Shōgun (The Asian Saga Book 1)

‘Perhaps it would have been better to consult me before removing my prisoner from my jurisdiction, Lord Ishido,’ Toranaga was saying.

‘The barbarian was in the common prison with common people.  Naturally I presumed you’d no further interest in him, otherwise I wouldn’t have had him taken out of there.  Of course, I never meant to interfere with your private affairs.’  Ishido was outwardly calm and deferential but inside he was seething.  He knew that he had been trapped into an indiscretion.  It was true that he should have asked Toranaga first.  Ordinary politeness demanded it.  Even that would not have mattered at all if he still had the barbarian in his power, in his quarters; he would simply have handed over the foreigner at his leisure, if and when Toranaga had asked for him.  But for some of his men to have been intercepted and ignominiously killed, and then for the daimyo Yabu and some of Toranaga’s men to have taken physical possession of the barbarian from more of his men changed the position completely.  He had lost face, whereas his whole strategy for Toranaga’s public destruction was to put Toranaga into precisely that position.  ‘Again I apologize.’

Toranaga glanced at Hiro-matsu, the apology music to their ears.  Both men knew how much inner bleeding it had cost Ishido.  They were in the great audience room.  By prior agreement, the two antagonists had only five guards present, men of guaranteed reliability.  The rest were waiting outside.  Yabu was also waiting outside.  And the barbarian was being cleaned.  Good, Toranaga thought, feeling very pleased with himself.  He put his mind on Yabu briefly and decided not to see him today after all, but to continue to play him like a fish.  So he asked Hiro-matsu to send him away and turned again to Ishido.  ‘Of course your apology is accepted.  Fortunately no harm was done.’

‘Then I may take the barbarian to the Heir—as soon as he’s presentable?’

‘I’ll send him as soon as I’ve finished with him.’

‘May I ask when that will be?  The Heir was expecting him this morning.’

‘We shouldn’t be too concerned about that, you and I, neh?  Yaemon’s only seven.  I’m sure a seven-year-old boy can possess himself with patience.  Neh?  Patience is a form of discipline and requires practice.  Doesn’t it?  I’ll explain the misunderstanding myself.  I’m giving him another swimming lesson this morning.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes.  You should learn to swim too, Lord Ishido.  It’s excellent exercise and could come in very useful during war.  All my samurai can swim.  I insist that all learn that art.’

‘Mine spend their time practicing archery, swordsmanship, riding, and shooting.’

‘Mine add poetry, penmanship, flower arranging, the cha-no-yu ceremony.  Samurai should be well versed in the arts of peace to be strong for the arts of war.’

‘Most of my men are already more than proficient in those arts,’ Ishido said, conscious that his own writing was poor and his learning limited.  ‘Samurai are birthed for war.  I understand war very well.  That is enough at the moment.  That and obedience to our Master’s will.’

‘Yaemon’s swimming lesson is at the Hour of the Horse.’  The day and the night were each split into six equal parts.  The day began with the Hour of the Hare, from 5 A.M. to 7 A.M., then the Dragon, from 7 A.M. to 9 A.M.  The hours of the Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Cock, Dog, Boar, Rat and Ox followed, and the cycle ended with the Hour of the Tiger between 3 A.M. and 5 A.M.  ‘Would you like to join the lesson?’

‘Thank you, no.  I’m too old to change my ways,’ Ishido said thinly.

‘I hear the captain of your men was ordered to commit seppuku.’

‘Naturally.  The bandits should have been caught.  At least one of them should have been caught.  Then we would have found the others.’

‘I’m astounded that such carrion could operate so close to the castle.’

‘I agree.  Perhaps the barbarian could describe them.’

‘What would a barbarian know?’  Toranaga laughed.  ‘As to the bandits, they were ronin, weren’t they?  Ronin are plentiful among your men.  Inquiries there might prove fruitful.  Neh?‘

‘Inquiries are being pressed.  In many directions.’  Ishido passed over the veiled sneer about ronin, the masterless, almost outcast mercenary samurai who had, in their thousands, flocked to the Heir’s banner when Ishido had whispered it abroad that he, on behalf of the Heir and the mother of the Heir, would accept their fidelity, would—incredibly—forgive and forget their indiscretions or past, and would, in the course of time, repay their loyalty with a Taikō’s lavishness.  Ishido knew that it had been a brilliant move.  It gave him an enormous pool of trained samurai to draw upon; it guaranteed loyalty, for ronin knew they would never get another such chance; it brought into his camp all the angry ones, many of whom had been made ronin by Toranaga’s conquests and those of his allies.  And lastly, it removed a danger to the realm—an increase in the bandit population—for almost the only supportable way of life open to a samurai unlucky enough to become ronin was to become a monk or bandit.

‘There are many things I don’t understand about this ambush,’ Ishido said, his voice tinged with venom.  ‘Yes.  Why, for instance, should bandits try to capture this barbarian for ransom?  There are plenty of others in the city, vastly more important.  Isn’t that what the bandit said?  It was ransom he wanted.  Ransom from whom?  What’s the barbarian’s value?  None.  And how did they know where he would be?  It was only yesterday that I gave the order to bring him to the Heir, thinking it would amuse the boy.  Very curious.’

‘Very.’ Toranaga said.

‘Then there’s the coincidence of Lord Yabu being in the vicinity with some of your men and some of mine at that exact time.  Very curious.’

‘Very.  Of course he was there because I had sent for him, and your men were there because we agreed—at your suggestion—that it was good policy and a way to begin to heal the breach between us, that your men accompany mine wherever they go while I’m on this official visit.’

‘It is also strange that the bandits who were sufficiently brave and well organized to slay the first ten without a fight acted like Koreans when our men arrived.  The two sides were equally matched.  Why didn’t the bandits fight, or take the barbarian into the hills immediately, and not stupidly stay on a main path to the castle?  Very curious.’

‘Very.  I’ll certainly be taking double guards with me tomorrow when I go hawking.  Just in case.  It’s disconcerting to know bandits are so close to the castle.  Yes.  Perhaps you’d like to hunt, too?  Fly one of your hawks against mine?  I’ll be hunting the hills to the north.’

‘Thank you, no.  I’ll be busy tomorrow.  Perhaps the day after?  I’ve ordered twenty thousand men to sweep all the forests, woods, and glades around Osaka.  There won’t be a bandit within twenty ri in ten days.  That I can promise you.’

Toranaga knew that Ishido was using the bandits as an excuse to increase the number of his troops in the vicinity.  If he says twenty, he means fifty.  The neck of the trap is closing, he told himself.  Why so soon?  What new treachery has happened?  Why is Ishido so confident?  ‘Good.  Then the day after tomorrow, Lord Ishido.  You’ll keep your men away from my hunting area?  I wouldn’t want my game disturbed,’ he added thinly.

‘Of course.  And the barbarian?’

‘He is and always was my property.  And his ship.  But you can have him when I’ve finished with him.  And afterwards you can send him to the execution ground if you wish.’

‘Thank you.  Yes, I’ll do that.’  Ishido closed his fan and slipped it into his sleeve.  ‘He’s unimportant.  What is important and the reason for my coming to see you is that—oh, by the way, I heard that the lady, my mother, is visiting the Johji monastery.’

‘Oh?  I would have thought the season’s a little late for looking at cherry blossoms.  Surely they’d be well past their prime now?’

‘I agree.  But then if she wishes to see them, why not?  You can never tell with the elderly, they have minds of their own and see things differently, neh?  But her health isn’t good.  I worry about her.  She has to be very careful—she takes a chill very easily.’

‘It’s the same with my mother.  You have to watch the health of the old.’  Toranaga made a mental note to send an immediate message to remind the abbot to watch over the old woman’s health very carefully.  If she were to die in the monastery the repercussions would be terrible.  He would be shamed before the Empire.  All daimyos would realize that in the chess game for power he had used a helpless old woman, the mother of his enemy, as a pawn, and failed in his responsibility to her.  Taking a hostage was, in truth, a dangerous ploy.

Ishido had become almost blind with rage when he had heard that his revered mother was in the Toranaga stronghold at Nagoya.  Heads had fallen.  He had immediately brought forward plans for Toranaga’s destruction, and had taken a solemn resolve to invest Nagoya and obliterate the daimyo, Kazamaki—in whose charge she had ostensibly been—the moment hostilities began.  Last, a private message had been sent to the abbot through intermediaries, that unless she was brought safely out of the monastery within twenty-four hours, Naga, the only son of Toranaga within reach and any of his women that could be caught, would, unhappily, wake up in the leper village, having been fed by them, watered by them, and serviced by one of their whores.  Ishido knew that while his mother was in Toranaga’s power he had to tread lightly.  But he had made it clear that if she was not let go, he would set the Empire to the torch.  ‘How is the lady, your mother, Lord Toranaga,’ he asked politely.

‘She’s very well, thank you.’  Toranaga allowed his happiness to show, both at the thought of his mother and at the knowledge of Ishido’s impotent fury.  ‘She’s remarkably fit for seventy-four.  I only hope I’m as strong as she is when I’m her age.’

You’re fifty-eight, Toranaga, but you’ll never reach fifty-nine, Ishido promised himself.  ‘Please give her my best wishes for a continued happy life.  Thank you again and I’m sorry that you were inconvenienced.’  He bowed with great politeness, and then, holding in his soaring pleasure with difficulty, he added, ‘Oh, yes, the important matter I wanted to see you about was that the last formal meeting of the Regents has been postponed.  We do not meet tonight at sunset.’

Toranaga kept the smile on his face but inside he was rocked.  ‘Oh?  Why?’

‘Lord Kiyama’s sick.  Lord Sugiyama and Lord Onoshi have agreed to the delay.  So did I.  A few days are unimportant, aren’t they, on such important matters?’

‘We can have the meeting without Lord Kiyama.’

‘We have agreed that we should not.’  Ishido’s eyes were taunting.

‘Formally?’

‘Here are our four seals.’

Toranaga was seething.  Any delay jeopardized him immeasurably.  Could he barter Ishido’s mother for an immediate. meeting?  No, because it would take too much time for the orders to go back and forth and he would have conceded a very great advantage for nothing.  ‘When will the meeting be?’

‘I understand Lord Kiyama should be well tomorrow, or perhaps the next day.’

‘Good.  I’ll send my personal physician to see him.’

‘I’m sure he’d appreciate that.  But his own has forbidden any visitors.  The disease might be contagious, neh?‘

‘What disease?’

‘I don’t know, my Lord.  That’s what I was told.’

‘Is the doctor a barbarian?’

‘Yes.  I understand the chief doctor of the Christians.  A Christian doctor-priest for a Christian daimyo.  Ours are not good enough for so—so important a daimyo,‘ Ishido said with a sneer.

Toranaga’s concern increased.  If the doctor were Japanese, there were many things he could do.  But with a Christian doctor—inevitably a Jesuit priest—well, to go against one of them, or even to interfere with one of them, might alienate all Christian daimyos, which he could not afford to risk.  He knew his friendship with Tsukku-san would not help him against the Christian daimyos Onoshi or Kiyama.  It was in Christian interests to present a united front.  Soon he would have to approach them, the barbarian priests, to make an arrangement, to find out the price of their cooperation.  If Ishido truly has Onoshi and Kiyama with him—and all the Christian daimyos would follow these two if they acted jointly—then I’m isolated, he thought.  Then my only way left is Crimson Sky.

‘I’ll visit Lord Kiyama the day after tomorrow,’ he said, naming a deadline.

‘But the contagion?  I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you while you’re here in Osaka, my Lord.  You are our guest, in my care. I must insist you do not.’

‘You may rest comfortably, my Lord Ishido, the contagion that will topple me has not yet been born, neh?  You forget the soothsayer’s prediction.’  When the Chinese embassy had come to the Taikō six years ago to try to settle the Japanese-Korean-Chinese war, a famous astrologer had been among them.  This Chinese had forecast many things that had since come true.  At one of the Taikō’s incredibly lavish ceremonial dinners, the Taikō had asked the soothsayer to predict the deaths of certain of his counselors.  The astrologer had said that Toranaga would die by the sword when he was middle-aged.  Ishido, the famous conqueror of Korea—or Chosen as Chinese called that land—would die undiseased, an old man, his feet firm in the earth, the most famous man of his day.  But the Taikō himself would die in his bed, respected, revered, of old age, leaving a healthy son to follow him.  This had so pleased the Taikō, who was still childless, that he had decided to let the embassy return to China and not kill them as he had planned for their previous insolences.  Instead of negotiating for peace as he had expected, the Chinese Emperor, through this embassy, had merely offered to ‘invest him as King of the Country of Wa,’ as the Chinese called Japan.  So he had sent them home alive and not in the very small boxes that had already been prepared for them, and renewed the war against Korea and China.

‘No, Lord Toranaga, I haven’t forgotten,’ Ishido said, remembering very well.  ‘But contagion can be uncomfortable.  Why be uncomfortable?  You could catch the pox like your son Noboru, so sorry—or become a leper like Lord Onoshi.  He’s still young, but he suffers.  Oh, yes, he suffers.’

Momentarily Toranaga was thrown off balance.  He knew the ravages of both diseases too well.  Noboru, his eldest living son, had caught the Chinese pox when he was seventeen—ten years ago—and all the cures of the doctors, Japanese, Chinese, Korean, and Christian, had not managed to allay the disease which had already defaced him but would not kill him.  If I become all powerful, Toranaga promised himself, perhaps I can stamp out that disease.  Does it really come from women?  How do women get it?  How can it be cured?  Poor Noboru, Toranaga thought.  Except for the pox you’d be my heir, because you’re a brilliant soldier, a better administrator than Sudara, and very cunning.  You must have done many bad things in a previous life to have had to carry so many burdens in this one.

‘By the Lord Buddha, I’d not wish either of those on anyone,’ he said.

‘I agree,’ Ishido said, believing Toranaga would wish them both on him if he could.  He bowed again and left.

Toranaga broke the silence.  ‘Well?’

Hiro-matsu said, ‘If you stay or leave now, it’s the same—disaster, because now you’ve been betrayed and you are isolated, Sire.  If you stay for the meeting—you won’t get a meeting for a week—Ishido will have mobilized his legions around Osaka and you’ll never escape, whatever happens to the Lady Ochiba in Yedo, and clearly Ishido’s decided to risk her to get you.  It’s obvious you’re betrayed and the four Regents will make a decision against you.  A four against one vote in Council impeaches you.  If you leave, they’ll still issue whatever orders lshido wishes.  You’re bound to uphold a four-to-one decision.  You swore to do it.  You cannot go against your solemn word as a Regent.’

‘I agree.’

The silence held.

Hiro-matsu waited, with growing anxiety.  ‘What are you going to do?’

‘First I’m going to have my swim,’ Toranaga said with surprising joviality.  ‘Then I’ll see the barbarian.’

The woman walked quietly through Toranaga’s private garden in the castle toward the little thatched hut that was set so prettily in a glade of maples.  Her silk kimono and obi were the most simple yet the most elegant that the most famous craftsmen in China could make.  She wore her hair in the latest Kyoto fashion, piled high and held in place with long silver pins.  A colorful sunshade protected her very fair skin.  She was tiny, just five feet, but perfectly proportioned.  Around her neck was a thin golden chain, and hanging from it, a small golden crucifix.

Kiri was waiting on the veranda of the hut.  She sat heavily in the shade, her buttocks overflowing her cushion, and she watched the woman approach along the stepping stones which had been set so carefully into the moss that they seemed to have grown there.

‘You’re more beautiful than ever, younger than ever, Toda Mariko-san,’ Kiri said without jealousy, returning her bow.

‘I wish that were true, Kiritsubo-san,’ Mariko replied, smiling.  She knelt on a cushion, unconsciously arranging her skirts into a delicate pattern.

‘It’s true.  When did we last meet?  Two-three years ago?  You haven’t changed a hair’s breadth in twenty years.  It must be almost twenty years since we first met.  Do you remember?  It was at a feast Lord Goroda gave.  You were fourteen, just married and rare.’

‘And frightened.’

‘No, not you.  Not frightened.’

‘It was sixteen years ago, Kiritsubo-san, not twenty.  Yes, I remember it very well.’  Too well, she thought, heartsick.  That was the day my brother whispered that he believed our revered father was going to be revenged on his liege Lord, the Dictator Goroda, that he was going to assassinate him.  His liege Lord!

Oh, yes, Kiri-san, I remember that day and that year and that hour.  It was the beginning of all the horror.  I’ve never admitted to anyone that I knew what was going to happen before it happened.  I never warned my husband, or Hiro-matsu, his father—both faithful vassals of the Dictator—that treachery was planned by one of his greatest generals.  Worse, I never warned Goroda my liege Lord.  So I failed in my duty to my liege Lord, to my husband, to his family, which because of my marriage is my only family.  Oh, Madonna, forgive me my sin, help me to cleanse myself.  I kept silent to protect my beloved father, who desecrated the honor of a thousand years.  O my God, O Lord Jesus of Nazareth, save this sinner from eternal damnation. . . .

‘It was sixteen years ago,’ Mariko said serenely.

‘I was carrying Lord Toranaga’s child that year,’ Kiri said, and she thought, if Lord Goroda had not been foully betrayed and murdered by your father, my Lord Toranaga would never have had to fight the battle of Nagakudé, I would never have caught a chill there and my child would never have miscarried.  Perhaps, she told herself.  And perhaps not.  It was just karma, my karma, whatever happened, neh?  ‘Ah, Mariko-san,’ she said, no malice in her, ‘that’s so long ago, it almost seems like another lifetime.  But you’re ageless.  Why can’t I have your figure and beautiful hair, and walk so daintily?’  Kiri laughed.  ‘The answer’s simple: Because I eat too much!’

‘What does it matter?  You bask in Lord Toranaga’s favor, neh?  So you’re fulfilled.  You’re wise and warm and whole and happy in yourself. ‘

‘I’d rather be thin and still able to eat and be in favor,’ Kiri said.  ‘But you?  You’re not happy in yourself?’

‘I’m only an instrument for my Lord Buntaro to play upon.  If the Lord, my husband, is happy, then of course I’m happy.  His pleasure’s my pleasure.  It’s the same with you,’ Mariko said.

‘Yes. But not the same.’  Kiri moved her fan, the golden silk catching the afternoon sun.  I’m so glad I’m not you, Mariko, with all your beauty and brilliance and courage and learning.  No!  I couldn’t bear being married to that hateful, ugly, arrogant, violent man for a day, let alone seventeen years.  He’s so opposite to his father, Lord Hiro-matsu.  Now, there’s a wonderful man.  But Buntaro?  How do fathers have such terrible sons?  I wish I had a son, oh, how I wish!  But you, Mariko, how have you borne such ill treatment all these years?  How have you endured your tragedies?  It seems impossible that there’s no shadow of them on your face or in your soul.  ‘You’re an amazing woman, Toda Buntaro Mariko-san.’

‘Thank you, Kiritsubo Toshiko-san.  Oh Kiri-san, it’s so good to see you.’

‘And you.  How is your son?’

‘Beautiful—beautiful—beautiful.  Saruji’s fifteen now, can you imagine it?  Tall and strong and just like his father, and Lord Hiro-Matsu has given Saruji his own fief and he’s—did you know that he’s going to be married?’

‘No, to whom?’

‘She’s a granddaughter of Lord Kiyama’s.  Lord Toranaga’s arranged it so well.  A very fine match for our family.  I only wish the girl herself was—was more attentive to my son, more worthy.  Do you know she . . .’  Mariko laughed; a little shyly.  ‘There, I sound like every mother-in-law that’s ever been.  But I think you’d agree, she isn’t really trained yet.’

‘You’ll have time to do that.’

‘Oh, I hope so.  Yes.  I’m lucky I don’t have a mother-in-law.  I don’t know what I’d do.’

‘You’d enchant her and train her as you train all your household, neh?‘

‘Eeeee, I wish that was also true.’  Mariko’s hands were motionless in her lap.  She watched a dragonfly settle, then dart away.  ‘My husband ordered me here.  Lord Toranaga wishes to see me?’

‘Yes.  He wants you to interpret for him.’

Mariko was startled.  ‘With whom?’

‘The new barbarian.’

‘Oh!  But what about Father Tsukku-san?  Is he sick?’

‘No.’  Kiri played with her fan.  ‘I suppose it’s left to us to wonder why Lord Toranaga wants you here and not the priest, as in the first interview.  Why is it, Mariko-san, that we have to guard all the monies, pay all the bills, train all the servants, buy all the food and household goods—even most times the clothes of our Lords—but they don’t really tell us anything, do they?’

‘Perhaps that’s what our intuition’s for.’

‘Probably.’  Kiri’s gaze was level and friendly.  ‘But I’d imagine that this would all be a very private matter.  So you would swear by your Christian God not to divulge anything about this meeting.  To anyone.’

The day seemed to lose its warmth.

‘Of course,’ Mariko said uneasily.  She understood very clearly that Kiri meant she was to say nothing to her husband or to his father or to her confessor.  As her husband had ordered her here, obviously at Lord Toranaga’s request, her duty to her liege Lord Toranaga overcame her duty to her husband, so she could withhold information freely from him.  But to her confessor?  Could she say nothing to him?  And why was she the interpreter and not Father Tsukku-san?  She knew that once more, against her will, she was involved in the kind of political intrigue that had bedeviled her life, and wished again that her family was not ancient and Fujimoto, that she had never been born with the gift of tongues that had allowed her to learn the almost incomprehensible Portuguese and Latin languages, and that she had never been born at all.  But then, she thought, I would never have seen my son, nor learned about the Christ Child or His Truth, or about the Life Everlasting.

It is your karma, Mariko, she told herself sadly, just karma.  ‘Very well, Kiri-san.’  Then she added with foreboding, ‘I swear by the Lord my God, that I will not divulge anything said here today, or at any time I am interpreting for my liege Lord.’

‘I would also imagine that you might have to exclude part of your own feelings to translate exactly what is said.  This new barbarian is strange and says peculiar things.  I’m sure my Lord picked you above all possibilities for special reasons.’

‘I am Lord Toranaga’s to do with as he wishes.  He need never have any fear for my loyalty.’

‘That was never in question, Lady.  I meant no harm.’

A spring rain came and speckled the petals and the mosses and the leaves, and disappeared leaving ever more beauty in its wake.

‘I would ask a favor, Mariko-san.  Would you please put your crucifix under your kimono?’

Mariko’s fingers darted for it defensively.  ‘Why?  Lord Toranaga has never objected to my conversion, nor has Lord Hiro-matsu, the head of my clan!  My husband has—my husband allows me to keep it and wear it.’

‘Yes.  But crucifixes send this barbarian mad and my Lord Toranaga doesn’t want him mad, he wants him soothed.’

Blackthorne had never seen anyone so petite.  ‘Konnichi wa,‘ he said.  ‘Konnichi, Toranaga-sama.’  He bowed as a courtier, nodded to the boy who knelt, wide-eyed, beside Toranaga, and to the fat woman who was behind him.  They were all on the veranda that encircled the small hut.  The hut contained a single small room with rustic screens and hewn beams and thatched roof, and a kitchen area behind.  It was set on pilings of wood and raised a foot or so above a carpet of pure white sand.  This was a ceremonial Tea House for the cha-no-yu ceremony and built at vast expense with rare materials for that purpose alone, though sometimes, because these houses were isolated, in glades, they were used for trysts and private conversations.

Blackthorne gathered his kimono around him and sat on the cushion that had been placed on the sand below and in front of them.  ‘Gomen nasai, Toranaga-sama, nihon go ga hanase-masen.  Tsuyaku go imasu ka?‘

‘I am your interpreter, senhor,’ Mariko said at once, in almost flawless Portuguese.  ‘But you speak Japanese?’

‘No, senhorita, just a few words or phrases,’ Blackthorne replied, taken aback.  He had been expecting Father Alvito to be the interpreter, and Toranaga to be accompanied by samurai and perhaps the daimyo Yabu.  But no samurai were near, though many ringed the garden.

‘My Lord Toranaga asks where—First, perhaps I should ask if you prefer to speak Latin?’

‘Whichever you wish, senhorita.’  Like any educated man, Blackthorne could read, write, and speak Latin, because Latin was the only language of learning throughout the civilized world.

Who is this woman?  Where did she learn such perfect Portuguese?  And Latin?  Where else but from the Jesuits, he thought.  In one of their schools.  Oh, they’re so clever!  The first thing they do is build a school.

It was only seventy years ago that Ignatius Loyola had formed the Society of Jesus and now their schools, the finest in Christendom, were spread across the world and their influence bolstered or destroyed kings.  They had the ear of the Pope.  They had halted the tide of the Reformation and were now winning back huge territories for their Church.

‘We will speak Portuguese then,’ she was saying.  ‘My Master wishes to know where you learned your ‘few words and phrases’?’

‘There was a monk in the prison, senhorita, a Franciscan monk, and he taught me.  Things like, ‘food, friend, bath, go, come, true, false, here, there, I, you, please, thank you, want, don’t want, prisoner, yes, no,’ and so on.  It’s only a beginning, unfortunately.  Would you please tell Lord Toranaga that I’m better prepared now to answer his questions, to help, and more than a little pleased to be out of prison.  For which I thank him.’

Blackthorne watched as she turned and spoke to Toranaga.  He knew that he would have to speak simply, preferably in short sentences, and be careful because, unlike the priest who interpreted simultaneously, this woman waited till he had finished, then gave a synopsis, or a version of what was said—the usual problem of all except the finest interpreters, though even they, as with the Jesuit, allowed their own personalities to influence what was said, voluntarily or involuntarily.  The bath and massage and food and two hours of sleep had immeasurably refreshed him.  The bath attendants, all women of girth and strength, had pummeled him and shampooed his hair, braiding it in a neat queue, and the barber had trimmed his beard.  He had been given a clean loincloth and kimono and sash, and tabi and thongs for his feet.  The futons on which he had slept had been so clean, like the room.  It had all seemed dreamlike and, waking from dreamlessness, he had wondered momentarily which was the dream, this or the prison.

He had waited impatiently, hoping that he would be guided again to Toranaga, planning what to say and what to reveal, how to outwit Father Alvito and how to gain ascendance over him.  And over Toranaga.  For he knew, beyond all doubt, because of what Friar Domingo had told him about the Portuguese, and Japanese politics and trade, that he could now help Toranaga, who, in return, could easily give him the riches he desired.

And now, with no priest to fight, he felt even more confident.  I need just a little luck and patience.

Toranaga was listening intently to the doll-like interpreter.

Blackthorne thought, I could pick her up with one hand and if I put both hands around her waist, my fingers would touch.  How old would she be?  Perfect!  Married?  No wedding ring.  Ah, that’s interesting.  She’s wearing no jewelry of any kind.  Except the silver pins in her hair.  Neither is the other woman, the fat one.

He searched his memory.  The other two women in the village had worn no jewelry either, and he had not seen any on any of Mura’s household.  Why?

And who’s the fat woman?  Toranaga’s wife?  Or the boy’s nursemaid?  Would the lad be Toranaga’s son?  Or grandson, perhaps?  Friar Domingo had said that Japanese had only one wife at one time but as many consorts—legal mistresses—as they wished.

Was the interpreter Toranaga’s consort?

What would it be like to have such a woman in bed?  I’d be afraid of crushing her.  No, she wouldn’t break.  There are women in England almost as small.  But not like her.

The boy was small and straight and round-eyed, his full black hair tied into a short queue, his pate unshaven.  His curiosity seemed enormous.

Without thinking, Blackthorne winked.  The boy jumped, then laughed and interrupted Mariko and pointed and spoke out, and they listened indulgently and no one hushed him.  When he had finished, Toranaga spoke briefly to Blackthorne.

‘Lord Toranaga asks why did you do that, senhor?’

‘Oh, just to amuse the lad.  He’s a child like any, and children in my country would usually laugh if you did that.  My son must be about his age now.  My son’s seven.’

‘The Heir is seven,’ Mariko said after a pause, then translated what he had said.

‘Heir?  Does that mean the boy’s Lord Toranaga’s only son?’ Blackthorne asked.

‘Lord Toranaga has instructed me to say that you will please confine yourself to answering questions only, for the moment.’  Then she added, ‘I’m sure, if you are patient, Pilot-Captain B’ackthon, that you’ll be given an opportunity to ask anything you wish later.’

‘Very well.’

‘As your name is very hard to say, senhor, for we do not have the sounds to pronounce it—may I, for Lord Toranaga, use your Japanese name, Anjin-san?’

‘Of course.’  Blackthorne was going to ask hers but he remembered what she had said and reminded himself to be patient.

‘Thank you.  My Lord asks, do you have any other children?’

‘A daughter.  She was born just before I left my home in England.  So she’s about two now.’

‘You have one wife or many?’

‘One.  That’s our custom.  Like the Portuguese and Spanish.  We don’t have consorts—formal consorts.’

‘Is this your first wife, senhor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please, how old are you?’

‘Thirty-six.’

‘Where in England do you live?’

‘On the outskirts of Chatham.  That’s a small port near London.’

‘London is your chief city?’

‘Yes.’

‘He asks, what languages do you speak?’

‘English, Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch, and of course, Latin.’

‘What is ‘Dutch’?’

‘It’s a language spoken in Europe, in the Netherlands.  It’s very similar to German.’

She frowned.  ‘Dutch is a heathen language?  German too?’

‘Both are non-Catholic countries,’ he said carefully.

‘Excuse me, isn’t that the same as heathen?’

‘No, senhorita.  Christianity is split in two distinct and very separate religions.  Catholicism and Protestantism.  There are two versions of Christianity.  The sect in Japan is Catholic.  At the moment both sects are very hostile to each other.’  He marked her astonishment and felt Toranaga’s growing impatience at being left out of the conversation.  Be careful, he cautioned himself.  She’s certainly Catholic.  Lead up to things.  And be simple.  ‘Perhaps Lord Toranaga doesn’t wish to discuss religion, senhorita, as it was partially covered in our first meeting.’

‘You are a Protestant Christian?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Catholic Christians are your enemies?’

‘Most would consider me heretic and their enemy, yes.’

She hesitated, turned to Toranaga and spoke at length.

There were many guards around the perimeter of the garden.  All well away, all Browns.  Then Blackthorne noticed ten Grays sitting in a neat group in the shade, all eyes on the boy.  What significance has that? he wondered.

Toranaga was cross-questioning Mariko, then spoke directly at Blackthorne.

‘My Lord wishes to know about you and your family,’ Mariko began.  ‘About your country, its queen and previous rulers, habits, customs, and history.  Similarly about all other countries, particularly Portugal and Spain.  All about the world you live in.  About your ships, weapons, foods, trade.  About your wars and battles and how to navigate a ship, how you guided your ship and what happened on the voyage.  He wants to understand—Excuse me, why do you laugh?’

‘Only because, senhorita, that, seems to be just about everything I know.’

‘That is precisely what my Master wishes.  ‘Precisely’ is the correct word?’

‘Yes, senhorita.  May I compliment you on your Portuguese, which is flawless.’

Her fan fluttered a little.  ‘Thank you, senhor.  Yes, my Master wants to learn the truth about everything, what is fact and what would be your opinion.’

‘I’d be glad to tell him.  It might take a little time.’

‘My Master has the time, he says.’

Blackthorne looked at Toranaga.  ‘Wakarimasu.‘

‘If you will excuse me, senhor, my Master orders me to say your accent is a little wrong.’  Mariko showed him how to say it and he repeated it and thanked her.  ‘I am Senhora Mariko Buntaro, not senhorita.’

‘Yes, senhora.’  Blackthorne glanced at Toranaga.  ‘Where would he like me to begin?’

She asked him.  A fleeting smile sped across Toranaga’s strong face.  ‘He says, at the beginning.’

Blackthorne knew that this was another trial.  What, out of all the limitless possibilities, should he start with?  Whom should he talk to?  To Toranaga, the boy, or the woman?  Obviously, if only men had been present, to Toranaga.  But now?  Why were the women and the boy present?  That must have significance.

He decided to concentrate on the boy and the women.  ‘In ancient times my country was ruled by a great king who had a magic sword called Excalibur and his queen was the most beautiful woman in the land.  His chief counselor was a wizard, Merlin, and the king’s name was Arthur,’ he began confidently, telling the legend that his father used to tell so well in the mists of his youth.  ‘King Arthur’s capital was called Camelot and it was a happy time of no wars and good harvests and . . .’  Suddenly he realized the enormity of his mistake.  The kernel of the story was about Guinevere and Lancelot, an adulterous queen and a faithless vassal, about Mordred, Arthur’s illegitimate son, who treacherously goes to war against his father, and about a father who kills this son in battle, only to be mortally wounded by him.  Oh, Jesus God, how could I be so stupid?  Isn’t Toranaga like a great king?  Aren’t these his ladies?  Isn’t that his son?

‘Are you sick, senhor?’

‘No—no, I’m sorry—it was just . . .’

‘You were saying, senhor, about this king and the good harvest?’

‘Yes.  It . . . like most countries, our past is clouded with myths and legends, most of which are unimportant,’ he said lamely, trying to gain time.

She stared at him perplexed.  Toranaga’s eyes became more piercing and the boy yawned.

‘You were saying, senhor?’

‘I—well—’  Then he had a flash of inspiration.  ‘Perhaps the best thing I could do is draw a map of the world, senhora, as we know it,’ he said in a rush.  ‘Would you like me to do that?’

She translated this and he saw a glimmer of interest from Toranaga, nothing from the boy or the women.  How to involve them?

‘My Master says yes.  I will send for paper—’

‘Thank you.  But this will do for the moment.  Later, if you’ll give me some writing materials I can draw an accurate one.’

Blackthorne got off his cushion and knelt.  With his finger he began to draw a crude map in the sand, upside down so that they could see better.  ‘The earth’s round, like an orange, but this map is like its skin, cut off in ovals, north to south, laid flat and stretched a bit at the top and bottom.  A Dutchman called Mercator invented the way to do this accurately twenty years ago.  It’s the first accurate world map.  We can even navigate with it—or his globes.’  He had sketched the continents boldly.  ‘This is north and this south, east and west.  Japan is here, my country’s on the other side of the world—there.  This is all unknown and unexplored . . .’  His hand eliminated everything in North America north of a line from Mexico to Newfoundland, everything in South America apart from Peru and a narrow strip of coast land around that continent, then everything north and east of Norway, everything east of Muscovy, all Asia, all inland Africa, everything south of Java and the tip of South America.  ‘We know the coastlines, but little else.  The interiors of Africa, the Americas, and Asia are almost entirely mysteries.’  He stopped to let her catch up.

She was translating more easily now and he felt their interest growing.  The boy stirred and moved a little closer.

‘The Heir wishes to know where we are on the map.’

‘Here.  This is Cathay, China, I think.  I don’t know how far we are off the coast.  It took me two years to sail from here to here.’  Toranaga and the fat woman craned to see better.

‘The Heir says but why are we so small on your map?’

‘It’s just a scale, senhora.  On this continent, from Newfoundland here, to Mexico here, is almost a thousand leagues, each of three miles.  From here to Yedo is about a hundred leagues.’

There was a silence, then they talked amongst themselves.

‘Lord Toranaga wishes you to show him on the map how you came to Japan.’

‘This way.  This is Magellan’s Pass—or Strait—here, at the tip of South America.  It’s called that after the Portuguese navigator who discovered it, eighty years ago.  Since then the Portuguese and Spanish have kept the way secret, for their exclusive use.  We were the first outsiders through the Pass.  I had one of their secret rutters, a type of map, but even so, I still had to wait six months to get through because the winds were against us.’

She translated what he had said.  Toranaga looked up, disbelieving.

‘My Master says you are mistaken.  All bar—all Portuguese come from the south.  That is their route, the only route.’

‘Yes.  It’s true the Portuguese favor that way—the Cape of Good Hope, we call it—because they have dozens of forts all along these coasts—Africa and India and the Spice Islands—to provision in and winter in.  And their galleon-warships patrol and monopolize the sea lanes.  However, the Spanish use Magellan’s Pass to get to their Pacific American colonies, and to the Philippines, or they cross here, at the narrow isthmus of Panama, going overland to avoid months of travel.  For us it was safer to sail via Magellan’s Strait, otherwise we’d have had to run the gauntlet of all those enemy Portuguese forts.  Please tell Lord Toranaga I know the position of many of them now.  Most employ Japanese troops, by the way,’ he added with emphasis.  ‘The friar who gave me the information in the prison was Spanish and hostile to the Portuguese and hostile to all Jesuits.’

Blackthorne saw an immediate reaction on her face, and when she translated, on Toranaga’s face.  Give her time, and keep it simple, he warned himself.

‘Japanese troops?  You mean samurai?’

‘Ronin would describe them, I imagine.’

‘You said a ‘secret’ map?  My Lord wishes to know how you obtained it.’

‘A man named Pieter Suyderhof, from Holland, was the private secretary to the Primate of Goa—that’s the title of the chief Catholic priest and Goa’s the capital of Portuguese India.  You know, of course, that the Portuguese are trying to take over that continent by force.  As private secretary to this archbishop, who was also the Portuguese Viceroy at the time, all sorts of documents passed through his hands.  After many years he obtained some of their rutters—maps—and copied them.  These gave the secrets of the way through Magellan’s Pass and also how to get around the Cape of Good Hope, and the shoals and reefs from Goa to Japan via Macao.  My rutter was the Magellan one.  It was with my papers that I lost from my ship.  They are vital to me, and could be of immense value to Lord Toranaga.’

‘My Master says that he has sent orders to seek them.  Continue please.’

‘When Suyderhof returned to Holland, he sold them to the Company of East India Merchants, which was given the monopoly for Far Eastern exploration.’

She was looking at him coldly.  ‘This man was a paid spy?’

‘He was paid for his maps, yes.  That’s their custom, that’s how they reward a man.  Not with a title or land, only money.  Holland’s a republic.  Of course, senhora, my country and our allies, Holland, are at war with Spain and Portugal and have been for years.  You’ll understand, senhora, in war it’s vital to find out your enemies’ secrets.’

Mariko turned and spoke at length.

‘My Lord says, why would this archbishop employ an enemy?’

‘The story Pieter Suyderhof told was that this archbishop, who was a Jesuit, was interested only in trade.  Suyderhof doubled their revenue, so he was ‘cherished.’  He was an extremely clever merchant—Hollanders are usually superior to Portuguese in this—so his credentials weren’t checked very closely.  Also many men with blue eyes and fair hair, Germans and other Europeans, are Catholic.’  Blackthorne waited till that was translated, then added carefully, ‘He was chief spy for Holland in Asia, a soldier of the country, and he put some of his people on Portuguese ships.  Please tell Lord Toranaga that without Japan’s trade, Portuguese India cannot live for long.’

Toranaga kept his eyes on the map while Mariko talked.  There was no reaction to what she had said.  Blackthorne wondered if she had translated everything.

Then: ‘My Master would like a detailed world map, on paper, as soon as possible, with all the Portuguese bases marked, and the numbers of ronin at each.  He says please continue.’

Blackthorne knew he had made a giant step forward.  But the boy yawned so he decided to change course, still heading for the same harbor.  ‘Our world is not always as it seems.  For instance, south of this line, we call it the Equator, the seasons are reversed.  When we have summer, they have winter; when we have summer, they’re freezing.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s true.  Now, the way to Japan is through either of these two southern straits.  We English, we’re trying to find a northern route, either northeast over the Siberias, or northwest over the Americas.  I’ve been as far north as this.  The whole land’s perpetual ice and snow here and it’s so cold most of the year that if you don’t wear fur mittens, your fingers’ll freeze in moments.  The people who live there are called Laplanders.  Their clothes are made out of fur pelts.  The men hunt and the women do all the work.  Part of the women’s work is to make all the clothes.  To do this, most times they have to chew the pelts to soften them before they can stitch them.’

Mariko laughed out loud.

Blackthorne smiled with her, feeling more confident now.  ‘It’s true, senhora.  It’s honto.‘

‘Sorewa honto desu ka?‘ Toranaga asked impatiently.  What’s true?

Through more laughter, she told him what had been said.  They also began to laugh.

‘I lived among them for almost a year.  We were trapped in the ice and had to wait for the thaw.  Their food is fish, seals, occasionally polar bears, and whales, which they eat raw.  Their greatest delicacy is to eat raw whale blubber.’

‘Oh, come now, Anjin-san!’

‘It’s true.  And they live in small round houses made entirely out of snow and they never bathe.’

‘What, never?’ she burst out.

He shook his head, and decided not to tell her baths were rare in England, rarer even than in Portugal and Spain, which were warm countries.

She translated this.  Toranaga shook his head in disbelief.

‘My Master says this is too much of an exaggeration.  No one could live without baths.  Even uncivilized people.’

‘That’s the truth—honto,‘ he said calmly and raised his hand.  ‘I swear by Jesus of Nazareth and by my soul, I swear it is the truth.’

She watched him in silence.  ‘Everything?’

‘Yes.  Lord Toranaga wanted the truth.  Why should I lie?  My life is in his hands.  It is easy to prove the truth—no, to be honest, it would be very hard to prove what I’ve said—you’d have to go there and see for yourself.  Certainly the Portuguese and Spanish, who are my enemies, won’t support me.  But Lord Toranaga asked for the truth.  He can trust me to tell it to him.’

Mariko thought a moment.  Then she scrupulously translated what he had said.  At length:

‘Lord Toranaga says, it is unbelievable that any human could live without bathing.’

‘Yes.  But those are the cold lands.  Their habits are different from yours, and mine.  For instance, in my country, everyone believes baths are dangerous for your health.  My grandmother, Granny Jacoba, used to say, ‘A bath when you’re birthed and another when laid out’ll see thee through the Pearly Gates.”

‘That’s very hard to believe.’

‘Some of your customs are very hard to believe.  But it is true that I’ve had more baths in the short time I’ve been in your country than in as many years before.  I admit freely I feel better for them.’  He grinned.  ‘I no longer believe baths are dangerous.  So I’ve gained by coming here, no?’

After a pause Mariko said, ‘Yes,’ and translated.

Kiri said, ‘He’s astonishing—astonishing, neh?‘

‘What’s your judgment of him, Mariko-san?’ Toranaga asked.

‘I’m convinced he’s telling the truth, or believes he’s telling it.  Clearly it would seem that he could, perhaps, have a great value to you, my Lord.  We have such a tiny knowledge of the outside world.  Is that valuable to you?  I don’t know.  But it’s almost as though he’s come down from the stars, or up from under the sea.  If he’s enemy to the Portuguese and the Spanish, then his information, if it can be trusted, could perhaps be vital to your interests, neh?‘

‘I agree,’ Kiri said.

‘What do you think, Yaemon-sama?’

‘Me, Uncle?  Oh, I think he’s ugly and I don’t like his golden hair and cat’s eyes and he doesn’t look human at all,’ the boy said breathlessly.  ‘I’m glad I wasn’t born barbarian like him but samurai like my father, can we go for another swim, please?’

‘Tomorrow, Yaemon,’ Toranaga said, vexed at not being able to talk directly to the pilot.

While they talked among themselves Blackthorne decided that the time had come.  Then Mariko turned to him again.

‘My Master asks why were you in the north?’

‘I was pilot of a ship.  We were trying to find a northeast passage, senhora.  Many things I can tell you will sound laughable, I know,’ he began.  ‘For instance, seventy years ago the kings of Spain and Portugal signed a solemn treaty that split ownership of the New World, the undiscovered world, between them.  As your country falls in the Portuguese half, officially your country belongs to Portugal—Lord Toranaga, you, everyone, this castle and everything in it were given to Portugal.’

‘Oh, please, Anjin-san.  Pardon me, that’s nonsense!’

‘I agree their arrogance is unbelievable.  But it’s true.’  Immediately she began to translate and Toranaga laughed derisively.

‘Lord Toranaga says he could equally well split the heavens between himself and the Emperor of China, neh?‘

‘Please tell Lord Toranaga, I’m sorry, but that’s not the same,’ Blackthorne said, aware that he was on dangerous ground.  ‘This is written into legal documents which give each king the right to claim any non-Catholic land discovered by their subjects and to stamp out the existing government and replace it with Catholic rule.’  On the map, his finger traced a line north to south that bisected Brazil.  ‘Everything east of this line is Portugal’s, everything west is Spain’s.  Pedro Cabral discovered Brazil in 1500, so now Portugal owns Brazil, has stamped out the native culture and legal rulers, and has become rich from the gold and silver taken out of mines and plundered from native temples.  All the rest of the Americas so far discovered is Spanish-owned now—Mexico, Peru, almost this whole south continent.  They’ve wiped out the Inca nations, obliterated their culture, and enslaved hundreds of thousands of them.  The conquistadores have modern guns—the natives none.  With the conquistadores come the priests.  Soon a few princes are converted, and enmities used.  Then prince is turned against prince and realm swallowed up piece meal.  Now Spain is the richest nation in our world from the Inca and Mexican gold and silver they’ve plundered and sent back to Spain.’

Mariko was solemn now.  She had quickly grasped the significance of Blackthorne’s lesson.  And so had Toranaga.

‘My Master says this is a worthless conversation.  How could they give themselves such rights?’

‘They didn’t,’ Blackthorne said gravely.  ‘The Pope gave them the rights, the Vicar of Christ on earth himself.  In return for spreading the word of God.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ she exclaimed.

‘Please translate what I said, senhora.  It is honto.‘

She obeyed and spoke at length, obviously unsettled.  Then:

‘My Master—my Master says you are—you are just trying to poison him against your enemies.  What is the truth?  On your own life, senhor.’

‘Pope Alexander VI set the first line of demarcation in 1493,’ Blackthorne commenced, blessing Alban Caradoc who had hammered so many facts into him when he was young, and Father Domingo for informing him about Japanese pride and giving him clues to Japanese minds.  ‘In 1506 Pope Julius II sanctioned changes to the Treaty of Tordesillas, signed by Spain and Portugal in 1494, which altered the line a little.  Pope Clement VII sanctioned the Treaty of Saragossa in 1529, barely seventy years ago, which drew a second line here’—his finger traced a line of longitude in the sand which cut through the tip of southern Japan.  ‘This gives Portugal the exclusive right to your country, all these countries—from Japan, China to Africa—in the way I have said.  To exploit exclusively—by any means—in return for spreading Catholicism.’  Again he waited and the woman hesitated, in turmoil, and he could feel Toranaga’s growing irritation at having to wait for her to translate.

Mariko forced her lips to speak and repeated what he had said.  Then she listened to Blackthorne again, detesting what she heard.  Is this really possible? she asked herself.  How could His Holiness say such things?  Give our country to the Portuguese?  It must be a lie.  But the pilot swore by the Lord Jesus.

‘The pilot says, Lord,’ she began, ‘in—in the days that these decisions were made by His Holiness the Pope, all their world, even the Anjin-san’s country was Catholic Christian.  The schism had not—not yet occurred.  So, so these—these papal decisions would, of course, be binding on—on all nations.  Even so, he adds that though the Portuguese have exclusivity to exploit Japan, Spain and Portugal are quarreling incessantly about the ownership because of the richness of our trade with China.’

‘What’s your opinion, Kiri-san?’ Toranaga said, as shocked as the others.  Only the boy toyed with his fan uninterestedly.

‘He believes he’s telling the truth,’ Kiri said.  ‘Yes, I think that.  But how to prove it—or part of it?’

‘How would you prove it, Mariko-san?’ Toranaga asked, most perturbed by Mariko’s reaction to what had been said, but very glad that he had agreed to use her as interpreter.

‘I would ask Father Tsukku-san,’ she said.  ‘Then, too, I would send someone—a trusted vassal—out into the world to see.  Perhaps with the Anjin-san.’

Kiri said, ‘If the priest does not support these statements, it may not necessarily mean this Anjin-san is lying, neh?‘  Kiri was pleased that she had suggested using Mariko as an interpreter when Toranaga was seeking an alternative to Tsukku-san.  She knew Mariko was to be trusted and that, once Mariko had sworn by her alien God, she would ever be silent under rigorous questioning by any Christian priest.  The less those devils know, the better, Kiri thought.  And what a treasue of knowledge this barbarian has!

Kiri saw the boy yawn again and was glad of it.  The less the child understands the better, she told herself.  Then she said, ‘Why not send for the leader of the Christian priests and ask about these facts?  See what he says.  Their faces are open, mostly, and they have almost no subtlety.’

Toranaga nodded, his eyes on Mariko.  ‘From what you know about the Southern Barbarians, Mariko-san, would you say that a Pope’s orders would be obeyed?’

‘Without doubt.’

‘His orders would be considered as though the voice of the Christian God was speaking?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would all Catholic Christians obey his orders?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even our Christians here?’

‘I would think, yes.’

‘Even you?’

‘Yes, Sire.  If it was a direct order from His Holiness to me personally.  Yes, for my soul’s salvation.’  Her gaze was firm.  ‘But until that time I will obey no man but my liege lord, the head of my family, or my husband.  I am Japanese, a Christian yes, but first I am samurai.’

‘I think it would be good then, that this Holiness stays away from our shores.’  Toranaga thought for a moment.  Then he decided what to do with the barbarian, Anjin-san.  ‘Tell him . . .’  He stopped.  All their eyes went to the path and to the elderly woman who approached.  She wore the cowled habit of a Buddhist nun.  Four Grays were with her.  The Grays stopped and she came on alone.