peace, and I won’t, even though evil is in the land. I accept the invitation. I will leave today.‘
Aghast, each samurai was trying to foretell what this unbelievable about-face would mean. All were achingly certain that most, if not all, would be forced to become ronin, with all that that implied—loss of honor, of revenue, of family, of future.
Buntaro knew that he would accompany Toranaga on his last journey and share his fate—death with all his family, of all generations. Ishido was too much his own personal enemy to forgive, and anyway, who would want to stay alive when his own lord gave up the true fight in such cowardly fashion. Karma, Buntaro thought bitterly. Buddha give me strength! Now I’m committed to take Mariko’s life and our son’s life before I take my own. When? When my duty’s done and our lord is safely and honorably gone into the Void. He will need a faithful second, neh? All gone, like autumn leaves, all the future and the present, Crimson Sky and destiny. It’s just as well, neh? Now Lord Yaemon will surely inherit. Lord Toranaga must be secretly tempted in his most private heart to take power, however much he denies it. Perhaps the Taikō will live again through his son and, in time, we’ll war on China again and win this time, to stand at the summit of the world as is our divine duty. Yes, the Lady Ochiba and Yaemon won’t sell us out next time as Ishido and his cowardly supporters did the last. . . .
Naga was bewildered. No Crimson Sky? No honorable war? No fighting to the death in the Shinano mountains or on the Kyoto plains? No honorable death in battle heroically defending the standard of his father, no mounds of enemy dead to straddle in a last glorious stand, or in a divine victory? No charge even with the filthy guns? None of that—just a seppuku, probably hurried, without pomp or ceremony or honor and his head stuck on a spike for common people to jeer at. Just a death and the end of the Yoshi line. For of course every one of them would die, his father, all his brothers and sisters and cousins, nephews and nieces and aunts and uncles. His eyes focused on Zataki. Blood lust began to flood his brain. . . .
Omi was watching Toranaga with half-seeing eyes, hatred devouring him. Our Master’s gone mad, he thought. How can he be so stupid? We’ve a hundred thousand men and the Musket Regiment and fifty thousand more around Osaka! Crimson Sky’s a million times better than a lonely stinking grave!
His hand was heavy on his sword hilt and, for an ecstatic moment, he imagined himself leaping forward to decapitate Toranaga, to hand the head to the Regent Zataki and so end the contemptuous charade. Then to die by his own hand with honor, here, before everyone. For what was the point of living now? Now Kiku was beyond his reach, her contract bought and owned by Toranaga who had betrayed them all. Last night his body had been on fire during her singing and he knew her song had been secretly for him, and him alone. Unrequited fire—him and her. Wait—why not a suicide together? To die beautifully together, to be together for all eternity. Oh, how wonderful that would be! To mix our souls in death as a never-ending witness to our adoration of life. But first the traitor Toranaga, neh?
With an effort Omi dragged himself back from the brink.
Everything’s gone wrong, he thought. No peace in my house, always anger and quarreling, and Midori always in tears. No nearer my revenge on Yabu. No private, secret arrangement with Zataki, with or without Yabu, negotiated over the hours last night. No deal of any kind. Nothing right anymore. Even when Mura found the swords, both were so mutilated by the earth’s force that I know Toranaga hated me for showing them to him. And now finally this—this cowardly, traitorous surrender!
It’s almost as though I’m bedeviled—in an evil spell. Cast by the Anjin-san? Perhaps. But everything’s still lost. No swords and no revenge and no secret escape route and no Kiku and no future. Wait. There’s a future with her. Death’s a future and past and present and it’ll be so clean and simple. . . .
‘You’re giving up? We’re not going to war?’ Yabu bellowed, aware that his death and the death of his line were now guaranteed.
‘I accept the Council’s invitation,’ Toranaga replied. ‘As you will accept the Council’s invitation!’
‘I won’t do—’
Omi came out of his reverie with enough presence of mind to know that he had to interrupt Yabu and protect him from the instant death that any confrontation with Toranaga would bring. But he deliberately froze his lips, shouting to himself with glee at this heaven-sent gift, and waited for Yabu’s disaster to overtake him.
‘You won’t do what?’ Toranaga asked.
Yabu’s soul shrieked danger. He managed to croak, ‘I—I—of course your vassals will obey. Yes—if you decide—whatever you decide I—I will do.’
Omi cursed and allowed the glazed expression to return, his mind still withered by Toranaga’s totally unexpected capitulation.
Angrily Toranaga let Yabu stutter on, increasing the strength of the apology. Then contemptuously he cut him short. ‘Good.’ He turned back to Zataki but he did not relax his vigil. ‘So, Brother, you can put away the second scroll. There’s nothing more—’ From the corner of his eye he saw Naga’s face change and he wheeled on him. ‘Naga!’
The youth almost leapt out of his skin, but his hand left his sword. ‘Yes, Father?’ he stammered.
‘Go and fetch my writing materials! Now!’ When Naga was well out of sword range Toranaga exhaled, relieved that he had prevented the attack on Zataki before it had begun. His eyes studied Buntaro carefully. Then Omi. And last Yabu. He thought the three of them were now sufficiently controlled not to make any foolish move that would precipitate an immediate riot and a great killing.
Once again he addressed Zataki. ‘I’ll give you my formal written acceptance at once. This will prepare the Council for my state visit.’ He lowered his voice and spoke for Zataki’s ears alone. ‘Inside Izu you’re safe, Regent. Outside it you’re safe. Until my mother’s out of your grasp you’re safe. Only until then. This meeting is over.’
‘Good. ‘State visit’?’ Zataki was openly contemptuous. ‘What hypocrisy! I never thought I’d see the day when Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara would kowtow to General Ishido. You’re just–’
‘Which is more important, Brother?’ Toranaga said. ‘The continuity of my line—or the continuity of the realm?’
Gloom hung over the valley. It was pouring now, the base of the clouds barely three hundred feet from the ground, obscuring completely the way back up the pass. The clearing and the inn’s forecourt were filled with shoving, ill-tempered samurai. Horses stamped their feet irritably. Officers were shouting orders with unnecessary harshness. Frightened porters were rushing about readying the departing column. Barely an hour remained to darkness.
Toranaga had written the flowery message and signed it, sending it by messenger to Zataki, over the entreaties of Buntaro, Omi, and Yabu, in private conference. He had listened to their arguments silently.
When they had finished, he said, ‘I want no more talk. I’ve decided my path. Obey!’
He had told them he was returning to Anjiro immediately to collect the rest of his men. Tomorrow he would head up the east coast road toward Atami and Odawara, thence over the mountain passes to Yedo. Buntaro would command his escort. Tomorrow the Musket Regiment was to embark on the galleys at Anjiro and put to sea to await him at Yedo, Yabu in command. The following day Omi was ordered to the frontier via the central road with all available Izu warriors. He was to assist Hiro-matsu, who was in overall command, and was to make sure that the enemy, Ikawa Jikkyu, did nothing to interfere with normal traffic. Omi was to base himself in Mishima for the time being, to guard that section of the Tokaidō Road, and to prepare palanquins and horses in sufficient quantity for Toranaga and the considerable entourage that was necessary to a formal state visit. ‘Alert all stations along the road and prepare them equally. You understand?’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘Make sure that everything’s perfect!’
‘Yes, Sire. You may rely on me.’ Even Omi had winced under the baleful glare.
When everything was ready for his departure, Toranaga came out from his rooms onto the veranda. Everyone bowed. Sourly he motioned them to continue and sent for the innkeeper. The man fawned as he presented the bill on his knees. Toranaga checked it item by item. The bill was very fair. He nodded and threw it at his paymaster for payment, then summoned Mariko and the Anjin-san. Mariko was given permission to go to Osaka. ‘But first you’ll go directly from here to Mishima. Give this private dispatch to Hiro-matsu-san, then continue on to Yedo with the Anjin-san. You’re responsible for him until you arrive. You’ll probably go by sea to Osaka—I’ll decide that later. Anjin-san! Did you get the dictionary from the priest-san?’
‘Please? So sorry, I don’t understand.’
Mariko had translated.
‘Sorry. Yes, I book got.’
‘When we meet in Yedo, you’ll speak better Japanese than you do now. Wakarimasu ka?‘
‘Hai. Gomen nasai.‘
Despondently Toranaga stomped out of the courtyard, a samurai holding a large umbrella for him against the rain. As one, all samurai, porters, and villagers again bowed. Toranaga paid no attention to them, just got into his roofed palanquin at the head of the column and closed the curtains.
At once, the six semi-naked bearers raised the litter and started off at a loping trot, their horny bare feet splashing the puddles. Mounted escorting samurai rode ahead, and another mounted guard surrounded the palanquin. Spare porters and the baggage train followed, all hurrying, all tense and filled with dread. Omi led the van. Buntaro was to command the rearguard. Yabu and Naga had already left for the Musket Regiment that was still athwart the road in ambush to await Toranaga at the crest; it would fall in behind to form a rearguard. ‘Rearguard against whom?’ Yabu had snarled at Omi in the few moments of privacy they had had before he galloped off.
Buntaro strode back to the high, curved gateway of the inn, careless of the downpour. ‘Mariko-san!’
Obediently she hurried to him, her orange oiled-paper umbrella beaten by the heavy drops. ‘Yes, Sire?’
His eyes raced over her under the brim of his bamboo hat, then went to Blackthorne, who watched from the veranda. ‘Tell him . . .’ He stopped.
‘Sire?’
He stared down at her. ‘Tell him I hold him responsible for you.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ she said. ‘But, please excuse me, I am responsible for me.’
Buntaro turned and measured the distance to the head of the column. When he glanced back his face showed a trace of his torment. ‘Now there’ll be no falling leaves for our eyes, neh?‘
‘That is in the hands of God, Sire.’
‘No, that’s in Lord Toranaga’s hands,’ he said with disdain.
She looked up at him without wavering under his stare. The rain beat down. Droplets fell from the rim of her umbrella like a curtain of tears. Mud splattered the hem of her kimono. Then he said, ‘Sayonara—until I see you at Osaka.’
She was startled. ‘Oh, so sorry, won’t I see you at Yedo? Surely you’ll be there with Lord Toranaga, you’ll arrive about the same time, neh? I’ll see you then.’
‘Yes. But at Osaka, when we meet there or when you return from there, then we begin again. That’s when I’ll truly see you, neh?‘
‘Ah, I understand. So sorry.’
‘Sayonara, Mariko-san,’ he said.
‘Sayonara, my Lord.’ Mariko bowed. He returned her obeisance peremptorily and strode through the quagmire to his horse. He swung into the saddle and galloped away without looking back.
‘Go with God,’ she said, staring after him.
Blackthorne saw her eyes following Buntaro. He waited in the lee of the roof, the rain lessening. Soon the head of the column vanished into the clouds, then Toranaga’s palanquin, and he breathed easier, still shattered by Toranaga and the whole ill-omened day.
This morning the hawking had begun so well. He had chosen a tiny, long-wing falcon, like a merlin, and flew her very successfully at a lark, the stoop and soaring chase blown southward beyond a belt of trees by the freshening wind. Leading the charge as was his privilege, he careered through the forest along a well-beaten path, itinerant peddlers and farmers scattering. But a weather-beaten oil seller with an equally threadbare horse blocked the way and cantankerously wouldn’t budge. In the excitement of the chase Blackthorne had shouted at the man to move, but the peddler would not, so he cursed him roundly. The oil seller replied rudely and shouted back and then Toranaga was there and Toranaga pointed at his own bodyguard and said, ‘Anjin-san, give him your sword a moment,’ and some other words he did not understand. Blackthorne obeyed at once. Before he realized what was happening, the samurai lunged at the peddler. His blow was so savage and so perfect that the oil seller had walked on a pace before falling, divided in two at the waist.
Toranaga had pounded his pommel with momentary delight, then fell back into his melancholy as the other samurai had cheered. The bodyguard cleansed the blade carefully, using his silken sash to protect the steel. He sheathed the sword with satisfaction and returned it, saying something that Mariko explained later. ‘He just said, Anjin-san, that he was proud to be allowed to test such a blade. Lord Toranaga is suggesting you should nickname the sword ‘Oil Seller,’ because such a blow and such sharpness should be remembered with honor. Your sword has now become legend, neh?‘
Blackthorne recalled how he had nodded, hiding his anguish. He was wearing ‘Oil Seller’ now—Oil Seller it would be forevermore—the same sword that Toranaga had presented to him. I wish he’d never given it to me, he thought. But it wasn’t all their fault, it was mine too. I shouted at the man, he was rude in return, and samurai may not be treated rudely. What other course was there? Blackthorne knew there was none. Even so, the killing had taken the joy out of the hunt for him, though he had to hide that carefully because Toranaga had been moody and difficult all day.
Just before noon, they had returned to Yokosé, then there was Toranaga’s meeting with Zataki and then after a steaming bath and massage, suddenly Father Alvito was standing in his way like a vengeful wraith, two hostile acolytes in attendance. ‘Christ Jesus, get away from me!’
‘There’s no need to be afraid, or to blaspheme.’ Alvito had said.
‘God curse you and all priests!’ Blackthorne said, trying to get hold of himself, knowing that he was deep in enemy territory. Earlier he’d seen half a hundred Catholic samurai trickling over the bridge to the Mass that Mariko had told him was being held in the forecourt of Alvito’s inn. His hand sought the hilt of his sword, but he was not wearing it with his bathrobe, or carrying it as was customary, and he cursed his stupidity, hating to be unarmed.
‘May God forgive you your blasphemy, Pilot. Yes. May He forgive you and open your eyes. I bear you no malice. I came to bring you a gift. Here, here’s a gift from God, Pilot.’
Blackthorne took the package suspiciously. When he opened it and saw the Portuguese-Latin-Japanese dictionary/grammar, a thrill rushed through him. He leafed through a few pages. The printing was certainly the best he had ever seen, the quality and detail of the information staggering. ‘Yes, this is a gift from God all right, but Lord Toranaga ordered you to give it to me.’
‘We obey only God’s orders.’
‘Toranaga asked you to give it to me?’
‘Yes. It was his request.’
‘And a Toranaga ‘request’ isn’t an order?’
‘That depends, Captain-Pilot, on who you are, what you are, and how great your faith.’ Alvito motioned at the book. ‘Three of our Brethren spent twenty-seven years preparing that.’
‘Why are you giving it to me?’
‘We were asked to.’
‘Why didn’t you avoid Lord Toranaga’s request? You’re more than cunning enough to do that.’
Alvito shrugged. Quickly Blackthorne flicked through all the pages, checking. Excellent paper, the printing very clear. The numbers of the pages were in sequence.
‘It’s complete,’ Alvito said, amused. ‘We don’t deal with half books.’
‘This is much too valuable to give away. What do you want in return?’
‘He asked us to give it to you. The Father-Visitor agreed. So you are given it. It was only printed this year, at long last. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? We only ask you to cherish it, to treat the book well. It’s worth treating well.’
‘It’s worth guarding with a life. This is priceless knowledge, like one of your rutters. But this is better. What do you want for it?’
‘We ask nothing in return.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Blackthorne weighed it in his hand, even more suspiciously. ‘You must know this makes me equal to you. It gives me all your knowledge and saves us ten, maybe twenty years. With this I’ll soon be speaking as well as you. Once I can do that, I can teach others. This is the key to Japan, neh? Language is the key to anywhere foreign, neh? In six months I’ll be able to talk direct to Toranaga-sama.’
‘Yes, perhaps you will. If you have six months.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing more than what you already know. Lord Toranaga will be dead long before six months is up.’
‘Why? What news did you bring him? Ever since he talked with you he’s been like a bull with half its throat ripped out. What did you say, eh?’
‘My message was private, from his Eminence to Lord Toranaga. I’m sorry—I’m merely a messenger. But General Ishido controls Osaka, as you surely know, and when Toranaga-sama goes to Osaka everything is finished for him. And for you.’
Blackthorne felt ice in his marrow. ‘Why me?’
‘You can’t escape your fate, Pilot. You helped Toranaga against Ishido. Have you forgotten? You put your hands violently on Ishido. You led the dash out of Osaka harbor. I’m sorry, but being able to speak Japanese, or your swords and samurai status won’t help you at all. Perhaps it’s worse now that you’re samurai. Now you’ll be ordered to commit seppuku and if you refuse . . .’ Alvito had added in the same gentle voice, ‘I told you before, they are a simple people.’
‘We English are simple people, too,’ he said, with no little bravado. ‘When we’re dead we’re dead, but before that we put our trust in God and keep our powder dry. I’ve a few tricks left, never fear.’
‘Oh, I don’t fear, Pilot. I fear nothing, not you nor your heresy, nor your guns. They’re all spiked—as you’re spiked.’
‘That’s karma—in the hands of God—call it what you will,’ Blackthorne told him, rattled. ‘But by the Lord God, I’ll get my ship back and then, in a couple of years, I’ll lead a squadron of English ships out here and blow you all to hell out of Asia.’
Alvito spoke again with his vast unnerving calm. ‘That’s in the hands of God, Pilot. But here the die is cast and nothing of what you say will happen. Nothing.’ Alvito had looked at him as though he were already dead. ‘May God have mercy on you, for as God is my judge, Pilot, I believe you’ll never leave these islands.’
Blackthorne shivered, remembering the total conviction with which Alvito had said that.
‘You’re cold, Anjin-san?’
Mariko was standing beside him on the veranda now, shaking out her umbrella in the dusk. ‘Oh, sorry, no, I’m not cold—I was just wandering.’ He glanced up at the pass. The whole column had vanished into the cloud bank. The rain had abated a little and had become mild and soft. Some villagers and servants splashed through the puddles, homeward bound. The forecourt was empty, the garden waterlogged. Oil lanterns were coming on throughout the village. No longer were there sentries on the gateway, or at both sides of the bridge. A great emptiness seemed to dominate the twilight.
‘It’s much prettier at night, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he replied, totally aware that they were alone together, and safe, if they were careful and if she wanted as he wanted.
A maid came and took her umbrella, bringing dry tabi socks. She knelt and began to towel Mariko’s feet dry.
‘Tomorrow at dawn we’ll begin our journey, Anjin-san.’
‘How long will it take us?’
‘A number of days, Anjin-san. Lord Toranaga said—’ Mariko glanced off as Gyoko padded obsequiously from inside the inn. ‘Lord Toranaga told me there was plenty of time.’
Gyoko bowed low. ‘Good evening, Lady Toda, please excuse me for interrupting you.’
‘How are you, Gyoko-san?’
‘Fine, thank you, though I wish this rain would stop. I don’t like this mugginess. But then, when the rains stop, we have the heat and that’s so much worse, neh? But the autumn’s not far away. . . . Ah, we’re so lucky to have autumn to look forward to, and heavenly spring, neh?‘
Mariko did not answer. The maid fastened the tabi for her and got up. ‘Thank you,’ Mariko said, dismissing her. ‘So, Gyoko-san? There’s something I can do for you?’
‘Kiku-san asked if you would like her to serve you at dinner, or to dance or sing for you tonight. Lord Toranaga left instructions for her to entertain you, if you wished.’
‘Yes, he told me, Gyoko-san. That would be very nice, but perhaps not tonight. We have to leave at dawn and I’m very tired. There’ll be other nights, neh? Please give her my apologies, and, oh yes, please tell her I’m delighted to have the company of you both on the road.’ Toranaga had ordered Mariko to take the two women with her, and she had thanked him, pleased to have them as a formal chaperone.
‘You’re too kind,’ Gyoko said with honey on her tongue. ‘But it’s our honor. We’re still to go to Yedo?’
‘Yes. Of course. Why?’
‘Nothing, Lady Toda. But, in that case, perhaps we could stop in Mishima for a day or two? Kiku-san would like to gather up some clothes—she doesn’t feel adequately gowned for Lord Toranaga, and I hear the Yedo summer’s very sultry and mosquitoed. We should collect her wardrobe, bad as it is.’
‘Yes. Of course. You’ll both have more than enough time.’
Gyoko did not look at Blackthorne, though both were very conscious of him. ‘It’s—it’s tragic about our Master, neh?‘
‘Karma,‘ Mariko replied evenly. Then she added with a woman’s sweet viciousness, ‘But nothing’s changed, Gyoko-san. You’ll be paid the day you arrive, in silver, as the contract says.’
‘Oh, so sorry,’ the older woman told her, pretending to be shocked. ‘So sorry, Lady Toda, but money? That was farthest from my mind. Never! I was only concerned with our Master’s future.’
‘He’s master of his own future,’ Mariko said easily, believing it no more. ‘But your future’s good, isn’t it—whatever happens. You’re rich now. All your worldly troubles are over. Soon you’ll be a power in Yedo with your new guild of courtesans, whoever rules the Kwanto. Soon you’ll be the greatest of all Mama-sans, and whatever happens, well, Kiku-san’s still your protégée and her youth’s not touched, neither is her karma. Neh?‘
‘My only concern is for Lord Toranaga,’ Gyoko answered with practiced gravity, her anus twitching at the thought of two thousand five hundred koku so nearly in her strong room. ‘If there is any way I could help him I would—’
‘How generous of you, Gyoko-san! I’ll tell him of your offer. Yes, a thousand koku off the price would help very much. I accept on his behalf.’
Gyoko fluttered her fan, put a gracious smile on her face, and just managed not to wail aloud at her imbecility for jumping into a trap like a saké-besotted novice. ‘Oh no, Lady Toda, how could money help so generous a patron? No, clearly money’s no help to him,’ she babbled, trying to recover. ‘No, money’s no help. Better information or a service or—’
‘Please excuse me, what information?’
‘None, none at the moment. I was just using that as a figure of speech, so sorry. But money–’
‘Ah, so sorry, yes. Well, I’ll tell him of your offer. And of your generosity. On his behalf, thank you.’
Gyoko bowed at the dismissal and scuttled back into the inn.
Mariko’s little laugh trickled out.
‘What are you laughing at, Mariko-san?’
She told him what had been said. ‘Mama-sans must be the same the world over. She’s just worried about her money.’
‘Will Lord Toranaga pay even though . . .’ Blackthorne stopped. Mariko waited guilelessly. Then, under her gaze, he continued, ‘Father Alvito said when Lord Toranaga goes to Osaka, he’s finished.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, Anjin-san, that’s most very true,’ Mariko said with a brightness she did not feel. Then she put Toranaga and Osaka into their compartments and was tranquil again. ‘But Osaka’s many leagues away and countless sticks of time in the future, and until that time when what is to be is, Ishido doesn’t know, the good Father doesn’t truly know, we don’t know, no one knows what will truly happen. Neh? Except the Lord God. But He won’t tell us, will He? Until perhaps it has already come to pass. Neh?‘
‘Hai!‘ He laughed with her. ‘Ah, you’re so wise.’
‘Thank you. I have a suggestion, Anjin-san. During the journey time, let us forget all outside problems. All of them.’
‘Thou,’ he said in Latin. ‘It is good to see thee.’
‘And thee. Extraordinary care in front of both women during our journey is very necessary, neh?‘
‘Depend on it, Lady.’
‘I do. In truth I do very much.’
‘Now we are almost alone, neh? Thou and I’
‘Yes. But what was is not and never happened.’
‘True. Yes. Thou art correct again. And beautiful.’
A samurai strode through the gateway and saluted her. He was middle-aged with graying hair, his face pitted, and he walked with a slight limp. ‘Please excuse me, Lady Toda, but we’ll leave at dawn, neh?‘
‘Yes, Yoshinaka-san. But it doesn’t matter if we’re delayed till noon, if you wish. We’ve plenty of time.’
‘Yes. As you prefer, let us leave at noon. Good evening, Anjin-san. Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Akira Yoshinaka, captain of your escort.’
‘Good evening, Captain.’
Yoshinaka turned back to Mariko. ‘I’m responsible for you and him, Lady, so please tell him I’ve ordered two men to sleep in his room by night as his personal guards. Then there’ll be ten sentries on duty nightly. They’ll be all around you. I’ve a hundred men in all.’
‘Very well, Captain. But, so sorry, it would be better not to station any men in the Anjin-san’s room. It’s a very serious custom of theirs to sleep alone, or alone with one lady. My maid will probably be with him, so he’ll be protected. Please keep the guards around but not too close, then he won’t be unsettled.’
Yoshinaka scratched his head and frowned. ‘Very well, Lady. Yes, I’ll agree to that, though my way’s more sensible. Then, so sorry, then please ask him not to go on any of these night walks of his. Until we get to Yedo I’m responsible and when I’m responsible for very important persons I get very nervous.’ He bowed stiffly and went away.
‘The Captain asks you not to walk off by yourself during our journey. If you get up at night, always take a samurai with you, Anjin-san. He says this would help him.’
‘All right. Yes, I’ll do that.’ Blackthorne was watching him leave. ‘What else did he say? I caught something about sleeping? I couldn’t understand him very—’ He stopped. Kiku came from within. She wore a bathrobe with a towel decorously swathed around her hair. Barefoot, she sauntered toward the hot-spring bath house, half bowed to them, and waved gaily. They returned her salutation.
Blackthorne took in her long legs and the sinuousness of her walk until she disappeared. He felt Mariko’s eyes watching him closely and looked back at her. ‘No,’ he said blandly and shook his head.
She laughed. ‘I thought it might be difficult—might be uncomfortable for you, to have her just as a traveling companion after such a special pillowing.’
‘Uncomfortable, no. On the contrary, very pleasant. I’ve very pleasant memories. I’m glad she belongs to Lord Toranaga now. That makes everything easy, for her and for him. And everyone.’ He was going to add, everyone except Omi, but thought better of it. ‘After all, to me she was only a very special, glorious gift. Nothing more. Neh?‘
‘She was a gift, yes.’
He wanted to touch Mariko. But he did not. Instead he turned and stared up at the pass, not sure what he read behind her eyes. Night obscured the pass now. And the clouds. Water dripped nicely from the roof. ‘What else did the Captain say?’
‘Nothing of importance, Anjin-san.’
